#anyway. this is the last full color piece you're getting from me in a good while. it is doodles and sketches from here on out lmaoo

[genuine-wrestleboy]

touchstarved!springtrap/reader ((wip))

SNEAK PEAK TIME! if you've been kind on any of my stuff in the YEAR it's taken me to write even this much, this is for you

happy dead by daylight!!!

~~~

If anyone had asked you before, you'd have told them with perfect confidence that you were overqualified for the Fazbear’s gig. Standing here now with the animatronic carcass lying in state on your kitchen floor, you’re suddenly not so sure. 

You scrub a hand across your face, smearing ash over ash. Adrenaline still fizzles weakly through your blood, and your lungs—well, your lungs don't feel great. You'd inhaled more than your fair share of smoke back at the Fright, and you can still feel it clinging to you thickly inside and out. You tear off a piece of paper towel and blow your nose; it comes out black. The sound you hack up at that might be a laugh, but then again it might be a cough.

Exhaustion drags you down, your back skidding a grimy line down the cupboards as you collapse next to the still form of the animatronic.

“We made it, buddy,” you croak, looking over. “Don't tell anybody I stole you, okay?”

The curtains are closed in what could reasonably be called paranoia, but a thin finger of early sun sneaks through to touch the ragged face, dragging like a scar across one staring silver eye. The fire didn't do it any favors, but the poor thing was in rough shape even before then, rotten and reeking and all but forgotten in that weird, moldering room. 

Naturally, you’d fallen in love at first sight. 

Your fingers itch, soot in the whorls of your fingerprints and thick under your nails. The last of the adrenaline ebbs away, leaving a dull, burning ache in its wake. It took muscles you didn’t even know you had to drag the two of you out of that building, and you take a deep breath as the exertion catches up to you, let your head fall back against the cupboard. It's a good thing you’re already sitting down; everything feels heavy and sore, your bones roughly the consistency of a cooked noodle. Your breath feels gritty and thick in your lungs.

You should move, should get up—you’re not even particularly comfortable, your hips cramping and the knob of the cupboard jabbing into your spine—but on the other side of this moment is everything that has to come next, and you’re not quite prepared to face all of that, yet.

Then, from beside you, the pinched sound of metal on metal, a screech, a solid, floor-shaking thud. You open your eyes and look up and up and up. The animatronic shudders and pulls itself to full height, its long fingers twitching madly, broad chest heaving like it’s fighting for breath. One ear flops to the side as it tilts its head and fixes you with a keen, curious stare, and there’s something in it so like recognition that it catches in your chest.

“Oh thank god,” you say, relief flooding in. Part of you had given up hope that it would ever move again, much rather under its own power. “How're you feeling, buddy?”

The animatronic doesn't answer, because of course it doesn't. You heave yourself to your feet under its watchful eyes, dusting yourself off self-consciously. The animatronic goes somehow even stiller, and you hold out both hands, palms forward, like it's a skittish animal you're trying to soothe.

“Hey, hey, you're okay. It's Bonnie, right? I'm here to help, Bonnie.” The heyday of Freddy Fazbear’s was a little before your time, but you'd grown up watching reruns of Freddy and Friends. The color's wrong, but Bonnie's the only rabbit you remember, and something tells you the animatronic's original color isn't what you're seeing right now anyway.

The animatronic sort of rocks back on its heels, and a strange, concussive sound starts up in its chest, ah ah ah, low and scraping. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it was laughing.

Static; the voicebox crackles and spits. You make a mental note to check for moisture in the throat column, though you're sort of baffled by the possibility. Where could a leak be coming from? Had one of the hydraulic lines managed to stay sealed all this time? It seems unlikely, but if you jostled it loose getting the animatronic here, that would explain the sound. You scan hastily for visible signs of damage, but that’s a bit like looking for a needle in a needle stack.

The animatronic twitches, arms swinging as it takes a slow, labored step forward. You shuffle back on instinct, and though the face doesn't change its grin seems to sharpen, somehow.

“Not Bonnie,” comes the gurgling response. “Not anymore.”

“Anymore?” you echo. Had it been reprogrammed at some point? Does it remember? You've heard some wild rumors about the guys who owned Fazbear’s back in the day, but they clearly weren't fucking around when it came to their AI. “Who are you, then?”

Not-Bonnie pauses like it's considering the question. The eyes are built to be sleepy and soft; the way that they watch you is anything but. You've been told by plenty of coworkers that you're a sucker for anything under your care, but you swear it feels smart. Like an errant quirk of programming is seeing and sizing you up against some unknowable animatronic rubric.

You wonder if it's pleased with its findings.

The animatronic takes another step closer. Slowly, as if gauging your reaction, it leans in, craning curiously over you, though it stops just short of contact.

“Guess.”

“O-okay.” Why are your hands shaking? It’s meant to entertain children, and it wants to play a guessing game. Nothing weird about that. “Can you give me a hint?”

It raises a huge, mitted paw, and you flinch before you can stop yourself. Ah ah ah, goes the animatronic, that strange almost-laugh, and points a finger directly at the center of your sternum. You edge back another cautious step, your lungs suddenly shallow.

Then, from outside: a child's high, piercing laugh. It’s not an unusual sound around here, there are plenty of families in your neighborhood, but the animatronic’s reaction is immediate. You watch its bright eyes flare in and out of focus, and its whole body tenses and sways as if it’s fighting for balance. Its head snaps towards the source of the sound, and a low, staticky growl rumbles in its ruined chest as it heaves itself away from you and takes a lumbering step towards the door.

“Ohh no no no.” You dart out into its path, waving your arms to catch its attention. “Please don’t do that. If anyone sees you, I’m gonna get in a lot of trouble, and I would really like to not get in a lot of trouble.”

The animatronic rounds on you, palpable anger rolling off the corroded carapace in waves, which makes no sense, who would program a thing like this with anger? Bare metal fingers knot themselves together, shaking with it, and you try very hard not to imagine your very fragile throat in one of those unforgiving fists. Your back hits the edge of the kitchen counter, and a shiver of fear ices over your spine.

The linoleum of your countertop gives way as the animatronic slams a hand down against it, whipping away again to scrabble desperately at the back of its own head. It gouges long green lines in the black of its soiled fur, picking and picking like it's trying to claw something free.

“Whoa, whoa, what's wrong?” Seeing its panicked fervor puts a sympathy in you that overrides the fear.

“Out,” hisses the animatronic. For a moment you think it’s telling you to leave, but on second look it doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to you at all. Its scratching gets faster, like it’s getting frustrated, and it lets out a low, gravely wail that coils itself around your heart and yanks you painfully into motion.

You duck into its line of sight, hands raised. “Is something in there bothering you? If you let me take a look, I might be able to help.”

Considering how antsy you've been to get a peek at its inner workings for the past week, the offer feels almost selfish, but the animatronic pauses its frantic ministrations and turns to you, as if considering your words.

“They hired me to fix you,” you add, like that might sway its decision. “We met once. I don't know if you remember.”

The animatronic stares without speaking, and you get the impression of narrowed eyes, a thoughtful frown. A flock of late-migrating birds goes by outside, calling mournfully into the brisk morning air. The animatronic perks up at the sound, then shakes itself violently and jabs a finger at the back of its head.

“Get it out.” Its voice is stone on stone, grinding and guttering, and silly though the sentiment may be, you can't help but think that it sounds painful.

“Okay,” you say amiably. At this point you wouldn't be surprised if the animatronic had some way to troubleshoot its own systems, but it seems best practice to see what's going on for yourself before you start pulling things loose.

While you get your tools, the animatronic lowers itself stiffly to its knees. You feel its eyes follow you as you give your hands a hasty scrub, heavy as a human gaze, and something about it puts flushed heat up the back of your collar. There's that inchoate sense of appraisal again, like it knows something you don't and is waiting, amused, to see whether or not you figure it out.

“Alright, I'm going to touch you now.” You feel a little silly for the warning, but you figure it doesn't hurt to be polite.

Not-Bonnie's response comes slowly, as though it has to think about it. “Very well.”

Even still, when you start exploring, it freezes, so quickly that you worry that something in the long-neglected mechanics must've finally shorted out.

“Shit, everything alright?”

“Just do it,” says the animatronic tightly, and then lets out a staticky, startled sound when you touch it again that makes you very glad it can't see your expression. It's not a moan, because you wouldn't know what to physically do with yourself if you had to deal with the implications of that, but the sounds share a border so close that they could rub off on one another, like wet paint.

It feels like every nerve in your body has migrated to your hands as you search for a seam in the matted fur. Fine, ashy grit collects in the whorls of your fingerprints, staining them a waxy grey.

“We should really get you cleaned up after this,” you say, just to say it.

The comment is met by the pinched, metallic sound of old fans scraping into agonized motion. A new rush of urgency tenses your muscles. Care and deliberation are all well and good, but you don't exactly trust the efficacy of the cooling system after all this time, and none of it will do you any good if everything's too hot to touch by the time you find your way in. Adrenaline urges you along, and you feel a surge of triumph when your searching fingers close on the hidden pull of a zipper. Age and grime stick the teeth fast together; you worry at it while trying desperately not to break it. When the fur finally peels apart, it does so with the stiff, reluctant cling of an unripe orange.

Underneath, the metal is greasy black and tacky to the touch. Thick dark liquid coagulates in a shallow divot the size of your smallest fingernail, sucks at the pad of your thumb when you move to swipe it aside. 

“Let me know if this—” you begin, then falter. If this hurts, you were going to say. Over the animatronic's shoulder, you can see its fingers claw against its thighs. You clear your throat awkwardly, suddenly too aware of your own fingers, the metal heating steadily beneath them. “—if anything feels wrong,” you finish lamely.

The animatronic grunts noncommittally. As carefully as if it were made of porcelain, you press the tip of your screwdriver experimentally under the divot's hidden lip. Slow, careful pressure—a small hatch pries stickily upwards, and excitement flares in your chest. It's tempered only a little by the smell that follows, a burst of wet, cloying rot that thrusts through your sinuses and lays itself in your mouth like a sluggy second tongue. You don't gag, but it's a near thing. 

“There we go,” you say, a little nasal, “that's not so bad, right? Oh, look at you, you're gorgeous.”

Visible now under the hatch is a snakes’ nest of wires, blue and red and black, their insulating skins shedding to reveal gleams of greening copper so expertly soldered that you can still make out every path between the joints. The patterns are alien to you, though, unlike any of the machines you've worked on before, as though whoever was responsible for this one was making it up as they went along. It's fascinating in its novelty and exhilarating in its sheer blunt competence. 

How had the creator managed it, to make an animatronic that was still capable of such complex operation after, if what your now former boss was to be believed, thirty years of inactivity? There must be redundancies built into the design to preserve functionality in case of damage, but the fact that they're still effective is astonishing. It makes you want to do something embarrassing, like lean forward and kiss it. If it weren't for the awareness of your impatiently shifting audience, you probably would.

Instead, you focus on the captivating puzzle in front of you, sorting gingerly through the wires with reverent fingers. They part readily under your touch, slick with more of that dark, acrid liquid, though by now you’re starting to get used to the smell. A rigid tension seizes the animatronic's shoulders, as though it were stopping itself from moving away. The fans in its chest whir and screech.

“Hanging in there?” you ask.

“Don't coddle me,” it bites out, and you laugh before you can stop yourself.

“Who's coddling? I just wanna make sure I'm not touching anything I shouldn't.”

As you speak, you slide a fingernail between two wires, teasing them apart with a soft shlick. Sitting beneath them, top left like a postage stamp, is a battered chip of purple plastic. Corrosion bleeds from its edges in crystalline gobs and fans out in feathery white veins, caustic mechanical mold. Where it meets metal, rubbery ribbons of sealant curl away to bare the fragile circuitry below. You let out a short, appraising breath between your teeth. 

It looks—to use a technical term—bad, but you know better than to mess with anything when you still don't know what it does. You hover a fingertip over the chip, testing for heat. You expect it—a functional heat, at least, enough to confirm that it's still doing what it's meant to, whatever that is. What you don't expect is the chill. It's like the chip is carved from ice, radiating a cold well below the air around it. The unexpected sensation gets a gasp out of you, prickling up your arms in gooseflesh that feels like nails raked lightly along your skin. 

Heat rises into your face, and sinks into your belly. Humiliation nips at its heels.

“There's a chip here,” you blurt, your own silence taking on uncomfortable weight. “D'you know what it's for?”

It's a long shot, but your aim proves true.

“Yes,” says the animatronic, sounding pleased.

“I—really? That's incredible.” Being able to troubleshoot its own systems had been a hopeful, haphazard guess at best, the idea that it could recognize and understand the actual hardware—god, you are really about to be helpless for this thing.

Before you can ask any more, one of the animatronic's mitted paws appears in your line of sight. Swift, precise, it seizes the edges of the chip with two sharp-looking fingers and snaps its wrist to the side. A bright crack, and the chip tears free from its bed like a loose tooth and disappears as the animatronic brings it around to examine it.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “Okay.”

The sound starts like the roll of distant thunder, ah ah ah, and your mind spins with it as the familiar, scraping cadence goes smooth and velvet-deep. The animatronic laughs, and you have to put down your screwdriver to brace yourself against the counter. Your knees feel like water. The only thing keeping you upright is curiosity, your eyes following the dull purple gleam of the chip.

“What is it?”

The animatronic tilts its head to one side. “Would you mind?”

“Would I—? Oh, oh right, my bad, lemme just—”

You cast a final, longing glance at the contents below the hatch before easing it shut with a sticky click. On impulse, you press your fingertips to your lips, then lay them against the metal, the ghost of your earlier urge.

The animatronic shifts, but you can't tell if it's discomfort or impatience. Zipping up the fur feels strangely final.

“All set,” you tell it, sounding strangled even to your own ears.

You stumble back as the animatronic hauls itself to its feet, a slow, stuttering unfolding that reminds you all over again just how tall it is. You've never considered yourself particularly short, but it must have a good foot of height on you, which is only made more obvious by the way it leans into your personal space and looms. A chill comes over you, like stepping into the shade of a tree on a hot day.

“Hold out your hand.” It's an obvious command, but there's a sly, playful tone to it that fizzles under your skin. Another game, you think, obeying with a thrill of curious anticipation.

Into your upturned palm, the animatronic deposits what looks like a small piece of crumpled paper with the letters AR pressed in a faded copperplate font in one corner. A second look reveals it to be the mangled remnants of the purple chip, split into jagged halves, the plastic splintered past repair. The fine, metallic entrails, suddenly exposed, glitter like gems.

“Did you do this on purpose?” You can't keep the disappointment out of the question.

The animatronic's eyes are sharp and silver as a blade. “Why the concern? You didn't make it.”

Neither did you, you want to snap, but you manage to bite it back.

“It just seems like a waste,” you say instead, then, for what feels like the hundredth time, “What was it for?”

The animatronic tilts its head to one side, its unbroken ear dangling loosely. In lieu of an answer, it steps closer; you step back, the answering move in an indecipherable dance.

“You don't know? I thought you were supposed to fix me.”

“You seem like you could fix yourself,” you laugh nervously, “maybe I was just hired to help.”

The animatronic hums at that, pleased by the flattery. One long finger lifts to tap at the mess in your hand, clicking like a claw against the plastic.

“This,” it says, and you're probably definitely just imagining things, but you'd swear you can hear the grin in its voice, “was the suit’s AI.”

You're so distracted by the cool smoke of its voice that it takes you a full minute to process the words.

“The—that doesn't make any sense.” Is the animatronic lying to you right now? “If that's true, how are you still up and talking? Is there a backup?”

“Hmm, I'm afraid not,” says the animatronic, almost gleefully. 

You squeeze your fist a little tighter around the chip in your palm. You think about the stories, though you don't want to, the rumors and gossip that your boss had cheerfully referred to as “the Fazlore.” Thirty years boarded up behind a wall. All the things people said about those old springlock suits.

“Without the AI, what's left?”

The animatronic's huge hands hit the countertop on either side of you with a bang, and you startle so violently that it twangs a nerve in your neck. Pain shoots down your spine. The small of your back hits the counter, and you freeze, something like fear kindling in the cradle of your chest. The animatronic is so close you could count the drooping lashes that still ring the ruined lids, but it doesn't touch you. It just ducks its head to catch your eye, that grinning certainty as palpable as the smell of smoke. 

“Me,” it hisses triumphantly.

The question is out before you can stop it, fear and fascination in equal measure. “Who are you?”

“Who am I,” says the animatronic. Its voice drops into a staticky growl as it draws a line in the air back to its ragged torso, tapping hollowly near the remnants of a scuffed black button. “I wonder if I should be offended. You're the one who named me, after all.”

Guilty understanding, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I didn't mean it to be rude,” you stutter out, which is true, though if you're being totally honest with yourself you'd suspected even at the time that the nickname might be a little tactless. 

“Not at all,” says the animatronic. “I think it suits me.”

You pause, then laugh, a sudden, heady rush of relieved affection. “Was that a pun?”

“If you like,” it allows magnanimously.

You laugh again and look over it wonderingly, as delighted by the smug, wry humor as you are taken aback by it.

“Well, consider me honored then,” you say. “It's very nice to meet you properly, Springtrap.” You thrust out a hand as you offer your name in return. It seems like the thing to do.

Springtrap stares indulgently down at your outstretched hand, but leans back without taking it.

“I know your name,” it informs you, with no further elaboration.

“You—how?” you ask. You hadn't exactly worn a nametag at work. 

“That useless boy with the ponytail was always running around shouting for you,” says Springtrap, waving a hand vaguely.

It takes a moment for his meaning to click into place. “You mean Cody? My boss?”

Cody was a baffling, lanky, surfer-type with more enthusiasm than business acumen, but you wouldn't have described him as useless. Frustrating, maybe. The week you'd spent under his management at the Fright had been…singular, as work experiences went, which you probably should've expected from the fact that he'd swung into your interview fifteen minutes late, complimented your vibes, and hired you on the spot.

“We’re, like, still getting on our feet, set-up-wise,” Cody had told you blithely, “but we’re moving right along according to the schedule. You’re our first real hire, congrats, but we’re putting out feelers for a security guard, hit me up if you know anyone who’s looking.”

“I’ll keep an ear out,” you'd said amenably, and he'd nodded.

“Cool, cool. So I know that we technically hired you for animatronic maintenance—and there will be animatronics, cross my heart, but right now your role will be sorta more of a general handyman. The wiring and vents are cooked—vintage, right, real authentic—but they do not work, and I figured, hey, there's gotta be some overlap there with what you do, right?”

“Not really,” you’d replied, but he'd barely seemed to hear you.

Now, you scrub a hand across your face and let out a pinched sigh. 

“He's gonna think the fire was because of the wiring—oh god, what if it was?” You'd done your best, but you weren't an electrician, and that place had been ready to come down on a whim long before you got there. “What if someone got hurt?”

It hadn’t even occurred to you that one of your coworkers might still be in the building when you'd gone in for Springtrap. If something happened to one of them, if it was your fault—

“It wasn't the wiring,” says Springtrap flatly. It sounds irritated. 

“You sound very sure about that,” you tell him.

“Because I am.” The question on your tongue must reflect in your eyes when you look at it, because it adds, “It was the night guard.”

“Mike?” you ask disbelievingly. Your shifts didn’t overlap by much, so you didn’t know the guy all that well, but he’d seemed—well, tired, mostly, and a little cryptic, but friendly enough. “Why would he do that?”

“I can't even begin to know what he's thinking,” Springtrap sighs—a proper sigh, you hear the air as it moves through the canals of its chest cavity and try not to let yourself get distracted by the broader functional relevance of artificial breathing. “He's always been one for tedious dramatics.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of you. “They let you talk to kids like that?”

Springtrap gives you a cool, steady look down the length of its muzzle. “Nobody let me do anything. Come now, this has been moderately entertaining, but you're cleverer than that.”

Your throat tightens in on itself. Springtrap inclines his head. The light from the curtains catches something between the jaws of the suit, the flash of a smile behind its teeth.

Understanding hangs over your head by a rapidly fraying thread, and you feel frozen in its shadow. All the little details of the morning that had seemed so unimportant at the time hiss and click like angry insects as they arrange themselves in a neat line at your feet.

“The suit’s not wearable right now,” you assert, the beginning of an argument that sits in your sternum like panic. “It's in animatronic mode. These old springlocks are sort of infamous for how bad an idea it is to wear one while it's in animatronic mode.”

“It wasn't my idea,” says Springtrap dryly.

Metal glints at the stringy parting of his throat, the joint of his shoulder, the mangled ruin of his waist. Places where a person should be—would be, if your life could just be so simple that you'd accidentally brought a stranger into your home.

“So what,” you hear yourself ask, “you're haunted?”

“Don't be obtuse, I'm not dead.”

“You would be,” you say immediately. “If you were in there when the animatronic mode kicked in, you would one thousand percent be dead.”

“And yet, here I am,’” he says, spreading his hands illustratively. “Demonstrably alive.”

“I don't know if that's as obvious as you think it is,” you tell him weakly. This cannot be a real discussion that you are having.

Springtrap doesn't respond for a moment, his unblinking gaze fixed on you keen and curious. You shift your weight from foot to foot, self-conscious, feeling like something small and damp newly discovered under an overturned rock.

“Perhaps,” he suggests thoughtfully, “your love brought me to life. Like the velveteen rabbit.”

A flush comes over you like the suck of riptide, heat you can feel straight through to the follicles of your hair. You bark out a laugh, too sudden, too harsh. It leaves a feeling like heartburn in your chest. 

“We’re blaming it on magic now?”

Springtrap gestures vaguely, cranes his neck to catch your eye. “All science seems like magic, before you understand it.” He holds out a hand, like he’s asking for yours, but curls his fingers back against his own palm before you can move to take it. “Whatever I am, I am here because of you. That debt does not escape me. However, the situation is…complicated. Is there any way I could convince you simply to trust me for now?”

You stare at his hand, still half outstretched, and your palms tingle. “What would that entail, exactly?”

“Fewer questions,” he says with good humor, and you feel a smile pull itself up to your mouth. “—for now. I swear to answer anything you like as soon as I am able. I owe you that at least.”

Indecision gnaws at the walls of your stomach. The not-knowing is a snake up your spine, the itchy twitching twist of each impossibility vying to make itself known. You feel like you’re dreaming, because it feels like a dream, feels exactly like the sort of thing your pining subconscious mind would wrangle up for you. You want to understand, but beneath it stir other wants—simpler, and louder.

“When will you be able to?”

“Sooner, with your assistance,” he says, then, “Why did you rescue me?”

“Why—?” It’s a good question. It was a miracle that you managed to get him out of there. It was insanity that you tried. “I don’t know. I had to.”

“Had to?” asks Springtrap thoughtfully. “You thought I was just a lifeless animatronic.”

“I think you would’ve done the same,” you tell him.

Springtrap laughs, the sound popping and hissing like a bad radio transmission. “You do, do you?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” he admits.

You wet your lips; they taste like ash. You swipe the back of your hand across your mouth and feel it smear, mudlike where it's mixed with your sweat, up onto your cheek.

“Eugh,” you say, without meaning to, and Springtrap huffs, amused. The glare you send him turns into something far softer, filtered through your eyelashes.

“You're one to laugh, as if you're any better. Can I ask a question?”

“I may not answer it.”

“Will you be damaged if you get wet?”

Springtrap is visibly taken aback, as if he'd expected you to say something else. 

“I can't imagine there's much more damage to be done,” he says evenly.

“Good,” you say,  “cos we both need a good scrub. Come on.”

You pat him twice on the chest in filthy camaraderie, and in the spirit of camaraderie you gamely do not mention that he needs it about ten times more than you do based on smell alone.

Springtrap freezes. It catches like fire up a wick through your limbs, that same tense, paralyzed stillness. You realize that you've messed up, but you don't know how, can't even begin to know how to fix it. Cold, panicky indecision blooms up from the pit of your stomach as your thoughts scramble over one another in a mad cacophony of unhelpful sounds.

The fur is thin and waxy where your fingertips still touch him, catching on the jagged-bitten edges of your nails. You just…stand there, feeling like an idiot, and think shit. It's the touching, isn't it, you can't just go around touching people, it's—

With a soft, shuddery sigh, Springtrap sags forward into your hand, loose as a snapped bowstring. Your palm goes flat against his chest, and beneath it you feel the subtle rumblings of his inner workings as they reverberate through the metal.

Warmth fills the space behind your heart, thick and slow as honey. Slowly, giving Springtrap plenty of time to protest, you spread your fingers, grit and ash flaking away in the wake of your touch. A sound punches out of him—a quick, ragged inhalation, and before you register the movement your wrist has been swallowed by one of those huge, mitted fists.

A flash of sudden, uncertain fear lights up every nerve in your body, the lightning-crack reminder of the crater in your counter not two feet away. You can all but hear the delicate bones of your wrist cracking under that unthinking strength.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, waiting for the anger, the pain. Enough of his joints are bare that they catch and pinch the fine hairs on your arm, but you don't pull away, don't even move to breathe.

“Can you feel that?” you ask softly, then, “Sorry, you said fewer questions.”

Springtrap watches you with a stillness that feels uncertain, somehow, unbroken ear dangling as he tits his head to one side. Against your palm, the vibrations hum and throb like an anxious heartbeat.

“Yes,” he says finally, his voice thick. “That is, no, I feel—”

His thumb draws a slow, careful line down the length of your throat, and you swallow hard.

“It’s an echo,” he explains, half to himself. “Not quite contact, but the…promise of it.”

“I don’t understand.” Is all you manage.

“No, I don’t expect you do.”His fingers find your free hand, a solid cage of steel, tight enough to bite. You wince, and the pressure eases, then shifts. Springtrap presses your hand against his chest, a mirror to the first, and the sigh that escapes him is deep, shuddery, and relieved.

[peace-hunter]

baby OP has a favorite and is not afraid to let everyone know about it. prima thinks he just likes that zeta lets him chew on the matrix sometimes. solus thinks prima's just salty he's not the favorite :/

and zeta is carefully neutral on the discussion but privately he wonders if maybe prima is onto something. if maybe primus has let their baby brother in on a secret he hasn't told the rest of them yet.

he supposes time will tell.

(continues under readmore)

baby prime orion au

orion has been looking for something for as long as he can remember. he just... can't quite tell what it is. but maybe if he can find the matrix, it will soothe the ache in his chest that tells him he's missing something far more important than a t-cog.

maybe.

[cheollollipop]

Fragments of Us - Chapter 5. | c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): just teenage angst tbh. nothing crazy. summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 17k (?) start date: nov. 20, 2024

a/n: trying to post this has been a pain in my ass!!!!! the formatting might be off idkidkidk. anyways, here's a throwback ch. of how everyone becomes friends. even a romance that no one sees coming :)

I didn’t expect the group chat to explode when I sent the text. I thought I'd get a thumbs-up emoji, maybe a "cool" from Jeonghan.

Instead, I got this: GROUP CHAT: chaos but make it childhood trauma

Me: so uh I'm transferring to seoul high lol...

Dokyeom: WHAT?!?!

Jeonghan: I JUST WOKE UP AND YOU'RE DROPPING LORE????

Jihoon: It is 8:07... Can we not do this right now?

Me: surprise...? starting monday lol

Jeonghan: MONDAY? MONDAY AS IN TOMORROW MONDAY?!

Dokyeom: I AM SWEATING THROUGH MY PAJAMAS! I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS MUCH JOY

Jihoon: You're fifteen.

Dokyeom: EXACTLY!

Me: I finally convinced my parents. gave a whole speech about how I am emotionally dependent on you guys. very persuasive stuff...also may have cried a little. theatrically.

Jeonghan: That's my girl.

Dokyeom: THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!

Jeonghan: wait DO YOU GUYS REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?!

Dokyeom: hallway chaos? synchronized class skipping? group projects that get nothing done?! COMFORT LUNCHES???? we are gonna be unstoppable

Jeongahn: no no. bigger than that! SHE HASN'T MET SEUNGCHEOL YET

Me: uh..who?

Dokyeom: oh this is going to be good

Jeonghan: I bet he falls for her in a week

Dokyeom: bold. i say three days

Me: WHO IS SEUNGCHEOL? WHY IS HE FALLING? 

Jihoon: Please. Do not encourage them.

Jeonghan: Seungcheol is just... you'll see. tall. soft-spoken. occasional disaster.

Dokyeom: mysterious hallway menace. emotionally stable-ish. probably writes poetry in his notes app.  no. he DEFINITELY does.

Me: you guys are weird.

Jihoon: You're just now realizing this?

Jeonghan: anyway. we're doing a full seoul high crash course tomorrow. meet at the park, 1pm. bring snacks and an open mind.

Me: should I be worried?

Jihoon: Yes.

The group chat has been suspiciously quiet since last night. Which can only mean one of two things: 1. They've fallen into a group nap. 2. They're planning something.

And based on the fact that Jeonghan texted me this morning—just a selfie with two sunglasses on and the words "ready for war"—I'm guessing it's option two. When I get to the park, they're already waiting on our usual patch of grass near the busted basketball court.

Jeonghan's lying down like a man who's never known stress. He's got a cold drink in one hand and his phone in the other, probably making a playlist for "walking around and talking like we're in a coming-of-age movie."

Dokyeom sees me first and immediately jumps to his feet like I just stepped off a plane from overseas.

"THERE SHE IS!" he yells, full of golden retriever energy. "BACK FROM THE ACADEMIC VOID!"

I laugh as he jogs over and pulls me into the tightest, most dramatic hug possible. "You saw me last week."

"Yeah, but now you're a Seoul High kid. There's a difference. You've been reborn."

"Okay, calm down. I haven't even walked through the gates yet."

He holds me at arm's length. "You're glowing. It's the transfer student effect."

"Please stop," Jihoon mutters as he arrives, earbuds still in and energy already drained. "It's not even 1:05 and I'm regretting this."

Jeonghan finally sits up, brushing grass off his jeans. "Come on, Ji. It's her prep day. Our girl's about to enter the war zone that is public education with no map."

"I was at a different school for two weeks, not exiled."

"Same thing," Jeonghan shrugs. "Anyway. Welcome to Seoul High Orientation, Chaos Edition."

He stands dramatically and pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

"You made an itinerary?" I ask.

"It's color-coded."

"I'm scared."

Dokyeom leans in. "I helped. My section is the cafeteria, obviously."

"I'm going to regret this," Jihoon says again, but he follows us anyway.

Stop #1: The Front Gate:

"This is where you'll see at least four couples pretending not to be dating," Jeonghan says, pointing at a bench by the sidewalk.

"Also," Dokyeom adds, "don't walk near the bushes after fifth period. One time I saw someone get tackled by a rogue soccer ball and it never left me."

"Duly noted."

Stop #2: The Vending Machines:

"Row three. Bottom left," Dokyeom says with a hand on his heart. "That chocolate milk will change your life."

"The green tea's okay too," Jeonghan adds, "if you want to feel emotionally empty for forty-five minutes."

Jihoon throws a pack of crackers at him. "It's just tea, Han."

"It's a lifestyle, Ji."

Stop #3: The Courtyard:

"This is where we eat," Jeonghan says proudly, spreading his arms out like he's presenting a kingdom. "Under the big tree. Shade, good breeze, low teacher traffic."

I smile as I take it in. "It's cute."

"We're not," Jihoon says.

"No," I agree. "But this is."

By the time we're halfway through the tour, I've got a mental folder labeled "Seoul High Survival" and about thirty Jeonghan-led side tangents I did not ask for. But the truth is... this? This is everything I missed.

The laughing. The bickering. Jihoon pretending not to care while handing me the exact snack I love without saying a word. Jeonghan spinning wild tales of hallway drama. Dokyeom trailing behind me to make sure I don't get trampled by a roaming club rush. I feel... settled.

Like the two weird weeks at my old school were a glitch in the system, and this chaos, noise, and love is where I'm meant to be. We end the day back at the park, laying in the grass like we're thirteen again and avoiding responsibility.

"I still can't believe you're gonna be with us again," Dokyeom says, arms stretched above his head.

"Yeah," I say softly. "Me either."

There's a pause. Just long enough for Jeonghan to get ideas.

"So," he says slowly, "on a scale of 1 to 'should I get my tux ready,' how soon do we think Seungcheol's gonna fall for her?"

I groan. "Why are we back on this?"

Jihoon sighs. "We never left it."

"Who is this guy again?" I ask, squinting at them.

"He's in our lunch period," Jeonghan says. "Tall. Wears hoodies like they're armor. Brooding, soft-spoken, suspiciously poetic."

Dokyeom nods. "He's also weirdly graceful. Like, if a cat and a tree had a baby."

"What does that even mean?"

"You'll see."

"Is he nice?"

"Too nice," Jeonghan says. "It's suspicious."

"He's gonna fall for you in under a week," Dokyeom adds.

I roll onto my side and squint at the sky. "You two are insufferable."

"And yet," Jeonghan sings, "you love us."

"Regrettably."

Jihoon tosses a leaf in my face. "Can we go home now?"

"Yeah," I say, still smiling. "Let's go."

Tomorrow's going to be the first page of a brand new chapter. Same neighborhood, same chaos, new school. And maybe... a new character.

We end up at my place because, well, we always do. I don't remember when it started—sometime around elementary school when my house became the designated "safe zone" after long days of bike riding, hide-and-seek, and overly competitive UNO games. But even now, the pattern hasn't changed. They drift toward my front door like gravity pulls them here.

My mom isn't even surprised when we walk in. She waves from the couch and asks if we want tteokbokki or ramyeon for dinner.

"Both?" Dokyeom asks, hopeful.

She nods like she expected that answer, already moving to the kitchen. Legend.

We pile into the living room—bags tossed in the hallway, shoes left in a mess near the door (except Jihoon, who lines his up neatly like the responsible citizen he is). The TV's playing something none of us are paying attention to, and Jeonghan claims his usual spot on the beanbag like a throne.

"This house smells the same," he says, inhaling dramatically. "Like candles and comfort."

"Like old books and guilt," Jihoon mutters.

"Like snacks and serotonin," Dokyeom adds with a dreamy sigh, already halfway through the chips he found in the cabinet without asking.

"You're welcome," I say, flopping onto the floor with a soda in hand. We hang out like that for hours.

Jeonghan plays with the filters on my phone and takes the ugliest selfies known to man. Dokyeom puts on music and dramatically lip-syncs to every chorus like we're in a music video. Jihoon half-watches from the couch, half-judging all of us, but he doesn't move or leave—he never does. And me? I soak it all in.

The noise. The laughter. The bickering. The way Jeonghan throws popcorn at Jihoon and misses, hitting my ceiling instead. The way Dokyeom sings off-key just to make me laugh. The way Jihoon pretends to hate it, but keeps pushing the bowl of snacks closer to me whenever it gets too far. This is what I missed. Not just the chaos. The comfort. The absolute certainty that no matter how weird or awful or overwhelming tomorrow is... I'll have this. These people. 

Around 8:30, we're sprawled out on every available surface—Dokyeom upside-down on the recliner, Jeonghan draped over half the beanbag like a Victorian ghost, and Jihoon holding the remote like he's the last sane person left on Earth.

"We should go over the schedule again," Jihoon says suddenly.

Jeonghan groans. "We already did that."

"I wasn't paying attention," I admit, taking a long sip from my drink.

"See?" Jihoon gestures toward me like he's in a courtroom.

He pulls out his phone and opens the Seoul High schedule app. "You start with History. Room 2B. I'm in 2C, so we'll walk over together."

"You memorized my schedule?"

"No," he says too fast.

Jeonghan coughs, "Soft."

"I'm being helpful," Jihoon mutters.

Dokyeom sits up like he's had an epiphany. "Wait, who's walking her to lunch?"

Everyone looks at each other.

"Not it," Jihoon says immediately.

Jeonghan gasps. "How dare you."

Eventually, my mom calls us for dinner and we crowd around the table like we're still kids coming in from playing outside. Elbows bump. Someone drops chopsticks. Jeonghan steals from my bowl. Jihoon sighs. Dokyeom does his happy food dance. Everything feels stupidly perfect.

Later, when they've all gone home and I'm finally alone in my room, the silence feels louder—but not empty. There's a warmth in it. A weightless sort of joy that hums beneath the quiet.

I set out my uniform for tomorrow, check my backpack one more time and then crawl under the covers.

My alarm goes off at 6:45.

It's rude. Aggressively loud. Too chipper for this hour. I silence it with the strength of someone who briefly considers faking an illness but remembers she fought tooth and nail to transfer here. No backing out now.

I lie in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the reality settle in: I'm starting over. Sort of. New school. New teachers. New classmates. But not totally new.

I get up and head to the bathroom. My uniform looks fine—I tried it on twice yesterday to make sure it wasn't weirdly too long or too short. I do my hair in a simple style and throw on a little lip balm before grabbing my backpack and heading downstairs. Mom's already up, making toast. She smiles when she sees me.

"Nervous?"

I shrug, slipping on my shoes. "Excited. Mostly."

She hands me a packed lunch. "You're going to be great."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Say hi to the boys for me. Especially Jihoon. He's the only one I trust not to set something on fire."

"I'll let him know he's the chosen one," I laugh, heading for the door.

We agreed to meet at the corner near Jeonghan's house—same spot we've used as our unofficial meet-up location since elementary school. I'm a few minutes early. I adjust my bag, check my phone, and take a deep breath. The air is crisp, that September kind of cool that says summer's still hanging on but barely.

"Wow," a voice says behind me. "You actually showed up on time. New year, new you?"

I turn around and roll my eyes. "Hello to you, too, Jihoon."

He's in uniform too, blazer slightly wrinkled like he didn't bother ironing it. His backpack looks like it's already carrying emotional damage.

"I had a feeling you'd say that," I grin.

"I had a feeling you'd be annoying this early in the morning," he deadpans.

"Don't worry. I'm just getting started."

Before he can respond, someone yells, "FRESHMAN PRINCESS!" from across the street.

Jeonghan.

He runs up dramatically, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses on like it's not 7:20 a.m.

"You're lucky I'm walking with you," he says, looping his arm through mine. "The hallways are a battlefield. I will protect you."

"Why do you look like you're attending a music festival?" Jihoon asks.

"It's called style, Hoonie. Look it up."

Dokyeom appears seconds later, full of sunshine as usual. "WE'RE DOING THIS, GUYS!"

"We are," I say, grinning. "Day one."

Jeonghan adjusts his sunglasses. "Let the chaos begin."

The four of us start walking—shoulders bumping, shoes dragging, backpacks swaying. It feels weirdly perfect. Like we've done this forever.

Jeonghan launches into a dramatic retelling of a cafeteria fight he witnessed last week (spoiler: it involved pudding and questionable martial arts), while Dokyeom swears someone in the second-year class is secretly famous on TikTok. Jihoon grunts at regular intervals to remind us that he's still here and still suffering.

The sidewalk, the trees, the sound of their voices bouncing off each other like background music in the best kind of teen drama.

The front gate is already swarming when we get there—students spilling onto campus in loose clusters, backpacks slung over shoulders, half-asleep conversations floating through the air. It's loud and chaotic in a way that feels alive. The moment we step through the gates, Jeonghan slings an arm across my shoulders like we're on parade.

"Fresh meat," he whispers dramatically. "Do you smell it, Jihoon?"

"Please don't talk to me."

Jeonghan completely ignores him and gestures to a group of students near the front steps. "That's where the morning gossip happens. Most of it's fake. All of it's entertaining."

Dokyeom leans in like he's narrating a documentary. "That corner near the vending machines? That's where couples break up before first period."

I squint. "Is that real?"

"Yup," Jeonghan says. "We once saw someone dump their boyfriend with a Post-it note. Iconic."

We make our way through the hallways, Jeonghan pointing out every landmark like he's a tour guide and I'm a visiting diplomat.

"Left hallway is the music room. Where dreams go to die."

"I thought you liked music class," I say.

"I do. I just hate being graded on vibes."

Jihoon groans. "I swear to God—"

"Language," Jeonghan says sweetly.

By the time the warning bell rings, I've got a decent sense of the building—where my classes are, which bathroom stalls to avoid, which stairwells are used for crying.

I make it through first period with only one awkward "Are you new here?" moment. Second period is better. By third, I manage to raise my hand without my voice shaking. And suddenly, it's lunch.

"So," Jeonghan says, linking our arms as we weave through the courtyard, "are you emotionally prepared to meet the guy we've already decided is going to fall in love with you?"

"I'm sorry?" I blink. "Back up."

"Seungcheol," he sing-songs. "Tall, quiet, mysterious. Hoodie guy. Pretty eyes. You've heard us mention him."

"I thought you were joking when you said he writes poems and sulks during gym."

"Oh, he does. But he's also a walking soft boy aesthetic, and I just know you're his exact type."

I narrow my eyes. "And what exactly is his type?"

"Dangerously witty, occasionally unhinged girls who will probably roast him for wearing the same hoodie four days in a row."

"I'm honored," I deadpan.

"Listen," Jeonghan grins. "If he doesn't fall in love by the end of lunch, I'll give you five bucks."

"That's it?"

"Emotional damage isn't cheap, YN."

We round the corner and there they are—Jihoon, sitting cross-legged on the grass like he's contemplating life, and Dokyeom, animatedly telling a story with full body gestures and a dramatic reenactment.

Jeonghan waves like he's entering a fan meet. "Boys! Look who I found lurking in the halls like a lost soul."

Jihoon groans. "God, spare me."

"Jihoon," I grin. "Still allergic to joy, I see."

"Still the human equivalent of spilled soda," he mutters, but he shifts slightly so I can sit beside him.

Dokyeom cheers. "Our girl's officially one of us again! Let the unhinged lunch sessions resume!"

"Can't wait," I laugh, sitting down and pulling out my lunch.

"So—how's Seoul High treating you so far?"

"Eh," I shrug. "Nothing chaotic so far".

"Yet," Jihoon adds.

Jeonghan suddenly sits up straighter, lips curling. "Incoming."

I glance toward where he's looking. And then I see him.

Seungcheol.

Tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves half-covering his hands, hoodie slightly oversized. He's walking toward us with the calm of someone who's used to being invisible, but the kind of invisible people still notice. And he's looking at me. Just for a second. Then he looks away.

When he sits, he doesn't say anything. He just nods at Jeonghan, gives Dokyeom a quiet greeting, and glances in Jihoon's direction like he's silently asking about my presence.

"This," Jeonghan says, all false casual, "is YN."

Seungcheol turns to me, eyes soft but unreadable. "You're the transfer?"

"That's me," I nod. "Fresh meat. Bring on the hazing."

He blinks. Slowly. "We don't really do that here."

"Shame," I say. "I had a whole dramatic speech prepared about rising from the ashes."

A pause. Then, just barely—he smiles.

Oh no.

His smile is the quiet kind. The kind you almost miss if you're not paying attention. But I see it.

Dokyeom's eyes widen ever so slightly.

Jeonghan hides a cough behind his hand.

Jihoon mutters, "Here we go."

"So," I continue, leaning back on my palms, "you're Seungcheol. I've heard things."

That gets his attention. "Like what?"

"Mostly that you wear hoodies like armor and possibly write sad poetry."

He looks stunned for half a second. Then says, "...I plead the fifth."

Jeonghan loses it.

"God, you're already corrupted," Jihoon mutters, stabbing at his lunch like it wronged him.

"Don't worry, Ji," I grin at him. "I'll leave your delicate moral compass intact."

"You broke that years ago."

"I never touched it."

"You threw it out a window."

I grin. "You're just mad I beat you in Mario Kart and the spelling bee."

Jeonghan gasps. "You did not bring up the spelling bee."

"She spelled 'acquiesce' in record time," Dokyeom says proudly.

"She whispered it," Jihoon grumbles.

"Power move," I say with a shrug.

Seungcheol is quiet—but I catch him smiling again.

Twice in one lunch. Interesting.

As we all start eating, I feel Jeonghan nudge my shoulder. When I glance over, he's grinning like a devil.

"No love at first sight," he whispers, "but I'm feeling a solid slow burn."

"Shut up and eat your rice," I whisper back.

But I'm smiling, too. And across from me, Seungcheol keeps glancing my way.

By the time I unwrap the sandwich my mom made me, the conversation has unraveled into three different threads: Dokyeom trying to convince us that aliens are real, Jeonghan attempting to set up an impromptu talent show, and Jihoon—bless him—trying to ignore all of it while chewing like it's a stress reliever. And then there's Seungcheol. Silent. Observing.

Twisting the cap of his drink back and forth between his fingers like it's giving him something to focus on. I don't know what it is exactly, but something about him makes me... curious. He's not cold, not standoffish—but there's a distance. Like he's not sure if he should be here, but he is. Like he's still deciding what kind of person he's allowed to be in front of me. Which, okay, that might be projecting. But I'm intrigued.

"So, Cheol," Jeonghan says out of nowhere, eyes sharp with barely contained mischief. "YN is a spelling bee champion. Impressive, right?"

Seungcheol looks up mid-sip. "Spelling bee?"

"It was fifth grade," I say quickly. "Jeonghan's just bitter because I beat him."

"She spelled 'rendezvous' and I panicked and said 'cow,'" he says, hand to chest. "A dark day for me."

Jihoon sighs. "You spelled 'cow' in a French vocabulary competition."

"And I spelled it perfectly."

Seungcheol blinks. "Sounds like you deserved that loss."

Oh. Oh. He speaks. Seungcheol actually laughs. Just once. Soft and a little caught off guard, like he didn't mean to. Jeonghan stares at him like he's just grown wings.

Dokyeom, not even trying to be subtle, leans over and fake-whispers, "Is this... is this the most Cheol's ever spoken to a new person?"

Seungcheol shoots him a look. "You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to."

Jeonghan leans in. "This is a safe space, Cheol. You can admit you like her."

My head snaps around. "Jeonghan!"

"What?" he says innocently. "He's clearly smiling in, like, two-minute intervals. That's basically a love confession." Seungcheol buries his face in his hand.

Dokyeom claps. "I knew it! I said three days. We're ahead of schedule."

Jihoon doesn't even look up. "You two are the reason I have stress-induced eye twitching."

"I'm honored," Jeonghan beams.

I wave my sandwich between them. "Can we maybe not make my first lunch here about whether or not I'm breaking someone's emotional armor?"

Seungcheol peeks up from behind his hand, gaze flickering to mine, half amused, half mortified.

"I don't have emotional armor," he mumbles.

"Sure," I say, giving him a playful look. "You've got hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they're hiding state secrets."

He blinks. Then smiles. Again. That's smile number three. We're keeping count now. Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do four years of this."

"Oh, you can," I say sweetly. "And you will."

Jeonghan claps. "God, I missed her."

"Missed?" Jihoon repeats. "She's been gone two weeks."

"Two long weeks," Dokyeom sighs dramatically.

"Thank you for acknowledging my impact," I say, wiping my hands on a napkin. "I like to think I leave a small trail of chaos wherever I go."

Seungcheol glances at me. "You do."

I raise a brow. "You say that like you have evidence."

"I've known you for thirty minutes."

"And that's enough?"

He pauses. Then nods.

I smile, leaning back on my hands. "Fair."

The bell rings not long after that, too loud, too soon.

Everyone groans, especially Dokyeom, who slumps forward like the concept of geometry is personally attacking him. As we start packing up, I catch Seungcheol glancing at me again. Just for a moment. Then he looks away like it didn't happen. Jeonghan sees it, of course. He lives for it. But, for once, he says nothing. Which somehow feels louder. As we all start heading toward the building again—Jihoon and Dokyeom walking ahead, already arguing over which staircase is faster—Jeonghan lingers behind with me.

He leans in close, voice low. "So. Thoughts?"

I raise a brow. "On what?"

"On the quiet boy who, by the way, totally laughed at your joke and voluntarily spoke to you more than six syllables."

"Maybe he's warming up to me."

"Maybe you're the sun."

I scoff. "You are so dramatic."

"And you," he says, nudging my side, "are so lying if you say you didn't like it."

I don't answer. Because I don't have to. I'm still smiling.

Back inside, the hallways feel stuffier somehow—more humid, more crowded. Someone's playing music on a Bluetooth speaker a few lockers down, and two second-years are mock-arguing about who owes whom bread from the vending machine. It's normal chaos.

I trail behind the boys as we head to our lockers. Jeonghan's retelling the story of the "spelling bee betrayal" for the third time in twenty minutes with new embellishments. Apparently, I now wore sunglasses and whispered the final word like a spy. Jihoon is visibly trying not to throttle him.

"Please," Jihoon groans, "I will pay you to shut up."

"Okay, but like... ten bucks minimum," Jeonghan says without missing a beat.

Dokyeom turns to me. "So what's your next class?"

"Math," I say, feigning dread. "Room 1C. I had a good streak going and now it ends."

"You're with me," Jihoon grunts. "Come on, let's go before the students clog the stairs."

"Your optimism is infectious."

He just rolls his eyes and starts walking, and I follow—throwing a quick wave back at Jeonghan and Dokyeom. Seungcheol's there too, halfway turned, backpack over one shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly. It's not a long look. Just one of those quick, tiny moments of recognition. But it lands. Harder than I expected.

Math Class – 10 Minutes Later - It's exactly as tragic as I feared. The teacher drones on about number sets and functions while my brain tries desperately to remember what integers even are. Jihoon passes me a spare pencil when mine breaks, muttering something about "karma for being smug."

I spend half the class doodling stars in the corner of my notebook and pretending I'm absorbing something. I catch Jihoon glancing over once to see if I'm paying attention—he doesn't say anything, but I feel the judgment.

By the time the bell rings, I've retained maybe five percent of the material and zero percent of my dignity.

"Remind me to steal your notes later," I say as we pack up.

"I won't."

"Wow. Some best friend you are."

He slams his notebook closed. "Some best friend you are. You abandoned me for two weeks and came back with main character energy."

"That's because I am the main character."

"God help us all.

I meet up with Jeonghan and Dokyeom in the stairwell before our last class of the day. Seungcheol's already there too, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He glances up when I approach. Doesn't say anything. Just gives a small nod. I return it with a smile and nudge Jeonghan. "So how much longer are you guys pretending you're not planning something?"

He puts on his best "Who, me?" face.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure."

"I just think it's cute," he says, way too casually. "The quiet boy and the witty transfer. Enemies to lovers but, like, without the enemies part."

"You've been watching too many dramas."

"Only for research."

"On what?"

"Your life arc," he says, linking arms with me again. "And frankly, it's delivering."

I groan. "Please let me survive a week here before you assign me a love interest."

"No promises."

Last Period – Literature: We file into class and the teacher, Mr. Park, gives a welcoming smile and points me to a desk near the middle.

To my left: Jeonghan. Of course.

To my right? Seungcheol. Because fate is a very funny, very chaotic little thing.

We exchange a brief glance and both pretend we're not aware of the other's presence. Jeonghan's already watching us like a director behind a camera lens.

"You good?" Seungcheol asks quietly once the teacher starts talking.

His voice is soft. A little husky, like he doesn't talk much by the end of the day. I glance at him, then nod. "Yeah. Math tried to kill me, but I pulled through."

He chuckles under his breath. "Jihoon?"

"Obviously."

"I could tell. You looked like you were planning your escape."

"Still am."

Another small smile. God, he's unfair.

Class goes on, and we don't talk much after that, but he's there. He passes me a spare worksheet when mine goes missing. I hand him an extra pen when his runs out. Small things. Quiet things. Things I didn't expect to matter. But they do.

By the end of class, I don't know what we are. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. But as we walk out and our arms brush just barely in the hallway, I kind of want to find out. The moment the final bell rings, the hallways erupt like a prison break.

Bags zip. Lockers slam. Someone's already blasting music from their phone and another kid's yelling about losing a shoe.

I find Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Jihoon by the usual stairwell. Jeonghan's sitting on the ledge like he owns the building. Dokyeom's halfway through a banana. Jihoon's glaring at both of them like he's aged five years since lunch.

"Everyone survive?" I ask as I approach.

"Barely," Jihoon mutters. "I had to stop Jeonghan from starting a fake fire drill."

"It was a tiny flame."

"It was a lighter," Jihoon snaps. "And you tried to pass it off as a 'science experiment.'"

"Art is subjective," Jeonghan shrugs.

Dokyeom claps me on the shoulder. "First day down. Look at you. Thriving."

"Thriving is a stretch," I say, adjusting my backpack. "But I didn't fall down the stairs, so I'll take it."

"Low bar," Jihoon says.

"High success rate," I shoot back.

We fall into our usual rhythm, feet dragging down the sidewalk toward our neighborhood. The sun's dipped lower in the sky, softening everything into gold. The street's quiet, familiar.

"I still can't believe you're actually here," Dokyeom says, smiling. "Like, physically attending our school. Eating our cafeteria food. Existing in the same hallways."

"You say that like I moved across the country and didn't just live ten minutes away."

Jeonghan loops his arms around both mine and Dokyeom's. "It felt like long-distance."

Jihoon walks a few steps ahead, muttering, "She was literally here last weekend."

"Emotionally long-distance," Jeonghan corrects.

"Unbearable," I say dramatically. "I had to spend lunch with strangers for two weeks. Strangers. Who didn't even know about Jihoon's middle school bowl cut."

Dokyeom gasps. "The legend returns."

Jihoon glares over his shoulder. "I will destroy you all."

"Anyway," Jeonghan cuts in, grinning, "now that we're whole again, I propose a welcome-home homework session."

"Which means...?" I raise an eyebrow.

"We invade your house."

"Obviously," Dokyeom grins.

I don't even bother pretending to argue.

We tumble into my house like we own it. Shoes come off, bags hit the floor, and my mom just glances up from the kitchen with a raised brow.

"Living room. No fire hazards this time."

"That was one time!" Jeonghan shouts.

"It was smoke," Dokyeom adds helpfully.

"It was scorched noodles," Jihoon mutters, heading straight to the dining table like this is a business meeting.

I head to the kitchen to grab snacks while Jeonghan and Dokyeom claim the couch like they're royalty returning to their thrones.

As I come back with chips and sodas, I catch Jeonghan elbowing Dokyeom with a smirk.

"Operation Slow-Burn is already underway," he whispers.

"Did you see how he looked at her during lunch?" Dokyeom stage-whispers back. "I thought he was gonna short-circuit."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing!" Jeonghan says brightly. "Love the snacks."

"You're terrible liars."

"We're visionaries," Jeonghan corrects. "There's a difference."

"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

Dokyeom gives me a very unsubtle side-eye. "No thoughts about a certain quiet boy with hoodie sleeves and resting brooding face?"

I throw a chip at him. "You're reading into things."

"Sure," Jeonghan hums. "And he definitely wasn't looking at you like you hang the stars."

"I—" I pause. "He barely said five words to me."

"But he said them with feeling," Dokyeom nods, serious.

"You guys need help."

"You need to admit you're thinking about him," Jeonghan sings.

"I'm thinking about getting through math homework without setting something on fire."

Jihoon, without looking up: "You're all exhausting."

"Thank you for your support," I say.

He gestures with his pencil. "Don't drag me into your weird rom-com subplot."

"It's not a rom-com subplot," I say quickly.

"Uh-huh."

I flop down onto the carpet with a dramatic groan. "Why did I transfer again?"

"Because you missed us," Jeonghan says, already stealing a chip. "And because fate clearly wants you to fall in love with someone who wears the same hoodie every Tuesday."

"I literally just got here."

"Exactly," Dokyeom grins. "Perfect timing."

I groan again, but as I open my notebook, my brain is already replaying the exact way Seungcheol smiled at me in Lit class. Soft. Cautious. Real.

Which is so not helpful. At all.

The house is quiet now. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that only happens after the storm—that specific kind of stillness that lingers after Jeonghan has stopped singing show tunes, Dokyeom has stopped dramatically reenacting hallway drama, and Jihoon has stopped muttering about all of us being incurable idiots.

They left an hour ago, but the energy still lingers in the living room. Empty soda cans on the coffee table. An abandoned sock (Jeonghan's, probably). Jihoon's neatly stacked math notes, which he "accidentally" left behind so I'd study properly.

I clean up on autopilot, the rhythm of it soothing in that "I'm trying not to think about things" kind of way. But of course, the moment my hands aren't busy, my brain betrays me.

Seungcheol. Ugh.

I flop onto my bed, face buried in my pillow. This is ridiculous. We barely spoke. A few jokes. A soft smile. Some hoodie-based banter. That's it. Right? So why did I feel so weird when he looked at me? Not bad weird. Just... noticeable. Like something was shifting and I hadn't caught up to it yet.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I try to convince myself I'm just reacting to the idea Jeonghan and Dokyeom planted in my head.

But still... He was so quiet, but not in a dismissive way. Just careful. Measured. Like he didn't waste words, so when he did speak—when he asked if I was okay, or offered a pen, or actually laughed—it felt... important.

And now my best friends are trying to turn this into a slow-burn romance with plot twists and emotional development and who knows what else. I should tell them to chill. I should also tell myself to chill.

Instead, I reach for my phone. No texts from Seungcheol, obviously. Why would there be?

Just the group chat, where Jeonghan has sent a blurry picture of Jihoon looking like he's contemplating homicide and labeled it: "mood when YN and Cheol lock eyes again tomorrow."

I snort. I hate them.

I also love them.

I send a single middle finger emoji in response and toss my phone aside. Then I get up to get ready for bed.

Shower. Skincare. Pajamas.

I brush my hair out slowly, the silence in my room now soft instead of heavy. Comfortable. I line up my uniform for the next day. Repack my bag. Plug in my phone. When I crawl under the covers, I feel it again—that calm hum in my chest. A flicker of something new.

Hope? Excitement? I'm not sure. But whatever it is... it feels good. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Maybe Jeonghan's right. Perhaps something is happening. Maybe not. Either way... I think I'm okay with finding out.

I wake up before my alarm. Which is disgusting. And uncalled for.

I lie there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling like the main character in a coming-of-age movie. Then I remember: I go to Seoul High now. With my best friends. With a hoodie-wearing boy who may or may not be quietly unraveling every time I look at him.

Cool. Not thinking about that.

I get up, get dressed, pull my hair into something presentable, and head out with my backpack slung over one shoulder. As I step outside, I see Jihoon waiting at the corner of the street, already holding a convenience store coffee and looking like this is the 37th Monday he's endured in a row.

"You're early," I say, blinking.

"You're late," he says, even though I'm literally on time.

"Someone's cranky."

"I'm walking to school with Jeonghan and Dokyeom. Of course I'm cranky."

Right on cue, we hear them before we see them. Jeonghan's singing something dramatic and entirely off-key, and Dokyeom is beatboxing badly in support.

"They've been like this since I left the house," Jihoon mutters.

"God gives his toughest battles to his most sleep-deprived soldiers," I say solemnly.

The boys turn the corner, and Jeonghan gasps like he's seeing me for the first time in years.

"There she is! The girl who haunts our group chat dreams!"

"Hello to you too," I say, rolling my eyes.

"We were just talking about how love can bloom in the quietest corners of a lunch period," Dokyeom says, completely unprovoked.

"Not this again."

"Sweetie," Jeonghan says, linking arms with me. "We're not saying you're in love. We're just saying if this were a drama, yesterday would've been the pilot episode, and the viewers are already emotionally invested."

Jihoon groans and we start walking.

"Anyway," I say casually, "what classes do we all have today?"

"History first for me," Jeonghan says. "Gonna sleep through 70% of it."

"I've got physics," Dokyeom sighs. "Pray for me."

"History," Jihoon mutters. "You too, right?"

I nod. "Yup. And Seungcheol, I think."

There's a subtle pause. Jeonghan smirks and Dokyeom quietly gasps. Jihoon speeds up like he's trying to leave the conversation physically.

"I swear we didn't plan that," Jeonghan says.

"Again, terrible liars."

At School – Before First Period: I'm heading toward History when someone falls into step beside me.

"Morning."

I turn. It's Seungcheol. Same hoodie (black this time), hair slightly damp like he just showered, eyes a little sleepy.

"Oh. Hey," I say, surprised. "Didn't think you were an 'early to school' kind of guy."

He shrugs. "Usually not. Got a ride today."

"From who?"

"Hyung."

He doesn't elaborate.

I nod like that explains something. "You ready to sit through Mr. Ahn's metaphors of doom again?"

"No," he says. "But I brought gum."

I grin. "A man with a plan."

He glances at me, lips twitching. "Want one?"

I blink. "Seriously?"

He offers me the pack like it's no big deal. I take one. Our fingers brush. (It means nothing. I tell myself that twice.)

"Thanks," I say.

He hums in response, and we walk the rest of the way in companionable silence. Not awkward. Just quiet. Safe.

History Class – Partner Work: Mr. Ahn's in rare form today, assigning a group analysis project and giving us exactly two class periods to finish it. "Pick someone near you," he says. "Someone you won't get distracted with."

Naturally, I turn to my right and meet Seungcheol's gaze at the same time he meets mine.

There's a silent moment of agreement.

We pair up again.

"Déjà vu," I say as we pull out our notes.

"You regretting it already?"

"Too soon to tell." He chuckles.

We start reading the passage together, breaking it down. He's sharp. More insightful than he lets on. His handwriting's messier today, and he keeps clicking his pen like it's a nervous habit. He only glances at me three times while I talk.

(Okay, four.)

And every time I catch him doing it, he looks away fast, like he got caught shoplifting. I pretend not to notice.

After Class – In the Hallway: I'm gathering my things when Jeonghan and Dokyeom ambush me like I just won a prize.

"So?" Jeonghan asks.

"How was group project part two?" Dokyeom grins.

"Educational," I say dryly. "About the text. And nothing else."

"Oh please," Jeonghan says. "I saw the gum exchange. Very flirty. Very symbolic."

"He handed me a stick of gum, not his heart."

"Same thing, if you squint."

Jihoon appears out of nowhere and shoves a worksheet into Jeonghan's chest. "This is what you should be focused on."

"Oh god," Jeonghan groans. "Homework? Already? YN, distract him."

"Yeah," Jihoon says. "That's going well."

I make a face. "You guys are insufferable."

And yet, when I glance down the hallway and see Seungcheol turning the corner—

I smile.

After Literature, the day picks up speed. There's a moment between classes where I find myself alone for the first time all day—just me and a hallway full of lockers and too-loud morning announcements. Jeonghan and Dokyeom are in gym. Jihoon had to go to the music room. Seungcheol disappeared like a vapor trail the second class ended.

So, for now, it's just me. And honestly? It's kind of nice.

Third Period – Environmental Science: I slide into a seat near the middle and pull out my notebook. The room smells like pencil shavings and leftover dissection trauma. There's a poster of a polar bear on the wall that looks weirdly judgmental.

A guy drops into the seat next to me a few seconds later. Tall-ish, tousled hair, blazer unbuttoned like a walking dress code violation.

"Hey," he says, friendly. "You're new, right?"

I blink. "Wow. How'd you guess?"

"You still look like you're trying to map out the school in your head."

"I am. I'm also emotionally invested in locating the vending machine that doesn't steal my money."

He grins. "West wing. Third floor. Kinda cursed, but it spits out two sodas if you hit it just right."

I squint. "You're joking."

"Only sometimes. I'm Taeyang, by the way."

"YN."

"Cool name."

"Cool vending machine tip."

He laughs, and the teacher calls class to attention before he can say anything else. We end up as lab partners for the day. He's sharp and surprisingly funny, and he doesn't hesitate to hand me the better pencil when mine breaks again.

It's... easy. Different.

Flirty, maybe?

No. I'm reading into it. Probably.

Fourth Period – Art

Art ends up being the class where I meet two girls who immediately adopt me like I'm their new emotionally damaged project.

"Transfer?" one of them asks, a girl with pink clips in her hair and a neon green pencil case that could double as a weapon.

I nod. "Is it that obvious?"

"You're not slumped over like the rest of us," the other one says, pulling out paintbrushes. "That's how you spot the new blood."

I laugh. "I'll slump soon. Just give me time."

They introduce themselves as Jiwon and Hyejin. We get paired up for the color theory project, and within ten minutes, they've added me to their group chat, offered me half their snacks, and told me everything about the "hallway couples ranking" that apparently exists.

They're weird. I like them immediately.

Halfway through class, Hyejin leans in. "Be honest. Are you dating that tall guy from lunch yesterday?"

"Who?"

"You were sitting across from him. Hoodie. Deep voice. Intense stare. He looked like he'd murder someone if they took the last bread from the cafeteria."

"...Seungcheol?"

"YES."

Jiwon hums. "He doesn't talk to people. And he laughed when you made that ramen joke."

"You were sitting near us?"

"We're professional eavesdroppers," Hyejin says proudly.

"She made him laugh," Jiwon repeats. "That's not normal."

"I'm not dating anyone," I say quickly.

But my face is warm and they notice. Of course they do.

By the time the final bell rings, I'm exhausted—but in a good way. Like I actually survived the day without totally embarrassing myself. I head to my locker, swinging my bag over my shoulder. As I round the corner, I see Taeyang again, leaning against the wall like it's his part-time job.

"Hey," he says when he sees me. "You made it through the cursed vending machine and polar bear judgment class."

"Barely," I say, smiling.

"You walking home?"

I hesitate.

Before I can answer, someone appears just past his shoulder—hands in his pockets, hoodie up.

Seungcheol.

He doesn't say anything at first. Just nods at me.

"You coming?"

It's directed at me. Not rude. Not rushed. Just... expectant. Like he already knows what the answer is.

Taeyang raises an eyebrow but steps aside. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I say. "See you."

I fall into step beside Seungcheol as we head toward the school gate. He doesn't ask about the other guy. Doesn't say much at all. But his shoulders are a little stiffer than usual. And when he hands me a piece of gum again without looking at me? I take it. And I definitely notice the way his fingers linger an extra second this time.

"That guy," he says.

I glance at him. "Huh?"

He nods toward the building. "From earlier. Tall. Wavy hair. He was talking to you.”

Oh.

He means Taeyang.

"Right," I say slowly. "That's Taeyang."

He waits. Like maybe I'll offer more.

I do, eventually. "We had science together today. He's... chill."

"Chill," Seungcheol echoes, like it's a word he's holding up to the light.

I squint at him. "Why?"

"No reason."

There's a silence.

Not awkward. But dense.

He looks straight ahead, jaw tight in that unreadable way that makes me wonder if he's actually annoyed, or just thinking really, really hard.

"You don't like him?" I ask, half-teasing.

"I don't know him," he says. "I just—he looked familiar."

"You mean you were watching?"

He cuts me a look. "No."

I smirk. "You sound a little defensive."

"I'm not."

"You sure?"

He exhales slowly, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "Jeonghan warned me."

I snort. "Okay. That's ominous."

He finally meets my eyes again. "He said you'd be loud. Smart. Kind of a menace."

"Accurate."

"He didn't say anything about the guy with the vending machine tips."

I blink.

And suddenly I get it.

"Oh my god," I say slowly. "Are you asking if I like him?"

His face doesn't change.

But his ears go pink.

"I'm just asking."

"Are you?"

He's quiet for a beat.

Then, without looking at me: "You seem... interested."

I raise an eyebrow. "And that matters to you?"

He freezes. Almost like that question knocked the wind out of him.

Neither of us has spoken for a few moments, but the quiet between us doesn't feel awkward—it feels... new. The kind of silence that makes your heart race a little faster because it feels full of possibilities. I shift on my feet, gripping the strap of my backpack, suddenly very aware of how close he's standing. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I notice the warmth coming off his arm. If I leaned even slightly—

I don't.

Before I can say anything, voices ring across the courtyard. Jeonghan's dramatic tone and Dokyeom's telltale laughter echo toward us, Jihoon's quieter voice not far behind. The rest of our trio. I instinctively take a step back, just a small one. Not because I'm nervous—but because I can already hear the teasing. Sure enough, Jeonghan spots us and throws his arms out like he's discovered something scandalous.

"There you are!" he cries. "Were you two having a dramatic goodbye scene? Did I miss a confession? A single tear?"

Dokyeom gasps, clutching his chest. "They were definitely about to ride off into the sunset."

"We were just talking," I say, trying for casual but not quite managing it. I tug at the strap of my backpack. "Nothing scandalous."

Seungcheol laughs softly beside me, scratching the back of his neck. He looks flustered—but in a good way. A small smile tugs at his lips, and he doesn't move away.

"Just talking, huh?" Jeonghan peers between us, pretending to analyze the situation like a detective. "Then why are both of you blushing?"

"We are not—" I start, but Dokyeom gasps again, exaggerated.

"I knew it," he declares. "Even Jihoon can see the tension."

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. "I see a group of idiots standing in the way of me going home."

That shuts them up for half a second.

Seungcheol steps forward, lightly herding us toward the sidewalk. "Come on," he says, voice warm. "Let's walk."

The teasing simmers but doesn't disappear. Jeonghan throws an arm around my shoulder while Dokyeom hums some made-up theme song behind us. Jihoon trails behind with a dramatic sigh like he's already regretting this friendship.

Eventually, the group shifts and rearranges, and I find myself walking next to Seungcheol again. We're quiet for a few minutes. Our friends are louder ahead of us, bouncing jokes and stories back and forth like it's a game.

I don't mind the quiet. In fact, it feels... easy. Comfortable.

At some point, the group starts to split off—first Jihoon, then Jeonghan and Dokyeom, with parting quips that make me roll my eyes and laugh anyway. And then it's just me and Seungcheol again, heading toward my block under the soft pink-orange glow of sunset.

We slow near my house, and I turn toward him.

"Well," I say lightly, "this is me."

He nods, hands still tucked in his pockets. "Thanks for letting me walk with you."

"Thanks for not letting me get roasted alone," I reply, smiling.

His laugh is soft. "I tried my best."

A breeze picks up, rustling the trees overhead. I tug my hoodie sleeves over my hands and glance at him.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask.

"You better," he says, and the easy way he says it makes my heart skip.

I laugh. "Okay. Goodnight, Seungcheol."

He offers a wave, stepping back a little. "Goodnight, YN."

Just a quiet goodbye, a shared smile, and something lingering in the air—something that feels like the beginning of whatever this is turning into.

The next month is... a lot. In the best, most overwhelming, "how is it still only October?" kind of way.

I start to feel more settled. My locker stops rebelling against me. The cafeteria lady remembers my name (and my love for extra dumplings). I finally master the timing of the vending machines, so I don't end up behind the juniors who take ten years to choose between chips.

I make more friends, too. A few girls from chemistry. A tall kid from art class who speaks exclusively in dramatic metaphors. Taeyang, who seems weirdly dedicated to impressing me.

And I mean dedicated.

Every other day, he's got some new joke or skill to show off.

"You like magic tricks?" "Not particularly." "Too bad. Pick a card."

He's sweet. Harmless. His confidence is... kind of admirable, in a dizzying, secondhand-embarrassment way. But he's not the one I keep looking for across the hallway.

That's still Seungcheol. Or it was, anyway.

Things started off light. Banter. Subtle smiles. The kind of soft teasing that made my stomach flip. But lately... something's changed. He's still kind. Still around. But the playful touches and lingering glances? Gone. Like he flipped a switch.

One day we're laughing about Jihoon's handwriting in homeroom, and the next, he's slipping out early without a word. I can't tell if I did something wrong. If I imagined all of it. And maybe I'd spiral about it more if life didn't hit the accelerate button halfway through the month. Because that's when the transfers arrived.

Sonya. Wonwoo. Mingyu.

Sonya and I clicked instantly—like, soul-twin, "why haven't we met before?" levels of fast. She's sharp, effortlessly cool, and chaotic in all the best ways. The kind of person who could break your heart or braid your hair while texting four people at once. She's already doodled all over my notebooks and claimed the empty seat next to me in nearly every class we have together.

Wonwoo is quiet, unreadable, and low-key the reason Sonya's been wearing lip gloss every day. I caught her once staring at him during physics like he was the main plot and Newton's Laws were filler. She hasn't denied it.

And then there's Mingyu.

He's tall. Stupidly tall. With a smile so dazzling it should come with a warning label. The second he tripped over a desk in the middle of our history class and tried to play it off by finger-gunning the teacher, I felt it—just the tiniest flutter. A tiny, potentially dangerous flutter.

We started talking after class. Nothing big. Just little moments. Laughing at the same memes. Complaining about Mr. Cho's ancient projector. And maybe, just maybe, I started to enjoy seeing him walk through the door a little more than I should've.

Our friend group grows faster than I can keep track of. One minute it's just us—me, Jeonghan, DK, Jihoon, and (sometimes) Seungcheol—and the next, we've absorbed half the school.

Soonyoung (the human equivalent of a triple-shot espresso). Joshua (so nice it's suspicious). Jun and Minghao (from China, both effortlessly cool and too pretty to be real). Vernon (the calm one who quietly says the funniest thing you've ever heard). Chan, who insists we call him Dino and corrects us every single time. And Seungkwan, who could probably emcee the school assembly and a karaoke night back to back.

It's a lot. But it's also kind of magical.

There's something about walking into the courtyard and seeing all of them spread out—laughing, shouting over each other, fighting over snacks—and realizing they're my people now. This is my world. And it's getting bigger, louder, better by the day.

Still, every now and then, I catch Seungcheol watching from the sidelines. Not distant, exactly. Just... unsure. Like he's holding something back. And I don't know if it's because of me. But I miss the way we used to orbit closer. I miss the tension, the teasing. The not-so-subtle "maybe" that hung in the air between us. I don't know what's happening anymore.

Then:

It starts with a pencil.

Not in a cliché, "he lent me his and our fingers brushed" kind of way. No, it's much more embarrassing than that.

I forgot mine during a quiz. And panicked.

Mingyu noticed before I could even fake confidence. He tapped his pencil twice on his desk, then slid it toward me with a little smirk like he was waiting for me to crumble.

"You look like you were about to borrow Jihoon's soul instead," he whispered.

I stared at the pencil, then at him. "You're a lifesaver."

"No worries," he grinned. "But you owe me. Pencil tax."

"What's pencil tax?"

"I'll come up with something dramatic later."

And he did.

Later turned into a boba run after school, "to repay the pencil debt." He insisted on paying anyway, even though I argued it defeated the purpose. "Consider it interest," he said, before handing me my favorite drink—somehow, he remembered. Things like that keep happening.

He finds me at lunch, dropping into the seat across from me like he's always been there. Laughs a little too hard at my jokes. Offers to carry my books between classes. Sometimes I catch him watching me from across the room, and when I glance back, he just grins like I've proven a point he never said out loud.

Sonya teases me constantly now. Elbows me every time Mingyu says something even vaguely flirty. "You like him," she sings once, and I almost launch a shoe at her.

But she's not entirely wrong. There's a tension there. A spark. Something light and new and easy. And it's exciting. Still... it feels different. Not better, not worse. Just different.

Like Mingyu flirts to make me smile—and Seungcheol used to flirt like he couldn't help it.

And lately, Seungcheol's been quieter than ever.

I still catch him around the group. He's still himself, still warm, still steady. But he doesn't sit next to me anymore when there's space. Doesn't say much unless someone asks. There's a distance there now, soft and subtle but noticeable if you're looking. Which I am.

Especially when I see him glance between me and Mingyu and then look away, like something stings and he's pretending it doesn't.

Jeonghan notices, of course. He watches me watch Seungcheol like he's tracking subtext in a romcom and mentally rating our tension out of ten.

Meanwhile, Dokyeom's thriving on the chaos. He makes jokes. "So YN's starting a love triangle? Bold of you this early in the year." He says it with popcorn in hand like he's waiting for someone to make a dramatic confession under the bleachers.

Jihoon, as always, is unimpressed. "It's not a triangle," he mutters one afternoon. "It's a bunch of teenagers too emotionally repressed to talk to each other."

"Beautiful," Jeonghan says. "Poetic. But I'm still taking bets."

I don't say much. Because I don't know how I feel. Mingyu is warm, sweet, and charming. He makes me laugh. He makes it easy. But Seungcheol still lingers in my head—quiet and careful and frustrating in a way that makes me miss him even when we're standing in the same room.

And if I'm honest? I don't know who I want to pull me closer first. But I know I'm waiting for someone to try.

It all comes to a head on a Wednesday.

We're at the table behind the science building, the one our whole group's unofficially claimed as our own. It's shaded, slightly cracked, and only fits half of us comfortably, which means someone's always sitting on the tabletop, legs swinging over the side, or plopped on the ground with a bag as a makeshift pillow.

Today, it's a full house. Joshua's trying to teach Jun and Minghao how to play some card game with far too many rules. Dino's munching chips and yelling "no spoilers!" every time someone even hints at the ending of the movie we're watching this weekend. Seungkwan is explaining, in alarming detail, the ranking of idol survival shows based on emotional damage. It's chaos. Loud and colorful and familiar.

I'm perched on the bench beside Sonya, legs crossed under me, sipping a cold drink she made me try from the corner store. It's too sweet. I love it anyway. Mingyu flops down dramatically across from us, hair ruffled, tie loose around his neck. "Is it hot, or is it just me?"

"It's always just you," Seungkwan mutters.

"It's hot," I say, fanning myself with a worksheet. "Maybe you shouldn't sprint here from PE like the main character in a drama."

"Hey, I make it look good," Mingyu winks.

Sonya leans toward me, whispering out of the side of her mouth, "He's flirting again."

"I know."

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know."

Across the table, Seungcheol's quiet. He's sitting with his elbows on his knees, picking at the label of his water bottle. Not sulking, exactly. But not present, either. He hasn't joined in the conversation, hasn't made a snarky remark in minutes. He only glances up when I laugh at something Mingyu says.

And it's a glance like a paper cut—quick, sharp, barely there, but it stings all the same.

Later, I sit on the edge of the table with Sonya and Jun, dangling my legs while they argue about the worst cafeteria meals. Mingyu comes up behind me and taps my shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Hey, YN. I was wondering—do you wanna study for the bio quiz later? I was gonna hit the library after school."

Before I can answer, I feel eyes on me. I look up instinctively, and sure enough—across the yard, Seungcheol's looking right at us. I freeze. He doesn't. He just holds my gaze for a beat too long, then turns away like nothing happened.

"Uh, maybe," I tell Mingyu. "Let me check my notes. I'll text you."

He beams. "Cool. No pressure."

As he walks away, Sonya nudges me again. "You're torn," she whispers.

"Yeah," I breathe. "I think I am."

Because here's the thing: Mingyu makes me feel wanted. But Seungcheol makes me feel seen.

And lately, I'm starting to realize—those aren't the same thing.

That night, Jeonghan calls me.

"I'm just saying," he starts without so much as a hello, "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You do."

"I really don't."

There's a pause.

Then, softer: "Do you like him?"

I don't answer. Mostly because I don't know how.

Jeonghan sighs. "YN. Look, I'm not trying to rush you. But you gotta figure it out before someone gets hurt."

He doesn't say who. He doesn't have to.

The next day, Seungcheol doesn't sit next to me in class. And I realize it's the first time in weeks he hasn't. Something's shifting. And I have no idea which way it's about to go.

By Friday, I've had enough.

Enough of the tension, the unreadable glances, the way Seungcheol pulls away just when it feels like we're getting close. It's like trying to hold smoke. One second he's warm and steady by my side—the next, he's distant, half-vanished, like I imagined the whole thing.

And I'm tired of waiting. For a look. For a sign. For a maybe. So I make a choice. It starts with a simple yes.

"Yes," I say, turning toward Mingyu in the middle of lunch, interrupting a story about the disastrous time he tried to cook instant noodles without water.

"Yes?"

"To studying," I clarify, smiling. "Today. After school. I'm free."

He grins like I just handed him front-row tickets to his own birthday party. "Really? Nice. I'll even buy you snacks. Brain fuel. My treat."

"Careful," Jeonghan chimes in, not even looking up from his phone. "She has expensive taste."

"She eats hot Cheetos and banana milk like it's a five-star combo," Jihoon deadpans.

"She's consistent," Dokyeom defends, patting my back. "I respect that."

Mingyu laughs, turning back to me. "Whatever you want. I'm just happy you said yes."

It's cute. He's cute.

And when he smiles like that—boyish, soft around the edges—I let myself feel it. The flutter in my chest. The way my cheeks warm just slightly. I let myself feel wanted.

After school, we sit across from each other at the library table closest to the window. Golden light filters through the blinds, striping his notebook and my half-eaten snack bag. He's easy to talk to. Funny. A little clumsy—he drops his pen twice and accidentally elbows his drink across the table—but he makes me laugh in the way that makes your stomach clench and your jaw ache.

We quiz each other until the sun dips low enough that the librarian flips the lights on, and even then, we don't leave right away. We just linger—talking about music, favorite ramen shops, weird childhood dreams.

I don't realize I've been smiling for most of it until Mingyu says, "I like it when you laugh."

"What?"

He shrugs sheepishly. "You laugh like you mean it. Like it takes over your whole face."

And I feel it again—that tiny flutter. Except this time, there's no guilt tethered to it.

"I laugh a lot around you," I say, quiet but honest.

He doesn't say anything. Just reaches out and flicks a crumb from my sleeve with this soft, fond expression that makes something in me shift.

Maybe I'm allowed to like this. Maybe I'm allowed to let it happen.

The following day, I walk into school and find Jeonghan already waiting at my locker like a nosy guardian angel.

"So?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "How was your little study date?"

"It wasn't a date," I say, unlocking my locker.

He gasps. "That means it went well."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile. "It was... nice. Mingyu's nice."

He hums. "Seungcheol's been sulking."

I glance at him sharply. "What?"

He shrugs. "Didn't say anything, but he had That Look on his face when you left with Mingyu. You know the one."

I don't answer. Because I do know the one. And because part of me wants to look back and ask, why didn't he say anything? But I don't.

Instead, I close my locker and say, "Well, I'm done waiting."

And for the first time in weeks, I mean it.

The next few days are a whirlwind. Mingyu finds any excuse to talk to me—passing notes in class, sliding into group conversations with ease, offering me the last choco pie from his lunchbox like it's a rare gem. It's sweet. He's sweet.

After all, Seungcheol has been nothing but quiet glances and half-smiles lately. A ghost of what we almost were, if we were ever anything at all. And I'm not chasing ghosts anymore.

So when Mingyu slings his arm over my shoulders during a group project and leans in a little too close to whisper a joke in my ear—I laugh. Loudly. And I feel Seungcheol's eyes on me across the room. Burning. Brief. Then gone.

It happens again at lunch. Mingyu's sitting beside me, our knees brushing beneath the table, and he's animatedly recounting a story about him and Wonwoo getting chased by a rogue cat outside a convenience store. My head tips back in laughter just as Seungcheol sits down across from us, tray clattering a little louder than necessary.

Dokyeom clocks it immediately. His eyes dart between Seungcheol and me like he's watching a tennis match.

"So," he says loudly, drawing out the word, "how's the new dynamic duo?"

"Us?"

Mingyu flashes that dimpled grin. "We make a good team. YN's the brains, I'm the moral support."

"And the walking disaster," I tease, nudging his knee.

Seungcheol's fork pauses midair.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, hands behind his head, wearing the smuggest grin I've ever seen. "You know, this is fascinating. Really. The romantic tension in this group is going to reach critical mass soon."

"You're not allowed to turn real life into fanfiction," Jihoon says flatly, not looking up from his lunch.

Minghao glances between all of us, brows raised. "Do I want to know?"

"No," Seungcheol mutters, stabbing a piece of kimchi like it insulted him personally.

I glance at him, heart hiccuping at the tension in his jaw. There's something different in his gaze today. Not soft. Not shy. Sharp, almost. And for the first time, I'm the one feeling watched. Later, after lunch, as I'm walking to class with Sonya and Mingyu, I hear footsteps fall into rhythm beside me. Seungcheol.

"Hey," he says, voice low. He's not looking at me, just forward.

"Hey," I echo, unsure.

A pause.

Then, suddenly: "You and Mingyu."

I glance at him. "What about us?"

"Are you...?" He trails off, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "Never mind."

I stop walking. "Cheol."

He stops too, just ahead of me. Turns around slowly. His expression is unreadable. Quiet and conflicted in that Seungcheol way I'm starting to resent a little. The silence stretches until it stings.

"You don't get to ask," I say softly. "Not if you're not going to answer anything yourself."

He swallows. Nods once. "Fair."

Then he walks away. I stay frozen for a moment, heart tight in my chest.

Behind me, Mingyu gently touches my arm. "You okay?"

I turn to him. Smile. "Yeah. Let's go."

Because maybe Seungcheol is finally feeling something. But right now, I want someone who's showing it. And Mingyu's hand brushing mine as we walk says more than Seungcheol ever has.

Over the next week, Mingyu becomes a permanent fixture at my side.

At lunch, he claims the spot next to me before anyone else can. In the hallway, his hand always hovers a little too close to mine. When we're paired for assignments, he grins like he's just won the lottery.

I don't stop him. If anything, I lean in—literally and figuratively.

"YN, are you even listening?" Mingyu nudges me during study hall.

I blink, caught mid-daydream. "Huh?"

He chuckles, tilting his head, his smile doing that devastating thing again. "I was saying if we survive this group project, I owe you bubble tea. But now I'm thinking you owe me one, for enduring your zoning out."

"I was thinking deeply about math, thank you very much."

He raises an eyebrow. "Right. Totally math. Not me."

I roll my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Kim." But my grin gives me away.

After school, he walks me home. Not always—but more often than not. He kicks pebbles down the sidewalk and talks about his dog, his love for horror movies, how he once tried to dye his hair blue and ended up looking like a Smurf. I laugh until my stomach hurts. And I realize—somewhere along the way—I look forward to this. To him.

He's warm, magnetic, easy in a way that makes me want to stay close. And he's not shy about how he feels, either.

"You ever gonna let me take you out?" he asks one evening, casual like it's not the question that's been hanging in the air for days.

I freeze for a heartbeat, startled. "Is that what this has been? You flirting with me to get a date?"

He chuckles. "What gave it away?"

"I don't know... the constant compliments? The boba bribes?"

"Hey," he says, feigning offense, "you never said no to the boba."

I smile. "Maybe I didn't want to."

He slows to a stop, just outside my gate, backpack slung over one shoulder. "So? You gonna let me?"

There's a beat of silence between us. Then I step forward, poking him lightly in the chest. "Only if you let me pay for the second date."

His grin is immediate. "Deal."

Across the street, someone calls his name—Wonwoo, waiting at the corner.

"I'll text you," Mingyu says as he jogs backward, that smile never leaving his face. "Don't ghost me, YN!"

"I won't!" I call, heart thudding in my chest.

And I mean it.

This feels like me choosing myself. Even if, somewhere deep down, part of me wonders what Seungcheol would've done if I hadn't said yes.

It only takes a day for the news to travel.

Okay, maybe not "news" exactly—but in the world of high school hallways and group chats that never sleep, one look at the way Mingyu slings an arm around my shoulder as we walk into school the next morning is enough to set the tone.

"So," Sonya drawls, flopping into her seat beside me in homeroom, "did I miss the memo or are we officially crushing on the tall golden retriever now?"

I open my mouth to deny it—and immediately close it again when Mingyu appears in the doorway and flashes me that sunbeam of a smile.

Sonya follows my gaze. "Aha."

We haven't labeled anything, not really. But when we sit next to each other in class, his knee taps mine like a secret. When we pass each other in the hallway, his fingers find mine for a second longer than necessary. During lunch, he doesn't even ask before dropping his tray next to mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You two are gross," Jeonghan declares one afternoon, after watching Mingyu wipe sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

I snort into my drink. "Says the guy who made Dokyeom recreate a proposal with a bread roll in the cafeteria last week."

"That was performance art," Dokyeom argues, dead serious.

Seungcheol, sitting across from me, says nothing. He's been quieter lately—still around, still part of the group, but the easy rhythm we were building before has shifted. I catch him watching sometimes—his gaze lingering a little too long, his laugh just a beat late. And when Mingyu leans in close to whisper something in my ear, I swear Seungcheol's whole body tenses, just for a second.

Jihoon notices too. I can tell by the way he watches Seungcheol watching me. But he doesn't say anything. Just occasionally shoots me a look across the table like he's silently asking, You good? I am. I think.

Mingyu makes it easy. He's warm and silly, and ridiculously charming in that "trip over his own feet and still land cool" kind of way. He gives me attention without making it feel like pressure. He listens when I ramble about my favorite books, offers to carry my backpack when I'm too tired, and remembers that I like exactly three ice cubes in my iced coffee—not two, not four, three.

We aren't official. But everyone knows So when Mingyu finds me by the vending machine after sixth period and grins, I already know something ridiculous is coming.

"Date idea," he says. "We recreate that scene from Titanic."

"You mean—the boat?"

"No," he says seriously. "The door. We build a raft and test whether both of us could've survived."

I stare at him. "Why are you like this?"

He just shrugs, still grinning. "If we're gonna be iconic, we might as well start now."

I laugh, and his fingers brush mine, soft and deliberate. Behind him, down the hall, I catch Seungcheol standing by his locker. Our eyes meet. And just like that, the breath in my chest wobbles. But Mingyu's hand finds mine again, and the moment passes.

At lunch the next day, Jeonghan pokes me on the side as he plops down beside me. "So... when's the wedding?"

I throw a carrot stick at his head. Dokyeom catches it mid-air and eats it like it's a treat. Jihoon rolls his eyes so hard they practically leave orbit. And across the table, Seungcheol watches me and Mingyu laugh with that unreadable expression again—like he's trying to figure out when exactly everything changed. And maybe—just maybe—he's wondering if it's too late to change it back.

Then, a note. Not a text. Not a DM. A literal folded-up scrap of notebook paper slipped under my water bottle during lunch while I'm deep in conversation with Sonya.

I blink down at it: For YN (a very important human). Do not open until after lunch. This is very serious.

I raise an eyebrow.

Across the table, Mingyu is very busy pretending he isn't watching me. He's focused on peeling the sticker off his banana like it's a bomb he's disarming.

"Did you just—" I start.

"—hmm?" he says innocently, eyes wide. "Banana?"

Sonya leans in. "Girl, open it."

I wait. I do. But the second the lunch bell rings and trays start clattering, I unfold the note. Inside, written in very questionable handwriting and at least two different pen colors:

YN,

This is going to sound cooler in my head than it probably does in real life, but go with me here:

You're one of my favorite people. You're funny and smart and terrifyingly good at making fun of me. You make school days feel like movie scenes. And I like being near you. So I was wondering— Wanna go on a date?

Like a real one. Just me. Just you. No Jeonghan hiding in a tree with binoculars (hopefully). Just us.

I can even promise I won't talk about conspiracy theories or make you taste-test my weird smoothie recipes. (Unless you want to.) Check yes or yes:

[] yes [] also yes — Mingyu

P.S. If this note flopped, pretend I dropped it by accident and never read it. I'll fake a nosebleed and run.

Mingyu is still at the trash can, very slowly and very dramatically throwing away a banana peel like he's buying himself time to pretend this isn't happening.

I stand, and he turns, eyes locking with mine, hopeful and slightly terrified. I hold up the note, shake it once in the air, then grin. "You forgot a box that says obviously."

His jaw drops, and Sonya whoops behind me. Mingyu bolts over like a golden retriever off the leash. "Wait, is that—was that a yes? That's a yes, right?"

I laugh. "Yes, Kim Mingyu. It's a yes." He fist pumps. Loudly. And then, without warning, spins me in a circle like we're in a Disney Channel hallway. We nearly knock over a trash can.

Jihoon—passing by—pauses, blinks, and just mutters, "I hate all of you," before walking off.

That night, I text him:

Where are we going?

He sends back:

Anywhere. But I hear the smoothie place by your house now has a "girlfriend discount."

Me: ...so that's what this was about.

Mingyu: Only partially. Mostly I just like you. Also I need you to tell me if my shirt options are ugly.

The Date: The smoothie shop near my house is a little too on-the-nose. Cute fairy lights strung across the windows, chalkboard specials written in curly letters, and some kind of acoustic cover of "Love Story" playing faintly over the speakers. It feels like it should be cheesy. But with Mingyu bouncing beside me in a denim jacket two sizes too big, it just feels right.

"This is totally not a first date spot," I tease as we step inside.

"Oh, no," he says seriously. "It's way better. I figured, why not take the prettiest girl I know to the ugliest-tasting smoothie bar in Seoul?"

"Wait, the smoothies are bad?"

"Terrible," he grins, eyes crinkling. "But the straws are biodegradable."

We both burst out laughing. We order something purple and suspicious-looking, and Mingyu insists on paying ("They're giving me the loyal customer in love discount," he claims). He grabs the booth in the corner, then proceeds to quiz me on my zombie apocalypse plan, my Hogwarts house, and whether I believe in aliens.

"Your ideal date involves conspiracy theories and doomsday scenarios?" I laugh.

"Only if they end with me holding your hand."

My face burns. He's grinning like a goof and not even trying to be smooth—but that's the thing. It works on me. Everything about him does.

Later, we walk to the nearby park, still sipping from those stupid smoothies and talking about everything from childhood dreams to who we'd pick as our three-person heist team (Mingyu, of course, picks himself three times). And as the sun dips low, casting pink and gold across the sky, Mingyu reaches for my hand. Not in a big, dramatic way. Just a soft brush, fingers curling slowly around mine like he's testing the waters.

I let him. And squeeze back.

The Next Day – Lunch Table Chaos: I barely sit down at our usual lunch table before Sonya blurts, "So? How was it?!"

Dokyeom nearly spills his milk. "Wait—it happened?!"

Jeonghan, of course, is already leaning across the table like an aunt at a family reunion. "Tell us everything. Did he cry? He looks like he'd cry on first dates."

"He did not cry," I laugh, stealing a bite of Sonya's lunch. "But he did try to convince me Bigfoot is a misunderstood forest gentleman."

"I stand by that," Mingyu calls out from the other side, cheeks puffed with rice.

Joshua, wide-eyed and clutching his tray, just hums. "Honestly? I kinda believe that."

"Of course you do," Jihoon mutters, stabbing at his food.

I glance around, still giggling from the whirlwind of voices—and that's when I notice. Seungcheol isn't here. The realization hits me like a wrong note in an otherwise perfect chord. His usual spot, right across from Jihoon, is empty. Untouched lunch tray. Unclaimed seat.

"Where's Cheol?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

Jihoon doesn't look up. "Said he wasn't hungry."

Jeonghan glances at me briefly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he shrugs. "Probably sulking about that gym class dodgeball loss." But he's lying. I can tell.

And when Sonya nudges me under the table and raises her eyebrows, I realize she knows it too.

Mingyu, bless his oblivious heart, just throws an arm over the back of my chair and starts talking about a new movie he wants us to watch together. And I nod and laugh and listen...

But in the corner of my mind, all I can think about is that empty seat—and what it might mean.

Later That Day — After School: The hallway is quieter than usual. Most students have already scattered, and I linger near the lockers, heart thudding just a little faster than normal.

I spot him down the corridor—leaning against the vending machine, hood up, staring blankly at the row of drinks like they personally offended him.

"Hey," I say softly, stepping up beside him.

Seungcheol doesn't look at me right away. He just shoves some coins into the machine and presses a button. "Hey."

I rock back on my heels. "You missed lunch."

"Yeah," he mutters. The bottle thuds into the slot below, and he bends to grab it.

I pause. "You okay?"

He twists the cap off the drink. Shrugs. "Just had stuff to do."

"Right," I nod slowly. "Important vending machine business."

That gets the faintest twitch of his lips—but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"I noticed you didn't say much today." I tilt my head, watching him. "Everything cool between us?"

He finally looks at me. His gaze is steady, a little guarded, but not cold. "You and Mingyu looked pretty happy."

The shift in my stomach is immediate. I blink. "We are," I say carefully. "But that doesn't mean I want... weirdness between us."

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet breath—half laugh, half sigh. "There's no weirdness, YN."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," he says, offering a small smile that looks practiced. "We're good."

But I don't quite believe him. He takes a sip of his drink, and before I can say anything else, he pushes off the vending machine and gives me a gentle nod. "See you tomorrow."

And just like that, he walks off. And it hurts more than I expected.

The Rest of the Week — Group Dynamics Shift: By Tuesday, things settle... sort of.

Mingyu's still walking me to class with his ridiculous grin and carrying my backpack like it's a love declaration. Sonya has become the official president of the Mingyu and YN Defense Squad (self-appointed, naturally). Dokyeom and Jeonghan are insufferable about it, whispering behind their hands every time Mingyu so much as breathes near me.

"Should we start planning the wedding now, or...?" Jeonghan hums, scrolling on his phone.

"I call best man," Dokyeom says immediately.

"You're both banned," I deadpan.

But behind the teasing, I notice the subtle shifts.

Seungcheol still shows up—but he's quieter. Laughs when someone cracks a joke, but it doesn't stick. He doesn't sit next to me anymore. Doesn't meet my eyes as often. Even Jihoon notices.

"You know," he says one afternoon, sitting across from me as we all do homework at the café down the block, "he's not mad at you."

I look up from my notebook. "I never said he was."

"You don't have to," Jihoon says bluntly. "Just saying... he's still figuring out how to be okay."

I glance toward where Seungcheol sits at the far end of the booth, headphones in, nodding along to whatever playlist he's buried in. He looks calm. But I know him well enough now to recognize a performance when I see one.

Still, I can't bring myself to fix it. Not yet. Not when I'm still trying to figure out if I made the right choice—or if this ache in my chest is trying to tell me something I'm not ready to admit.

Thursday Evening – My Room: My curtains are drawn, the soft yellow glow from my desk lamp the only light in the room. The usual clutter—books, my hoodie draped over the chair, a pair of mismatched socks near the bed—makes it feel lived in, but tonight, it just feels... still.

I'm lying on my stomach, chin resting on my crossed arms, while Jihoon sits in the beanbag near the window. He's been here for about an hour, supposedly helping me revise for our bio quiz. But so far, we've gotten through maybe one and a half flashcards.

My head's been elsewhere. And Jihoon knows it.

"Okay," he finally says, flipping the flashcard in his hand without even looking at it. "Spit it out."

"What?"

"You've been sighing like a drama heroine for the past twenty minutes," he deadpans. "What's going on in that overactive brain of yours?"

I let out another sigh for good measure. "It's nothing."

Jihoon levels me with a look. "YN."

I groan and bury my face in my arms. "It's just... everything."

"Be more vague," he says dryly. "I dare you."

I push myself up so I'm sitting cross-legged, fiddling with the string on my sweatpants. "It's Mingyu. And Seungcheol. And me. And the universe, probably."

"That narrows it down."

I toss a pillow at him. He dodges it with a smirk and waits.

"I like Mingyu," I admit quietly. "I really do. He's funny, and sweet, and he makes everything feel easy."

Jihoon nods, not saying anything yet.

"But..." I pause. "There's always a but, isn't there?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Usually."

"It's just—Cheol." My voice dips without meaning to. "He's been pulling away, and I keep wondering if I did something wrong. If... I misread everything from the beginning."

Jihoon leans his head back against the wall, thoughtful. "You didn't misread it."

I look up, surprised. "What?"

"He likes you," Jihoon says simply. "It's obvious. Has been since the second he met you."

"Then why—?"

"Because he's Seungcheol," Jihoon shrugs. "He cares too much and doesn't always know what to do with it."

I chew on my bottom lip, heart heavy. "So now what? I'm dating Mingyu. I chose him. But... sometimes I still catch Seungcheol looking at me like—like he's still hoping."

Jihoon doesn't respond right away. He watches me for a long moment, then finally speaks.

"You don't have to have all the answers right now. But you do have to be honest—with yourself and with them. Especially with Mingyu."

That hits a little too close. I look down, twisting the cardigan sleeve I'm wearing—Seungcheol's cardigan, still folded around me like a comfort I can't let go of.

"I didn't mean for it to get this complicated," I whisper.

"Yeah, well," Jihoon mutters, grabbing a second flashcard. "It's high school. Welcome to the chaos."

I huff a quiet laugh, even as my heart tightens in my chest.

Jihoon's about to say something else when my door creaks open without warning.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything scandalous," Sonya says, poking her head in with a teasing grin. "But someone left the kettle on, and I figured you'd want tea before your existential crisis fully peaks."

"You made tea?"

"Peppermint," she says, stepping into the room and holding out a steaming mug like peace offering. "And don't worry—I added a spoon of honey, because you look like you've been dragged through three emotional monologues and a slow burn romance arc."

Jihoon snorts from his beanbag. "She's halfway through act three, yeah."

"Perfect," Sonya says, settling cross-legged beside me and handing over the mug. "Now spill. What's the verdict? Are we madly in love with Mingyu? Or is the Seungcheol situation still taking up real estate in your head?"

My cheeks burn. "You guys make it sound like I'm living in a soap opera."

"You kind of are," Sonya says, not unkindly. "With less backstabbing and more brooding hallway glances."

"She's not wrong," Jihoon murmurs.

I take a sip of tea, the warmth blooming in my chest like something close to comfort. "It's not that I don't like Mingyu," I say quietly. "I do. He's... everything, really. And I'm happy."

Sonya hums. "But?"

I stare at the rim of my mug. "But sometimes I think about Seungcheol. And not in a what if I picked him instead kind of way, just... in this quiet, sad sort of way. Like we missed something."

Sonya is quiet for a beat. "I think that's allowed," she says finally. "You're not a robot. You're allowed to feel complicated things."

Jihoon sighs like this entire conversation has emotionally aged him ten years. "You should just host a love triangle support group at this point. I'll make snacks."

Sonya grins. "I'll bring tissues."

I laugh, setting the mug on my nightstand. "You guys are the worst."

"But also the best," Sonya says, bumping her shoulder into mine. "And for what it's worth? Mingyu clearly adores you. And Seungcheol... well, let's just say the boy's been looking like a kicked puppy every time you're not around."

"That's an insult to puppies," Jihoon mutters, but he doesn't deny it.

I bury my face in my hands and groan. "This is so messy."

Sonya leans back on her palms, giving me a knowing look. "Yeah. But if anyone's going to make it through high school love geometry without combusting, it's you."

Jihoon lifts his mug in mock toast. "To surviving teenage angst."

I lift mine too. "Barely."

Sonya smiles, clinking her mug against ours. "To the chaos. And to figuring it out."

If you had told me a month ago that I'd start dating Mingyu, spend almost every lunch by his side, walk home with our hands brushing more often than not, and then break up without a single tear or fight—I would've laughed in your face.

But here we are. A month later. Still sitting across from each other at lunch. Still teasing, still bickering like always. The only difference now? There's no flutter in my chest when he smiles. No skipped heartbeat when our shoulders bump. And the same goes for him.

It didn't happen all at once. There wasn't a big moment or a dramatic shift. Just... a series of little ones.

The way our conversations started drifting toward other people. How we started hanging out with the group more than just the two of us. How I stopped overthinking my texts, and he stopped calling me babe and went back to YN without either of us flinching.

And then one night, walking home, we looked at each other and just kind of... laughed.

"This feels weird, right?" he said, tugging at his hoodie strings.

I snorted. "So weird."

He smiled at me. "I think I like you better as my chaos partner."

"Same," I said without missing a beat. "You're a terrible flirt anyway."

"Wow," he gasped, clutching his chest. "And to think I almost let you meet my dog."

"You don't even have a dog."

"I was gonna get one for the bit!"

We broke up right there on the sidewalk—if you can even call it that. No tears. No bitterness. Just two people realizing the thing they were holding onto so carefully wasn't quite the thing they thought it was. And that was okay.

Of course, the group didn't take it quite as smoothly.

"You what?" Jeonghan asked the next morning at lunch, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"We broke up," I said simply, popping a grape into my mouth.

Dokyeom blinked. "Since when?"

"Last night."

"And you're... fine?" Jeonghan asked, narrowing his eyes like he was waiting for the emotional breakdown to surface.

"We're good," Mingyu confirmed, sitting beside me and digging into his sandwich like he hadn't just blown everyone's minds.

Jihoon, across the table, barely looked up from his notes. "Told you it wasn't gonna last," he mumbled, scribbling something in his margins.

"Wow, thanks for the optimism, Ji," I said dryly.

He shrugged. "You're happier now. That's what matters."

Meanwhile, Soonyoung sat frozen, blinking rapidly. "Wait. So you're not together? At all?"

"Nope."

"And there's... no secret pining? No dramatic tension? No hidden love letters?"

Mingyu and I looked at each other and then back at him. "Nope," we said in unison.

Soonyoung slumped dramatically in his seat. "Man, what's the point of even being in high school if we're not living in a K-drama?"

Joshua laughed from down the table. "They're being adults about it. You should try it sometime."

"Never," Soonyoung replied. "I live for the drama."

Mingyu just leaned back, grinning. "Then you're watching the wrong couple."

Everyone's gaze collectively shifted.

And I didn't even have to look to know who they were looking at.

Because the moment that sentence left Mingyu's mouth, I could feel it.

The way Seungcheol went quiet across the courtyard. The way his eyes flicked to me just a second too long. The way Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, and Jihoon sighed like he was already bracing for what came next.

But that? That's another story.

For now, I'm single again. And strangely at peace.

Mingyu and I still share jokes. Sonya's still my right-hand girl. And Seungcheol... well. He's still watching from a distance.

The rest of lunch goes by in a blur of half-listened conversations and forced laughter. Mingyu's still cracking jokes, Sonya's nudging my elbow every time someone mentions anything remotely flirty, and Dokyeom keeps dramatically reenacting his imagined version of our breakup like it was some tragic K-drama finale.

"But what about the line, YN?" he cries, clutching his chest. "The 'I like you better as my chaos partner'—oh my god, it's like Shakespeare in hoodies."

"Please stop," I mutter, hiding my face behind my water bottle.

Seungcheol hasn't said a word.

He's at the end of the table, poking at his rice like it personally offended him, occasionally muttering something to Jihoon or Vernon but otherwise staying quiet. I sneak a glance his way and catch him already looking. He looks away just as fast.

I sigh and peel the wrapper off my snack bar with too much force, the plastic crinkling louder than it should.

He's been like this for weeks now—ever since I started getting closer to Mingyu. No more casual banter, no more half-smiles between classes, no more sarcastic jabs that made my stomach flip for no good reason. He hasn't been rude, exactly. Just... distant. Neutral. Professional, almost. Like we're classmates, not friends. Like we never spent an entire walk home laughing about nothing. Like he never let his hand rest on the small of my back like it meant something. It's driving me insane.

After lunch, I catch up with Sonya while heading to science class.

"Okay," she says, pushing her hair out of her face, "you and Mingyu are good, we've emotionally processed that, blah blah—now can we talk about the fact that someone hasn't looked at you for more than two seconds all week?"

"Which 'someone' are we referring to?" I ask innocently, even though I already know exactly who she means.

Sonya gives me a deadpan look. "Cheol. Your mysterious, broody almost-but-not-quite something."

I snort. "We were never—"

"Oh, save it," she says, waving me off. "I was there when he offered you his cardigan and stood outside your gate like he was auditioning for a romance movie. That's not 'just friends' energy."

I open my mouth, then shut it again. Because she's not wrong.

"I don't get it," I finally say, rounding the corner with her. "He was warm and sweet and borderline flirty for a solid two weeks. Then I start talking to someone else and he ghosts me emotionally. Like, what is that?"

"He likes you," she says easily. "And he's sulking."

"That's not how you handle your feelings."

"It is when you're a teenage boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon," she says, dead serious. "Give him time. Or don't. You could always call him out and see what happens."

I hesitate. "That feels... risky."

Sonya shrugs. "So is every good story. But for now, we let him simmer in his mysteriousness. Come on. Mr. Lee's class awaits."

We slide into our seats just as the bell rings. I try to focus on the whiteboard, the lesson, anything that isn't the brooding figure two rows behind me who won't even breathe in my direction. But I can feel it—the way the air changes when he shifts, the tension rolling off of him like a silent tide.

He's not mad. But he's definitely something. And for the first time in weeks, I realize: I want to know what it is.

The courtyard is quiet. Golden sunlight spills across the cracked pavement as the last few students filter out of the gates, voices trailing behind them until they're swallowed by the street noise beyond. I should be heading home. I know that. But I linger by the gate, backpack strap gripped tight in one hand. I had told the others I'd wait for them—Jeonghan, Jihoon, DK—but somewhere between my last class and the front gate, I changed my mind. I wanted space.

"Hey," a voice says behind me. Familiar. Soft.

I don't turn around immediately, but I already know who it is. Seungcheol. He approaches slowly, like he's not sure he has the right to. Maybe he doesn't.

"You waiting for the guys?" he asks, tentative.

I shake my head. "Decided to walk home alone today."

He stops a few steps from me. "Oh."

I don't say anything. I shift my weight, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead like it might open up and swallow me whole.

There's a long pause. The kind that makes you feel every second pressing down on your chest.

"I wasn't sure if you'd talk to me," he says eventually.

I glance over at him, just enough to meet his eyes. "I'm still not sure I want to."

His face tightens, just a little, like he expected it but still hoped for something else. "Fair."

I start walking. Not fast, just enough to signal that I'm not interested in standing still. He hesitates for a second, then follows beside me, matching my pace.

We walk in silence for a block. A cool breeze kicks up, rustling the trees above. I don't look at him, and he doesn't push.

Then, finally: "I owe you an apology."

I stay quiet. He continues anyway.

"I should've said something. Should've explained why I pulled back. But I didn't. I just... left you hanging."

I stop walking. He stops too. I turn toward him. "Yeah. You did."

The air shifts between us, heavier now.

"I got jealous," he admits, voice low. "That's not an excuse, but... it's the truth. I didn't know how to deal with it. Seeing you and Mingyu—he's easy to like. He makes you laugh. You looked happy, and I thought maybe that was better for you. Safer."

I blink at him, stunned—not by the words themselves, but by the nerve of him saying them now, like we could just pick up where he left me.

"You ghosted me because you were jealous?" I repeat, disbelief threading into my tone.

"I didn't mean to—"

"But you did." My voice is soft, but it doesn't waver. "You disappeared. You didn't check in. You didn't say a thing. Not even when everything felt like it was falling apart."

He looks like he wants to reach for me, to close the space between us, but he doesn't.

"I'm sorry," he says again, quieter this time. "I really am."

"I'm not saying I don't care," I say, biting the inside of my cheek. "Because I do. That's what makes this worse. You were my friend, Cheol. You mattered to me. And you just... vanished."

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. The streetlamp above us flickers, casting long shadows that dance at our feet.

"I get it," he finally says. "I messed up."

I nod once, slow and deliberate. "Yeah. You did."

Another pause.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right now," he says. "I just... needed you to know. I never stopped wanting to be around you. I just got scared. And stupid."

I close my eyes for a beat, then take a breath. When I open them, I meet his gaze squarely.

"I need time, Seungcheol."

"Okay."

"I don't hate you. But I'm still hurt. And I don't want to pretend like that didn't happen just because it's easier now."

"I'm not asking you to," he says gently. "Take all the time you need."

I nod, hugging my arms around myself.

"I'll head home from here," I say, already taking a step back toward my side street. "I just want to walk the rest of the way alone."

He gives a short, understanding nod. "Okay."

"Goodnight, Seungcheol."

"Goodnight, YN."

And just like that, I turn and walk away. Not angry. Not broken. Just tired—and healing.

The morning sun barely filters through the half-drawn blinds when I settle into my seat for first period. The classroom buzzes with the usual energy—shuffling bags, chairs dragging across tile, someone in the back already cracking dumb jokes—but it all feels muted to me. Distant.

I rest my chin on my hand and let my eyes wander to the window. The teacher walks in and starts reviewing the homework, but the words blur around the edges. I manage to scribble down a few things, but I can feel it—everyone else is moving forward, laughing, chatting, doing normal high school things, and I'm stuck.

It's not that I want to mope. I hate being that person. But after last night—after Seungcheol's awkward half-confession and my own barely stitched-together response—I don't exactly feel like myself. The whole walk home played in my head like a loop I couldn't escape. The way he said it was jealousy. The way I had to shut it down.

"YN," the teacher calls, snapping me out of my daze. "Can you read question five?"

"Uh—yeah. Sorry." I fumble with my textbook, cheeks warm, and read the question aloud, trying to focus. But it's hard when I can feel the eyes on me.

Sonya leans over as soon as we're dismissed for group work, her voice hushed. "You good?"

I nod, too quickly. "Yeah. Just tired."

She doesn't push, just shoots me a look that says she doesn't believe me but will wait. That's the thing about her—she always waits. By the time lunch rolls around, I already know I'm not going. I shove my bento back into my bag and make a beeline for the music room instead. It's usually empty during this time, the piano tucked in the corner and sunlight pouring in through the tall windows. Peaceful. Quiet.

I slide into the back row and pull out my sketchbook, pretending to doodle while my thoughts swirl. Somewhere down the hall, I hear laughter—the kind that belongs to Jeonghan and Dokyeom, probably arguing about who forgot to grab snacks for the table. I imagine Jihoon rolling his eyes. I imagine Seungcheol sitting there too, pretending not to notice I'm missing.

But I hope he does. Because maybe if he notices I'm gone, he'll realize how much he made me feel like I wasn't worth staying for. And maybe, just maybe... he'll finally do something about it.

────────────────

back | masterlist | next

[thescarletnargacuga]

TOY BOX

A BUTTONBLOSSOM/RAGAPOM/JESTERDOLL ONESHOT

A/N: I don't know which ship name is the most common, so I'm using all of them lol I may or may not have been drinking while writing this...

WARNING: none

~~~

"Today's adventure is THE TERRIFIC TREASURE TAKEAWAY!" Caine introduced his adventure of the day with the usual display of flare, completely oblivious to the reactions of the unimpressed six in front of him. "You're going on a scavenger hunt! It'll be three teams of two searching the grand Museum for TREASURES! Avoid security! Or they lock you up and your teammate has to get you out! If both of you are caught, you're out of the game! The last team standing, or the team with the most treasures at the end of the time limit, wins!"

Pomni spoke to Ragatha out of the side of her mouth. "Do the adventure titles always have to be illiterate?"

"No." Ragatha covered her mouth and whispered back. "I think that's just a Caine thing."

"Three teams? We ALL have to participate?" Zooble groaned.

"The game is more fun than way! Come on, Zooble! Don't you want to play a game with your friends?" Caine was practically begging. He could not force them to play if they absolutely did not want to, but he REALLY needed an even number of people for the game to work properly.

Zooble rolled their eyes and turned to leave, but then overheard Jax.

"Looks like Zooble is going to be as boring as always. Come on Gangle, you're my partner."

Zooble stopped and turned on their heels. They marched to Jax and shoved him away from Gangle. They crossed their arms and didn't move when Jax got back up and glared.

"Fine. I didn't really want to be stuck dealing with her whining anyway." Jax huffed and stretched his arm out to grab Kinger by the scruff of his robe. "Kinger and I got this."

"Hey, Pomni. Would you like to be my partner? ...for the game! The game." Ragatha awkwardly felt like she needed to clarify.

"Oh! Uhhh, yeah, sure." Pomni was glad Ragatha asked first.

"EXCELLENT!! I do love full party participation!" Caine snapped and a colorful portal opened. "Good luck everyone!"

The group walked through and found themselves in the grand main hall of an enormous museum. Around them the main hall separated into three wings and had three floors. Above them hung a banner that read WELCOME TO ESCHER'S MUSEUM OF ODDITIES. A full T-Rex fossil was having tea with a wax figure of Abraham Lincoln on a display in the center of the room. Various random items were in display cases, many of them only vaguely resembling artifacts and art pieces.

Pomni nervously looks around. "Uh, any ideas as to what these TREASURES look like?"

"No clue. I'm more worried about this SECURITY Caine was talking about. His ideas of enforcement came be a bit...scary. BUT we won't know until we try taking something." Ragatha tapped the glass around a weird mask looking object.

"...it just occurred to me that Caine has literally sent us to rob a museum." Pomni thought out loud as she backed up against a wall, feeling exposed in the large liminal space.

"This is supposed to be a competition right? Outta my way!" Jax pushed Ragatha aside, into Pomni.

Ragatha braced herself against the wall, arm on either side of Pomni.

Pomni flushed, seeing Ragatha up close and personal always made her heart flutter but they've never been this close. She stared up into Ragatha's smiling, apologetic face. Her one eye soft on her.

"Hey..." Ragatha giggled.

"...hey." Pomni delayed in answering, but managed a smile.

Neither of them moved. They just stood their. Awkwardly. Neither wanting to tell the other to move, because what if that was rude?

Jax yeeted the glass case Ragatha had tapped and grabbed the mask. It turned into a cloud of sparkles and a +1 popped up before disappearing. "Ha! I knew it! The WHOLE museum is up for grabs!" He jumped on the platform with the dino and president tea display and tried removing Abe's head.

The whole room went red. INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT!

"Oh noooo..." Gangle whimpered.

Massive drones came out of the walls and flew towards Jax. "Oop, time to go." He bugs bunny-ed his ass out the room as fast as he could, three drones on his heels. One drone shot a laser at Kinger and he disappeared. The girls screamed.

"Come on!" Pomni took Ragatha by the hand and ran. The maze like layout of the museum discombobulated those who could get away. Lefts was right, down was up. Every door hit a stairwell and every stairwell looped in on itself. At one point, they were on the ceiling. "What kind of place IS this!?"

Ragatha tried to keep up but Pomni was practically dragging her. "Pomni! The stai-" She tripped, fell over apomni and they both rolled and bounced down a countless flight of stairs. Ragatha wrapped her body around Pomni in an attempt to protect her from the fall, even though it felt like rolling down a bouncy castle.

They eventually stopped when they slammed through a closed door.

Ragatha still had a hold of Pomni, they laid side by side. "Are you alright?"

"Uhhhhh....I think so." Pomni had dizzy swirls in her eyes.

Ragatha couldn't help but snicker. It was a funny look on Pomni. "Good. Because that was actually kind of fun."

Pomni shook the swirls away. "Seriously? Falling down the stairs is your idea of fun?"

"Oh, well, no, not real stairs but it was...uh...never mind. I'm just glad you're okay." Ragatha let go and they both got up.

They saw no way out other than the door they knocked off its hinges. Colorful tiles covered the floor, small tables sat in neat little rows, and there was a large play area.

"Where are we?" Pomni asked, looking around.

"I don't know. A classroom?"

"This place doesn't make any sense."

"It wouldn't be one of Caine's creations if it did." Ragatha said with an irey lilt in her voice. "In fact, this actually isn't the weirdest place I've ever seen. I wouldn't even put it in the top five."

Pomni gaped. "Say what?"

"Yeah, you weren't here for the time he tried to make us all fly like him and Jax ended up on the underside of the sun."

Pomni smiled. "He did?"

"Oh yeah, he had to tap dance the heat off his feet until Caine figured out how to turn gravity back on. Took like an hour."

Pomni started to laugh. "It took him THAT long?"

Ragatha laughed with her. "Yeah! If you ask me, I think he did it on purpose." She loved hearing Pomni laugh, it was so rare.

"Wait, so is that the weirdest?"

"Oh, no. The absolute weirdest had to be Derby Day." Ragatha leaned against an oversized toy box. "Derby Day was when Gangle had to-"

The toy box opened, swallowed Ragatha whole, then slammed shut.

"Ah! Ragatha!" Pomni went to open the box and she too was magically pulled inside. She fell and fell and fell into an endless pit of vibrate color. Ragatha was just below her. "Ragatha!!"

"Pomni!!" She cried out as she tumbled through the air.

Pomni streamlined herself to fall faster and caught up with Ragatha. She tried to get Ragatha's hand but the ragdoll was living up to her namesake and accidentally kicked Pomni in the face. They both spun and free fell into a pile of pillows. They laid there for moment to collect themselves.

"What. The actual. [%$!#]." Pomni mumbled into a plush pillow.

"I take it back. This IS really weird." Ragatha moaned.

"...top five?"

"Top three."

Pomni sat up and didn't bother checking her new surroundings. It didn't matter where they were, they'd probably end up somewhere else in a minute anyway. Ragatha rolled over and stared at the new sky. She couldn't see the top, it was an abyss of kaleidoscopic color. "You know...for all the weirdness...I am grateful for one thing."

"What's that?"

"You."

Pomni jerked her head up. "What?"

"Yeah... I'm probably saying this because it doesn't matter if I do... But I enjoy your company."

"Oh...I...I didn't think anyone would. I'm not exactly...fun. And don't say you don't matter. If there's one thing in this digital scape, that actually does matter, it's our feelings. It's what makes us human." Pomni rolled over to join Ragatha looking at the weird sky. "A-and you've been wonderful to be around, too. I'm sorry I don't really say it. I tend to get lost in my own head."

"I understand. This place will do that to you." Ragatha paused, considering if she should say what she wanted to say next. "I'm... Grateful for one other thing today."

"What's that?"

"I got to hug you."

Pomni turned her head to Ragatha. They smiled at each other.

Ragatha continued. "I- I know you're not the biggest fan of touch so...the fact that you didn't freak out after we fell down the stairs-"

"Ragatha, I wouldn't freak out on you. Not for that. Sure, touch isn't really my thing but...I make a small exception for you."

"Would it be okay...if we hugged again?" Ragatha asked with a deep blush across her cheeks.

Pomni scooted closer. "Yeah."

They locked into a warm embrace. It was the most human thing either one of them had felt in a long time. Pomni felt anchored, her mind focused on only the here and now. No what ifs and maybes. It was bliss.

Ragatha felt a sense of comfort and connection that she thought she'd never get to feel again. In this place...it was getting hard to feel anything but melancholy.

As they hugged the pillows shifted. They tried to get up but they both slipped in the surface vertically against one another. It was like falling into quicksand.

"Great....were are we going now?" Pomni held on around Ragatha's neck.

"I don't know, but we're going together. That's all that matters to me." Ragatha held tight as they sunk further and further into the unknown.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - a shocking upset to the rankings

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Nov 2023 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) ep 5 of 8 - It remains absolutely delightful. We already knew this pair does boyfriends damn near perfectly. It’s a pleasure to watch them as a couple, coupling all over our screen. The relationship does feel a bit rushed but frankly I like the pacing, it’s kind of Korean style which makes sense considering the original IP. 

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 1 of 10 - You know what this is? It’s FUN is what it is. I haven’t felt this way about a BL in a while. Sure is has an uneven story, fight sequences, pacing, and acting but still… yay! Billy is great, he very good at thirst. It’s a crime Lee Long Shi isn’t in this, but otherwise weeeeeeeeee!

(Also was that Bangsean I spotted?)

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 3 of 12 - The montage of them learning and training together was so stinking cute I can hardly contain myself. Plus a little language play? (Did you catch the added “na” on to thank you? Gah! So sweet.) Have mercy. I love the banter that these two can execute so smoothly. It reminds me the most of TayNew back in their Kiss days. Or Nanon & Ohm in Bad Buddy.

There’s this breezy casualness to friendships and long-term relationships that Asian BLs seem to find really hard to execute (I’m thinking about something like Hospital Playlist as the best example). It’s more a friend chemistry than a lover chemistry, although of course it can morph into that.

Anyway, I am waffling, but I’m loving this show. (The bit with the teacher made me cry.) I also really love how much actual Bangkok we’re getting from it for a change. 

Finally... how much did @respectthepetty and I love the pink milk shirt moment? SO MUCH. Color theory, plot devise, fashion, food, and a trope reference all in one. Well done GMMTV! Very well done.

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 4 of 10 - I would like it if we got onto the BL section of this BL. Please and thank you. 

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 2 of 14 - it's delightfully trashy, btu slightly less trashy than last week because they introduced AlanJeff who are my new babies of age gap delight and you cannot have them. THEY ARE MINE. Also Way. WAY IS MINE. Also, I decided to do a trash watch.

Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 1 of 6 - It’s nice. It’s fine. Atmospheric and pretty and full of deserts. What’s not to love? Is it inspired? No. Definitely has an Antique Bakery (play it again, BL). But I do love food based cinema. 

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 3 of 8 - What’s annoying is that this could’ve been so good. It’s a poster child for squandered potential. 

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - Because of the temporal paradox, and Thai BL not being all that great on narrative consistency anyway, this is a confusing piece as well as a painful one. Now Ongsa seems to be nothing more than a stalker who cries all the time. 

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 2 of 14(!) eps - This really feels like Thailand is trying to relive the gory days of Japan's pinks. I wasn’t into it then and I’m certainly not into it now. It’s a mess and weirdly mechanically not sexy. I’ll stay watching it but, like Only Friends, I don’t think I’m gonna warm to it. I just don’t like shows where there are no likable characters. 

Also imma say it, so plug your assears. This is about as deep as a dildo can go. Which is to say, the size queens seem to be finding it more deep than the rest of us who are already bottoming out. Just make sure you're taking adequate lube prep with your psyches.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Friends Forever ep 14 of 24 - No thank you. 1/10 

I've decided, for spreadsheet reasons, that each of these is going to be tracked as its own 2 part show.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

A Breeze of Love (Korea iQIYI) eps 5-6 of 8 - The shopping together scene was absolutely darling. But I’m getting a little frustrated not knowing exactly what happened in the past.

VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 1-2 of 10 - Of course it starts with the crash into me trope, oh Taiwan. It’s cute enough, I love the support cast, and it’s always nice to have something from my favorite tiny island on my dash. 

You tell me: is it safe?

One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) 6 eps - This one finished. It's an adaptation of Harada’s manga (which I did not like and dnf'd) about a clerk who nearly dies and ends up cohabitating with an angel. Thoughts? Is it sad? Is it meh? TELL ME!

It's Airing But...

The Whisperer (Sun ????) 1 of 10 - Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). He has dimples (My Ride) but I don't think even that gives me the will. You can tell me how this goes if you can find it.

SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 14 eps - I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all) even one featuring Singto and Fluke. I'm holding off. If told it's good, I'll binge.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk. Adapted from y-novel of the same name, directed by Tu (180 Degree) stars Jet (Why You… Y Me?). Giving me Luminous Solution vibes, so I'm waiting to binge if told it's safe.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed with ep one. Waiting to be told if I should bother.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.

In case you missed it

I posted 20 BLs with the BEST Thirst! and decided to distinguish the different type son need in BL as follows:

Thirst wants to slide a hand under his waistband right tf now and grind.

Horny wants to rip his clothes off, and probably pop buttons and laugh about it.

Yearning wants to run both hands up his back while they kiss deeply.

Hunger wants to lift him by the ass and slam him against the wall.

Next Week Looks Like This

(Today) 11/26 Cooking Crush (Sun YT) 1 of 12 - OffGun are back, trailer here. Adapted from the novel “Love Course! เสื้อกาวน์รุกเสื้อกุ๊กรับ” by iJune4S this is about Prem who runs a not-so-popular restaurant with 2 friends. About to go on a cooking competition with a huge reward, Prem gets involved with Ten, a stressed-out med student who wants Prem to teach him to cook.

11/30 For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 1 of 10 - high heat trailer From the people who brought us Unforgotten Night (please no) based on a y-novel, man nursing a heartbreak has a one-night stand, but the other boy didn't want it to end. It looks terribly trashy so I'm in!

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Look at how gd cute they are!

Ah yes... (both Last Twilight)

We stan a supportive bestie/brother (orphans together? - not sure on the backstory)

It is a rule universally aknowledged that an cutie in a baceball cap must get his brim tweaked. (all from The Sign)

Way is the best.

I kinda love the BTS for Pit Babe.

(Last week)

[thelurkershideout]

summerfest day 3!

ghost or hungry

Notes: I don't think this one needs warnings. This one was full of experiments for me I hope it works. I love these characters so much but I struggle to write them. Hope you like angst!

Brynjolf let out a deep sigh as he stepped from the silent Cistern into the rabble of the Flagon. It had been a while since he'd seen it this busy. Seemed like everyone in the Guild's fortunes were turning. Even if Mercer refused to see it.

He settled at the bar, sitting sideways to watch the card game at one of the nearby tables. It was good to see everyone enjoying these brighter days.

“I hear you're a Bard.” Thrynn’s voice cut through the noise, drawing his attention to the small table at the far end of the wooden platform that made up the majority of the tavern. Thrynn leaned across it, the tankard in his hand titled precariously as he tried to get Fjora to meet his eyes. She sat curled up on the chair, her knees serving as a support for the notebook she was writing in. She didn't look up.

“I was.”

“Never had a Bard in the Flagon.” His voice raised slightly. “Know any good drinking songs?”

“Not my specialty, and you seem to be doing just fine without one.”

Thrynn let out an obnoxiously loud and exaggerated laugh.

“Come on new blood! Give us a song!” He looked to the nearby tables for anyone to support his call for entertainment. Aside from Brynjolf, few seemed to notice.

“I don't perform for free.” Fjora’s writing stopped, “not that you could afford it anyway.”

“Are you that good?”

“The Jarl of Solitude wanted me to play at all her Palace events.”

“Oh, well look at fancy little –”

“Fjora!” Tonilia emerged from a back room holding what appeared to be some kind of bundle of cloth.

“I need your expertise.” She said, pushing past the busy tables towards them. Brynjolf, stifled a laugh in his drink as she nearly smacked her mysterious bundle against Viper's head.

“My expertise? You must be desperate,” Fjora looked up as Tonilia jostled Thrynn away from the table to place the parcel down. She quickly undid the twine holding it together, and began unwrapping it.

“Some meathead brought this to me last night,” the shine of green lacquer caught the candlelight. “He claimed it was one of a kind”

A beautiful green and gold lute sat on the table between the two women.

“How much did you pay for this?” Fjora stood, her gray eyes wide.

“How much is it worth?”

Fjora lifted the lute from the table. Turning it over in her hands she examined every inch of it. Running her hands along the neck. Gently strumming and tuning the strings. Thoroughly inspecting the decorative carvings. Her careful ministrations had begun to attract the attention of her fellow thieves.

“Well?” 

“First of all, every lute is one of a kind. Even two lutes made to be as identical as possible have differences, simply by virtue of being hand made.” She turned the lute over in her hands again.

“This one was made in Cyrodiil, it's a fairly common style.”

“So it's not worth the 600 gold I paid?”

“The paint color is a bit unusual. It doesn't seem to have ever been played. Pitty, the resonance of the wood is ex–”

“I don't care about the damn things life story, I want to know how much it's worth!”

“The most basic lute you could ever buy is typically 500 gold.” She ran her fingers across the swirls of golden vines. “The College operates on a system where you use the money you earn during your student performances to pay to keep the one provided to you.”

Brynjolf could see the frustration and irritation building in Tonilia’s eyes.

“This lute was probably intended to be a display piece, but would only fool someone who didn't know what they were looking at. It's a simple style dressed up with pretty paint. Its original buyer probably spent around 1000 on it, if the maker knew how to sell.”

Tonilia let out a sigh of relief, and sank into one of the chairs at the table.

“So I didn't waste my money.”

“I'll give you 700 for it right now.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the lute.

“What!? You just said it was worth 1000!”

“I said the original buyer might have spent 1000. The instrument itself probably would have sold for 600 with a more simple paint job, and you won't find anyone willing to pay full price for a preowned instrument.” She smiled at Tonilia. “I would be doing you a favor.”

It seemed like the entire Flagon had become invested in this exchange.

“900.”

“750.” 

“850.”

“800, final offer.”

“Deal.”

The Flagon rumbled back to life as the two women exchanged coin, and continued to talk over drinks. Paid for by Tonilia, Brynjolf noted. The lute never left Fjora's hands. She continued turning it over, and fiddling with the strings as the evening went on. Slowly, people started to stumble off to bed. 

The first few notes sounded like rain. Brynjolf was drawn back to Fjora, sitting alone. He watched as her fingers seemed to dance along the strings. A strange familiar sadness eased into him, like it was sinking into a comfortable chair. 

I've heard some of the locals call her ‘the gray child.’ The voice of a dead man whispered from the depths of his memories. She clings to the corners of rooms. The Flagon seemed so empty. She won't talk to us, maybe she'll talk to you. The song's swell felt like it was going to rip his heart from his chest. I want to know what she knows.

A little girl with wide gray eyes; sitting alone, under the docks. That's your first job.

The song ended. The Flagon stayed silent. Brynjolf finished his drink.

“I thought you didn't perform for free?” Thrynn plopped himself down across from her. Fjora stood, gathering up her notebook and lute. Had her cheeks been red the whole time? Was it the drinks or him? 

“You alright Bryn?” The bouncer's large hand slapped against his shoulder. Brynjolf nearly dropped his tankard. 

“I'm fine.”

“You look like you just saw a ghost.” He turned his head following Brynjolf’s gaze, as Fjora brushed past them.

“I'm fine, Dirge. Just turning in for the night.”

[zoobus]

I'm not normally a victim of FOMO tactics, nor do I usually let being late to the party stop me from chatting about a piece of media but I'm genuinely sad I didn't get into Obey Me/Nightbringer earlier. It makes me want to write a million essays but the disposable and decentralized nature of gacha kind of makes it feel like you missed your chance to talk about it. I keep coming across years old, unrepliable comments that I want to jump on sooo bad but I can't because the moment is gone and most of these people have likely moved on to less overtly money-hungry games.

Which sucks! because one essay I want to write in particular is how this game is extremely skilled in arousing your desire to create, to actively engage with the characters and worldbuilding, to do fandom shit, and I find this enormously fascinating in itself. The story isn't good but to a certain extent, it's not supposed to be; it functions as an elaborate set of writing/art/rp prompts for its audience to expand on and tailor to their needs.

And I think Obey Me does this well! Amazingly well. I find discussion of narrative structure fascinating, the study of how we define writing as effective, good, or as failures, so I'm drawn to this story full of contradicting lore, one-note characters, and half-finished plots. The story isn't good but that hardly matters because it's not here to be a good story; it's here to throw you into imagination boot camp. It compels you to speculate what it could be, what this character could be, what a slightly different tone would look like, what other people think about it. It feels distinct from the average popular show fandoms where, to an extent, creators congregate simply because that's where the people are. Creating for your own sake is nice and all but validation is usually a stronger force. Usually.

I keep coming across old high effort researched posts about abrahamic religions and occultism from fans setting themselves up for inevitable disappointment. I keep coming across creators leaving notes on their work like "I haven't written a thing in ten years, but,". I keep losing it over heartfelt posts defending x and y canon story decisions with their whole chest, oblivious to the fact that they're misremembering their personal tweaks/headcanons as what happened in the game, like it's seriously so cute when they're so passionate and completely wrong.

I have no idea if fandom actually plays a role in the lucrativeness of a franchise (though as a personal anecdote, I 100% started Obey Me after a single piece of horny Mammon fanart crossed my dash), but it makes more sense to me now, less a projection of wishful/haterful thinking from those with strong opinions about Fandom. Maybe it really does matter.

---

Other essays I missed the boat on:

A Casino Right in Your Home: goddamn is the pre/sequel's gacha obscene

Satan: how to put a mid character into S-tier with one simple trick (make him insane)

Sorry Belphie defenders but you're imagining a better psycho than you were given

Solmare added a shiny new rhythm game but didn't fix the now four year old coloring error on Levi's hands lmfaooo the disrespect is crazy

Remember when you saw the Nightbringer trailer of them glaring in bdsm gear with freshly blackened wings, and you thought "ah, so this takes place right after they fought god and lost. After they went to war to protect their sister only for her to die anyway. After one brother in particular saves someone, but not her, the focal point of the war. They will finally take these to their logical, guilt despair rage pain and grudge filled ends." And you were correct until that very last sentence? lol

Remember when the Ruri-chan event gave you the option to tell Levi you're not cheating on him and then the rest of the event was just making out with his brothers? Then it ends with you kissing him in front of them? Bring that energy back!!!

[dancersmemeblog]

Taylor Swift The Tortured Poets Department + The Anthology Sentence Starters

Tracks 1-4

"All of this to say, I hope you're okay but you're the reason."

"I love you, it's ruining my life."

"I touched you for only a fortnight."

"Move to Florida, buy the car you want."

"Who uses typewriters anyway?"

"You're in self sabotage mode."

"Who's gonna hold you like me?"

"Sometimes I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me."

"Oh here we go again."

"Cause it fit too right, puzzle pieces in the dead of night."

"I know I'm just repeating myself."

"Told me I'm better off, but I'm not."

"For a moment I knew cosmic love."

"Now I'm down bad, crying at the gym."

"How dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded."

"Cause fuck it I was in love, so fuck you if I can't have us."

Tracks 5-8

"My spine split from carrying us up the hill."

"Every breath feels like rarest air."

"You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days."

"I'm just getting color back into my face."

"I just learned these people try and save you cause they hate you."

"No I'm not coming to my senses."

"I don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing."

"God save the most judgemental creeps."

"Now pretty baby I'm running back home to you."

"He/she/they don't understand me."

"But it's gonna be alright, I did my time."

"Swirled you into all of my poems."

"They said I was a cheat, I guess it must be true."

"This city reeks of driving myself crazy."

"Well me and my ghosts we had a hell of a time."

"Fuck me up, Florida."

Tracks 8-12

"This cage was once just fine, am I allowed to cry?"

"How can I be guilty as sin?"

"What if I roll the stone away, they're gonna crucify me anyway."

"I choose you and me, religiously."

"You don't get to tell me about sad."

"Who's afraid of little old me? You should be."

"You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me."

"I'll sue you if you step on my lawn."

"But your good lord doesn't need to lift a finger."

"I can fix him/her/them, no really I can."

"Come close, I'll show you heaven."

"Whoa maybe I can't."

"We were just kids babe."

"You and I go from one kiss to getting married."

"I wish I could unrecall how we almost had it all."

"You're the loss of my life."

Tracks 12-16

"I can show you lies."

"Lights camera, bitch smile even when you wanna die."

"I'm so depressed I act like it's my birthday; every day."

"Try and come for my job."

"Was any of it true, gazing at me starry eyed?"

"They just ghosted you, now you know what it feels like."

"Were you sent by someone, who wanted me dead?"

"I would've died for your sins, instead I just died inside."

"This happens once every few lifetimes."

"What if I told you I'm back? The hospital was a drag."

"Cause the sign on your heart says it's still reserved for me."

"Honestly who are we to fight the alchemy?"

"All your life, did you know; you'd be picked like a rose?"

"Half moonshine, a full eclipse."

"Beauty is a beast that roars, down on all fours; demanding more."

"It's hell on earth to be heavenly."

Tracks 17-20

"Your location, you forgot to turn it off."

"I just don't understand."

"Old habits die, screaming."

"Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to my clothes."

"You knew the price going in."

"I can tell when somebody still wants me, come clean."

"I'm gonna get you back."

"Push the reset button we're becoming something new."

"A rose by any other name is a scandal."

"The devils that you know, raise worse hell than a stranger."

"You're in terrible danger."

"I'm the albatross, I swept in at the rescue."

"I just watched it happen."

"I loved you the way that you were."

You said some things that I can't unabsorb."

"Can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses."

Tracks 21-25

"We hearby conduct this postmortem."

"Come one, come all it's happening again."

"Didn't you hear they called it all off."

"My beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree d-y-i-n-g."

"Tell me about the first time you saw me."

"Your friends are around so be quiet."

"You know how to ball, I know Aristotle."

"I'm hearing voices, like a madman."

"Quick, quick tell me something awful."

"I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind."

"Nostalgia is a mind trick, if I'd been there I'd hate it."

"I'll get lost on purpose, this place made me feel worthless."

"I can't forgive the way you made me feel."

"And it wasn't a fair fight, or a clean kill."

"I built a legacy that you can't undo."

"There wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you."

I had died the tiniest death, I spied the catch in your breath."

"I still ponder what it meant now."

"Does it feel alright to not know me?

"I look in people's windows like I'm some deranged weirdo."

Tracks 26-31

"Oh, was it punishment?"

"Please I've been on my knees change the prophecy."

"But I howl like a wolf at the moon."

"Even statues crumble if they're made to wait."

"When the truth comes out it's quiet."

"So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst."

"Do you believe me now?"

"You can mark my words that I said it first."

"I thought it was just goodbye for now."

"Promises oceans deep, but never to keep."

"We both did the best we could do, underneath the same moon."

"Cause love's never lost once perspective is earned."

"A curious child, ever reviled."

"Started with a kiss, oh we must stop meeting like this."

"At first blush this is fate."

"What a charming Saturday."

"Long may you reign."

"Way to go tiger, higher and higher."

"You have no room in your dreams for regrets."

"You'll learn to bounce back just like your trampoline."

"I'm not a doner but I'd give you my heart if you needed it."

"You're a professional."

"The professor said to write what you know."

"But the story isn't mine anymore."

[dynamic-k]

:D

U back :) So how was camp? :>

IT WAS AMAZING AND AMAZING AND AMAZING AND-

I'm an ambivert, but the instant I set foot on campgrounds I was in full extrovert jittery ramble mode for some reason-

I quickly bonded with my cabin mates, had fun with this thing called axe throwing [where i get ta yeet little axe hatchet things at a target and surprisingly I was good at it], sipped on brewed coffee since there wasn't espresso, played dodgeball and broke my glasses when a ball smacked me right in the face, but i had my superglue and a spare pair of glasses, so i repaired the fracture, left it to set, and walked back into the gym building to play more dodgeball-

I went down the potato-sack slide [a hard plastic big long slide that you sit on a potato sack and slide down, it's so fun~], did this awesome zipline at least 50 times over the week, discovered I love high speed activities, got 11,000 steps Sunday, 19,000 steps Monday, 21,000 steps Wednesday, 18,000 steps on Thursday when my legs felt a teeny bit sore, and I forgot the general amounts for Friday and Saturday, but they were about the same amount with minor fluctuation.

I played a cool game on the beach in a flat sandy area on day one, Sunday, and it's called Dragon Ball. IT'S SO COOL, IT'S A LITTLE LIKE DODGEBALL, BUT WITH EXTRA STUFF-

So- Two teams are in the middle of a giant circle to be the last team standing, and every other team stands on the outskirts of the big circle with access to balls. :D Teehee, yey for game violence-

[except the balls don't really hurt- I got hit on the cheek once and was fine-]

The two teams are individual 'dragons'. The head of the dragon wears a colored headband, and every other member of that team makes a train of people by setting both hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them.

But the people on the outside of the circle cannot just target the head of the dragon and get that person out to immediately kill the entire team, you have to hit the backmost person first and work your way up to the head dragon person with many shots.

IT. WAS. EPIC.

apparently, I am good at aiming balls where I want and I got QUITE a lot of people out, my competitive personality completely taking over-

I ended up as the head dragon, wearing this lime green neon green headband [soft, fuzzy, stretchy little thing~] Our team was originally contemplating doing like- A rock, paper, scissors tournament to decide who would wear the headband and be the head dragon, meaning that the moment all your team is out and you are the last one, you are quickly targeted. And the balls tend to come from all directions, as you're in a circle. Now, I am really good at ducking and dodging by looking at ball trajectory [I love high speed reflexive games~], but being in a circle and surrounded on every side does ush the limits of my ability to see what is coming for me.

Before the game began and we understood the rules, our dean, Gabe, called the names of who was on what team, one team at a time, and one of the two counselors on each team grabbed a random headband from the bag [as it doesn't matter if two or more dragon teams get the same color, we still know who wins and who doesn't].

Anyway, I looked at the bag of headbands, intrigued and wanting to pick one out too, but only one headband per team is taken, and my counselor had already selected a neon green one and left, leaving me to follow in mild disappointment I cannot wear a headband.

Then I discover that I could actually wear the headband, if my team let me be the head of the dragon~

So, I jokingly, actually I was quite serious, told my team I just really wanted a headband. Nathan, my other counselor aside Clare, was super nice, he offered it to me to my surprise, and since I knew I was proficient in dodging and had spoken this to my team, I was shockingly just handed the headband-

I love that thing an unusual amount- It's a cheap, fuzzy neon green piece of stretchy fabric in a circle band, to be worn on the head. I have an attachment to it.

We had great fun, and when I inevitably was in the "Ring of Fire", as Clare dubbed the circle everyone with balls stood in, I was eventually the last remaining member on my team.

I stuck close to the other team's dragon, which had around 4 or 5 people left to get out, and i was by myself. I did this thing where i stepped backward and then forward and rotated and tried to move fast so I could be unpredictable, and it did keep me in for a good 2 minutes before I didn't see one ball heading my way and got hit in de cheek. [was fine, i promise- they don't hurt that much at all-]

I had fun even though our team was eliminated~ I LOVE MURDERING DRAGONS WITH DODGEBALLS OKAY- /insanity-toned

Afterward, I removed the headband, unsure where we were supposed to return it, but then I wondered if I could keep it. I didn't feel right walking off with it, since I wasn't sure how valuable they were or if the camp needed them for something else later, so I found Clare and asked him.

Clarence, Clare, my family group leader and the father of the dean who runs everything, he let me keep my headband.

He originally stood there and stared at the headband, unsure for a moment, I stood there and widened my eyes and basically pleading expression with my hands behind my back in a joking way.

BUT HE SAID I COULD KEEP IT, SO I SCURRIED OFFFFFFFFFF

I wore it every day, entire rest of the week, and made it part of my personality~ XD

HEADBAND- :D

there are more stories, but I have been quite busy since returning from camp, and hardly have time unless I really make time-

Like, using the bathroom while on a device and monitoring any and all online work or notifications, or using my lunch break exercise time to sit on the couch and be inactive so I can try to work through more of the emails I've gotten~ MULTITASKING HAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA

:3 I've been brainrotting stuff-

I've been brainrotting so much Spark AU, and also some Second's Tale because I'm trying to figure out the ending that I never planned-

Second's Tale is so stuck right now, but I wanna update it so badddlyyyyy

also the poor poor Guessing Game- I'M SORRY LEENA-

..plus a few other fics..

And here I am with a new AU idea too- *sheepish* Can't say nothing, can't say it-

I wanna try and finish the entire AU before I publish, that way I don't end up hooking people and getting everyone riled up and impatient for this new thing of mine- I can bring it to completion first! (That may.. take a while. BUT NEW AU-)

The only downside might be the fact I kinda got tired for a few days afterward? Like- I used up so much extrovert-ish energy at camp, and then kinda went strangely peaceful and quiet for some time afterward, like my introvertism tendencies are trying to balance out all the energy I used.

I wouldn't even call that too much a downside, except for the fact I felt bad for not responding to online stuff right away, and my brain felt slower to function and process. I tend to beat myself up when I have difficulty doing stuff, lol-

[sollucets]

beloveds @khaotunq, @pranink & @alexshenry tagged me to do:

every month of 2023! list your favorite/most popular gifset for each month.

i started making gifs in march this year, so january/february are off the table for this. it's funny that it hasn't even been a full year yet. it seems both somehow a lot longer and also like i remain some kind of photoshop baby at the same time. the images in this post will remain undescribed until i have some energy in my failing body, unfortunately

in any case:

march: midnight museum invades all 2 of my braincells. i download photoshop. the end is nigh

most popular: msp/eclipse pool parallel set

favorite: the bams i made for sof

(notes: it's hard to look back at these lmao. what is coloring and why don't i know her. why is everything so dark. who told me to use noise dithering and why did i ever think that was a good idea. anyway)

april: the eighth sense is airing! i meet many mutuals and friends. i figure out about the curves tool (thank god)

most popular: taehyung getting dunked on

(very deserved dunk; very bad set. the coloring of this scene was extremely questionable and i did nothing to fix it it looks so dull and gray. augh)

favorite: feet lining up / jihyun & jaewon on the beach

i really like this coloring actually. it's bright enough to actually see them, their skin doesn't look as weird, and i like the soft pink i made the beach. a win for baby photoshop user rowan

may: the purple is in full swing now

most popular: purple yok

first set to cross 1k! the purple is still very good but in hindsight there are things i now know i couldve done to help his skin. in any case. a banger. beloved

favorite: pink our skyy 2 hands set

[through tears] you're my space. also my first try at typography

june: i lose the will to gif some in the back half of this month, but i also learn to do a Lot of new things, like gradient maps & more complicated typography and transitions and such

most popular: puzzle piece hugs!

deserved! hard to gif and fun to look at

favorite: i think it might be the heartliming i made for vi now! but i still like khathadome from eden too.

july: i try giffing a few different shows. the only friends trailer comes out on the last day and i enter some kind of terrifying fugue state

most popular: sand and ray fighting / crying in the ofts trailer

do you guys remember the trailer 1080p? life was so good

favorite: nobody appreciates my ride enough

august: only friends airs, eclipse anniversary is concurrent, i lose my mind. i also learn to use the method of brightening that i still use & several other fundamental gif tricks

most popular: sandray car makeout

good for them! i start using significant grain on my ofts gifs from here on out and can never decide how i feel about that

favorite: orange/blue eclipse episode seven set

september: the madness continues

most popular: sand cooking for ray / special

ive giffed this scene three times and this is my least favorite coloring but what can you do. this is my third post to cross 1k

favorite: new rules set! i had mixed feelings when i posted it but it's really grown on me.

october: the madness is so much worse. only friends ends and i am left near-catatonic immediately, apparently. also, i learn to blend and use overlays and some other cool things. i join userdramas :'>

most popular: raysand afterglow. as it should be. cheek kissie

favorite: space girl!! show me the stars!!!

loved making this. purple and sparkly and gay. still super proud. that said other runner-up favorites in october are ray's o-face & the boyfriend shirt & akkaye's thumb thing collection

november: i am left cavernously empty after ofts ends and i fill the void with namtan

most popular: last twilight episode one porjai

she <3

favorite: gaipa userdramas set

again, i learned to use musescore for this set just so i could have those pretty notes. :')

december: i am punched in the face by seasonal depression. all is not well. i made just one gifset this month, but at least it was good? :')

and here we are today !! it was very fun to look over everything; thanks so much for playing and have a happy new year everyone

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

At long last, my Our Lady of the Passion cosplay is ready for cons!

Based on this picture from Pinterest (google is finding fuck all elsewhere, but if someone knows the source I'll add it.)

The tank top is from Lockedtombmemes' Redbubble store.

The jacket is here, though I've painted the back with some fabric paint. I used the non-heat treating kind and just sort of sketched out the letters with a dark pencil to make sure the placement wasn't too awful.

The dog tags I'm not quite satisfied with because I put too little information on them, and an updated one is still waiting in the mail (I wanted to put the Wing and Cell on it, and had to reread some chapters to verify) There's loads of places to get them, but I used these.

The machetes I don't have many pictures of (I don't have a full length mirror to show them properly strapped to the legs.), but I went a little overbudget to the point it would probably have been cheaper to buy real machetes (but not as welcomed at conventions!) Still, they were from here, in case anyone wants some big ol' 27 inch props instead of the dinky ones from Spirit Halloween.

Gloves were these ones, and they fit my big ol' butch hands just fine. Nothing special there.

For my TACTICAL BLOOD OF EDEN FANNY PACK (which I already wear all the time, but changed colors to match the costume anyways) is this.

The boots are fairly ubiquitous and seem to come from various online sellers, sometimes in men's sizes, sometimes in women's, but this store has them up to a women's size 12, which I needed because I'm lorge.

Now, the mask I'm most proud of! I don't have any experience making costume bits, but I found this one meant for airsoft, which has TWO FUCKING FANS?!?! hidden in the filters to cool my face in the sweltering 80 degree Texas winters.

But! You'll notice the goggles aren't tinted, so I had to figure out how to do them myself to hide my glasses, for REASONS, but this little kit was pretty simple. There's a gluey side, so you just spray the goggles with some water, then slap them down and spend like... a fucking hour or two squeezing out the air bubbles, but aside from a single wrinkle, I think they turned out great! The red also provides some good contrast.

Now, the pants were pretty simple. These come with knee pads, and the black camo looks really nice with the gray coat and black shirt. It did take two attempts to get some that fit (One seller had the XL listed as having a 44 inch waist, equivalent to a women's 18, but labeled elsewhere with the true size of 36 inches, the bastards.), but where I got silly was the straps.

I got this tactical belt, which seems to have tipped the number of tactical things I can search for before search engines decide you're a bootlicker, and intended to use a single bike strap on each leg to hold the other end, which, well... two problems.

The blades were now being bent by my massive fucking quads because I've been doing a shitload of exercise to get fit, because apparently all I needed to get into the gym five times a week was wanting to look like my specialist book blorbo.

I couldn't bend my fucking hips.

So! I ended up ordering a total of SIX STRAPS for my legs, pairing two up high to fit the wider part of my leg, and a single one down near the knee. The upper ones I later looped through the belt to hold them up, which also doubles for making the trousers into a fucking cod piece, which, hey, some people like that. The lower ones were led up by the knee pad, so I had a somewhat stable set of six straps and one belt, which is dangerously close to becoming a Nomura-era Final Fantasy character, but hey, I gave myself carpal tunnel marathoning all the Kingdom Hearts games last year, so that's not a problem.

All in all, it probably cost me... well, more money than it should have, but it's all pretty quality stuff that I'm sure will be very toasty if we ever happen to have another winter down south.

Also, last note... boots of any kind are so much more comfortable with insoles. They don't have to be expensive, but your feet and knees will thank you at conventions when they have a good cushion under your heels.

That's about all I've learned putting this together! I'm 5'9 and around 250 pounds, give or take, so most of this is men's garments, which means the pockets are DEEP AS FUCK. Perfect for collecting small rocks.

Just something to keep in mind.

(See y'all at the conventions. I promise my Yorkshire accent will be less goofy by then, but I can't promise I'll be as nasally as the audiobook.)

[quinloki]

Ok so, I shit u not, since u said I could pick who to talk about, I decided to use a number generator to pick for me and it picked my Kid Pirates OC LMAOOOO who was inspired by this, really fantastic fic by @standfucker (if I remember right the title is “Rotations” but don’t quote me on that)(also note that this is the crew I am the LEAST familiar with but the most FASCINATED by atm)

So, let’s get into Zella(he/she), my newest OC (like, literally came up with her in the last couple of weeks)! She is a 5’5”, 22-24 spunky lil shit from the West Blue, who loves her crew and ONLY them, fuck the rest of the world. He’s punk (ofc), usually sporting a cropped deep red and green leather jacket, long fingerless gloves, and black tank top and high waisted pants, with boots (a pair she’s had since before the Kid Pirates and would stab a bitch for as they were a gift). Short dark green hair, with two little white tufts that poke out in front of her ears and frame her face. (Im kinda shooting for like, a hummingbird kinda vibe for her, but not like “cute smol, wants some flowers” and more “I will stab u with my beak if u get near my flower” deal. A colorful chihuahua if u will)

Since Zella is so new I don’t have a lot aside from design vibes, but I have some key things

• as One Piece characters tend to have, his childhood? Fucked up. Got dragged around hopping island to island with their shitty parents until they finally abandoned him. He tried to find comfort and friendship with the local kids and it, didn’t go well. Let’s just say the fingerless gloves r there for more than fashion. Once she managed to leave THAT shitty place, Zella found an island home that, while on paper it’s not a good place, there were few people who actually took her in. Until that too was taken, resulting in Kid Pirate Zella.

• can and has climbed her crewmates like trees to get a better vantage point. It’s usually Wire or Killed, Kid in a knee-jerk reaction threw him overboard. Zella has not let him forget about it since.

• Has the filthiest mouth of my OCs, but is not immune to being flustered into place (which happens more often than she’d like)

• will pick the spiciest food and eat it with no reaction (Dive took a bite thinking she could handle it. She could not)

• very skilled at sewing and has helped her crew with fixing and customizing their clothes on many occasions. Do NOT touch her chaotic corner of supplies, she knows where everything is and somehow always knows if it’s been messed with. A l w a y s.

• has two tattoos (atm, may add more later), one in particular being an under chin tattoo of a red star/flower shaped pattern. Does not remember the night it happened, at all.

• always has a knife hidden somewhere on her person. Full body searched? HA u missed the one between her ass cheeks bitch

And that’s it for rn!!!! I have a lot more I want to develop and figure out for Zella, but I also have to get to know her crew first lmao thanks for letting me ramble!

Sincerely,

The 🌷

Holy shit - hey Zen - idk if the tag in an ask will ping you, but I'mma assume yes - Your one-shot birthed an OC for someone!!

And yeah, it's called Rotation - that one and Whiteout whew.

Anyway, we're talking about your Zella and I love him \o/ What you have so far is fantastic, and it's certainly enough for a full fledged OC, so I don't think you have to worry about that.

And it doesn't take much honestly, sometimes character creation is a long long process, and sometimes they come to us all at once. And sometimes real development happens in the parameters of a story, but you've got her down solid already. I love the bullets and the little personal bits here and there with the crew.

If you're fascinated with the Kid Pirate crew, I gotta make sure you're aware of @swampstew - she's got a Meet the Crew series, and yeah it's based on her head canon of them, but it's a great place to start in my opinion. (I imagine you are if you follow me, I love her Kid Pirate passion, and I bet if you're nice and ask for some head canons she'd share as much as me xD ❤️🥰)

[blackoutfeverdream]

I think one of the reasons so many people with ASPD appear and likely are incapable of empathy is just how trivial so many problems seem to us.

It's an ineradicable fact. I know of almost no ASPD sufferers, sociopaths, psychopaths, whatever the popular appellation is, who are this way by nature and were raised in families full of love and who had good lives.

It's a traumagenic malady. Serious trauma.

The kind of trauma that isn't something ridiculous and pathetic like losing a parent or being orphaned or being molested by just one person or beaten by one person or even just raped by one person.

After a certain point, all you can think is: That's it? That's your big trauma?

It's not fair to them.

I accept that.

But it's also not fair to us.

Wow. You went to war and

(surprised Pikachu face)

there were dead people and explosions and you saw some of your buddies die ohmyfuckinggod we really should look into this!

That's the reflex: Fuck you people.

You accept others' suffering but you want to be considered special snowflakes because of your disfigurement?

Fuck you.

Society has rotted through. We're just the most conspicuous symptoms.

To be honest, I feel contempt for most people's pain. I'll never say that, of course. But it's all banal to me.

How about being raped by your lover at eighteen the literal nanosecond after you finally started to recover from the last eighteen years of molestation, and physical and emotional and sexual violence, and spiritual torment, and psychopharmacological torture, and being told day in and day out by your parents and everyone else it's your fault, you deserve it

and having them choose what used to be one of your favorite holidays so you never ever ever get to smell autumn's chill in the air and cool cement and see colors take fire without an instant flashback to that second and even a jack o'lantern is enough to have you in convulsions

and then losing your mind even worse and being told by your parents it's what you should expect, you're an easy stupid whore anyway, and being bullied into marrying them

and you fucking do because they still treat you better than literally everyone else, love is about hurt, love is about sacrifice, love is about victimhood and martyrdom, God wants this for you, if you just show forbearance you'll be rewarded, God will reward you, pray to your Angel

(there's no one else to listen)

and being abused for years and being savaged by others and knowing your parents tried to kill you, once even tried to use their friends in the police to shoot you on the street like a rabid animal

and were blamed by everyone you knew for being in pain

and being mentally ill

and having it happen again

and again

and having the love of your life treat you like a hole and a piece of meat there to be abused for fun whenever they felt like it

and never once having one friend not twist a knife in your ribs or a partner not hurt you physically or emotionally or sexually or all three just for diversity

and not being able to get care and support because you're a fucking tranny and you deserve it, anyway, right?

and having every holiday every time of joy for other people colored by something and losing the only relative who even mildly pretended to like you by the time you were sixteen and being able to flash back to when you tried to kill yourself

(unlucky you, you've got a fucking dog's constitution, you can survive anything, you can survive everything short of a goddamned bullet to the brain, you can survive chlorine gas even if it sears your lungs, you can survive asphyxiation because you'll just wake up again, you can survive being choked out enough and always wonder if you have brain damage because of it, you can survive blood loss from slashed flesh and you're such a fucking whiner, Helena, bleeding on the floor like that, get up)

covered in sour sweat and vomit and the stain of liquor and pills when your parents chose to leave you at home when you begged them for help but they had someone else's house to help move, wow they can't get out of that

you fucking weakling, help us move this shit! once they're back, you coward, you weak nothing

take a shower and stop complaining

of course it's your fault

everyone hates you

we're not surprised people treat you this way

oh, you're being beaten on a daily basis by your peers? they and adults molest you? we'll register our complaint with you, we don't want to hear about it, don't make mommy and daddy sad, you don't want to make us sad, do you

(and we'll beat you half-dead if you fucking think about telling anyone who might do anything and besides, we have money, wealthy people can't be abusive or neglectful, are your clothes dirty and bad, do you look underfed more than just the anorexia we'll incubate so you'll be pretty and don't you dare stop showing your ribs, you fucking ugly hog, now be pretty and lie naked next to mommy and daddy so we can observe everything you do, no locks on your door, no privacy, no knocks, your body isn't yours)

it's your fault she makes you want to die

your fault he wants you dead

your fault

your fault

oh, it's not a good time

oh, my daddy died!

oh, boohoo, poor me, my mom died when I was sixteen! and I never! ever! ever got over it!

here's a whiskey glass in your face, here's your dad to pin you down and let me hit you, here's a man twice your size to slam your weak little body up against a wall

here's drugs pumped in you that'll rip you out of your flesh and leave you a drooling wreck so you don't get a childhood, don't get a youth

here's some of mommy's friends to fuck you after she pushes you at them and then punishes you because you're supposed to be pure

here's your twentysomething girlfriend when you're fifteen

wow, our "son," what a stud

no surprise she hurt you, you're such a whore

here's your mind struggling awake time and again only to be kicked down or shot to pieces

here's no hope of a psychiatric or psychologic solution

here's no hope at all

but you know, I really don't think you're showing enough empathy about a hangnail, Helena.

[mattstrahm]

it's a new year and i've been thinking thoughts again

really kinda inactive past two weeks, was engaging in buddy business, altho i did scroll my feed every day because fir is the sleepiest human person on the planet so i had a lot of down time. it was good tho. i had a great time. really my-towncore that we had no snow and the day after they left it snowed. going to a liiga game last week got me thinking i really gotta start paying more attention. the standings are incredibly tight right now so everything is really interesting (and in the end tappara takes it all and we all have to just live with it blargh lmao)

i've never really believed in new years resolutions but i like the formatting options the start of a year gives me so i have set some goals. i started one of them color square calendar things for writing with the goal of writing over 100 words every day and i have colors corresponding to if i managed to write at all and if it was over 100 words. i also want to actually watch 12 movies and read 12 books this year... i fell short on both last year but oh well! i'll just try again! i also want to make more gifs and post more pictures this year, to make my blog look more like i want it to look. idk what that's gonna actually look like but i'm gonna try to make more of an effort. this does also mean if you 🫵 reading this post have any requests PLEASE send them my way. i'm retired from f1 but like other motored sports, hocke-y, based bawl, american egg bawl..... if i can find footage i'm happy to make gifs.

i think having a little piece of paper will motivate me to actually do stuff. i hit a bit of a writing slump bc as predicted if i make too good of a plan i then won't fucking execute bc i'm so happy with the plan. so now i'm trying to actively ignore the plan i already made to get shit done. better to focus on my own things and pay no mind to something picking up steam in sports rpf circles that's just a worse version of something you&friends introduced the organizer to a couple of years ago. i hope people have a lot of fun with that i guess. seeing the announcement for it was wild.

other tidbits that aren't a full paragraph but i feel like talking about anyway: went iceskating for the first time in years again, managed like five, maybe ten minutes with the skates on and they hurt my feet so badly, good god it's hard when you're not doing it regularly. also pro beloved said i should tag these as #n yaps to which i said NYAPS so... that's what we're going with. i hope you imagine i'm a cat going nyapnyapnyap :) and finally idk i've been thinking about petri vehanen a lot the past few days. that's all. thanks for your time <3

[lesbianneopolitan]

Idk if I ever told you but in my head I always called you Tempy when I saw your icon because I could never remember your full username before you changed it. Hopefully that isn't weird that I nicknames you in my brain

Anyway. You seem to be cranking out art left and right. I'm curious. How long does it take you to whip out a lines commission? Or your colored pieces? Or you're fully rendered master works? Your quality never waivers between the different types of commissions or personal att you do, I am in awe of your speed to do so sometimes...

I don't mind nicknames, although I personally dislike Tempus/anything that comes from that- for some reason I never liked how it sounded, so I would rather be called Neo (preference) or Dev (if the other one gets too confusing for obvious reasons xD)

I'm not gonna combust or anything if the preferenced names aren't used, but my eye will tick or something

---

Tackling the time I take on stuff, tho, a 'sketch' commission like the one I did last night took me around a hour and a half, two hours tops, so I would say that I tend to be consistent with the time when it comes to these

For more finished pieces like the colored and shaded, I tackle them in various days, but the total time I spend on them tends to roughly be like, 4-5 hours

That aside, in all honesty I tend to get so hyperfocused on drawing that I lose my sense of time, but I'm aware that I think compared to the average time of things I tend to be faster than most- it's not the first time someone points that out and idk what to think of it, like, is it good? bad? is it holding me back from doing better pieces? probably, but my goal was never to become an artist that creates super beautiful and super rendered stuff, so I'm happy, because even with that, I compare my newer stuff with drawings I did in 2021 or even 2022 and I can see the improvement

[thetreetopinn]

Okay... I'm gonna go on a whole rant about this exact thing because I only just woke up and the part of my brain telling me to shut up isn't online yet.

Media literacy should be an elementary school level course, right alongside basic math and basic reading skills.

Sure, you start off simple, but it's there, and as you progress through the grades and into high school, you get more advanced skills. Just like math and reading skills.

You start with basic addition and subtraction, basic reading, and basic 'the theme of this episode was how important it is to tell the truth'. That's kind of what children's stories and fairy tales are supposed to do, teach lessons and morals, right? Maybe include other things that can teach lessons... like the cartoons they might be watching.

Then, you move up to multiplication, long division, fractions, decimals, geometry, trigonometry, reading more complicated stories, poetry, sonnets, writings from other countries translated from other languages, and 'this character is supposed to represent the sun because they are draped in bright colors and the sun is always at their back, shining around them' and 'this character's actions, when divorced from the character, are cruel, but the narrative frames the character as good and cool, so it frames their cruelty as cool'.

You shouldn't have to wait until you get to college to really learn about what you're reading/watching/listening to.

For those of you who argue that it's already being taught in literature classes... no it isn't. Words like 'satire', 'metaphor', 'subtext', and 'themes' might be used... but they're not TAUGHT, at least they weren't in my experience, and the ability of the American public to actually critically analyze the media we are bombarded with tells me a very large chunk of the country wasn't either.

You are not taught how to FIND those things in the text of a book. And they don't ever cover other forms of media like film, television, music, or video games. Hell, you could probably teach a whole series of lessons on Kendrick Lamar's "Not Like Us."

Media is the plural of medium, which is the channel through which a message is conveyed.

Media literacy should be about how to think critically about what you consume, and it should include relevant and contemporary pieces that you can tie back to the classics.

My required reading throughout all of school did not teach me to recognize framing devices. It did not teach me how to spot character archetypes, problematic elements, political statements, or underlying messages. It did not teach me the difference between text, subtext, and paratext.

I learned all of this after I graduated from college.

My formal education was ONLY interested in making sure I understood the literal words on the page and what order they happened in.

And that pisses me off.

My country is a land full of people who were denied an education in how to think about what we read and watched because it was more concerned about making sure we only read or watched certain things.

I can't imagine why...

[Your first lesson: that last line was sarcasm, which despite not having the ability to hear it intoned with a sarcastic flare due to being the written word rather than spoken, you should be able to identify as sarcasm. The preceding text and what can be read in my user profile about who I am and how I lean should inform you that I actually can guess why, but it's worded the way it is to encourage others to jump in and expand on that.]

Anyway, rant/lesson over.