#advanced track changes

[gudguy1a]

Word 2021 (Office 365) - Track changes not tracking changes made to formatting

Track changes not tracking changes made to formatting (i.e. bolding/unbolding, underlining). This article, above, in Microsoft Community has been archived and we can no longer add comments to it. So, putting this out there for everyone. The article only applies to Word 2019 and some older versions, it does not apply to Word 2021 because of Microsoft’s changes to various options. To enable…

[mingyuskim]

center 5 just pissed me off

[woozi]

hello caratblr <33 would you know which networks, update blogs, and tags are still active?

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

wait, Derin how did your leaving make the hospital shut down?

I used to work as a live-in nanny for a pediatrician.

Now, the thing about hospitals in my country is that they are massively understaffed and massively underfunded. This is especially true outside the major cities. The staff are worked to the bone and receive little to no help in things like finding accommodation or childcare, making working in rural areas a very uninviting prospect; staff come out here, get lumped with the work of three people (because there's nobody else to do it), burn out under the workload and leave, meaning that those remaining have even more work because that person is gone. It's unsustainable and the medical staff are doing their best to sustain it, because people die if they don't, so to the higher-ups it looks like everything's getting done and therefore everything is fine.

My friend (and boss) worked one week on, one week off, swapping out with another pediatrician. This was necessary because it would not be physically possible for one person to handle the workload for longer periods of time. The one single pediatrician had to hold up the entire pediatrics ward, which was not only the only public hospital pediatrics ward in our town, but also the one that served all the towns around us for a few hours' drive in all directions. I regularly saw her go to work sick, aching, tired, or with a debilitating 'I can barely make words or see' level migraine, because if she took a day off, twenty children didn't get healthcare that day, and some of these kids' appointments were scheduled weeks in advance. She'd work long hours in the day and then be called in a couple of times overnight for an hour or two at a time (she was on-call at night too, because somebody had to be), and then go in the next day. Sometimes she would be forced to take a day off because she physically could not stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time, meaning she couldn't drive to work.

Cue my niece's second birthday coming up in Melbourne. I'd been working for her for about 3 years, and she (and the hospital) had plenty of advance warning that I (and therefore she) needed one (1) Friday off. That's fine, we'll find someone to work that Friday, the hospital said. Right up until the last week where they're like "oh, we can't find a replacement; you can come in, can't you?"

No, she tells them; I don't have anyone to watch my kid that day.

Oh, surely you can hire a babysitter for this one day, they say. Think of the children! We really really need you to work that day. I know we said it'd be fine but we need you now, there's no one else to do it.

There are no other babysitters, she told them. Unless you can find one?

That's not our responsibility, they said.

But I'm not changing my plans, she's got plans by now as well, the hospital knew about this one day weeks in advance, and with absolutely no reserve staff they're forced to reschedule all pediatrics appointments for that Friday. Not a huge deal, it happens on the 'physically too overworked to get out of bed' days too. I go to Melbourne, she goes back to her home in Adelaide for her recovery week, all should be on track.

My niece gives me Covid.

This was way back in the first wave of the pandemic, and there were no Covid vaccines yet. The rules were isolate, mask up, hope. I had Covid in the house, and it would've been madness for my friend and her toddler to come back into the Covid house instead of staying in Adelaide. There was absolutely no way that a pediatrician could live with someone in quarantine due to Covid and go to work in the hospital with sick children every day. And no support existed for finding another babysitter, or temporary accommodation, so the hospital was down a pediatrician.

The other pediatrician wasn't available to do a three-week stint. They were also trapped in Adelaide on their well-earned week off.

Meaning that the only major pediatrics ward within a several-hour radius had no pediatricians. They had to shut down and send all urgent cases to Adelaide for the week. To the complete absence of surprise of any of the doctors or nurses; of course this would happen, this was bound to happen, it presumably keeps happening. But probably to the surprise of the higher-ups. After all, the hospital was doing fine, right? Of course all the staff were complaining of overwork and a lack of resources in every meeting, but they could always be fobbed off with the promise of more help sometime in the future; the work was mostly getting done, so the issue couldn't be too urgent.

It's not like some nanny who doesn't even work for the hospital could go out of town for a weekend for the first time in three years, and get the only public pediatrics ward in the area shut down for a week.

[crrtite]

cw: boyfriend price, independent and a tad bit stubborn reader, this man loves you, mentions of marriage

Thinking about your boyfriend John who just wants to make your life easier even though you insist you can do things yourself. Very much has the “I know you’ve got it, but let me take care of you” mindset.

A real man.

Insists on changing your oil for you, filling up your washer fluid, checking your tires. He wants his baby safe, after all. Takes your car every Sunday and fills up your gas, getting teasingly annoyed with you when he sees it close to full, knowing you went and got it on your own.

Sends you money for groceries, nails, hair, little trinkets and hobbies that you have. He rolls his eyes when you send it back, claiming “I can pay for my maintenance myself, John. Save your money.”

He decides that he has to be a little… stern with you. He loves that you’re independent, but he’s your man, and he wants to provide for you even a little bit. He’s gonna put his foot down, coerce you to relax and let him take the reins a bit.

Starts to gently shove you out of the way when you’re out shopping, giving you that smile that softens you up even when you’re mad at him. Starts keeping track of your groceries and stocking them up, so you have no choice but to use what he bought.

Pays for your appointments in advance, contacting the people you get your services from and putting his card on file. You can’t pay if he beats you to it.

Breaks you down until you finally accept his spoiling willingly, assuring you he wants to spend his money on you and keep you well cared for.

Eventually starts to hint that when he puts a rock on your finger, working is optional for you. He’s willing to hand over his cards and put your name on his account, what’s his is yours and what’s yours is yours, of course.

Type of man to chuckle and warmly thank you when you buy him a little sweet treat after he’s pulled out his bank card to take you on a little shopping trip, insisting you split it.

He wants you comfortable and taken care of, so just let him, ‘cause that’s what he’s there for.

[botanyshitposts]

have heavily sworn against politics posting on the damn plant blog but if you are trans in Iowa they’re trying to take our rights away this week, and if you're trans and not in Iowa this might be something to pay attention to. Nightmare time to be completely honest.

Bill HF 583 passed a subcommittee yesterday to remove gender identity from the civil rights act. It would make Iowa the first state in the nation go remove a class from its civil rights act. If it passes it would become legal to deny housing, loans, and jobs to trans people, would remove the right to change your gender marker on legal documents even with documentation, and makes it so your birth certificate must reflect your assigned gender at birth, among other things and wider implications.

an incredibly concerning screenshot from the bill (you can read the bill here):

Senate republicans have introduced the same bill under the name SF 418. They want to fast track this through. It could get to the governor's desk by Thursday afternoon.

Organizers are calling for a larger protest for the hearing this coming Thursday the 27th. It's scheduled for the Iowa Capital Building at 9:30 AM, more details in the link. You can register to testify here if you're directly affected.

[w0rldwide-l0vergirl]

brb i’m fucking sobbing about graduation

[catboybiologist]

Today I just found out that the woman who's been the most supportive of me in my transition believes that trans women shouldn't be able to compete against cis women in sports. Do you happen to have any good peer reviewed resources on the effects of estrogenizing HRT on someone's athletic abilities. Said woman in question doesn't seem to believe there's been any research done, which I deeply doubt. Thank you so much for your continued advocacy for us transfems.

I know you're turning to me for scientific guidance, but I'm just so fucking done with this issue overall. To quote contrapoints: I have nothing left but rage.

I've been on this road before. I could give you some. In most ways, trans women match cis women of their height and weight. But there aren't a lot. Yeah, its a problem. But fucking NOBODY will even study it because of how hot this issue is right now.

But more importantly: There will never, EVER be a study that meets their standards. There's always SOME physical metric that has differences between trans women and cis women. It's become essentially an iteration of the multiple testing problem- if you keep on doing statistical tests, eventually something is going to land.

I don't fucking want to provide studies. I don't want to cut myself down. I don't want my defense of myself to be "oohhh look at me I'm just as weak and pathetic and infantile as cis women"

Is this fucking feminism? Really?

I'm fucking done. Call me the evil hysterical woman, but this entire conversation reeks of misogyny to its fucking core. Organized sports as we know them are made by men, for men, to celebrate male accomplishments and excellence. Cis women can and do equal or excel men in many, MANY physical metrics. But the arbitrary set of rules, the arbitrary set of bouncing balls and scoring systems, are all made to reward the physical abilities of men. We create spin offs and systems of score tracking and variations of the same things over, and over, and over again, to give the fragile little male ego more and more reasons to stroke itself.

Let's take a look at some whiny as piss men not being able to handle the thought that women could EVER be physically notable.

Olympic target shooting used to be mixed gender. A woman won one year. The next year, it was segregated. Not only was it segregated, but the scoring system changed so that the scores of men and women could never be directly compared again.

Last year, Donald Trump sat on stage with Riley Gaines, the transphobic swimmer who whipped up the vitriol about Lia Thomas, and bragged about how it wasn't fair she lost her competition because he, Donald Trump, a 78 year old out of shape wax sculpture of a man, was male. And that he could beat Riley. A trained D1 swimmer. And Riley took it, because it advanced her grift.

There's a now infamous poll that 1 in 8 men think they could beat Serena Williams in a tennis match. Its pretty old at this point, but I'm guessing that number is even higher now.

This entire conversation centers around "trans people crushing the dreams of female athletes" but oh my fucking god, are we not doing that as a society already? This entire fucking "debate" is just an excuse for more and more cis men to sit their, stroking their fucking egos on live television about how big and strong and powerful and fucking WHATEVER men are, and even the trace of maleness in trans women is enough to permanently make them some kind of ubermensch that destroys cis women by every metric imagineable.

I don't give two shits about saving sports, one way or another. I detested organized sports long before I transitioned. Ya wanna talk natural advantage, and how sports rewards exactly the kind of physical ability that a certain brand of cis man pushes themselves to? I have a very mild ankle deformity that means jogging for long periods of time is painful. My best mile time is over 11 minutes. And yet I don't see any of the fuckers that are "better" than me out there in the ocean, clinging to the bottom on a single breath for minutes, or up there with me on top of Whitney. Only one of those skills is celebrated.

Fuck me that was a tangent. My point is, I've long since realized that sports are a self propagating system for the egos of people with a very particular kind of physical prowess. The only exception to this is when its exploitative of people with that kind of extremely specific physical prowess, and leaves those it exploits in the fucking gutter. I don't need to start bringing up CTE, I know y'all know exactly what my take would be on that.

but what is sending me over the fucking edge is how I'm supposed to be the crazy one. I'm the delusional tranny for pointing out that we have lost the fucking plot entirely. This is recreation. Its entertainment. And we are using it to punish people. Fuck this.

I'm so sorry OP, but just don't engage in that game. If you need a calm, measured argument, try attacking the misogyny of it all. The only way to "fix" sports is to create more events that reward and celebrate the physical abilities of cis women: flexibility, extreme long term endurance, and fuck I'm not a sports person nor do I want to waste brainspace on more than that. We need a system for cis women, one that doesn't tell them "here, have this shittier, less viewed, less supported, less encouraged, less celebrated version of something a man is good at". Trans people would find some place in that and in theory, there would be nothing to complain about.

Jesus fucking christ, if I see one more male news pundit start talking about trans women in sports I'm going to straight up devolve into a misandrist.

[elodieunderglass]

Why are jockeys not supposed to look at smartphones?? will it make them heavier

No, of course not!

It’ll make them criminals

This is in reference to something I mentioned about a prominent female jockey leaving the sport over breaking smartphone usage rules. Nanako Fujita, who raced for Japan, was an excellent jockey with a promising career and international prospects. She was lucky, talented, and in a sport that’s starving for public interest, popular. But she used her smartphone on a weekend, so on October 2024 she tearfully penned her resignation letter and left the sport.

Now, this is slightly more about Japanese sporting authorities than general horse racing practice, but it’s embedded in the idea that jockeys are inherently just such unscrupulous little bastards that they can only be prevented from cheating by locking them in hamster cages.

Going back to how horse racing is historically the province of organised crime, disorganised crime, chaotic crime, things that aren’t crimes but should be, crimes that haven’t been invented yet, and felonies; and given that it all happens for the amusement of billionaires and royalty, not noted for being generous and scrupulous; and given that - much like how claiming a hobby of “knitting” is really a cover story for collecting yarn - horse racing is really an excuse to gamble;

Given all that background - there’s always been a lot of anxiety about jockeys “fixing” races. After all, they’re historically treated as disposable and make inconsistent and indifferent money while entire fortunes are wagered on their backs they’re in an obvious position to influence race outcomes, and there are unbelievable amounts of money at stake.

Thus, the sport feels that we have to assume that jockeys are simply inherently susceptible to bribery. In the UK, jockeys can’t bet on any races and have to declare their mobile phone numbers to the horse racing authority, and have restrictions placed on where/how/what they can use smartphones for around the tracks. They can’t bring a phone to work, basically. Which isn’t too unusual in some professions. The idea is that jockeys with phones could communicate with each other or outsiders to change racing outcomes, or share information in advance before it can impact on the betting odds (like insider trading on the stock market.) this is not commonly practiced in other UK sports. It’s a working condition imposed by anxiety about preserving the integrity of the gambling.

The Japanese licensing authority is more strict. The night before a race meeting, Japanese jockeys surrender their phones and go into separate quarters without lines of communication. So you might give up your phone at 9pm Friday night, enter a sort of corporate youth hostel, work for 2 days, and recover your phone on Monday. Nanako was caught using her phone during this period of sequestration, even though there’s no evidence that she was using it for race fixing (another jockey caught for the same thing in the crackdown was making a restaurant reservation.) again, this level of control over personal communications isn’t practiced in other Japanese sports! Even Japanese pop idols, famed for having restricted personal lives, don’t risk getting pushed out of their job entirely for touching a phone.

It’s about a lot of things, but the level of control exerted over jockeys is interesting to me! and speaks to their position as athletes who aren’t the focus of the sport they do; of jockeys as the disposable pilots of things that are far more valuable than they are; of workers whose working conditions are unique; of sportspeople whose sport is defined by the anxieties of the rich about gambling; of people whose bodies are ferociously honed for a specific set of rules that don’t even necessarily make sense; of a sport thousands of years old, one of the oldest continuous sports of human history, in which the humans who play it are invisible; of ancient once-immovable traditions colliding, in the 2020s, with renewed interest in animal and human welfare and renewed pressures to Perform for social media and everything changing in ways we can’t see because we’re in the middle of them. Like when I say “one of the oldest continuous sports in human history”, as old as the domestication of horses, think about it for a minute and think how strange it is that the human athletes are this invisible, this disposable, this secondary to considerations. Why is it that you’ve been forced to learn about football against your will all your life, and you never thought for a second about this. Isn’t that wild? I think it’s wild.

(Disclaimer: I’m really not an expert, just a mild fan, which is a bit unusual for my demographic; despite the sport being ancient and internationally known, it isn’t very relatable to “people like us,” so this is kind of the first time anyone on tumblr’s really posted about having an interest in horse racing/jockeys. I’m really not an expert and I barely follow the news and do NOT attend races or understand the stats/gambling. It’s just that it was my first career ambition when I was 6, and it’s one of those things where literally no one else cares, so you get to feel like you have Secrets and a Unique OC.)

[leatherbookmark]

i read ootd's lyrics, because the styling and the english parts i could pick out don't have to mean the song is about being hashtag better than you in expensive clothes! well, uh. it is though

[glowettee]

✧ the elle woods study method: mindset makeover & foundation building ✧

hey lovelies! 💗

omg, i'm literally bursting with excitement to start this transformative series with you all! we're going to dive deep into actually studying like elle woods, and all her study methods. it's going to change your academic life. (while keeping you fabulous, obviously!)

let's start with the most crucial element - the elle woods mindset. you know how elle went from being underestimated at harvard to graduating with honors? that transformation began in her mind, and that's exactly where we're starting too!

the core principles of the elle woods mindset (get ready to take notes!):

unwavering self-belief: elle's iconic "what, like it's hard?" attitude wasn't just cute - it was crucial

authenticity as your superpower: your unique perspective is your strength

resilience through positivity: turning every "you can't" into "watch me"

strategic determination: working smarter, not just harder

maintaining your essence: success shouldn't mean losing yourself

let me break down how to actually build this mindset (because theory without practice is like a perfect outfit without accessories - incomplete!):

mindset foundation building: • start a daily confidence journal (pink, obviously!) • write three daily affirmations • document your wins, no matter how small • reflect on challenges and how you overcame them

goal setting the elle way: • dream big (harvard law big!) • break down major goals into mini-milestones • create realistic timelines • identify potential obstacles and plan solutions • celebrate every achievement (even the tiny ones!)

your personal success toolkit: • a dedicated study planner (color-coded, elle would approve) • positive affirmation cards • vision board (mix academic and personal goals) • progress tracking system • reward system for reaching milestones

practical assignments for this week:

yes, i'm giving you all homework, because what's a lesson without doing homework? <3

mindset makeover tasks: • create your confidence corner (a designated study space that makes you feel powerful) • write your personal academic manifesto • identify and challenge three limiting beliefs • create a morning power routine

organization prep: • get your study essentials (cute but functional!) • set up your planning system • create a semester overview • design your ideal weekly schedule

community building: • find your study buddies (your personal warner hunting club, but for academics!) • join study groups • set up accountability partnerships • create a support system

elle's journey wasn't about memorizing legal terms - it was about believing she belonged in those hallowed halls while wearing her signature pink. you deserve to feel that same confidence in your academic journey. <3

advanced tips for the overachievers (because why not be extra?):

record yourself giving pep talks for tough days

create a study aesthetic that energizes you

develop personal success rituals

build a playlist that makes you feel powerful

photograph your progress for motivation

coming up in this series:

time management secrets

memory techniques that actually work

note-taking methods that slay

exam preparation strategies

self-care routines for academic success

group study dynamics

presentation skills

stress management

celebration strategies

and more of course <3

remember: elle woods didn't just survive harvard - she thrived while being unapologetically herself. that's our goal too! you're not just going to study better; you're going to build an academic approach that celebrates who you are.

homework time (but make it fun):

create your academic vision board

write your semester goals

design your ideal study schedule

set up your success tracking system

prepare your study space

xoxo, mindy

p.s. don't forget to reblog and follow for the complete series! we're building our own little academic sorority here! <3

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] Muscle Pain Relief

LIs react when you experience muscle aches from exercising. They tend to your pain and get just the tiniest bit side-tracked. Genre: fluff; Tw: suggestiveness (a lot of it)

SYLUS

"Really now? A trial class at the gym did this? I thought you'd be more resilient." Sylus smirks as you groan, his fingers pressing into a particularly stubborn knot between your shoulder blades.

You glare over your shoulder. "I am. I just got too ambitious and chose the advanced class,"

"Mhm." He flicks on a sleek massage device, its hum quickly soothing the pain, making you sigh and melt against the pleasant sensation.

The device stops.

He chuckles when you let out a disappointed whine. “Ambition comes at a cost. But I'll gladly help you repay it,”

His free hand massages your shoulder, then he traces the curve of your neck lightly with his finger, trailing near your collarbones.

The moment his finger dips under your collarbone, you hiss, jerking away from his touch- just to collide backwards into his chest.

“Does it hurt, or were you just… sensitive?" He asks, voice low and the slightest bit rougher.

“Hurts,"You grumble.

That workout did a number on your pectorals- you had no idea the chest muscle would be connected all the way to your stupid collarbone.

Sylus, on the other hand, seems to be having the time of his life.

You feel him press a kiss to your shoulder, then you neck-

“I'll take your word for it, Miss Hunter,"he says lightly, but with the way his breath fans across your skin and how his fingers trace feather-light circles at the skin below your collarbones, his free hand gripping your waist just a bit tighter- you know he has more on his mind. And so do you, because the air feels electrified, warm and dark with anticipated promises.

“Excuse you, Mr Physio," you fire back weakly, “This isn't the service I was promised,”

"Patience," he purrs, watching your frustration with amusement. "You will be granted everything you requested for… if you tell me everything that's going on in that pretty little head of yours right now,"

Your face flushes red. What an absolute, infuriating tease.

“I will... if you tell me what's on your mind too,”

“Negotiating now, kitten?” He says with a chuckle. “How about I show you?”

___

XAVIER

You all but collapse onto the bed after your shower, the accumulated fatigue from work and an intense stress-relief gym session feeling like a crate of sandbags on your shoulders.

You lie belly-down and prop your chin on your forearms, then immediately regretting the motion when you feel the muscle ache radiate through your upper back.

“Ow,” you mumble into the blanket under you.

Chirpy music comes to a halt when Xavier pauses his game, tossing his phone to one side.

“What's wrong?” He says, voice laced with concern.

You turn your head to look at him. “Just… the gym. No Wanderers to blame this time.”

"You pushed yourself hard today," Xavier murmurs, his palms warm against your sore shoulders. "It’s admirable… but let me ease the aftermath."

You go limp under his gentle touch, his thumbs circling the tension with just enough pressure. "Mmm… how are you this good at this?"

"Practice," he says innocently- but then his fingers dip under your shirt and inch up your back. "Though this… is purely self-indulgent."

“Xavi-”

“Hmm?” His hands smoothly trace your shoulder blades, following the groove until they're tracing down, all the way down to the small of your back.

Your breath hitches. He smiles, slow and knowing.

"Shh," he whispers, lips grazing your ear as he gently presses on sore muscles. "I will only ease your discomfort tonight. I won't get greedy. But once you’re recovered… I’ll show you other ways to relax after training,”

___

ZAYNE

Over dessert, you mentioned casually that your muscle pain onset was quicker than usual. Zayne nodded, and the night seemed to continue as usual.

That is, until you struggle to change into loungewear at home.

The act of taking your t-shirt off made your muscles protest, and once you wrestled it off, you picked a flannel, because to hell with anything that needed you to raise your arms higher than your shoulder.

Zayne, ever the observant lover, interrogated you for the odd choice of clothing.

A few moments later, you sit at the side of the bed while he kneels on the mattress behind you.

Zayne’s examination is brusque with efficiency- fingers prodding, joints tested. "Minor strain. Temporary pain is expected, but nothing crippling."

You pout. "Wow. Such clinical precision."

"I’m a surgeon, not a physio," he deadpans, but moves to retrieve a pain-relief cream anyway.

“May I-?” He asks softly, uncapping the bottle.

You nod, his question innocent and practical, but the implication of being under his watchful gaze as you unbutton your shirt makes your face heat up.

His touch is meticulous, smoothing the gel over your skin with unexpected tenderness.

Your heart skips, fluttering warmth spreading through your chest. It's nice when Zayne takes care of you like this.

And thank heavens you're not going through a cardiac assessment right now, because you'd be mortified at the stats- and Zayne would be equal parts amused and exasperated.

When you sigh, his fingers stutter. "…Does that hurt?"

"No," you murmur, locking eyes with him. "Feels good."

You see a familiar hunger seep into his eyes, and he looks away. "Don’t- don’t say it like that."

“What?” You ask coyly, tracing his jaw and feeling him lean subtly into your touch.

He exhales through his nose, calm, measured. Like he's trying to stop himself from unravelling.

He catches your hand and threads your fingers together. “At least let me take care of you first, before you continue with your mischief,”

Knowing Zayne, that in itself is both a permission and a promise.

___

RAFAYEL

It was a mistake to stretch, the familiar motion- or attempt at raising your arms high above your head.

You're now at the mercy of all the tight knots in your body drilling pain into your soul.

Rafayel, of course, notices immediately and ushers you into his room in a flurry of questions, prodding, and nuzzles (“my cutie deserves a spa treatment for training so hard today!”)

And so, here you are, in Rafayel's ornately decorated ensuite bathroom.

"Magnesium salt! Magic for muscles!" Rafayel says excitedly, dumping a suspicious amount into the steaming bath. "Trust me, Miss Bodyguard. I’m an artist- we invented suffering for our craft!"

Rafayel then drizzles lavender oil into the bath.

"This’ll make you glow like… like a bioluminescent jellyfish," he declares, pushing up the sleeve of his bathrobe and testing the water with his elbow.

Seeming satisfied, he offers you a hand. "Your magical healing bath awaits,"

You eye the water warily. "It won’t turn me purple, right?"

"Pfft. I wish it really did that. I'd even want to create a bath that gives you a beautiful iridescent glow, my cutie. But, until I figure out how to do that, it is only pleasantly scented mineral water,"

He guides you in, "Now relax.”

The moment you sink in, he gasps, "Wait-! I forgot something-”

Before you can turn your head, he’s shrugging off the bathrobe. And then you yelp- he joins you, towel barely clinging to his hips once he lowers himself into the bath behind you. "Raf- why are you in here?!"

"Can't forget me, your favourite fishie," He beams at you and splashes lazily. "…Also, it's easier to give you a massage this way."

His hand finds your shoulders, and as you melt into his gentle massages, you realise- he does have a knack for all things involving self-care and pampering, and he is never frugal about it when it comes to you.

___

CALEB

You know he rushed back from work once he saw you text him a few complaints about your aching muscles, because he’s still wearing the pressed white shirt that he usually layers under the colonel jacket. Normally, he’d change into a tee before heading home.

He’s seated you on the yoga mat, and you’re watching some home renovation show on the TV while Caleb manoeuvres your arms. A semi-permanent grimace is etched on your face from the sore muscle groups being recruited into unwanted movements.

“Focus, pipsqueak. Stop holding your breath,”

Caleb’s hands are firm, guiding you through stretches designed for fleet pilots to enhance post-mission recovery.

"Next part’s gonna hurt," he warns. "But it’ll help. Breathe through it."

You whimper as he presses into your shoulder deeper- and instantly, his grip loosens. "Too much?"

"Nuh-No, just… intense."

His ears redden at your breathy tone. "You- uh- gotta stop making those noises."

You grin at how flustered he looks. "Or what?"

“Or else,” He corrects, his expression morphing into one that foreshadows breathy whispers and heated touches that leave you shaking.

A hand tips your chin up, and his lips graze your earlobe.

“Or else- I won’t be able to hold back, and you won’t be able to handle it, not in your state,”

“Caleb- aha.. Ha, I know. I’m just- just kidding,” you breathe, cheeks bright red.

“Of course you are,” he says, voice low as he continues with the massage. “Now stay still for me.”

[reasonsforhope]

1. More children are surviving today than ever before.

Close to 8 million more children in the world survive to see their fifth birthday than in 1990 — a 60 percent decline in annual under-five child mortality. 

UNICEF and partners have contributed to this remarkable achievement through proven, sustainable solutions for improving maternal and child health care services and strengthening disease prevention — and delivering those solutions at scale...

2. Vaccines have saved 154 million lives in the last 50 years.

As the world’s largest vaccine supplier, UNICEF procures and distributes enough vaccines annually to immunize 45 percent of the world's children. In 2023, UNICEF supplied 2.8 billion vaccine doses to 105 countries, up from just over 2 billion to 102 countries in 2020. Through widespread immunizations, polio is on the brink of eradication.

3. Safe water is available to over 2.1 billion more people compared to 20 years ago.

Consistent access to a sufficient supply of safe water for drinking, cooking and personal hygiene is the foundation for child survival, healthier lives, stronger economies and more sustainable societies. With support from UNICEF and partners, more than a quarter of the world's population gained access to safe and clean drinking water in the past two decades.

UNICEF-supported programs help ensure access to safe water for 35 million people around the world every year. UNICEF also leads coordinated emergency response efforts related to safe water access in roughly 85 percent of countries affected by crises. In 2023, over 42 million people in 73 countries were reached with emergency water services, helping to prevent outbreaks of cholera and other waterborne diseases.

To help build community resilience to climate shocks, UNICEF has also supported the installation of more than 8,900 solar-powered water systems in 56 countries — an important climate adaption measure that also reduces the use of fossil fuels.

4. The number of children with stunted growth due to malnutrition has declined by 40 percent since 2000.

For more than two decades, UNICEF has been the world’s largest procurer of ready-to-use therapeutic food (RUTF), procuring up to 80 percent of global demand, ensuring children suffering from severe malnutrition can be treated successfully.

5. Over 68 million child marriages have been averted in the last 25 years, giving girls their childhoods back.

In the late 1990s, 1 in 4 young women aged 20 to 24 were married as children. Today, it's 1 in 5. UNICEF has played an important role in global efforts to end child marriage, supporting 35 countries in implementing action plans, and working at the community level and across the health, education and other sectors to increase knowledge and change attitudes around the practice.

In 2023, UNICEF reached 11 million adolescent girls with prevention and care interventions empowering them to delay marriage and choose their own futures. 

6. Fewer kids are out of school.

The world stands on the cusp of realizing primary education as a basic right of every child. A world where more children learn is a world that is healthier, more prosperous and more resilient.

In the early 1950s, roughly half of all primary school-aged children were out of school. Now it's less than 10 percent. And every year, 23 million more girls are completing secondary school compared to a decade ago...

7. The world is on track to eliminate open defecation by 2030.

In the last two decades, 2.5 billion people have gained access to safely managed sanitation, while the number of people practicing open defecation has also declined by two-thirds — from 1.3 billion in 2000 to 419 million in 2022 — putting the world on track to eliminate the practice entirely. 

Ending open defecation drastically lowers the risks of diseases and malnutrition among children in low-income and lower-middle-income countries. Child deaths from diarrhea — a leading killer of young children — have already decreased by 60 percent...

8. Birth registration rates are way up.

Today, 77 percent of children under 5 are registered, up from 60 percent in the early 2000s — a major leap towards ensuring every child has a legal identity and can access health, education and other essential services...

Countries that prioritize birth registration see rapid progress. In Côte d’Ivoire, birth registration prevalence rose steadily from 65 percent in 2012 to 96 percent by 2021, proving that change at scale is possible.

9. A future free from HIV seems possible, one baby at a time.

An estimated 1.9 million deaths and 4 million HIV infections have been averted among pregnant women and children in the past 25 years...

10. In times of crisis and emergency, UNICEF is there — helping to save more children's lives than any other humanitarian organization.

[Note: Okay, I think they're cheating listing this one, but the article header said 10 things, so if I included only 9 it would be weird. Obviously this is an article from UNICEF, but UNICEF's data, reporting, and statistics are considered to be of high quality.]

-via UNICEF, February 25, 2025

[tf2heritageposts]

tips for runaways of abusive families

from one who did that

note: this assumes you are 18+ or will be 18+ upon escaping, and also american, sorry

BEFORE YOU LEAVE:

get your insurance information, ESPECIALLY YOUR HEALTH INSURANCE. you can use it until you're 26

have your ssn memorized

make sure you have a decent amount of money saved up, dependent on your situation

have your method of transportation figured out beforehand. are you leaving the city? state? general area? country? get it planned out

if you are planning on taking your pet with you, make sure you have food stocked up with you and bottles of water. i would also reccomend bringing a 1ml kids syringe if you have the type of pet that will stop eating/drinking in stress situations. also bring a form of cover like an extra shirt or towel if it is an easily stressed pet. also make sure you have a carrier, and if you're going on a plane, make sure it is up to the standard of your plane, as well as making s ure your type of pet is allowed on the plane, especially if its an "exotic" pet, aka anything thats not a cat or dog

i also may recommend stocking up some food but depending on your situation this may not be needed

stock up on any medications you may have/need

don't give your family any form of information they could use to track you down in the future, especially if theyre the crazier types

make sure to change your passwords on any technology you may be leaving form and log out completely on them. make sure you have no files they could use to find you

DURING:

leave at a time where you're 100% sure nobody will catch you. if you have a family member that comes home late from work, know when they'll be back and asleep

turn off ANY location services you have after you're already away from the house, even if it alarms them. you don't want them to figire out where you are

wear a jacket with pockets, especially deep ones

make sure you have your wallet, forms of id, etc

get ready to run as fast as you can

if you're leaving the state, especially via plane, DO NOT IMMEDIATLY GO TO THE AIRPORT, THEY WILL CHECK THERE FIRST! go to a hotel and spend 1-3 days there while they exhaust their time and figure you already left. THEN you can go

stay calm while you're in the process of leaving. the moment you hit the air, they legally can't do anything

keep any critter you have calm, especially if they can suffer health problems from stress

have your hotels booked in advance

AFTER:

dont give your family your address if they try to talk to you

if you can really, cut them off entirely. chances are theyre not gonna change

get an air mattress as soon as you can, we used doordash for one

figure out how you will be paying finances. if you're living with someone, great, if not, you may have to post donation posts on social media until you can get a job

be happy you escaped, good job! most people won't be able to do this so im proud you were

[strawberry-bubblef]

hi! this is my first time requesting to you so I hope this isn't too much to ask but can I request on the housewardens + Jamil who has a s/o telling about their past, who survived as a victim of human trafficking and has a branding tattoo on their neck that they hide and finally showed it to them(like those lines we can see on our items or products, idk why they're called) and can you pls make it angst to comfort 🙏

I hope my request isn't too much to ask you but my advance tsym if you made this 🫶

Housewardens+Jamil X human trafficking survivor!reader

Warning: Human trafficking (mentioned), trauma, survivor's guilt, implied PTSD, branding/tattooing, dissociation,dehumanization, ends in comfort and support.

Riddle Rosehearts

It started with the wind.

You were sitting outside in Heartslabyul's rose garden, long after most students had gone to bed. The wind was soft tonight, brushing over the treetops and weaving through the hedges like a whispered lullaby. Riddle had come out to find you, his coat over one arm, wearing that concerned look he got whenever you were out alone too late for his liking.

“You should be sleeping,” he said gently as he approached. “You’ll catch a cold.”

You offered him a small smile. “I know. I just… needed air.”

Without asking, he draped the coat around your shoulders and sat beside you on the bench. He didn’t push for more. Riddle had learned, over time, that when you needed to talk, you would. That silence wasn’t always something to fix.

So he just sat there with you, your knees brushing slightly. Quiet.

After a long stretch of listening to the breeze, you finally spoke.

“Can I tell you something?”

He turned toward you, already nodding. “Of course.”

You picked at the edge of his sleeve where it rested over your hand. You weren’t quite sure how to begin. So you didn’t look at him when you said it, just kept your eyes on the night sky.

“I have a tattoo,” you murmured. “On the back of my neck.”

Riddle tilted his head slightly. “Alright…”

“It’s not decorative,” you continued, voice softer now. “It wasn’t my choice.”

You felt his attention sharpen, though he stayed quiet, letting you go on.

“I don’t really show it. Most people don’t know it’s there. But sometimes I forget it is here too. I forget until someone stares, or until I see it in a mirror and-”

You stopped. Took a breath.

“You know how there are those lines on packaging? Like a barcode? That’s what it is. That’s what they gave me.”

Riddle froze.

You glanced at him then, half-expecting shock or horror but instead, he just looked… pained. Not at you. For you.

His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “Who…?”

“It was years ago,” you said, not wanting to go into the details yet. “I was younger. Vulnerable. I got taken, not here, not in this world. Another one. I try not to think about it too often, but it’s always kind of there, in the back of my mind.”

You gave a soft, almost bitter chuckle.

“They treated people like items. Like things to be bought and sold. And the branding? It was a way to keep track of us. To remind us we didn’t belong to ourselves anymore.”

There was a heavy silence between you.

“I escaped eventually. Got help. Got out. I’ve come a long way since then. I’ve healed a lot, I think. But… there’s always this part of me that wonders if people would see me differently if they knew.”

You looked down.

“I guess I’m telling you because… you matter to me. And I didn’t want to keep hiding. Not from you.”

Riddle was quiet for a moment longer, then reached for your hand.

His fingers were a little cold, but steady.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said simply. “That must have taken so much strength. I can’t imagine what you went through, but I’m here now. I want to be someone you never have to hide from.”

His grip tightened gently, grounding.

“And just so you know,” he added, voice firmer now, “Nothing about that mark changes how I see you. It doesn’t make you less. If anything, knowing what you’ve survived..what you’ve endured,it makes me admire you more.”

You felt your throat close slightly, and you nodded, swallowing hard. “Sometimes I still feel… stained by it. Like I’ll never be entirely clean.”

Riddle’s brows drew together, his voice soft and unwavering.

“You were never dirty to begin with.”

You blinked, not expecting that.

“You were hurt. Taken. But never wrong. The people who did that to you were wrong. And it’s over now. You’re free.”

A long pause.

“If you ever want to show it to me,” he added carefully, “you can. But you don’t have to. That’s yours, and no one else’s.”

You hesitated, then slowly reached up, brushing your hair aside.

“I’d like to,” you said. “If that’s alright.”

He nodded once, seriously, then shifted behind you slightly. You lifted your collar just enough to reveal the thin, black lines etched at the base of your neck,sharp, clinical.

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. You didn’t feel watched. You felt… witnessed.

Then his fingers gently grazed the skin beside it ,not touching the tattoo directly, just close enough to say I see you. I’m here. I’m not turning away.

“I won’t pretend this didn’t happen to you,” he said. “But I promis—no.I swear it,as long as I’m with you, you’ll never be treated like a thing again. You’re a person. You’re important. You’re mine ,not in a possessive way. Just…”

You smiled faintly. “Like family.”

He nodded.

Then he leaned forward and pressed a light kiss just beneath the mark, not claiming, not romantic, just grounding.

You closed your eyes.

The wind whispered through the garden again. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like it was passing you by. It felt like it was carrying something away.

Maybe the weight.

Maybe the fear.

Maybe a piece of the past that you were finally ready to let go.

Riddle sat with you a long time after that. He didn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t rush you to move, or speak again, or be anything other than what you were in that moment.

Alive. Healing. Loved.

And for the first time in ages, the mark on your neck didn’t feel like a scar.

It just felt like skin.

Leona Kingscholar

It was a lazy afternoon in the botanical gardens, the kind where the sun filtered through the glass in gold beams, pooling warm light on the floor. Leona had claimed one of the quiet hidden corners, all mossy stone and climbing ivy.He was half-asleep with his head in your lap, his arm slung over his eyes like usual.

He always liked the silence, but you’d come to learn it wasn’t the same kind as yours.

Leona’s silence was a defense, a way to keep the world at arm’s length. Yours, sometimes, was a shadow, something that grew around the things you didn’t speak about.

You ran your fingers gently through his hair, slow and repetitive, grounding yourself as much as him. You weren’t sure why the thought came to you just then. Maybe it was how still he was. How safe it felt.

You hesitated.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked quietly.

Leona grunted, shifting his arm slightly. “Hn. You’re talkin’ already.”

“I mean… something real. Something I’ve never told anyone here.”

His hand slid down enough for one eye to peek out at you, sharp, attentive, now fully awake.

“You’re serious.”

You nodded.

He sat up slowly, stretching but not leaving. He leaned back against the wall beside you, one knee up, resting an arm on it. Waiting.

You looked at your hands. “I have a tattoo on my neck. It’s hidden, most of the time. Not many people know about it.”

Leona blinked once, then arched a brow. “You wanna show it to me?”

“Not yet. I want to explain first.”

“…Alright.”

“It’s not a choice tattoo,” you said, voice soft. “It’s a brand. Like the ones they put on products. It looks like a barcode.”

You watched his reaction carefully. He didn’t move but his eyes narrowed. Not in judgment. In calculation. In the kind of anger he saved for things he knew were wrong.

You continued, voice steady.

“Back in my old world, when I was younger, I was taken. Trafficked. Sold like a thing. Treated like something people could own. The brand… it was their way of marking me. Like I was inventory.”

Leona’s jaw tightened.

“I got out eventually. And built something new. But the mark,it never really left. It’s a part of me. Even now. Even after everything.”

There was silence. You didn’t fill it. You didn’t need to. You just waited.

Leona exhaled slowly, then leaned his head back against the ivy-covered wall.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “a lot of people look at me and see a second son. A spare. Someone who’s got everything and does nothing. They don’t see what’s under it.”

You blinked at the sudden turn, not sure where he was going.

“I’ve been called a beast. A failure. I’ve had expectations shoved down my throat and kicked off every pedestal they threw me on. But nobody ever tried to strip me of my basic right.”

He turned his head, looking you in the eye.

“What they did to you,that wasn’t just cruelty. That was erasing. Trying to turn you into something you’re not.”

You swallowed hard. The truth of that hit somewhere deep.

“I still have nightmares sometimes,” you admitted. “There are days when I forget it’s not happening anymore. And even though I know it wasn’t my fault, some part of me always feels… marked.”

He studied you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out,not to touch your neck, but to lift your hand gently into his own.

“I can’t undo it,” he said quietly. “And I won’t pretend I understand what that felt like. ” He turned your hand over, thumb brushing your palm. “But this stays yours. All of you does. No one else gets to claim it.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“I’ve been scared to show it to anyone. Not because of what they’d think… but because it still feels like something I have to hide.”

“Then don’t show it yet,” he said simply. “Or show it when you’re ready. Not for anyone else. Just for you.”

You hesitated. Then, quietly, you reached up and pulled your collar down slightly, revealing the lines at the base of your neck.

It was quick. You didn’t let it linger.

But when you looked back at Leona, his expression hadn’t changed. No horror. No pity. Just that heavy, grounded stillness he only showed when he was fully present.

He leaned forward a little, brushing your hair gently back into place. “Doesn’t scare me,” he muttered. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, “But if anyone looks at you sideways for it? I will make them regret it.”

You laughed.Alittle surprised, a little teary. “That’s… oddly comforting.”

Leona smirked faintly. “Good.”

He leaned against your shoulder after that, warm and solid, the way he always did when words weren’t needed anymore.

And for once, the mark on your neck didn’t feel like something to hide.

It felt like something you had survived.

And someone was there to carry it with you, not take it away, but honor it. Honor you.

Azul Ashengrotto

The lounge was quiet after hours,the kind of quiet that only came when the last customer had left, the last glass was washed, and the only light was the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. Azul had let the mask drop hours ago, slumped on the velvet couch beside you, his sleeves rolled up and his tie undone. He looked like a boy instead of a businessman, which, in a strange way, always made it easier for you to breathe around him.

He had his glasses off, eyes closed, head leaning on your shoulder.

“This is nice,” he murmured. “No deals. No disguises.”

You nodded slowly. You’d been thinking. Turning something over in your chest like a stone that was almost smooth but still sharp around the edges.

“Azul?”

“Mmm?”

“There’s something I’ve never told you. And I want to… if that’s alright.”

His head lifted immediately. He looked at you, really looked at you,searching your face for anything he should brace for. “Of course. You never have to ask.”

You hesitated, then looked away toward the empty bar, your voice steady but low. “Back in my old world… I was trafficked. Human trafficking. For a long time.”

Azul’s breath caught, the kind of quiet inhale that was barely there but unmistakable. He didn’t speak. He just listened.

“I was young. I don’t even remember how it started- just that one day I wasn’t a person anymore. I was a product. And they branded me like one.”

Your hand lifted, touching your neck instinctively, where the brand still lay, hidden most days beneath collars or scarves. “It’s still there. Like those barcodes you scan on packages. Except this one was on me.”

Azul’s hands curled slowly into fists where they rested on his knees, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It took a long time to get out,” you continued. “And longer to accept that it was over. I still struggle with it. The nightmares, the shame, the part of me that forgets I’m safe now. That thinks if anyone sees the brand, they’ll look at me and only see that.”

You finally turned to face him again. “That’s why I hide it. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. Not because I wanted you to fix it. Just… because I trust you.”

Azul looked stricken. Not at you,never at you but at the idea of that kind of suffering, that kind of cruelty. His expression was unreadable for a long moment, and then very quietly, he said, “May I see it?”

You hesitated. Then, after a breath, nodded.

With a small movement, you tugged the collar of your shirt down just enough to reveal the brand,a faded, etched pattern of lines and numbers, still unnervingly clean and functional in design. Like it had never been meant for a human.

Azul stared at it. Not like he was disgusted. Not like he pitied you.

But like he was seeing something sacred,not the mark, but the weight of it. What you’d lived through. What you’d survived.

And then, without speaking, he reached up, carefully, and pressed two fingers to the space beside it. Not directly on the brand, just next to it. Like he didn’t want to touch the wound but wanted you to feel he was there.

“I can’t believe someone would do this to you,” he said finally, his voice trembling slightly despite how calm he tried to sound. “That they thought they could strip you down to something so… so empty. That they thought you wouldn’t fight your way back.”

You watched him quietly.

He lowered his hand, folding it with the other in his lap. “I’ve always wanted power. Influence. A name people respect. Because when I was small, I didn’t have any of that. I thought if I got strong enough, clever enough… I’d never be helpless again.”

His gaze met yours.

“But even then, I was just fighting ghosts. You… you looked them in the eye. And survived. You’re not weak. You’re not broken. And whatever that mark was meant to say.. It doesn’t get to define you anymore.”

You felt the words settle in your chest like a gentle weight. Not heavy,grounding.

“I don’t want you to see me as a victim,” you whispered.

“I don’t.” Azul said immediately. “I see you. The whole of you. And I’m grateful-so grateful that you trust me with this. That you’re here.”

You leaned into him, forehead touching his. And for a long time, neither of you moved.

Later, when the lanterns had dimmed further and Azul finally pulled a blanket around both of you, he mumbled sleepily against your shoulder, “You don’t have to hide anything from me. Not the mark. Not the memories. Not the shadows.”

And he said it like a promise.

Like a contract without conditions.

Because this time, you weren’t alone.

You were seen.

And you were safe.

Kamil Al Asim

It started with a question,innocent, like most things with Kalim.

“Hey! When we’re back from break, do you want to come to Scalding Sands with me? My family’s hosting this big celebration and I thought maybe you’d want to meet them!”

He beamed like he always did,excited, full of sunlight and life. The kind of joy that made people forget to look past it, to the parts of him that were observant, grounded, steady in ways most people missed.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Kalim…”

Something in your voice made him pause. His grin faltered not out of offense, but out of quiet concern. “Too soon?” he asked softly.

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Kind of.”

You both sat down on a shaded bench in the courtyard, away from the crowd and sunlight. A place where words could sit between you without being exposed.

Kalim leaned back, letting you take your time. He was good at that. Listening without pressing. Waiting without fidgeting. He only looked at you with that warm, open patience of his.

“I’ve never told you this,” you said after a moment. “And it’s not because I didn’t want to. I just didn’t know how.”

Kalim’s face didn’t change. He didn’t brace or worry. He simply listened.

“In the world I came from, I was trafficked. For a long time.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Still.

“People treated me like a thing. Branded me like one, even. "

You paused and hesitate slightly before speaking again. "..I still have the mark on my neck. It looks like a barcode, like I was just… inventory.”

You swallowed, heart tight. “I’ve hidden it ever since. Even here. Even around you.”

Kalim didn’t flinch. His eyes were full, soft, and very, very, very sad.Not for himself, not out of pity. But because you were someone he loved. And he hated that someone had hurt you like that.

You looked down at your hands. “I’m not telling you because I want you to fix it. I’m not broken. I just… I wanted you to know. The reason why I flinch sometimes. Why I get quiet around certain things. Why I don’t like showing skin around my neck.”

There was a beat. Then Kalim’s hand, warm and gentle, reached over and settled lightly atop yours.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

You looked at him ,surprised, maybe.

He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was smaller. Deeper. “Thank you for trusting me with something that important. I know that wasn’t easy.”

You stared at him for a moment, the emotions tightening in your chest loosening just a little.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” he said softly. “It’s wrong. All of it. You deserved love and freedom and safety, not to be treated like that. But I’m really, really glad you’re here now.”

You felt your throat tighten, but his hand didn’t let go.

“I don’t care what they tried to make you feel like,” he added, more firmly now. “You’re not a thing. You’re not something that can be marked or owned or priced. You’re you. And you’re incredible.”

You breathed out slowly, and Kalim smiled again, a little brighter. “If it ever feels like too much, like the memories are creeping in, you can tell me. Or not. We can just sit and talk about stars, or play a game, or dance. But you don’t ever have to hide around me.”

A long silence passed. Then, voice quieter than before, you asked, “Would you… would you like to see it?”

“..The brand?”

You nodded.

Kalim didn’t hesitate. “Only if you want to show me.”

You slowly reached up, pulling your collar to the side, exposing the lines burned faintly into your skin. They were cruel in their precision, manufactured, sharp, deliberate.

But Kalim didn’t look at them like they were ugly. He looked at them like they were something you lived through. Not what defined you, but what you had overcome.

“Okay,” he whispered after a moment. “Okay. I see you.”

He reached forward, gently,asking permission with his eyes. When you nodded, he touched your shoulder lightly. Not the mark. Just the space near it. A grounding touch.

“Thank you,” he said again. “For being here. For surviving. For still being you.”

You closed your eyes.

For once, the mark didn’t feel like it was burning through you.

For once, you felt held, not physically, but emotionally. Anchored by someone who saw all of you and still smiled, still reached for your hand.

Not because he didn’t see the damage.

But because he saw you, whole and living, in spite of it.

Jamil Viper

It wasn’t the kind of thing you planned to say. You didn’t sit down one morning and decide Today is the day I tell Jamil.

But that’s how these things go, isn’t it?

The conversation had started casually,something about plans for the winter holidays, your answers coming slower than usual. Jamil had noticed. He always noticed.

“You’ve been… quieter than usual,” he said, setting down the dish he’d been preparing with practiced ease. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t respond right away. Your hands were clenched a little too tightly in your lap. Jamil wiped his hands on a towel and turned to face you fully, brow slightly furrowed, not with annoyance but concern.

“Is it something I did?” he asked gently.

“No,” you said quickly. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

You hesitated, then laughed once, dry and small. “That’s actually part of why I wanted to tell you. Because you’ve been so… safe.”

He tilted his head, curious, waiting.

You looked down, then at him again. “Jamil… there’s something about my past I haven’t told you.”

He said nothing. He didn’t rush you, didn’t ask the wrong questions. Just waited, present and listening.

“I was trafficked,” you said softly. “When I was younger. For a long time.”

Jamil didn’t speak. But you saw his body subtly shif, tension coiling in his shoulders, not at you, but at the idea of someone hurting you. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“They branded me,” you continued. “On the back of my neck. Like I was just another object on a shelf.”

You looked down, voice tighter now. “I know it’s not who I am. But it’s still there. I’ve spent years hiding it. Even here. Even from you.”

Silence again.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, maybe discomfort, maybe sympathy that felt too heavy. But Jamil just sighed, slow and deep.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That that happened to you.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t hollow. Just steady. Grounding.

You looked at him, and he met your gaze without flinching.

“I know what it’s like to be used. To feel like your life doesn’t belong to you. It’s not the same, I know that, but… I understand more than you might think.”

Your chest felt tight. His words weren’t designed to compare pain, just to show he understood how betrayal can linger in your bones. How even when you're free, some part of you still feels like you're chained to a past version of yourself.

“I don’t want your pity,” you said after a beat. “I just want you to know. I’m telling you because you matter. Because I don’t want to keep hiding parts of myself from someone I love.”

He nodded once. “I get it.”

There was a long pause, then he asked, with absolute care in his voice, “Do you want to show me the brand?”

You nodded, slowly, cautiously. Then reached back and tugged at the collar of your shirt. The mark was still there, faint but readable, a barcode etched into flesh. Nothing about it was artistic or symbolic just clinical, cruel.

Jamil’s jaw tightened ever so slightly.

He reached up slowly and rested his hand on your shoulder, just beside the scar.

“I see you.” he said. “Not the mark. Not what they did. You.”

Your breath trembled in your chest. You blinked quickly.

“You’ve survived something most people couldn’t imagine,” Jamil continued, voice low. “And you’re here. You still love. Still laugh. Still fight to exist. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

You managed a small smile, your throat still tight.

“I won’t pretend I know how to fix it,” he said. “But I’m not going anywhere. If you ever need space, or silence, or grounding, I’ll be here. On your terms.”

You nodded, and he leaned forward just slightly, brushing his forehead lightly to yours.

“No one gets to own you ever again,” he said.

And in the quiet after his words, with the sun warm through the windows and the smell of cumin and cardamom still in the air, you realized something:

He didn’t look at you like someone broken.

He looked at you like someone whole, still healing, still burning, still fighting and worth every second of the wait.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil had always admired control of one’s appearance, one’s surroundings, one’s narrative. But what he admired more, secretly, were the quiet moments when someone chose vulnerability. Not performative openness, but the trembling, real kind. The kind you didn’t rehearse.

It happened on a late afternoon, the two of you tucked in his dorm room. He was seated at his vanity, removing the last remnants of stage makeup from a photoshoot. You were behind him, curled on the chaise, reading something you hadn’t actually absorbed for the past ten minutes.a

Vil glanced at your reflection in the mirror, brows lifting just slightly. “You’re somewhere else,” he said, voice gentle.

You didn’t look up. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

He nodded, not pressing. You loved that about him ,he never demanded you speak. He let you arrive at your own truths, your own time.

“I want to tell you something,” you said quietly, folding the corner of the page. “Something real.”

Vil turned on the stool, his expression softening. “I’m listening.”

There was a pause. Then you took a breath. “I was trafficked.”

His spine went straight in attention.

You continued. “It happened when I was younger. I was taken and… used. Sold like something you’d find with a price tag. It lasted years.”

His face didn’t change, but his hand tightened ever so slightly where it rested on his knee. That was all you needed,not a big reaction, just to be seen.

“They branded me,” you said. “Like I was a product. The kind of lines you’d see on an item in a store.”

Vil’s voice was quiet, but sure. “Where?”

You lifted the back of your collar and tilted your head forward, revealing the faint mark burned into your skin, clinical, dehumanizing. You felt air brush against it, and then silence. He didn’t rush to touch it. He didn’t try to look too long, either. He gave you space.

“I spent a long time hiding it,” you admitted. “From everyone. Even myself. I thought if no one saw it, I could pretend it wasn’t there. But… you deserve to know. Not because I want you to fix me , but because I don’t want to keep hiding from someone I trust.”

Vil’s eyes held yours, steady and full of something you couldn’t quite place, not pity. Not sorrow. Something warmer.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Your breath hitched slightly.

“I know you didn’t tell me this to be praised,” Vil continued, his voice a soft hum. “But it does take immense strength to say what you just said. That strength… is beautiful.”

You blinked, startled by the sincerity. He didn’t say it like someone trying to be poetic. He said it like someone who saw your scars and still thought you were the most breathtaking thing in the room.

“I don’t see you as damaged,” he said. “And I don’t want to erase what you’ve been through. That’s not love. I want to walk beside you, knowing what paths you’ve taken to stand here now.”

You felt yourself soften. Like you could finally exhale. Like maybe, just maybe, this moment wasn’t something heavy anymore. Just real. Just yours.

Vil rose from the stool and crossed the room, not reaching to touch until you nodded. Then his hand cradled the side of your neck not near the mark, but near your jaw, fingers warm and sure.

“You aren’t a product,” he whispered. “You are art. Living, healing, radiant art.”

You let your head fall against his shoulder, and he held you there, neither of you speaking for a while. The sun dipped low outside, casting long shadows over the floor and for once, those shadows felt safe.

No stage. No act. Just you.

And the one person who looked at your truth and called it beautiful.

Idia Shroud

You didn’t plan to say it. Not that day, not that way.

But it was late, the kind of late where the quiet of Idia’s room made your thoughts feel louder. Blue light casting slow shadows, and you were both sitting on the floor in the mess of blankets and pillows you'd built over weeks of sleepovers-turned-permanent.

He was rambling about something,patch notes, maybe, or a theory about a boss fight — when he glanced over and paused. “You're zoning out again,” he said gently. “Brain battery low?”

You smiled a little, tired. “Not really. Just… a lot on my mind.”

His posture curled in a little, cautious. “Uh… I mean, no pressure to info dump, but I am listening. If you want.”

You looked at him.You'd come to know his tells: the nervous tug at his sleeves, the shift in his voice when he was trying to hide how much he cared. And he did care. That was the whole reason you were ready to say something.

“I’ve never told anyone at NRC,” you said slowly, “but I think I want to tell you.”

The flicker of blue flame dimmed for a second as he straightened slightly. “Okay.”

You took a breath. “When I was younger, I was trafficked. For a long time.”

He didn't move. Didn’t flinch. Just stayed very, very still, flame softening in color.

“They treated me like I wasn’t a person,” you said. “Just something to be owned. Sold. Used.”

Idia’s expression twitch before trying to get his composure back.

“They branded me,” you added. “Here.”

You reached up slowly and pulled your collar aside, revealing the faint, barcode-like tattoo just at the curve of your neck. It had faded with time, but the shape was unmistakable. A mark made to strip you of identity.

He didn’t stare. Didn’t say a single word.

Just… reached out, hesitantly, like you were a rare artifact that deserved reverence not because you were fragile, but because you were important. He didn’t touch your neck, only let his fingers hover nearby, letting you guide him.

You smiled softly. “You can touch it.”

His fingertips brushed your skin, careful and warm despite the slight tremble. You could feel the heat of his presence more than anything else.

“I wanted you to know,” you said. “Not because I need fixing, or pity. Just… because I don’t want to hide from you anymore.”

For a long moment, there was only the hum of his computer fans and the quiet pulse of LED lights.

Then, in a voice quieter than you’d ever heard him use, Idia said, “That was real-life final boss level. What you survived. And you're still here. Still you.”

You laughed, and something wobbled in it. “Yeah.”

His voice broke a little as he added, “It makes sense now. Why you flinch at certain sounds. Why you always need to see the exit. Why you freeze when someone touches your neck without asking.”

You nodded. You’d always thought you were hiding it well. Of course he noticed.

“I’m so proud of you .” he said, and it wasn’t performative, wasn’t big,it was just honest.

Then he looked down at your neck again and added, “I hate that it happened to you. If I could backtrack time and delete the whole damn timeline, I would.”

You touched his hand, still resting near your neck. “I know. But I’m not broken. Just… healing.”

He smiled ,a rare, quiet smile. “Well, you’re way cooler than any character arc I’ve ever seen, just so you know. And if anyone tries to make you feel like less than you are… I will hack their soul. Figuratively. Unless-no, never mind. Figuratively.”

You laughed again, for real this time. “I believe you.”

You curled up beside him, forehead against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. Holding you like you were something precious, not fragile. Something meant to be protected not pitied.

That night, he didn’t say much else. Just stayed close. Quiet and warm and real.

And in that safe little pocket of the world, under flickering blue lights and piles of shared blankets, you felt like yourself, no longer a product, no longer hiding. Just you.

And for once, that was enough.

Malleus Draconia

It wasn’t planned.

You’d gone out walking with Malleus again, as you often did on nights when your thoughts wouldn’t settle. There was comfort in the quiet of the campus after dark, the flicker of fireflies, the distant rustle of trees and in the presence of the fae prince beside you. He never demanded conversation, never filled the silence with small talk. He let you exist beside him, gently curious but never invasive.

Tonight, though… your silence felt heavier.

And he noticed.

“You are quiet, child of man,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “Quieter than usual.”

You hesitated. “I’m thinking. But I guess that’s obvious.”

He smiled faintly. “You know I do not require explanations. Yet I welcome them, if you wish to offer.”

There was a pause. You looked up at the sky,a thousand stars watching silently. Malleus stood beside you, tall and still and waiting. You had always wondered how he made the world feel so slowed down, so breathable.

So you spoke.

“I was trafficked. When I was younger.”

There was no reaction of horror, no gasping intake of breath. Just stillness. The wind suddenly shifted stronger through the trees.

“For years,” you added, voice quieter. “I was passed around. Bought, sold. It wasn’t… violent all the time. But I was treated like an object. Like I didn’t have a voice or a will.”

“I see.” Malleus said quietly.You could've sens that he was trying to keep his cool but the shift in the air betrayed him.

You exhaled slowly. “They gave me a mark. A brand. Here.”

Your hand went to your neck, that spot you always kept covered, even in your sleep. “It looks like a barcode. Or a product label. Just something to keep me catalogued.”

“May I see it?” he asked, gently.

You nodded, and slowly pulled back your collar. The night air touched your skin as the mark was exposed,faint now, healed long ago, but still there. Still real.

He didn’t reach for it. Didn’t crowd you. Malleus only gazed at it, a furrow between his brows.

And then, after a long moment, he asked, “May I speak freely?”

You nodded again.

“I do not understand the cruelty of humankind,” he said, voice low and heavy. “To mark a soul as a possession… to reduce a living being to a commodity… it is beneath even the foulest of our kind.”

You smiled, a little bitter. “It took me a long time to believe I was more than that.”

“You are,” he said, with a certainty that startled you. “You are light forged from shadow. You have carved your own existence from the ruins left by others. That is power, (Y/N). And no brand can steal that.”

Your breath hitched.

Then, softly, you asked, “Do you think… they’ll ever see me as someone whole? Not just someone surviving?”

His eyes met yours, green glowing gently in the moonlight.

“They may not,” he said. “But I do.”

That was the thing with Malleus. He didn’t overpromise. He didn’t say it would all be okay, or that the pain would disappear. He offered something better: honesty, reverence, and unwavering presence.

“I am proud of you,” he added, voice almost a whisper. “Not as one might be proud of a soldier or a survivor but as one is proud of a star that endures through storm, refusing to be dimmed.”

You felt yourself shake, just a little. Not from fear but from the sudden release of tension, of years spent hiding and hoping to be seen.

He stepped closer,slowly, giving you time and cupped your cheek with the gentlest touch. His thumb didn’t brush the brand, didn’t touch it at all. It lingered near your temple, grounding you, letting you decide how close was safe.

“You do not have to hide any part of yourself from me,” he said. “Even the scars they left behind. I will not look away.”

You pressed your forehead to his chest, heart beating hard beneath your ribs. And for the first time in a long, long while… you believed you were more than the mark on your skin. You were not what they made you. Not anymore.

Malleus’s arms wrapped around you carefully, protectively, not to fix, but to shield.

And under the stars, you let yourself be held.

Whole.

English is not my first language !

[ahundredtimesover]

Something About You (02) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, talks of cheating (JK’s ex), minor injury (18+)

Word count: 9k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

Despite your busy schedule, the week flies by painfully slow. You’re thankful to Mo-eum for checking on you and accompanying you to dinner on some days. Otherwise, you wouldn’t get off your laptop screen and actually eat. With the questions given to you in advance, you’ve also been practicing your answers for the panel discussion.

To be able to share your research to a group of people who’ll find the value in it and understand what you and your team went through to get it done is a big deal to you. More than anything, you just want to be able to give justice to the stories of the community you worked with; you want to shed light on who they are and what they’re experiencing.

Saturday finally comes, and after you grab a quick lunch after a field visit, you head home and get your power suit on then wait for Jungkook to arrive.

He’s in high spirits when you enter the car. His students won yesterday’s round of the swim meet again and they’ll be going into regionals next Friday. You’re elated for him, as he gets to share something he loves for the young people he truly feels passionate about.

You know about Jungkook's youth being all about sports. He wanted to become a professional athlete and growing up, he played everything he could. He was a taekwondo black belter and he excelled in swimming and track and field. He thought he’d go to the National Sports University to become an Olympian, but something changed in his senior year of high school. 

One day he just decided he wanted to be a spectator of the sports he loves instead of being in the midst of it. The passion dwindled, he’d said. He was a late applicant to your university and took up Sports Science. He still enjoyed swimming so he joined the varsity team and won local competitions, but that was as far as he wanted to go. He eventually chose a teaching path over being a therapist in honor of his mother who’s also a teacher, and suddenly his desire to share his love for sports with kids like him just grew.

He talks about his students with such joy. It’s definitely different from the way you talk about your passion with such anger and intensity but like he’d said not long ago, you’re both changing lives anyway. Anger can do that. So can patience and commitment. 

You let him talk about his classes to calm yourself down, and you learn that it’s easy with him. You don’t spend time alone with Jungkook as much as you do with Jimin or Taehyung, and you’re finding his presence to be comforting. 

It’s mixed with teasing and nonsense talk and encouraging words. He makes fun of you one minute then tells you to stop biting your lips the next. He makes you play rock-paper-scissors and pinches your cheek when you lose, then goes to a drive-thru to get you a drink and a pastry, even if you insist there’ll be lots of food at the event. 

“I bet you’ll be too anxious to eat before you go on,” he shrugs. “Just get something in your stomach.”

So you agree and nibble on the tarts he buys. The 75-minute drive ends and he drops you off at the conference center. He says he’ll find a cafe or a park to hang out in and that he’ll just wait until you finish. 

You go through your panel discussion and engage in really good discourse with your peers. You feel that flutter in your chest the more you talk about your work and its importance in today’s social and political landscape. 

You stay there for four hours. It’s enough time to entertain other attendees who ask more about your research and to make new networks that’ll be beneficial to your research teams moving forward. You only intended to stay a while so you message Jungkook and let him know you’re ready to go. 

It’s 6:30 PM when he picks you up, and you breathe out a long exhale both in relief and in exhaustion.

“I’m sure you did well. You can take a nap if you want. All the talking and worrying must’ve drained you,” he says.

“It did,” you yawn. “Choose whatever restaurant you want. Just wake me up when we get there.”

Jungkook nods and watches you immediately fall asleep, with your arms reflexively crossing against your chest, as if you’re hugging yourself. You rarely snore loudly but you do this time; it tells him just how tired you really are. He records it for future use, but he can’t help but look at you fondly at how much you give yourself to the things you do.

You’re deep in dreamland when you suddenly feel tapping on your head, then your nose, then a pinch on your cheek. An annoying sing-song voice urges you to wake up. 

You curse under your breath. 

“Is that how you thank your chauffeur?” Jungkook laughs. “Wipe your crusty eyes. We’re here.”

You wake up to find yourself outside a Japanese hotpot place that you remember him talking about last week. You’re surprised he didn’t choose something more expensive, as Jimin and Taehyung tend to take advantage of you paying when you treat them out, but you suppose Jungkook is different in that sense.

“This is dinner,” he says. “There’s a dessert place not far from here.”

“Do I treat you there, too?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Yup. A meal isn’t complete without dessert.”

He flashes you his cheeky, bunny smile.

Never mind. They’re all the same, you think to yourself.

“Fine. That place better be good.”

As you expected, both are insanely delicious. Jungkook’s a foodie and you knew that he wouldn’t waste this free meal for something he’s not sure he’d like. 

He took charge of the hotpot earlier. You don’t recall your bowl being empty and that’s another thing you’re not surprised about him. He likes making sure other people enjoy their food just as much as he enjoys eating.

Your conversations during dinner about your respective weeks continue over dessert. 

His mornings are packed with PE classes for middle and high school kids. In the afternoons, he coaches the swim and track teams on alternate days. In between all of that, he organizes sporting events, facilitates intra-school competitions, makes sure the gyms are well-maintained, and occasionally deals with students with behavioral issues because he’s apparently good at managing them, and they seem to trust him, too. 

He crashes when he gets home, wakes up in time to prepare his dinner, goes back to sleep, then does it all over again the next day. Weekends are really his only time to do things for himself - swim in the community pool, play his video games, or go to the gym. 

“Sorry I hijacked your one other day of leisure and rest,” you sigh, as you finish the last of the black sesame cheesecake. 

“Nah, all good. It was nice to go out for a drive. It’s relaxing for me,” he explains. “Except for when my passenger spends the entirety of it snoring but that’s fine, too.”

You kick his shin in response and he’s used to your violence by now. He barely feels anything anyway. 

“But really, thank you, Kook.”

“Friends do nice things for each other,” he smiles. “Plus, I’m sure there have been times over the years when I wasn’t there for you when I should have been.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, maybe after your breakups or when you were getting burnout from your other job,” he shrugs. “Maybe even recently when you were so stressed with work.”

It’s a thought he had this past week, as your conversations last weekend triggered memories of your friendship. You’re a constant, as all his other friends are, but you always existed as part of the whole. 

Within your smaller group, you’re the one he’s spent the least time with the most. He and Jimin have been friends since middle school and shared an apartment during university, which Taehyung crashed everyday. He and Mo-eum had a few classes together and he often asked her to teach him First Aid and other things to do during an emergency.    

You were always busy and when you weren’t, he was. He knows the struggles you went through personally and professionally, but somehow hearing you talk about them at this point in your lives made you seem a little unfamiliar to him even if he was already used to you. It’s as if he’s experiencing you and your friendship on its own for the first time, and that’s made him think that perhaps he should’ve been a better friend to you.

“Kook, we were both going through breakups at the same time,” you remind him. “I never expected you to deal with my shit when you were dealing with your own. Plus, you’re literally the one with the stressful job. You deal with kids, parents, other teachers… that’s a lot to handle. We’ve been there for each other every time we could.”

“I guess,” he smiles, appreciative of the assurance.

“For all I know, there have been times when I also haven’t been there for you when I should’ve been,” you point out. 

Come to think of it, there may have been instances when you were too caught up in your own issues to even ask him if he was doing okay.

“Remember the party the night after our graduation?” He asks, softening at the memory. “You kept dancing around me and I remember thinking you were just drunk and being a weirdo but I found out later on that Joo-yun was there and you were trying to make sure that she didn’t see me.”

“Yeah because if she did, she would’ve tried to talk to you and you said you were done with her shit. Keeping her away from all of us was the sane thing to do. I was scared they’d take back my diploma if I pulled her hair because I really wanted to do that,” you frown, remembering how that bitter woman was trying to look for him and you wanted to make sure that Jungkook didn’t have to deal with her again.

“And that last night at your apartment when I told everyone about Si-an…” He continues. “I was drunk but I clearly remember hearing you hatch a plan to go to her apartment and egg her car.”

You both burst into laughter. Twenty-five year old you was  kind of a bitch.

“It was supposed to be her face but I didn’t want to get sued. That’s her money-maker after all,” you explain. “But you know me, Kook. I get angry a lot.”

“I know. And it’s not always a bad thing,” he says. 

“Well, whatever happened or didn’t happen during those times, what matters is that we get to do good friend things for each other this time, right?” You smile. “Although you’ve been doing more of that recently with the driving and all.”

“Hey, you helped me with the research I needed for the youth wellbeing plan that the school asked me to do not long ago.”

“That just took me like, an hour,” you shrug.

He playfull rolls his eyes. He knows you put effort on that regardless. 

But you accept his thanks and assure him that he can always go to you for help in that area.

You finish the last of your drinks and dessert and Jungkook drives you home. 

Your night ends with the relief of the hot shower and your cozy bed.

His night ends with the warmth of the rare hug you give him and the sting of your pinch of his cheek.

It's next Friday when you find a chance to be there for Jungkook this time. Although you doubt he needs you, you think that showing your support would do good for team morale.

You’d just finished an offsite meeting and rushed to the school that you heard the swimming competition will take place. Jungkook’s students made it to the next round after last week’s win, and placing today would mean they’ll have a chance to compete in the nationals. 

You make your way to the bleachers and spot him huddling the kids and giving an impassioned pep talk. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him and it’s nice to witness the often quiet, sometimes cheeky boy you know show this much emotion and intensity.

He finally looks up and spots you, waving eagerly at him in your corporate attire and looking a bit out of place, but somehow you fit right in. He smiles as he waves back and points to one of his kids taking position. 

You cheer for each one and even get the crowd to yell louder when Jungkook’s team places in a race. You’re not really sure how this goes but his students have been performing well and you just keep hollering to encourage them.

Jungkook laughs from where he stands on the bench, even more so when he overhears one of his students remark that he didn’t know they had fans.

“Do we know her?” Another one asks as he gestures towards you.

“I do,” Jungkook hums. “She’s a friend.”

“You’re not even competing,” another one comments.

“Well, she’s cheering for me. And I’m part of your team so that means she’s cheering for you, too,” Jungkook smiles now. 

His students look at you and wave, and you excitedly wave back. Your cheers seem to pump them up, as they all place, earning the team enough points to advance to the next round. 

You meet them after awarding and introduce yourself as the loud auntie. 

“We were surprised because no one ever cheers that loud for us,” one of the kids says. “But Coach said you’re his friend and you’re cheering for him which means you’re cheering for us, too.”

“Well, Coach Jeon cares about all of you and he’s my friend which means I care about you guys as well,” you smile. “But you all did really great out there. I’m sure you’ll do amazing next week.”

“Will you be there again?” One of them asks.

“I will,” you say. “Maybe a few of our other friends, too.”

They look excited and promise that they’ll train even harder. You bid them goodbye and walk with Jungkook to his car, reminding him that you still don’t have yours. It prompts him to tease that you probably only came today so he could drive you home.

“I can find my way, excuse you,” you stick out your tongue. “But a ride wouldn’t be bad.”

“Why did you come, anyway?”

“My meeting ended early. Plus, you were talking about how excited your students were,” you respond. “You did a lot to improve the school’s swimming program and you’re literally their coach, their biggest cheerleader. You need one, too. And that’s me.”

“Thanks,” he hums, flashing you his dimpled smile this time. “That’s actually pretty sweet.”

“Good friend things,” you remind him. 

“So you’re really watching again next week?”

“Yeah! My schedule seems fine. Plus, the crowd’s really interesting,” you say. “I was talking to the women who were there for their sons and brothers from the other teams and they were gushing about the young Coach of the other school who was really handsome.”

“Oh, really? And did you agree?”

“Hmm, I said he was alright,” you shrug.

Jungkook laughs and accepts the honesty. He turns on the engine and turns to you.

“So, where to?”

“This barbecue place,” you say. “Jimin and Tae are meeting us there and Mo-eum will follow after her shift. So let’s go. We’re celebrating you tonight.”

Jungkook’s team was a few points away from placing in the nationals but none of the students, as well as him, was any bit disappointed. They worked hard and went as far as they could; even they didn’t expect to make it all the way here. 

But Jungkook did. Despite his own concerns about stepping up at the start of the year after the head coach took an emergency leave, he knew the potential of his students. They did the sport for fun, but he saw how they committed themselves to it, how they disciplined themselves, and how they trusted and encouraged each other. 

That final competition was a memorable one, especially as he had all of his friends supporting his students who received the loudest cheers from the audience. You managed to get everyone to attend on a Friday afternoon, and when Jungkook thanked you for showing up when you didn’t have to, you teased him by saying that you “did it for the kids.”

The soft smile you gave told him that was only partly true.

That night ended with dinner and drinks with everyone and an unspoken promise between the two of you that you’ll try to be there for each other more this time around. 

That was two weeks ago and he’s hung out with you three times since then. He clocked out later than usual one Wednesday and randomly texted you, and you both ended up having dinner at a noodle house. 

The Saturday after that, you all went to Taehyung’s apartment. You fell asleep, woke up at 2AM, and found Jungkook was still there because your friend insisted that he take you home. 

A few days later, you were craving kebabs and messaged Jungkook, who was always good at finding the best restaurants and food stalls. So you went to one in another neighborhood and stayed until closing.

It’s another Friday night and you, Jungkook, Jimin, and Mo-eum decided to indulge Taehyung and go to this Club to relive your early twenties when you all used to do this almost every week. 

Once you enter, you’re hit with the reality that you are definitely no longer built the same way, as the dress with the heels ensemble doesn't feel that bearable anymore. The crowd is at least around your age, and the place is a lot more sophisticated than you’re used to. The music has more of a chill vibe, and not the EDM sound that nowadays gives you headaches. 

You’d much rather be elsewhere but you spend some of your nights like this because you want to be with your friends and tonight, at least three of them want to let loose and have fun. 

Taehyung is socializing like always while Jimin and Mo-eum are dancing and taking shots on the dance floor. You were doing that earlier, too, but your legs started giving in and you asked Jungkook to not leave you at the cocktail table so you don’t look like a complete loser, hanging out by yourself. 

“Not your ideal Friday night anymore, huh?” Jungkook whispers in your ear over the music. “You look so done with everything.”

“My feet hurt,” you pout. “I wanna drink some more but it’s so loud and so… busy. So many things are happening.”

“We can always–”

“Jungkook?”

It takes a while for the voice to register. It’s been years and it’s something he’s tried hard to forget but once he places it, the mixed feeling of anger and sadness comes rushing in. There are many things he never got to tell her, mostly because everything was so sudden and he just tried to bury it all in hopes of never having to deal with them again. 

But the universe fucks with him sometimes and tonight just happens to be the night when it does.

“Uh, Si-an…” he finally says, the sound of her name tasting bitter off his lips. “Hey.”

“It’s so good to see you,” she says, eyeing him up and down. “It’s been so long! I saw you from the bar and thought you looked familiar and wow, you’ve… you’ve changed a lot. In a good way, of course. It’s so weird because I was thinking about you the other day and I was wondering how you were doing. I wanted to message you and ask—”

“Seriously?”

You wish your tone expressed how pathetic you think she sounds right now and her incredulous face tells you it probably did.

“Oh, you’re here,” she glares at you, her eyes looking offended at your mere presence. “And so are your friends,” she grudgingly says after looking around the Club.

“Is that a problem?” You ask, crossing your arms and moving closer to eye her up and down.

“Let’s just say… you’re not exactly the most pleasant people out there,” she replies.

“Aww, well. We tend to be like that to snakes and shitty people,” you sneer. “And don’t worry, we think the same way about you. Kinda surprised you even have the nerve to walk up here and talk to him after everything you did but then again, I guess being pathetic knows no limits.”

You can tell this provoked her, as her already irritated face distorts into anger but you’re unsure what else she has to say. She’s the one who messed up in the first place.

“Look, you may be friends with Jungkook but you don’t know me to be making claims like that. Whatever—”

“I know you enough. That shit you did says everything about you,” you interject, feeling your blood boiling to a high degree by now with how she thinks she even has a defense. Like she even has the right.

You feel like you’ve really pushed her buttons, as she rolls her eyes and flips her hair as if she’s someone important and you’re not even worth her time. You know she’s about to say something completely stupid and you telepathically apologize to Jungkook for the person you’ll become once that happens.

“You have no right to talk about my relationship with Jungkook,” she bites back. “We had our issues but we loved each other. Things happen and people make mistakes. He was busy and I needed—”

“Oh. Don’t even go there. You know what you did, Si-an,” you warn, your voice getting louder and more pointed now. “Don’t you dare trivialize or justify it. That was all on you so don’t come around here and act like you actually care.”

“You’re the one who seems to be caring too much!” She chides. “Why? You want to impress him by humiliating me? By showing him you can do better? Is that what you’re trying to prove?”

You shake your head in disbelief. You’ve dealt with people like this - the ones who deflect, the ones who can’t deal with the consequences of their actions, and those who think they can just get away with shitty behavior because of who they are. And well, you’ve got to admit she’s still as pretty as she was and she knows it; she’s not a model for no reason.

But still, you can’t stand her accusing you of stupid shit and taking everything she did to your friend this lightly.

“You know what? I actually feel sorry for you,” you sigh. “You finally get to date a good guy for once and then you mess it all up. Jungkook’s one of the nicest people in this messed up world and you know this, but you treated him like crap because you think you could and then get away with it. And now what, a couple of douchebags later you realize what you let go of and you regret it all? You get what you deserve. And you stopped deserving him the moment you betrayed him so cut the crap. No one’s falling for your shit this time.”

You’re panting by the time you finish, as the pent up anger from all these years reaches its boiling point. They may have dated for only a year but you knew Jungkook cared a lot about her. Even if she clung to him like glue whenever he brought her along, you respected their relationship enough to not meddle, although you knew that Jimin and Taehyung had hinted how uncomfortably clingy she was. 

He seemed content. And then she cheated, and that was just inexcusable. 

You remember how sullen Jungkook looked when he announced the breakup, and how he couldn’t properly narrate how he found out. You always thought it affected him so much that he never really talked about her in the three years since then, except when you were at the cabin not long ago. And even then, it wasn’t really much. You can’t imagine what it’s like to be betrayed like that, and for a tender-hearted man like him, you suppose it hits that much harder. 

And so knowing how he’s kept it all in and then seeing her act like what she did was worthy of forgiveness or even another chance, it makes you sick. You’re not about to just stand around and watch her trivialize what she did, so you gave her a piece of your mind, which you think is quite overdue. 

Si-an looks truly offended; she can’t even look in your direction.

“I don’t have to deal with you,” she manages to say, annoyance laced in her voice. 

“Good, because we’re just about to leave,” you say. 

You turn towards the left where the exit door is, not wanting to be anywhere near her, either. But then she speaks again.

“Jungkook, I meant what I said that I’ve been wondering how you are. There’s so much I want to say and I was hoping we could talk.”

Your gaze stays on him, wondering what he’ll do this time. You know he has self-respect that he won’t bend to her will and give her a chance to say whatever she thinks still needs to be said, but your heart still stops at the possibility of him still doing that.

“It’s too late for that, Si-an,” he utters. “I don’t really have anything to say to you. Have a good life.”

Then he grabs his coat hanging over the chair and walks towards you.

“Let’s go,” he gestures towards the door. “Kinda don’t wanna be here anymore.”

You grab onto his wrist to not lose him in the crowd and manage to get down to the lobby of the building unscathed. It’s nearing 12 AM and the Club is just about to get more full, and you know Jungkook enough that he won’t want to be around people after what happened. 

Getting out on the street, you spot a convenience store. He looks a little dazed and you think a different environment is good for both of you at this moment.

“I’ll just buy a bottle of water over there. Is it okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, sure,” he responds, walking to the dangerous side of the sidewalk next to you.

It’s just a block away but you’re reminded of how painful your feet are, now that the adrenaline has waned a bit. He notices and holds your arm for support. You mumble your thanks and sit on the first stool you see and sigh in relief.

He chuckles as he looks at you.

“I’ll get the water,” he says before heading inside.

He returns with two bottles of them, ice cold, and sits across from you. You watch as his eyes flick from one side of the street to another and sip his drink. You’re unsure what’s going on in his mind but yours are flashbacks of what happened just minutes ago and how you lost your cool and called out his ex-girlfriend. Which you now realize you maybe shouldn’t have done.

“I’m so sorry,  Kook,” you finally say, covering your face and bowing your head. 

“For what?” He asks.

“For crossing a line and saying all those things to her.”

“You mean, for telling her all the things I wish I should have?” He replies, prompting you to look up and see his soft smile. 

“When all of that happened, I felt like there was nothing more to say to her,” he says after a beat of silence. “But seeing her again, knowing she wanted to talk now? Maybe there was something to be said, and I kinda just froze and you swept in and said all of that, much more eloquently than I probably would’ve been able to,” he hums. “So thanks, ___. I felt a big load off my chest because of that.”

“That’s a relief,” you sigh. “I couldn’t stand her acting all apologetic and risk her rekindling things with you. But do you believe her? About wanting to talk to you?”

“Somewhat,” he nods. “I blocked her number and unfollowed her everywhere on social media but she was trying to send a message on Instagram the other day so maybe she was honest about that.”

“And you’re not curious about what she wants to tell you?” You wonder.

“Nope. I caught up with a friend who still sees her posts and he said she’s had a couple of boyfriends since the breakup so what you said about reaching out to me a couple of douchebags later… that seemed accurate. I wouldn’t have thought of it that way.”

“Oh wow. I mean, I just made that up but I wouldn’t put it past her to be like that,” you shake your head. “She really might be trying to get you back, then.”

“Her boyfriends before me didn’t really treat her well, so maybe it’s the same this time.”

You know enough that in many cases, that pattern of relationships is rooted in some kind of pain. And you feel a tiny bit bad for Si-an if that’s the case. Jungkook might’ve been really the only one who ever treated her right.

“It’s not your responsibility anymore. You don’t have to deal with whatever she has going on, whatever it is,” you advise. 

“I don't want to anyway. What she did… that changes a person,” he sighs. “It’s not an easy thing to get over.”

He sees your somber face and thinks that with you seeing him like this, he might as well tell you everything.

“The night I caught her with that guy, she got emotional. She’d been drinking and it was her defense but it also made her more honest,” he continues. “That… that wasn’t the first time.”

“What the f—” you start, although you doubt any other curse word would suffice. 

“So yeah, that’s why it was hard to talk about and why I just wanted to forget about it. A part of me wanted to know why she did that. One time was something but more than once? That’s messed up.”

“You know, maybe I was too nice,” you groan. You remove your shoes and attempt to get up. “Let me go back and smack her f—”

He puts his arm in front of you to stop you and laughs. 

“It’s okay, ___. She got the message. She doesn’t deserve our time.”

“Ugh. I should’ve egged her face when I had the chance,” you growl.

He just laughs again and you’re glad it’s a sound you get to hear now. You look at him and see perhaps just a fraction of the pain underneath and hope you could do something to ease whatever is remaining. 

“So, I doubt you wanna get back in there. What if we buy something to drink here and get back to my place? Not unless you want to be alone or something…”

“Definitely not,” he says. “Your place is fine.”

“Alright, let me just tell Tae.”

You call your friend while you and Jungkook enter the convenience store to get some beer and something else a little stronger. Taehyung says that Jimin and Mo-eum are still enjoying themselves and that some of his friends have just arrived. 

“We saw Si-an,” you explain. 

“What! That witch is here?” He exclaims. 

“Yes. And I went off on her so she probably expects you’d do the same. I won’t be surprised if she’s left after that though,” you say. “But Kook and I will just hang out at my place.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Mr. Yang to drive you home.”

“Great. Thanks, Tae. Let me know when the three of you get home.”

“Will do. Hug Kook for me, yeah? He secretly likes those.”

“I will,” you smile, just as Jungkook checks out your purchases. 

You drop the call and inform Taehyung’s chauffeur where you are. 

It’s quiet in the car the whole ride home. You leave Jungkook to his thoughts, knowing that he prefers a bit of time for himself to process things. 

You arrive at your apartment, grab your drinks, and head to your small balcony. It’s quite chilly outside so you take your blankets with you and sit next to Jungkook. With cans of beer and a nice bottle of whiskey - that you take shots of while he drinks it on the rocks - you watch the moon sit prettily on the sky and think it’s not a bad way to end an unpleasant evening.

It’s quiet again for the first few minutes as you both settle in, and it’s Jungkook who speaks first.

“Thanks again, ___,” he says. “And not just for standing up for me but also for saying those things about me.”

“And I meant them. You’re a great guy, Kook, but she stuffed it up so sucks for her because someone else gets to have you now, or whenever. Let’s hope she’s a good one,” you smile. “But also, I’ve literally fought so many of our friends’ exes. That’s kinda my thing. Not that I’m proud of it but you know… I’m the back up when you guys can’t say what you want to say.”

“That’s true. There are those like us who find it hard and—”

“People like me who find it easy to get angry?” You finish. 

“I meant people who can find the words to say and actually say them like you,” he corrects. “Plus, I told you that anger is good sometimes. You’ve always stood up for us and we always appreciate it.”

“Well thank you. The times I did that for myself, it led to my relationships ending,” you bitterly laugh. “But I guess they were bound to.”

“Is that how you look at it? That they ended because you stood up for yourself?”

“I think it changes, depending on where I’m at in life,” you say. “I mean, isn’t that a normal thing? A defense mechanism of some sort? We shift the blame? Or chalk it up to immaturity or inexperience? Or think the relationship just ran its course?”

“What is it this time?”

“Lately I’ve been thinking it’s all of that, all at once. It’s me standing up to them but also probably me being too much, or too impatient. Maybe I had high expectations or I deserved better or maybe we weren’t a good match. Maybe I just wasn’t the right person for them, or for myself, at that time.”

“Hmm,” he hums, sipping his second glass of whiskey. 

He seems to be in deep thought, as he sinks a little deeper into his seat. You let him, as you let your own words linger in your mind. 

How would you know if you’re the right person entering a relationship? How would you know if the other is?  Or better yet, is it about being or becoming the right person? How do both of you get to that point without losing the person that you are?

“I was just wondering if there’s anything I should’ve done differently,” Jungkook says after some time. “So many times before, I kept asking myself if it was a moment or an action I did that made Si-an decide to just… do that.”

“Yah!” You nudge his knee then turn towards him. 

You’re two bottles of beer and three shots down and he’s a little distorted in your eyes but you still see the hint of sadness on his face. 

“Do not for a second think any of that was your fault. She did that. She made that decision,” you exclaim.

“I know, but what if I made it easy? I would pick her up from a shoot at dawn; sometimes I’d drive out of town just to see her for two hours,” he shares. “I was always around for her and maybe she saw me as expendable or too available and so someone she could treat badly and expect would forgive her. But then again, she was always clingy when we were around in public and I wasn’t because I wasn’t like that so maybe I should’ve been the same?”

“Kook, you wanted to be where she was because you liked her; that’s not being too available and that’s not a bad thing. And she just had this complex, okay? Like, she needs people to see she’s wanted,” you explain. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have taken you for granted. Whether you were busy or not around, that’s no reason to do what she did; she’d be loyal either way if she was a good person. And she wasn’t.”

“I guess,” he sighs, unconvincingly.

Wanting to make a point, you turn to him and cup his cheeks with your hands.

“Kook, look at me.”

“I am. And you look like a tomato.”

“Shush, I turn puffy when I’m mad and drunk,” you pout, but you continue.

“You are a great guy, okay? And you care about people. You treat your friends so well so I just know you treat your partners amazingly. You may not be perfect but your exes messed up. And I’m not just saying this because I’m your friend but because I can see it. Don’t ever think that you have to change or dim your shine or be less nice or more clingy to be wanted enough. Because the right person will want you regardless.”

Jungkook meets your eyes to let you know that he’s listening to what you’re saying, and that he’ll keep them in mind for the next time and next person, whenever or whoever that might be. He also wishes you can hear yourself and that you’ll take that to heart, too. You’re all kinds of great things; he just doesn’t know how to express that to you.

“Okay,” he smiles at you.

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay,” he chuckles.

You remove your hands from his face and turn your gaze back to the view before you. You lean your head on his shoulder and he shifts his body to make you feel comfortable. 

“We’re good people, Kook. We’ll find other good people meant for us, too.”

It’s a good thought, as the person who’s right or could become right for him is just out there in the world, going about their life, and completely clueless that the right person for them is out here, just waiting to find them.

It’s 3 AM by the time you and Jungkook decide to call it a night. It felt so long with everything that happened in the Club. You just spent the past few hours finishing some cans of beer and ¾ of the whiskey while talking about random things like your college days and books you’ve read and weird food you want to try and your non-generic fears.

You were close to tears due to laughter for half of it. Jungkook has this charming, playful sense of humor that’s different from what you’re used to with Jimin and Taehyung and it felt comfortable being able to experience him that way. 

You usually spend time with him within a group and these past few weeks of hanging out with just him has been nice. He’s thoughtful and attentive, holding your arm before you fall off your chair and making sure you don’t hit your head on the wall since you keep leaning back when you laugh. He plays along with your jokes and teases you constantly. He also has a quiet wisdom about him that’s very assuring.

To Jungkook, you’ve always been a fiery individual. You’re constantly moving, thinking, and talking. You have this burning passion for good things and you’re not afraid to speak out about them.

You work with many types of individuals and your energy and how you present yourself changes with each set of people. Within your friend group, everyone looks after you. They give you the hugs you always seek and make sure you’re fed and well taken care of.

Spending this much time with just you these past weeks has given him a deeper look into who you are outside of all that, which is all of those versions of you all at once. It’s quite the experience, as you go from angry to pouty to unhinged to sentimental then introspective in one sitting. 

And it’s entertaining for him. And exciting. Somehow it’s very reassuring. Especially earlier when you defended him to his ex and said all those good things about him. 

He didn’t realize it right away but his heart did a thing then. He’s not really sure why and where it came from, but it happened several times the rest of the night at your balcony when you cupped his face and looked in his eyes and every time you leaned on his shoulder. 

It’s doing it again now, with you softly looking at him - despite the glassy eyes - standing by the couch as you tell him to just spend the night. 

“I’ll fix the sofa bed while you shower. I have some of Jimin’s clothes here that you can use.”

“Okay,” he responds. 

“Oh, and one last thing,” you say, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close in an embrace.

“Tae told me to hug you,” you whisper.

Jungkook chuckles and he takes it. But you sigh and rest your chin against his shoulder then there goes his heart again. He flattens his palms on your back and pulls you in a little tighter. 

It lasts for a few seconds before you pull away, pinch his cheeks as you like to do, and gesture towards the bathroom.

“Toothbrush on the first drawer and towel on the second,” you say. 

“Got it. Thanks.”

You pull the levers on the couch to convert it into a bed then put sheets and pillows over it. You put away all your beer cans and turn on the humidifier. 

You get in the shower after he does and then find him still sitting on the bed when you finish. 

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow,” you say while combing your hair. “I’m sure I’ll feel all this alcohol and sore feet all morning.”

“Sure thing. Good night, ___.”

“You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. I already am.”

Jungkook stays up for another hour just staring at your ceiling. There’s nothing particularly interesting about it but it connects him to where you are, just behind the half wall that separates your bed space from the rest of the apartment. 

You’re probably in deep sleep and he hopes it’s a good one. You’d spent much of the night filled with emotions related to him, from the anger over what Si-an said to the heartbreak over what he experienced. At the end of it was the assurance and shared hope over the good that you both deserve and the love you'll one day find.

The tenderness of your smile and the warmth of your embrace linger after all that. Even more concerning, at least for him, was the rapid beating of his heart whenever he saw your lips turn up or when you’d try to cheer him up or when you’d move closer to him. 

He acted unaffected, as if everything was natural. But the thing is - it is. You’re naturally like this. You’re emotional and encouraging, passionate and hopeful. You’ve called out your friends’ exes before, which always left them stunned and speechless. You’ve had hundreds of pep talks that Jungkook had been the receiver of or witnessed. 

And you’re affectionate, endearingly so. You have this fondness for all your friends, which they all return with the way they take care of you. You like to hug and cuddle and cling to people and it’s never meant anything more - not to you and as far as he knows, not to your other friends. 

But tonight, it felt different. It felt confusing. It also felt good, like something he wants to feel again. And maybe he will, as the thought of spending the next day with you invades his mind. 

He finally falls asleep after doing the trick he taught you not long ago, where he tenses his muscles then relaxes them. It’s the next morning when a loud thump from nearby wakes him up from sleep. 

He turns around, as he’d cocooned himself to one of the pillows, then finds you standing by the sofa bed, grimacing in pain. He sits up and rubs his eyes. 

“What happened to you?” He grunts.

“I was gonna wake you up but I stubbed my toe on the foot of the couch,” you frown. “It hurts.”

“Show me,” he instructs, scooting to the side so you could sit down and stretch your leg. “You’re such a child sometimes,” he teases. 

You playfully smile then remove your sleeping socks and wiggle your toes but wince again in pain when you do.

Jungkook assesses it and decides it’s nothing to be concerned about.

“It’s just bruised. It'll heal soon but just put ice on it for relief,” he says.

You nod and watch him stand to get your cold pack in the freezer. You place it on your toe while he washes up in your bathroom and you already feel better. He comes back out and you say you just ordered hangover soup for the both of you.

“Do you have coffee?”

“Yes, Kook. It’s the one thing I actually have,” you giggle, given that your non-cook ass doesn’t have anything else.

You usually just get your meals delivered. Your mom also occasionally sends containers of food to heat up and Mo-eum and Hayoung sometimes come to your apartment just to cook. It sounds pathetic, you know, which is why you bought yourself an air fryer to make you feel a little less helpless. 

You just put something in, turn a knob, then wait. You’ve only used it a few times but still, it doesn’t make you one of those people with staple ingredients in their pantries. It’s something your friends often tease you about.

Jungkook pulls out two drip coffee sachets from the jar and you limp towards the balcony. It’s 1PM - you really slept through to midday - and the autumn sky is beautiful today. It’s also quite chilly, but it’s the perfect weather to enjoy your hot coffee outdoors.

Jungkook arrives with your mugs and the teapot and gradually pours the water over. You sit in silence as you wait for the drink to be ready. You’re still slowly waking up and he seems to still be in that post-sleep daze. 

He hands you your coffee and you hum in satisfaction after your first sip.

“Hmm. Reminds me of the second morning in Chungbuk,” you hum.

Jungkook smiles. You were surprisingly the first two people from your cabin who were awake that time and you spent almost an hour just talking on the picnic table outside. There was chaos in both your minds but it was calm all around. He remembers that day fondly. 

“Tae messaged and wants to know what happened,” you inform him. “He said we’ll all have dinner tonight at his favorite Chinese restaurant. We can just chill and then I’ll drive us there. I can drive you home, for a change.”

A tiny smile forms on Jungkook’s face. 

“Sounds good.”

You eat your hangover soup on your tiny dining table, then you spend the rest of the short afternoon on your couch while watching random shows on TV. You talk and laugh then sit in silence, then talk and laugh again. 

It’s Jungkook and he’s used to your fluctuating energy by now. You’ve been friends for over 10 years and he knows how you are - blabbering one minute then zoning out the next. You never felt like you had to be a certain version of yourself around him. You go from berating and teasing him to asking him to take care of you. 

It’s how you are with all your friends though. It’s why your friendship has lasted this long. It’s also why you think you’re able to just comfortably sit next to him with your messy hair and raggedy pajama pants and whine about your toe. 

He just laughs and takes it all in. He doesn’t complain about you nor does he make you feel bad about anything you do. Just like all your friends, he’s supportive and dependable, and you suppose it’s what you’ll always need.

It’s 6:30 PM by the time you’re driving out of the basement parking lot to the restaurant, with you insisting that stepping on the gas doesn’t cause any pain on your toe. You arrive and are led to one of those private rooms because with your big group, it’s just always better to have your own space where you could be loud without much care for your surroundings. 

You sit next to Hoseok, who babies you about your little injury because he truly is the most doting one out of all your friends, and to Mo-eum, who engages you in side conversations because there’s always something for you to ramble about. 

You let Jungkook talk about last night. He mentions Si-an’s Instagram message and narrates the things she said, then he repeats the things that you said, almost in verbatim. You stop yourself from exploding at the memory of your exchange with her but it seems that your friends are making up for your hesitation, as a few of them curse and shake their heads in response.

He leaves out the part about Si-an cheating on him more than once, and you suppose it’s not a story he intends to share with others. He was vulnerable with you last night, so when he assures your friends that the past is something he’s already come to terms with and that he’s truly moved on, you send him a soft smile. 

Jungkook’s heart does that thing again, and like the trained teacher that he is, he knows how to keep his emotions in check and not show them on his face. 

He can’t help it though, not when he’s reminded of last night, especially with how you seemed affected again with just his narration. You were groaning under your breath earlier, clenching your fist, and pinching the corners of your eyes. 

But like you always are, at the end of that rage is a kind of gentleness that he used to take for granted. Now, it’s what he looks forward to, whether it’s a smile or a lean on his shoulder or a pinch of his cheek. 

The conversations continue around him but he finds himself still being drawn to you. He hopes the way he looks at you is as natural as it always had been; he hopes the effect of the leaping of his heart isn’t that obvious, either. 

There’s a moment when concern creeps in, as he tries to make sense of what he suddenly feels, as if he just woke up one day and started feeling differently. He knows it’s too soon to act on it, though, especially with him still trying to figure it all out. He doesn’t want to risk anything, especially if it’ll cost him your friendship.

He tries to rationalize it. Perhaps he might just be reacting to how you’d been protective of him and it’ll pass. It could also be just a harmless crush or a fleeting one. He might also still be hungover. Or maybe it’s a result of how much time you’ve been spending together since your trip to Chungbuk, which hasn’t happened for a while, so maybe spending less time with you will return things to normal. 

He decides that not making too much effort to be around you will help stabilize himself and his stubborn heart. That is, until Taehyung makes an announcement, which apparently is the reason why he asked for this dinner.

“So… I got the call earlier,” he starts, looking around at everyone’s expectant faces. “I got the role on Broadway. I’m heading to New York!”

The room erupts in excitement and Taehyung sports that proud and appreciative boxy smiley of his while he gets hugs and high-fives.

“There’s been a delay with production but I’m one of the first casts. They wanted to lock me in right away because they know I’m eyeing another show,” he explains. “But I fly in May and the shows start in October. I’m so excited.”

“Oh, our Tae,” Hayoung says. “We’re so proud of you! We’re definitely flying out to watch.”

“Yes! It’ll run for a couple of months so there’s time,” he nods. “But since I’ll be leaving again and the holidays are coming up soon, I was thinking of going on a trip.”

“To where?” Several of you ask. 

“Hmm, any suggestions?” He asks back.

“Let’s go to Sapporo!” Jimin chirps.

It’s a place you’ve all talked about going to before, especially after your trip to Tokyo some time ago, so it’s not hard to convince everyone to agree. The planning begins and you all decide on a mid-December trip so it’s the school holidays and the rest can take their leaves. Some are checking out hotels while the others are searching up what to eat and where to stay.

Jungkook tries to process all the different conversations happening all at once but his mind goes back to his thoughts from earlier. So much for trying to spend less time with you. Now he’s thinking of those few days - snow, food, warmth… and you. 

And if he’s being honest, he can’t wait for December to come.

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