a lesson on style - vi . [ ljn | njm ]
pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv., pt. v, pt. vi
you’ve always been content with being associated with one word and one word only: average. average in looks, academics and social skills, you’re just looking to graduate high school without causing disasters you’ll have to live with until you kick the bucket. when you’re paired with school king lee jeno for the semester-long physics thesis, you can’t help but think the entire situation has pretty much set itself up for failure. that is, until you strike a deal with your partner.
alternatively: an au tale involving lessons in popularity, eleven consecutive B minuses, a secretly sensitive, chess-loving jock, and an amateur sex tape.
pairing: jeno x fem!reader, jaemin x fem!reader
verse: high school au { jocks!nomin ft. a super cute whiny ap physics genius renjun }
rating: M
chapter warnings: none
word count: 8.1k
author’s note: this was actually supposed to go on for a lot longer but... it might've reached a solid 13-15k and i just thought it would be better to split it into half-ish, so nothing major happens, although i definitely enjoyed yet another mc/jaemin real talk session that i also hope you enjoy! :^)
tagging: @justalildumpling, @spiderrenjunfics (no longer available, please give me your new url if you're still interested!)
You think now is as good a time as any for you to say something that’ll easily impact the trajectory of your life forever; after all, Jeno’s essentially given you the floor after such a strange and honestly shocking turn of events. You’re aware of the fact that his thumb is still traveling across your cheek, more idle as an action than anything else, but you seem to be experiencing the feeling as something closer to an out-of-body experience than an actual first-hand one; the tingles they send to your heart are weird and blurry, like your body can’t process his touch well enough to understand it fully. You suppose it’s because of your confusion at what he’s saying, which leads to your second option: asking him what he means.
There’s little to interpret at face value, but what his words do is essentially unlock a torrent of other weird questions in your head. For instance: how long had he known that you liked him? Had he known this entire time? Did something you did make it painfully obvious? If he wants you to like him — and, as he says, only him — does that mean he’s essentially accepting your feelings? Does this mean… he likes you back?
You assume this is one of those moments where, because your mind is going a million miles a minute, a lot of time feels like it’s passed even though it’s just been a small handful of seconds. This assumption is quickly broken by Jeno’s expression of concern.
“_______________? Say… something.”
“Um,” you start before you can even figure out what you want to say. The easiest answer comes to mind: It’s always only been you. But that’s weird, and this isn’t a 90’s Western movie, and if it were, you certainly wouldn’t be the eloquent main romance interest, even if Jeno’s gaze could easily fool you into thinking that. You think about making a joke, but you’re befuddled and also fresh from tears that — if Jeno’s abrupt story is actually true — were totally useless and unfounded in nature.
Also, you’re really not that funny to begin with.
“I just…” you try again, and his eyebrows raise slightly in anticipation for your next words. Nothing else comes out after a few seconds, though, and he realizes this is just another false start, his hand falling onto your shoulder (maybe he’s tired of trying to coax it out of you with the thumb-on-cheek method, which admittedly had you clamping up more than anything else).
“You can just tell me how you really f—”
“I think I have to go.”
No. No. Why would you say that? The surprise on his face quickly morphs into something that looks almost crestfallen, an expression you’d never imagine seeing on bright, confident Lee Jeno, let alone ever be the cause of. His hand slips from your shoulder quickly, like he’s now worried touching you will electrocute him.
“Oh. I’m sorry — I didn’t… mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m… I’m not.” You’re not, are you? “Maybe a little, but it isn’t really you —”
“Something I said, then—?”
“No, I…” Your fingernail digs into the pad of your thumb, with you trying to use the sting of the pain to jolt you out of this nervous, inarticulate state. “I just don’t think… I have anything of value to say right now.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because…” Grappling for words is like trying to break through the surface of water; you’re almost there, but somehow you’re still floundering, and that only seems to be making it much worse. “Because I never really thought about what I’d do… if you really found out I liked you.”
When you say it, it suddenly makes sense. For some reason, you’d always lived your life shuttling between point A (liking Jeno quietly in the comfort of your own mind palace) and point Z (fantasizing about your life with him where you live in a quaint townhouse with a cute mailbox and three kids), but you’d never really given much thought to all the points in between, especially not one that contains a scenario in which he’d find out and seemingly be okay with it, which, based on the current conversation, somehow seems like a reasonable thing to assume about him.
You’ve always wanted it — him knowing, him accepting it, maybe even him liking you back — but it kind of felt like, deep down, you hadn’t really believed it would ever happen.
And you were kind of content with that, because you wouldn’t ever really have to deal with the complications of it. Right now, you’re feeling unprepared and a little exposed, weirdly vulnerable to his gaze. It once again, for the hundredth time tonight, it seems, triggers some kind of flight instinct in you that has you looking anywhere but at him all of a sudden.
“You can think about it… now,” he suggests carefully. Being put on the spot doesn’t really ever bring out the best in you — a fact that might be known to people who were actually paying attention to your failed impromptu speech about whale hunting in your sixth grade English class — so you just pretend that the silhouette of Jaemin’s front yard tree is supremely interesting to you all of a sudden, never mind the fact that it’s about a few inches from Jeno’s ear from your vantage point. You don’t really want to see his expression right now, especially if that means it’ll only fluster you back into speechlessness.
“I don’t really know if I can,” you admit. From your peripheral vision, you see what seems like a flash of discomfort pass across Jeno’s face; you’re sure you just imagined it, considering you’ve never imagined cool, aloof, king of your heart Lee Jeno as exuding anything other than utmost confidence. Still, his next words do make you question that notion twice over.
“Did I… misunderstand something? Is it that you don’t have feelings for me?”
“No, I… you know. I… yeah, I do, but I just —”
“You’re seeing someone else?”
“No,” you say more fiercely, and for a brief moment, you’re so appalled at the thought that your eyes flicker to his, which ends up being a terrible mistake because the confusion in his gaze is so profound that the guilt in you swells tenfold.
“Because I thought… maybe the reason Renjun and you —”
“He’s — honest to God — he’s just my friend.”
“And Jaemin is…?”
“My… next door neighbor?” You blink rapidly at the lights still coming from his house, wondering now what Jaemin has to do with all of this in the first place. For someone who seems like he would be extremely uninvolved in this general progress of events, he seems to crop up time and again, weirdly always around when you need someone. Maybe it’s a neighbor thing, or maybe he’s a little nosier than you thought. But thinking about another element in this situation is starting to give you a headache, and you’re way past the time you’re usually already in bed avoiding homework and watching shitty dating reality shows instead. “I don’t really understand what he has to do with this either. I just don’t think I’m prepared to have this conversation at all.”
“But you like me, don’t you?”
It’s weird, actually, now that you think about it — why does he have to confirm the fact time and time again? It’s almost like he’s worried, although you can’t imagine why he would be. More than anything, you’d kind of assumed that he would find that information pretty repellent, but with the way he’s asking in earnest, it almost seems like he wants to keep the knowledge of that like a talisman.
“I do,” you admit, mostly because it’s out in the open, but also partially because you’ve made the mistake of looking at him again, and you start wondering how he could even wonder when everyone seems to like him (you, perhaps, to a somewhat unhealthy degree).
“More than them?”
“I—” Your brow furrows, another wave of confusion washing over you. But his eyes are much too honest in their questioning, and you speak before anything else can come to mind. “More than anyone, Jeno.”
What looks oddly like relief settles on his face, and you notice only then that his shoulders have been tensed up because he seems to relax them all of a sudden. “Oh. Good. Great. So listen, now that we’re on the same page, I—”
Jeno’s interrupted by one of the guys in a university sweater calling out to him from across the two lawns, voice booming to a degree that sets off a few annoyed dogs in your area. Jeno raises a hand to signal him to wait, his mouth still open on whatever words he wanted to complete his sentence with, but the sounds he was trying to make quickly die into silence anyway, drowned out by a huge crash inside Jaemin’s house.
You’re not entirely certain of what he wants to say — on the bright side, he could have been ramping up to a point that could easily make all your dreams from middle school to now a perfect reality, but he also could have been setting you up for some kind of grand, embarrassing failure — not by his design or by malice but just by the pointing out of the fact that you two lead different lives and things would likely never work out, anyway, but it’d be cool that you liked him in your own time, and he’d allow it as long as you didn’t get drool all over his notebook in class.
Either way, you don’t think now, with a bunch of inebriated college people shouting profanities on Jaemin’s lawn and a gaggle of high school kids panicking about what sounds to be a broken table and a whole bunch of pizza on the floor, is the best time to be processing those things.
“I actually,” Jeno turns his gaze to you again, strangely alert, like you’d just whistled for a dog’s attention. You’ve never seen him like this, and it’s weird to think that, at this awkward moment, you can still find him painfully endearing. You have to shake yourself out of the grip of the already beckoning force that tells you to sigh dreamily about how adorable he is. “Think I should really be heading inside. Looks like they also need you for some kind of damage control, anyway.”
The same college kid calls for Jeno again, dragging out the vowels of his name kind of annoyingly. Jeno sighs, nodding slowly enough for you to know he’s caught on — this probably isn’t the right time to have such a weirdly heavy conversation.
“Yeah. I probably need to help clean up, anyway. No one’s going to want to do it, and Jaemin’s already chewed me out for bailing on mop duty a few times.”
“Why’d you bail?”
“Just… got busy, personally.” He looks sheepish, and it doesn’t take a bunch of lightbulbs going off for you to cotton on as well. Now, you’re just wishing you hadn’t asked, so you didn’t ever have to imagine it. Still, what’s done is done. You have to focus on keeping the discomfort out of your face this time. “Um… that’s not important, though. Anyway —I’ll talk to you soon, okay, ________________? Like… maybe we can catch up at school? You know, talk about our thing — the project, I mean — and like… et cetera?”
“Yeah, for sure.” Your smile’s weak, and so is your joke, but you should at least try to hold up casual pretenses as much as he does, even though he’s obviously much better at it. “I’ll tell on you to Hwang if you don’t, you know.”
His laugh is soft, but it at least sounds genuine; his smile still reaches his eyes, which already makes your heart feel a little lighter. But instead of trekking off immediately, he lingers, strangely, until his grin winnows down into just the ghost of a smile on his lips. Even weirder are his hands, slightly outstretched towards your waist, like he’s trying to cross the gap between you (even if it’s admittedly very minimal) but suddenly decides not to. The result is him looking strangely stiff and uncharacteristically hesitant, but you chalk it up to him simply not knowing how to end such a weirdly situated conversation. You know you’d have an even worse time doing it if it were up to you, so you can’t really blame him.
In the end, he closes the dialogue with ‘see you around, ________________,’ and a quick pat on the shoulder, which, if you think about it, seems a little disappointingly different from when he’d had his hand against your cheek a few minutes ago. Then again, you’re not sure you could handle something like that again, anyway.
You watch him walk off back towards Jaemin’s house, and some pitiful, pathetic part of you is expecting him to look back, say one last goodbye to you, or something, but the university guy that had belted his name out so vigilantly just swings an arm around Jeno’s neck and drags him to a corner where a bunch of other similarly dressed people, to whom Jeno starts talking to almost immediately.
Cutting this conversation short was probably for the best, anyway; you have no idea what he would have said, but you’re very sure you wouldn’t have been prepared for it either way. You trudge into your house and up into your room, already mentally prepared to spend the rest of the night obsessively mulling over what it all meant and what he had really been planning to say at the end. The process starts some time in the shower, while you’re shampooing your hair and you embarrassingly remember the feeling of Jeno’s hand tangled in it. The moony expression that the thought of it leaves on your face is present up until you see how stupid it looks in the fogged up bathroom mirror.
Renjun still hasn’t texted you, which is honestly starting to be a source of mild anxiety because you can’t be sure if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere or just ignoring you for some unknown reason. Whatever it is, you leave like three messages wondering where he’s at and asking him to call you. You’re on your fourth message, which is asking to confirm about tomorrow’s movie (something you’d almost forgotten about save for the fact that you’d remembered this would be a point of argument for you both once again if you spaced on it) when a notification pops up that once again gives you a heart attack.
Lee Jeno: u looked pretty tonight, btw :)
You: oh!! thank you…!
You: you looked great tonight too…! :)
Lee Jeno: haha… cute :)
Lee Jeno: goodnight, ____________ :)
This is the most emojis you’ve ever seen used in a single brief conversation, and you can’t help but feel like it might be a little juvenile, but it doesn’t even matter because Lee freaking Jeno called you pretty and cute in the span of five minutes. Your thumbs are shaking as you type back a typo-laden goodnight that takes you a full other minute just to edit before waiting a little more, but nothing else comes. Maybe he’s driving home, or something. You toss your phone onto your bed, away from easy reach, before you can start overthinking what this silence means again.
Your reflection in your window mirrors the same scene you’d encountered in the bathroom: you, hair bundled up in a wet towel, bare-faced with a stupid grin across it. You’re so caught up in the act of reeling from Jeno’s three texts that you belatedly notice a square of light beyond your bedroom window. You almost duck out of sight when you see a shadow there, thinking about crying bloody murder, until you realize it’s Jaemin, who’s watching the ridiculous expression on your face with a curious gaze from a distance. He’s still in the same clothes he’d worn to the party, but you can see, even from this far away, that there’s this dark patch on it that looks suspiciously close to the way your shirt had on the day his coke had emptied itself out on your back. That must’ve been from the crash earlier, you deduce.
You think he’s just zoning out facing in your direction, and you find there’s no need to meet his gaze, but there’s still something a little unsettling about having someone spacing out in your general direction, so you reach up to pull your blinds down. Your hand almost reaches the string, but Jaemin’s hand suddenly starts going up too, like it’s trying to follow you, and you freeze in your movements. His keeps going, though, up until it’s close to his face, and suddenly, he’s moving it side to side, in some weird regular pattern.
He’s waving, your tired, overworked brain tells you belatedly. The string of your blinds tickles the tip of your fingers.
Unsure and a little self-conscious, you wave back, hoping he doesn’t notice that you were about two strong pulls away from drawing yourself out of sight. This is clearly the right response, because even from this distance, you can see the brilliant white of his teeth as he smiles, fully and unabashedly, at you.
The first thing you do when you wake up the following morning is check your phone. You’re not even really sure what you’re looking for — maybe a text from Jeno, who, if you think about it now, probably has nothing to say in response to your boring ‘goodnight’ anyway (but you can still dream), or maybe a missed call or two from Renjun, who should at least be offering you some explanation as to why he was completely out of sight after parting ways with you and Mark Lee last night.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing on your screen, apart from the stupid 번장 notification that tells you the pocket punch board you’ve been wanting for no good reason has been discounted by the seller to a price you still can’t reasonably afford anyway.
You certainly can’t do anything about Jeno’s lack of contact, and to be completely honest with yourself, you’re not even really that sure if you want to. Something about yesterday’s conversation, while not exactly a train wreck, makes you very nervous to have a full conversation with him, and you’d much rather it stick to very basic, kindergarten-level things, like ‘you look cute’ and ‘haha’ and ‘:)’, but since that isn’t completely in your control, you decide you simply don’t want to do anything about it.
Renjun, however, is a completely different matter. You don’t understand why he’s ignoring you if he is, considering you had spent the better part of the night (at least, the parts during which you weren’t crying on your lawn) looking for him, so this silence, if deliberate, doesn’t seem fair or even reasonable. You decide that it’s much too early to be getting an earful from you in the end, so you just send a very emphatic ‘WRU?????????????????’ through both text message, KakaoTalk, and Facebook Messenger to him, hoping the repetition of both sentiment and punctuation mark through multiple platforms is enough to faux-yell to him what you’d otherwise be real-yelling to him over the line. You can’t tell if it gives you any sense of comfort to see he hasn’t been online and active for the last 15 hours.
All the tossing and turning of last night, courtesy of the endless loop replay of “I want you to like me — just me” Lee Jeno edition, had consequently left you worse for wear; you’d gotten up at the rising of the sun (something you’d sworn never to do during the weekend) and had opted to just stay in bed for another hour, trying so hard to get over the feeling of his fingers against your skin that you end up committing it to long-term memory. The sunlight peeking through your blinds is what gets you to throw off your covers and admit defeat to the fact that sleep would never come back at this rate, and you decide to just head down, rubbing the lethargy out of your eyes before you make a poor man’s breakfast. You’re halfway through the jelly slice of your sandwich when your sister comes through the doorway, yawning loud to announce her presence.
“G’morning, bedhead baby,” she greets, and you use the non-knife-holding hand you have free to rake through your hair. “Big rager last night, huh?”
“Yeah — wait, how’d you know?”
“We live a door down from Jaemin oppa’s house? Na Jaemin? Our next door neighbor and his whole family? We can see out the window into his lawn? Sometimes we get our sidewalk trash cans mixed up with theirs? Hello?” Sooyeon smirks, albeit a little sluggishly, as you wave her grating words away. “I saw you out there with him, you know.”
“With who? Where? Who?” You demand, your jelly-laden knife freezing in mid-air, the grape blobs slipping dangerously off the edge onto the middle of your bread.
“You. And Jaemin oppa,” she says each syllable slowly. “In front of our house.”
“Oh.”
“So usually how these conversations go is: I bring up a juicy piece of information pertaining to you, and because you experienced it first hand, you have to then expound on the piece of information, thereby making it juicier. ‘Oh’ doesn’t cut it. Not by a long shot.”
“There’s not much to tell.” You wonder, briefly, if you’re now obligated to bring up the Jeno aspect of the night — which, for all intents and purposes, honestly felt like more of a big deal than anything else — but you quickly decide against it, chickening out when she approaches you at the counter and starts unscrewing the lid of the peanut butter jar. That might be giving too much away, considering she didn’t even seem to notice that you’d been bawling when you’d crossed the property line. “He just walked me back here.”
“Oh, yeah, because that’s what people who live next to each other in a not-so-close-knit community do: walk each other two steps home, to keep the baddies away.”
“He’s just a naturally nice person, I think. Most people are, aren’t they?”
“I thought you guys were close. Didn’t he give you his varsity jacket? That sounds like a closeness thing.” She knots her index and middle finger together, and you slap it away.
“We’re close only in the same way as you are.” When she gives you a quizzical look, you sigh. “Proximity-wise.”
“Still doesn’t explain why he was out there, caressing your hair lovingly.”
You freeze, as opposed to Sooyeon’s comically relaxed posture as she scrapes the peanut butter across your other slice of bread. “He… was not. Caressing me. My hair. Lovingly.”
“I have eyes for the sake of seeing.”
“There was just something in it. In my hair. A leaf.”
You’re not sure why you lie; the largest part of the reason is that you don’t want to have to go into the horrifyingly awkward details of your emotional state last night, but there’s something oddly nagging at you that you can’t quite place. It takes a minute of staring at your sister spreading the peanut butter evenly across the bread and humming to herself while closing the sandwich up that you realize that you don’t want her getting the wrong impression about anything.
Which is weird, because there’s nothing to misunderstand.
Jaemin, albeit the fact that he’s been chattier to you as of late, more so than any other time in your life, is still just your neighbor. Maybe he’s graduated from being your sort-of acquaintance to something that vaguely resembles an arm-distance-ish friend, but the notion that you’re anything closer than that makes you feel a bit strange — almost like it… scares you, which is extra weird to think about, because there’s actually nothing inherently harmful about being casual buddies with some guy who lives close enough to wave at you from his window.
Maybe it’s because it’s Jaemin, and that’s what might be tripping you up the most. He’s not just Jeno’s friend; he’s practically some kind of counterpart to him, and it feels weirdly like a line you can’t cross. Or maybe it’s because… Jeno had asked you about him last night, which had made you feel even stranger. Like he’d been worried about something — like Jaemin was a no-go zone for him, specifically.
As you dully watch your sister take a bite off of your breakfast, it dawns on you: maybe you just don’t want people to think you like anyone other than Jeno.
“Okay, well, you know better than I do,” she singsongs in a tone that tells you that you actually don’t. Sooyeon doesn’t press, but she also doesn’t make you feel like the conversation is over — even if she trills I’m going back up; thanks for the sandwich in that same voice before leaving you alone in the kitchen with half of it on the plate.
Because the truth is that you don’t really know; you don’t know what’s so unsettling about being associated with Jaemin. Your sister’s not aware of the intricate ins and outs of your (delusional) relationship with Jeno, apart from your (apparently evident to everyone) crush on him, but you also know she’s not really deeply invested in where your heart lies; all she does is make conversation, as is her personality, as a form of bonding you’ve never really quite been able to navigate well.
You just don’t get why the mention of Jaemin, now, makes you feel… something. What that is, you’d rather not dwell on. So you just won’t.
You’re walking out of the kitchen, cheeks filled with peanut butter and jelly, when you see block letters on cloth, spelling out a familiar last name: Na.
You still haven’t given back Jaemin’s stupid jacket.
Today is the day, you decide. This seems to have started the whole conversation to begin with: the jacket that somehow brought Jaemin two steps closer into your life, the article of clothing that had opened the door to what shouldn’t even be a talking point between you and anyone else.
This should be the proverbial swan song for this whole topic; you snatch up his jacket (and immediately regret doing so in such a brutish manner, noticing you’ve got a few specks of breadcrumbs on the lettering) and head out of your house, your bedroom slippers absorbing morning dew as you march yourself over to your neighbor’s. You should’ve done this earlier, really; there was no reason for you to hold on to it.
Honestly, you’d just forgotten, given that you were more preoccupied with things that started with L and ended with ee Jeno, but you’d rather not extend any more misunderstandings.
And even if Jeno isn’t here to see this grand closing gesture, maybe, just maybe, this will help you stop feeling so cagey about everything he’d asked last night.
I want you to like me — just me.
Because why would he even think you liked Jaemin at all? Or make it sound like he thought you did? Ridiculous. Unfounded. Kind of alarming.
There’s noise in the air the closer you get to the Na household porch; it sounds a bit muffled, like it’s fighting the breeze, but you realize thereafter that it’s music coming from a tiny speaker sitting on the hand railing. It’s playing Dongbangshinki’s Here I Am, and something about that song stirs your stomach into swooping ten miles down as you approach.
Your initial plan was to ring the doorbell and pray that Jaemin was still knocked out cold on a Saturday morning so you could pass the jacket off to one of his parents and be done with it, but you’ve no such luck; it seems like he’s an early riser, considering how he’s seated right there, on a wicker chair by his door, hunched over a half-played chess board. There’s no one across him to block his view of you coming up the steps, and he looks up the moment he hears the creaks of the wood under your feet.
“Hey, ______________,” he doesn’t look surprised; in fact, he looks a bit relieved, for some inexplicable reason. “Didn’t think you’d be up so early.”
“Could say the same for you.” You have no idea what causes heat to flush across your cheeks; has Na Jaemin’s gaze always been this intense? “Um. Good morning?”
“Morning.” His laugh is an easy one; it always has been, and it kind of suits him, you note, before you realize how weird it is to think that. “What’ve you got there? Gift for me?”
“Wha — oh, yeah, I mean — no, but it is for you.” You hold up his jacket, hooked on your forefinger, to reveal it to him. “Sorry it took so long to give it back.”
This time, he actually looks a bit taken aback. “Did you stop needing it?”
“Um… I haven’t really used it, if I’m being honest.”
“Oh. Well, there wasn’t any rush. You could’ve kept it for as long as you needed. No pressure, or anything. I’ve got others.”
“You don’t need it at practice, or anything like that?”
“No; most guys don’t even keep theirs. They give them away, for… you know. So it’s no big deal.”
You fall silent; for some reason, his tone makes it seem like he wants you to keep it, which is just preposterous. You instead hang the jacket onto the back of the wicker chair opposite him and step back, like you’ve just set up a land mine you’re afraid of detonating.
“Well, thank you all the same. I really… appreciate your help. That day. You know.” You’re not sure why you can’t form any sentences long enough to signify you do actually belong in the same year level as him, but he at least doesn’t comment on your ineloquence.
Instead, he just stares for a bit, at the jacket and your retreating hand, before piping up over his music.
“You wanna play a round?”
“What? Oh, I’m…” You wave your hands aimlessly. “I’m not good at chess. Actually, I barely know the rules. Plus, you seem kind of busy playing against… your imaginary friend?”
He chuckles again. “Just playing myself.”
“Trying to outfox the old fox?”
“Sometimes it helps to know how you’d get out of a sticky situation you made by your own doing. Helps you see what your opponent sees when it all boils down to it.” He gestures again at the chair across him. “Humor me a little. It’s not as fun just talking to yourself.”
You hesitate for a second; you came here to return the jacket, and that much was done easily, albeit a little more awkwardly than you ever wanted to. Jaemin’s aura is laid back and friendly, but you’re not sure why you’re teetering on the edge of panic again. Jeno’s words seem to be echoing in your head.
And Jaemin is…?
Jaemin is your next-door neighbor, it’s true, but you can’t say that’s really your only point of connection; if it were, he wouldn’t be expectantly waiting for you to take the seat across from him. And when you look at his hand now, idle against the chessboard, you can’t say you aren’t thinking of the way it patted your hair soothingly the night before. All that does is make you wonder the exact same thing Jeno asked you.
What is Jaemin to you? A friend, perhaps, and definitely a nice person — nice enough to help you out, keep you company during a few low points. He’s a person willing to listen to you, funny enough to lift your spirits, and genial enough to not break your fingers for returning his things way too late (a low bar, but a good one nonetheless). Na Jaemin is a good individual, with pretty good music taste (based on the fact that his playlist, trudging on next to him, is now playing H.O.T.’s Happiness), and a good disposition about him that seems to make no small amount of people gravitate towards him.
But you don’t really want to dwell on what Jaemin is to you; more than that, you can only really be reminded of what he isn’t.
He isn’t Jeno.
And Jeno knows you like him; he’s not only noticed it but confirmed it multiple times in a single conversation. Surely, then, nothing else should matter to him — or, for that matter, to you.
You swallow down the refusal and nod, trying not to read into the fact that Jaemin’s face lights up when you pull the chair back and settle down on it.
“So let me get this straight; you don’t know how to play chess?”
“I know a couple of pieces go in weird directions,” you admit. “That’s about it.”
“Perfect.” His long fingers drum against the wood of the table. “I’m going to whip you into competitive chess-playing shape, my young pupil.”
What starts off as a casual, humor-filled lesson on the roles of each chess piece suddenly becomes an actual lecture; you’re not sure if Jaemin is getting a kick out of instructing a rookie like you on the different plays — which are infinite, a fact he’s drilled into you several times — or if he’s really just enthusiastic about the game (no, sorry, sport, since he’s chastised you about three times on this terminology already), but whatever the reason is, you have chess pounded into your brain for the better part of an hour. By the time he asks you to actually start playing against him, the sun’s fully up in the air and you’ve had to tie your hair up to keep it from sticking to your neck.
“I’m glad you got home safe last night,” he hums, pushing his black pawn to meet yours in the middle of the board. The Italian Game, he called it — not to be confused with serenading someone over pasta, a different kind of Italian game. That had gotten a long laugh out of you. Your hands flit over the white pieces, unsure of your memory. You only respond when you’ve moved your bishop to the same row.
“Well, it was a very long and tumultuous journey, but I managed, with some help.”
His knight comes out next, smoothly and quickly; you pause, rubbing the back of your neck. Surely, there was something else he’d taught you?
“What a chivalrous, ah, knight, that person must’ve been.” He raps a knuckle onto the table, starting you out of the act of racking your brain. “Perfect joke. Well-timed. Excellent chess pun. I think I deserve an award.”
“Does whooping my ass two moves into the game count as a prize?”
“I don’t want to rob you of the feeling of hope this early in the match. Take your time,” he chuckles, leaning back against the throw cushion behind him. He fiddles with the speaker, and the songs skip one by one, until he lands on a song you don’t know — some Japanese track that sounds suspiciously like an animation opening. It’s lively and admittedly a bit loud, and Jaemin hums to the guitar riffs with surprising accuracy. “Anything interesting happen when I left?”
You freeze for a moment, your fingers still hovering over your own knight in hesitation. You know what he’s asking, and for some reason, you’re tempted to tell him — then you remember that it actually isn’t really his business, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.
“Not really.” You feign casual disinterest as you move your knight above your pawn line; from here on out, you have no clue what to do. Jaemin, on the other hand, is so sure-footed about his own skills (which are infinitely more advanced than yours) that he doesn’t even take his eyes off you to look at the board as he moves his next piece. You’re stuck thinking about what to do again — in the game, that is. Not about his gaze, which you try to avoid. “Just, you know. Talked with Jeno for a bit. Nothing major.”
Nothing major to him, you remind yourself. To you, your entire world had just been flipped over onto its belly.
Jaemin hums again, this time in understanding, but you notice (from your very surreptitious glances of him) that this time, it seems like he’s choosing what to do. You think it’s for the game, but when he counteracts your own (poorly planned) move with a swift response from his own pieces, you get the odd feeling he’s trying to choose his words carefully.
“Was it a conversation where you all got along?”
You hadn’t argued, but you’d never really thought about the whole stint long enough to classify it as good or bad. You supposed it wasn’t anything horrible in the end, although the fact that it had robbed you of precious hours of sleep wasn’t exactly the best outcome. But Jaemin’s not watching your expression now; he’s intently looking at the board, even if he’s not the one about to make the next move.
You get the feeling he’s suddenly avoiding eye contact too, which is weird, because he’s never been one to shy away from looking you straight in the eye. For some reason, that makes you feel like he doesn’t want to hear an answer.
“It was fine. Nothing… bad happened.” You know that’s true, but somehow you feel like it’s still not truth. “He explained… stuff. Who she was. Why it happened. Totally understandable stuff, I think.”
You choose not to mention anything apart from that — that he’d asked you to like him, nor that he’d asked you about your relationship with Jaemin. More than deciding it wasn’t going to be anything contributive to the conversation at hand, you also just didn’t want to.
Jaemin stays silent for a while; he moves his piece, then taps his queen — for some reason, he’s letting you know something about his next move. What it is, you haven’t puzzled out; it’s not like you know which direction he’d be taking, and even if you did, you’d surely not know how to respond to it, anyway. You guess he’s just throwing you a bone, but why he would, you also just don’t see the reason for.
You’re pushing your pawn hesitantly diagonal to capture one of his when he speaks up again.
“Did he tell you how it ended? With the two of them, I mean.”
He says it so calmly, capturing your bishop with his queen in the process, that you feel like you’re just talking about the weather and who won yesterday’s league basketball match. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, clearing your throat, but you only actually manage to shake your head.
“She cheated on him. Some college guy that she met during her orientation; you know she’s older than him, right? He’s never dated seriously since then. I think he was really hung up on her for a while — until recently, that is. I think. He hasn’t been that close to many girls.”
“That’s… that’s awful.” You’re not sure why Jaemin’s telling you this; it honestly feels illegal to know. “I didn’t think… anyone would. Cheat on him, I mean.”
“Even good-looking bastards like him can have rotten luck.” Jaemin’s smile borders on wry. “I don’t know why she showed up, honestly. Word probably got around… but she probably just wanted to know what would happen if she stirred something up with him one last time. He likely didn’t see it coming.”
You stare at the board, unsure of what to say. It makes sense, but something doesn’t really sit right with you either — why Jeno would let her come close to him at all, let alone allow her to completely eliminate the distance between his mouth and hers for longer than a second. Even thinking about it makes you want to throw up all over again.
“But deep down, I don’t know if Jeno completely got over her.” Jaemin continues, snapping you out of your short trance. “For a while after, they kept in touch. I think they even tried to work it out, but… obviously, it wasn’t easy. Until now… I’m not really sure.”
“Why,” you swallow hard. “Why… are you… why should I…”
“It’s not easy to be a player when you don’t know much about the game, is it?” He’s still staring at the board, but you get the sense that he isn’t just talking about chess. “Like I said, Jeno’s a pretty complicated guy. It’s not really my place to say anything, but…” Jaemin’s eyes flit upward for a second, and he offers you a small, almost pitying smile. “I think you need to know anyway.”
“But it has nothing to do with me. His life… I mean, his ex, and stuff.”
“I’m not too sure about that. If you like him that much… doesn’t that just mean you want to be part of his life?” He topples a pawn of yours, but you barely register the clattering noise or the fact that he drags it unceremoniously off the board. “I think you should at least know what you’re getting into. Jeno hasn’t liked someone seriously for a while, but you seem… to be the opposite. How much do you actually know about what he’s like?”
You don’t know why that kind of hurts your feelings; maybe it’s just because you have to face some kind of truth about how you don’t know much about Jeno’s private life, as badly as you want to. You even have to hear about it from someone else — someone easily kicking your ass in a dumb chess match.
“I think everyone has baggage,” you say slowly, pushing your rook forward. You realize it’s trapped behind two different pawns, so you’ve essentially backed the piece into its own corner. Jaemin doesn’t seem to care; he’s too busy executing what clearly is a ten-stage strategic win on the other side of the board. You don’t really care.
“That’s true,” he concedes, toppling your knight. “But some more than others, I think.”
“If he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me, right? Yesterday, I mean.”
“That’s may also be true, although I can’t say that with absolute certainty.” He looks thoughtful, and the pause gives you a bit of reprieve — enough to make a bad move that you instantly regret the moment you put your one remaining bishop on a square. Something like amusement flickers across Jaemin’s face, but he doesn’t make a move immediately. “Do you know what makes chess such a great game? In my opinion, anyway.”
“No?” The uncertainty in your voice is from a lack of understanding at the sudden shift in topic.
“Whenever you play someone, you get to see what they’re like — what their priorities are, you know?” His finger lands on a rook, inching it back and forth with idle intent. “You see how their mind works, what they’re like when they’re winning or losing, and what they think of you. Check, by the way.”
You’re silent as his rook captures your bishop, and he picks your fallen piece up and sets it aside with his growing pile of white.
“I’ve actually asked Jeno to play with me a few times, just for the fun of it. Sore loser,” he laughs lightly, one hand reaching out to lower the volume of his music. You notice the opening bars of Winner’s Really Really come through moments before it’s toned down. “Doesn’t really know or care about the rules, but he really likes to win. That’s kind of what makes him the star player on the team, actually. He really hates being backed into a corner, but all that focus on winning kind of tunnels his vision sometimes. Leaves him open to some attacks from another angle. He really hates that — which is probably why we barely play chess together in the first place. Apart from the fact that he thinks it’s boring.”
You’re staring at your pieces, now very pitifully winnowed down in number, and you feel stuck. You’re not sure what to do, but you’re pretty sure any move is going to make you look dumb in front of Jaemin, who’s clearly a pro — so much so that he seems to know what you’re going to do before you even decide yourself.
“You know what I like about your playing style, though?” He interrupts your train of thought again. You look up from the board, bemused; you’ve just been struggling to humor him since your first move, and it obviously isn’t working, since he seems more invested in the conversation than in the game. “You’re just trying your best, even if you’re new at this — even if you think you’re going to lose.”
“I just don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten everything you just said,” you respond, smiling weakly.
“You can’t always predict what’s going to happen in a game, even if you know the pattern anyway. Isn’t that just natural about anything in life?”
“You seem to know, though,” you grumble, tugging on your ponytail. You throw in the only option you have left: pushing your queen in front of your king as a last line of defense. “You’re barely paying attention to the board.”
“It’s just constant practice — a lot of hard work on my part. I don’t mind the grind of it, if it gets me somewhere good in the end.”
“So is that the kind of player you are? Just… a hard worker?”
“Maybe. I like to look at things from every possible angle. I guess that’s why I like chess when most people find it a headache.” He picks up his queen, rolling it in his palm. “Although, I guess Jeno and I have one thing in common — as players, that is.”
“What’s that?”
“I also really hate to lose.”
His queen knocks over your own with a pitiful clatter, taking its place on the board. When he picks up your piece, instead of adding it to his knockout count, he offers it to you. You take it gingerly, opting to focus more on it than on the soft smile that’s now playing on Jaemin’s lips.
“Checkmate,” he announces lightly. “Good game, _____________. You’ve got the makings of a star player.”
“You’re patronizing me, aren’t you?” You sigh as the two of you start resetting the board; you have to watch Jaemin’s pieces get rearranged to position your own.
“Only a little bit. I see a lot of quiet drive in you.”
You place the last of your pawns in a neat row; the board looks like it hadn’t even been touched. “Jaemin, how did you and Jeno become this close? You seem… I don’t know.”
“Yeah, we’ve definitely got our unique quirks,” he chuckles softly. “But Jeno and I… we just go way back, I think. When you’re friends with someone from a young age, you tend to grow with them. He’s a good dude, really, even if our personalities are different, and it’s always a fun event so long as he’s around. Well — mostly. I’d say a good ninety-nine percent of the time.”
You pointedly ignore the sheepish smile he throws your way.
“You said before that you’re not the type to… you know, share your feelings, and all that. Then how do you… like what do you guys even talk about?”
“What do you and Renjun usually talk about?” Jaemin grins. “Anything and everything, really. Movies, games, why the jerk from Yongsan International gets on our nerves when he chews his gum. We just… have a tendency to be interested in the same things, no matter if our perspectives are different.”
While talking to Jaemin is fun, you can’t help but feel like he has a tendency to speak in riddles. You still don’t really see any strong similarities in their approaches to their interests, similar as they may be, but what do you know, anyway? It isn’t like you and Renjun are exactly peas in a pod on paper.
His eyes lose focus for a second, hitting somewhere behind your ear before they quickly turn back to you. You have no idea why this makes you feel a little put on the spot.
“Hey, you want to have brunch here? My mom makes a mean soybean paste stew.”
“Oh,” you press your hand against your stomach, wondering if the swooping feeling in it is from hunger or something unrelated. “No, I actually just ha—”
“_____________?”
You swivel around in the chair, and your heart stops; you're not the least bit prepared to see Lee Jeno standing at the foot of Jaemin’s porch steps, a quizzical look very clearly etched on his sharp features.
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Light - B.M.
Pairing: Beverly Marsh x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1918 words
Warnings: Love confession, mutual pining, swimming, swearing, Richie Tozier (it’s a warning within itself), kissing, tooth-rotting fluff I stg, Losers Club are aged up to 17, super crappy ending, not proofread, I think that’s it! Please let me know if I missed anything!
Summary: The other Losers know for a fact that Bev returns Y/N’s feelings, even though she’s blind to them herself. But after a set up one day, maybe she’ll see the light.
Notes: My first ever It (2017) fic! Also my first fic on Tumblr! Thank you to anyone who read this, because it’s taking a lot of courage to write this, let alone post it…. Yeah, Bev and Richie are my favorite characters in the movies, and, given my url, I figured my first fic should be a Bev fic! Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
******
“She likes you back, Y/N,”
“No she doesn’t.”
“Stop fighting it, we all see it!”
Y/N looked at Richie with a roll of her eyes, turning back forward to avoid crashing into anyone or anything with her bike. “Can you stop with that? I don’t want you giving me false hope when I know she doesn’t like me back,”
Richie was the one to roll his eyes this time.
Everyone in the Losers Club knew that Y/N had had a crush on Bev for as long as they could all remember. Since the first day she saw Bev in the pharmacy after they found Ben outside the sewers and had gone in to find the supplies to fix him up.
Bev had been the one to save the day. She had distracted the man at the counter while they took the things they needed, and had come back afterwards to make sure that Ben was okay. Of course, Y/N had realized that it was not the time to be admiring Bev, seeing as Ben had just had a pretty rough run-in with Bowers, and Eddie was freaking out enough as it was.
It didn’t take long for Y/N to fall completely in love with the red-headed Derry resident. She lived in the apartment above hers, and whenever Bev’s dad fell asleep, Bev would climb down the fire escape and climb into Y/N’s window.
Y/N would sit with her and listen to what she said, or would just sit there, and the girls would hug.
On those nights when Bev either couldn’t go down to Y/N’s apartment, or didn’t need to, Y/N would lay down, and stare up at the ceiling, knowing that Bev’s room was directly above her own. She would wonder what Bev was doing, if she was reading the secret admirer note that Ben had given her, or if she was thinking of Y/N just as much as she was thinking of Bev.
It was torture.
It took a little longer for the other members of the Losers Club to realize that Y/N was falling in love with Bev. After that, they all began encouraging her to confess to Bev, because even though at the time they hadn’t seen the light that ignited in Bev’s eyes the second they landed on Y/N, they wanted their friends to be happy, and who else to be happy with but each other?
That was all when they were twelve, nearly five years ago. In that time, they had all seen that Bev loved Y/N the same way Y/N loved Bev. It was hard to watch the two beat around the bush with each other; subtle flirting that neither one noticed (though everyone else did), and even harder to see them think that the other was in love with other people, though everyone else thought it was painfully obvious to everyone else that it was each other they were in love with.
Now, as Y/N and Richie biked home together, Richie tried his best to convince Y/N for the thousandth time that Bev liked her back, no, loved her back.
“I’m sorry Rich, I want to believe you, I really do,” Y/N said for the thousandth time. “But you’ve gotta be blind to not see that Bev and Bill are in love with each other,”
Richie quickly realized that he didn’t have enough energy to argue with her today, even though he still wanted to, instead opting for a safer topic: the test that Mr. Herrd gave them today, that Richie was fairly sure he had failed.
***
“They’re both fuckin idiots,”
Everyone nodded in agreement at Richie’s statement as the entire Losers Club watched Y/N and Bev play around and splash each other in the lake in the quarry, both of them giggling like little girls, their cheeks bright pink, and not from the sun.
“Bev!” Y/N squealed as Bev splashed her with a particularly large amount of water. After taking a second to regain herself, she retaliated by splashing an even larger amount of water at Bev.
“It’s like they’re both wearing signs saying, ‘I’m in love with the person standing in front of me, but since I’m both a pussy and an idiot, I haven’t said anything yet,”
Stan rolled his eyes at Richie’s language, but agreed nonetheless. “I wish they would just admit it to each other already. To be honest, it’s getting tiring. Should we just… lock them in a room together and not let them leave until they confess?”
“That’s an idea,” Bill smiled.
“Maybe we should say we’re meeting at the Quarry but then none of us show up,” Eddie suggested. “Chances are they’re gonna stay and hang out, and maybe if we’re lucky they’ll say something?”
Richie scoffed. “Knowing them, fat chance. I think if this plan fails, we should go with Stan’s idea,”
The others all agreed, and decided when the best date would be to set this up, and then set the date for their backup plan, and decided they would do it at Bill’s house, since his is the biggest and they would be able to hang around and check in on them regularly without having to hear them kick and scream.
“You guys coming back?” Y/N broke the boys out of their trance after her and Bev realized that they had been splashing each other for nearly fifteen minutes, when they should have been splashing the boys. “We’re getting bored!”
The boys all gave each other a sly look before immediately running back towards the water, splashing Bev and Y/N immediately, all of them laughing as they got splashed back.
***
“Are they coming?”
Bev and Y/N had been at the Quarry for nearly half an hour, both of them laying against the rocks, sunbathing, in just their bikinis. It took everything in both of them not to stare at the other and admire everything about them.
Y/N glanced at the watch that she had taken off her wrist, anticipating that they’d be swimming, and saw that it was now forty five minutes after noon, the time all the Losers had agreed to be at the Quarry.
Y/N sighed. “I don’t think so. Maybe they all forgot?”
Bev laughed. “You think Stan forgot? He’s probably at Richie’s with the others trying to get Richie out of bed. How much d’you wanna bet he stayed up all night on his Gameboy again, and now he’s sleeping the day away?”
She said the last part in a mock-dreamy way, a tone of voice that had Y/N’s heart soaring. She had always loved the sound of Bev’s voice, and there were certain times when it would just go straight to tug on Y/N’s heartstrings. It was never a particular time, just… Bev.
Everything about Bev was magical to Y/N. Somehow, all it took was one small smile, one of Bev’s smiles, and all of a sudden, Y/N was a completely different person.
Normally, she didn’t really like physical contact. It wasn’t anything in particular that had caused it, she just never was a really cuddly person. She could enjoy a short hug, or a quick high five, but anything longer than about three seconds made her uncomfortable
She wasn’t that way with Bev. Y/N would hug her for eternity, and would never want to stop. The two often held hands, and told everyone else that it was purely platonic, though Y/N secretly wished that it would be something more.
Y/N knew that Bev was still talking, but she couldn’t focus on anything more than the way that Bev’s lips were moving, as they moved quickly and perfectly to form the words that were on Bev’s brain.
The conscious, realistic part of Y/N’s brain told her that she should be focusing on what her friend was actually saying. That in just a few seconds, Bev was going to do the thing that they always did in movies where she waved her hand in front of Y/N’s face and asked if she had heard anything she said.
Sure enough, she did.
“Y/N/N, are you even listening to me?” Bev asked with a small chuckle.
The sound alone sent more heat to Y/N’s cheeks.
“S-sorry,” Y/N said quickly, shaking her head, almost as if that would clear her head of the thoughts she shouldn’t be having about her best friend. “Just uh… feeling a little out of it today, that’s all,”
Bev nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Today just… feels weird.”
Y/N nodded in agreement.
The two stayed silent for a few more minutes, before Y/N sat up again. “So, since the boys aren’t coming, we probably shouldn’t wait for them to start swimming, right?”
Bev nodded in agreement, before jumping up and running towards the water, yelling, “Last one in the water is a dancing clown!” behind her, before immediately splashing into the water, getting to a deep enough area, and diving in.
Y/N cursed herself, and then immediately launched herself into the water after Bev, inadvertently splashing her with water as she came out of the water herself at the perfect time.
“Got you!”
***
Y/N shook the water droplets out of her hair, refraining from watching as Bev dried out her own hair, slipping the loose dress that she had brought with her over the bikini that she had worn.
It was now five forty five, and Y/N was going to be expected home for dinner soon. After realizing this, she had reluctantly told Bev that she needed to head home.
Since they lived in the same apartment complex, Bev said she’d go with her.
The sunlight from the sunset bounced off the lake and onto the two girls standing on the beach next to the lake in the Quarry.
Y/N couldn’t help herself this time. She looked up to Bev, and found that she was staring at her the same way, admiring how the golden light danced across her skin, from the top of her coppery red curls to the very bottom of her feet.
Before she could even process what she was doing, Y/N quickly closed the space between her and Bev, pressing her lips against Bev’s.
It only took Bev two seconds to kiss back, relieved that Y/N had been the one to make the first move.
After a few seconds, they realized that they needed air, so the two reluctantly pulled apart, resting their foreheads together.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” Y/N whispered breathlessly.
“It was love at first sight, wasn’t it?” Bev asked. “I saw you with the boys and I knew that it was always going to be you. It’s always been you, Y/N,”
“It’s always been you, Bev,”
The two pulled apart, Bev’s arms still wrapped around Y/N’s neck, Y/N’s hands placed lovingly on Bev’s waist. As she looked into Bev’s eyes, she saw a glint in her eyes that she hadn’t seen before.
The light made Bev’s eyes even brighter than they already were, and the longer Y/N looked at her, the more she fell in love.
“I love you, Bev,” she confessed quietly, feeling like a weight had been lifted off her shoulder at the confession. “I always have.
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Malcolm and Marie live blog
I don't usually do liveblogs for movies but yea.
Spoilers ahead!!
I love that its modern timed but very 70s stylized.
A tune indeed.
When you are high and drunk on success and
How the white critic reacts is why I feel like gatekeeping my scripts. At the same time some things I do make are about race or involve.
Marie sitting on the patio smoking is a mood whenever men are talking.
So he's pretentious and unaware.
Whoever chose the music for this, I feel like we would be Spotify mutuals.
Can this nigga stop pacing.
Also can he stop talking;
Marie is so tired and unimpressed.
Also little booties matter and are to be bitten.
Oooo the tension and the jazz.
Title Card over mac and cheese.
Shitty boxes mac and cheese but still mac and cheese.
Tbh i always wonder if spouses/significant others get upset when their spouses don't acknowledge them during speeches.
John sounds so much like his dad but I really hope his acting style differs from his dad a lot.
Guilty confession?
He did not profit off of his partners backstory and then not even acknowledge her.....I.....
If that ever happened to me catch me cussing my partner out during the beginning credits, the end credits, in the car, and at home.
GASLIGHTER!
The way I'm excited for Zendaya to give me some, oooo can she work with Regina King. Please on my knees I pray.
Um no that's not your job to coddle your lead.
He's a dick and the type of dick who makes himself look like a good person around other people.
If Sam Levinson is trying to make his viewers more of misandrist, it's working.
I feel like Marie has her flaws probably a lot of them and we will surely see as this continues, but Malcolm needs to learn how to apologize sincerely.
70s vibes! 70s vibes!
Them kissing and talking about criticism and dreams makes me miss a partner. A partner that I've had and haven't had.
Women really are behind every great man.
Yea sir you fucked a happy moment.
Oh visual allegories for looking in from the outside and cat and mouse chasing and looking from the outside in.
She's saying she doesn't feel noticed by you.
Gas lighter :0 he called her an emotional support dog, bruh.
I would LOVE to co-write or take a writing class held by Sam Levinson. The fights i write are very much in this same realm of reflection and anger and monologue.
Sam.....sam.....are all the sides inside of you doing okay sir?
The ugly side of dating and being in a relationship with someone who struggles with their own demons.
Honestly I could close my eyes and listen to this script being read without seeing these characters visually. Just close my eyes and get a sense of these characters like it was a radio story.
Oh. Oh this is a new wheelhouse of Zendaya acting; a different voice is like breaking through here and her expressions aren't the same we are used to. You can literally hear another character in there....hmm.
Mans is outside really fighting with his invisible demons lmfao.
Selfish ass, how after everything she said you came out of it thinking about your own craft and self instead of how you hurt her.
So she's conditional.
Me: did sam (a white man) say nigga this many times in his script or are the actors adding their own inflections. Not just the lingo used but the topic of race and directing etc. being written by a white writer about black characters is always gonna be a critique when you're writer is a white person.
Alexa play Broken Girls by Saba
He is so hurtful.
A clown nigga a clown look in the fucking mirror you bozo head ass looking like you need some Mehron clown white and a size 16 in clown shoes.
John is doing a really swell performance and reading of these lines.
He is reading her for her insecurities by bringing up his experiences with other women and that.....is yikes.
Arguments can get messy like this in real life but it takes a lot of maturity and control to either not let it get to this point or have a healthy conversation afterwards.
This film is really shot on some very crisp lenses.
They sitting there like 🚬🧍♀️🧍♂️.
Leftover Mac and Cheese and unfinished cigarettes.
The nyt etc. pay walls are so annoying, but there is a work around look at the articles on incognito or add a period at the end of the url.
He sounds like his daddy so much here, weird, this is the only part I'm eh on the dialogue it feels real but a bit out of pace in how they are bouncing off one another.
Nail scissors? So the end is not the only part he based off of Marie. 🙄
ITS A GOOD REVIEW YOU DINGUS but also its a full review they are going to critique things. She isn't wrong though he did profit off of a woman's story that was not his own to profit from.
Yes Malcolm because unfortunately all marginalized people look through a lens of life that is inherently political because of the world they live in.
He is so mad and upset and had a lot on his chest. But I think he Malcolm and Sam are talking about something thats an issue and a non issue. Being critiqued for you art is hard but also Malcolm is not super self aware. He's like a stand in figure of for example rich depop sellers who wanna be oppressed so badly they yell at others instead of examining their own personal behaviors and ethics.
Oh Marie, when you know the spark is gone and you pick fights because.
He ain't even ask her to read?
One critic I have for most of hollywood actors is they learn their cry and that is it. A change from this is Margot Robbie, I adore her fluctuations of crying being similar but the crying is carried differently for each character. If I had to say any actor that does a cry scene amazing its this woman right here (Amy Adams)
You stole her story from her and gave it away, she has a right to be upset and angry and a rubber band ball of emotions.
Citizen Kane, not the cinematography, but the story is it even that good? (Unpopular opinion but meh, maybe in my rewatch it will be better.)
But that is what people want authenticity and whatever authenticity means to them. What is real for one is false for another.
To be honest look at the criticism of Euphoria, well earned, but a lot of people were like this isn't real even though he literally wrote about his own life. People said it was inauthentic like....wtf.
Ahh the smoking is just a habit, he quit and she didn't.
CAST ZENDAYA IN A HORROR MOVIE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING. Get Lupita and Zendaya and some more black actors preferably less known ones in a horror movie. One with a interesting script and story, directed by Regina King. Please and thankyou.
I love Marie yep that was amazing.
Behind every great man is a greater woman, one that deserves her credit for how she has stood behind. I wonder the stories of those women, what they have sacrificed or not sacrificed. Their thoughts and feelings when the world is surrounding their partner and views them as a plus one. (I'd write a short script about this but I think do I have the time, can I, or am I equipped ?)
He is a shitty person for bringing up his exes, like she even said I don't wanna know any of that.
Imagine being on anti depressents and rarely having a sex drive and then when you do your partner starts talking about their exes and tearing you apart for all your faults.
I love when you see peaks of Zendaya's cadence in roles.
Tension, what if's and he didn't even bring her up in his speech.
Marie to herself and the audience:
He is not afraid that he will loose her but as my character says in my unreleased story, "i can't wait til you give me a fucking reason to leave your ass." Malcolm expects everything in order for not even doing the bare minimum and she is only asking him for something as simple as consideration. She just wants him to be considerate. He wants to get married and considers their relationship like rolling down a hill at full speed and he cannot apologize, he cannot be considerate, and he cannot admit his wrongs. He can only offer her I love yous that he probably does mean but he does not back up outside of what he's done for her in the past. The past which was more of her experience than his and he sees his part in it as a burden. He doesn't use his own vantage point of the past to further his career he uses her. He does all of these things without a real apology or thankyou because he is not afraid to loose her.
The restrictions of quarantine and the panorama have made Sam's writing very no frills. I wonder how other films from other directors and writers that are filmed in small contained crews like this will be structured. But this was a very good movie gonna add to my letter box 3.3-3.5
Oh shit this is my song,
Ratings/overall thoughts:
Script is like a C+, B- : I could go into my heavier big brain thoughts on the script but I don't feel like it. You catch hints of it above it centers conversation on race and privilege, mainly the writers and questions i have that won't be answered but Sam did make me grow disdain for Malcolm over a short time. Which is sometimes hard to do because im one sympathetic person but the sympathy i have for Malcolm is at 0. Maybe a 2 at some scenes but then it quickly goes back to 0. Some parts of the dialogue miss the mark or hit the are off balanced. While some of it like Malcolm's bathroom speech albeit mean is really strong or their conversation when he comes back from peeing really shines for me.
Performances: B+ to A- because they carried the script further than it could of gone with less talented actors. The monologues do well to showcase their current skill levels which are already high af and leave room for anticipation in where these actors go next.
Zendaya holding a knife: A+ with a gold star. That switch on and off and on is delectable.
John being a shitty boyfriend but following Marie like a lost puppy: B+ with a good job written at the bottom of the paper, Malcolm being nervous a frantic dialed up with more realistic nervousness would have sold me completely on Malcolm's anxious waiting.
Cinematography: A and a participation award.
The mac and cheese: A+ for the easy mac. Wish it was like Annie's or Velveeta.
Cigarettes: Participation award and their picture hung up for student of the month. Why the grill lighter? Everytime Malcolm opened up his mouth Marie was like sparks fly.
The music: A++ with a prize. Whoever picked the music probably makes good Spotify playlists.
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