#and quality. With over two decades of experience

[sandhri123]

 Why 3 Wheeler Genuine Parts Exporters Are Driving Global Automotive Reliability

Discover how leading 3 Wheeler Genuine Parts Exporters support global mobility with high-quality components. Explore industry trends, challenges, and how Sandhri Associates stands out in this growing market.

Table of Contents

Introduction

What Does a 3 Wheeler Genuine Parts Exporter Do?

Why Genuine 3 Wheeler Parts Matter

Global Trends Shaping the 3 Wheeler Parts Market

Common Challenges in the 3 Wheeler Spare Parts Export Industry

How Sandhri Associates Delivers Consistent Value

Expert Tips for Buying or Exporting 3 Wheeler Spare Parts

Conclusion

1. Introduction

Three-wheelers—popularly known as auto-rickshaws, tuk-tuks, or tricycles—are essential for last-mile transport in many countries across Asia, Africa, and Latin America. But their reliability depends heavily on one critical factor: genuine spare parts.

As demand for durable 3 wheelers grows globally, so too does the need for reliable exporters of genuine 3 wheeler parts. This article explores the vital role of these exporters and highlights how Sandhri Associates is setting the benchmark in this niche yet impactful industry.

2. What Does a 3 Wheeler Genuine Parts Exporter Do?

A 3 Wheeler Genuine Parts Exporter supplies authentic spare parts manufactured to OEM standards for international markets. These parts include:

Engines and transmission systems

Brake pads and suspension units

Body panels and chassis components

Electrical and lighting systems

Fuel tanks, clutches, and filters

Exporters ensure these parts meet the destination country’s technical requirements and certifications. A trustworthy exporter will also manage packaging, logistics, customs documentation, and after-sales support.

3. Why Genuine 3 Wheeler Parts Matter

The use of genuine 3 wheeler parts is vital for several reasons:

✅ Durability: OEM parts last longer and perform consistently under stress.

✅ Safety: Substandard or counterfeit parts can fail unexpectedly, risking passenger safety.

✅ Fuel Efficiency: Genuine parts help maintain engine performance and mileage.

✅ Regulatory Compliance: Many countries mandate the use of certified parts for commercial fleets.

⚠️ In contrast, counterfeit or poor-quality parts can damage engines, increase maintenance costs, and void warranties.

4. Global Trends Shaping the 3 Wheeler Parts Market

🌍 A. International Expansion of 3 Wheeler Use

According to Allied Market Research, the global three-wheeler market is projected to reach $13.73 billion by 2027, growing at a CAGR of 10.5%. Growth is driven by:

Urban congestion

Demand for affordable public transport

The rise of electric 3 wheelers

This surge increases the need for reliable 3 wheeler spare parts exporters.

⚡ B. Electrification of the Fleet

Electric three-wheelers are becoming popular, especially in India, Bangladesh, and Kenya. Exporters must now provide components like:

Electric motors

Lithium-ion batteries

EV-compatible brakes and sensors

🛒 C. E-commerce and Digital Distribution

Digital marketplaces like Alibaba, IndiaMART, and AutoPartsAsia have made global sourcing more efficient. Exporters are adopting online cataloging, inventory systems, and 24/7 customer service to stay competitive.

🏷️ D. Demand for Brand Assurance

Fleet operators and government contractors increasingly ask for certified exporters with:

ISO certifications

Quality control reports

Warranty-backed parts

5. Common Challenges in the 3 Wheeler Spare Parts Export Industry

Despite strong demand, the industry faces several challenges:

1. Counterfeit Parts

The rise of fake or low-quality components undermines customer trust. These parts often fail prematurely and can damage vehicles.

2. Customs and Compliance

Each country has different regulations for vehicle imports. Exporters must ensure documentation, tariffs, and certifications are all in order.

3. Supply Chain Disruptions

COVID-19, shipping container shortages, and political instability have all strained international logistics. Reliability in delivery has become a major differentiator.

4. Product Mismatch

Some exporters provide generic parts that don’t fit all models. This results in poor vehicle performance and customer dissatisfaction.

6. How Sandhri Associates Delivers Consistent Value

Sandhri Associates is a trusted 3 wheeler spare parts exporter, operating in over 20 countries across the globe. Here's why they stand out:

✅ 1. Wide Range of Genuine Products

From Bajaj to TVS, Sandhri offers parts compatible with all major 3 wheeler brands. Every product is verified for OEM quality.

✅ 2. Transparent Documentation

They provide:

Country-specific compliance certificates

Manufacturer’s warranties

Detailed invoices and tracking

✅ 3. Strong Global Network

Sandhri’s efficient shipping and distributor network ensures timely delivery across Africa, Latin America, and Southeast Asia.

✅ 4. Focus on Customer Satisfaction

Their after-sales service includes:

Technical support

Return/replacement assistance

Order customization for bulk buyers

✅ 5. Strategic Partnerships

They partner with manufacturers and logistics providers to reduce lead times and cut costs for customers.

7. Expert Tips for Buying or Exporting 3 Wheeler Spare Parts

Whether you're a fleet operator or aspiring exporter, keep these expert insights in mind:

✔️ Always Verify OEM Certification

Only buy parts that are OEM-approved or certified by recognized quality agencies.

✔️ Request Sample Orders First

Before committing to bulk, request a sample shipment to assess quality and compatibility.

✔️ Build Long-Term Relationships

Establishing trust with an exporter ensures better pricing, consistency, and access to premium parts.

✔️ Use Digital Tools

Leverage ERP or CRM systems to track your orders, inventory, and warranties efficiently.

✔️ Stay Informed About EV Shifts

Start stocking or sourcing spare parts compatible with electric three-wheelers—this is the future.

8. Conclusion

The global mobility landscape continues to evolve—and with it, the critical role of 3 wheeler genuine parts exporters. From supporting urban transport systems to enabling low-cost logistics in rural areas, these parts ensure millions of vehicles stay roadworthy.

Amid this dynamic environment, Sandhri Associates stands as a beacon of trust, consistency, and quality. With over two decades of experience, their contribution to the 3 wheeler ecosystem is both impactful and inspiring.

For those exploring long-term partnerships or entering this market, aligning with experienced exporters like Sandhri Associates can set the stage for sustainable growth.

[roseband]

also ykw

after i do my next portfolio update, i'm just.....sending my resume and portfolio cold to TA

their apparel design work is FUGLY, and they need someone who knows print production bcuz literally no one is color separating their stuff and they're using a d2g printer which is sooooo inconsistent (and their sizing is inconsistent bcuz they're using multiple print-as-you-go d2g printers)

also if u ever get the rose merch and it has an ugly vinegary smell it's cause of the inks used for those direct to garment printers.....and the stuff they do a lot of it can be done with bulk screenprint for cheaper lol??? idk what they're doing. like if they're selling hundreds of shirts, printing on white, with only black ink, it's absolutely cheaper to burn screens rather than have the d2g printer

[spokaneasphaltpaving99]

Enhancing Spokane's Infrastructure: Spokane Asphalt Paving's Premier Services

Introduction

In the heart of Spokane, Washington, the landscape is dotted with properties that demand reliable and durable asphalt solutions. Enter Spokane Asphalt Paving, a distinguished industry leader with over two decades of spokane asphalt paving experience in delivering top-notch asphalt services. Specializing in both residential and commercial projects, this premier provider has become synonymous with precision, durability, and community enhancement.

The Legacy of Spokane Asphalt Paving

With a robust legacy spanning more than 20 years, Spokane Asphalt Paving has established itself as a go-to choice for those seeking high-quality asphalt paving services in the Spokane area. The company's commitment to excellence is reflected in its wide array of offerings, including driveway paving, parking lot striping, and road repair. This legacy is built on a foundation of skill, dedication, and a passion for contributing to the growth and development of the Spokane community.

Unparalleled Expertise

What sets Spokane Asphalt Paving apart is its unparalleled expertise in the asphalt industry. The skilled team at the company boasts extensive knowledge and hands-on experience, ensuring that every project is executed with precision and professionalism. Whether it's a residential driveway or a large-scale commercial parking lot, the team is equipped with the latest industry techniques and tools to deliver exceptional results.

Residential Paving Excellence

One of Spokane Asphalt Paving's standout features is its dedication to residential paving projects. Understanding the importance of a well-maintained driveway for homeowners, the company takes pride in enhancing the aesthetic appeal and functionality of residential properties. From meticulous attention to detail in the paving process to providing durable solutions, Spokane Asphalt Paving ensures that homeowners receive a finished product that stands the test of time.

Commercial Paving Solutions

In addition to residential projects, Spokane Asphalt Paving is a trusted partner for commercial paving needs. The company understands the unique requirements of businesses when it comes to parking lots and roadways. Offering comprehensive services such as parking lot striping and road repair, Spokane Asphalt Paving contributes to creating a positive and professional environment for commercial establishments, ultimately benefiting the entire Spokane community.

Commitment to Customer Satisfaction

At the core of Spokane Asphalt Paving's philosophy is a strong commitment to customer satisfaction. The company recognizes that each project is unique, and customer needs vary. Therefore, they prioritize open communication, ensuring that clients are involved in every step of the process. This customer-centric approach has earned Spokane Asphalt Paving a stellar reputation and a loyal client base.

Community Enhancement

Beyond delivering exceptional paving services, Spokane Asphalt Paving is deeply committed to enhancing the Spokane community. By contributing to the maintenance and improvement of local infrastructure, the company plays a vital role in the overall growth and prosperity of the region. As a responsible corporate citizen, Spokane Asphalt Paving actively participates in community initiatives, further solidifying its status as a trusted partner in Spokane's development.

Conclusion

Spokane Asphalt Paving stands as a beacon of excellence in the asphalt paving industry, combining years of experience with a dedication to precision, durability, and community enhancement. From residential driveways to spokane wa asphalt paving commercial parking lots, the company's expert team ensures that each project is executed with the utmost professionalism and attention to detail. With Spokane Asphalt Paving, clients can trust that their asphalt needs are in capable hands, contributing to the beauty and functionality of the Spokane community for years to come. Contact them today for reliable, efficient, and expertly executed asphalt projects.

[greengoblinswifey]

Being in your first age gap relationship with Hwang In-ho

You had always found yourself drawn to older men, captivated by their wisdom and experience. There was something undeniably attractive about their confidence and maturity.

You loved how they brought a sense of stability and adventure into your life, making every moment together feel rich and fulfilling. So, it was no wonder you were drawn to Hwang In-ho.

Though, the relationship was—reluctant at first. In-ho was over two decades older than you. You’d been informed about all the horror stories involving age gap relationships but through his actions, you learnt he was nothing like those men.

You loved the relationship you had with In-ho. While you were still figuring out your path, he had already walked a long journey, and that experience fascinated you. You enjoyed how he viewed the world differently, offering insights that challenged your perspective.

The age difference only seemed to enhance your connection; it allowed you to learn from him while also bringing a youthful energy into his life. You cherished how he appreciated your spontaneity, and together, you created a beautiful balance that made your relationship feel unique and special.

In-ho kept you away from the Squid Game. All you knew was that he ran a successful business and it accumulated him more than enough money to spoil you. Luxury trips, vehicles, expensive jewelry perfumes, you name it and it was yours. He was generous with his money and you lacked nothing.

The goal wasn’t to use In-ho per se, but you were going to get as much out of the relationship as you possibly could.

In-ho wasn’t just generous with his money, he was generous with his time. He’d drop whatever plans he had to spend quality time with you. Whether it be expensive dinner dates, operas, yacht dates or just a regular night with him—he didn’t care. As long as he had you in his arms.

The flirting between you and him was magnetic. He had a way of teasing you that made your heart race. One evening, as you both had dinner, he leaned in and said, “You know, I didn’t think someone your age could keep up with me.”

“Oh, I can keep up just fine. You might be the one struggling to keep up with me especially in bedroom,” you teased.

His charming smile grew wider, and he shot back, “Is that a challenge? And sweetheart you know I put in the work. Who else can have you screaming like I do?”

You felt a thrill at the playful banter, loving how he could make you feel special. His subtle gestures, like a lingering gaze or his touch, sent shivers down your spine. No one could make your core throb or you knees weak like him.

In-ho wasn’t a selfish lover either. Compared to the men your age, he knew what he was doing and he made you cum more than they ever could.

Usually, you’d never jump straight into fucking. His hands would be all over you, memorizing you as if you were braille. His tongue knew your taste, relishing in it and his lips had been on every single part of you. He knew just how to have you riled up and begging for his cock.

One night, after arriving home from a date, he spent more than an hour edging and teasing you. That was another thing about older men—they were so much kinkier than their younger counterparts.

With your consent, In-ho would have your hands bound and eat your pussy until you were shaking and crying. You never knew pleasure could become too much until you met him.

He was skilled with his tongue and just as good with his fingers, coaxing the sweetest sounds from you.

And when it came to his dick? He knew exactly how to use it.

He whispered praises in your ear as he slipped inside you, always giving you a minute to adjust and peppering kisses all over your face.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.”

“You take me so well.”

“You’re such a good girl, my good girl.”

And when he’d start to move, he hit all the right spots inside you. His thrusts were always deep, he fucked you like he was trying to prove a point. And he was—no other man could make you feel as good as him.

He wouldn’t stop fucking you until he got at least three orgasms out of you, and that excluded foreplay. When you felt too fucked out to give him another, all he had to do was whisper in your ear.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me? Make me proud and cum for me one more time, angel.”

That always did it for you.

In the end, he’d always leave you utterly spent and an incoherent mess. He knew exactly how to satisfy you.

Your pleasure was his responsibility and so was every other aspect of your life. Who would have a beautiful young woman on their arm and not put her on a pedestal? In-ho practically worshiped the ground you walked on. As long as you were happy, he was. And that’s what made the years between you seem so much smaller.

[rainedragon]

Musings on the AP Cost Increases

Something came across my feed where people were talking about Angelic Pretty being low quality & over priced for polyester, and I'm not quoting it because I don't want this to be like... an attack against that person's specific personal oppinion when it's really not. It just brings up a topic I've been thinking about recently and I wanted to go into it a little deeper. I think as a community we really need to acknowledge a few things when it comes to the price increases happening with AP.

First of all, the yen is weak. [1] If AP was making everything in Japan using Japanese fibers, this wouldn't be a huge deal, but they don't. Japan doesn't grow a lot of cotton [2] so they have to buy cotton internationally. That means when the yen falls, the cost of materials goes up. AP also makes a lot of their garments in other countries. This means when then yen falls, the cost of labor goes up.

So, when we see AP releasing a fully shirred cotton JSK for ¥37,400 in 2025 [3] when a similar dress was ¥26,800 in 2020, [4], and ¥24,990 in 2012 [5], what we are seeing is inflation. It's worth noting that in countries where the currency is stronger, like the US, the cost of those 3 dresses is more flat. In USD at the time it was $262 (2025), $260 (2020) and $288 (2012) for those 3 dresses. In other words, even though the yen cost of AP's cotton pieces has increased dramatically over the price a decade ago, the price to US customers is basically the same (or even lower).

Their polyester dresses are similar in price, but, I will say, if you compare something like Decoration Ice Cream [6] to something like Happy Cakes, they are putting some more expensive design elements into some of the polyester dresses, like the belt on decoration ice cream. Cutting details on the cotton dresses can be a way to cut cost and keep from raising the price. Cutting details in general can also be a way to cut labor costs. So can switching to lower cost factories, which is going to get you lower quality sewing work.

It's also worth noting that cotton is currently trading at 66 cents per pound right now, but in April 2022, it was trading at $1.55 USD per lb. [7] That recent spike in cotton prices likely impacted Angelic Pretty (and other brands) textile selections for 2022-2023, and possibly into 2024 depending on how long it took the actual cloth prices to come back down.

The other thing to consider is that we are now about two decades out from when Angelic Pretty really started doing custom prints. So they have about two decades of experiance seeing how cotton and polyester pieces have aged, and I can say from what I have in my own closet that the polyester pieces are more colorfast. They are also generally easier to care for and take up less space, two things designers have mentioned their local Japanese customers prefer.

I also want to say that I don't think AP is overpriced. If anything I think most lolita is underpriced. As in we are under paying for the labor involved in the construction of most lolita pieces.

I do not know of any lolita brands that are significantly cheaper and equal or better quality than AP that are operating with the same costs as AP (custom textiles, custom lace, physical shop cost, etc).

I just paid Meta ¥38,000 yen for the last custom print JSK I bought from them. [8] Baby's latest print release is ¥44,880 for a JSK [9] (and totally sold out, and I'm never going to be accusing Baby of being the highest quality of all the Japanese brands.) [10] IW's Rose and strawberry cross ribbon JSK is one of their few recent custom prints and it was ¥43,890. [11] And IW closed their physical shops and their international webshop, which means they cut a LOT of overhead.

It's totally fine to not like AP and not buy AP. For some people, a lower price point garment is more in line with their budget. For some people, the things that make AP cost more just aren't value added to them, and thus aren't worth the increased costs. (For example if a person isn't super in to custom lace, a brand producing cheaper garments with commercial lace may be a better value to them). And some people have strong feelings about specific fibers, and that also is fine.

But, at the same time, if the market doesn't support higher prices, (and to be clear: I do think AP needs to raise their prices to produce higher quality garments than what they are making right now), then that product isn't going to exist. I don't know everyone's buying habbits, but historically when I've run polls [12], the international English-speaking market has focused a lot more on second hand purchasing than first hand purchasing. That doesn't push a brand like AP to produce higher cost garments because of preferences in that market while alienating their local customers who are already seeing actual cost increases due to the weak yen.

Basically, in short: lolita is expensive and it's OK to have preferences for quality and price. But I think we need to be realistic about what can and can't be produced at specific price points. If quality is the most important thing, then maybe a highly skilled indie designer who makes bespoke pieces at a higher price point is the best option. If lower price is the most important thing, there are indie brands who cut costs in various ways to get their prices lower than AP's.

But the only way to get high quality and a high level of detail at a very low cost, is with unpaid labor or other forms of theft. It's not possible.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price has a sweet tooth. Give him Nutella over marmite or even cheese any day. Does he indulge? Sadly, only rarely. Dad used to say it was for twats and toddlers only

Oh, Anon...

Price had all the sweetness beaten out of him, or so he thinks. Nikolai proves him wrong.

cw: slightly erotic act of feeding fruit, mention of disordered relationship with food.

Price denied his sweet tooth out of habit. Indulgence was weakness according to his upbringing, which meant that Price was taught abstinence when it came to treats. Coffee: black. Whiskey: neat. Crisps, not chocolate, if you really had to. No cake, no biscuits, no ice cream, nothing sweeter than a Braeburn apple. Price's diet was devoid of anything that might be considered superfluous.

It helped that the army was a place where a man's diet was heavily controlled, even if the quality of the food wasn't necessarily awe-inspiring. It was easy to ignore temptation when there were a million others things to focus on at any given moment.

Then, while Nik and the 141 were running an op in Warsaw, Nik turned up at the safehouse with a paper bag stuffed with rogaliki. The filling? Nutella. Price caught a whiff of them the moment Nik stepped across the threshold; they were still bakery-warm.

Soap leaned across to snag one out of the bag, feeding it beneath Simon's mask at his request so that he could remain prone, one eye down his scope. Gaz plucked two from the edge of the wrapper and then Nik offered it to Price. "Captain?"

It had been one hell of a week. Two close shaves, four false leads, bad intel, almost decapitated by the falling debris of an exploding Chinook. Price's self discipline was at a low point. "Nah, thanks. Too sweet for me."

"Och, cap. Yer missin' out," Soap called back, chomping one pastry as he watched through the scope in his hand.

Gaz hummed his agreement. "Yeah, sir. You gotta try these, they're peng."

Simon stayed silent.

Nik had glanced at each operator as they spoke but now he looked back at Price, shaking the wrapper once. "They are best when fresh."

Price's mouth watered. One couldn't hurt. He hadn't had Nutella in years, since his Da had scolded him for eating it with a dessert spoon from the jar and then it had never entered the house again... two and a half decades ago. "Olright, yeah, give it 'ere."

The pastry was warm still, white sugar clinging to the flakes as they fell to the floor on the way to his mouth. He didn't expect the whole outer body experience as he put it in his mouth, and he slumped down onto the upturned crate currently holding his M4 as he chomped the lot in two bites. "Bloody hell, what did ya call them, Nik?"

"Rogaliki," Nik replied, wiping his thumb over his lower lip to remove the white dusting. "Not quite as good as babooshka used to make, but close. They are good, no?"

Price grunted, running his tongue over his teeth in search of the last few morsels of sweet. Nik was watching him closely as he bit into another, his head tilted to the side. Price tried not to look at the paper bag on his lap.

When Nik finished, he changed seats to sit on the same crate as Price, their shoulders bumping together. "Another?"

Price shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. But, ya know... Chinook, bad intel, close shaves. "Yeah, g'won then."

Nik made the fatal error of sliding the bag into Price's lap. The last three disappeared in a handful of minutes and Nik watched with interest. "If I had known you had such a sweet tooth, I would have bought more."

Price hummed, wiping the sugar and pastry from his beard on the back of his glove. "Bit of a weakness of mine."

Before Nik could answer, Ghost broke his silence. "Three hostiles spotted exiting the building at the southern exit."

Soap shifted down onto his elbows. "Aye, confirmed."

"Clear shot on the target?" Price left the crate as Nik and Gaz gathered their weapons.

"Aye."

"Take it."

Ghost pulled the trigger.

The rest of the operation went smoothly and Nik was soon flying them home. Price hit the shower after providing his initial report to the Major, and was settling down to his paperwork just as Nik stepped into his quarters.

"Knockin' not a custom where you come from?"

"Not between lovers, no."

Price's ears flushed a deep scarlet as Nik so easily named the slowly blooming relationship between them, and he slumped onto the edge of his cot to towel off his hair some more to try and hide it.

"You enjoy sweet things," Nik stated, and Price heard the rustle of a supermarket carrier bag, followed by a dull thud as its contents were placed on his desk. The room was narrow and Nik had to draw close to get past; shower fresh and warm, the faint scent of cologne... Nik smelled as good as the rogaliki had.

"Yeah. Bit of a vice."

"Smoking and drinking are vices. Food is good." Nik sat down on the edge of Price's cot at his side and lifted the edge of the towel to peer under it. "Food is to be enjoyed."

Price frowned, batting Nik's hand away so he could pull the towel off his head to chuck it over the back of his desk chair nearby. He didn't miss the affectionate flush in Nik's face at the sight of him; Nik liked it when Price was warm and ruffled. Complete softie, really. Not that the KorTac operator he had stabbed through the throat in Warsaw would agree...

There was a tupperware of strawberries in Nik's lap. They were cut up and washed, which meant Nik had prepared them before arriving. Price smiled. "They fer me?"

"Da," Nik looked at the desk too, "and so are those."

Price followed his eye to the stack of chocolate bars Nik had removed from the carrier bag.

"Nik, I'm already spreadin' in the middle," Price murmured as he patted his belly.

"Pssh." Nik didn't even humour him, scooting further onto the cot until his back was against the wall. He grabbed Price's pillow and placed it over his lap. "Lay here."

"I've got work to do."

The look Nik gave Price informed him that the work would be waiting until later.

"Using that look on me, terrifying bastard..." Price mumbled, slumping down petulantly on his side so that his head hit the pillow but he remained stubbornly inaccessible.

"On your back."

Price rolled over, hands resting on his chest, and side eyed the tupperware as Nik placed it on the bed. "You gonna feed me, Nik?" He asked, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"As Hadrian did his lovers," Nik replied, unclipping the plastic lid and selecting his first strawberry. Price could smell the fruit, but also the familiar nutty sweetness of Nutella.

"Does that make me Antinous?"

"Da."

"Didn't he drown under mysterious circumstance?"

"Jonathan, you are trying to distract me and it will not work," Nik said, smoothing his other big hand over Price's damp hair.

"Blimey, Jonathan..."

"Close your eyes."

Price did as he was told and took a deep breath through his nose. He'd be lying if he said this wasn't nice; a headache had been developing in his temples and Nik's palm was warm against his scalp. The first strawberry touched his lower lip and Price opened his mouth obediently. The sweet flesh of the fruit broke over his tongue, accented perfectly by the dab of Nutella Nik had scooped up with the edge, and Price's toes damn curled in pleasure.

"Good?" Nik asked, thumb brushing over the stubble on Price's chin as he chewed.

Price swallowed. "Mm, maybe."

"You are a bad liar."

"'m a brilliant liar to everyone else. Only seem t' have a problem with you." Price shuffled his shoulders to get comfortable. "I think I need a few more t' confirm."

Nik grinned. "That, I can do."

The next was just as good as the first, and the third was as good as that. Nik ate a few himself and then leaned down, his hand scooping beneath Price's head to lift him up for a kiss. A tongue that tasted sometimes of whiskey, often sugar free mint chewing gum, now filled Price's mouth with the sweetness of strawberries.

The sex that followed was good. The slow, deep kind where neither were particularly worried about reaching the end; more interested in touching, checking. Nik had been airborne when that Chinook had exploded, but he had been close enough to watch one of its blades spin over the heads of the 141.

Nik's body was heavy and warm between Price's legs, the low rumble of his voice vibrating in Price's chest and curling around his heart, softer and warmer even than the blankets Nik pulled over them in the aftermath. He buried his face in Price's hair, pulling him back so that their bodies touched from head to toe. "A sweet boy who loves sweet things," Nik murmured.

"Ain't nothin' sweet about me, Nikolai," Price said, voice rough in the afterglow.

"We will agree to disagree," Nik said, curling his arm up around Price's chest. "Whoever said you could not have these things, they were wrong. I will ensure you have as much of it as your heart desires."

It was difficult to argue when your entire body was humming with contentment, so Price closed his eyes and bedded down for a nap, basking in Nik's arms. The paperwork could wait until the morning.

[starlightkun]

❧ word count: 26.1k ❧ genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, paranormal/supernatural au, ghost!jisung ❧ warnings: mentions of death, prominent side character dies early in the fic, depictions of grieving, family member of the reader is sick (it’s dementia-like, though the disease is never named in the fic), family tension/drama (reader has some family members that are not very nice to her), reader has some sleep/physical health issues at one point, reader is just really going through it in this fic for a while ❧ extra info: the reader’s mom in this has early-onset memory issues; i didn’t name a specific disease because im not a medical expert of any kind and didn’t want to misrepresent any real-life illness in this fic. i combined both my own experiences with my own family members who have had these kinds of illnesses and some research, but i am not an expert and the representation in this fic may not be entirely accurate! ❧ author’s note: i don’t think i’ve done a spooky fic like this before? but this one was super fun! also i will say it takes a little bit for jisung to show up, so please be patient when you don’t see him in the first few scenes, he’ll be there, i promise! ❧ sequel

That night, the rain was still pounding against the windows. Your mom had gone to bed a while ago, but your mind was restless. Something had happened again as you were helping your mom get ready for bed. Your stepdad’s reading glasses, which were on the nightstand on his side of their bed, as they had been since he passed, had fallen off with seemingly no rhyme or reason. Not wanting your mom to get spooked about the house again, you reassured her that you had just bumped into the furniture—her back was turned when they fell—but it left you with an uneasy feeling.

“Hi, Hyukjun.” You picked up the phone call from your stepdad as you headed back towards your office building from the restaurant you’d taken your lunch break at.

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?” His warm, familiar voice was on the other end as always, though there was something different about it, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on from the quality of your phone speaker. Your steps slowed thoughtfully as you listened more attentively, a pit growing in your stomach.

“I’m good,” you answered shortly, suspicion creeping over you. “How are you two?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate hearing from your stepdad, you were on good terms with him. Your father passed when you were a little girl, and your mom continued to raise you on her own, not even considering any romantic prospects until you graduated high school. She and Hyukjun only dated for six months before marrying and had been happily married since. Hyukjun was a mild-mannered divorcee with three adult sons of his own, all of whom were at least a decade older than you, and none of which you were exceptionally close with. When your mom had been diagnosed only five years into their marriage, he began taking care of her—no question and no complaints. With her condition, you were fairly certain that you visited them more than Hyukjun’s own kids did, despite all of them living nearby to your knowledge.

He at least didn’t beat around the bush anymore. “She’s getting worse, Y/N.”

“How bad?”

“She thinks the house is haunted,” he admitted. “And I…”

“What?” You prompted him.

“She’s been asking for you. I know you’re busy, but if you could visit soon, I think it’d really help her.”

“Yeah, I have some time this weekend,” you agreed immediately. “I’ll be there.”

“Thanks.”

You were arriving at the building then, slowing to a stop outside as you prepared to hang up. “My break is ending, Hyukjun, I’ve got to go.”

“Of course,” he acquiesced. “Hey, I love you.”

“I love you too.” You looked up at the gray storm clouds gathering in the sky above you. “And tell Mom I love her, and I’ll be there soon.”

“I will. Have a good rest of your day at work, sweetheart.”

“Right. Bye.”

When your mom and Hyukjun got married, you already had a lease on a small place closer to your job in the city, so your mom sold your childhood home and moved in with Hyukjun. Despite the small twinge of sadness at her selling your childhood home, the place where you, your mom, and dad had all been together, you were happy that she was no longer there by herself. Their home was a quaint two-story, two-bedroom townhome, with well-tended flowerbeds and a porch swing out front. A long time ago, you knew that this house had been your stepbrothers’ childhood home, the three of them sharing what was now the guest room, Hyukjun and his ex-wife occupying the primary bedroom that was now his and your mother’s. Hyukjun had been divorced for many years before he met your mom, you didn’t know the exact number off the top of your head—you weren’t sure if you had ever been told.

The snapdragons were in bloom, stalks of purples and blues and pinks, and you squatted down next to one. Feeling a bit like a child, you gently squeezed the sides of one flower to make the “mouth” of the dragon open, like Hyukjun had shown you one of the first times you’d met, the very first time you ever went to his house. The front door opened, and you looked up to see your stepdad stepping out of the house. You stood up, walking up the three short steps from the sidewalk to meet him on their porch.

“I saw you coming up the street,” he explained, gesturing to the front window. “It’s good to see you, Y/N.”

“Hi, Hyukjun.” You hugged him. “Good to see you too.”

“I just wanted to give you a heads up. She’s calm, but she’s not exactly… here,” he explained. “I didn’t want you to be caught off-guard.”

You nodded in understanding. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

Following your stepdad into the house, he guided you towards the living room at the back of the house.

“Hon?” He poked his head into the living room.

Your mom looked up from where she had been reading a book in an armchair, her face breaking into a gentle smile. “Oh, Sangwoo, you’re back.”

“Yes, I picked Y/N up, just like you asked.” Your stepdad stepped aside to let her see you.

You pushed aside the alarms going off in your mind to give your mother as calm of a smile as you could, approaching her with your hand outstretched. “Hi, Mom, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N, hi, sweetie.” She beamed at you, taking your hand that was offered and squeezing it tight. “How was school?”

“It was good, I had a good day,” you answered brightly. Looking down at the book in her lap, you asked, “What are you reading?”

Your mother had been a Literature teacher for all her life, before her diagnosis forced her to retire many years before she ever wanted to. She would read to you at any opportunity when you were a kid, especially at bedtime. It was always easiest to get her talking now about whatever book she was reading, no matter where her mind was.

“Oh, I’ll tell you about it later. First, do you have homework?”

“No, Mom, nothing today.”

Hyukjun cleared his throat then. “You must be hungry, Y/N. Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes, yes, go get a snack.” Your mother insisted.

“Okay,” you acquiesced, giving her hand another tight squeeze. “I’ll be right back after my snack. I want to hear about your book.”

In their kitchen, you turned on your stepdad with wide eyes. “She’s not just mixing up your names anymore, she thinks you are my dad!”

“Sometimes…” Hyukjun nodded, leaning against a kitchen counter. “Not always. She has her lucid days still.”

In the bright kitchen lighting, you could see a certain tiredness in Hyukjun that was new, a pallor in his skin, a hitch in his breaths, a lag in his movements, none of which used to be there.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, eyes locking on his. “With you? You were going to tell me something on the phone, and you didn’t. Tell me.”

He sighed, the sound dragging out into a wheeze and then a hacking cough that he covered in his elbow, and you winced just watching him. When he’d caught his breath again, he answered, “They found a tumor, in my lung. I have maybe six months, Y/N.”

“That’s it?!” You blurted out. “I-I mean, even with chemo, or radiation, or whatever?”

“I’m not—”

“It’s not treatable?”

He cast a sidelong glance down the hall, at the room where your mother was. “Someone needs to take care of her. I need to be here, and after I’m gone, our savings will go towards her care. We can’t spend it all on something that might give me another few months.”

“Another few months with her! With us!” You grabbed his arm, knowing how desperate you sounded. “What about your kids? Do they know what you’re doing?”

“No.” His voice was heavy, but determined. “I know you all don’t talk… but don’t tell them, please.”

His face wavered in your vision as your eyes filled with tears. You tried to swallow them down, but a couple spilled over. “Let me move in, and help. I want to take care of both of you. Please.”

“What about your job?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me. You’ve done enough for me, for us. Let me do something for you.”

“Thank you.”

Your work agreed to let you move into a part-time remote position. Most days you were able to get all your done, early even. Not only was Hyukjun there, but a memory care aide named Nayoung came by for an hour three days a week to assist as well.

It had been a month since you moved into the primary bedroom on the second floor, the bedroom that used to be your mom and stepdad’s. You found out that they moved their things into the guest room on the first floor two months ago, when your mom hurt herself on the stairs. It had only been a skinned knee, but Hyukjun didn’t want to risk something worse.

That night you laid in bed with your laptop open, desperately trying to finish up a report that was due the next day. Today had been rougher, your mom needing constant redirection and reorientation, not to mention the conversation that you had with your stepdad earlier this evening. Usually after your mom went to sleep, the two of you would watch a movie or a couple episodes of a show, or just have a drink and chat. It was a nice, slow, easy part of your day with just the two of you. But this time as you rooted around the for the fresh tub of ice cream that you had just bought from the store, and called to him over your shoulder asking if he wanted a bowl, you saw him waiting for you with papers in his hand.

One of the errands he’d sent you on today, in addition to groceries, the post office, and the pharmacy, had been to an attorney’s office. You’d known that, you weren’t stupid. There, you had been handed a large envelope with the law firm’s name embossed on it, and your stepdad’s name typed on a label under that. You didn’t inquire as to the contents of the envelope from the receptionist, nor your stepdad when you delivered it to him upon returning home. It was none of your business. But at the kitchen table that night, he showed you the documents that he had drawn up.

Once he passed, you would own his house, the one that you lived in now, as a life estate pur autre vie. For the life of another. Until your mother passed, you would own his house, and could stay here and take care of her. Then, once she passed, the house would go to his sons, your stepbrothers, as he’d always intended.

You sighed and deleted the sentence you’d just written. “Stupid, stupid,” you muttered to yourself. Looking at the time, you let out another sigh and rubbed your face in exasperation. “I’m never going to fucking finish this.”

Setting the laptop aside, you pushed your covers off yourself and got out of bed. Keeping your footsteps light, you crept downstairs and into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. After drinking a whole glass in the kitchen, you refilled it to bring it back up to bedroom with you. Halfway up the stairs, the sconce on the wall next to your head flickered on, making you pause. You’d left all the lights off on your way down. Peering behind the frosted glass cover, you reached your hand back there and tightened the bulb. The light stopped flickering, and you looked around at the empty, dark staircase again. Shrugging to yourself, you finished your journey to your room.

Cutting up your mom’s breakfast into small pieces, you hummed a song that had been stuck in your head. The sound of something clattering startled your peaceful reverie, and your head snapped up immediately. You darted around the kitchen counter to get your eyes on where your mom was sitting at the kitchen table.

“You okay, Mom?” You asked, eyes searching her for any signs of injury or distress.

“Oh, I’m fine, sweetie,” she reassured you, pointing at a point on the floor further away from her. You saw that a silver utensil was gleaming up from the tile. “I dropped my fork, that’s all.”

“I’ll grab you another one when I bring your food in, don’t worry about it,” you reassured her. “Leave it, I’ll pick it up in a sec.”

Returning to the kitchen, you finished cutting her food, then prepared yours and Hyukjun’s plates. Carrying all three of them in, along with your mom’s clean fork, you cocked your head when you saw the fork sitting on the closest edge of the table to the kitchen. Looking at Hyukjun, who had joined your mom at the table in the interim, you said, “You didn’t have to pick up the fork, Hyukjun, I was going to grab it.”

His face betrayed his momentary confusion, looking between the food you just set in front of him, then to the fork on the edge of the table. “That was there when I came in. I didn’t move it.”

As you set your mom’s food down for her, you asked, “Mom, did you get the fork?”

But her eyes had a familiar far-out appearance, and you knew she wasn’t going to be able to answer you. You shook your head at yourself, putting your own plate down and grabbing the dirty fork off the table. Dropping it in the kitchen sink, you then returned to the table to take your seat next to your mother and across from Hyukjun.

You weren’t sure why you were awake at first. Everything seemed quiet, but something didn’t feel right. Sitting up in bed, you checked the time on your phone. 2:48 a.m. You desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but you couldn’t shake the uneasiness in your mind, and so you pushed the covers off of you.

As soon as you were at the top of the stairs, you could hear voices downstairs, your mother’s and your stepdad’s. Your stepdad was clearly trying to keep his voice down, but your mom wasn’t, and she sounded distressed.

“Sangwoo, I’m telling you something’s wrong with this house! We need to go! Where’s Y/N?!” She demanded of him.

“She’s fine, she’s sleeping. Please, tell me what’s wrong with the house, and we can try to fix it,” he pleaded with her quietly.

You finally made it to the hallway just outside their bedroom, taking in the scene of your mom’s wild, scared eyes and Hyukjun’s desperate concern. “Mom, I’m here, I’m okay.”

“Y/N!” She let out a gasp of relief as soon as she saw you. “Oh, you’re okay.”

“Yes, Mom, I’m okay.” You offered her your hand, and she grabbed it tightly. “What’s wrong? Why are you up?”

“I’ve been trying to tell your dad—” She gestured to Hyukjun pointedly. “But this house isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just isn’t right,” she repeated insistently. “What happened to our old house? We need to go back there!”

You looked at Hyukjun desperately, at a loss for words to explain that she sold it years ago. Thankfully, he took over.

“It’s late, hon. We can’t go all the way back to the old house this late at night, especially not with Y/N. It’s not safe,” he persuaded her gently.

She seemed to relax a little at this. “Oh. Right. It’s late.”

“Can you read me something, Mom?” You requested sweetly.

This finally brought a smile to her features, and she nodded, her grasp on your hand turning tender. “Oh, of course, Y/N. I’m sorry I woke you, sweetie.”

“It’s alright, Mom,” you reassured her, leading her back into their bedroom. “Everything’s alright.”

Hyukjun’s funeral was quaint. It was kept to family and close friends, and organized mostly by his sons and ex-wife. You didn’t mind, your mother was in no shape to organize a funeral, and you were more than happy to step aside and support her through this while they dealt with the details.

Today of all days was one of your mother’s better days, possibly one of the best that she’s had in a while, and you didn’t know if that was better or worse. Better, you decided, so she could say goodbye to him properly. After the small funeral was the wake, held at Hyukjun’s home—which was now your home, you realized—and was a more open-door affair. Your mom’s memory care aide, Nayoung, came as well, which you were glad for. While your stepbrothers and their mother played host more than you, greeting guests as they showed up, chatting and reminiscing with them about all their shared memories of Hyukjun from years or even decades ago, it was still your residence, and you couldn’t bring yourself to just stay in a corner. Hyukjun had been your family too, for however brief a period of your life.

You were alone in the kitchen getting refreshments for yourself, your mom, and Nayoung when you sensed that you weren’t by yourself. Turning around, you did in fact see your stepbrothers entering the kitchen, followed by their mother.

You offered them all a small, polite smile. “Hi.”

“Glad we caught you, Y/N,” the oldest brother flashed you a grin. “You got a sec?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“We know it must be really tough for you, taking care of your mom by yourself now,” their mother said, her voice coated in an over-the-top sugary sweet sympathy.

You shrugged noncommittally. “Nayoung helps.”

The youngest jumped in, “We just wanted you to know that you and your mom can take as much time as you need to move out.”

“Of course, of course,” their mother agreed. “You know, a week or two.”

They all nodded and murmured in agreement, focusing the same overeager, empty, sympathetic faces on you that made you feel like you were surrounded by some kind of predator that wanted to empathize you to death. Steeling your nerves, you met all of their eyes in turn as you went to answer.

“We’re not moving out.” You informed them firmly. “Hyukjun left the house to me to keep taking care of my mom. After… it’s all yours.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you’ll just give it to us?” The youngest scoffed, immediately dropping his kind, caring act. All of their faces were somewhere between disbelief and anger.

“No, he set it up that way. You can get your copies of the papers from his attorney, Mr. Shin.” You brought out the business card for the attorney who drafted the papers. You’d tucked it into your wallet absentmindedly when it’d been given to you on your initial errand from Hyukjun, and you were glad you hadn’t had the time to clean out your wallet since. You set the business card down on the counter between you.

The oldest snatched up the card. “There’s no way…”

“We’re going to fight this. No way the house is yours,” the youngest swore.

The middle son spoke finally, his gaze hard as he glared at you. He practically snarled, “You’re not his family, you’ve never been.”

“It was good seeing you all again,” you said, no emotion in your voice. Abandoning your three glasses, you scooted around the counter, then around them, heading towards the kitchen door that they had been blocking the whole time. “Please have all communications about the property go through Mr. Shin. He’ll be able to answer your questions better than I can.”

Crying at a wake was normal. Encouraged even. But you weren’t amongst loved ones, remembering someone you’d lost. You were alone, sitting at the top of the stairs in the dark, crying into your arms to muffle your sobs as you tried to compose yourself from the confrontation you’d just survived. Barely. Your hands were balled into fists to keep them from shaking.

“Are you okay?” A quiet voice caught your attention, gentle, then hushed as he seemed to be speaking to himself, “Why are you asking that? Stupid, stupid.”

You picked your head up out of your arms, quickly wiping the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks as you spotted a young man at the bottom of the stairs. He had dark hair and was dressed in a pair of black pants, a white shirt, and what looked like a black cardigan over the shirt. You didn’t recognize him from the wake, but you hadn’t greeted everyone, nor did you know all the mourners personally. Many were either family friends of Hyukjun’s from before he met your mother, old colleagues, or distant relations.

Sniffling and trying to right your clothes, you offered him as much of a smile you could muster, “I’m sorry, it’s uhm, been a long day.”

He froze, his eyes locking on yours and going wide. The man looked behind him, as if expecting you to have been addressing somebody else, and upon seeing an empty hallway, he turned back to you and hesitantly replied, “That’s… okay. Are you alright?”

“Oh, as alright as I can be, I suppose,” you admitted, dabbing at your eyes with your sleeve again. You weren’t sure why you were telling this random man that, but he had spotted you sobbing at a wake, so there wasn’t much of a point in covering that fact up. “Were you looking for the bathroom or…?”

“No, just stretching my legs.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his cardigan. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. “I don’t think I saw you at the funeral. How did you know my stepdad? Family friend?”

“Yeah, I was around when his kids were growing up.”

“Oh, are you a childhood friend of his sons or something?”

“Friend is a stretch, I think,” he chuckled.

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly as well, adding a polite but hollow, “I’m sure they appreciate you coming out to pay your respects.”

As he shifted on his feet, the shadows on his face lessened, letting you see his features better. You furrowed your brow with interest.

“How old are you? I mean—You don’t look older than me, you must’ve been much younger than them growing up.”

“I-I mean, we weren’t very close,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Feeling bad about putting him on the spot in this sort of scenario, you offered him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I didn’t grow up with my stepbrothers, so I guess it’s a bit hard for me to imagine them having friends—Oh!”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you slapped a hand over it, wishing you hadn’t said them, especially not to some stranger, who for all you know could turn right around and repeat it to your stepbrothers. That would be the last thing you needed, to give them another reason to hate you, and by extension, your mother.

“That didn’t come out right!” You desperately tried to backpedal, holding your hands out in front of you. “I-I meant that I haven’t met a lot of their friends, since our parents got together later in life, and—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassured you calmly, taking a couple hesitant steps up the stairs. You scooted over to make room for him to sit next to you on the top step. He pressed himself against the banister, leaving plenty of space between you two. “I didn’t mean to, but I heard some of what they said to you in the kitchen.”

“I would normally be upset at you for eavesdropping, but I’m kind of glad that somebody else heard some of the shit they said to me this time,” you chuckled cynically.

“‘This time?’” He repeated questioningly. “Are they always like that to you?”

“I don’t see them that often. I think the first time I met the middle son was at the wedding, actually,” you said. “They started spending more holidays with their mom instead of Hyukjun when my mom… after her diagnosis.”

“Oh.”

“God, sorry, you don’t need to be hearing all this shit.” You shook your head at yourself. “I mean, I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m Jisung.”

“Y/N.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s true. You and your mom are his family, too.”

You messed with the sleeves of your shirt as you stared at the bottom step, gnawing on your bottom lip, ignoring the metallic taste of blood when you broke skin. Finally, once you’d swallowed down the lump in your throat, you replied with a tight, “Thanks. And I mean, I understand why they would be upset. Their dad just died and two people who are essentially strangers to them are now living in their childhood home. Of course they feel weird about it.”

“That’s... gracious.”

“It’s true. And like I said, their dad died, they deserve some grace.” From elsewhere in the house, you could hear your mom calling your name, and immediately jumped to your feet. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

“I understand.” Jisung nodded to you. “It was nice talking to you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you too. Thanks for listening, Jisung.” You waved to him over your shoulder as you rushed down the stairs and off in the direction of your mother’s voice.

The next day, you had habitually started preparing three plates of breakfast before you caught yourself. In the first couple days after his passing, it was painfully in the foreground of your mind with everything you did, but this was the first time you’d found yourself going about a daily task and it had slipped your mind. You left the full plate of food in the kitchen to clean up later, and took just yours and your mom’s plates to the kitchen table.

“Do you want to go on a walk after breakfast?” You proposed as you ate.

It was something that Hyukjun and your mom did every morning. Sometimes you joined them, but usually you took the opportunity to clean up around the house or get work done in the quiet. Your mother had no trouble ambulating, it was her mind that was going faster than anything else. With Hyukjun no longer here to walk with her, you didn’t want her to lose that precious time going out, or the exercise. Not to mention, you needed to get out of the house again.

“Oh, I’d love to, sweetie,” she agreed with a smile, one that you noticed didn’t reach her eyes.

“After we’re done, I’ll clean up while you get ready.”

As you scooped the extra food into a plastic container at the end of breakfast, you realized the lid that you’d grabbed was the wrong size. Opening the cabinet that contained all the plastic containers, you squatted down with a sigh, mentally preparing yourself to ransack through the absolute mess that greeted you down there. Hyukjun normally kept it meticulously organized, all containers accompanied by their proper lids, but in your rush to clean up after everyone left the wake late last night, you had effectively ruined all of it.

You tried to just look under a haphazard stack of plastic containers, and they of course all came crashing out onto the kitchen floor. You groaned, plopping down onto your butt as you got ready to have to put them all back. But as you went to pick up the first one, an overwhelming, crushing feeling of loneliness and sorrow hit you like a bus, and you covered your face as you started sobbing. The hot tears stung your eyes, every shaking breath you took hurt your chest, and even the task of putting the tupperware back seemed impossible and monumental now.

Rubbing one of your eyes, you inhaled and forced yourself to grab just one container to put back. “Come on, don’t have time for this.”

Slowly, you put the containers away, until there was one lid left that had slid much further away from you. You crawled over to it, realizing the shape seemed familiar as you held it in your hands. Standing back up, you fitted it over the container of leftovers you had perfectly.

“Huh.” Your sobs petered out as you looked down at it curiously. “That could’ve been easier.”

Throwing open the front door, you grunted as you hauled your heavy grocery bags into the home.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Nayoung’s voice called out. She had increased the frequency and duration of her visits since Hyukjun’s passing, and today you took the opportunity to do some much-needed restocking of the kitchen during her stay.

“Yeah!” You yelled back.

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m fine!” You hopped on one foot as you tried to wedge your other foot behind the door to close it. “Just—Shit!”

The door suddenly came loose, slamming closed even harder than you had opened it. Nayoung came around the corner with wide eyes, looking rather startled.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, taking a couple bags from your hands, looking you over inquisitively.

You looked between your still-raised foot and the door, a bit dumbfounded. You swore you hadn’t kicked it that hard. This wasn’t actually your house, after all.

“Yeah, Nayoung, I’m okay,” you reassured her, leading the way into the kitchen. “Do you have a window open? There must be a cross-breeze or something.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

It was pouring rain outside, the sky dull and gray, occasionally lit up with flashes of lightning. The constant pounding downpour was interspersed with cracks of thunder that would rattle frames on the walls. The weather was so bad that Nayoung couldn’t even make it out, leaving just you and your mom all day. It wasn’t so bad, today was a better day for her. She was calm at least, despite the weather, absorbed in her books for most of the day. Maybe a little too absorbed, as it was hard to tear her away for meals or snacks. But you could get your work done and do chores around the house uninterrupted, and once you finished your own to-do list, you were able to sit down in the living room with her and read as well.

After a particularly bright flash of lightning, followed by a boom of thunder that made you feel like you were in a low-level earthquake rather than a thunderstorm, the lights went out entirely. You heard the telltale clatter of your mom dropping her book in surprise as she gasped.

“Mom?” You called out to her, both to check on her and so she knew that you were still there.

“I’m okay, sweetie,” she promised. “I just got startled and dropped my book.”

“Stay there,” you directed her, pulling out your phone and turning on your flashlight. You could see that her book had skidded some distance away from her, out of arm’s reach. “I’ll check the breaker. Don’t get up, I don’t want you tripping over anything.”

“Alright. Be safe.”

Opening the utility closet in the laundry room, you threw your hands up in exasperation as you looked over the circuit breaker. You had no fucking clue what you were doing. Right as you had turned on your phone, fully intent on searching the internet for what the fuck you were supposed to do now, the power came back on all on its own.

“Well, there we go!” You called out through the house, starting back towards your mom. “I’m a genius!”

Upon your return to the living room, you stopped when you noticed one key difference: The book was no longer on the floor. It was on the side table next to your mom. There was no way your mom could’ve moved fast enough to have gotten the book and then sat back down in the time since the lights turned back on.

You sighed gently. “I told you not to get up, Mom.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how’d the book get there?” You pointed to the book knowingly.

“I didn’t—” She looked at it curiously, then at where it used to be on the floor. “Oh… I guess I must’ve… Sorry, sweetie.”

You walked over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m sorry if I seemed upset with you. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

She patted your hand. “I know, Y/N. You’re doing a good job.”

The rain was still pounding against the windows that night. Your mom had gone to bed a while ago, but your mind was restless. Something had happened again as you were helping your mom get ready for bed. Hyukjun’s reading glasses, which were on the nightstand on his side of their bed, as they had been since he passed, had fallen off with seemingly no rhyme or reason. Not wanting your mom to get spooked about the house again, you reassured her that you had just bumped into the furniture—her back was turned when they fell—but it left you with an uneasy feeling.

You’d pocketed the glasses instead of replacing them on the nightstand, and were staring at them on the kitchen counter now, fondly remembering the way he used to peer at you over the lenses as he read the newspaper in the morning and you made sarcastic quips about whatever headlines were on the pages facing you.

“Hyukjun?” You said his name into the empty air, uncertainty making your voice waver. After a beat of silence, you hissed, “Of course you weren’t going to get a reply, stupid, stupid.”

Trying to gather yourself, you moved to open the freezer, securing the tub of ice cream from inside it. Sitting at the kitchen table with two spoons, you set one in front of Hyukjun’s spot across from you. Glumly spooning some ice cream into your mouth, you barely tasted it as you stared at his empty chair.

“I miss you,” you said softly, not expecting an answer this time. “A lot. It’s not fair. I know that’s what your sons think, it’s not fair that it was you and not her. But… it’s not fair that we only got… so little time with you.”

You sniffled against the oncoming tears, eating another spoonful.

“I wish… I wish my mom had met you earlier, I wish you didn’t leave us so soon, I wish we got more time…” You looked down at the tub in front of you, your appetite gone. “And I wish I wasn’t eating your favorite ice cream by myself.”

You stood back up, taking both spoons with you into the kitchen. Dropping them into the sink to deal with in the morning, you put the ice cream away and shut off the kitchen lights. You left his glasses on the kitchen counter, deciding you would put them back in your mother’s room tomorrow. As you headed up the stairs, you paused at the top step, a memory of Hyukjun’s wake coming back to you. The nice guy who sat with you and listened to you. You really wished you could have somebody to talk to again.

Something in you made you look over your shoulder then, back down at the bottom step. You swore a darker shape was standing there, unclear in the night. Your heart rate spiked.

“Hyukjun…?” You whispered, hesitantly going down one more step to try to make out what you were seeing better. The shadow seemed to back up one step at the same time you did that, and another name came to your mind.

“Jisung?”

The figure moved closer, a beam of moonlight illuminating half of his shocked face. “You remember me?”

You should’ve yelled. You should’ve shouted at him to get out, called the police, any number of things ahead of what you actually did. Getting even closer, you nodded slowly. “Of course I remember you, Jisung.”

He was still staring at you in disbelief. “And you can see me? Again?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, standing on the step right above him. “You’re a ghost.”

It was meant to be a question, but it came out like a statement, like you had known all along, just saying common knowledge.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

You peered at the space around and behind him. “Is my stepdad here?”

“No.” He shook his head. “He wanted to stay, for your mom. I told him if he stayed, he could get stuck. He decided to go.”

“Go… where?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“What about…” You looked up into his dark eyes hopefully. “Is my dad here?”

“It’s just me,” he answered quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad he’s not… stuck. Either of them.” You breathed out, a mixture of relief and disappointment in your chest. Remembering what he told you at the wake, you asked, “You used to live here?”

“Before your stepdad bought it, yeah.”

You recalled the surprise on his face both tonight and at the wake when you addressed him. “You’re not used to being seen, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You’re the first person who’s seen me since…” He trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek as he seemed to be picking his words. “Since I’ve been like this.”

You nodded slowly, understanding what he meant. “Have you been… helping? Picking up my mom’s book? And closing the door? And the tupperware lid and the fork?”

Jisung nodded fervently. “I didn’t mean to scare you, or make you sad. I’m sorry. I just wanted to help you.”

“What about Hyukjun’s glasses today? Did you knock those off?”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It was an accident… They were really close to the edge, I didn’t want them to fall off and break. So I tried to move them away from the edge, but there was this thunder, and I dropped them.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the mental image of a ghost getting spooked by thunder, slapping a hand over your mouth as you giggled. Jisung wasn’t laughing, but he did have a soft smile on his features as he looked at you.

“Sorry, sorry,” you were still chuckling as you tried to compose yourself.

“It’s okay…” He assured you. “I’m sorry for dropping them.”

“You didn’t break them, it’s fine.” You looked at him thoughtfully. He was wearing the same thing he was wearing when you met him at the wake, dark pants, dark shoes, a white button-up, and dark cardigan. You tilted your head curiously. “Are you sure my mom hasn’t seen you? She swears the house is haunted, you know.”

“I think she can tell that something is… off, sometimes. But no, she’s never seen me.”

“I’m guessing you have no clue why I can see you right now?” You surmised. “They don’t exactly give you a ghost handbook, do they?”

Jisung shook his head. “No, I don’t know.”

“Thank you again, by the way. For being so nice to me at the wake.”

“They really shouldn’t have been talking to you like that.” He frowned. “They have no clue… He loved you and your mom so much. You two are his family, too.”

You chuckled sadly. “So did you actually hear all of it, then?”

“I was already in there when they went in after you,” he confirmed. “I thought you might… I could create a distraction in another room if it got bad.”

“Do you do that a lot? Follow me around?”

His eyes widened as he clearly began to panic, shaking his head fervently. “N-Not like that! Only like, in normal places! I mean, like, there’s not a lot to do when you’re a ghost stuck in a house, and I think you’re cool—Oh god, I meant, uhm, I mostly stay on the first floor, promise!”

You couldn’t help but giggle again as he had missed the light teasing in your tone. “Mostly?”

Jisung visibly gulped. “I woke you up one time, when your mom was having a really bad time in the middle of the night and your stepdad couldn’t calm her down. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Jisung, it’s okay,” you tried your best to be reassuring, even as you let out choked laughter. “I don’t expect you to sit in a corner for eternity. Thanks for staying in normal places.”

“Thanks for not being creeped out…” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You let out a yawn, covering your mouth with your hand. After it passed, you gave Jisung a sheepish smile. “If I go to sleep right now… will I still be able to see you in the morning?”

“You… want to?”

“Yeah.” You smiled and shrugged. “Better than just talking to my mother, Nayoung, and myself like I usually do every day.”

The corners of his lips twitched as he went to nod. “I’ll try to be here in the morning. You should go to sleep.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Jisung.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Halfway up the stairs, you turned back around to see him still standing at the bottom, watching you. You threw back a teasing, “Promise you’ll stay on the first floor?”

“Cross my heart.” He made an X over the left side of his chest.

“Not sure how much that’s worth coming from a ghost,” you grinned. “But I guess it’s the thought that counts.”

In the morning, you sat with your feet dangling over the edge of your bed for an extra few seconds, very calmly contemplating your sanity. You had been spending the majority of your time in this house, talking to nobody else except your mother and Nayoung, who came five days a week for three hours at a time, your only other regular human interaction coming in the form of emails or the occasional phone calls with your co-workers. Was it really so unlikely that your brain was inventing someone new for you to talk to? How could you even determine if he was real or not? Did that even really matter?

With a sigh, you got to your feet and shuffled into your bathroom. Your mom had always been an early riser, something that hadn’t changed now, and you had to take care of your own morning routine before she woke up. While the shift in your schedule initially took some getting used to, the daily alone time that you got to devote to your own self-care was something you treasured, and helped you start your day in a good headspace.

Coming out of your bedroom refreshed and in clean clothes, you meandered down the stairs, listening for any signs of life in the rest of the house. If your mom was up, she would at least be moving around her room, if not elsewhere in the house. And then there was the possibility of seeing the ghost again.

Right as you reached the bottom of the stairs, your mom’s bedroom door opened, and she poked her head out. You smiled and walked over to her.

“Morning, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie.” She took your arm, looking around the hallway.

“You okay?”

“Did he go out?”

You tilted your head, keeping your tone light as you asked, “…He?”

“Hyukjun,” she answered. “He usually leaves a note.”

You bit your lip and nodded. “Yeah, he had some errands, said he’ll be back soon. You can get on him about forgetting your note when he gets back.”

Her features relaxed, and she rubbed your back. “Thanks, Y/N. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

There was a knock on the front door then, and you went to go open it up for Nayoung. As she helped your mom with the rest of her morning, you headed towards the kitchen to start on breakfast. A figure was already at the kitchen table, however, his back to you as he sat in the fourth chair that had always been empty for as long as you’d been in the house. Jisung turned around when he heard your footsteps, giving you a small wave.

“Morning,” you smiled and nodded, hoping you didn’t look too put-off. You weren’t sure if you would’ve been more surprised if he was here or not.

“Good morning.” His eyes followed you as you continued into the kitchen. From his seat, he could still see you over the kitchen counter. His hands were folded politely in his lap, and he watched you as you started pulling out ingredients for breakfast.

“So, what do you do all night?” You questioned. “Do you sleep?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I read, or look at the moon, or think.”

“I think I’d hate being alone with my thoughts for eternity.” You shook your head, bringing down plates from the cabinet.

“It’s not so bad.” Jisung shrugged. “I wasn’t much of a talker before anyway.”

“An introvert?”

“Yes.” He tilted his head curiously. “You don’t normally cook for Nayoung.”

You looked down at the plates in your hand and realized that you had grabbed three instead of the normal two. Nayoung always ate breakfast before coming over, so you just had to make food for you and your mom. You’d done this before, accidentally making a serving for Hyukjun out of habit, but you knew that wasn’t what happened this time.

Putting the extra plate back, you said, “No, I was… I think I was about to make you a plate. Felt like I had a guest over.”

Surprisingly, this made Jisung crack a smile. “I appreciate it. Your food always looks good.”

“I don’t think it’s anything special.” You shrugged, turning on the stove. “I learned to cook from my mother, we just did it to survive. Hyukjun was a much better cook than either of us.”

“To survive?”

“After my dad passed…” You pursed your lips as you tried to think of how to phrase it, pushing around food in the pan. “She sort of closed up. My mom gave me a good life growing up, don’t get me wrong. But it’s hard being a single parent, and she never really made any friends, she spent all her time taking care of me or working. Then when I moved out, she closed up even more. I was kind of afraid she’d close all the way up, until she met Hyukjun.”

“I see…”

You heard footsteps coming from down the hall, and halted your conversation. Nayoung and your mom entered the kitchen dining area just a few moments later, paying Jisung no mind, clearly not seeing him at all.

“Y/N, were you on the phone?” Your mother asked as Nayoung guided her to her usual seat.

Nayoung took Hyukjun’s old place beside her.

“Oh, yeah, work call,” you fibbed. “Something urgent, couldn’t wait until I clocked in, I guess.”

“That’s inconsiderate.”

You chuckled, then looked to the aide. “Coffee, Nayoung?”

“If you’re making some, please.”

“Was just about to start a pot.”

Sitting down at the full table with your food and coffee in front of you, your mother to your left, Nayoung across from you, and Jisung to your right, you couldn’t help but smile, an odd sense of peace settling in your chest that hadn’t been there in quite some time.

That night, after your mother went to sleep, you traipsed into the kitchen, opening up the freezer. Turning to Jisung with the carton of ice cream in your hand, you said, “I don’t suppose you could help me with this?”

“Unfortunately not,” he chuckled.

“Figured I would ask,” you sighed, grabbing a spoon. “Come on, I’m thinking a movie?”

Curled up in the corner of the couch under a blanket, you had just opened the ice cream when you realized you left the remote on the coffee table out of your reach. Jisung was still standing, seeming unsure of where to sit.

“Can you pass me the remote?” You requested, stretching an arm out towards it but ultimately not reaching it.

“Oh, sure, sure.” He picked it up with ease just like you would, handing it off to you.

“Thanks.” You turned the TV on. He was still standing, so you gestured to the rest of the empty couch. “Sit, Jisung.”

“Right,” he mumbled, taking a seat next to you.

“You haven’t seriously been standing there like that this whole time, have you?”

“I… sit sometimes, yeah.”

“Good.” You patted his arm—or you tried to pat his arm, but instead your hand hit the back of the couch, a cold shiver running up your arm starting at your fingertips. You jerked your hand back in alarm, eyes going wide. “Shit! Sorry! Did I just like, smack your lung or something?”

Jisung laughed hard, his nose scrunching up and his hand flying up to cover his mouth as he giggled. “I’ve never thought of it like that. I don’t—I don’t think so, no.”

“It didn’t like, hurt, did it?”

“No. Feels a little weird, like… Ah, I don’t know how to describe it if you’re still corporeal. But it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay good,” you breathed out. Looking down at the remote in your hand, you frowned thoughtfully. “How come you could grab this just fine, but I just go through you?”

“It used to happen with objects, too,” he informed you, reaching his hand out towards the coffee table. The ghost moved it down, his hand effortlessly gliding through the table just like yours had gone through him a few moments earlier. “I can control it now. But for some reason, people, I still can’t.”

“That sounds… lonely.”

Jisung shrugged, offering you a sort of sad smile. “Hey, I just spent a few decades not being seen or heard by anybody either. I’ll take what I can get.”

“Alright, what are we feeling?” You hummed as you pulled up the streaming service. “Ghost movie?”

He gave you a skeptical look. “You hate horror movies. You made Hyukjun turn all the lights in the house on when he put ‘Saw’ on.”

“Aw come on, no laugh? Not even a chuckle? Ironic scoff?” You wrinkled your nose at him.

“I’m laughing on the inside.”

“I was very brave for watching it all, though, wouldn’t you agree?” You grinned, grabbing a big spoonful of ice cream.

Jisung’s amused smile was apparent that time. “Very. If I had gold stars to give out, you’d get one.”

“Okay, what about ‘The Batman’? The one with Robert Pattinson, I literally don’t care about the other ones.”

“I’m not sure who that is, but sure.”

“Jisung, I’m about to change your afterlife. Possibly for the worse.”

From when you woke up to when you went to sleep, if you were at home, Jisung was usually around. You found that you didn’t mind his presence, if anything it was comforting, he made the house feel less empty than it would be with just you and your mother—and occasionally Nayoung. You had to catch yourself from talking to him when your mom or Nayoung were within earshot, or looking too obviously at where he was standing or sitting when they were in the room. Your evenings that you used to spend with Hyukjun were now spent with the ghost, watching shows or movies, showing him your favorite music, or just talking.

This morning, as your mom bathed herself and Nayoung waited for her in her bedroom, just in case, you had some extra time. Which you were glad for, as you knew you were moving slow, feeling more like a zombie than a functioning human being as you prepared breakfast. You yawned, covering your mouth with the back of your hand before gripping the tomato again and continuing your cuts.

“So what—”

“Y/N!” Jisung’s cry of warning came before you registered your tomato juice-slickened fingers slipping down the food and under the blade.

You looked down to see crimson red welling up and joining the tomato’s seeds at the same time you felt coldness on your hands. Jisung had tried to grab you, both too late, and in an ill-fated attempt even if he hadn’t been, as his hands went right through yours. You belatedly hissed as your sleep-slogged mind finally registered the pain, made extra by the sting of tomato juice in the cuts. Jisung swore under his breath as he grabbed a kitchen towel instead, wrapping it around your fingers and pressing hard as his other hand knocked the knife out of your uninjured fingers that were still lamely holding it. He reached over to turn the sink on, and pulled you over there by the grip he had on the towel. He couldn’t move your hand under the water once he took the towel off, though, staring at you pointedly.

“Right,” you mumbled, putting your fingers under the stream of the faucet to rinse the cuts clean of tomato guts. “Thanks, Jisung.”

“What—” He was cut off by the doorbell ringing.

You hurriedly ripped off a wad of paper towels to press to your cut, calling out to Nayoung, “I’ll get it!”

You knew Jisung was following you, not bothering to keep his sighs quiet as you peered through the peephole first—habit. A pit formed in your stomach when you recognized the man standing on your doorstep immediately.

Forcing your features into a pleasantly neutral expression, you opened the door just enough to greet your eldest stepbrother. “Good morning, Seohyuk.”

He fixed you with the same wide, dazzling grin that he always had, one that made you think he should be doing real estate instead of whatever his real job was—investment broker or something. He was in a suit, looking like he had stopped by on his way to work. You bit back the urge to look down at your own lounge clothes and hair still damp from your shower.

“Y/N! Good morning!” He was still beaming. “Looking beautiful as always.”

“Can I help you?” You asked politely, stepping onto the porch and forcing him to back up a step off the welcome mat, keeping one hand on the door handle.

He then seemed to have noticed your hand. “Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Nicked myself with a knife in the kitchen just now. I’m fine,” you shrugged off his concerns. “Why are you here?”

“Oh my god! We should go in and get that washed out!” His hands fluttered over you with feigned worry, trying to usher you back into the house, put you stayed put, firmly shutting the front door behind you.

“I already washed it out,” you informed him flatly. “What do you want?”

The expressiveness immediately dropped off his face, and a cool, suave smirk overtook it as he sized you up. “Alright. Big girl can handle herself.”

“We’re both adults, Seohyuk, I’d appreciate it if you can act like one and get to your point.”

“Funny, my dad never seemed to think you were one,” he sneered. “You were the little princess he never got to have.”

“If this is all you came for, I’m going back inside,” you sighed, reaching for the handle again.

“I came to inspect the property.” He finally gave you his reason, holding his chin up. “As is my right, to make sure you’re not letting it go to ruins. So you have to let me in.”

Right, as if the house could’ve fallen to the wayside and become dilapidated in a week. You turned back to him, meeting his gaze head-on. It was easier like this, just one of them. Especially Seohyuk, he didn’t have a temper like his younger brothers, nor did his words cut as deep as his mom’s, he was just… a jerk. You could deal with a jerk.

“And, as I’m sure you saw when you continued reading the papers, you have to give me at least twenty-four hours’ notice before conducting any inspection of the property. So, I will see you in twenty-four hours.” You grabbed the door handle again. “Goodbye, Seohyuk.”

You didn’t wait for his response, rushing inside and slamming the door shut behind you. You locked it up as quick as you could, not wanting to take any chances.

“You’re not seriously going to let him come in here?!” Jisung blurted out, wide eyes focused on you. Of course he heard everything again.

As you opened your mouth to answer, Nayoung stepped out your mom’s room hesitantly, worried eyes focused on you. You turned to her instead, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Is there anything I can do, Y/N?” She asked quietly. You didn’t want to know how much she had heard.

“I’ll try to arrange it so the inspection is during your time. If she’s up for it tomorrow, could you take my mom on a walk? I need to be here, and she really shouldn’t be.”

The aide nodded quickly. “Of course, yes.”

Back in the kitchen, Jisung pulled the first aid kit down, and you applied your own bandages to the cuts on your fingers. You could feel his eyes boring holes into your hair as you bowed your head to pay extra close attention to your injuries.

“Y/N—”

“What did you want me to do, Jisung?” You hissed, not meaning for it to come out as venomous as it did. “They’re entitled to inspect the premises, it’s technically also kind of their house. I would’ve been in bigger shit if I told him no!”

The ghost was quiet, and when you finally looked up, you saw the hurt on his own face. You sighed, throwing away the bloody paper towels and bandage wrappers. Rolling out your shoulders and your neck to relieve the tension that had built up there, you loosely wrapped your arms around yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I’m not mad at you, none of this is your fault. I’m just… stressed, and I slept like shit last night. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he reassured you. “I just… hate the idea of you and that guy being in this house by yourselves, you know? I don’t trust him.”

“Oh, we won’t be alone.”

“I know I’ll be here, but that’s not the same as having someone who could actually do something.”

“I know you’ll be here, and that’s reassuring,” you replied, an amused smile playing at your lips. “But that’s not entirely what I meant.”

“Mr. Shin, thank you for coming on such short notice,” you greeted the attorney with a polite bow, welcoming him into the house.

Mr. Shin was an older man, around Hyukjun’s age, with salt and pepper hair, who hastily returned the bow. He wore a simple black suit, white dress shirt, and black tie, thick-framed glasses perched on his nose, and he held his black briefcase tightly to his side. He was exactly as you pictured him from speaking to him on the phone yesterday—when you picked up Hyukjun’s papers, you’d only dealt with his secretary.

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s my duty,” he replied briskly. “Your stepbrother has not arrived yet, has he?”

“No, I’m expecting Seohyuk in a few minutes.”

“Good, good.”

“Would you like some coffee? Or tea?”

“No, thank you, I couldn’t intrude.” He shook his head fervently. “Your mother isn’t home, is she?”

“She stepped out for a walk just before you arrived. She doesn’t need to be here, does she?”

“No, no, not at all.” He seemed relieved at this news, if anything.

The doorbell rang then, and you smiled at the lawyer. “That should be him.”

Looking out the peephole first, it was in fact Seohyuk. You opened the door wider than yesterday, offering him a polite smile. “Good morning, Seohyuk.”

“Alright, Y/N, it’s been twenty-four hours, let me in.” He skipped pleasantries entirely, a glare already on his features.

“Of course.” You obliged gracefully, opening the door all the way for him.

He obviously hadn’t seen anybody else, as he faltered upon stepping inside and spotting Mr. Shin in the entryway. It was as if a magic spell had been cast on him, Seohyuk straightened up, adjusting his own tie and throwing on his charming smile, offering a hand out to him. “Kim Seohyuk, nice to meet you.”

Mr. Shin once again bowed formally, ignoring the hand in front of him. “Attorney Shin. I’m the lawyer in charge of your father’s estate, and I’ll be overseeing this inspection.”

“Great. Yeah, I’m glad Y/N remembered to call you like we talked about,” Seohyuk lied through his teeth, keeping his voice casual. “She’s been a little all over the place with taking care of her mom by herself since Dad passed, so I offered to, but she insisted she would do it since she only works part-time now.”

You clenched your jaw to not call him a piss-poor liar to his face. Or punch him in the face. His ‘she’s a mess, but we love her’ tone really irked you. Jisung had been lurking in the corner the whole time with his arms crossed over his chest and chose now to mimic choking Seohyuk—it took everything in you not to burst out laughing, but it successfully dissolved the anger that had been bubbling in your veins.

Mr. Shin either didn’t believe him or didn’t care, as he simply nodded and then looked to the both of you. “If there are no questions, we will begin in the kitchen.”

The inspection was uneventful—you passed with flying colors, of course—and at the end, you got to see both Mr. Shin and Seohyuk out at the front door simultaneously.

“I will be making note of this in the estate’s file, of course,” Mr. Shin said in closing. “So as to not intrude on Ms. Y/L/N and her mother too much, inspections are limited to once per year, as you know.”

“What?!” Seohyuk’s jaw dropped. “Th-That’s per person, right? Like, if my brothers wanted an inspection—”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Kim. One inspection of the property per year. Unless good cause is shown.”

“Good cause? Like what?”

“If there is some damage externally that would lead you to believe Ms. Y/L/N has caused similar damage internally, or if she posted pictures to her social media of the inside that showed some damage. Something like that.”

You had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing in Seohyuk’s face as his jaw gaped open like a dead fish. After composing yourself, you gave the both of them a cheerful wave. “So I guess I’ll see you two next year.”

“And hopefully not any sooner!” Mr. Shin confirmed, bowing deeply once more.

You closed the door with a satisfying click. Turning back around to Jisung, you finally burst into laughter with him. He pumped his fist victoriously. “Gone until next year!”

Holding your hand up, you cheered, “Whoo! Come on, ghost five!”

Jisung whooshed his hand through yours, and the chill zipping up your arm only served to make you more excited. Finally, a win in all this.

3:16 a.m.

You glared at your bedside clock like it was doing this to you personally. Rolling onto your other side, you let out a disgruntled sigh. No matter how comfortable you were, how exhausted your bones and your brain were, you couldn’t fucking sleep. Sitting up, you threw your covers off of you and padded out of your room.

In the kitchen, you drank a glass of water, but couldn’t bring yourself to go back upstairs to your room. You wandered into the living room, plopping into your usual corner of the couch and pulling your knees to your chest. Turning your phone on, you once again glared at the time like it was invented to hurt you in particular.

3:20 a.m.

You could be doing something better right now, reading a book, laying very still with your eyes closed, meditating, anything but scrolling on your phone.

3:49 a.m.

Had you ever gotten a good night’s sleep in your life? You couldn’t remember in that moment. Your eyes stung looking at the screen, they stung when you closed them, but you blinked it away.

4:17 a.m.

“Y/N?” Jisung stepped into the living room. “Why are you still up?”

“Mm, Jisung, hey,” you greeted him dully, setting your phone aside on the arm of the couch. “I’m surprised it took you this long to find me.”

“I figured you were just getting a glass of water or something. I didn’t want to bother you. But you’ve been out here for almost an hour now.”

You sighed, resting your chin on your knees. “Can’t sleep.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I slept for a couple hours, but then I woke up and I just... couldn’t go back to sleep,” you sighed.

“Staring at that screen isn’t going to help you get back to sleep.” He frowned.

That made you chuckle. “And how do you know that?”

“Your mom used to get on your stepdad about using screens too close to bedtime,” he confessed. “Something about the light keeping your brain awake.”

You smiled as you could imagine that perfectly. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

“Can I do anything to help? Do you want like, hot chocolate? Or…” He trailed off as he was clearly wracking his brain for another option.

“You want to keep me off my phone?”

He nodded.

You stood up, your fingers tapping over the spines on the bookcases before you grabbed one. You offered it out to Jisung. “Read to me.”

Jisung gently took the book from you, then nodded to the couch. “Sure. Lay down.”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” you snorted, taking your phone back off the arm and heading for the stairs. Tilting your head indicatively, you said, “Come on, you get to go to the second floor.”

His footsteps were quiet behind you, squeaking some of the same steps that you did as he followed you up the stairs. You opened the door to your bedroom, stepping in first and holding it open to gesture him in as he had stopped uncertainly by the threshold. Closing the door behind him, you then sat down on your bed again.

“Here.” You patted the empty side of the bed for him.

Jisung shuffled over, sitting up against the headboard with his long legs stretched out on top of your sheets. With amusement, you noted that he was no longer wearing his dark shoes, only black socks. You laid back down under your covers again, pulling your blankets up to your chin.

He clicked the lamp on his side of the bed on, and seemed to have read the title for the first time then. “Poems?”

“My mom used to read to me every night, way past the normal age that you stop doing that stuff I’m pretty sure. And whenever I got nightmares, or couldn’t sleep, I’d climb into her bed. It didn’t matter if I woke her up at two in the morning, she’d grab one of the five or ten books that were always on her nightstand and start reading to me until I fell asleep,” you explained, readjusting your pillow under your head. “That was one of my favorites. I figured it was worth a shot.”

Jisung opened the book to the first poem and began reading. His voice was soft and steady, deep and soothing. Despite your want to keep watching him and the focused look on his face as he read, his dark eyes following the words on the page, your own eventually fluttered shut against your will.

When you woke up, Jisung was no longer in your room. The book was resting on the nightstand on that side of the bed, and the lamp was off. Upon entering the kitchen, you saw Jisung standing at the humming microwave. He perked up when you walked in, despite the confused look on your face.

“Good morning!” He said brightly, then gestured to the microwave. “I’m making you hot chocolate. I heard the shower.”

“And if my mother had walked in and saw the hot chocolate making itself?” You asked dryly, still rubbing sleep out of your eyes. Your shower didn’t do much to wake you up this morning.

Jisung visually deflated, looking around guiltily. “Oh. Right…”

“It’s sweet, Jisung, thank you,” you added with a smile, watching his shoulders relax. “You’re very sweet. I just don’t want to give my mom a heart attack.”

“Of course.” He was smiling again too. “Sorry.”

Sitting halfway down the stairs with Jisung, you stared blankly at the front door. Dinner had been difficult for your mom tonight, and with no Nayoung at that meal, you had to do it all on your own. She was asleep now, and you held your head in your hands. Jisung was quietly sitting beside you, resting his elbows on his knees as his laced and unlaced his fingers in front of him. This was probably one of the best parts about having Jisung around. Despite being practically omnipresent at this point, if you didn’t want to talk, he didn’t talk. If you wanted to chat, he would talk to you about anything, but if you wanted utter silence, he would let you sit in utter silence—he just wouldn’t let you do it alone.

You felt nearly suffocated by the house in that moment, but you couldn’t leave your mom alone.

“Can you go outside?” You lifted your head to ask Jisung.

“Not very far,” he answered as if you were asking any other piece of trivia about him and his predicament.

“The porch swing?”

“Yes, I can go there.”

“Do you want to? Now? With me?”

He chuckled softly. “When have I ever told you no?”

It was a warm night, which you were glad for as you were only in your sleep shorts and a t-shirt as you sat on the wooden porch swing with Jisung. Holding the chain next to your head with one hand, you peered out at the nighttime around you, glad to be out of those walls finally.

“Pretty moon,” you commented, looking up at the silver half-moon above you.

“Mhm,” Jisung hummed his agreement.

“And stars,” you added, taking in the twinkling dots all around the moon.

“Mhm.”

“Pretty stars,” you clarified.

“Mhm.”

Looking at Jisung out of the corner of your eye, you kept the same tone of voice as you said, “Pretty garbage can.”

“Mhm.”

“Jisung?”

“Mhm?”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Huh?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Uhm… nothing.” He coughed. “Pretty moon.”

“Mhm.” You hummed back in the same sing-songy tone that he had. “I wish I could touch you.”

“Huh?” He spluttered out.

“Just feels like a nice moment to rest my head in your lap, don’t you think?” You looked over at him, meeting his dark eyes.

He looked down at his legs, then around him in what you would almost call an attempt to avoid your gaze. “Well… we could put one of the pillows on the swing where my lap is, and you can rest your head there and pretend it’s me.”

“That won’t be uncomfortable for you?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Just make sure it’s not too far over here, I don’t want to make you cold.”

After you settled onto your back with your head on a pillow, right on the edge of where Jisung’s thigh started, you could see Jisung and the porch roof directly above you. The corner of his mouth twitched as he looked down at you, and you smiled back up at him.

“Can you push the porch swing?” You requested.

“Sure,” he agreed, and you felt the swing gently push off backwards then sail forward.

You rolled your head to the side to be able to look at the moon again.

“Can I ask…” You poked your tongue on the inside of your cheek. “How did you die? If you want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

Jisung sighed. “I don’t know. I went to sleep one night and when I woke up, I wasn’t in my body anymore.”

You felt your eyes widen involuntarily. “Seriously? You weren’t sick or anything?”

“I felt fine,” he confirmed. “I didn’t even realize until I couldn’t grab the handle to open my bedroom door and leave. My hand just went through it. When I turned back around to my bed, I saw myself lying there. I thought I was still dreaming.”

“God... I’m sorry, Jisung.”

He shrugged, his fingers messing with the edges of the pillow that your head was on. “It could’ve been worse. It didn’t hurt, I wasn’t dreading the end or anything.”

You reached for his face, despite knowing that it wouldn’t work, holding your hand up as if you were cupping his cheek, hovering right on the edge of where your skin passed through each other. “Does that... I always feel cold when I try to touch you. Is this warm? To you?”

“I never notice that I’m cold until I touch you.” He hesitantly put his hand over yours. “Like when you’ve been outside during winter for so long that you don’t even feel temperature anymore. And then you step inside again and you can suddenly feel just how cold you are because everything else is so warm.”

“Is it… I don’t know, nice?”

“It’s… a lot,” he admitted. “It’s not bad, but I can never warm up.”

“Oh.” You took your hand back, resting it on your stomach.

“It’s late,” he said quietly. “Are you tired?”

“No, but I should probably head to bed.” You sat up reluctantly.

Only a few minutes after saying your goodnights, you were at the bottom of the stairs again, searching for Jisung. You found him in the living room.

“Can you read to me?” You asked, fidgeting with the sleeves of your shirt.

He chose a book off the shelves and followed you upstairs wordlessly. Back under your covers again, you listened to the sound of his fingers running over the edges of the pages, folding back the cover of the book before he started reading. It wasn’t the same book of poems as last time, instead you fondly recognized it as one of your favorite books from when you started reading novels as a kid, about a young girl who went on a grand fantasy adventure with all sorts of magical creatures. In the back of your mind, you thought to yourself that you were a little disappointed that you’d be asleep before the end, when she finally came home to her mother in the real world. That had always been your favorite part.

“Do cameras work on you?” You asked Jisung as you kneeled by one of the flowerbeds at the front of the house. It was early in the morning, and you made sure to keep one headphone in your ear so that any passerby who did happen by on morning walks or jogs would hopefully just think that you were on a phone call.

“Don’t know,” he shrugged, sitting on the porch swing. “I think I would’ve found out if I was in the background of any Kim family photos over the years.”

Curious, you took out your phone, opening up the camera and pointing it at him. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but in the low light you could see the porch swing just fine, seemingly rocking along on its own on your screen. Taking just one picture, you paused your weeding to look at it from your camera roll. Again, you definitely couldn’t see Jisung sitting on the porch swing like you could with your own two eyes, but there was something going on in the picture this time. The air seemed to shimmer and distort in the vague shape of a person sitting in the photo, exactly where he was in real life. You zoomed in on the fuzzy edges that nearly turned into shadow, squinting as you tried to make out whether the distortion was in the image file itself or part of Jisung somehow.

“Well?” Jisung questioned, tilting his head.

“I got... something.” You stood up, walking over to show him. “It’s not what I see when I look at you. I see, like, a person.”

“Oh.” His face fell as he looked over the photo of the strange figure.

“I think it’s cool,” you tried to cheer him up. “Very mysterious, you know.”

He gave you a half-hearted smile. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“I get why you’re bummed, though. It’s probably been a while since you’ve seen yourself, right? I never see your shadow or your reflection. Can you?”

“No, I can’t.” He shook his head. “It’s… I have my dad’s nose, and my mom’s smile. I just thought that even if I couldn’t see them anymore, it’d be nice to see the parts of them that are in me.”

You blinked back the tears that were pricking at your eyes. “I know what you mean. My dad’s mom was alive when I was younger, and she always said I looked just like him. I used to sit on my bathroom counter in front of the mirror with an old picture of him from when he was a kid for hours to try to see it too.”

“Do you look like him?” He asked quietly.

“Don’t you see it? I look just like my mom,” you laughed and shook your head.

Jisung chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. I wasn’t going to spoil your connection to your dad for you.”

“It makes me happy to know that my grandmother saw my dad when she looked at me anyway.” You permanently deleted the photo you’d taken of Jisung. “I’m sure you have something else from your parents that you don’t need a mirror for, though. Like, for me, when I laugh really, really hard, I start wheezing—it’s honestly an awful sound—and clutch my sides and stomp my left foot. My dad would laugh with his whole body like that too. I didn’t even know until my mom pointed it out a few years ago out of the blue. I sneeze like Hyukjun now, too. Don’t even know how I picked that up in such a short time. I was dusting the other day and when I sneezed, I realized it sounded just like him.”

“Really?” He laughed, a real one this time.

“Yeah,” you smiled fondly at the memory. “I’m sure you’ve got lots of pieces of your family in you other than your nose and your eyes, Jisung.”

The ghost held your gaze, his dark eyes that you tried to imagine belonging to some ambiguous father of his that you could never recall, smiling up at you with a smile that matched a memory of his mother you didn’t have. Even if you would never know them, you remembered them in that moment for him.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you leafed through the large tome of local genealogies in front of you. At first you were worried that Mr. Shin would have questions for you as to why you wanted information on the deed of the house, primarily who had owned it before your stepdad bought it. But instead, he simply had his paralegal fetch the information from the previous title search they’d done when drafting the documents for Hyukjun. You took the list of names with you to the local library, where they kept an archive of all sorts of birth, death, and marriage records, including genealogies of local families.

Kim Hyukjun had purchased the home from a husband and wife, the Parks, decades before you were even born. The Parks were the first owners, and despite neither of their names being Jisung, you figured he must be related to them in some way to have lived there before Hyukjun bought it; their son, a nephew, grandson, something.

You finally found a married couple whose names matched, and eagerly read on for their children. They had one child, a son, Park Jisung—deceased.

“Found you,” you whispered to yourself, tapping the name in the book. Taking a picture of all the relevant information, you shut the book and returned it to its place before taking down another one, death certificates.

Finally landing on Jisung’s, you read with bated breath and a morbid curiosity. It started with all the normal stuff—name, age, date of birth, address—and you skimmed on, trying to find the thing that you really wanted to know. But as you got to the end, and desperately re-read again from the beginning, more carefully this time, you realized there was no cause of death listed. They must not have requested an autopsy. As your chest deflated, you shook your head at yourself. What would knowing even change now? You took a quick note of the cemetery listed before shutting the book.

The information—or lack thereof—that you’d gotten from the library was still on your mind when you returned to the house. Nayoung was sitting at the kitchen table, and looked up from her phone when you came in.

“Ah, Y/N, how were your errands?” She asked, clearly noticing your empty hands.

“Fine,” you gave a non-committal answer. “Where’s my mom?”

“She’s taking a nap in her room. She’s been asleep for about fifteen minutes or so.”

“Good.” You glanced at the time on the stove. “You can head out for the day. Thank you, Nayoung.”

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, then.” She stood up and flashed you one more bright smile before showing herself out.

A few moments later, you heard the sound of the front door locking after her, then Jisung entered the room from that direction. He stopped next to you.

“So where’d you go today?” He asked curiously. “You didn’t pick anything up…”

You sighed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Library. They didn’t have what I needed.”

“What book were you looking for?”

You grimaced at yourself, picking at your nails uncomfortably as you braced yourself to tell the truth. “I wasn’t checking out a book. I was… I was looking up stuff in the archives, about you.”

Jisung’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Me?”

“I’m sorry, I was nosy and shouldn’t have done that without talking to you first,” you apologized. “I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, you’ve got a ghost living in your house,” he reminded you frankly. “Normal personal boundaries aren’t really applicable here.”

“I… guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“And I mean, all you did was look in the archives, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fine.” Jisung sat in his chair next to yours, leaning forward towards you eagerly. “What did you find out?”

You chewed your lip nervously. “Not much. I know your full name is Park Jisung. Your parents didn’t have an autopsy done, so we still don’t know why you… passed. I know where they buried… you, though.”

He kept looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to say more. But that was all you had. When he realized that you were done, his face fell, and he let out a breath, sitting back in his chair.

“Oh.” He nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry, Jisung.” You instinctively reached for his hand that was resting on the table. You did a double-take when your hand didn’t impact with the wooden tabletop under him, though, but with him.

Jisung’s hand was cool to the touch, but solid, yours didn’t just slip right through it like usual. You stared down at your hands as you readjusted your grip in disbelief.

Your ghost was similarly bewildered, eyes locked on your hands as he squeezed yours back. “Are you…”

“Yeah, I can actually touch you!” You laughed in amazement.

He looked up from your hand to your eyes, lifting his other hand towards your face. “Can I…?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, or even breathe, in that moment.

Jisung’s fingertips gently caressed your cheek, his eyes filled with wonder as he murmured, “You’re so warm…”

“Are you… you know, cold? Is it like before?”

“No, it’s-it’s nice,” he said, clasping your hand with both of his now. “Thank you. For letting me…”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” you cleared your throat awkwardly, looking around the kitchen.

“It’s funny, it’s one of those things you take for granted until you can’t do it anymore.”

“What?”

“Touch people.” He squeezed your hand softly. “I used to complain when my mom would kiss me, or my friends would give me hugs. Now… I can’t believe I’m holding someone’s hand again.”

You patted his arm, at a loss for words, but hoping that you could give him some kind of comfort in the moment. It sounded like a heartbreakingly lonely existence. You couldn’t imagine what you would do if you could never hug your mom again, or even bump into strangers on the train—small things that reminded you that you were real, that you took up space.

You felt your heart truly shatter when Jisung leaned over, pressing his forehead to your linked hands, and you saw his shoulders shake with quiet sobs.

“Oh, Jisung,” you whispered, scooting your chair closer to gently stroke his dark hair. “It’s okay…”

Tonight had been rough. This was the third night in a row that you had gone in circles trying to calm your mother down from a frightened state, afraid that every creak of the house settling, gust of the air conditioning rustling a curtain, or wind blowing a tree branch outside was a ghost. Despite being aware that your house was actually inhabited by a ghost, you knew it wasn’t Jisung doing any of those things.

You had finally gotten her back to sleep at almost one in the morning, and shut her bedroom door behind you with a sigh. Shuffling into the kitchen, you stopped in the middle of the room, rubbing a hand over your face as you just stared blankly at the countertop. You couldn’t even remember what you had come in here for.

“Hey,” Jisung called for your attention softly, his quiet footsteps approaching from behind you. “Did you want water? Hot chocolate?”

“Ugh, I don’t even know,” you groaned, turning around and burying your face in his shoulder. “I’m so fucking tired, Jisung.”

“Then let’s get you to bed,” he suggested, trying to usher you out of the kitchen, but you didn’t budge.

Looking up at him, you sniffled, “This is the third night this has happened… I don’t know if I can… What if I can’t—What if—What am I—What if I can’t do it by myself? What if I can’t take care of her like she needs on my own? She’s only going to get worse and I’m… Oh God, I’m tired.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks now as you felt an exhaustion from deep within. You felt it in every fiber of your being, in your bones, deep in your chest. You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t feel worn out like this.

Jisung’s eyes widened as his hands frantically fluttered over your arms and shoulders, clearly unsure of where to settle as he went to try to comfort you. “Ah, Y/N, oh, no. Oh, God, I’m so sorry that you feel so tired. You’re doing so good.” He squeezed your shoulders. “You’re not alone. I know it can feel like that, but you’ve got Nayoung, too. Your stepdad left a fund to pay for your mom’s care, right? You can use that to have Nayoung here more if you need her to, can’t you? I’ve heard her ask if you want to adjust her schedule…”

“Yeah, she has,” you nodded, the admission only making you cry harder. “I just—I don’t want to think about needing more help, about needing Nayoung more, because that really means that she’s getting worse. But I can’t—She needs more than me.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jisung said, his own eyes shining in the dim light. “I wish I could make everything better for you.”

You gave him a shaky smile, the best you could muster in the moment, patting one of his hands that were still holding you by the shoulders. “I know. Thank you, just having you here to listen to me means a lot.”

He wiped at your tears with his thumbs, his hands shaking slightly as he gently cradled your face. “Let me help you however I can—you know, without freaking your mom out. You can take care of your mom and I’ll take care of you. Please.”

It was all you could do to nod your head in his hands. He let out a breath of relief.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you out of the kitchen successfully this time.

At the top of the stairs, you stopped and grabbed his hand, pleading, “Don’t leave me, Jisung.”

He chuckled lightly, lacing his fingers with yours. “Where could I even go? I’m stuck here.”

“I mean, you always leave after I fall asleep,” you explained. “Don’t go this time.”

He nodded, using the index finger of the hand that was holding yours to trace an X over his heart, pulling your hand along with it. “I won’t leave you.”

You fell asleep curled up under your covers, Jisung reading a book of short stories to you, one of his hands resting on your head, fingers gently carding through your hair—a silent reminder of his promise that he would still be there in the morning.

When you woke up, you felt terrible. Not only because of how poorly you had slept lately, but all of your joints and muscles ached, your sinuses felt like they were stuffed up with concrete, your throat was scratchy and sore, and it felt like someone had turned the thermostat up to a million degrees. You winced as you rolled over and threw the covers off of you, already feeling that your sheets and clothes were damp with sweat. Groaning and clutching your head, you involuntarily coughed, having to prop yourself up on your elbow to avoid choking on your own mucus. Gross.

“You’re sick,” Jisung said from the other side of the bed, his voice sympathetic. You’d forgotten that he was even there, actually.

Sitting up, you tried to look as normal as possible, shaking your head. “No, just had something in my throat.”

You winced at the sound of your own voice; it sounded almost as bad as you felt.

“Y/N, you sound awful,” he pointed out. “And you were tossing and turning all night.”

“I’m fine—”

“Y/N.” He was giving you what could only be called a stern pout. “We just talked about this last night.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but faltered at the intensity of his gaze. Letting the tension fall from your shoulders, you grabbed your phone off your nightstand. “I’ll see if Nayoung or another aide can stay all day.”

Jisung finally smiled at that, standing up and moving to leave the room. “I’ll make you breakfast before your mom wakes up.”

You watched him walk to your door, and instead of grabbing the handle to open it, walked right through it. That must be why you were never woken by the sound of the door when he would leave in the middle of the night before.

Once Nayoung arrived, you hauled yourself out of bed and to the doctor’s office. As soon as you got back, you trudged right back upstairs. From the living room, you could hear the sounds of your mother and the aide chatting. In your room, you shrugged off your jacket and had just grabbed the hem of your shirt when Jisung appeared through the door.

“So what did—”

“Ah!” You yelped, yanking your shirt back down and whirling around to stare at him incredulously.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Jisung sputtered out, covering his eyes.

“Knock! I know you can!” You yelled, gesturing at the door with exasperation. “What is wrong with you?!”

“I didn’t think—I’m sorry!” He fully backed up and out of your room through a solid wall, still covering his eyes.

A few moments later, you heard soft footsteps accompanied by creaks on the stairs. Nayoung’s voice came next, “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, Nayoung, I’m fine,” you called back. “Just stubbed my toe getting dressed.”

“Alright…” She didn’t sound like she believed you, but apparently wasn’t going to press the issue. “I have another visit to make today, so another aide from the service will be here in the afternoon to take over from me. Her name is Hyesoo.”

“Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

“I’ll say goodbye when I leave.”

“Thanks.”

You heard her retreat down the stairs, and finished getting changed in peace. Sitting down on your bed, you then heard a soft knock at your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jisung stepped through the door, averting his eyes to his feet guiltily. “Sorry...”

“Forget about it, Jisung,” you sighed, flopping all the way under your covers. “I’m too sick to be mad at you.”

“What did the doctor say?” He asked, perching on the edge of your bed.

“It’s just a cold, but he said that all the stress I’m under isn’t helping,” you huffed, fluffing up your pillow under your head. “He gave me some meds, they’re in my bag.”

Jisung picked up your tote bag from where you’d dropped it by your nightstand, handing it to you. “I’ll get you some water to take them with.”

After he’d left the room, you set two of the bottles on your nightstand, and tucked the third in the drawer. Your ghost came back soon with a glass of water, and you eyed him suspiciously as he gave it to you.

“Nobody saw the floating glass of water?” You questioned, sitting up to be able to properly take a sip.

“Your mom and Nayoung were in the backyard,” he confirmed, watching you knock back the pills. “Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, shuffling back under the covers. “Sleepy. That doctor’s visit took a lot out of me.”

“Take a nap.”

“Will you wake me up before Nayoung goes?”

“Sure. But sleep right now.”

You were faintly aware of Jisung’s cool hand resting on your head as you let yourself get swept away by sleep.

Blinking your eyes open, you were greeted by the inky blackness of your ghost’s eyes first. Jisung was laying on top of the covers on the other half of your bed, cheek resting on his hand as he gazed at you. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as you rolled onto your back, suddenly feeling much warmer under the intensity of his eyes.

“The other aide just arrived, Nayoung is getting ready to leave,” he informed you quietly.

“Mm,” you grunted in acknowledgment. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Still feel like shit,” you admitted. “The doctor did say the meds wouldn’t start working until the second or third dose.”

You heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and both you and Jisung went quiet. There was a soft knock at your door.

“Y/N?” Nayoung said your name quietly.

“Yes, Nayoung?” You replied.

“I’m heading out. Hyesoo and your mom are in the living room. There’s an extra serving of lunch, would you like me to bring it up for you?”

You were hungry now, and against your instincts, agreed, “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I’ll warm it up for you, give me a few minutes.”

You stared up at the ceiling bitterly, trying to swallow down the uncomfortable, shameful bile rising up in your body. You don’t have to do everything yourself, you can accept people’s kindness, you can let people help you. This was exactly what you were getting upset with Hyukjun for doing, putting others before himself at the detriment of his own health. If you didn’t take care of yourself, your mom wouldn’t have any family left to take care of her—only Hyukjun’s fund to pay for more aides.

“Y/N, I’m setting it down outside your room,” Nayoung’s voice was back outside your door, startling you. You hadn’t even heard the stairs this time. “I made you some tea, too. I hope you feel better. See you tomorrow.”

You were out of your bed and opening the door before Jisung could. Nayoung was still on the top step, and looked over her shoulder, clearly a little startled. You looked down at the plate of food and steaming mug of tea, recognizing it as Hyukjun’s favorite coffee cup. Tears suddenly filled your eyes, but you didn’t move to hug her, knowing that she’d be visiting more elderly and possibly immunocompromised patients today. Instead, you stayed put in the doorway, giving her a small smile.

“Thank you, Nayoung.” You couldn’t string together any more words than that, but she seemed to get it anyway.

She beamed back at you, her young features holding a gentle understanding and wisdom. “You’re welcome. Rest well, Y/N.”

After getting ready for sleep that evening, you were sitting with your feet hanging over the side of the bed, taking your next doses of medications. You took the two on the nightstand, then pulled open the drawer to fish out the one that you had put away earlier. The nap you’d taken earlier had thrown off your sleeping pattern, you weren’t near tired enough despite the time.

“Y/N?” Jisung lightly touched your shoulder. “Everything okay?”

You were staring at the orange pill bottle in your hands, gnawing on your bottom lip. “What if I can’t see you?”

“What?”

“He gave me stuff to help me sleep.” You looked up from the bottle to your ghost. “But what if I take it and I can’t see you anymore?”

Jisung sat down next to you, shoulder-to-shoulder, and took the bottle from you. He turned it over in his hands as he spoke, “You could see me before you started having problems sleeping, right?”

You thought about this for a moment, then slowly nodded, relieved.

“And even if you took these and couldn’t see me anymore for some reason—I would rather you be well than see me,” he said, pushing the bottle back into your hand and wrapping your fingers around it. He held your eye contact sincerely. “Okay?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. “Okay…”

Jisung watched silently as you opened the bottle, shook one out into your palm, closed the bottle back up, and knocked the tablet back with some water. He stood up to move to his usual spot against the headboard, grabbing the book that was sitting on the nightstand. You crawled under the covers, watching him open the book to where he left off.

“Jisung?”

“Yes?” He turned his gaze from the pages to you.

“Will you—” You sniffled, rubbing at one of your eyes as you yawned. “Will you just lay with me?”

“Oh. Sure.” He closed the book back up and set it aside, then laid down on top of the covers facing you. “Do you want the lamp off?”

“Mhm… please…”

He reached behind him to turn the light off, plunging the room into darkness. You could barely make out the outline of him from a strip of moonlight filtering in from a gap between the curtains. Your eyes were getting heavier, and you desperately fought to keep them open, just in case this was the last time you could see him.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Jisung murmured. He crossed his finger over his heart. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Jisung,” you managed to mumble back as your eyes fluttered shut.

When you woke up, you were face-to-face with Jisung, his eyes shut this time, eyelashes resting delicately on his cheeks. You would’ve almost felt bad for what you were about to do, but you didn’t think that ghosts actually needed sleep, so you threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest.

“Y/N?!” Jisung squeaked, freezing up under you. “What’s—”

“I can see you!” You cheered victoriously, your voice muffled by his shirt.

He let out a sigh of relief, one of his hands tentatively patting your back. “And a good morning to you, too.”

It was a couple weeks later, and you were all better. Just in time for winter, too. You let out a huff as you heaved your groceries up the porch steps, your breath coming out as a puff in the cold air. Unlocking the front door, you grinned when it was immediately opened for you, Jisung on the other side. He closed it behind you, taking your hat off you and brushing stray snowflakes from your hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him, well aware of the sounds of your mother and her new evening aide, Hyesoo, in the kitchen already. He just smiled and murmured “You’re welcome” back.

“Oh, Y/N, back already, dear?” Hyesoo greeted you brightly as you walked into the kitchen. The two of them were playing cards at the kitchen table. Hyesoo was an older woman, closer to your mom and Hyukjun in age, but insisted on you calling her by her first name nevertheless.

“Yep, just had one stop to make today!” You informed them, putting your bags onto the kitchen counters. “I think the snow kept everyone away, too.”

“It was snowing?” Your mom questioned, the disapproval clear in her tone. “You didn’t walk all the way there, did you?”

“I wore all my layers, Mom, promise,” you chuckled, beginning to unpack the groceries. “And my snow boots!”

“I’ll put those away,” Hyesoo insisted, setting her cards down and standing up. “You go warm up, we’ve got a fire going in the living room.”

“Well, I do have some work to get done before dinner...” You said sheepishly. “Thanks, Hyesoo!”

You took the stairs two at a time up to your room to get your laptop, then ran back down to sit in front of the fire with it. Opening up your email first, you were unsurprised when a familiar figure sat down beside you, holding his hands out towards the flames. You hummed to yourself as you answered a couple emails, marking some under your to-do list to deal with later, getting the easier ones out of the way first.

“Ugh, not him again,” Jisung complained from next to you, having been reading them over your shoulder. “Decline!”

You elbowed him with an eyeroll, whispering under your breath, “He’s my boss, I can’t decline a meeting with him.”

“He’s not technically your boss.”

“Okay, supervisor. Still, I can’t decline a meeting with him.”

“They’re never about anything important.”

“Yeah, that’s every meeting ever.”

“He’s just doing it to talk to you. It’s an abuse of power.”

“We’re working on a project together and he’s actually in the office and I’m not. He gives me updates. It’s helpful.”

Jisung made a ‘hrrmph’ sound, pulling his knees to his chest as he opted to stare into the fire instead. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, mild amusement on your features.

“What? Are you jealous or something?” You teased. “He’s like, married with three kids. Have I not mentioned that? He just doesn’t know how to use computers so he makes everything a video call meeting.”

“Oh.”

“Jealous, jealous...” You said in a sing-song voice. “I already spend almost 24/7 with you, what more could you want?”

You had meant it to be rhetorical, but you swore Jisung’s mouth opened, about to answer, when Hyesoo walked in.

“Hey, I’m going to start on dinner, unless you had something planned?” She pointed to the kitchen over her shoulder.

“No, no, go for it,” you waved her off. “I have to take a call anyway. If I’m late, start without me.”

“Weren’t you just on one?”

So you hadn’t been as quiet as you’d hoped.

“Yeah, different department,” you fibbed quickly, getting to your feet and bringing your laptop with you.

You could hear the soft footfalls of Jisung following you, and at the top of the stairs, you turned around to put a hand on his chest, satisfied that Hyesoo wouldn’t be able to see you here. Jisung pouted, looking down at the hand you had on his chest.

“Work call,” you whispered, gently pushing him back. “Wait downstairs. Please.”

He nodded, not looking very happy about it, but descended the stairs anyway. It’s not like there was anything that happened on your work calls that Jisung couldn’t hear, but you didn’t want to risk a floating object in the background, you looking over at Jisung, or otherwise reacting to him in any way during one of your work calls. It was just easier to concentrate without him there.

The call with your supervisor once again really could’ve been an email, but you didn’t mind catching up with him after you got through the two or three minutes of real work conversation that you had. He was a younger guy, and had been one of the people that you were friendlier with when you actually worked in the office full-time. He filled you in on how his three kids were doing, as well as his wife, who you would always chat with at office social events. He asked about how your mom was doing, and you did inform him that she needed aides in two shifts now, to which he reminded you that if you needed to adjust your schedule or workload, that could be discussed. You appreciated that, but if your workload was any lighter, you wouldn’t be employed, and you needed money. The fund from Hyukjun paid for your mother’s medical care, but you still needed to cover the rest of your living expenses like food, utility bills, incidentals, and yourself.

“And you know those staff dinners that get put on your calendar aren’t just to say we invited everyone,” your supervisor added. “You really are wanted there. We know it’s difficult with your mom, but everyone still talks about you.”

You smiled to yourself. “Thanks. Her evening aide is going to be staying the night a few days a week now, so I might be able to make it out one of these days.”

“No pressure, Y/N. Just wanted to let you know,” he leaned back in his own office chair, and seemed to take a glance at the time for the first time in a while. “Sorry, I’ve kept you for a while.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Choi,” you reassured him. “I always enjoy our chats. Give your family my best, will you?”

“Oh! I’m late for dinner!” He suddenly shot up straight in his chair. “Thanks, Y/N. I’ll talk to you soon!”

“Goodbye, Mr. Choi,” you chuckled, hanging up the call.

Closing your laptop, you went back downstairs to the kitchen to see your mom sat at the table, reading a book. Jisung was sitting in his chair across from her, and turned around expectantly at the sound of your feet. You poked your head into the kitchen to check on Hyesoo, who looked like she was still cooking.

“Hi, Mom,” you announced your presence to your mother, coming around the table to her seat.

She looked up at you with a smile, her eyes clearly focusing on you. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders from behind, resting your cheek on the top of her head. She held onto your arms with one of her hands, squeezing gently.

“What are you reading?” You asked, trying to glean any information from the pages that were opened in front of you.

“Oh, this was Hyukjun’s favorite book,” she explained, closing it on her finger to let you see the cover. “I was thinking about him today…”

“I think I read that in a Lit class I took in undergrad,” you commented. “I never knew it was his favorite.”

“Funny enough, it was your father’s favorite too.”

“Here I spent my whole life thinking ‘Goodnight, Moon’ was Dad’s favorite book,” you snickered, referencing the answer he had given you when you were a kid, one of the many children’s books you had at the time.

“Well, he didn’t really want to tell you about this sort of book when you were that little, I think.”

“Can you let me know when you’re done with that book?” You requested. “I think I’d like to reread it.”

“Of course.”

Hyesoo came into the dining area then with three plates, and you let your mom go to take your seat. Your mother set her book aside as dinner was set in front of her.

“Did you look at the mail today, Y/N?” Your mom asked.

“I skimmed it, threw out the junk,” you shrugged, taking a bite of your food. “Why? Did you?”

Your mom must’ve had a very good day today. She usually didn’t bother with things like the mail at all.

“Did you see that Seohyuk’s getting married?”

“Yeah, again,” you snorted. This was marriage number three, if you were up to date on your stepbrother lore. “I’m surprised we even got an invite.”

“Y/N.” Your mother said your name sternly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. Clearing your throat, you kept your tone more neutral as you said, “Yeah, I saw. Good for them.”

“What do you think?”

“About what? I just said good for them?”

“Going.”

You looked at her incredulously. “Like, to the wedding?”

“He’s family, Y/N.”

“Hyukjun was family,” you didn’t mean to snap at your mom like you did, your voice filling with vitriol. “They’re just three assholes that Hyukjun had the misfortune of being related to. We don’t owe them shit.”

“Y/N!” Your mother gaped at you.

Hyesoo and Jisung had both been silently watching the two of you go back and forth, and you suddenly became aware of the presence of two others in the room again. You took a deep breath in, looking over at the aide.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pushing your chair back from the table. “Good food. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Y/N, sweetie, can we—”

You ignored your mom’s pleas to talk, scraping off your plate into the garbage and putting your dishes in the dishwasher before storming upstairs. Flopping onto your back on your bed, you stared up at your ceiling fan.

When you heard a knock on your door some time later, you rolled your eyes, but called out to Jisung anyway, “Come in!”

Your door handle turned and opened, revealing not Jisung, and not even your mother, but Hyesoo. She paused at the doorway, obviously aware that you hadn’t been expecting her.

“May I come in?” She requested.

You sat up straight on your bed, nodding. “Sure.”

Hyesoo came and sat beside you, leaving a polite distance between the two of you. “I don’t want to overstep, Y/N… But I imagine there’s some stuff that has happened between you and your stepbrothers that your mom doesn’t know about?”

“Yeah, lots,” you scoffed. “They hate us. They’ve always been rude to me, but ever since Hyukjun left us the house… it’s just gotten worse.”

“When’s the last time you saw or talked to one of them?”

You breathed out. “Uh… probably when Seohyuk came to inspect the property a few months ago now. Mom didn’t even know it happened, Nayoung took her for a walk.”

“Hyukjun was family to you, right? That’s what you just said.”

“Doesn’t meant his shithead sons have to be my family,” you retorted. “They said to me, at his wake, that my mom and I weren’t his family. Like, how awful do you have to be?”

“Hyukjun saw you as his family. His wife’s daughter,” she said slowly. “Do you think, your mom might see Hyukjun’s sons the same way? I’m not saying you have to. But consider your mom’s feelings for a moment.”

You took a deep inhale, trying to separate your thoughts from your own swirling emotions in that moment. “I… I didn’t think of that.”

It was then that you saw she had something in her hands, and she held out two small pictures to you. One was the wedding invite, a picture of Seohyuk and his fiancée smiling on the front. The other was of a young man around Seohyuk’s age, the image grainy, as it was clearly older and taken on film. It was undeniable who this was, though—Hyukjun.

“Your mom was showing me some photo albums earlier, when she saw the wedding invite,” Hyesoo explained. “She didn’t say it, but don’t you think he looks so much like his dad?”

You swallowed the anger in your throat, eyes tracing over the two photos, the similar smiles, the way their crow’s feet crinkled, their noses, cheekbones, and jawlines. It was hard not to see Hyukjun in his eldest son now.

“Yeah, he does,” you agreed.

“Nobody is saying you have to go to the wedding and be best friends with your stepbrothers,” she said. “Or at least, I'm not saying that. But it might be a good idea to think about why your mom would want to go. Those ‘assholes’ are living, breathing pieces of Hyukjun that are still walking around. They’re his sons, and maybe she wants to feel connected to him by connecting with them.”

“He was such a good guy,” you reached for the picture of Hyukjun, holding it between your fingers. “How did he raise three absolute fucking jerks?”

“A mystery we’ll never be able to solve.” Hyesoo clicked her tongue. “I’m about to help your mom get ready for bed, do you want to talk to her before?”

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah, let me do that.”

She handed you the wedding invite as well, standing up from your bed. “She’s in her room. Let me know when you’re done.”

Steeling your nerves, you knocked lightly on your mom’s bedroom door. “Mom? It’s Y/N.”

“Come in, sweetie.”

You opened the door quietly, immediately spotting her sitting on the corner of her bed, as if she had been waiting for you. Sitting down next to her, you took her hand, squeezing it.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” you started. “I should’ve listened to you instead of being rude and talking to you like that. I was only thinking about my feelings about Seohyuk and them, and not yours. Can you tell me more about why you want to go to the wedding?”

“I-I know you and your stepbrothers haven’t gotten along, sweetie,” she prefaced her reasoning. “But… When I think about the fact that Hyukjun won’t get to see this… Even if he did see the first two, you know.”

The both of you snickered a little at that, bumping your shoulders together affectionately. You held the two pictures out to her just like Hyesoo had done to you.

“I get what you’re saying, Mom,” you leaned your head against hers, looking at the nearly identical visages of Seohyuk and Hyukjun. “I miss him too. If this will make you feel closer to him, or that you’re honoring him or something like that, then we should go. I’ll support you.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” She ran a thumb over the picture of Hyukjun.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” You asked Jisung, searching the table for your next puzzle piece. Your mom had gone to sleep and the two of you were putting together a jigsaw puzzle in your relaxing time before your own bedtime.

Jisung dropped his own puzzle piece that he had been trying to place, staring at you from across the coffee table. “My what?!”

“Your birthday. It’s next week.” You finally fished an edge piece out. “When I looked up the genealogy stuff, it had your birthday on there.”

“I mean, I figured that’s how you knew, but I didn’t think you’d actually—I don’t know, I’m surprised.”

“What? It’s probably been a while since you’ve celebrated it, right?” You put your puzzle piece down. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, I just figured it might be nice.”

“No, I-I’d like that,” he smiled softly. “Just don’t get me a cake with an accurate number of candles in it, please.”

“I think that’d get more candle wax on it than frosting.” You wrinkled your nose, making him roll his eyes. “Are you telling me I have to plan it? I asked you what you want to do.”

“Just you remembering is enough to make my birthday feel special this year, Y/N.” Jisung reached across the table to grab your hand. “I don’t really care what else happens. But I’ll think of something, promise.”

One week later, and Jisung’s birthday lined up with a night that Hyesoo was staying over, so you couldn’t use the living room, as she slept on the couch whenever she stayed. So the two of you retreated to your bedroom after dinner. Closing the door behind you, you turned to Jisung with your arms crossed, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You still haven’t told me what you want to do for your birthday,” you reminded him, tapping your foot. “And your birthday’s almost over.”

“I know what I want,” he reassured you. “But you need to change into your pajamas first, so—”

And with that, he stepped back and through the wall, out of your room. You begrudgingly changed from your casual daywear into your pajamas, then called for him to come back in. Your ghost popped back in immediately, heading towards his side of the bed. You watched him suspiciously as he sat down and grabbed the book on the nightstand. Instead of turning on his lamp as he would usually do, though, he reached over to the lamp on your side of the bed and clicked it on, then offered the book out towards you.

“I want you to read to me tonight,” he requested.

“That’s it?” You frowned.

“That’s it,” he confirmed. “You can sing me ‘Happy Birthday’ too, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You took the book from him and sat down against the headboard, pulling your covers over your lap. Jisung laid down on top of the blankets, looking up at you, waiting. You sighed and shook your head, fondly brushing some of his hair out of his face.

“Happy Birthday, Jisung,” you said, opening the book to where he had left off when he’d been reading to you.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going,” Jisung grumbled, handing you a lid to the plastic container.

“Me neither,” you sighed your agreement, snapping the container shut.

Today was finally the day of Seohyuk’s wedding. You, your mom, and Nayoung had just finished up lunch, and the aide would be helping her get ready while you got yourself dressed. Your ghost had made his distaste of the situation plenty clear.

“You couldn’t just send money and a card?”

“My mom wanted to go, and she doesn’t have another daughter to go with her,” you put the leftovers into the fridge. “I would’ve looked like a bitch sending her with an aide while I stayed home. And felt like a bitch.”

“Can’t believe that guy has even found three people who wanted to marry him.”

You laughed heartily at that. “Me neither. It’s got to be the money. Investment brokers make good money, right?”

“To fuck if I know,” your ghost snorted.

“Anyway, stay here while I get ready.”

Jisung saluted you, making you chuckle a little as you left the kitchen. The dress code was cocktail, unfortunately for you, meaning that you had to dress in the nicest outfit you’d worn since Hyukjun’s funeral. Most of your day-to-day wear was lounge clothes lately. After putting on your outfit, and doing your hair and makeup as well, you did a final once-over in the mirror, honestly a bit surprised at yourself.

Walking back downstairs, you could tell that Nayoung was still helping your mom in her room, so you looked around instead for Jisung. You saw his dark head of hair sitting on the couch in the living room, and started that way. He turned upon hearing your footsteps, jaw actually dropping when he spotted you.

“You’re going to catch flies like that,” you teased, pushing his chin back up as you stopped in front of him.

He looked up at you with wide eyes instead. “Woah…”

“Good woah?”

Jisung nodded, standing up and offering you a hand. You gently placed yours atop it, and he lifted it to twirl you around, making a giggle bubble out of you.

“Great woah,” he confirmed. “So not fair you look like this for that asshole’s wedding.”

“It’s not for him,” you scoffed. “It’s for me.”

“Still… I think the bride is going to get jealous.”

“Oh my God.” You rolled your eyes, putting your hand over his mouth insistently, despite you being the only person in the house that could hear him. “You’re awful, you know that?”

He was obviously grinning behind your hand, eyes crinkling up with a mischievous twinkle. You sighed and dropped your hand from his mouth.

“So not fair to be that cute when I’m trying to be mad at you,” you huffed, pinching one of his cheeks.

“Ow,” he pouted, covering the reddened skin once you’d let go.

You heard your mom’s bedroom door open, and her and Nayoung came out a moment later. You walked over to give her a hug.

“Mom, that dress is so pretty,” you complimented her.

“Oh, Y/N,” she cupped your cheek. “You look so beautiful, sweetie.”

“You’re really beautiful, Y/N,” Nayoung added quietly.

“Oh, thank you,” you brushed down your outfit. “Thank you for your help, Nayoung. We should be good to go, I think.”

“Yes, yes, we need to get going!” Your mom clapped her hands together. “Don’t want to be late!”

After putting your mom to bed following the reception, you crept out of her room with your heels in hand. Jisung was at the bottom of the stairs, clearly waiting for you. He held his hands out to take your shoes from you, following you upstairs.

“So how was the wedding?” He asked, stopping outside your door to let you get changed inside in peace.

“Oh, it wasn’t bad, actually,” you answered him as you got undressed. “I think everyone was on their best behavior because it was a wedding, you know?”

“That’s good.”

“Seohyuk’s wife is actually really nice,” you informed him, chuckling in disbelief. “I hope he treats her right. And if not, I hope she’s got a good pre-nup.”

“Did your mom have a good time?”

“Oh yeah, she tore up the dance floor.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” Finally in your pajamas, you called out, “You can come in.”

Jisung materialized through the door, and went to put your shoes away for you that he was still holding. “I’m glad you two had a good time.”

“Me too.” You plopped into bed, feeling the exhaustion of the night hitting you all at once. “I’m almost glad that I went.”

“Almost?”

“I’m still thinking about how I could’ve spent all night in my pajamas instead of getting hit on by Seohyuk’s best man.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm…” You yawned and pulled your blankets up over you as Jisung sat down against the headboard and robotically grabbed the book on the nightstand.

“Was ‘fuck off’ not clear enough for him?”

“Didn’t tell him to fuck off,” you shrugged.

“What?!”

You winced and rubbed your ear. “Loud…”

“Sorry, sorry,” he quieted his voice down again.

“I was bored, and he wasn’t a jerk about it or anything,” you explained simply, closing your eyes and pushing your cheek against your pillow. “Still would’ve rather been here in my pajamas with you, though.”

“Oh. Okay…” Jisung took a deep breath, opening the book up to pick up where he’d left off in the story.

You were putting leftovers from dinner away some nights later as Hyesoo dispensed your mom’s medications for the upcoming week. You knew your worry was written all over your face. Your mom had been having so many good days—so many lucid days—lately, but today was bad. She asked you why you weren’t at school multiple times, refused to eat, and had another fit over the house being haunted. You were putting her plate of food away right now, entirely untouched.

“It was stupid,” you sighed. “For me to think she was getting better. I know her diagnosis—she’s only going to get worse.”

“There will be ups and downs, Y/N,” the aide reminded you gently. “The important thing is to not blame yourself for any of it.”

You sighed. “You’re right. Thanks, Hyesoo.”

“You don’t have work to do after this, do you?”

“A little bit. You’re staying the night, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good, good.”

“You know, I’ve been doing this for a while, dear,” she said kindly, shaking out a few pills. “And while I don’t know everything, I do know you can’t run yourself into the ground trying to take care of them. Or else there will be nothing left of you, and then how will you take care of her?”

“I know, it was hard to focus on work today, that’s all.”

“I mean—I’ve been with you all for some time now, and when was the last time you hung out with your own friends? Or went on a date? You’re a beautiful young lady, you’re doing the world a disservice staying cooped up in here all the time.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Really—”

“I’m being serious! Just think about it, dear. I promise, taking some time to keep living your life now won’t be the end of the world. This way, you’ll have a support system when you need it.”

You nodded in understanding, putting the leftovers away with robotic movements as your brain continued turning over her words.

Just about a week after that conversation with Hyesoo and you were fixing your hair in the mirror when a gentle knock came at your bedroom door. You called out to the person as you continued messing with your hair. “Come in!”

Jisung phased through your door. “Dinner’s ready, are you—”

He stopped his words as he seemed to take in what you were wearing, tilting his head with a curious frown. “You got changed?”

“I’m going out for dinner,” you told him, leaning over to focus on putting your earrings in.

“Out? Like, a work thing?”

“No, I’ve got a date.”

“What? With who?” He sputtered, then collected himself a little. “I mean—This is the first I’ve heard of it. How did you meet them?”

“His name’s Dongmin. I met him at the wedding last week.”

“Wait, don’t tell me he’s the best man you were talking about?”

“He gave me his number.” You shrugged. “So?”

“I thought you didn’t even like him?”

“What does it matter to you?” You crossed your arms.

“What do you—? Of course I care if you’re going on a date with some creepy guy who you don’t like.” Jisung ran a hand through his hair.

“I reached out to him, Jisung.” You didn’t know why you were getting so defensive, why you felt so on edge at the moment.

He crossed his arms. “Why did you hide it from me?”

“I didn’t hide it from you,” you scoffed. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“Yeah, but this is—”

“What? This is what?”

He held his hands up in surrender, looking away from you. “Never mind. Hope you have fun.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t passive aggressive,” you snorted, grabbing your phone. “You’re just pissed because I’m the only person you can talk to all day but I get to actually leave this stupid house and hang out with people other than you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jisung glared back at you, raising his voice to match yours. It was quite possibly the most venomous you’d heard the normally soft-spoken ghost be towards you. “You leave the house all the time, you always talk to your mom or her aides. I don’t give a shit.”

You checked the time on your phone, setting your jaw. “I need to go. I don’t have time for you to keep avoiding what you’re actually trying to say.”

“Oh, right, I’m the only one avoiding,” he retorted sarcastically.

“Lalala! Not listening! Too busy avoiding!” You said in a purposefully childish, loud, and sing-songy voice, plugging one ear as you threw your door open and slammed it shut behind you.

The lights in the house were dark when you got back. Good, you didn’t want to face Hyesoo like this. It was already going to be bad enough risking running into Jisung. Hopefully he was still pissed at you and would stay scarce. Taking a deep breath to dampen your sobs for a few moments, you unlocked the front door and opened it as quietly as you could. No paranormal force on the other side opened it for you this time. Hyesoo’s light snores could be heard from the living room, but other than the sleeping aide, the house was eerily silent. You locked up behind you and started up the stairs, but couldn’t even bring yourself to make it all the way to your room. You all but collapsed at the top step, letting your tears stream freely again as you cried quietly into your hands, hunched over your knees.

That was a fucking disaster.

“Y/N?”

You opened your eyes back up at the soft, familiar voice. Jisung was at the bottom of the stairs, hands in the pockets of his cardigan.

“Oh, Jisung, hey.” You didn’t bother wiping your tears this time as you greeted him. He hesitantly shifted his weight from one foot to another. You patted the spot next to you for him. “Déjà vu, huh?”

He sat down next to you on the top step, deep frown on his features. “What happened?”

“Ugh, guy was an asshole,” you sniffed. “Like, I thought he was really nice and everything, but as soon as he realized I wasn’t going home with him, he turned into a jerk.”

“He didn’t…”

“No, he just said a bunch of rude stuff. Called me a bitch, a whore who was just using him for his money or whatever.”

“Y/N—”

“All that, I didn’t really care about,” you admitted, curling your hands into fists and digging your nails into your palms as his words came back to you. “It was what he said about my mom that really pissed me off. Essentially said I should just put her up in a home and get on with my life. I about threw a punch in the middle of the restaurant.”

Jisung let out a light chuckle at that, but the humor in his features didn’t last long. He scooted closer to you, tentatively wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I’m sorry it didn’t go well for you.”

You shrugged, leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know what I expected, really. He was Seohyuk’s friend, of course he was going to be an asshole.”

Jisung wasn’t warm, but you found his cool embrace comforting enough, the steady pressure of his arm encircling you, his sturdy body supporting you as he let you lean against him.

“I’m sorry, for getting upset at you earlier,” he apologized quietly. “You didn’t have to tell me where you were going, and I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“I wasn’t being very fair either,” you replied. “I’m sorry too.”

“But… Why did you go out with that guy? I mean, if he had been nice, would you have… Would he…” Jisung stopped, apparently frustrated at not knowing how to phrase what he wanted to ask. “Why not me? I know that sounds so pathetic, but that’s all I wanted to ask you before.”

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, biting your bottom lip against the emotions rushing up in your chest at his words. “Jisung…”

“I’m not… imagining all this, right? I mean, there’s something here, Y/N. A-A connection.”

“What kind of relationship can you even have with a ghost?” You asked sadly.

“Maybe the kind you need now.” He grabbed one of your hands, holding it tightly in your laps between you.

“I’m going to get older, Jisung,” you reminded him calmly, despite each word piercing your chest like a knife. “Not to mention—I won’t be here forever. Like, in this house. I don’t own it. I’ll have to leave once she… I’ll have to go. I can’t stay here.”

“Does everything worthwhile in life have to last forever?” He murmured, his voice practically begging now. “Tell me you didn’t think about me while you were on that date…”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I can’t…”

“You did? Think about me?”

“The whole time,” you admitted. “Even when it was going okay, I was thinking about you.”

“Y/N…”

You looked up from your entwined hands, realizing that you were gripping onto him maybe even harder than he was you. Meeting his dark gaze, you blinked away a few more stray tears.

You finally let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Until it’s over, you and me.”

A smile overtook his features as he rested his forehead against yours. Readjusting your hand to cover the back of his, you moved his index finger to his chest, tracing an X over his heart. Your ghost watched your movements fondly, echoing, “Until it’s over, you and me.”

“Do you have anything left here that’s yours? Hair in a locket under a floorboard or something?” You questioned, looking around your room.

“What? No,” Jisung scoffed.

“Figured I’d ask.”

The two of you were brainstorming. Jisung really wanted to be able to go somewhere out of the house with you, but the best ideas you had of course came from popular ghost media.

“Your stepdad kept a lot of the original house fixtures when he bought it. Maybe one of those,” your ghost suggested.

“I’m not carrying a faucet around in my purse,” you replied frankly. “Not to mention, I’m not allowed to damage the house while I live here. My stepbrothers could sue me for anything that’s not exactly how it was when Hyukjun left it.”

“What about…” Jisung walked through the closed door, and you could hear the squeak of the stairs as he went down them. A few moments later, he went back up them, then came through the door again. He held out something in his closed fist towards you.

You stretched out your hand palm-up, and he opened up his fingers to drop a small piece of metal into it. It had some weight to it, and you turned it over in your hand to get a better look at it. It looked like a knob to a cabinet or drawer, in the shape of an eight-pointed starburst. It wasn’t familiar to you at all, it didn’t look like he had taken it off any place in the house that you could tell.

You looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “Where…?”

“It’s one of the original knobs that was on the cabinets in the kitchen,” he explained. “Your stepdad’s first wife wanted them all replaced when she moved in. He put them in a box in the laundry room closet and they haven’t been touched since. I doubt your stepbrothers even know about them. She probably thought he got rid of them.”

“These were on the cabinets when you lived here?”

“Yep.”

You pocketed the cabinet knob. “Can’t hurt to try.”

Once you’d given your mom and Nayoung your goodbyes, you headed for the front door. Jisung was right behind you, looking positively giddy as he watched you put your shoes on.

Patting your pocket again to reassure yourself that the cabinet knob was in there, you stepped down from the porch and onto the walkway. After nodding politely to a jogger going by, you looked around hesitantly at the empty space on either side of you.

“Jisung?” You said quietly.

“I’m here.” He appeared next to you, beaming down at you. “I’m here.”

The two of you had never gone past the porch swing, not even down to the flowerbeds you had continued to tend to. You grabbed his arm to pull him down with you as you squatted in front of the snapdragons that had just come back into bloom. Pride and bittersweet nostalgia welled up in your chest as you looked at the flowers that used to be Hyukjun’s hobby.

“Do you know the secret with these?” You asked Jisung.

“No?” He replied, tilting his head.

You reached out to gently squeeze the sides of a pink flower, making the dragon’s “mouth” open and close. “You can make their mouths open and shut.”

Jisung watched you fondly, then tried it on another bloom. He giggled. “That’s kind of fun, actually.”

Standing back up, you continued to the end of the house’s short walkway, stopping on the sidewalk.

“This is the furthest I’ve been in… a while,” he said, eyes shining.

“We’re still in the lay lines of the property…” You kept your hopes guarded. “I don’t want to call it a success yet.”

Walking down the sidewalk, you kept your eye on Jisung the further you got from the house, waiting for him to hit some invisible barrier and disappear entirely, or at least flicker or something else to indicate that he was losing his connection to the house. But he looked… normal. Fine.

When you were a full three blocks away from the house, Jisung grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Would you stop looking at me like I’m going to die again?” He joked.

“Sorry, sorry,” you sighed. “I just… can’t believe it. How do you feel?”

“Fine. Great!” He grinned.

You'd never seen Jisung in direct sunlight before, only ever the lights of the house, sunbeams that filtered in through curtains and windows, or moonlight at night. You were surprised at how… normal he looked. His skin had a lifelike rosy tint to it in places, his hair shone and reflected a dark brown at some angles, and he didn’t have any sort of ghostly pallor to him. The only thing that didn’t change were his eyes, still as dark and enrapturing as ever, his pupils melting into his irises.

“So where are we going?” He asked, swinging your linked hands.

“You’ll see.” You squeezed his hand before letting it go, hearing the sounds of other people around the corner that you were about to turn.

The destination you had in mind wasn’t very far, which was good, because your shoulder was getting tired carrying your tote bag. Veering off the sidewalk at a seemingly random place, you walked through a gap between two bushes. Jisung followed you diligently, keeping whatever questions he had to himself. The path underfoot was overgrown with grass and clover, only a path to a keen observer, or those who already knew it was there.

Finally, you ducked around a large tree and emerged at a clearing in front of a small pond. Jisung looked around in wonder as you proudly put your hands on your hips.

“Hyukjun and I came out here a couple times, when he and my mom first got together,” you explained. “Bonding stuff. I’m happy I remembered where it was.”

“I think…” Jisung slowly turned around in a circle, still taking it all in. “I think my friends and I used to swim here in the summer. And when the pond would freeze in the winter, we’d skate…”

He walked over to the largest tree nearby, fingers tracing over the bark that had endless initials carved in it, until he squatted down by the base. “Yeah. I didn’t recognize the streets when we were walking over here, but…”

You joined him by the tree, watching as he pointed out a cluster of initials, seven in total, ending on PJS. “There you all are,” you said quietly. “I didn’t even know this was here.”

“They’re probably all old men now,” Jisung chuckled, a laugh that you could tell was forced.

You reached for his hand, holding it with both of yours. “It’s okay to be sad that you didn’t get to grow old with your best friends, Jisung. I know you’re the one that passed away, but have you mourned them yet? All your friends and family that you didn’t get to see grow old?”

“Damn it.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to make you all sad on our first real date.”

“I’m dating a ghost,” you pointed out, running your thumb over the back of his hand. “I think a little doom and gloom comes with the territory.”

“To answer your question, I haven’t thought about it like that,” he sighed. “I always felt bad that I left them, that they had to mourn me. But I never… grieved the fact that I lost them too.”

“I don’t want to make you sad on our date, either,” you panicked a little at the shadow that had fallen over his features, moving to wrap an arm around his shoulders and hug him. “I’m sorry!”

Jisung laughed a real laugh this time, hugging you back. “It’s okay, Y/N. It’s better than feeling guilty for something I had no control over.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“I honestly hadn’t even thought about coming here with them in so long… Really, it’s nice to remember them all again.”

You let go of him to reach into your tote, pulling out the large picnic blanket you’d brought with you. “How about instead of the both of us making each other sad, you tell me a bunch of fun stories about your friends while I enjoy the picnic food I packed?”

He pecked your forehead, taking the blanket from your hand. “Deal.”

The pond had become one of yours and Jisung’s favorite spots to go when you could find time between work and your mom. The two of you could get out of the house together without risking you getting some very strange looks in public. Sometimes you brought a picnic, sometimes books or a crossword puzzle or deck of cards or just laid on your blanket and tried to find shapes in the clouds. Every so often, you’d get someone coming by walking their dog, or a gaggle of kids cutting through from one of their backyards to another, but nobody ever paid you much more attention past a ‘hello’ or ‘lovely afternoon, isn’t it?’

After submitting a big project at work, you finally had some free time again. As long as your mom was having a good day today. She’d been more sensitive to you leaving the house lately on her bad days, and while the aides promised that she always calmed down eventually, you hated causing her so much stress if it was avoidable—errands were one thing, but a date with your ghost boyfriend that already haunted your residence could take a raincheck.

You looked in the living room first, then the dining area and kitchen, and frowned thoughtfully when you couldn’t find your mother and Nayoung. Turning around, you were greeted by Jisung, who pointed to the backyard knowingly.

“They’re in the back drinking lemonade,” he informed you. “She’s having a good day.”

“Oh, good. Thanks, Jisung,” you let out a breath of relief, giving him a kiss on the cheek as you passed by on your way back into the living room.

Opening up the door that led onto the back porch, you immediately spotted your mom and Nayoung sitting beside each other on two rocking chairs, a pitcher of lemonade between them as they overlooked the small backyard. Their conversation stopped when they heard the door open, both of them turning to look at you over their sunglasses.

You held your hands up defensively. “Woah, I feel like I just interrupted something…”

“Yes, you can go, sweetie,” your mom said knowingly.

“What?”

“You finished your work and are checking on me to see if you can go out.” She took a sip of her lemonade, pushing her sunglasses back up and settling back into her chair again. “I’m telling you I’m fine, and you can go.”

“Nayoung?” You turned to the aide. “Everything okay—?”

“We’re fine, Y/N!” Nayoung waved you off with a smile. “Really!”

“Alright, alright.” You surrendered, backing up towards the door again. “I’ll be back before Hyesoo gets here.”

“What day is it, Nayoung?” Your mom asked.

“Wednesday.”

“You know, my memory isn’t the best, remind me, when does Hyesoo stay the night?”

“Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“Hm.” Your mom tsked. “Interesting…”

Nayoung didn’t add anything further, but giggled as she took another sip of her lemonade.

“You two are nuisances,” you scoffed and shook your head, finally heading back inside.

You beelined for your bedroom, finding your ghost already sitting on your bed clearly waiting for you.

“Oh yeah, she’s having a great day,” you snorted in lieu of a greeting, grabbing your usual tote bag. “That new medication her doctor put her on is doing wonders. I might have to have him cut her off.”

“I think she’s a lot of fun,” Jisung snickered. “Earlier, when you were on that work call, she was telling Nayoung about your third-grade science fair—”

“Ahh!” You cut him off by planting two hands over his mouth, eyes going wide with mortification. “Of all the things she remembers, that’s what sticks around?! Are you kidding?”

His shoulders were shaking as he let out muffled laughter behind your hands, and he eventually collapsed backwards onto your bed. Your hands dropped from his face as you stayed upright, allowing his laughs to echo freely in your room.

“If you’re going to keep making fun of me, we’re not going out.” You crossed your arms. “I’ll bury your cabinet knobs in the backyard, and your soul will really be stuck here forever.”

“You’ve got to stop being so cute when you pout, and I’ll stop teasing you.” He was still chuckling as he sat up and reached for you with two hands. With an eyeroll, you let him pull you into his lap and wrap his arms around your waist.

“This isn’t fair, I can’t find out embarrassing stuff about you unless you tell me,” you huffed, well aware you that you were still pouting.

“I always answer your questions. You just don’t ask me that stuff.”

“Well now I will.”

“Anything else you need to pout about?”

You let out a deep breath, your face relaxing a little bit. “No. Done for now I think.”

He cupped your cheek, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. Like everything else, Jisung’s lips were cool as they meshed with yours. Not uncomfortably so, he wasn’t quite an icicle, just unlike any human you’d kissed before. You put your hand over his on your cheek, remembering when even that used to be a far-away impossibility.

You left him with one more kiss on the tip of his nose before asking, “Are you ready to go? Mom and Nayoung gave me the okay.”

He started playing with your fingers, eyes focused downwards as he spoke. “I actually wanted to ask if we could maybe go somewhere else today?”

“Sure. Where were you thinking?”

“I don’t want to be a bummer or anything but…”

“What is it?”

His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “You wrote down the cemetery, right? When you went to library and looked up the genealogies and stuff about me. You said you wrote down where my parents buried me?”

“Yeah, I still have it,” you confirmed, cradling the back of his head as you patiently waited for him to finish asking what you knew he wanted to ask you.

It took him a few inhales and exhales to ask, “Can we go?”

“Of course.”

This was officially the furthest you and Jisung had gone from the house together. He’d gone with you on errands a couple times before—the post office, library, things within walking distance—but you had to get on a train for this. You were a little nervous that he might not be able to go this far, even with the cabinet knob safely tied onto a leather cord and tucked under your shirt. So far, the only limit you’d discovered to his leaving the house was time—six hours or so seemed to be the magic number. You’d found that out on a particularly lazy day, when you were looking up at clouds together and suddenly his lap disappeared from beneath your head. He’d apparently popped back up in the foyer with the first headache he’d experienced in decades. Since then, you’d been more careful to keep an eye on the time when you brought him with you.

But he sat comfortably through the whole ten-minute train ride at your side as if he were any other passenger. The car that you were in wasn’t full, meaning that you had a row to yourself, leaving an empty seat next to you for Jisung. After arriving at your stop, you had another five-minute walk until you finally arrived at the cemetery.

“This is where my parents are from,” Jisung stated as you passed under the metal archway at the entrance. “That’s probably why they didn’t choose somewhere back in town.”

A winding path went through the center of the land, smaller pathways breaking off into other areas. It was a big cemetery, gently rolling hills dotted with headstones, grave markers, elegantly carved statues, all sorts of tributes to loved ones. The two of you took a meandering pace, eyes scanning all the names for just one. You looked around the property warily, now extra aware of being a public nuisance somewhere so sacred. You especially didn’t want to risk disturbing any mourners who might be here. But you couldn’t spot anybody except yourself and Jisung, maybe because it was the middle of the day in the middle of the work week.

“There,” Jisung announced, his gaze locked on something in the distance, while you had been looking at markers much closer. He grabbed your hand and pulled you with him as he rushed across the cemetery.

You stopped in front of a simply shaped granite headstone with a carved border. The name at the top read ‘PARK JISUNG’ and under it, a birthdate and death date that were familiar to you. It was the epitaph that was new to you, however.

‘THERE WILL ALWAYS BE LOVE

CROSS OUR HEARTS’

Jisung reached a finger out, tracing over each letter in ‘LOVE.’ He said, “I always wanted to know what they wrote. What they said about me. How they wanted to remember me forever.”

“It’s lovely. They love you a lot,” you replied quietly, resting a hand on his back.

He looked over at you hopefully. “You’re talking in present tense. Are they…?”

“The records I looked at didn’t list them as deceased when I was looking for information about you, but I don’t know how often it’s updated,” you informed him. “I didn’t look any further into them, I was only trying to find out what happened to you.”

“Do you think two more headstones could fit there?” He gestured to the empty space beside his own.

You took the seemingly random question in stride, genuinely contemplating it. “Probably, yeah. Or one big one would fit better, like the couples that get buried together.”

Jisung had a satisfied smile on his face as he nodded. “Yeah, one big one. That’s it.”

It dawned on you then what he was thinking—his parents had most likely reserved the plot next to his for themselves once they passed, and since it was still empty, they were still alive.

“Thank you.” He took your hand, lacing your fingers together. “For coming out here with me. This must be the weirdest date you’ve been on.”

“Visiting my boyfriend’s own grave with him?” You tilted your head back and forth contemplatively, a teasing lilt in your tone. “Mm, yeah, definitely up there. But I’m glad that you wanted to do this with me, Jisung. I can’t imagine what this feels like for you.”

“I’m ready to go,” he declared, looking up at the blue sky above you. “It’s such a nice day, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you agreed, fondly admiring his little one-eyed squint against the sunlight.

Back home that night, you shook one of your sleeping meds from the bottle, setting it down on your nightstand as you went about getting ready for bed. Your ghost was already sat against the headboard, his legs covered by your blankets, hands folded over the book in his lap as he waited for you. Finally ready, you knocked back the tablet with a gulp of water and climbed under your covers. Jisung rested one hand on your head, thumb stroking over your forehead, but after an abnormally long period of silence, you opened one eye to peer up at him.

He was just gazing down at you tenderly, and you fought the instinct to cover your face, instead reaching over to tap the cover of his closed book.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?” You complained in jest.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” he responded, still not moving to open the book.

“What about?”

“My epitaph. ‘There will always be love.’”

“It’s nice.” You bit back a yawn.

“Yeah. I was thinking about how they probably meant it like their love for me will persist, and proof that I was here and was loved and loved others when I was alive will persist.”

“I like that, Jisung. I think that’s what they meant.”

“And… there was no way they could’ve known this when they picked it, but I was thinking…” Your ghost paused, dark eyes enrapturing you in that moment that you didn’t even think about breathing. “About how even after I died, you somehow found me.”

You grabbed the book from his lap, reaching behind you to blindly put it on your nightstand. Jisung immediately understood, turning his lamp off and leaving the room in darkness as he slipped the rest of the way under the covers. You buried your face in his neck, tangling your fingers in the hair at the back of his head as you simultaneously pressed yourself into him and pulled him as close as possible. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, digging his fingers into you hard enough to make you feel real, which you were glad for.

“I’m going to bring you with me,” you choked out past the tears rising in your eyes. “When it’s time for me to leave. I’ll bring all the cabinet knobs, a chunk of the foundation, whatever will make it work. Fuck my stepbrothers—I’ll pay whatever damages. If you want—”

“Of course I do.” He didn’t even let you finish that thought, and you could hear the tremble in his voice. “But we’ve never been able to get around the time…”

“I’ll figure it out for us, Jisung.” You pulled back just enough to show him as you drew an X over the left side of your chest. “Cross my heart.”

He took your hand from your heart, kissing the back of your fingers tenderly. “We knew it was going to be like this. We promised.”

“We said ‘until it’s over,’” you argued. “I don’t want it to be over yet.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But I don’t think it’ll be our choice when it is. Not everything worthwhile has to last forever.”

“Jisung—”

“We’ll try everything,” he assured you, squeezing your hand. “I’m not giving up on you, Y/N. You and me, until you hand the keys over and close the front door behind you.”

“You’ll be coming with me when I do that, Park Jisung,” you declared, your voice cracking over his name.

He wrapped both arms around you again, tucking you under his chin. “Of course.”

⤷ sequel | masterlist

[chlorinecake]

If it's possible, could you make a yandere enhypen story, where the reader usually goes out late at night to a convenience store for some late night snacks, but some pervert tries her, but one of the members had been following her and help her, I'm sorry if it doesnt make any sense but yeah...😀 (recently my delusions have been getting to me)

“convenient chances” 🎱 

pairing: stalker!yandere!enhypen x afab!reader

cw: harassment, violence, mentions of smoking, paranoia/anxiety, language, kidnapping, bad-ish ending lol

wc: 3.1k — read part ll and lll here

LIKE A DUNGEON with fear cementing every corner, you struggle to savor the silence in your waking life.

Doubting all and believing none, your close friend Sunoo convinced you that your nervous aches and night sweats were a mere result of paranoia. He always judged the way you’d peek over your shoulder in public as if waiting to be attacked.

Clicking sounds from your window startled your rest during the night, with nightmares of seven tall hooded strangers blinding your judgement.

You're sure everyone's experienced the phenomenon of “gaze perception” at least once in their lives, in which a person might sense or assume that a pair of predatory eyes are stalking them from afar.

You didn’t like to use the word trauma to define your past experiences, but this wasn’t your first time feeling like a cloud of trouble waited to pour down on you. At this point, all you could do was hope that your intuition wasn’t right this time.

It was only a few months ago when you broke up with your abusive ex-boyfriend, Jay. The memories still linger as if they occurred yesterday, freshly cryptic in your mind. From your point of view, he started off as a charming casual acquaintance, which soon developed into a crush and then a toxic relationship. He outlined a list of rules for you to follow when he was away, ordering you around like a child. Anytime you even came close to breaking one of his orders, he’d beat the shit out of you, saying that his rage was out of love.

From Jay’s point of view, you weren’t just an obsession, but a belonging—his favorite humanoid toy to play with. He threatened that if you ever left him, he’d come back for you one day, saying that he’d never stop watching you.

And so, you moved. Not far, but a good distance away. You didn’t feel protected anymore in your usual environment. Though, there was one place in which you felt completely safe—free from watchful eyes and hostile hands. It was the tatty old convenience store a few blocks from where you live. The place hadn’t developed much since what appeared to be a decade or two ago, but they always supplied the most tasty, high quality snacks you could get your hands on.

As silly as it may sound, the fallout shop was your haven, and you grew particularly fond of shopping there late at night when it was less crowded.

You walked passed the familiar electronic doors, the fluorescent ceiling lights sparkling off of the bleach-mopped tiles. The usually uplifting radio station was replaced with the chilling whoosh of air circulating through the vents.

“Hello! Welcome to Goldman’s 24-hour convenience,” a friendly accented voice chimed. “Hello,” you returned with a nod, a bit confused by the new face. The usual cashier was an elder women by the name of Mandy. Her laughter alone could make some of your darkest nights glimmer again.

The young man wore a name tag on his dark blue collared shirt: Jake. You couldn’t help but wonder why Mandy wasn’t working her usual night shift, but you didn’t care enough to interrogate the seemingly content boy.

Picking up a hand basket, you explored the aisle's shelves in search for something savory or sweet to snack on. Your gaze swiveled ahead of you before landing on the sight of two hooded strangers blocking your path. This time, a bit of their faces showed, revealing the devious smirks that spoke so many silent words through their sealed lips:

You can run, but you can’t hide from us, ____. For as long as we live, you’re not allowed to feel safe anywhere.

Goosebumps sprouted on the surface of your skin, nerves dancing around in your fingers until they became wobbling rods. It’s almost like you forgot to breathe due to the overwhelming terror, feeling frozen from within as the plastic basket slipped from your grasp, a loud clatter echoing throughout the store.

You remembered all of the horrible things Jay said he would do to you once he found you again. The bruises you concealed with makeup that Jay referred to as his "strawberry kisses” would have nothing on what you felt was coming your way.

“Are you okay, miss?” A kind male voice asked, snatching you from your trance and back to reality. You turned to meet the man behind you, revealing his concerned yet warm features. He picked up the basket you dropped, still processing that your mind successfully tricked you into seeing something that wasn’t actually there.

“Yes, I’m alright, t-thank you,” you smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes, looking more awkward than reassuring.

He pressed three finger's against your forehead, “I don’t think you’re being honest with me,” he frowned, your hot and damp forehead telling him that something was wrong. “I’m sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself yet,” he stuck out one hand for you to shake and the other to pass you back your basket. “My name is Heeseung,” he smiled, “I’m new in town with an affinity for convenience stores.”

“____, with an affinity to drop flimsy baskets in public,” you replied, suddenly feeling at ease from the humor. You started trailing to the ramen section and Heeseung was walking behind you. If it wasn’t for his kindness earlier, you’d probably be freaking out about how close he was. You reached for a spicy udon noodle pack that came with dehydrated tofu and seaweed sheets. Meanwhile, Heeseung grabbed a can of Spam and chicken flavored ramen.

“Speaking of your liking for convenience stores, I come here almost every night and I’ve never seen you before.“

“Well, yeah, I’m usually here earlier in the day. I just happened to need some gas and got hungry while waiting, so I decided to stop by for my favorites,” he peered into your basket, "You might wanna get some milk with those, too. It's ungodly how spicy they are!"

"I know, right? They're just so delicious, I can't resist them..."

"Still, Sapporo Ichiban instant noodles are the best! They always cook perfectly. Never too soft or too firm. It's my comfort food, honestly. I wanna hug the person who created them," he replied passionately.

"Eh, you're just gonna ruin 'em anyways."

He gave you a double look, "Are you passively judging my cooking skills or fat shaming me?"

"Neither. I'm shaming that pink block of salt you're gonna punish your organs with."

He scoffed, "This anti-Spam movement is outrageous! I'm starting an online protest where you'll be the number one convert."

"As if I'd ever try that...stuff," you rejected.

"Welp. More for me, I guess," he mumbled, digging into his jacket pocket.

“Dammit, I forgot my wallet in my car,” he said, placing his basket high up on the shelf. “If you see anyone try to take my stuff, kick ‘em in the shin for me,” he said before running out of the shop.

Analyzing your surroundings, you noticed that a few groups of shoppers and some solo snackers began raiding the bread aisle. You distracted yourself by heading to the refrigerator section, considering Heeseung’s recommendation of getting a smooth beverage to accompany your spicy noodles, tossing in a pack of strawberry flavored Pocky's on your way.

That’s when you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in before giving your head a sniff, his nose was wet and cold like a dog as he inhaled your scent. “What the hell are you doing?” You barked, pushing the creepy stranger away.

He was a middle aged man with a receding hairline and a few scars decorating his thin chapped lips. You wondered how many of those scares came from women he tried that “arm around the waist” shit on.

“Sorry, doll. I’m a hugger and figured you might've needed one,” he grinned, revealing the gnarly set of teeth that lined his grey gums. You couldn't tell if it was his foul breath or filthy clothes that smelled more like smoke. Either way, you were thoroughly disgusted by him.

“Well, you should learn to ask before throwing yourself on people,” you retorted, reaching for a container of banana milk.

“You like swallowing bananas, cutie? I bet I could force four of 'em down that pretty mouth of yours,” he slithered while adjusting himself in his pants.

What the hell is wrong with this guy, you thought to yourself.

You tried to ignore his lunacy, only for him to grip your ass like a stress ball, landing a harsh slap across the curve of your jeans. You yelped at the sting, your own words being caught in your throat from the shocking act. You couldn’t believe that this freak actually just did that to you.

He met your eyes with a wink, smelling his hand as if you just provided him with an expensive perfume sample, "You got a lover at home, sweetheart?"

Tears dared to pour from your rage-ridden eyes as you balled your fists so tight, your bones might break. That's when a protective figure filled your blurry peripheral vision, stepping in front of you to block the man off as he tried grabbing you again, pushing him with such a force that he lost his balance.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, y'scrawny mother fucker,” he growled, pulling up is pants.

“You can’t do that kind of sick shit to people, pervert! Now get the hell outta here or I'll call the police,” the younger boy fought back.

“I was just trying to have some fun, kiddo. Ain’t nothin' wrong with that. I bet honey doll misses me already,” the older man went on, licking at his lower lip.

“I’ll knock every last rotting tooth from your mouth if you don’t leave in the next five seconds-"

“Hey, what’s going on over here?” Jake asked in the middle of the commotion, the older man already fleeing the scene. Jake looked at the younger boy first before eventually meeting your eyes. You wish you could hide how shaken up you felt. The container of milk was bleeding out its strong banana scent on the once spotless floor, tears finally streaming down your cheeks.

“Oh my God, Jungwon, what happened,” Heeseung came running over, asking the boy who defended you. “It was nothing,” you interrupted before Jungwon could answer, the three boys standing dumbfounded around you in a puddle of banana milk. “Do you need a ride-" “Don’t worry about me,” your voice cracked in embarrassment.

Is there any way to explain how the world made you ashamed of your own tears?

You left your basket behind, apologizing to Jake who had to clean up the sticky mess. You didn’t wanna leave just yet, afraid that the older guy might be waiting for you outside, so you went to the ladies restroom instead to call your friend Sunoo.

“____?”

You cleared the lump in your throat before answering, “Sunoo,” you began shakily, “I need you to come and pick me up from Goldman's.”

“You sound terrible, is everything okay? You’re worrying me, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, Sun. Everything’s okay, I just really need you right now.”

“____,” he sighed. You suddenly felt guilty for even calling him.

“Sunoo, if you can’t make it, I won’t be mad at you,” you said in between the silence, trying to encourage him to make a choice.

“I-I can’t, well, I can, but, not soon, at least. I’m only an hour away, if you’re willing to wait that long.” The pity in his voice made you wanna cry all over again. Looking at the time on your phone, it was six minutes til midnight, and you refused to haul your best friend out on the road this late. “No, that’s alright, Sunoo. I’ll just call an Uber.”

His side of the phone fell quiet for a moment. “____, I know how much you hate Uber's. Don't do that to yourself because of me."

"I'll be okay, Sun, just get yourself some rest."

He paused before asking, "Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Of course! Call me when you get home!”

You finished up in the bathroom, mentally preparing yourself to face the strangers beyond the not-so-comforting walls of the restroom. To your surprise, Heeseung and Jungwon were still in the store. Huddled around Jake at the checkout counter, the three of them took loud sips from steaming cups of ramen. “Hey, ____,” Heeseung began, resting his snack on the counter. “We could help you file a report against that guy, if you want.”

Jungwon met your eyes with his own sincere ones, “He should pay for the way he treated you.” Jake put your basket from earlier on the counter, dry items taking the place of the previously wet ones.

“Do you still want these," he asked shyly. After everything that happened, you felt empty in more than one way. Some warm broth and noodles is exactly what your body needed at the moment. You nodded, handing Jake a $20 bill. Beeping sounds immediately met your ears as he scanned your items with a strange haste. You looked back to Heeseung and Jungwon.

“Getting the police involved will only make it harder for me to forget this ever even happened. Thank you for your concern, though,” you smile at the humble pair before they took the final gulps from their ramen cups before discarding them.

“Here’s your change,” Jake chirped, handing you the plastic bag of goodies. “Thank you,” you bowed, heading to the exit.

“Y'sure you don't need a ride?” Jungwon asked. You flashed him your phone screen. “Uber,” was all you said before walking into the black of the night, the sliding doors closing behind you.

According to your smartphone, you should expect your chauffeur, Sunghoon, to arrive shortly in a black truck with tinted windows. The vehicle came speeding through the parking lot, a chill wind hitting your features. The truck was so dark, that it almost blended into the night. He rolled down the window, looking you up and down.

"Name?"

"Uh, ____," you said, his blunt question catching you off guard.

"Get in," he replied, directing a thumb to the back seat, unlocking the door as you slid in, bumping into another passenger. Immediately caught by his dark eyes, the boy waved slightly, muttering a deep “Welcome aboard,” before fixing his gaze out the window again. The truck sat idly as Sunghoon delayed taking off, exchanging a few hushed words to the guy sitting in the front passenger's seat.

Click.

The backseat doors opened from both ends, Heeseung, Jungwon, and Jake joining you in the black vehicle. "Scoot over, Niki," Jungwon complained, trying to get comfortable in the crammed space. That's when you saw one last person join you all in the truck, his face capturing the moonlight like a thief.

"Sunoo?! W-what are you doing here? I thought you were an hour away!" All he did was frown in response. He always made that face whenever he was hiding something from you. "Sunoo," you pressed, nudging his shoulder.

"Oh please, would you just shut the hell up already," the hostile driver growled at you.

You screwed your eyes brows in confusion, "What's going on here," you inquired, now feeling anxiety start to creep up on you.

"The very thing I warned you about before you abandoned me," the front passenger bit back.

That voice. You knew exactly who it belonged to.

It was Jay, your looney ex-lover, sitting right in front of you. An angry yet pitiful scowl contaminated his handsome features.

You pushed through Heeseung, reaching for the door handle, only for Niki, the quietest yet scariest one, to snatch your wrist, pulling you into his tantalizing grip. "Let me go," you yelped, only for Jungwon to harshly cover your mouth.

Screech.

Sunghoon pulled off at a dangerous speed, causing your bodies to shake in the truck. Heeseung crossed his legs cooly as if he wasn't just casually talking with you in the store, “So when do we get to have fun with her, again? It’s not like she did any good entertaining me through conversation.”

Jake rolled his eyes at Heeseung, “I could’ve used your enthusiasm when I had to stuff that fat old chick in the freezer. Alone. On top of that, I had to mop the floor quintillion times before the blood stains got out.”

“At least you’d make a good house husband,” Sunghoon joked.

You felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach at Jake’s confession: He killed Mandy.

"I'm sorry, ____," Sunoo whispered, fighting back tears as he hid his face from you.

Everything was starting to make sense now.

The visions of seven hooded boys.

The clicking sounds you'd hear from outside your window at night.

The way you could never shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Jay’s past words echoed in the back of your mind:

"If you ever decide to leave me, don't ever think that you'll get very far before I catch up. I'll always be watching you."

You bit Jungwon's hand, causing him to retreat his palm from your flushed face. "Sunoo, you betrayed me! You told me that I was paranoid when you knew exactly what was going on behind my back! I felt safe with you...I trusted you! And you fucking lied to me!"

"God, I've had just about enough of her nagging," Niki said, landing a fisted blow across your face. As you faded out of consciousness, Jay tried to soothe your daze.

“Even though I betrayed you and beat you, it was only my funny way of expressing how much I love you. Can’t you see that I did all of that out of love?”

You could still hear Sunoo pleading for your forgiveness in the background as you held onto the last strand of your consciousness.

"I've been watching you for a long time, love. You always try to escape me and I never understood why you just wouldn't listen to me. All I've ever done is love you and try to protect you. This time, I’ll make sure you’ve learned your lesson.”

And that was the last thing you heard before retreating to the vacancy of your mind, floating around in the silence of your oblivion. Left in the hands of seven reckless boys who’d successfully lured you into their cat trap, you didn’t know what to expect once you’d open your eyes, but you knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

In that time, you came to the unsettling conclusion that broken toys were Jay’s favorite, and if you weren’t already broken upon being found, you would be by time he’s done playing with you.

☆ ᴀ/ɴ: in no way, shape, or form does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. i simply write for entertainment and creative purposes. thus, reader discretion is always advised.

☆ ᴘ.ꜱ: special thanks to the fabulous anon who requested this piece! i played around with the plot a bit, but I hope you all enjoyed reading it! if you guys would like a version of this story with a happier ending, let me know in the comments!

☆ taglist (based off of users that personally requested to be on my taglist, my faves, and people that I've noticed interacting with my yandere content) ~

@fanficfactoryfoxxx @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @yngwife @03sunoos @kaykay11sworld @maryismad @gigiramirezsblog @hoonsyo @en-thralled @haechansheart @night-en-shining-armor @cutiejseong

[ghouldump]

Hiiiii I absolutely love your work thanks for feeding us with iwtv content!!!🫶🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️

I was thinking of a lestat x bi/queer fem reader, in which they’re just cuddling and chilling as they share their past experiences with lovers with no judgement and how they both came to terms with their sexuality, just something very fluffy!

That’s just a suggestion in case you needed ideas, don’t feel pressured at all! Have a great day🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

As You Are | Lestat De Lioncourt x Reader

ෆ summary in request above ^

“You sure you okay, ma chérie, you've been awfully quiet, Lestat said, his fingertips brushing against your hip.

It was one of those rare nights, after hunting, there was nothing else to do but to spend time with each other. You both spent decades without companionship, drowning in loneliness, before meeting each other and now you treasured quality time together.

“I’m okay, today is an old friend's birthday, and I can't help thinking of her,” you told him, climbing out of bed, you grabbed the folded photo from inside of your coin purse.

“You two are a little close be friends,” he said, making you laugh.

“She said people would say that,” you smiled, folding the photo back up.

“You’ve been with a woman, this friend of yours,” he quickly realized.

“Yes, you aren't the only one who doesn't discriminate,” you laughed at how theatrical he was. Lestat had been open about his diverse tastes and history, while you were oftentimes a closed book, listening to his stories, rather than telling your own.

“How did I not know this?”

“I guess it slipped my mind, I don't talk about it, I've learned things and healed, and have no regrets,” you shrugged.

“You cannot tell me that and not elaborate…”

“Well, early 1900s, I had obviously just been turned, I tried dating around for a bit, but nothing worked out, until Helen. I always felt things towards women, but you know how things were back then, I couldn't dare express these feelings to anyone. I probably would've gotten a lobotomy,” you said, making him snicker.

“I realized if I would be here forever, I needed to come to terms with myself. Helen lived in the same apartment building, and I, of course, began to flirt with her. She was like I once was, hiding her true identity, afraid of judgment from outsiders. We were together for some time, in secret. I eventually wanted to turn her, but she was too afraid, blinded by her own internal conflict. We ultimately parted, and she went on with her life. I didn't hear from her again, until I was invited to her funeral, by her children,” you told him, he listened attentively, his softened eyes staring at your face, as he held you close.

“Oh, ma chérie”

“For the longest, I struggled with accepting who I was, questioning what was wrong with me, but I eventually could see myself healing, as time went on. I dated a few others, but none could capture my heart like her, I wouldn't allow myself to fully enjoy and give in until I met you,” you smiled, pecking his lips.

“I thought I wasn't able to love again, after my Nicky, until you came along, and I suppose things worked out perfectly,” he said, his finger brushing against your face.

“We’re one and the same”

“I agree, although it does make things more interesting knowing you also have equally eclectic taste, we’ll have to explore this scandalous side of you,” he grinned.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, laughing at the mischievous grin on his lips.

“Nothing, for now, I just want to love you, completely and unconditionally, as you are,” he snuggled against you.

“Yes, we can invite someone except not that banchy-singing whore,” you said, hearing his thoughts, questioning if you would be open to a third joining you two in bed, from time to time.

“Thank god, I thought I would have had to beg,” he said, wrapping his arms around you, as he rolled over.

[redisaid]

Parhelion - Chapter 1 of ??

Skin Parade

This work will be co-authored with @victory-for-sylvanas with independently written entries being added anthology style.

We've been talking about a sex club AU for two years now. Needless to say, a lot of flavor has been added since and it now covers two very different periods of Warcraft history. Oh, and in one of those Jaina is the Last Guardian and Sylvanas is fresh out of hell prison. Whee.

NSFW

8966 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Desire’s baring teeth Biting into me Welcome to the skin parade Before you give in, stay

Jaina Proudmoore, the Last Guardian and savior of Azeroth many times over, knows exactly how she wants to spend the first night she’s been in Silvermoon for pleasure in over two decades.

Saving the world, after all, does have its benefits. Being welcomed back into a city that had good reason to shun her previously with newly open arms is one of them. Reminiscing over how she remembered it in her youth is another, maybe tinged with a certain bittersweetness that she’d rather not dwell on too much.

Tonight, she focuses on good news. And the good news is, despite all that has happened to and within Silvermoon in the last year, the tall spire of Parhelion is still standing.

In fact, not much has changed about it at all. In a world where everything changes rapidly, terrifyingly, and often for the worst, it is a small comfort. The elven sex club of Jaina’s youth remains the same. She supposes that if Silvermoon were to have a sturdy foundation, it’s no surprise that this is it. The elves love their hedonism, and in that—and sometimes only that—Jaina has always aligned with them.

There’s no tinge of shame or apprehension even daring to gnaw at her as the bouncer eyes her, very much knowing who and what she is. Jaina has always been a person who turns heads—even the very first time she came here she turned quite a few. Now, she does so for different reasons. And if the elven man were to sneer and glare at her, well, he would not be the first. He would not be without his reasons.

Still, she is a foreign dignitary, and a card carrying member of the club, of course. Their cards are good for a century, and it has only been a mere twenty-two years since Jaina first claimed hers.

And while the bouncer quirks a long eyebrow at her, he does not bar her entry or refuse or offer a snide comment, he merely opens the door and lets her in.

What he does add, as she nods to him and takes her card back, is a quick recitation of the club’s rules. “Guardian,” he says with a returned nod. “It has been some time I see, but things remain mostly the same. If you recall, no thank you means no thank you, you are responsible for the quality of your own experience, you must be seen by the healer at the door on your way in, and, most importantly, what happens here stays here.”

Jaina is aware the membership card has arcane properties. The bouncer—a mage himself—is able to both read and write them. They speak of her past attendance, good standing, and what, if any, private suites she might be allowed access to, among other things.

She waves the card at him, reading the Thalassian runes of his filigree-bordered name tag, “I did my research to ensure I was abreast of the current rules and regulations, Galdanis. But I appreciate your reminder.”

She tucks the card back into the pocket of her robe. She might be so bold as to seek entry into Silvermoon’s elite sex club as a former enemy to the elves who made it, but she’s not so bold as to stride through their city as scantily clad as she is beneath her robe. Jaina knows this place has a coat check of sorts. She also knows that she likes to leave things to the imagination, if only for a little while.

Another pair of somewhat ridiculous elven eyebrows shoot up as she enters the door and is greeted by the priestess on station there. Elves think of everything, and being free to play without worrying about disease or unwanted pregnancy must be chief among their thoughts. As much as the dark-haired elven priestess does wear an expression of confusion mixed with curiosity, she holds out her hand to cast her blessing all the same. Jaina puts her hand in it, and feels the warmth of the priestess’ Light flowing through her, purging her of any possible ailment she might bring with her, and ensuring that nothing else leaves with her. She’s getting a little too old to have to worry about the second possibility anymore.

It’s all well and good, and an honest precaution all the same. But Jaina doesn’t think she’s here for men tonight and would have no such worries even if she were younger. She’s not sure what she’s here for, honestly. Maybe she’ll just have some drinks or smoke hookah and watch the burlesque shows in the lower lounges. Maybe she’ll stick to the baths in the basement level. Or maybe she’ll just watch others enjoy the upper lounge with the couches—where anything and everything may or may not happen.

Who is she kidding, really? It’s never just that. She’s never quite been content with just watching.

Her tastes have long been varied and enigmatic. Well, at least from the perspective of most human cultures. It is no wonder she fits in better amongst the elves—at least when it comes to sex.

The priestess lets go of her hand and nods to her. “Guardian,” she says.

The title sits heavily on Jaina. It is another reason for her to seek Parhelion again. Another reason she is glad to find it still thriving.

She knows Khadgar did not mean to burden her with it. She was the natural choice, after all, if it could not be him anymore. And when Silvermoon nearly fell again, he felt compelled to make that choice, rather than suffer in his perceived inadequacy. The combined efforts of all of the Kirin Tor’s mages had not been enough to cure him of the Void ailment that stole much of his mobility and had nearly stolen his life. They had not been enough to restore Dalaran either.

Saving Silvermoon was a consolation prize, of sorts. A rare victory in a string of seemingly endless defeats. Jaina doesn’t feel as though she can truly stand between Azeroth and what it may next face, but she does know there’s no one better for the job than her.

So she sports a robe of embroidered raven feathers with a mixture of pride and caution. They shimmer with blue and purple iridescence, as pure black has never quite suited her. She thinks about giving it over to the coat check, but decides to keep it on. The lingerie it covers only offers the same embroidered feathers spaced sparingly over a mostly sheer leotard, and Jaina wants to get a lay of the land first before that makes its debut.

One thing that has changed about Parhelion is that she is no longer one of few non-elves within its confines. The bar still bristles mostly with long ears and glowing eyes, but there are a few other races represented. A human woman dangles from a drape of deep red silk on the small stage to Jaina’s left, performing a topless aerial act with a mixture of strength and grace. A male orc, similarly shirtless, tends bar beside an elven woman in a lacey bralette and tight leggings. There’s even a tusked troll man leading a giggling pandaren Jaina isn’t sure she can further define toward the spiral stairs heading to the upper rooms. Truly a sign of great open-mindedness and tolerance amongst the once xenophobic elves.

A real symbol of peace, maybe, of change. Everything keeps changing.

But Jaina has changed too.

She seeks the bar, the natural first stop on a journey such as this. The orc nods to her as he pours her a glass of dry, mana-infused elven sparkling wine. In her younger days, her orders were usually the fruity cocktails and mixed drinks on offer with obscene names because she thought they were funny and preferred their sweetness. The bartender offers an orcish salute as he deposits it onto the bartop for her, his large fist thudding against a hairy green chest.

“Guardian,” he says.

Another reminder, but Jaina thinks it might be to acknowledge why he doesn’t ask for her membership card. No money changes hands here. Payments are set up separately though an unconnected office and tracked to the person via their membership. Very elven. Very efficient. Very thought out.

Jaina always appreciated the simplicity of it, and made sure her account was well-funded ahead of her visit.

She nods her thanks. The bar is too crowded to afford her space to properly scan the room, so she seeks a table near the stage. It has two chairs, a silent invitation for the other to be filled by an interested party. Jaina doesn’t think she’ll have to wait long for such a thing to happen, but sips her wine and takes a moment to look around and see if she will offer any invitations of her own first.

Finding nothing interesting amidst the sea of ears and eyebrows and the occasional something else, she watches the aerial act and wonders if they still have the room with similar strands of cloth hanging from its ceiling. Only these were connected to it in two places and meant to be used as swings. As Jaina begins to reason with herself that, yes, in all likelihood, the room still exists—despite all of Azeroth’s relentless changing, a graceful hand on the back of the empty chair stirs her from her thoughts.

The motion of the fingers, long and elegant in the way they meander, one by one, over the back of the chair is a memory in and of itself. Only now, their skin is an ashen, almost purple hue. The nails at their tips are painted black and filed to sharpness. Well, all but two of them, of course.

Jaina looks up to find none other than Sylvanas Windrunner peering down at her with newly blue eyes. Well, somewhat newly blue. She spent at least four, maybe even close to five years in the Maw with them—until the somewhat contemptible decision was made to release her from her punishment there so that she might help in the battle against the Void. Jaina, of course, had been one of the many detractors holding out against said release.

But now she finds herself with an amused smile on her lips as Sylvanas returns it. Except hers is more than that. She grins like a cat who’s finally caught the canary—fangs and all.

It’s only been more than twenty years since she’s last caught Jaina, for all of her newfound feathers.

“Well, well,” Sylvanas says. “What do we have here?”

At least she doesn’t call Jaina by her title, but then again, Sylvanas has never been one to stand for such formalities.

—

Twenty-two years ago

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

The words sound from above Jaina in smooth, flowing Common she doesn’t expect this far into Silvermoon’s heart.

It’s a relief. Her spoken Thalassian is passable at best, and while the elves who know her seem to tolerate it, those that don’t have scoffed more than once during her trip to Silvermoon. It doesn’t take much to make an elf scoff, though, so Jaina doesn’t let herself wallow in shame for it.

Shame is not the place or feeling for today. She’s banished it entirely from her mind. She’s just managed to get herself a much-coveted invitation to Silvermoon’s legendary sex club and plans to thoroughly enjoy it. Nevermind that she had to make some promises to Kael’thas she didn’t intend to keep to get said invitation. Such is the price of her present to herself, though. She’s earned it, working her way up into the Kirin Tor as fast as she has.

Light and Tides both know she needs the vacation.

Her more innocent tourism has made her familiar with the face associated with the voice. It’s Sylvanas Windrunner who grins down at her now—the Ranger General of Silvermoon, head of the elven army. Earlier in the day, Jaina had spent some time sketching a fountain dedicated to her and the statue of her at its center. It was in a peaceful square not too far from here—well circle. Everything is round here. The elves love their curves.

Sylvanas Windrunner has fewer curves than her statue, but in a good way. She is all angles and a broad, slightly lopsided smile that is not quite a smirk, but could easily transform into one.

She is the first person of all people in this club to come up to Jaina, and waits with well-practiced etiquette to take the seat opposite her.

Jaina hides her surprise in a sip of her cocktail—a sunfruit and cherry flavored thing called a Belore’s Blush. She wills her own cheeks to avoid redness as much as she can, which isn’t much. It’s only the most important and beautiful woman in the room who seeks her attention right now, and Jaina gestures for her to sit as she knows she must.

There is apparently a lot of etiquette associated with these sorts of establishments, and even more so in this one—Parhelion, where Silvermoon’s elite come to play. Jaina received a pamphlet on it that afternoon as she turned her invitation into a membership card. The process was very formal and very elven. She expected nothing less, but still found herself surprised by how regulated it all was.

Jaina remembers the rules and expectations that she’s since committed to her mind. She’s responsible both for initiating and acknowledging the initiations of others she welcomes here. Ensuring she does both when necessary are important for her enjoyment and the enjoyment of others—so the pamphlet says.

Sylvanas sits, grinning. She is tall for an elf and her eyes glow a soft grey along with their slight oversheen of arcane blue. She is a stunningly attractive woman—more statuesque than her statue. She wears a vest of deep blue silk embroidered with golden thread that can barely be called a vest—for it only clings to the top of her shoulders and goes no lower than the feather-shaped lace edging of her cream-colored bandeau. Her well-defined abdominal muscles are on display for all to see, but it’s Jaina who’s already thinking about how they might be properly highlighted in other ways.

She looks at Jaina as though she already knows her name, or maybe that she just isn’t concerned with it right now.

Jaina does her best to show she isn’t concerned with it either. “Are you saying that because I’m the only human in the room, or because of something else?” she dares to ask over the sugared rim of her Belore’s Blush.

“Do you think me that crass? Word must get around even to Dalaran, if so,” Sylvanas answers with a laugh.

Their voices carry sharply over almost too loud and definitely too close music. On stage, a pair of elven women in sheer robes play dueling harps that somehow lose the soothing nature of the instrument to sultriness. Jaina regrets how close she chose to sit to them, but she liked the flowing elegance of their movements, and had reasoned with herself that she could settle in quite nicely watching them with her drink while she thought about her next move.

Only Sylvanas came to her just after she sat down, and Jaina has had no time to think this through. Not that she minds. This is the best possible result she could ask for, after all.

Sylvanas’ statement about Dalaran proves she knows who and what Jaina is and isn’t asking otherwise. Jaina already likes that about her.

“I never said it was crass. Some people are direct in their preferences for the exotic. I mean, what do you think I’m doing here?” Jaina asks in return.

“Seeking something you do not yet have,” Sylvanas offers, lifting her own drink in a mock toast—a glass of sparking mana wine, of course. “Or rather, seeking something you didn’t know you were missing.”

—

Sylvanas must be celebrating her heroic redemption here in Parhelion, but then again, how is that so different from what Jaina’s doing? It’s not, and the irony isn’t lost on her. It’s why she smiles up at the woman she’d railed against releasing from the very bowels of hell itself.

It’s also because they first met here, and it’s somehow so fitting for them to meet here again, despite it all.

Jaina answers the question she left to hang in the air for a moment, above the murmur of the full bar and the rustle of the aerialist’s silks, “A woman seeking something she does not yet have, or maybe something she didn’t know she was missing.”

She gestures for Sylvanas to sit.

Sylvanas smirks her quiet acceptance and does. Tonight, her ashen skin contrasts against a black leather bra that has far too many straps to it for them all to serve a practical use. It matches the black leather and other impractical straps of her leggings and knee-high boots.

“I would say you’re just about the last person I was expecting to see here tonight, but I’m certain you feel the same about me,” Sylvanas tells her. Echoing the past as they have been, she offers her glass in a mock toast—a double shot of a dark-looking liquor on the rocks with a peel of sunfruit twisted in it. “To Azeroth,” she toasts.

Jaina lifts her mana-wine to match it, clinking glass to glass. “To Azeroth,” she agrees, as it is the one subject she’s sure they can still agree on.

They sit in a club in a city where they were once shunned and now return to as unlikely heroes. Sylvanas attracts as many wary gazes as Jaina does from the patrons of the bar, but they remind themselves of the rules and mind their business. It makes Jaina think she must have arrived only shortly after her.

“So, you’re back to the old stomping grounds, I see?” Jaina asks for her own curiosity.

“I could say the same of you,” Sylvanas points out. “Truth be told, it is the first night since things have settled down that I’ve had the opportunity to come here. It was very kind of them to honor a dead woman’s membership.”

When she speaks casually like this, the banshee echo of the double tone of her voice isn’t as easy to hear. Jaina can almost ignore it to find the smooth lilt it had in life, but there is no questioning that Sylvanas is still very much undead. Her soul is intact now, her eyes glow blue instead of red, her sins are somewhat redeemed, but she is still dead.

She herself does seem to forget this, but does not suffer in her beauty for it. The angular frame of her archer’s musculature remains much the same as it was all that time ago, when Jaina first eyed it at a different table too close to the stage. While many things have ravaged her through wars and death and conflicts alike, time is not something that eats at Sylvanas Windrunner.

Jaina watches her lean back in the chair. Sylvanas makes a performative sip at her drink but mostly seems to enjoy swirling the ice in it around. Jaina wonders if she can even taste it.

“I was similarly surprised to find mine in good standing as well,” Jaina tells her. “Funny enough, this is also the first time I’ve made use of it since…”

She trails off. Neither she nor Sylvanas offer the conclusion of that sentence. They both know what it is and lack the words to describe it. They both know too that some things are better left undescribed. Words can make things messy. Here in Parhelion, one learns to stay quiet when it makes sense, or at least when one is told to.

“It is fate then, that we should share a drink here again. I know there is little left that either you or I are likely to put our faith into, but I think that we can both believe in that sort of providence,” Sylvanas offers.

Sylvanas is right in that regard. She is wrong about many things. She is also right about many things.

Jaina weighs and measures her. It’s said the Sethrakk have a god who weighs one’s heart against a feather to see if it is light enough to gain entry into their heaven. She and Sylvanas both know there is no heaven—only more work to be done and a now empty hell await in the afterlife. Both of their hearts are too heavy anyway.

Jaina’s is made of lead these days. “Is a drink all you’re planning on sharing?” she asks.

Sylvanas smiles. “I mostly plan for nothing but disappointment these days. You, however, have never been disappointing.”

—

Jaina is a little more buzzed than she intended to be—between her second Belore’s Blush and the mana-infused blood thistle in that hookah—but it doesn’t really matter because she’s kissing the Ranger General of Silvermoon.

And Sylvanas Windrunner is a very good kisser.

She tastes of wine and smoke and magic. Her lips leave Jaina’s to brush against her neck and Jaina finds herself pressed into the smooth marble of the lounge’s walls. They haven’t quite made it up the stairs yet, and they’re not the only people who have found distraction on that journey. Jaina would be content to be fucked right here and now and perhaps desires it, but one of Parhelion’s rules is that clothing must remain on in the first floor lounges. Well, with notable exceptions for the performers, though—and with very little limitations on how much that clothing can show or not show, or what acts might be performed despite it.

Jaina does know that she wants to see this woman naked. In due time. Eventually. She knows she very much wants to fuck her in some way, shape, or form. They must move upward for that to happen in proper fashion.

“Do you have a suite here?” Jaina asks as Sylvanas scrapes at the skin of her neck with teeth that hint at their ability to do far more than just that.

“You could say that,” she answers, dawdling the dip of Jaina’s collarbone.

Jaina has learned she likes to tease. Sylvanas has been teasing her for the last hour and she’s never been this worked up in all of her twenty-two years of life. She wears a robe that’s really more just a shawl—Kirin Tor purple fringed in gold—that covers a bodice with laces that scream to be undone and panties she knows are forever ruined from Sylvanas’ teasing. Or perhaps improved. Jaina hasn’t decided yet.

She forces the issue, sliding her hand down between them to inch a finger past the waistband of Sylvanas’ deep brown leggings. “Tell me, or maybe you should just show me,” she demands.

Jaina finds the barest hint of wetness there, then pulls back and settles the evidence of her arousal against Sylvanas’ own hips. Further actions await prompt responses.

Sylvanas grins still, found out. She kisses her way up Jaina’s neck leisurely anyway before her own hand moves, gripping Jaina’s jaw as a thumb graces her still wet lips. “Will you have such a mouth on you when you’re in the Ranger General’s suite, I wonder? Or is that too auspicious a place for me to bring you on our first playdate?”

“The mouth isn’t optional, I’m afraid,” Jaina informs her. “But it can be kept otherwise occupied, should you like. As for the suite, well, I’ve been described as a bit of an overachiever. I like to aim high.”

“It’s on the top floor.”

“Of course it is.”

They both laugh. That has been driving Jaina as wild as Sylvanas teasing and touches have for this past hour. She’s very funny and charming and she knows it. Jaina knows she’s laying it on somewhat thick, but she likes it. She likes her.

She would have been just fine going straight up to some place to fuck, but appreciates the condensed and intentional courting that’s been going on. She also knows when it’s time to end it. That time was five minutes ago.

“Allow me then,” Sylvanas says as she drops her hand from Jaina’s face to offer it to her to be escorted. “And I’ll take you to the highest target I have for you.”

“If you’re about to make another pun about arrows, I may smack you,” Jaina warns, but takes her hand anyway.

“What if that’s what I’ve come here for tonight, hmm? To be slapped around by a pretty mage. Not a bad way to spend an evening,” Sylvanas notes. “Maybe not my particular fetish, but perhaps I will be on my own journey of self-discovery tonight.”

“You’re insufferable,” Jaina tells her.

“You’re wet for me all the same,” Sylvanas observes.

In the middle of the stairs, there is an elevator powered by some form of enchanted crystals Jaina will have to investigate later. Right now, she’s too preoccupied with the way Sylvanas goes from guiding her to it like a gentleman to grabbing her by the ass and holding her as tight to her as they can manage once the elevator doors close behind them.

The elevator glass and everyone can see them. Everyone climbing the stairs around them can see as Sylvanas slides a thigh beneath Jaina’s short shawl robe and between her legs and everyone can see as Jaina leaves it soaked in her wake. Everyone can see as she squirms on it and nearly comes—still fully clothed—for this incredible woman before they even reach the top.

But Jaina has other plans. She can wait. She can wait just a little longer.

—

Jaina’s third glass of mana-wine feels the same as the first. Sylvanas still nurses the same rocks glass, but now it’s mostly ice and citrus peels. It makes no difference to the temperature of her undead skin, which Jaina finds tepid, matching the air and not heated by the rush of blood. It’s not unpleasant or even cold, as some might describe.

And she’s still an excellent kisser.

Jaina learned long ago to separate names and titles and expectations from what happens in Parhelion. Things are what they are and people are just people. They all fuck the same, except when they don’t. While she will happily confess that she’s fucked many people since then, she’s never found someone else quite like Sylvanas Windunner.

Her skin might be temperate and her teeth might be a little more sharp. But her mouth is still wet and wanting and for that, Jaina thinks other things might be too. If not, they can have a quick visit to the club’s shop to find potions and spells that might provide other ways to have fun, but Jaina desires a simpler easing back into things. At least for tonight. The slowness of Sylvanas’ advances and the fact that they’ve taken three glasses of wine to get to make her think she feels the same.

They test these waters together in a somewhat private alcove in the hall between the second floor lounges and the bathrooms. It’s not that Jaina doesn’t want to be seen with her—Parhelion’s rules protect her from any gossip that might go around this, and are surprisingly well-enforced—but more that she craves the small distance a somewhat hidden place provides. She can hear a man moaning in the bathroom as he’s presumably having a good time with someone in there. She can still see two couples fucking on the glass-walled exhibition stage from this angle. They likely can’t see much of her, as smothered by the dark leather of Sylvanas as she is now, but they are focused on other things.

It’s one of the reasons Jaina always enjoyed this place. She likes feeling a part of something. She likes belonging while standing apart at the same time.

And maybe, just maybe, she likes fucking when and where other people know she’s fucking.

“A shame about the suite,” Jaina says as Sylvanas’s teeth let go of her bottom lip.

She doesn’t say Ranger General’s suite or “your” suite, because that would feel too sore and raw and too close to dark seas she doesn’t want to dive into. Sylvanas knows what she means. She doesn’t need the words to remind her.

“Funny you should say,” she hisses as Jaina now bends to suck at the skin of her neck, mostly to see if it’s still capable of bruising. “I just learned earlier today that Halduron refused it, and that, technically, the suite is still registered to me. Lor’themar took the royal suite, of course, so what use was it to one of his lovers? Needless to say, I’ve arranged for some renovations. I’m afraid we must wait until they're finished. The old styling no longer suits me.”

All of this is surprising and not surprising to Jaina at the same time. Elves are long-lived and seldom changing people. They do not move quickly on things and often stand on ceremony. She could certainly see the suite being left to Sylvanas for a time as some form of respect or mourning among friends. She doesn’t really understand how that lasted through the events of the Fourth War, but perhaps it was just forgotten, as many things are.

It’s a boon all the same. Maybe Sylvanas is right. Fate is watching out for them and just picking a strange venue to acknowledge it in.

Jaina will take it, and hold it amidst her tiny collection of small victories.

“Then I shall have to take you to the one I’ve arranged for myself this week,” Jaina tells a faint, but definitely forming bruise under one long ear. Its lobe is equally reft with new nicks and scars and some she’s very familiar with.

“The library?”

“How did you know?”

Sylvanas smiles. It’s still a lopsided affair—but looks more predatory than silly now. Perhaps it’s her teeth. Perhaps it’s the unnatural blue of her eyes. Perhaps it’s the guardedness they still hold as they look at Jaina, even the woman behind them clearly intends to fuck her.

“I remember,” is Sylvanas’ answer. Both words drip with hinted sentiment and an odd intimacy that Jaina finds jarring, yet comforting. It’s always how she would feel, and how she anticipated feeling from the moment she stepped back into Parhelion.

She had just expected to be the only one feeling it.

—

The Ranger General’s suite is both grand and not too opulent. Elves have a thing for gold and filigree and maximalism to the point of hurting the eyes for it all, but Sylvanas has thankfully kept the decor here on the clean and simple side—for an elf, at least.

She explained as much to Jaina through a few failed attempts to get her to unlace her high, boot-like laced sandals—and through several compliments on them as well. Jaina notes these things along with her enjoyment of Sylvanas’ own high, side-laced boots and a question for later about what cobbler made them. In this, they might share another interest—both in the sexual and fashion realms.

Only Jaina’s interests are narrowed right now. She wants to fuck, yes, but she also wants to know what Sylvanas tastes like—and her mouth is not providing enough of a sample for proper study.

She drives the point home with a playful push at the elf’s sternum. Her useless, tiny vest had just been flung aside a moment before, leaving her only in that lacey bandeau beneath it. Sylvanas allows fingers against that lace to defeat her, and gives in to Jaina’s direction toward a navy-colored velvet settee.

Jaina climbs atop her as she falls back onto it, knowing there’s no way she could knock this woman over if she didn’t want to be toppled. The golden tassels of her robe decorate sun-kissed skin. They brush over hinted pink nipples straining against creamy lace. Sylvanas’ breasts are small, as many elves are, but Jaina likes them. She likes the way they feel against hers as she brings them together in a searing kiss.

“This is the part where you tell me what you’re in the mood for,” Sylvanas says as she pointedly kisses her way towards Jaina’s ear. Jaina thinks she might enjoy the difference between them there, as she always wends and weaves her way over to it.

“We’ll get there,” Jaina tells her, because she already knows.

She slips down the further exposed swath of Sylvanas’ frame, kissing her way over scar and muscle and curves all the same. Her skin tastes of wine and a little sweat and there’s nothing wrong with any of that. But it’s not enough.

“Would it be cause for great cultural offense to your people if I say that I’d just like to get to know one another more simply first?” Jaina queries before she samples the texture of lace over breast with her tongue.

Sylvanas lets a small keening noise slip through her smirk. “Not at all. But I am curious as to what else you might want to try. Surely you did not come here for drinks, conversation, and heavy petting, no?”

This only urges Jaina onward. Sylvanas doesn’t know that she’s not the first woman she’s fucked or even the first elf. She will not be the last of either, or at least not according to Jaina’s plans for her life. Nor is she the first person Jaina’s ever fucked at a sex club, though Dalaran’s version of such an establishment can only be described as docile and meek compared to Parhelion. Jaina can find out exactly how docile later. Right now, she has a need to continue collecting data.

Jaina gives the bandeau one last kiss. She will miss it, but has other places to be. “I came here for a taste of what’s on offer. All that’s on offer,” she clarifies.

Jaina slides out of Sylvanas lap and onto the floor. A plush rug cushions her knees and she has no doubt it is here to serve that exact purpose.

Sylvanas doesn’t realize the nature of her joke until Jaina is kissing the wet spot she left behind on her upper thigh. “Is this how you prefer to get to know people?” she asks.

Jaina likes giving head, yes. That much is true. She likes to look up and see people lost in her, hypnotized by her, mesmerized by her. It makes her feel powerful in a way that usually only magic does. There’s a lot to be said about holding the world in the palm of one’s hand and all, but what about holding it on your tongue? Jaina finds that closer, and she needs this closeness.

She craves and craves. It’s not so much a satisfaction she seeks but a continued hunger. She wants the sting of its pangs.

“I’d prefer to get you off with my mouth. It’ll help it to think of how it would like to tell you what you can do to me after,” Jaina informs Sylvanas.

“Well, don’t let me stop you then.”

Her smirk widens, taking on the pink hue of the lip gloss Jaina left behind on it. Teeth bite down on it when Jaina snaps her fingers and blinks Sylvanas’ leggings away, but leaves the boots. Air hisses from it as she braces herself on Sylvanas’ strong thighs and runs her thumbs over the distinct v-line cradled by her hips. The smirk disappears entirely as Jaina sets her tongue to Sylvanas for the first time.

She tastes divine. Salt and magic. Wine and flesh. Jaina rewards her for it with a tingle of arcane on her tongue.

Sylvanas bucks into it, breathing out, “Oh, little mage. What a good trick. We’re…we’re going to have so much fun tonight.”

—

The library suite is much the same as it was the last time Jaina rented it. It's themed to evoke a period of elven history long since past but still very present even in a Silvermoon that is rebuilding itself to something new. Everything is marble and dark wood and heavy, but elegant drapery. Books line the walls in neat shelves. Some are fake triggers for the room’s features. Others are written erotica or filled with evocative art. Most of them are purely academic in nature.

Jaina has spent many a fine hour here practicing her written and spoken Thalassian by reading them aloud. Sylvanas had offered to help her study, of course, and by study, she meant fucking her while she read to her and finding out how much of a book Jaina could get through until she’d have to tap out.

Jaina remembers finishing one smaller volume on thermodynamics one night. They’d had to order room service of water and healing potions to drink with the dawn.

Needless to say, her spoken Thalassian remains excellent to this day. As does her knowledge of thermodynamics.

Sylvanas looks out of place here in her black leather. There are plenty of rooms at Parhelion that would serve it better, and Jaina would enjoy them too. It’s clear to her that they both feel a sting of sentimentality in this place, as much as Jaina feels reminiscent about the sting between her legs she’s felt here before.

“Were you needing to brush up on your favorite language lessons?” Sylvanas asks her.

Jaina pointedly responds in Thalassian, “No. I’m still quite competent. I guess I just arranged for a familiar space. I did not think I would have a familiar face to accompany me in it.”

“It’s not all that familiar,” Sylvanas reminds her, easily slipping into her native tongue to match.

The separation she needs to find to banish these words is hard. Sylvanas is right. It’s been twenty-two years. They are completely different people. They have been enemies. They are not really friends, but have cooperated recently. Jaina admits that watching her on the same side of the battlefield made her feel things, think things. She cannot feel or think them now, though.

“Then let’s be unfamiliar. We can get to know one another again,” Jaina proposes.

She emphasizes the thought for her own courage and need by stepping toward Sylvanas to weave two fingers between the purposeless leather straps that cover where her ribcage meets her breasts. Jaina has not touched an undead creature this much before, but she likes the feel of room temperature skin that still responds beneath her fingertips, if slowly.

Sylvanas brings a hand to her ear, apparently still fascinated by its roundness. She slides a finger along the ridge of it, then flicks the earring that hangs from it—a Kirin Tor eye in silver with a glowing blue crystal iris. How fitting.

“That’s fine by me,” Sylvanas answers as her hand moves to mirror the position of the other on the shoulders of Jaina’s feather robe.

She slides her hands apart from one another, letting the robe widen at the neck and sag. It catches on Jaina’s breasts and the hook of her elbows, but she blinks it away and lets her magic tell it to fold itself neatly on the back of a desk chair.

Sharp blue eyes of a mended and supposedly repentant soul rove her with interest both old and new. Beneath the embroidered feathers over her lingerie, Jaina knows they will find her changed where Sylvanas has not. Her figure is fuller, and age and time do ravage her, though the Guardian’s power now slows them significantly. Still—she is forty-four, a far cry of difference from twenty-two. She enjoys how the age looks on her, how it transforms her—how she jokes now that the crow’s feet on at the creases of her eyes are raven’s feet to accompany her new title—but stepping into elven territory where people do not age much always has Jaina questioning that confidence.

Still, a familiar smirk returns. Sylvanas’ hands find her hips. They lift her with strength enhanced by undeath, but a gentleness learned long before that. They set Jaina down onto her knees on the curtained bed, not bothering to take off her boots first. Or, perhaps choosing not to.

Sylvanas lays herself down on her back, halfway on the bed and half off of it. She looks up to Jaina with a grin as she says, “I am familiar with a very good way of getting to know someone, would you like to try it?”

By the time Jaina answers, “Of course,” Sylvanas is already sliding her hands between her thighs.

With one of them, she braces herself as she slides further beneath her. With the other, she grips Jaina’s inner thigh and uses the black lacquered tip of her thumb to pull her leotard aside. She urges Jaina toward her mouth, and Jaina follows.

That mouth is the same temperature as the rest of her. It sends a shiver up Jaina’s spine in the best of ways, and she relishes in the difference. It’s enough to banish reminiscence from her mind for a moment, even if it’s clear Sylvanas’ tongue remembers what she likes. They can be strangers again. They can find the new in one another.

Jaina can agree to fuck her like she doesn’t remember. Like she can forget all they’ve done to and for one another.

This is different and divine. Sylvanas’ tongue and lips grow warmer and wetter as they leech both things from Jaina. But she doesn’t begrudge the theft. She braces herself against the silk of the bedcovers and the thankfully plush mattress. She grows bold enough to seek a hand hold on Sylvanas’ upper arm, then to find a use for those straps around her bra as she rocks into her.

Jaina moans with disappointment at herself at how quickly she’s coming undone. She doesn’t want this to end but desperately reaches for the finish. But she needs more. So much more. Maybe that is where she’s different now.

She rocks forward again but urges her hips to still. She doesn’t want to hurt the person working so diligently between them, after all. Person, creature, enemy, friend. What does it matter? It never did in Parhelion. It never will.

Sylvanas lifts her again and Jaina thinks she seeks a break. Or air.

It’s anything but. She pants with only desire as she says, “Stop holding back. I don’t need to breathe.”

Jaina looks down to find new blue eyes full of lust, lidded as they stare up at her, waiting for acknowledgement. The very thing they acknowledge is terrible, but useful. So useful in this moment.

Jaina nods to her, too lost to do anything else. Too lost in the strength of the arms that hold her aloft and how her pinky finger is the only one that maintains its grip on black leather now.

Sylvanas sets her down. All the way down. It’s not just her tongue Jaina feels, but her lips, her teeth, the skin of her entire face contrasting in varying degrees of the heat it craves to steal from her. Her own moans join Jaina’s—purposefully breathless and lacking in air she refuses because she does not need it and this is so much more important.

And that’s how Jaina comes for this new Sylvanas Windrunner for the first time.

—

Jaina licks the Ranger General clean. It’s the right thing to do, after all, and Sylvanas seems to love her attentiveness. Each little jerk of her hips and roll of her head on her neck makes Jaina think she might be able to get her off a second time like this, but then her soft eyes blink themselves open, and any thoughts of a leisurely paced worshipping are banished.

Sylvanas is lifting her into her lap and Jaina lets herself be lifted. Sylvanas is kissing herself from Jaina’s lips and cheeks and Jaina lets herself be kissed.

“You are full of surprises,” Sylvanas kisses into her shoulder as she peels the shawl-like robe off of them. “But you haven’t told me what you want yet.”

“I was thinking,” Jaina informs her.

“If that’s how you prefer to think, I can’t imagine how any of the women of Dalaran survive your studying,” Sylvanas jokes.

Her voice has lost some of its nasal notes, dipping deeper into a place that only lust can color. She’s still hungry and that’s good, because Jaina is starving. At the same time, she’s ready to be eaten—and wouldn’t mind it physically as well as metaphorically, but whatever is happening in Sylvanas’ lap is fine too.

The robe, for all its golden tassels, is soon shoved to the floor. Sylvanas plays with the laces of her bodice for only a few moments, thankfully, before she begins to undo them.

“And study you must have,” Sylvanas goes on, each word punctuated by laces sliding through grommets. “But that doesn’t get you out of telling me. So, what do you like, Jaina?”

It’s the first time Sylvanas says her name and proves that she does indeed know exactly who she is. It’s also the word that frees her breasts, and Jaina struggles to react to both revelations at the same time as Sylvanas slides the bodice down her arms to join the robe on the ground.

Sylvanas buries her face in her chest. Jaina can feel the heat in her cheeks. “I like this,” she answers. “I like you. I like a lot of things.”

She can tease too. And the result is worth it. An elven fang nips dangerously close to her nipple as a rebuke, and clever hands shift her higher onto Sylvanas’ lap. One of them delves into her panties, but they might as well not even be there for how soaked they are.

Sylvanas circles her with two fingers, asking again, “Tell me more. What do you want me to do to you? What do you want to do to me?”

Jaina is almost painfully turned on. The moment friction finds her, the retorts she had prepared fall out of her head. She is writhing and wanting and needs those fingers to touch her harder than this.

She gives in, and has never been so happy to in all her life. “Blindfolds,” she hisses. “Ropes and restraints.”

Sylvanas smiles against her collarbone. She flicks her fingers to gather more wetness and circles Jaina again, just once. “And? Surely that’s not all. Surely you desire something you can only find here.”

“Magic,” Jaina breathes. “The enchanted toys and potions I hear can be found here.”

“Tame and predictable for a mage, I’d say,” Sylvanas says, but rewards her with a little more pressure all the same. “That can’t be all of it.”

A moan slips out rather than an answer. It turns into a whine as it isn’t so similarly rewarded.

“It’s important for me to know this, Jaina,” Sylvanas urges her.

Jaina thinks she might come just from her saying that name alone. She licks her lips to find the remnants of Sylvanas on them. This is only the beginning of her night. She might just die here in Parhelion on her first visit, but that’s just fine. It’s so fine.

“Teasing, but you already knew that,” Jaina sighs, bowing her head to kiss the top of Sylvanas’ platinum blonde and still perfect hair. It smells like flowers and fruit and sun.

This gets her only the barest swipe, but it’s enough to have her bucking her hips as her body seeks more of what Sylvanas denies her.

“Spanking,” she offers freely without prompting, desperate for more contact.

Fingers dart in her and out of her too quickly, leaving her wishing they would never leave.

She dares to roll toward them. “Collars,” she breathes, hoping that’s enough.

“That’s a little better,” Sylvanas tells her, but keeps the fingers circling her clit, light but now unstopping. “On me or on you?”

“Both,” Jaina says.

“Interesting. Very interesting. What else?” Sylvanas continues, beckoning both with her voice and her fingers.

Jaina has run out of her list. There’s more and she knows it and Sylvanas does too. The words aren’t coming but she’s close to coming herself. She wants. She needs. And she knows Sylvanas can give it to her. She already knows.

“You. I want you. I want whatever you want to show me, whatever you want to give me,” Jaina says, the words falling from her lips between hitches and hisses and into Sylvanas’ hair.

A laugh shakes them both. A smile accompanies the fingers that slide into her and the thumb that takes over their work.

“That’s what I thought,” Sylvanas says as Jaina feels herself tighten around those fingers.

—

The tall, arched window of the library suite streaks with the first purples of the coming dawn. It is a sacred hour for elves, and while Jaina is sore, she is not yet tired.

Sylvanas does not tire and does not need to sleep and has reminded her of both of these things at least twice. They are as handy and as sexy as her lack of need for air. Still, she doesn’t seem to mind the breaks Jaina needs. She even remembered the wine Jaina was drinking before and ordered up another bottle and ice for it.

Two glasses too. Sylvanas’ sits, still half-full atop a book that was featured earlier in the night. They only made it through the first two chapters, but Jaina thinks she’ll strive for three next time. Her endurance isn’t what it used to be, but can be improved. Such is the way of the living and changing.

Jaina’s glass needs refilling, but she doesn’t feel like asking and doesn’t want to stir quite yet. She lays on the bed comfortably apart from Sylvanas, but close to her—a finger’s breadth between them at the shortest distance.

Her lingerie and boots are gone. She is naked save her anchor necklace and the Kirin Tor eye earrings. The only other thing that covers her skin are the marks that Sylvanas has left behind. Bruises, bites, the delicate puncture of fangs on a thigh that Jaina had to beg for, but not long. Not much.

The room is a wreck of cast off clothes and leather. A leather harness and the dildo it held are tossed next to a vase of dried flowers near the window that frames the dawn. A rope of fine jute drapes, discarded over the end of the bed. A bottle of enchanted, self-warming lubricant sits next to the bucket of half-melted ice the wine swims in.

There’s equal evidence of the aftermath of all of this. Towels aplenty. Massage oil that smells of soothing lavender and other healing herbs—and was slick and wonderful on Sylvanas’ strong hands. A cheese plate empty of all but a few crumbs that Sylvanas insisted was necessary on the last break. She’s lucky that Jaina has longed to reconnect with Silvermoon’s legendary fromagerie scene, now that she is no longer unwelcome here.

“I’m not tired yet,” Jaina echoes her thought to Sylvanas.

“You should be,” she replies.

She is naked too, but has been for less time. It took more convincing for her than it once did for her to let Jaina touch her. There was a point where she wasn’t sure it would happen, or if she should stop asking. But it turns out that the Banshee Queen can still come.

No. That’s not her. That’s a Sylvanas Jaina never knew like this. The woman who she is now is less spiteful and spitting, more hesitant and contemplative. Despite the filth she’s whispered into Jaina’s ears all night, it’s seemed to her like she’s had something to say to her this entire time that she simply won’t spit out.

But Jaina is fine with it. She’s fine with not talking about these things or the world or how it’s all changed so much around them, around this place where they’ve come together yet again. She’s fine with just being here. Just laying here. She’s fine with just fucking.

She’s fine with admitting that this version of Sylvanas is just as good for her as the first one was. She’s fine with keeping that admission to herself.

Jaina shifts from her back to her elbows. In the process, she plants one in the gap between Sylvanas’ arm and her ribs.

She leans over her and says, “I should be exhausted. But I’m not. I want more. You want more. Let’s have it.”

Sylvanas looks up at her. She brings a hand up to trace the line of her jaw, and thumbs the earrings she seems to like so much. She smiles, and it somehow looks more tired than Jaina should be right now.

She’s touched Jaina’s face more than she used to. Jaina tries to banish the comparisons, but they keep coming. She cannot have them be strangers. Not when Sylvanas continues to prove that her soul remembers, time and time again.

“What will you have next, then?” Sylvanas asks.

“It’s your turn, Sylvanas,” Jaina reminds her. “At least I think it is. So, what do you want?”

Sylvanas keeps the hand on her cheek, but moves the other around Jaina’s hips to scoot her further on top of her.

“You,” she answers without breaking eye contact, arcane blue to blue. Jaina’s eyes glow now too with the grace of the Guardian. They match, finally.

Jaina kisses her, because she feels that’s all she can give her right now. Because Sylvanas has just said what she’s been biting back all night.

So Jaina gives her herself.

[owlcomics101]

”Clever Y/N…” Task force 141 x Velociraptor hybrid!reader Head cannons

Warnings: SFW (I am a minor), fluff, blood, language (cussing), mentions of animal abuse/violence (I do not condone), reader is gender neutral

gif credits: @Deshi Basara

Writers note: If this gets 100 notes I’ll make a series out of this like my fox hybrid one

Context/backstory: Jurassic world AU; The park had been long lost abandoned for over a decade now. What was once a park full of creatures of old was now the ruins to a new world. You were an experiment. A human with the qualities and characteristics of a Raptor. You had the raptor feet, legs, tail. Claws, eyes, and teeth. The task force was sent to Isla Nublar. Back to the old run down park to retrieve a weapon, but little did they know that the weapon was you.

Price: You see Price as your Alpha. The moment you two met you knew who was in control. Price. He’s the only man you will ever willingly take orders to. The only man you’re afraid of. A muzzle was a common occurrence for you. You were notorious for biting and teething anything you could get your jaws upon. Especially the task force members. Price is the most patient with you about this but this is a problem that needs to be fixed. He either muzzles you or distracts you with a bone like you would do for dogs.

“Ay!” Price pulls you away from his arm sleeve.

“What did we say about biting Y/N?” He glares at you. You immediately stop what you were doing and turn your attention to something else. “No biting ya muppet.”

Soap:

Soap was the one to break through to you. He never saw you as a weapon, you were just someone trying to survive. Find your place in the food chain. Soap always kept you calm and grounded even in times of danger or a threat to you and the others. Not even Price could calm you like Soap can. He was pretty laid back with you and let you do about whatever you wanted. He didn’t mind the nipping and teething as long as you were gentle. He was the one to help clean you after missions, including your teeth.

“Oi let’s see those pearly white’s.” Soap says as he gestures for you to open your mouth. You do as asked and he rests his hands on his hip proud of his work.

“Now there’s a smile!”

Gaz: Gaz is your trainer. Price thought it would be good practice for Gaz if he was your trainer. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about teaching and be in Price’s shoes for once. You obeyed, but only when food was involved, otherwise Price would have to come down to motivate you to listen to Gaz. The training did well, you were a massive help on the field, but Gaz can’t help but feel bad about it all. You being a ‘weapon’ of massive destruction that he was in trusted to train. It held quite the pressure on him. He’s afraid he’ll turn you into the monster everyone thought you were.

Gaz watches you tear into one of the punching bags, he couldn’t help but picture the stuffing as intestines and flesh being tore out. He could see the cotton stuck in your teeth as blood dripping down and running off your chins

“Y/N! I think that’s enough for today…”

Ghost: You see Ghost as a beta. You sometimes take orders from him but only if you feel like it. The more irritated he gets with you and more and more you resist his commands and his attempts of control over you. You always snuck up behind him and he didn’t even need to call out to you because you were always there…He wasn’t sure what Gaz has been teaching you but the cold look in your eyes tells him that Gaz wasn’t the first to train you…You wear a head set around your head and neck so he could see out of you and see what your doing. Soap likes to call it Ghost’s “Nanny Cam.”

Price walks into the common room. “Has anyone seen Y/N? I told you all Y/N is not aloud outside unaccompanied!”

Ghost looks over to Price. “Y/N is eating Soap’s cookie stash.”

Soap jumps up wide eyed. “My cookie stash!? Ghost why didn’t you look at your nanny can sooner!?

“ITS NOT A NANNY CAM JONHHY-“

[tawked]

Honestly I feel like a lot of narratives and discourse about cures for disabled characters generalize and simplify the concept of cures so much that it's impossible to really glean anything meaningful from the art / conversation.

It feels alienating because it implies that we as disabled people all relate to our disabilities in a specific, identity-driven way.

In reality, some of us aren't even considered disabled by other disabled people, and some of us are considered disabled by able-bodied society while not considering ourselves disabled. Some of us exist in incredibly historied and sophisticated disabled communities going back over a century, and others simply do not have communities due to ableist societal factors like institutionalization. Even with autism alone, the lived experience of someone with level one support needs autism and someone at level three with a co-occurring intellectual disability are so different and subject to such segregation that sometimes it feels many of the former aren't even aware the latter exists, while discussing disabled rights.

It just feels very weird and silly to assume we're all in the same spot and are going to agree universally with the idea that cures bad.

Consider: the concept of a cure for "the disabled" includes

the medical genocide of Big D Deaf society as it presently exists,

and

me as a cute lil schizophrenic baby boi with massive hot balls potentially not needing to live in constant fear that I might slip into psychosis and lose another year or two of my life lol.

These are incomparable consequences of a hypothetical cure, imo. However, when we discuss cure narratives in universal terms we're often blurring these lines.

In real life, the reason we dislike the idea of prioritizing cures isn't even universal.

Many of us dislike the idea of a cure as the endgame of disability accommodation, treatment and research in real life, because that approach leads to the misappropriation of funding that could be used to achieve a better quality of life now based on some hypothetical maybe-future.

Many of us dislike it because our disability is core to our identity in a fundamental, sometimes even cognitive developmental way, and the idea of a cure is synonymous with the destruction of one's standard state of being / personality / concept of self.

I would like a cure for my specific condition to exist, but understand in realist terms that this would be a massive dice roll with funding that could be used to make my life better now. My perspective as someone for whom accommodation means engaging with pharmaceutical drugs is going to be different to that of someone for whom accommodation is entirety social or environmental.

So with all of that said:

Do we hate Barbara Gordon being cured because we just do not like the concept of curing the disabled as some kind of uncritical "harmful trope" detached from any real disability political concept? Y'know, "it's offensive," without an understanding of why it's offensive and to whom specifically?

Or do we hate Barbara being cured because it's a betrayal of over a decade of character writing? Her arc included some of the most human and real writing around disability in all of comics especially at a time when disabled characters just plain sucked (so, any time).

Much of it centered on her learning to be comfortable in her body and in being perceived as disabled, unlearning that shame and overcoming the fear of being subjected to ableism. There were some very real beats in that. If you have physically disabled mates, you've probably had the "so when should I let her know I use a chair" conversation. Well, there is a whole short character beat around Barbara working up the confidence to date while disabled, leading to her meeting Ted Kord. Dixon's time with Barbara is full of little profoundly human moments like this that simply do not occur with Daredevil, Xavier, the Chief, blah blah blah.

And y'know, retconning that to two years in a chair and some Batman Standard PTSD (that is, badly written PTSD) betrays the complex character arc that came before, while also reducing aaall of that writing from a complex personal journey through identity, minoritization, discrimination and human relationships through the lens of ableism, to "a wheelchair." It's dehumanizing for many disabled fans because it invalidates the value of Barbara's role as Oracle / a disabled superhero able to achieve a reach beyond her younger able-bodied self due in part to innovations she made due to her disability.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

The Velvet Underground - La Cave, Cleveland, Ohio, April 28, 1968

Happy Sweet Sister Ray Day! This high holy day for Velvet Underground fanatics is always worth celebrating. But today, on the 57th anniversary, it's especially worth celebrating because Mr. Charlie has unearthed an "extraordinary, previously uncirculated low generation source tape" of this legendary Jamie Klimek recording, which has been bootlegged in inferior quality for decades now.

We're still talking about an audience tape from 1968, of course, but I'm going to agree that "extraordinary" is the right word to use — there's a new clarity and crispness here that blows away any previous version I've heard. And that is great news, because "Sweet Sister Ray" is one of my favorite things in the world. Thank you, Mr. Charlie! And thank you to the late/great Jamie Klimek for bringing his gear to La Cave all those years ago and capturing this unbelievable performance.

In case you need a deeper dive, you can read my long essay "The Velvet Underground's Elusive 'Sweet Sister Ray'" after the jump ...

Recorded at a tiny subterranean Cleveland, OH club called La Cave in late April of 1968, “Sweet Sister Ray” isn’t exactly a song, per se. It’s a close-to-40-minute jam, a languid, endless boogie. The audience tape we can listen to all these years later is murky, but that feels appropriate. “Sweet Sister Ray” is nothing if not a murky experience. 

The journey kicks off with the band (most likely just Cale, Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison; drummer Maureen Tucker isn’t audible here) chugging steadily, slowly over a spare, spidery riff. It’s easygoing, like they have no particular place to go, though there’s an underlying tension and menace. Reed’s guitar spirals off into a more abstract direction for a bit, almost reminiscent of Roger McGuinn’s flights of fancy on “Eight Miles High.” You lean in. What exactly is going on?  Is the band just warming up? Is there even anyone (aside from the taper) in the club? Through the murk, a decidedly surreal atmosphere develops. The music continues at a morphine-drip pace, drifting and droning, with Morrison playing a nervier counterpoint to Reed’s laconic fretwork, Cale rattling around in the background. At some point around the half-hour mark, Cale switches over to keyboards, lending the proceedings a curiously magisterial feel, as Reed begins coaxing beautiful, simmering feedback from his amp. It’s as if some new genre of music is being invented on the spot.

Extended live improvisations were, of course, nothing new to the VU. The aforementioned Columbus, OH show in 1966 features two marathon performances, “Melody Laughter” and “The Nothing Song,” that showcase the band’s most adventurous, avant-garde leanings.  But those pieces were created to complement the extravagant multimedia overload of Andy Warhol’s Exploding Plastic Inevitable, with dancers, lights and films adding to the experience. La Cave might’ve had a light show, but it was undoubtedly low-tech. On this particular night in Cleveland, it was just the Velvet Underground, the small audience and “Sweet Sister Ray.”

We haven’t even mentioned that throughout the song, Reed has been stepping up to the mic from time to time to sing a few verses. The lyrics may be off-the-cuff (Reed was known for his ability to generate lyrics at will), but they’re not indecipherable. In fact, they might even tell a fairly cohesive story, a veritable prequel to the actual “Sister Ray,” as our titular protagonist watches a movie — ���the weirdest movie I’ve seen in my days.”

Reed goes on to sing about a topic he was intimately familiar with: electroshock therapy. “All the vaseline on your forehead / makes you feel so nice,” he deadpans. “My hair stood on end / and I thought I’d been frozen with a knife.” It’s a thinly veiled slice of autobiography — Reed was subjected to electroshock as a teenager to curb his homosexual tendencies — where you’d least expect it. And the final lyrics feel even more hauntingly personal, if still oblique: “Just then I saw a hole in the ground / and I jumped right in ‘cause there was no one around.” Down the rabbit hole young Lou eagerly goes, to rock and roll, to Warhol, to the dangerous and thrilling dreamscapes of “Sister Ray” itself. Which is right where the rest of the Velvets join him back in Cleveland, as Moe Tucker finally ambles onstage and beings thumping out that unmistakable beat and they segue into what was likely an even wilder excursion. Alas, it’s at this point that the tape fades out …

So where did “Sweet Sister Ray” go after La Cave? There’s some indication that it was further refined and developed into “Sweet Rock And Roll,” a mythical lost VU number from the summer of ‘68. Lou’s old sparring partner Lester Bangs is mostly responsible for the legend, calling the performance he witnessed in San Diego, CA “the most incredible musical experiences” of his life. “It was built on the most dolorous riff imaginable, just a few scales rising and falling mournfully, somewhat like ‘Venus In Furs’ but less creaky, more deliberate and eloquent.” Bangs even quotes some of the lyrics, which fall into line with what Reed was singing a few months earlier in Cleveland: “Sweet Sister Ray went to a movie / The floor was painted red and the walls were green / ‘Ooooh,’ she cried / ‘This is the strangest movie I’ve ever seen.’”

Will we ever hear “Sweet Rock And Roll”? Probably not. But Sterling Morrison claimed that a tape of the show Bangs wrote about was made, but quickly added that it was “stolen that very night. Stolen within seconds, actually. As soon as it ended, it vanished, never to reappear on this earth.”

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive (Check in for daily updates!)

By Julia Moore Vogel and Charlie McCone

Almost five years since the pandemic began, there is not a single FDA-approved treatment

Imagine, for a moment, that you wake up one morning with a debilitating illness that won’t let go. Weeks and months pass, but the crushing fatigue, constant headaches, and aching muscles remain. You can’t think straight. Simply showering or doing the dishes leaves you floored for days at a time, and the unpredictable symptoms — shortness of breath, dizziness, a racing heart — ebb and flow without warning. You find your life as you knew it slipping away.

This is life with long Covid: a condition that transforms the familiar rhythms of daily life into a living nightmare and constant battle for energy and clarity. But what happens when the only hope of lessening its severity becomes an issue of equity?

We are two of the more than 400 million people worldwide who have experienced long Covid. While we are both over four years into this illness, there is still not a single FDA-approved treatment for this devastating condition. Given the slow pace of research and development, there is unlikely to be proven treatment for years — possibly decades.

For people with long Covid, finding some relief today rests in accessing promising medications that are already on the market. One of us, Charlie, received Plavix that was prescribed off-label and has since substantially improved his quality of life. He still remains mostly housebound, but the drug relieved two years of constant agony of not being able to take a normal breath. Blood thinners including Plavix have been shown to reduce long Covid symptoms, possibly because they reduce microclots and hyperactive platelets found in patients. However, many physicians are wary of prescribing them due to bleeding risks. We are not suggesting that Plavix will be right for everyone with long Covid — we share this experience as an example.

But there is a significant downside to this approach: Combing through countless resources and identifying potential treatment options requires money, educational attainment, and health insurance — as well as time, energy, and cognitive capacity, three things that are in short supply when you have long Covid. Even then, you must be able to meet with several physicians to find an informed and willing provider. If any one of these pieces is missing, people with long Covid are likely to be left without adequate care, particularly if they also face the barriers of racial, ethnic and gender medical bias. This is yet another example of the already glaring health disparities in the U.S. The result is a health care system that continues to fail and harm the millions of people with long Covid, who must experiment on their own to manage their condition.

From personal experience, receiving an off-label drug required meeting with dozens of health care providers, including one along the way who said, “99% physicians would never prescribe it” due to concerns about its side effects. It took a total of 18 months to find a willing prescriber, and it was the only drug to alleviate the debilitating symptom of shortness of breath.

This is just one treatment among an entire portfolio of promising FDA-approved medications that we and others at the Patient Led Research Collaborative are working to collate, which includes well-known medications like low-dose naltrexone. These medications can be prescribed off-label and have provided some relief to people with long Covid. The evidence base for these treatments largely comes from the extensive literature on infection-associated chronic conditions as well as recent long Covid case studies and crowdsourced data through sources like CureID, Long COVID PharmD’s surveys, and support groups such as communities on Reddit.

Out of desperation, patients are using their limited energy to individually repeat the same web searches and reviews of the literature, then attempting to convince their physicians to prescribe treatments. Many physicians are uncomfortable prescribing off-label medications for long Covid even though one in five prescriptions in the U.S. is written for off-label use. The medical and research communities should be bringing treatment options, along with an assessment of their risks and benefits, to the patients. A national registry collecting data on current off-label drug use to treat long Covid could cost-effectively generate urgently needed safety and efficacy data.

To lessen the burden of long Covid on people with the condition, we need to get more information into the hands of physicians, while giving patients more decision-making authority. For example, there are high-quality guidelines for diagnosing and managing ME/CFS and POTS, at least one of which most people with long Covid have, yet medical gaslighting continues to run rampant and most medical schools do not educate physicians about these conditions.

Health care systems should also expand access to survey-based prescriptions for drugs that already have strong safety profiles. Multiple companies offer access to prescriptions after brief patient interactions, but they are generally not covered by insurance, are only available in some states, and do not always include sufficient information about risks or support for addressing side effects. Further, the federal government must create pathways and incentives for drug repurposing with public health benefits.

Finally, all patients must be informed by their health care providers about treatment options and their risks and benefits, as well as adequately supported in cases where side effects occur.

Ultimately, finding cures requires many more high-quality clinical trials, and we desperately need “moonshot” funding to get us there. But in the short term there is so much more the health care system could be doing to provide meaningful care: We call upon the Department of Health and Human Services to find ways to approve, pay for, and collect and disseminate information about treatment options for long Covid and other infection-associated chronic conditions.

We all prefer making decisions based on gold-standard clinical trials, but if we do nothing while we wait for that data to be generated, people with long Covid will continue to experience debilitating symptoms, loss of income, homelessness, and death. Further, in the absence of guidance, people with long Covid will continue to self-manage their condition, investing in costly treatments and unregulated supplements.

With the support of the health care system, they would have much more comprehensive, readily available information on the risks these treatments might pose — including that certain treatments may help only a subset of people who try them. Patients have the right to make well-informed decisions about accessing promising drugs with reasonable safety profiles.

Without treatment, 400 million people worldwide could suffer indefinitely. “Do no harm” means providing access to treatments — not withholding them.

Julia Moore Vogel, Ph.D., MBA, is a long Covid patient-researcher at Scripps Research and the Patient Led Research Collaborative (PLRC). Charlie McCone is a long Covid patient advocate, is a member of the PLRC, and has served as a patient representative on the NIH RECOVER clinical trials arm.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ fatal attraction ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. cho sang-woo (+ seong gi-hun) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ sang-woo never cared about the other people unfortunate enough to cross paths with him on this island until the 33nd games┊1.7k words

setting: season one!! au where sang-woo is a guard!! contains: angst!! major character death!! canon-typical violence & murder!! childhood best friends (so reader is middle-aged ish) & unrequited love, jealousy 

➤ author's note: i wish i made it more angsty but i posted three fics today omg (i still haven’t made a dent in my requests) and also he’s so hot here i need to watch money heist korea

he finds this job to be a good fit for him, not in the way that he’s a sadistic person who enjoys killing, but in the way that he doesn’t hesitate nor does he really feel anything for the other who falls before him with the pull of the trigger. he doesn’t think about their past or their family who might be waiting for them, it’s just the way of life here, and he happens to be placed higher than those dressed in real with that hot pink jumpsuit. he makes an absurd amount of money with employers who cover up all of his debt and crimes neatly, like it never happened, all for a week or two out of an entire year on some remote island, as long as he was willing to kill anyone who lost the games. 

there are some people he’s run into here that he reconized: a math teacher from high school, an employee at the supermarket his mom frequents, an old classmate who asked him for homework answers— all whose deaths he witnessed behind a mask. they never even knew he was there, but there wouldn’t be much of a difference if they did. he didn’t care much for them.

that was his experience during his first year there, and he foolishly didn’t expect it to be any different the second time he returned. he wasn’t planning to and swore to himself this would be the last time, just to make a little extra and tie off any loose ends with that cash. he naively believed it would be the same as last time, that there wouldn’t be anyone whose death he would bat an eye over, but when he watched the players line to get their photos taken, he felt his blood freeze at the sight of a familiar smile. 

it isn’t a surprise that he managed to recognize you even from afar with his vision partially obscured due to the mask, he’s certain he would be able to know you even if he was blindfolded. even decades later, you’re still as beautiful as he remembers you being, even with age starting to take its toll on you and even while you’re wearing the ugly teal tracksuit. all at once, it was like that stupid crush that plagued him all throughout high-school and college infected his heart again, although one might argue that it never left him in the first place.

what the hell were you even doing here? last time he checked, which was quite recently (not that he stalks you on facebook or anything, you just come across his feed rather often, that’s totally it), you were living a happy life with your husband. it seemed to be a picture-perfect life, actually: two-story home in a nice suburban neighborhood, two kids who were successful in their respective fields, always wearing jewelry to match with good-quality clothing— he remembered staying up at night scrolling through your pictures and feeling envious of your husband, but he knew that he would have never been able to provide for you like he could.

now he remembers that social media was never a good indicator of how one’s life was. only a compilation of what the poster wanted the world to see.

maybe he could figure out what was going on with you in a player’s file. as a guard, he isn’t allowed to go though them, but he’s sure he could pay off someone else to snoop. if there’s anything he learned in here, it’s that corruption was no better than it was in the real world.

he was shocked to also see seong gi-hun nearby too. the man quickly noticed you and ran up to you, embracing you in a big hug and speaking to you about things sang-woo was just out of reach to hear. probably something along the lines of “oh, it’s been so long! how have you been?” god, it was like a high school reunion here, in the worst place and situation possible.

the thought of neither of you even being able to make it past the first game made him feel sick to his stomach, and yet there was nothing he could do to prevent it unless he wanted to retire from his job and life in the process. maybe he could bribe the other guards not to shoot them? fuck, he’s just going to have to put blind in the two of you, isn’t he?

he hasn’t felt this nervous since the first time he fired a gun at someone a year ago today, settling in his little cubicle and putting his sniper rifle in position. he knows it’s nothing compared to how the two of you must feel, especially after the initial panic-induced bloodshed, but surprisingly, the two of you managed to hold your own. gi-hun was saved by player 199, you hid behind a bigger person the entire time. the two of you were able to survive the first game and basically collapsed next to each other in the aftermath. there was a twinge of jealousy seeing you get so close to him, hugging him after the threat of never seeing him again, but he wouldn’t exactly wish to trade places (but he does think that he would do a better job at keeping you both alive instead of that klutz). he barely got any shots in because of how distracted he was keeping an eye on you guys, although there were just enough not to warrant suspicion. 

triangle guards were to head straight to their rooms after that, so he couldn’t go into the dormitory unless there was a riot or fight that would require him to entire guns blazing. he hoped that someone remembered the third clause of the paper they signed, but considering the shock everyone was in, he wouldn’t bet on it. 

the next day and game was dalgona. the playset in this room always unsettled him with the proportions of the equipment being big enough to make him feel like a child again. more then twenty years ago, the three of you were running around playing tag and pushing each other on the swings, but today, he might have to kill one of you.

it looked you were also put off by the setting, looking around instead of paying attention to the instructions. you seemed to be exhausted and probably barely got any sleep last night, just like everyone else who was there. it minded him that you really were just another player, someone whose value was a human got stripped away and was known by a three-digit number instead. even without the past he’s shared with you, he still thinks you would stand out to him among the crowd, just like you did all those years ago, and— were you staring at him?

you tilted your head at him, confused. was it possible you reconized him when he was fully covered like this? it’s impossible, you haven’t even seen each other in person since college graduation! he shuffled about and looked away. he’s overthinking it. you probably just noticed that he was staring at you first and got suspicious. 

you had picked the star-shaped sugar honeycomb, and sang-woo felt his nerves flare up again. you didn’t exactly have the steadiest hands and had the tendency to rush things when stressed, something he found cute back then when you struggled with art class, but was a death sentence now.

he never told you that he found your flaws to be cute, did he? he never told you a lot of things, how cute you were, how he admired your strengths, how he thought you were beautiful even when you felt like trash, and he never told you about his feelings for you. he had hoped that he would forget about them, but they only grew with the feeling of regret that he never said anything. he can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he did, if you would have chosen him, and if this entire predicament could have been avoided. 

you squeaked at the first gunshot and watched in horror at the dead man falling down the slide, his blood leaving a red trail all along the slope. you tried not to let it get to you and continue focusing on the tast, but with every gun fired and every coffin that leaves the room, your hand only became shakier and the time constraints weighed on you. by the time almost half of the players were eliminated, you were completely frazzled and your vision had started to blur. 

and then in your panic, you pressed the needle into the shape too harshly, and the corner of the star fractured. 

“fuck.” you looked up at the guard, not knowing he was someone you held near and dear to your heart. someone you’ve known for nearly your entire life was going to kill you, and you didn’t even know. maybe that’s for the best. the only person who will be haunted by this knowledge would be him.  

you don't notice the hesitance and trembling of his hand, although it wouldn’t have mattered if you did anyway. you were dead before you even heard the gunshot, collapsing to the ground with a simple thud like there was no life within you in the first place. years and years of memories, a smile he would never forget, all gone with the simple pull of a trigger.

gi-hun cried out your name and rushed over to you, leaving his dalgona cookie forgotten on the ground. his hands shook as he cradled you in his arms, not caring for the red staining his clothes. he was shouting something at him, but he wasn’t really listening. the weight of his actions had yet to sink in and he was just standing there like a idiot, completely dumbfounded. he didn’t let go of you until a different guard threatened him, and he was forced to reluctantly go back to where he was before. he had himself to worry about right now, but little sobs kept erupting from his mouth as tears dripped into the sand below.

sang-woo’s scared to go back to his dormitory after the game, scared to bruise his knees against the floor when he falls to them, and scared to feel the hot tears streaming against his cold skin. 

he can still see your face and hear your voice, even when he closes his eyes in the dead of night, trapped on this damned island forever along with the souls of thousands. 

he wasn’t as cut out for this job as he initially thought. 

request by anonymous

PLSSSS write for sangwoo wherein he's a guard instead and the reader is a player, and they're childhood friends like with gihun

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

How did you find the right sponsor? Have you had more than one during your sobriety? And how often do you talk to him? (trying to get sober kind of)

Hey, thanks for asking. I'd suggest you read NA's Sponsorship IP, it helped point me in the right direction. Since NA operated without much literature of its own for its first few decades, the literature that has since been written is often non prescriptive and instead opts to describe the variety of ways that different members have practiced the program, offering up all of them as legitimate ways to do so; that is to say, what sponsorship actually looks like can vary greatly member to member. The one thing that is held in common is recovery through the 12 Steps of NA, and that is what is at the core of the sponsor/sponsee relationship. A sponsor is first and foremost another addict who is willing to take you through the Steps as they were taken through themselves and share their recovery with you.

I have had three sponsors in my time in the program. My first sponsor lasted for a little over my first 30 days. In my second or so meeting, I asked other members if they knew anyone who might sponsor me, and I was directed to him. I asked him right away and we met a few times one on one before I dropped him. Nothing wrong with him or his recovery, but he didn't have the recovery I was looking for, so I dropped him in lieu of my second sponsor.

I met my second sponsor at a late night meeting on a Saturday. He said "this is the greatest summer of my life," and I could tell he meant it. He had a happiness in him and I could see that he was just so grateful to be alive, and that pissed me the fuck off because I still felt so miserable. I talked to him, got his phone number, and we called a few different times just as fellows. I wanted what he had, and so I asked him to sponsor me and I ended the relationship with my first sponsor.

Sponsor two took me through the first six Steps. In my ninth month of my recovery, he heard my Fifth Step. After that, I sat on Six for about a year and largely disengaged with the program, attending only my home group with regularity--a group that was rapidly diminishing in both membership (including my sponsor's due to a move and other things in his life) and enthusiasm. I saw less and less of him, contacted him less and less, and felt less and less motivated in my recovery. Hoping that switching sponsors would revitalize my recovery and potentially move me back to previous steps as I was feeling frustrated and stuck on Seven (many sponsors won't pick up in the middle of the steps and will ask you to start over), I asked my current sponsor to sponsor me.

I had known my current sponsor for nearly two years before he became my sponsor, and was a member I called with regularity and who I considered a friend. Outside of the program, we saw a fair bit of each other at hardcore/etc shows, and he invited me to them fairly often. He has qualities that I would like to see grow in me such as curiosity, willingness, and compassion, as well as a recovery heavily based in the Steps. I don't remember the exact timing of things, but he has been my sponsor for over a year now.

I failed to work that Seventh Step before my relapse, and since it's been so long since my previous Fourth Step and because it feels important to me that he hears a Fifth Step from me, he put me back on Three after my relapse. When we talk, it is a mixture of conversations as friends and conversations as a sponsor and sponsee. Because my recovery is a voluntary thing that I must choose, my experience is that as a sponsee, it is my responsibility to bring things to my sponsor if I am wanting guidance or perspective or suggestions on them. He will be there for me in that capacity more or less as much or as little as I ask him to be.

When I was refusing to engage in my recovery, he did not chase after me. This is not to say that he didn't care or never checked in, but only that sponsors must have a necessary detachment to their sponsee's recoveries. Nothing and no one besides myself can make me do the work of recovery, and it is detrimental to all involved for a sponsor to try and control their sponsee's addiction and recovery.

I call him a couple times a week usually, though often we play phone tag. My second sponsor had a set time daily where he would be available to call, and for the first couple months, I called nearly every day. It really all depends on what you're looking for and what they're looking to give.

The IP I linked goes over getting a sponsor, and my experience matches what they wrote--just ask.

This was long and I'm getting tired, but I hope this was beneficial to you and I hope I answered any questions you might have.