#anyways the entire fuckin. impetus for this was

[bluuscreen-png]

i had a very silly vision

the csp file name for this is “gee logan who let u have 2 cute bfs”

[sevdrag]

dreamwidth update: GYWO 2022 and How I Fucked Up

no, this is not the post about job search depression. not yet.

I participate in Get Your Words Out every year as something that motivates me to make words, much like NaNoWriMo -- it isn't necessarily about "winning" either, but it's about having a reason to track words, which then becomes having a reason to write. In 2020 or 2021, I forget which, I managed to write somewhere near 350,000 words. What a fuckin' banger. A lot of it was Old Vines, and some of it was work words, and all of it was fun as hell.

The thing I noticed at the end of the year, however, was that my writing was just inconsistent -- I was carrying myself towards that goal with days where I wrote 5000, 7000 words in one day, and then not writing for the next 4 days in a row. So if I could get my ASS to the COMPUTER to do the THING, i usually could get a significant number of words done. So let's focus on that, sez my brain, and we'll be a super-writer.

2022 Sev said well, hey, there's a habit pledge for GYWO, so: I took it, with the rather extreme idea of writing 240 days out of the year. that's like 4-5 days a week. But hey! It isn't wordcount! Although I still fucking decided I was going to try to write 300,000 words. just 300K. Not 350K. lol. I'm stupid.

Then at the beginning of 2022 I lost my content writing job - more like, they hired someone full-time and let all the contractors go without warning, yes, I'm still mad - and therefore lost one of the major impetus for me actually sitting down at the computer to write. Plus, I'd been counting work words as part of the yearly target -- which I think is fuckin fair when you write for a living, yeah?, so.

And then as I realized other work had also dried up and I was going to have to start major job hunting - and then the experience of that job hunting - there was a depression zone where I absolutely dried up on words. Like, nearly completely. Most of my WIPs just kind of hung in space, and I had to start an entirely new Good Omens fic (forth the fifth) to have anything going on, and THEN it was only a super-hyperfixation on Detroit: Become Human that really pulled me out of the wordslump and back into writing things. Getting back to the WIPs has been challenging.

And with my new job, there aren't wordcounts I can tally towards anything -- I'm writing and editing at the same time, and sometimes working on things like how the fuck do we cite this and a surprising amount of meetings, and the moral of this story is that I'm unlikely to make either my formal or informal GYWO target this year -- which again, I don't do it for the win, but boy howdy did I misjudge this year.

And what have I learnt about my writing process this year? Since that was the entire point of trying a new target and a new approach? Well, fuck, I'm not sure I've learnt anything, except that it's more fun to write when people are directly cheering you on, which isn't anything new. As of today I've written about 150K, and 135 days out of the year. I am 69 days behind where I should be and there are like. Idk. 70 days left in the year? So obviously I'm not gonna make it lol.

Anyway this has been a long ramble about things that are only important in my head, with no real conclusion. Clearly I am a professional! And I need to get back to actual work!

Stay tuned for NaNoWriMo, where I try to get my 3 FTH fics out in a month while still updating at least 3 WIPs! oh my god, why am i like this? I'm so stupid?

Talk to me about your 2022 writing (or creating in general, if you're a creator but not a writer!). How did you do. How dumb am I. It is a mystery!

comments Comment? https://ift.tt/X8wGCPg

[yslkook]

BORDERSZ (4)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: jungkook accompanies you on your journey to purchase a brand new car. jimin charms your pants off (or attempts to) and sora has a proposal for you that you don't quite say no to. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: cursing, alc, excessive use of pet names, kinda toxic friendship

It takes about two weeks for Jungkook to understand exactly what kind of car you were looking for- essentially a sturdy vehicle that would get you from point A to point B without fail. Something reliable, would last for years and years, something efficient. Not necessarily anything fancy or luxurious.

But Jungkook had finally got you to shyly confess that you wouldn’t mind having heated seats in your car. After all, it had been something you’d dreamed of ever since you had received your driver’s license-

“Nothing else? Just heated seats?” Jungkook implores curiously as he pours over your meticulous binder for the fifth time. Honestly, you didn’t really need his help. You already knew what you were doing. His presence at the dealership will probably ensure that you’re not getting scammed, if anything. He loves his friends (two of them being his roommates), but he knows the truth about how they make their sales.

Mei and Mina call them sleazy car salesmen for a reason after all.

“It’s not ‘just’ heated seats!” You protest, “We never had the money for cars with heated seats when I was growing up. So that’s what I want.”

“How about leather heated seats?” Jungkook suggests, “Leather seats have better ventilation-”

“Oh, I know,” You say matter-of-factly.

“Of course you do. Smart ass.”

It feels incredibly domestic, walking into Namjoon’s car dealership together with Jungkook. Shoulder to shoulder, hopping off of his motorcycle together. He had taken it upon himself to purchase a second helmet, despite your insistence that you would pay for one.

But he had told you not to get a big head, that the helmet wasn’t for you specifically. That he needed a second helmet anyway, and you joining him on the motorcycle more and more as of recently was just the impetus for him to purchase one.

So you say nothing when it’s clear that he had bought the helmet with you in mind- it’s a sleek, glossy lilac color. A similar shade of lilac as your phone case, your favorite small backpack, and your work notebook.

You say nothing about it, only keeping your small smile to yourself.

Of course it’s Jimin who immediately jumps up to offer you assistance today. He gives Jungkook a Cheshire grin, mischief dancing in his eyes. Not that you would know otherwise.

He knows Jimin won’t let him live this down. At least Taehyung might have a little more tact than Jimin.

“So are you both looking for a vehicle together?” Jimin asks once you’re both seated in the comfortable leather seats in front of his desk, when in fact he knows damn well that you’re not.

“Huh? N-no, I’m looking for a car. Jungkook is helping me out,” You say, your face heating up at the implication. Isn’t Jimin one of his roommates?

Jungkook’s tongue pokes his cheek. You notice.

“I’m here to make sure that you or Taehyung don’t scam her,” Jungkook says, “Where’s Joon? He’s less...annoying than you.”

“Joon can’t even drive a fucking car. He has no business trying to sell them,” Jimin says swiftly.

“Er,” You interrupt softly, “Isn’t he your boss? He owns the entire dealership, doesn’t he?”

Jungkook stifles a laugh at your presumed innocence. You offer a slick smile to Jimin when he scoffs in amusement.

“Yes,” Jimin says, “So tell me. How can I make your dreams come true?”

If Jungkook wasn’t with you, you think you would’ve fallen victim to Jimin’s charms long ago. He’s nice, a little flirty and funny. But helpful. You can see how someone might end up paying more than they’d need to with Jimin being their car salesman.

You listen to every word Jimin says, taking notes in a specific section of your binder with your favorite black ballpoint pen. You need to have all the information at your fingertips before making a big decision, no matter what it is. Jungkook had teased you for it at first, but he’s become accustomed to your thought process.

Jimin has shown you at least five different types of models of cars ranging from sedans to SUVs. In theory, they all fit the bill. But you haven’t really felt the connection with any of them.

Jimin is nothing if not patient, though.

“I’m sorry,” You say, “I know I’m being meticulous. You must be annoyed.”

“It’s my job, sweetheart,” Jimin shrugs, “Besides, you can repay me with your phone number maybe, huh?”

“That doesn’t sound like an ethical business practice,” You say flatly while Jungkook glares at Jimin (who only smirks at him in return), “You already have it. From when I made the appointment.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“You wish,” You roll your eyes, “Does every one of your clients get this treatment or is it just me?”

“Nah, it’s just anyone who catches Jungkookie’s eye,” Jimin winks at you and Jungkook is about to strangle his roommate. Perhaps he should put an ad out for a new roommate, considering he might kill his current one in the next five minutes.

“O-oh,” You falter, cheeks blazing at this point, “Can we look at a few more? I’m gonna use the restroom really quickly. Maybe even grab a coffee.”

“Sure, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Will you fuckin’ stop it? I can’t believe you,” Jungkook hisses, “We’re literally at your workplace and you’re putting the moves on her-”

“Oh, will you relax,” Jimin says breezily, “I’m just seeing if she’ll take the bait.”

“There’s no reason for that shit,” Jungkook says, glaring at his friend, “Cut it out.”

“I like her,” Jimin says, as if he hadn’t spoken, “She’s cute.”

“Back off,” Jungkook says, “And while we’re at it, just for you being an ass. You’re gonna give her heated seats for free.”

Jungkook watches your eyes light up at the car that Jimin is currently telling you about. He can already tell from your wide eyes and soft, excited smile that this is the one. You’re already running the checklist through your head, physically looking at your notes as Jimin easily answers your questions.

“Can I take her for a test drive?” You ask Jimin and he somehow produces a set of keys for the exact model from his pocket.

“I knew this would be the one…” Jimin says as he takes you to the parking lot to grab the test car. Jungkook rolls his eyes in fondness and heads off to find his other roommate, Taehyung. And to say hello to his friend, Namjoon.

“It suits you,” Jimin says once you’d taken the car out for a drive and brought it back safely.

“You think so?” You ask, giving the keys back to him, “I bet you say that to everyone.”

“Only when I mean it, sweetheart,” Jimin winks at you.

“How lucky for me,” You mutter under your breath, “So...what are the next steps?”

“I bring out the contract, you sign it, and you take your new car home,” Jimin says confidently.

“Yeah,” You say dreamily and look outside to the car in longing. You’ve done the homework, done the research. Went through this logically and meticulously. Even if the car does start depreciating the minute you step out of the dealership… You want it. It checks all of the boxes, you know you’ll get your money’s worth from it.

But before you give Jimin the okay to draw up the contracts, you want to tell Jungkook. You spot him talking to Taehyung, his bunny smile on display (which makes you smile in turn) and excuse yourself from Jimin for a minute to go after Jungkook.

“Hi,” You say and introduce yourself to Taehyung, who offers you a wide, boxy smile, “I’m gonna get it. The car, I mean. I love her.”

“She passed the vibe check?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah. She passed the vibe check.”

When you comb through the hefty contract with sharp eyes, Jungkook is somewhat amused to see the free of charge cost for the heated seats. Jimin only winks at him in response.

You can’t seem to find anywhere else where Jimin may be overcharging you, so you ask Jungkook to review it, too. And surprisingly, Jungkook finds nothing out of the ordinary. He knows how Jimin operates here, trying to gain any extra cent of commission that he can. Not that that’s a terrible thing.

“It’s yours, sweetheart,” Jimin says fifteen minutes later, once you sign your name on the dotted line.

“Really?” You let out an exhilarated laugh, adrenaline suddenly coursing through your veins, “Really, really?”

“Keys are yours, and someone will bring the car out front for you,” Jimin smiles, “Congratulations on your first car. I’m honored that you chose me to help you make this purchase.”

“Wouldn’t have had it any other way, Jimin,” You beam. After a moment of deliberation, “Oh, by the way- have fun on your date with Mina tonight. I heard all about it.”

Mischief dances in your eyes and Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he lets out a surprised laugh. Jungkook looks at you proudly- that’s what Jimin gets for being a menace.

Jungkook wraps an arm around your shoulders and walks you out of the dealership and you slowly wrap a tentative, shy arm around his waist. You both wait shoulder to shoulder for one of the dealership boys to bring your brand new car out front.

In the meantime, you try to pluck up the courage to ask Jungkook to have a drink with you after. To celebrate and to treat your friend for helping you out for the last few weeks. You bite your bottom lip in nervousness and Jungkook notices. He wants nothing more than to gently pull your bottom lip out of your own grip, but refrains from doing so.

But you realize, it’s Jungkook, this is your friend and the comforting, warm scent of laundry that envelopes you gives you a little courage.

“Do you want to grab a drink or something after this?” You ask softly, “I… wanted to treat you. For helping me the last few weeks with the car stuff.”

“C’mon, baby. You know I’ll never say no to a pretty girl buying me a drink,” Jungkook says, lips pulled apart into a sly smirk.

“Oh, that’s all I am to you? A pretty girl?” You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder playfully, despite the heat in your cheeks.

“Not at all,” Jungkook murmurs, tightening his hold around your shoulders and looking at you with sincerity dripping from his big, brown eyes, “You’re my pretty girl.”

If he didn’t have a strong arm around your shoulders, you’re certain you would’ve evaporated into the floor at his words.

The image of Jungkook smoking outside of the bar right under the glowing, purple neon lights is an image you haven’t seen very often. A strand of dark hair falls in front of his face as he lights his cigarette, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

Even from this distance, you can see the purse of his lips and the silver glint of rings on his fingers. It shouldn’t send a rush down your spine the way it does, but you won’t deny it. When it comes to Jungkook, you won’t deny your feelings. Or your attraction.

For some reason, a thought crosses your mind- you hadn’t told Sora that you had purchased a new car. Much less that Jungkook had helped you pick one out. But you push her from your mind easily, as if you’ve been doing the last few weeks. It’s been difficult for you to keep Jungkook out of your conversations with Sora- she always has a way of bringing him up more than not.

But it’s not just Jungkook she has a strong, stubborn opinion on. It’s everything these days- you had showed her cars that you were interested in and she had shot every one of them down, she always has something to say about your passion for work (or rather she never pays enough attention about it), and she even had something negative to say when you had timidly brought up that you were maybe thinking about another ear piercing.

You’re growing tired of it. You find yourself getting nervous around her, like you’re walking on eggshells around her. Even when she just texts you, your heart speeds up in anxiety. But at the same time, there is a voice in your head telling you not to upset her.

As if that’s somehow the worst thing that could ever happen. Objectively, you know Sora. You know she’s stubborn and loud in her opinions and always has to get her way. But at the core of it all, you want to believe that she has a good heart. Because if she doesn’t have a good heart… Then what were you doing this to yourself for? What were you surrounding yourself with all of this negativity for?

You can sense Jungkook’s dislike of her, even if he doesn’t outright say it. But you’re no idiot. Mina and Mei have been honest with you on their opinions of her. So has Yoongi and Hobi.

They all think she’s dragging you down and that you’ll spiral in her negativity if you don’t open your eyes. They’ve all had a few choice words for her, but you find yourself uneasy whenever the topic of Sora comes up.

The more you hear it, the more you wonder about your supposed best friend. But you push those sour thoughts away to focus on the man in your field of vision.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you approach him on unsteady feet.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jungkook mutters with the cigarette in between his lips when you get closer to get a good look at him.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” You reply, eyes subconsciously wandering to the cigarette. Your nose scrunches at the smell without you even realizing it.

“You look like my mom when she first saw me smoking,” Jungkook says bluntly.

“Your mom? You really wanna compare me to your mother?” You raise an eyebrow, “Don’t know what that says about you, Jungkook.” Jungkook lets out a surprised laugh at that.

“Shut up,” Jungkook rolls his eyes and peels himself off of the brick wall before putting his cigarette out and tossing it in the ashtray next to him, “I think you owe me a drink?”

Jungkook, you decide, is dangerous and warm all at once. The starry glint of his big, doe eyes throws you off more than once, leaving you either stammering over your words or choking on your drink when you try to reply to him.

The bar is quiet and nearly empty, only the sounds of faint music playing in the background to keep you both company. You’re both facing each other at the bar, knees touching ever so slightly.

Even that simple touch makes you feel warm all over.

Jungkook slides your drink towards you, a soft ‘thank you’ pushing itself out of your lips. You suppress a shiver when his ring clad fingers brush over yours, and he notices the way you tense up a little bit with his touch.

He appreciates the way the dim lights shine on your hair and illuminate the planes of your pretty face. He thinks it’s the perfect lighting for a photo of you- the dark colored jacket and your dark wash jeans blending into the colors of the bar around you. Something at the base of your neck glints as you turn to face him.

“Cheers, to your new car,” Jungkook murmurs, tipping his glass towards yours.

“Cheers to you for helping me,” You reply with a smile, clinking your drink with his.

“Pleasure’s all mine, baby,” Jungkook says, “You deserve it.”

“Deserve a vehicle that will have hardly any value in ten to fifteen years?”

“You deserve something for yourself,” Jungkook corrects, looking into your eyes as if he can see right through you. You’d told him how you had grown up with one car amongst a family of five, and how money was tight when you were younger. You were the eldest of three, and now that everyone was older, you had slowly started dipping your toes into the concept of having things for yourself.

You whisper a soft thank you and take a sip of your drink. “My parents were so excited about the car,” You say quietly, “Told them I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh? You told your parents about me?”

“Had to tell them about the man who got me heated seats for free,” You reply with a knowing grin, “You think I didn’t catch that?”

“Heated seats were the least Jimin could’ve done,” Jungkook rolls his eyes.

You wave him off, “I like him. I could see why him and Mina are good together. She told me they’ve had this weird on and off thing for, like, a year now? Like c’mon. Get it together.”

“Yeah. Don’t know why they keep denying the inevitable,” He says, voice full of something barely concealed.

“The inevitable?”

“They both have their issues but… They would make it work if they sorted themselves out,” He says softly, a tenderness to his eyes that makes your belly flip. You don’t know if he’s talking about Jimin and Mina or about… something else.

Something else being you and him.

“Maybe one of them is scared,” You whisper.

“They can work through it together,” Jungkook replies instantly. The air in between you both is charged, plush with tension and electricity. You look at him unsurely, with wide eyes, and god, if Jungkook doesn’t want to sweep you off of your feet and pull you in for a kiss.

“Jungkook, I-” You murmur, voice soft and deafening, silky like honey in his ears. The moment is right there, ripe for you, ripe for him...

And then your phone starts ringing, and Jungkook has never heard a worse sound. Your chest drops for a second when you see that it’s Sora calling you, and Jungkook has never felt as frustrated as he does right in this moment. Each significant moment of frustration over the past few months has Sora linked to it. He wonders if she has a radar for interrupting at the worst possible moments.

You give him an apologetic glance before answering the phone. She only calls if it’s important or if she needs you so you won’t risk it.

“H-hello-”

“You’ll never guess what I just did,” Comes Sora’s excited voice through the receiver. It’s too sugary, too sweet. You wince.

“What’s that?” You mumble, shoulders drooping.

“Got you a date for this Friday, you remember Yunho right?” She exclaims. If your heart wasn’t on the floor already, it certainly was by now. “He wants to take you out- he’s the lawyer, remember?”

“Y-yeah, I remember,” You say weakly, “But-”

Jungkook’s eyes flash at your suddenly dejected frown. That’s what Sora does- she takes you and she turns your happiness into something sad. It’s like she can’t stand to see you happy about something that doesn’t align with her “vision”.

“You can thank me later, babe,” Sora says cheerily. This time, you visibly cringe as you try to protest. Try to tell her that you don’t want a date with this man, that you only want a date with the man in front of you. But you can’t get the words out, she won’t listen and she hangs up on you before you can get a word in edgewise.

“Sorry about that,” You mutter.

“Why? She’s your friend. Not mine,” Jungkook says brusquely and you bristle at his bluntness.

You’re distracted for the rest of the evening, mind on another wavelength. He knows you’re upset, but he doesn’t push. He gets you to smile and laugh a few times, only for your eyes to turn sad right after.

Jungkook only wishes that you’d be able to see what was right in front of you.

TAGS: @kookdbean

MoM tags: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe @yiyi4657 @mygscafe

[lumiereswig]

sorry if this is a bother but if you're still writing fics, could i please get uhhh fic with the 1991 characters but everyone's personalities are the stark opposite of their canon selves?

lmaoooo

so beast is this soft-spoken dude who looks less like a wildebeast and more like a sandhill crane, with soft gills sprouting from his neck and beautiful grasshopper antennae instead of horns. he is cursed NOT for being an insufferable little bitch but for instead being so OVERWHELMINGLY nice to the enchantress that, after offering her his home-made peanut butter casserole for the 17th time, she decides nobody could ever love this sad-sack kindly wimp until he grows a spine, and curses him to learn to be loved in his new weird, soft, slightly floppy form.

(the enchantress’s personality in this is less providence-sent moralizer of justice and more chaos-drenched humbug with a gift for thinking up the exact wrong way of teaching any lesson.) 

belle, meanwhile, is busy going on a fuckin rager because in this timeline she’s impatient, impetuous, extroverted, and going fuckin insane in this bewilderingly boring little town. oh yeah, she’s still intelligent, but this belle flies off the fucking handle if she has to deal with these dick-brained villagers one more time, GOD the way they’re so pompous and cosmopolitan, ughhh if she hears the baker quote ‘hamilton’ in that pseudo-smart way he’s so fuckin fond of she’s going to take a flame-thrower to everyone and everything in this town

oh yeah. in this version she’s not much of a reader. what she IS fond of is pyrotechnics and anything that explodes

maurice is a v boring accountant who sticks to the straight and narrow and is thus VERY alarmed when on his way to his annual Accountants Of Extreme Boringness conference he ends up in an enchanted castle. he is further alarmed when he is immediately snogged by an impetuous, flirtatious, devil-may-care son of a bitch baroque clock

the clock is pulled off him by an uptight, nerves-wrecked candle who looks like he’s melted at least four inches just trying to keep up with his clock husband. the thing about clocks, he anxiously explains, is they’re sort of ticking time bombs when it comes to pulling off shenanigans

‘don’t have a meltdown,’ scolds the clock, and promptly leads the candle in a high-stakes round of erotic tango

maurice passes out immediately and no one can blame him.

belle, having busied herself all morning seeing if she can blow up the backyard fence more effectively with nitroglycerin or dynamite, notices her father has gone AWOL and hasn’t yet brought back the one thing she always asks for when he goes on trips, i.e., high-octane gunpowder. she high-hoes off on her horse, and ends up at the castle, where she kicks down the door and is alarmed to see her father being served jellied crumpets by some kind of long-necked heron wearing a cravat.

the beast is QUITE willing they should all leave immediately but only if he can give them a pan of scotcharoos before they go, and can he get them anything nice to wear, it’s kinda cold out there are they sure they’re gonna make it? after the 50th offer of being allowed to spend the night belle is like. FINE. FINE. FINE I’LL FUCKING STAY, YOU FUCKING GENEROUS PILLOCK. CAN MY FATHER GO HOME AT LEAST

uh sure ok! says the beast. he’s just excited that belle might want to do a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle with him and maybe they can make popcorn

belle is quickly introduced to the whole staff, which includes a crotchety bottle of Scotch whisky named Mrs Potts, her shy shot-glass son, a quiet bookworm closet, and a hatstand that will not shut up. she tries to meet the clock and candle but the clock is very invested in broadway-style show numbers and performs an entire song with a kickline backup of tapdancing pocket watches

lumiere frantically insists to belle that she must forgive this ridiculous intrusion, the english are just like that, you know. he loses his train of thought when a pretty young feather duster comes into the room and doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night

belle and beast spend their days with belle constantly trying to leave and the beast managing to get her to stay just by being so blindly, consistently kind with her. belle finds that ....she kinda likes it. it’s nice to have someone to feel at home with. one time she really does try to leave and gets as far as the woods, but then the beast follows her and passes out when he sees a particularly frightening tree. she finds herself loving his S O F T N E S S

i should probably write gaston into this but frankly i can’t be bothered. somethin bad happens (the villagers storm the castle because they think a performance of ‘hamilton’ is happening there?), belle accidentally blows the entire thing up, the beast thinks that’s frankly the coolest shit he’s ever seen, and belle happily marries her weird crane-man and fuck the curse, the enchantress has forgotten all about it and nobody really minds it anyway. it’s kinda cool being a candelabra, right? especially when that rococo clock keeps slipping you kisses behind the ballroom curtains

[lokiarsene]

Now we knew why Goro went so feral in Maruki’s Palace.

He knew. He knew all along that he was brought back by a wish. He knew all along that he was working to end the world that was keeping a dream like him alive.

He knew.

He knew.

He knew.

He knew he was a breathing thing that should be dead. And he was angry. He was marching towards his destruction and would not falter from it. He did it anyway.

He knew that it was Ren who wished to free him. And he knew he was throwing away the wish Ren made to have him back again, for him to be alive. And he did it anyway. Because destroying a lie was more important than the lives in that lie.

Akechi looked death in the eye not once, but twice, and did not back the fuck down--and he still survived.

He was no dream at all. He was real, alive, true. Ren didn’t wish him back to life, nor did Maruki bring him back from the dead. He never was dead, all Maruki did was tweak circumstances so they could be together again.

Goro was real, alive. He survived, but he had no idea if he would. That didn’t stop him from fighting for the truth.

Goro Akechi is fucking amazing, Ren’s love for him was explicitly compared to the mourning one has for a dead lover, and is the entire impetus for the third semester (Sumi’s arc is contained in her own, and used by Maruki was a way to get throught to/manipulate Goro and Ren). The third semester exists to show Ren’s love for Goro (defying heaven and earth to bring him back to the world), and what Goro’s willing to do for Ren: destroy a world of illusions, and himself in the process, so Ren can go back to reality. Both of these two love each other to the point it fucking move the goddamn laws of the metaphysical.

And I’m just... I’m proud of him? I’m amazed? He’s so strong, and imagine how much it must have knocked him flat to know that Ren wished him to come back, as raw and seething and unapologetic as he was. Ren wanted the real him to return--and he did. Ren wanted Goro as he was, with no filters. And he got it.

These two are fuckin’ GAY.

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader. ⚬ word count: 12.8K. ⚬ warnings: drugs, alcohol. ⚬ genres: theme of unrequited love, friends to lovers, romance, a good dosage of angst, fluff to mend your heart, spiciness near the end.

✧✎ synopsis: there are lots of bits and pieces that come with being a best friend and soonyoung is certainly taking his time in figuring them out. was it right for his stomach to somersault at the sound of your laughter? was it normal his smile fell when junhui took your hand? he isn’t exactly sure what a best friend really is, but he’s sure of what it’s not.

✧✎ a/n: this was requested to me awhile ago! anon asked for a hoshi!best friend confession w lots of fluff. but ME being ME. i literally cannot write anything without turning it into some angsty, love-laced, fluffy fuckin roller coaster of ??? so..um.. yes… enjoy!!!

If Soonyoung had one wish, he would – without question – wish to glean the thoughts of others, to understand the precise lettering in their head when he stared them in the eyes. Sure, it was kind of lame in comparison to something like invisibility, the power of flight, a wish for a hundred more wishes, but he didn’t really care about those things because they didn’t apply in any way to the one thing he did truthfully did care about: you.

He knew he was rather eccentric to say the least, and maybe that caused some people to glance at him strangely, develop their own notions concerning his variety of behaviours. Soonyoung knew that you at first saw him that way too, and he was perfectly content with that. However the pathway into your thoughts soon became blurry when your relationship escalated.

Because at this moment you were ‘best friends.’

At least in the premature days of your friendship Soonyoung had been fully certain you thought him to be bizarre and oddly energetic. But things were largely different now. The more you know about a person, the more your head fills and fills with the shiny bits of their character; everything that makes them, well, them.

And sometimes the people you meet are so outstanding that you can’t even pluck one word down from a sky full of twinkling adjectives to describe them. So how was Soonyoung supposed to live comfortably when he looked deep within your eyes and couldn’t read their writing? What did you think of him besides a best friend? Did you ever let your mind wander beyond that? He was itching terribly to see within your mind.

Yet he was equally suppressing a fear that you could perhaps gauge into his own galaxy of notions, that you could fix the constellations together and see how Soonyoung’s thoughts about you delved much further than friendship. Hopefully if a genie ever approached you, you would never pick to have the same wish as him. You were more of the invisibility type anyways. 

Soonyoung was a dancer. It built into a passion that burned him hotter than bubbling wax, a compulsion to illustrate an entire story through the art of his movements.

Dancing invited more blessings into his life than setbacks. Twisting an ankle was temporary, but turning the lights off on Lee Chan to hear his high-pitched scream pierce through the practice room walls was forever. Aside from meeting Chan, Soonyoung came to know Minghao, the boy with a knack for photography.

He was always outside the studio at dawn taking pictures of cobwebs that sparkled with dew, or the mute colours belonging to the downtown street as they would blend against a soft, lavender sky. Soonyoung was so extraordinarily close with both boys that he thought it was time to start warming up to the studio’s newest addition, the sharp-featured, broad-shouldered, incredibly long-legged Wen Junhui.

The studio was full today. Chan was busy mounting his iPod to the doc station, Minghao was highly concentrated on tying his sneaker, and even you were there, sitting in a chair off to the corner sipping impetuously from a milk tea and thumbing through your phone. Soonyoung loved having you visit the studio during his training. There was such a prideful glow that encompassed his chest at viewing your complete awe of his performances.

Junhui was the last to arrive. He pulled off his long, wool trench coat and tossed it onto a hook after the duffle bag slid from his shoulder onto the polished floor. Beneath the heavy coat he wore a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants. When Soonyoung caught a peripheral glimpse of himself in the anterior mirrors, he did a double-take, subsiding with the fact he was wearing exactly the same as Junhui, even down to the stripes along the leg.

There wasn’t much versatility available when it came to practice clothes. It was of course more appropriate if they were loose, comfortable, and breathable. Minghao was usually the one to come in a wide array of outfits since fashion was another dominant area of his life, but still, Soonyoung found his gaze trailing to the mirror a little too frequently to switch between himself and Junhui. He looked at you as well, but you had yet to note Junhui’s presence.

Not that it needed to be a competition.

“So, do you guys just jump in or…? Do you do some stretching, an exercise?” Junhui asked whilst swaying back and forth, his hands awkwardly digging into his hips.

Minghao looked at Chan, but Chan was looking at Soonyoung who was looking at you who was looking at Junhui. It was a mouthful, but the point was that Junhui wore the expression of tiresomely holding a grin much too long for a family photo, desperately waiting for someone to cut the tension and throw him a bone. Soonyoung was sort of the captain who orchestrated the practices, so he took initiative, pulled his gaze from you, and smiled warmly at the newcomer.

“Yeah, we do a bit of stretching first, and play some music to get pumped up. Minghao got you caught up with the choreography for our newest project, right?”

Junhui carded his fingers through his black hair, though the tresses simply flopped back to their initial curtain over his forehead. “Yes,” He then said, “I’ve got it all down.”

“Great,” Soonyoung replied enthusiastically, (he heard your muffled cackle escape the hand tightly woven across your mouth, but chose to ignore you), “Better get started then. How’s the music working, Chan?”

“It’s set up. Do you have any suggestions?”

Soonyoung saw you cross your legs and take a notably loud sip from what remained of your tea. He scoffed playfully at you and inquired, “Do you have a suggestion, [Y/N]?”

“Why yes, I do, thank you for asking,” You responded whilst eyeing him with a composure that suggested you were withholding laughter, “I think that you should play Life is a Highway for your warm-up song.”

Minghao snorted almost too quickly, “You’re so funny.”

“Shut up,” You toed off your flats before tucking your legs close to your chest, “You guys play the same three songs every time. I’m trying to spice up your boring lives.” It was then that your gaze fell upon Soonyoung, and for a split second a tiny, electric jolt smoothed up the length of his spine, the imploring glint of your eyes already sanding away his resistance.

“Please can you play something different, Soonyoung?” You cooed.

Like a wilted flower, he was far too weak to conjure the strength to protest. “Okay, okay,” He agreed, “But it’s Chan’s iPod. He has to have the song.”

“I have a suggestion,” Junhui’s dulcet voice suddenly intervened after remaining quiet amongst the dispute, naming some song Soonyoung had never heard of in his life.

Immediately you squealed from your perch, your hands flailing about, “I love that song!”

Soonyoung heard Junhui’s laughter for the first time, brassy and in short breaths, his face pulling taunt in a wide, ear-to-ear smile that let his teeth and their rosy gums show. You were beaming in Junhui’s direction, babbling on and on about the artist and your love of her music as the boy eagerly nodded and continued brightly laughing. Soonyoung felt his chest tighten, like it was trapped within a balloon that had just popped, the thin plastic pulling so harshly it was almost suffocating. The feeling only became more apparent when he looked between you and Junhui.

“I don’t think I have that song…” Chan mumbled as he flicked through his playlists.

Soonyoung breathed out almost gratefully, “That’s okay, we ca—,”

“I have it actually,” Junhui piped up, “Would you mind using my iPod instead?”

Chan shrugged, “I’ll hook it up for you.”

“Awesome,” Junhui chirped before diving into his duffle bag.

Minghao had finally popped up from the ground and was making his way across the room to grab a water bottle. Soonyoung joined him, and together they hovered at the opposing corner whilst Chan, Junhui and you included swarmed the doc station. Soonyoung couldn’t evade the manner in which his stare adhered to you beside Junhui, how you titled your head up at him, eyes seemingly enchanted.

There was a bitter taste washing into his mouth, though it certainly wasn’t the water. He felt Minghao nudge his shoulder, a warm chuckle then fanning against his ear,

“Careful with Jun, or else you might not have a best friend any longer.”

Soonyoung didn’t possess the right heart to laugh, so he feigned a lousy scoff and began walking toward the centre of the room, the music at last easing through the speakers and echoing between the glossy wood as well as the high ceiling. You returned to your chair, grinning with pleasure and chewing at the straw of your emptied milk tea. Soonyoung was stretching, occasionally tracing his movement in the mirror, though he faced ample distraction.

You usually watched Soonyoung stretch, but now you were watching someone else, and that horrendous, tight feeling in his chest stayed with him throughout all of practice.

Considering that Soonyoung spent nearly an entire day at the dance studio, he was expecting to feel nothing short of fatigue; a particular drowsiness that might tug at his eyelids until it became a chore to keep them locked open. Most days he went to the studio a little earlier than lunch so he could have an excuse to go out on the town and eat with his friends. Besides, they often played nonsensical games, such as whoever tapped the light switch last was the one to pay for the entire meal.

It was usually Chan who lost since he was always occupied with something else whilst his older friends were deciding the game. However, Minghao generously payed the most, taking advantage of a vacant table to call over the server whilst Soonyoung and Chan were discussing the scent of the soap in the washroom.

This particular morning, Soonyoung received a text bright and early from Minghao, his phone vibrating next to his disheveled, spiky hair as an amber spool of sunlight slanted through his curtains. The next thing he knew, he was standing on the bridge just a block down from the studio with Minghao kneeling across the street, setting up what he referred to as ‘an immaculate shot’ of Soonyoung against the sky’s flush, peachy pink colour, illuminated beneath the fire of sun rays.

“I just needed someone to model,” Minghao explained as they walked back to the studio together, “You were one of the first people to come to mind.”

“Awe,” Soonyoung crooned, the faint blush on his cheeks identical to the hue that blotted the sky, “Thanks.”

But then Minghao had to go and throw a bucket of water over Soonyoung’s happiness.

“Next to Junhui. You know, when I first saw him in the studio I wanted to ask if he had ever experimented with modelling. He’s quite defined, like his face was cut from marble or something. He opened up to me a bit when I was catching him up with our dance. He did a lot of acting when he was younger, went to one of the most prestigious schools in Shenzhen, and won first place in a bunch of piano and Wushu competitions. Can you believe that?”

There was that feeling again, that stupid bitter feeling that made itself painfully known by wedging into Soonyoung’s chest like a wooden splinter. He had only walked a short distance from the bridge, but he hardly contained enough breath in his lungs to even sound fascinated or deeply intrigued. Junhui had never given Soonyoung any reason to formulate malice toward him, so why was such a sullen atmosphere suddenly clouding his mood?

“He’s a pretty extraordinary guy,” Soonyoung commended whilst staring straight ahead.

Minghao huffed, sounding marvelled, “No kidding. I mean, yeah, he’s kinda odd, but he’s got a hundred lifetimes beneath all those trench coats. We should invite him to eat with us next time.”

Soonyoung wasn’t properly filtering his thoughts. Suddenly he scoffed, “Yeah, I bet he’s a world class chef too. He’ll just whip up the whole meal from thin air at the drop of a hat.”

Laughter immediately bloomed from Minghao’s chest, the younger then slouching an arm around a stiff Soonyoung’s shoulders and lightly punching him in his side, “I think he has some experience in cooking! Sounds like you need to talk to him more.”

“I think we talk plenty,” Soonyoung earnestly defended whilst steering away from his friend’s grasp, knowing that plenty in his own dictionary meant: ‘as much as I think is necessary, so probably once or twice.’

When Soonyoung was nearing the end of his day at the studio with Minghao, you made the decision to swing by and bring them take-out from a small family business down the street. He was so hungry that hardly any conversation clung to the air apart from slurping, chewing, and drinking noises. Minghao tried to be more civil in his eating, but Soonyoung had known you for so long that he could eat like a starved animal and still meet your warm, adoring gaze afterward.

You then walked back to Soonyoung’s place together, smiling and laughing and haphazardly bumping into each other as day faded into night, fully expecting to receive a brutal shove that made him stumble off the sidewalk in consequence. Whilst Soonyoung took a shower, you threw yourself happily onto his bed, flipping through old comic books that had the particular scent of aged paper and fiddling with his Rubik’s cube that never seemed to change colours apart from when you touched it.

Soonyoung remembered the few times you’d asked him why he kept all this stuff.

He always said something along the lines of, “Oh, y’know, I’m gonna start hoarding now so I can get on TLC,” when in reality it was a far fonder reason that engendered his skin to surge with an embarrassed but candour heat.

He kept them because of you. He was in love with the way you looked when you lay perfectly content across his bed still rumpled from morning, smiling faintly at the fragile, yellowed pages of the old comics he kept on the shelf because you always read them. He was in love with the whittled concentration on your face as you hunched over the Rubik’s cube he won at some spelling bee in the tenth grade, valiantly twisting the cubes, adorably huffing when it was never quite right.

Soonyoung was in love with how you were always patiently waiting for him to emerge from the shower, head poking up from the mattress, your eyes drawn to him as though he were brilliantly glowing. He never got used to the feeling of his heart jumping so profoundly in his chest when you fell asleep beneath his bedsheets either, even when you promised you could stay awake for ten minutes at least as he dried off his hair with a towel.

No matter how many times it had happened, he still felt the same. He still had this feeling that never quieted.

In fact, it blared incessantly when he was with you, demanded to be released because there would come a point when Soonyoung would be incapable of compressing it any longer.

Now that the day was approaching its final chapters, and the sky had bled out its soft, rosy colours into patches of cobalt and dark indigo, Soonyoung wasn’t at all exhausted like he expected. Maybe it was because he had you tucked close against his side, your leg strewn over his lap, your arm curled around his stomach like a tight wire that never lost its shape. He could feel the gentle warmth of your breathing tickle his neck as your head cozied at his shoulder.

Together your eyes were transfixed on the sea of stars that speckled the sky, stretching so far and wide you almost believed you could see the Earth’s curve. It looked like a silk sheet that had been pricked by a thousand pins, leaving tiny breaks of luminescence to shine through from a different world that perhaps constantly glistered with light. A few meters away at the floor of your feet burned a small fire, slowly crackling out its embers.

He was only in his backyard, yet having you pressed so close with entire galaxies looking down on him, Soonyoung felt that he could be in a paradise beyond anyone’s comprehension. It was his paradise, but it only became complete when you were in it with him.

And maybe tonight as you leaned against half an oak trunk, entwined beneath an endless sky and a fire prickling at your feet, its light capturing your expressions like a photo frame, would Soonyoung unearth the courage to confess his heart to you.

“[Y/N],” He hummed, rolling his shoulder gently, “You still awake?”

When you shifted your gaze to blink up at him, your faces were in such proximity that Soonyoung could count each of the golden flames that reflected in your eyes.

“I guess,” You replied, laughing slightly at your own humour, “What’s up?”

This was it, the perfect moment to confess, to put his one wish into action and finally comprehend the pictures your mind illustrated when he intruded your thought. Soonyoung hadn’t planned much to say in advance, he was more about spontaneity, seizing moments as they came rather than charging a current that would never crackle. There was nothing to distract you from each other, just the black sky and cool earth that remained silent as Soonyoung pressed you closer against him with the arm wrapped around your waist.

“Well, actually,” He began, knowing there was quite literally nothing that could make his confession any easier, “I want to tell you something, and I’ve been meaning to say it for a while now, but it’s not like, the simplest thing to tell somebody, especially your best friend, so if it sounds stupid and just totally incoherent then…”

You set your palm on his chest. The very second your stare met his frantic eyes that fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings, a weight dropped to the soles of his feet. How was it possible that someone could make him so downright nervous, yet so enamoured and spellbound at the same time? You giggled at how tongue-tied he was. Soonyoung’s laughter mixed with yours, but it was evidently uneasy and oddly breathy and the sincerity of your gaze had brought his heart to pulsate in his throat.

Your brow stitched together as your hand continued to lay on his chest, the mellifluous, innocent chime of your giggles replaced by accumulating concern.

“Gosh, your heart is beating a hundred miles a minute, Soonie. Are you feeling okay?”

No, he fought off the dire urge to scream, but somehow found a single tassel of composure to latch onto. He thought he would be able to elaborate, but then your hand rose from his chest and suddenly your fingertips were brushing softly along his jawline, stroking the sweltering skin with a gaze that could melt thick slabs of titanium. He wasn’t sure if you were attempting to calm him, but it certainly did the exact opposite.

You appeared so innocent beneath the moonlight, yet the fire’s orange glow ignited half your face with such an intense beauty he could hardly break his desire to kiss you right then and there.

Okay, Soonyoung thought, I know what I’m going to say. He’d swallowed the remaining taste of his fear, nodded confidently, and took your hand that sweetly grazed his jaw to hold within his own grasp. But then—

Something buzzed in your jean pocket. And then it buzzed again, and again, and again. You heavily sighed whilst fishing for the device, a lurid sheen bathing your face as you separated from Soonyoung to check your messages. His entire chest thundered to the floor, shattering as though it were a glass vase, his confidence and composure instantly seeping away like the water inside that once gave life to the vase’s beautiful flowers.

When you turned back to look at him, an apologetic glimmer in your eyes, Soonyoung had this sinking feeling his confession wasn’t meant to be tonight.

“I forgot I asked Junhui to pick me up. He’s waiting out front.”

Soonyoung nearly choked. “Junhui’s picking you up? Usually I drive you home.”

“I know, I know,” You replied quietly whilst staring into your lap, “But I thought you would be tired after such a long day, I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, Junhui was really happy to do it, you should have seen him.”

As much as Soonyoung yearned to argue, he wasn’t about to leave what was once a perfect and spectacular night on an unpleasant note. He simply nodded. Your heat that had encompassed his body drifted away into the night as he grabbed the pail next to the fire, silently dousing out the entrancing flames and glowing embers in a tiny hiss. He saw your frown when he set the pail down and led you inside, your arms folded over your chest as the cold air suddenly nipped into your skin.

“That thing you wanted to tell me,” You murmured whilst standing at the doorway to his front porch, “How important was it? Can it wait?”

Soonyoung opened the door for you, smiling half-heartedly as you ducked under his arm and waved at Junhui who had the car running at the end of the driveway. Figuring he should wave too, Soonyoung gave a lousy toss of his hand, this cloud that was heavy and depressing growing denser and denser in his chest by the second.

“It can wait.” Soonyoung really had no other choice but to make that his verdict.

You smiled meekly at him, giving his cheek a small pat before stepping off the porch, hands delving into your pockets as Junhui popped from the driver’s seat to open the passenger door for you. Soonyoung observed how the contours of your face brightened when looking up at Junhui, how your laughter was already echoing into the crisp, chilled air. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling that rung through his body at watching you two together.

Soonyoung could only think of the once brilliant fire that lost its heat, its strength, to the wave of water that snuffed out its radiance in a mere second.

Maybe he felt something like that.

Soonyoung sat on a patchy green sofa that had at least four broken springs, ten coffee stains, and twenty-five burnt circles from cigarette ashes, feeling the lowest he had ever felt in his life. He kept purloining Minghao’s silver flask of cranberry vodka and partial gin to take quick, impetuous gulps, hating how the alcohol hardly stung his throat because he was just so damn numb to everything. The party was probably approaching its climax, yet in lieu of enjoying the raw energy Soonyoung was stuck on the stoner’s couch.

Minghao was next to him, but not because he wanted to be. He was simply cognizant to the fact that when Soonyoung let his melancholy consume him, he became even more unpredictable and his behaviour could spike at any given moment. Minghao would rather not get trapped in the whirlwind of his friend’s rage, though he figured he could keep him settled with more vodka if that storm were to start brewing.

Wonwoo orchestrated the stoner’s corner like it was his own business, constantly offering the use of his chrome grinder and organizing his rolling papers in case anyone had the instant urge for a hit. He offered Soonyoung a joint at least three times already. Minghao had declined each invitation for him since the sole thing Soonyoung did was unresponsively stare into the distance, but on the fourth attempt, he finally seemed to break from his musing and accept it.

Using the elder’s lighter, Soonyoung leaned forward with the blunt between his index and middle finger, giving sharp little sparks to the end of the paper until it began to slowly crisp. It had been awhile since he’d last gotten high, but the wispy curls of smoke he exhaled off his lips transiently distracted him from what he’d been blankly staring at. You and Junhui were situated at the base of the staircase across the room, looking with very evident ardour into each other’s eyes, smiling, flirtatiously brushing the other’s cheek or arm.

You were dating him, had been for the past six months.

Well, at least now Soonyoung knew what had been most occupying your thoughts, and it certainly wasn’t him. That initial jab to the chest when you first gushed to him about your new relationship with Junhui was absolutely one-hundred percent terrible. He didn’t think the pain could get much worse. But then the hole in his chest where that jab struck began slowly collecting with this estranged poison. As it filled and filled, the poison seeped and seeped, spreading throughout his body with the burning sensation of a wildfire.

The fire seemed to irreparably char his nerves.

In the beginning it unbearably hurt Soonyoung to see Junhui hug you, kiss you, stroke his fingertips down to your hip before pulling you tightly against his body. But then he noticed himself feeling nothing at those same sights that used to be so painful; there wasn’t even a crackle, a fizzle or a hiss. If he were to glean one feeling, it was emptiness. As he blew the smoke in gentle puffs from his mouth, alcohol scorching hot in his veins, Soonyoung found himself looking at you again.

He supposed that beneath the ashes his heart still beat, and it still beat because it refused to give up on how he felt about you.

He darkly eyed the flask in Minghao’s lap.

“Give me that,” the boy suddenly barked at his friend.

“Are you sure?” Minghao posed with concern, watching Soonyoung eagerly take another hit off his joint before he left it on the coffee table’s ash tray. “Do you want to step outside for a minute maybe? Get some fresh air?”

Soonyoung growled, “Just give me the fucking flask.” He’d already swiped it from his lap, hastily spinning the cap off and taking a long, deep gulp of whatever alcohol remained.

He didn’t even grimace after shoving the flask back into Minghao’s grip, instead scratched a hand through his thick, black hair, further disarraying the strands. Wonwoo had pretty much rolled over in his seat at this point, counting invisible sheep that jumped on the ceiling, and everyone else occupying the stoner’s corner was too blazed beyond coherence to even take note of Soonyoung’s sudden aggression.

Minghao opened his mouth, then silently closed it, following Soonyoung’s clouded gaze to where Junhui had you pressed against the wall, hands slowly squeezing down past your hips to the black fabric of your pleated skirt.

The manner in which your fingers slowly plunged through Junhui’s hair and tugged wantonly at the strands suggested what your mouths were busy with. It certainly was far from conversation. Maybe then Minghao understood what was racing through his friend’s mind as he rose from the couch, using Minghao’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Be right back,” Soonyoung mumbled, not squandering another breath as he weaved his way between small congregations, leaving Minghao to sit on the couch in slight bewilderment whilst the cogs turned in his head.

Feeling emboldened, Soonyoung marched right up to Junhui’s broad backside, an unusual calmness steadfast in his blood even when he could hear the way you softly moaned against the boy’s plump mouth. It could have been the alcohol, it could have been the intoxicating aroma of the blunt still lingering in the dense air, or it could have been the fact that Soonyoung just didn’t fucking care anymore. He was determined that this would be the night he at long last confessed his heart to you.

“W-What?” Junhui stuttered when Soonyoung tapped his shoulder, turning around in a disoriented fashion, his eyes lasciviously hooded and lips shiny.

You appeared to recognize Soonyoung before Junhui had. Surprise leapt across your face like a tidal wave, and whilst Junhui was still processing that someone had interrupted his make-out session, you were harshly swallowing, appearing overwrought beneath the dim lighting.

“Can I talk to you outside?” Soonyoung said very firmly, making it clear he was speaking to you and you only by gently grabbing your wrist.

You licked your lips, eyes darting between your boyfriend and Soonyoung, seemingly unsure on whether you should agree or not. Soonyoung was well aware of the fact he most likely reeked of alcohol and marijuana, his hair was completely strewn in every direction, his gaze not the clearest nor was his patience concretely stable, yet he still prayed that above his manic state you would be able to connect with him. He needed you to share a moment of your time now more than ever.

“Please,” Soonyoung implored, hardly able to care about the desperation rife in his words, “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Junhui parted the lust curtain draping across his concentration, finally seeming to acknowledge the situation. Well, more like the situation he was more or so not included in.

It was then, as your hand fidgeted to properly hold Soonyoung’s, fingers fitting like puzzle pieces between his own that the boy knew he’d gotten his wish. You stepped away from the wall your body was once pressed against a mere minute ago, quickly stroking Junhui’s cheek whilst murmuring into his ear, “I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

Junhui blinked a bit mistily, but nodded, allowing Soonyoung to guide you out the front door where the cool night air dusted his skin and refreshed his senses. There weren’t many people out front. A majority of them were walking along the end of the road, talking on their cellphones, presumably calling someone to pick them up or asking a friend where they were parked along the line of blinking car lights.

Soonyoung didn’t want to be too close to the house, nor did he want to be right at the curb. He just wanted to place enough distance between himself and the party that he could hear his own thoughts. You didn’t start asking questions until Soonyoung pulled you beneath the overhanging leaves of a willow tree near the property’s edge, your eyes glistening in disconcertment against the darkness, fingers wrapped around Soonyoung’s hand so tightly that he could feel his circulation dwindling.

“S-Soonyoung,” He heard the dry gulp between your words, “What are we doing out here?”

He then let go of your hand. Instead, he cupped your cheek, caressing in slow, gentle passes along the heated arch using his thumb. It was like the entire world became shrouded in silence as his touch grazed your skin, burning profoundly, with the strength of a catastrophic supernova.

“I’m in love with you.” He spoke softly. The words sounded vastly different aloud in lieu of in his head.

Your expression marginally twitched.

“I-I… What did you just say?”

“I know that sounds so fucking weird for you to hear,” Soonyoung murmured, his thumb pulling back to rub circles upon the sweet spot just in front of your ear, “And I know I couldn’t have picked a worse time but… I’m just so sick of pretending like I don’t look at you every day, wishing I could be more to you. I need you to hear this. I just—I need you to know how I feel about you.”

Soonyoung couldn’t help himself. He’d never felt this consumed by your beauty. Titling your head back, Soonyoung admired you, allowed himself to mellow in the firm warmth of your cheek beneath his palm, how he could only wish to have you closer and whisper everything about you in which he was infatuated by. Every little secret he’d kept hidden over the years, he wanted to tell you all of them, place kisses on your skin in the places that made you tick between each confession.

A breeze then whispered between the swaying fronds of the willow. It delightfully swept upon Soonyoung’s skin and transiently cooled the raging pulse that was practically electric in his veins.

Perhaps he was entranced, but you were a gigantic question mark. Your lips were parted, yet they made no sound. He could feel your pulse thundering behind your ear, yet you stood so still. Never seeing your expression like this before, Soonyoung could only breathe with the faintest rise in his chest. Evidently you were lost, you were panicking, and your eyes were screaming at him with everything he couldn’t read.

Eventually you budged. Your hand rose up and your fingers wrapped around his wrist. The touch could have been everything Soonyoung wanted most in the world.

“Why are you saying this? It’s because you’re drunk isn’t it? Or you’re just high. You have to be, or else... Or else I don’t understand…”

But instead that touch pulled Soonyoung’s comfortable palm from your face and returned it to his side.

“It’s not because – I mean yes, I am a little drunk and a little high – but I’m being completely one-hundred percent serious right now.”

The sheen of your gaze was noticeably lacquering, “You mean as a friend though, right?”

With every word that pursed at your lips, Soonyoung felt his hopes deflating.

“No, not as a friend. I want to be more than friends,” He found himself being verbose, but he couldn’t help in expressing his heart, every sentiment he’d locked inside it for as long as he could remember. His words, they openly flowed, the heat that inhabited his body mounting. “I want to be with you. I want to take you out on dates, wake up next to you, kiss you at the end of every day. I want to be the only person who’ll ever get to touch you, make you breathless but so, so happy. I’m in love with you.”

Emotions repressed to the deepest whorls of his being were welling up within him like rainwater, “What isn’t clicking?”

“What isn’t clicking?” You were beyond flustered repeating his question, soaked in pure bewilderment that clasped onto you, made you involuntarily rigid and tightly wound. “What do you expect me to say to that, Soonyoung? What are you expecting to happen?”

He tangled a hand through his hair, burying his fingers close to the scalp so that it stung and kept him grounded. “I… I don’t know. But I can’t keep it inside anymore.” A look of pain slotted across his face. “I even tried confessing to you that night we were together in my backyard, with the campfire. But it didn’t work out. Even before then I’ve wanted to say something—anything to you, but it’s just so petrifying and I’d never had anyone make me feel that nervous before.”

You were no longer holding eye contact. Your stare was glossing the grass, the stray tatters of dry leaves that had blown in from old wind, your body frozen from how overwhelmed you were feeling. It was only mere seconds that trickled past, though it felt like agonizing hours before you spoke again. Your voice was as strong as tattered cloth, nothing but wisps struggling to remain together.

“But why wait?... I-It’s just that... That you waited so long— ,”

“It’s really not easy, y’know?” Soonyoung chuckled, though it crumbled away in seconds, in the time it took his hand to collapse back at his side. “Having to pretend that you’re not in love with someone? That fucking eats away at you, [Y/N]. It’s the reason I’m telling you this. I just... I don’t want to be miserable anymore, thinking I’ll stop feeling this way about you when I know how untrue that is, when you’re on my mind twenty-four fucking seven and I can’t even sleep because of it.”

There was this sensation pushing at his tear ducts, incredibly hot, scalding even, but he was able to blink it away. However, perhaps you weren’t as tuned at concealing your emotions. A sniffle suddenly pervaded the silence and Soonyoung saw you wipe your hand beneath your eye, your stature shrinking inward akin to a flower kept hidden from the sun.

“I-I’m sorry, Soonyoung. I didn’t know you felt this way… I didn’t know it was bringing you all this pain and I—,” Your tongue peaked out to wet your lips as your fists clenched, nails burying upon the fragile flesh like crescent daggers, “I don’t know what to say to you. I-I don’t. I’m so fucking sorry. I just don’t have the words right now.”

In an instant his expression earnestly softened.

“Hey, c’mon,” He cooed whilst pulling down his sleeve to dot the first tear that had slipped down your cheek, glistening like a little pearl. He knew in the case of a sober Soonyoung, it would be impossible for him to formulate malice toward you because you couldn’t reciprocate his feelings. As elated as he would be for you to return the sentiment, there was still much for you to process.

However, with the weight of the alcohol and the intoxication of the blunt, he was far from sober. He could feel it dragging him down, could feel disarray teetering at his brain’s forefront like a performer balancing on a tightrope.

“It’s not at all your fault, okay?”

Yet he did his best to soothe you, to flatten the creases of your pain. Soonyoung moved timidly, unsure of whether he should pull you into an embrace, but as you sniffled once more and clutched the sleeves of his hoodie in need, he was gliding his arms around your neck, gently resting your head against his shoulder where he knew you were bound to find solace.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart.” Sounded his tender murmur.

It almost felt like a dream, the fact he could stand here with you forever, beneath the slight rustling of willow branches brushed silver and the cool air that ghosted his skin in the gentlest reassurance. Clocks were turning, though the world certainly felt still where you were standing, seconds adding up into minutes as your hair tickled his nose and made Soonyoung smile to himself.

But there persistently remained a shadow prowling at his awareness, the live wires that sparked his senses becoming increasingly dull as the alcohol and marijuana burrowed deeper into his blood. For a fleeting moment he felt like he could be floating, almost as though his body were more weightless than the air sweeping his flushed face. Soonyoung suddenly wobbled. At first you didn’t seem to pay much attention, until his condition then veered toward the inevitable and he swayed slightly before leaning a little too far into you.

Soonyoung felt you shift in his arms.

“Are you okay?” You squeaked, but he couldn’t focus on even a single sector of your body as the rush to his head continued pumping. All Soonyoung registered was that you had stepped away from him.

“M’fine,” Came his slurred response. He stumbled a few misplaced steps toward you before finding his footing. Whatever composure and reason he once possessed, it was slipping, fast.

Your hands gripped his shoulders to steady him. Peaking up at him, watery-eyed and innocent, your mouth then opened. For a split second Soonyoung believed he was truthfully going to hear those three words echo quietly to him and his blood began boiling hot enough to bend metal, the world slightly spinning beyond your frame. Yet instead you were stepping away.

All that remained attached was your hand in his.

“Soonyoung, listen, you need to reunite with Minghao. Those drinks, whatever it was that you smoked, it’s getting to you, alright? We should really go back insid—,”

“Are you in love with me?” He blatantly interrupted, blinking widely and unconsciously speaking louder than beforehand.

Soonyoung watched as your mouth slowly gaped, heard the fluttering of a sentence catch in your throat. It seemed that very meticulously, you were choosing what to say.

“I... I love you but, not in the way that... I mean, I think you’re a really, really phenomenal friend, Soonyoung, and I value what we ha—,”

An impulsive flare whirled to life inside him. The sole thing that seized his body to the same amount as his alcohol and half-smoked joint were his emotions. He couldn’t evade how he cut you off, the words that catapulted from his tongue so distanced from what he would have said in his right mind.

“Don’t do that,” His voice sounded like it was going to split, heart plummeting faster than an anchor to its sand bed beneath the sea, “Y’know I want to be so much fucking more than that. I-I want you, need you, please.”

“I know, Soonyoung, and I wish more than anything that I had the words for you,” You unsteadily warbled, your lips trembling whilst an unprecedented type of hurt cracked between your words, “ I’m so, so sorry, but I just… I-I can’t. I’m with Junhui, and I’m committed—,”

Soonyoung sharply squeezed your hand, an abrupt, indignant pain welting on his tongue, “Y’re with him? When you walked away from getting fucked to be out here with me? With him but y-you’re always staying the night at my place... Fall asleep n’my bed, wear my sweaters in your underwear, kick your legs over my lap so you can have my h-hands on your skin. Say you’re with him but what do you really feel?”

“What are you doing?” A hiss ruptured your voice and the tone drastically flipped. “I’m still out here with you because I genuinely care about your feelings and want to hear you out. You’re the one trying to force this narrative that I don’t actually want to be with Junhui. How do you know what I’m feeling, Soonyoung? How do you expect me to walk back into that fucking party and face my boyfriend knowing my best friend just said he’s in love with me?”

Fingers sheathing tightly into the skin of your hand, he pulled you back into him, looking you square in the eyes. He saw how they pooled with constellations of emotion and turmoil, and they might have looked strikingly similar to his own if it weren’t for the alcohol masking the dark ore of his gaze, the lingering potency still settling from his joint.

“How do I know what you’re feeling? I know because I’m your best friend. I know you better than Junhui ever will.”

With your chin pointed up at him, leaning in so close Soonyoung could see the slight bruising on your lips from Junhui’s kisses, he had to fend off the overwhelming urge to cup your face in his hands – to do exactly what Junhui had done when your body was flush against that wall. Soonyoung wouldn’t care if Junhui walked outside and saw either, if the entire party rushed from within the house to watch his lips connect with yours beneath the willow tree.

Still, he knew there was no way he’d won your heart. In fact, through the thickening of his daze, he knew he’d made everything ten times worse. Instead you huffed at him, snapped your hand free, and whipped around with word that Minghao would be sent to fetch him. You abandoned him beneath the moonlight’s solemn rays, the canopy of drooping branches that enclosed him akin to a metal cage.

The most agonizing part of it all – Soonyoung having to accept the fact that maybe he didn’t know you as well as he thought he did, that all his wishes seemed to crumble when he needed their magic most.

“It’s almost ten o’clock. Did Junhui forget to roll out of bed or something?”

Chan was lying on the shiny hardwood, his arms stretched out behind him whilst he stared into the ticking clock above the mirrors. There had never been a time where Junhui was late to practice at the studio. He didn’t exactly prefer waking up at nine in the morning, which he made very apparent in his texts to the group chat, sending bathroom pictures of himself angrily brushing his teeth with his hair still spiked up on one side from his pillow.  

No one really knew how to respond to the pictures. Soonyoung used to say he only sent them despite just having flopped out of bed because he thought he looked good.

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung replied from his sitting position against the wall, using the outlet next to the coatrack to charge his phone, “Maybe he forgot to turn on his alarm.”

Chan sighed heavily and got to his feet, “Well, I don’t feel like waiting around. We can start the warmup without him.” He then mumbled something about getting his iPod set up, along with listing more reasons as to why Junhui could be late.

Soonyoung wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t really listening either. He hadn’t gotten a message from you in the past couple days, therefore drawing out this strange obsession that included him ceremoniously checking his phone for something that wasn’t even there. Before his confession at the party last month, you messaged Soonyoung quite frequently.

Before you started a serious relationship with Junhui, you had texted him every day.

The bond between you undoubtedly shifted, and Soonyoung believed that the world hadn’t felt like a real place since he poured his heart out to you beneath the weeping willow. When you whipped around and thundered back inside, Soonyoung remained outdoors, staring at the soil your presence had occupied mere seconds ago, unable to feel the cool breeze feather at his cheeks or hear Minghao’s shouts of his name when you had approached him spitting fury.

Word spilt before it even had the chance to be trapped.

Like sand grains slipping through a tight fist, it appeared that everyone and their dog was cognizant of Soonyoung’s confession, his little crush that actually wasn’t a crush at all, but a deep, profound love that he couldn’t ever seem to make tangible. You couldn’t even stand next to each other outside the entrance to the lecture hall or sit next to the other on the bus without the knowing gazes splaying across your skin. A few times you’d both gotten unbearable jokes. “Just kiss her already!” or, “I hope you’re being loyal, huh?”

They would always smile ear-to-ear afterward; crinkle their noses before swinging their hand like it was no big deal, saying, “Oh, I’m just kidding!,” As if the air between you wasn’t already thick enough to slice through like butter.

Of course, this concluded that Junhui caught wind of the details concerning that party and its events, in which Soonyoung had indeed unabashedly confessed to his girlfriend beneath crisp moonlight, surrounded by the shimmering locks of an almost fairy tale-looking tree, hands holding hands and breaths so close they mingled. It sounded quite romantic and definitely something to be alarmed about.

However, Soonyoung made the decision to pull Junhui aside before their first practice after the party to explain that he shouldn’t worry, that you were completely infatuated by Junhui and that his presence in your life was a far greater focus than Soonyoung’s own presence. It was inexplicably awkward, especially as Junhui only looked at Soonyoung with impassive, blinking brown eyes and a parted mouth.

“It’s okay,” Junhui told him, “I’m not scared that she would run off with you or anything.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung responded, firmly slapping him on his broad shoulder, “Definitely not. You guys are great. I just want to put this behind us.”

But Soonyoung never really truthfully, “put it behind him.” He was still in love with you to an extent that couldn’t fit within the universe. It was indescribable. His confession merely scratched the surface of what he truly felt, yet love could be such a complexity that it was best demonstrated through actions rather than words. Well, that’s what Soonyoung learned at least – his words had certainly not been enough. He could only continue to support you as a friend, even if it felt akin to a knife twisting through his heart at times.

Spiraling back to the present, Soonyoung finally looked elsewhere rather than his phone as Minghao returned from the washroom, stretching his arms high above his head. He paused at the corridor, taking in the brightness of the studio as sunlight shone through the windows.

“So, he’s really not coming, huh?” Minghao rasped as he continued his stretching.

Chan was still focusing on the doc station, scrolling through the playlists on his iPod. “Are you talking about Junhui?”

“Yeah,” Minghao sighed, speaking presumably, like Chan and Soonyoung were already supposed to know the reason for Junhui’s absence.

“Did he text on the group chat?” Chan asked.

Minghao’s brow suddenly pinched together, his face hollowing, “Uh… No, he sent it to me only. But—Oh my god! That means you don’t know what happened!”

Soonyoung then felt his phone buzz in his hand.

“What?!” Chan exclaimed after tearing his attention away from his music, entranced like a little child witnessing a magic trick, except the magic was replaced with modern day drama, “Tell me! What happened?”

Peering down at the white light of his phone screen, Soonyoung nearly choked, his eyes opening wide and gleaming almost skeptically as he repetitively read the message, scanned the ID of the person who had sent it to him. Minghao begun speaking quietly, his voice shushed, as though the information he possessed was extremely confidential and ears all over the nation were intently listening.

However, Soonyoung knew he couldn’t stay; in fact he was already leaping to his feet whilst Minghao beckoned Chan over and said,

“Well, Junhui and [Y/N]… They broke up last night. And to make matters worse, Junhui was planning on saying the L word too.”

Chan gulped, “Love?”

“Yeah,” Minghao solemnly nodded, “But, I don’t know, she broke it right off in the middle of his confession. He’s devastated and that’s as much as I know. I figured he wouldn’t show up to practice.”

“Wow…” Chan touched his fingers to his lips, wearing a highly perplexed expression as he seemed to entre a personal musing. But then he was calling for Soonyoung who was in the midst of hastily wriggling on his pullover, grabbing for his duffle bag at the same time.

“Soonyoung, did [Y/N] say anything to you about—Hey! Where are you going?”

His head suddenly popped free from the collar, a hand ruffling out the black fibres of his hair as Soonyoung quickly glanced down at his phone.

“Something came up,” He coughed into his fist, “I probably won’t be back. I’ll explain everything later!”

Minghao hardly grasped the chance to bark out, “What the hell are you talking about?” Before his friend had shot straight like a bullet toward the door, practically toppling onto the sidewalk and grunting an impetuous apology to some lady he ran into. Soonyoung felt the burning singe of his friends’ eyes (not to mention the lady herself) at the back of his neck, watching him dart away from studio without a clue as to what provoked this unprecedented urgency.

All they had to understand was that he would explain himself in the future.

All that Soonyoung had to understand was one simple thing.

[Y/N | 9:58am]: can you come over? please. i need you.

He knew he was a bit late the second he arrived at your porch, the wooden, faded blue steps creaking beneath his weight and his heart ferociously pumping. Soonyoung brushed a hand against his sore ribcage as he knocked on the door, waiting in an anxious coalescence of overwrought nerves and a budding hopefulness. On his way over he’d passed by his own house, which prompted Soonyoung’s decision to shove his duffle bag through his bedroom window to discard the troublesome weight.

However, he then had a small epiphany, found himself climbing and squirming through to grab something that he was unable to leave without.

The doorknob jiggled.

Soonyoung stood in the sweetened, morning air, the birdsong turning into blurred background noise as his breath hitched and the moisture in his throat dried up, waiting for you to appear. Though when the door at last swung open and the sunlight twinkled in the wet depths of your eyes, the sight reminded him of why he charged here in utmost determination. A mess stood before him to put it kindly, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes – so distraught that your lips quivered, bitten bright like rubies, so emotionally drained that once glossy tear tracks turned to matte patterns on your cheeks.

Defeat had spun you around its orbit for far too long. You couldn’t even speak, just glanced at Soonyoung and hiccuped in the preluding fashion of a sob.

Immediately he’d stepped past the doorframe – every bittersweet word of his confession, every aching memory of your relationship with Junhui, every argument you’d ever had completely erased from his mind. Soonyoung solely focused on your comfort, planting his gentle hands against your cheeks, massaging away the damp film that slowly reformed beneath the sore skin of your eyes. His thumbs picked up the tiny, glistering beads and swept each one away.

Your fingers shakily kneaded into his waist, twisting the thick fabric of his pullover as though it would absorb and alleviate your pain.

“You’re okay,” Soonyoung lilted softly, “I promise you’re okay. I’ve got you now, and everything’s gonna be alright.”

Despite your strength being quite meek at the moment, Soonyoung could feel the loop your arms formed around his waist had infinitesimally tightened. Your body surged with the faintest flicker of energy as he rubbed his thumbs upon the warm skin of your temples, pressing a kiss to the space between your brows. As you breathed in tatters, the unstable warmth ghosting at his neck, Soonyoung kissed the space again, this time his touch lasting a bit longer, the tautness of your frame that was like a crossbow slowly loosening.

“S-Soonyoung,” He heard you breathlessly croak whilst blinking at him wetly, “W-What’s w-wrong with me?”

Soonyoung gave your face tender squeeze, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that soaked from between your lashes, “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with you, baby.”

But you immediately shook your head, a hiccup sounding at the back of your throat as you grabbed onto his waist harder. “No, no, no,” You chanted, “Please don’t lie, Soonyoung. I hurt you a-and then I h-hurt J-Junhui. That’s all I do a-and I don’t know why. Why do I do this?”

He sighed, the strained cadence and desperation in your voice newly pronounced to his ears. This state of agony you’d wilted into was uncharted territory for Soonyoung – he had to be careful and delicate with his choice of wording. After sticking his arm out to close the door, he took a light grip on your chin using his index finger and thumb, pointing your face upward where he could examine your expression in clarity. You had inflicted pain into his life, yet he could never get angry at you for it.

“Try not to be so rough with yourself. You’re a gorgeous, strong girl, and people are going to fall for that, okay?” Soonyoung humoured slightly, knowing that was merely a sliver of the reasons he’d fallen for you. Still, there remained a serious nuance in his tone. “People are going to come into your life, they’re going to evoke feelings from you, and you’ll evoke feelings from them. Just because those feelings don’t always match up, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

His thumb stretched out to stroke your jaw, his gaze warm, flaring in amber hues reminiscent of honey.

“You have so much time to discover what you want in your partner. They’re gonna come along one day and sweep you right off your feet, all these things you worry about will turn to dust. I know that for a fact, trust me. But for now, please just focus on yourself, sweetheart. You need some time to heal, alright?”

A cast of sunlight shafted through the glass on the door, pooling in a melted, golden stroke across your face. Audibly you gulped and sniffled, blinking at Soonyoung against the heat of the sun’s ray before returning back to his shoulder, your nose softly pressed to his neck where he could feel that your breaths had exponentially calmed. He smiled, his palm rubbing up and down along your spine, gently easing whatever small sobs you had left into open air. It wasn’t until your arms loosened around his waist and your voice quietly rustled by his cheek that he stopped.

“S-Soonyoung,” You feebly squeaked his name.

“Yeah?”

“Do you… Do you have something in your, um, pocket?”

That’s when it came to him. His face lit up as he dug his hand into the pocket of his pullover, your expression incredibly perplexed as Soonyoung pulled out his Rubik’s cube.

“I do actually,” He chuckled, “This thing! I had to run by my house to come here, and I had my dance bag with me. So I just shoved it through my bedroom window. But then I saw my Rubik’s cube and thought… Well… I dunno really. Maybe it would like, relax you or something since you’ve always liked playing with it. It doesn’t make a lot of sense when I say it out loud.”

He spilt into a wide smile at hearing your laughter. Maybe it trembled slightly and foretold the start of a deep exhaustion, but it allowed Soonyoung’s heart to feel less heavy.

“No, it makes sense,” You giggled, pawing beneath your nose, “I just— I can’t believe you would think to bring that.”

Soonyoung shrugged, speaking with such casualness as he said, “Well, I’m always thinking of you, so.”

Your mouth opened slightly for a transient moment, revealing nothing but a black diamond gap until you seemed to shake away whatever thought plagued your mind. You took the Rubik’s cube from Soonyoung and then looked back into the corridor, sniffling whilst you touched the wall with your hand before sinking down to sit on the floor. Without having to think, Soonyoung slouched down snug beside you, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg.

Already you were working the different panels with a dexterous speed. Leaning his head against the wall, Soonyoung watched silently, though enjoyed thoroughly. The silence was tranquil and continued as the sun began etching higher and higher into the eggshell blue of the sky, a dusty sea illuminated in warm, caressing light as floating particles shone through the glass door.

He felt a faint weight on his shoulder, peeked down to see you resting against him.

Swallowing as discreetly as he could, Soonyoung harnessed the courage to set his hand on your bare knee, his lips curling when you didn’t protest, just continued to fiddle and experiment with the cube. However, his lungs were teetering on the edge of shriveled leather as you momentarily paused your game to grab his wrist, move his hand higher up your soft, smooth skin until you placed his touch at the inside of your thigh. White speckles tingled in his peripheral vision. He wanted to pinch himself just to ensure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” Soonyoung asked whilst peeping at the game from above your head, squeezing the warm skin of your thigh reassuringly.

There was a pause the scope of a heartbeat.

“Stay.” You then replied.

So he did exactly that.

It was a somewhat late night at the studio, a couple rotations past nine o’clock, the streets slowly but surely beginning to teem as most prepared to embark on a Friday night escapade. Minghao had gotten out of the shower fairly quickly, but Chan must have aimed to dawdle or maybe take a nap beneath the soaking hot water and webs of steam. There was hardly any heat left, even when Soonyoung cranked the handle all the way to the right, into the red section.

Still, it felt rejuvenating to peel the sticky clothes from his skin that had once adhered like paper-mâché and stand beneath the water, his eyes closed, hair swept back from his face, hands gliding and scrubbing the ache from his muscles. Minghao had come up with the idea to go out and dine, so whilst Soonyoung would usually be at home at this point, snuggling into bed, probably thinking about he could fall asleep so much easier with you in his arms, he was instead getting ready to stuff his face.

Not that he would ever complain about such a thing.

Roughly two weeks had passed since Soonyoung cradled you in his arms, your tears absorbing into the fabric of his pullover, a hand soothing down your spine in an attempt to crease out your self-loathing. Two weeks had passed since you sat together in the corridor, his gaze trained to how you maneuvered his Rubik’s cube, almost on the brink of solving its puzzle until there was a single panel that didn’t match and you huffed in sheer frustration. The cube was still sitting on your dresser.

Soonyoung never bothered asking for it back. He figured you could make much better use of it than he ever would. Little by little, it felt like your friendship was padding its way back to its golden era, where life wasn’t so serious and there wasn’t this attribute of stiltedness whenever you were alone together. Junhui seemed to be feeling better too. He started arriving at practices a week after the break up, though it was impossible to truly read the writing on his heart. He was an actor after all. Maybe he was just immaculate at hiding his truths.

Unsurprisingly so, Soonyoung’s utter affections for you remained unyielding. When he believed you had attained remarkable stability back into your life, he made sure you were aware of this, in which his emotions were quite possibly never going to change. He wanted to make sure you were okay with everything – that you were okay with his thoughts about you, what he felt when he looked at you, that his desire to have you wasn’t something that imbued discomfort.

Soonyoung remembered telling you this by his campfire as you stargazed together, except there had been no interruptions.

Once he’d gotten out from the shower with a towel rubbing his hair dry, he could faintly hear the muffled conversation shared between Minghao and Chan.

They were speaking quietly, which Soonyoung found rather peculiar considering there was no one else occupying the studio apart from the three of them. He swore that your name as well as Junhui’s had popped up multiple times in the same sentence. Soonyoung was completely aware both you and Junhui were going to be at the dinner. Sure, it was off-putting and questionable, but you were mature and would know not to start anything to create an awkward atmosphere.

Hell – Soonyoung thought that even Wonwoo was invited.

However, Soonyoung’s curiosity was far too puissant. He couldn’t evade pressing his ear against the door, a smirk prancing up his lips as he strained to hear the conversation. It couldn’t be that fucking terrible, probably something about how it would be a little unsettling to have you and Junhui in such proximity.

But then—Oh no, Soonyoung’s jaw had bloomed with rust, nearly unhinging from its bone and clattering to the floor.

“Why are we whispering again?”

“Shh! Chan if you don’t lower your fuh— I mean fabulous voice, I said I was going to explain!”

“Sorry.”

“I-I have some news, but don’t start yelling, okay? Anyways, [Y/N] isn’t meeting us here and walking to dinner with us anymore.”

“What? Why?”

“Well… She’s going to Junhui’s apartment before instea—would you pick your mouth up off the floor? She’s going over to Junhui’s apartment beforehand.”

“How did you find that out?”

“Junhui told me. She texted him and said she wanted to come over.”

“Do you think she wants to get back together? Maybe she changed her mind and does love him. ”

“I have no clue, Channie. I really have no clue. But Junhui’s had some stuff he’s really wanted to say to her. Maybe they’ll come to the dinner as a couple, maybe not.”

“Damn, this is going to destroy Soonyoung. I… I—,”

“I know, and that’s exactly why we’re not going to say anything to him. We shouldn’t assume. We’re not going to assume. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Soonyoung wasn’t sure what the pain felt like exactly. There was nothing physical that could come close to its depth, its unbeknownst strength that abruptly flared within him so potently he could feel even his blood vessels concaving. He just knew it hurt. He knew that sensitive wounds recently set to heal had been torn up without warning, and they poured open, pouring and pouring as Soonyoung’s head thumped against the door, wanting to rail his fist through the wood if there had been no one there to witness him.

Actions weren’t solely reserved for testaments of love. They were just as representative of anger and heartbreak as they were anything else.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Minghao posed as set his handbag around his shoulder, Chan standing next to him and shyly tugging at his fingers. They both gazed worrisomely at Soonyoung who sat on the table with the doc station, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and black sweatpants, not exactly the primmest attire for dining at a somewhat sumptuous restaurant.

“I never said I wasn’t coming, but I feel kinda sick right now. I might join you guys later.” He heartlessly defended, his arms lying like cement blocks in his lap.

Chan gulped nervously, “Y-You don’t have to make something up if you don’t want to g—,”

“I’m not making it up!” Soonyoung unabashedly snapped, leaning forward slightly and fists harshly balled to collect the energy in his outburst.

Chan didn’t flinch, but he most definitely looked drained, his face paling to that of morning frost. Minghao clearly read the situation much better than Chan, suspicions dangling at his mind’s forefront, however he wasn’t about to voice them and further collapse the situation when what he’d been craving all week was a relaxing dinner, some smooth music, a glass of wine to swallow his stresses to. Instead of interrogation, he decided to give Soonyoung the quietness and air he evidently needed, simply nodding his head with a tight lip.

“I hope you feel better,” Minghao said whilst patting Chan on his shoulder, “We should really get going though. There’s no pressure for you to show up. Do what you feel is best.”

Soonyoung leaned back against the wall, his legs bobbing as they hung over the edge of the table.

“Thanks.” Was all he muttered before Minghao and Chan left the studio, the enticing bustle of nightlife sounding for a mere fraction, until the door clicked shut and Soonyoung was left to kick his feet as cars sped past beyond the studio’s glass window.

Soonyoung was unsure of how long he sat in silence, his head titled to gaze upon the luminescent families of stars that gathered in the black sky. He couldn’t see the moon from his position, but he knew it shone brightly, a silver-bluish glow bathing the polished floor like an ocean light. If there happened to be a thing or two on his mind, it was a question rather than a sentiment.

How could you do this? You seemed to allow yourself to slip so effortlessly back into Junhui’s reigns, as though you were a tiny leaf on the pond, simply following the current that tugged you downstream.

Even when Soonyoung thought he could read you, it only took mere seconds for that confidence to be erased, yet there always remained a lifetime of pain that jabbed him wherever it hurt most.

Getting lost in his head, Soonyoung failed to recognize the figure that approached the studio in haste, which walked up the staircase and gently tried the handle to see the door push open. He failed to recognize the swift patter of its steps, the light citrus of its scent, even the melodic lilt that weaved into its voice as it ventured into the studio. Soonyoung felt like he’d been plunged underwater, his lungs withering to scream yet were unimaginably full of something dreadful.

He caught the figure’s eyes—your eyes, how they timidly sparkled.

You swallowed, arms unnaturally crossed against your chest. “Minghao said you would be here,” sounded your soft-spoken introduction.

There was no barrier separating you from Soonyoung, yet you hovered in the middle of the studio like there was a vast gorge that kept you apart.

Soonyoung nodded, “Yeah.”

You licked your lips, rubbing your arms up and down, “He said you were feeling sick. Is that true? Do you feel any better?”

“Dunno.” Soonyoung answered.

Despite his curt replies, emptiness echoed so loudly in between every pause that he suspected even you could feel a part of it. Very cautiously, you stepped further toward him. He wasn’t some feral animal that was going to burst from its chains and attack you, but you approached him as such.

“It didn’t really feel the same without you there,” You made the effort to potentially ignite some warmth into the air, “Not without your jokes and stuff.”

But Soonyoung indolently blew out the warmth with a cold reply of his own. “What are you doing?” He said. His tone wasn’t sharp, but flat, and he could see how you uneasily shifted at his complete flip of attitude.

Your arms fell from your chest, perhaps a foreshadowing of how you were willing to confront the obvious weight in the room, the dark shadow that prowled directly where Soonyoung sat, staring you down with ice in his eyes, but your gentle words suggested opposite.

“I want to talk to you.” You replied whilst stepping closer and closer.

Soonyoung remained mute, though continued to follow your movement, how you fluttered in step by step until you were standing right in front of him, right at his legs that dangled off the table.

He sat up straight and looked nowhere else but directly into your eyes. It had always been him that shuddered with nervousness, and now the coin had been tossed so that you were seeking trouble in finding composure, a method to ground yourself whilst his gaze prickled you like an intense fever. Soonyoung didn’t split the connection for even a second; he steadfastly maintained eye contact, your faces only inches apart as you momentarily looked to your fumbling hands before shaky laughter filled the studio.

“I-I, um, I have something to tell you, alright? But it’s really, really not easy. I don’t know how you’ll react or what you’ll say or what you’ll think of me but, I don’t want to keep this a secret. I guess there’s no sense in rambling though.”

You took a deep breath, your eyelashes feathering and hands pushing down past your stomach, almost as though your fear was palpable and you were attempting to subdue it.

Soonyoung’s eyes fell to the shape of your lips, how they pursed with the breath you exhaled. Your scent had encompassed him, mild and sweet like the fresh fruit of summer, and moonlight splashed along half your face, illuminating your skin like a glinting crystal. Perhaps he could have possessed more self-control, but this may be the last time he could ever act before what he suspected you were going to say became reality.

“Soonyoung, I need to tell you that I’m—,”

He didn’t resist. A squeak erupted from your mouth as Soonyoung slid off the table, his hands gripping with modicum force at your waist and pushing your back against the mirror. The second your skin seemed to hit the cool glass, a gasp burst from deep within your chest, Soonyoung then seizing the sliver of time to press his lips against your own. For a fleeting moment your body was rigid, though it fell ultimately weak, melted like cream into his touch as his fingertips tightened the silk of your dress into your skin.

Your mouth was soft, corresponding eagerly to his movement, and your teeth were gentle in their quick, teasing bites against the plush of Soonyoung’s lips. This specific moment what was played most commonly in his head, from restless sleep that could never grace his eyelids soon enough to long, morning bus rides where his head had yet to leave the clouds and the sunrise ignited embers in his vision.

But at last, he was kissing you; he was drawing heavy, hot breaths from your chest as he collected your taste on his tongue.

Briefly Soonyoung pictured the party, how he’d sat watching Junhui’s large hands roam your body, dig crescents upon your skin that was softer than a peach with his nails, turn the colour of your mouth a vibrant, cherry red, the sheen of saliva on your lips glossy and bright. But at long last it was Soonyoung’s turn to ruin you – to elicit the sharp, breathy mewl from your chest.

The mere realization further emboldened him, caused him to lick into your mouth whilst your hands trembled, threaded into his hair in tight, concupiscent fistfuls.

Inch by inch his kisses strayed from your lips. Your back was pressed with a more solidified firmness into the mirror as Soonyoung’s hand crept down your waist and tucked beneath your thigh, hauling it over his hip. His fingertips curved fire upon your skin, inducing a sting that overweighed in pleasure than in pain. You titled your head back, heat coursing through his veins when he heard a beautiful moan flutter from your mouth. His lips then reached the sensitive crook of your neck where the sweet scent was most concentrated.

His teeth delicately bit down upon the warm, velvet flesh, the manner in which you arched toward his touch encouraging Soonyoung.

His world was tuned to nothing but your hedonism, the tiny noises you were unable to supress beneath the wet pressure of his tongue against the new, glistening bruise. And it continued like that, blossom after blossom being suckled, nipped and licked into the column of your neck, your chest, fingers knotted into Soonyoung’s hair not to guide him, but to express the euphoria he masterfully summoned at your core.

However, as Soonyoung’s palms cupped your ribcage, and as his kisses adapted a much more sentimental, slower rhythm once they pressed upon the soft swell of your chest, there was a gaping feeling that howled inside him. He couldn’t have you. He shouldn’t even be doing this with you. Where you should have been was at dinner with your friends, enjoying the music, the food, the conversation. Despite Soonyoung’s intimate wishes to continue with your fingers tugging at his scalp in a dull sting, your breathless mewls, your swollen lips gasping his name, he believed you were not in love with him.

A splash rolled onto your chest, tiny and wet, and then another and another. Soonyoung had stopped kissing you, his grasp on your ribcage fading in strength.

“W-What’s wrong?” You questioned whilst he heard that your heart still beat like a metal pendulum. “Why did you stop? It felt so good, really good.”

Undoubtedly the damp trails were leaking from his eyes. They were no longer tinted with a thick lust, but a vacantness that left his irises hollowed and indiscernible. Soonyoung’s vision of his marks on your chest blurred. He heard you gulp, your fingers winding down from their tangled clasp in his black hair to gently cup his face; raise it into the meagre light of the studio.

“Soonyoung? You okay?” However, the very second you peered into the clear lacquer that lined his eyes; he assumed that you understood his answer before he even spoke it.

“N-No.” His voice cracked.

The soft pad of your thumb brushed beneath his eye. “Tell me what’s wrong,” You were notably pleading rather than politely asking, “What’s hurting you?”

He didn’t care anymore. His face plunged straight into the junction between your shoulder and neck, his hands uselessly clutching at the back of your dress, compressing the silk in his hands. Your heartbeat thrummed throughout your entire body, and Soonyoung could easily detect its sporadic pulse with his ear pressed tightly to your neck. He hiccupped and the dam suddenly broke loose, your fingers coaxing down the back of his head in a lambent hope it would soothe him even marginally.

“Y-You don’t love me, you don’t love me, you don’t love me but I’m so fucking in love with you that it’s all I can ever think about. Nothing has ever hurt this bad but I can’t keep myself away from you. I-I don’t know what to do. You’re with Junhui again and I want to be angry at you because how could you fucking do this to me when you know how I feel about you, how badly I want you, how I’d drop everything for you. B-But it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault and—,”

“Soonyoung, Soonyoung,” You’d gotten a hold of his face, fingers gripping into the teary trails that soaked from his eyes, from his gaze that had broken like a glass sheet. “I need you to listen to me, baby, okay? Calm down.” Soonyoung wetly blinked at you, never having experienced such a heartfelt reflection glaze in your eyes.

Sweeping the black hairs that had masked to his flushed, tan skin, you gave his head a small shake, staring at Soonyoung with moonlight slanting across your features.

“You beautiful, beautiful boy who I adore so much I can’t even describe it. I’m not with Junhui, I don’t know where you got that idea from, but I’m not with him. I came here specifically to tell you that—,” Your thumb brushed beneath the plump curl of his bottom lip, “For fuck’s sake, that I’m in love with you! I’m in love with you, and I am being one-hundred percent serious.”

Your hands drifted from his cheeks to the sides of his face, where Soonyoung could feel their slight pressure and their solacing heat.

He wasn’t able to pinpoint that last time he’d allowed his emotions run so rampantly before you, completely abducting control of his body until he felt like a vessel running on autopilot. His face was still damp and there were watered pearls clinging to his eyelashes, though Soonyoung wasn’t as concerned with a little blotchiness marring his vision when you looked at him like you needed him, like you couldn’t live without him.

The tender, grazing movement of your fingertips along his jaw pulled with a feather’s daintiness, Soonyoung sniffing a bit raggedly as your arms then wrapped around his neck.

“If you’re wondering about why I drove to the dinner with Jun, it was just because I left a lot of things at his apartment I wanted to pick up. I was finally feeling well enough to face him on my own… When I broke up with him, I knew exactly why I did it, Soonyoung.” You chewed your bottom lip and huffed in slight amusement, adapting to how it felt to ultimately speak these realizations, these thoughts, aloud.

“I did it because I finally understood this feeling I’ve always had for you, but could never put my fingertip on. I know that I’m in love with you. And, like you said, one day someone is gonna come along and sweep me right off my feet, make me forget about all my worries as though they’re nothing but dust. You’ve always been that person; I guess I just didn’t understand myself well enough at the time to see that.”

Fragile laughter rumbled in your throat, “You really took all my years of blissful ignorance like a solider, huh? I’m not really sure how I’ll ever make up for that.”

Soonyoung hands returned to your waist, clutching with a notable pressure, as if your body was fabricated from the swirling soot of a star that could ghost between his fingertips in a mere second. He straightened his posture, rested his forehead against your own, and peered directly into your eyes that blinked at him with a sentiment he could at long last read.

Without another wasted heartbeat, Soonyoung whispered right at your cupid’s bow, “You can be with me.”

To which a smile blossomed at your bitten, bright mouth.

“I’d love that more than anything.” Your voice slipped into a gentle hush just before the tips of your fingers swept down his neck, guiding Soonyoung forward the tiniest amount to kiss his pink mouth so sweetly.

The night ended on quite an interesting note. Minghao ended up hopping from the dinner table early because he was reunited with the sudden urge to photograph their memorable night; however, he’d forgotten his camera in his dance bag which he left at the studio. The air was chilly and misted, but felt ever so refreshing against his skin heated from many glasses of wine. As he quickly paced down the street, nose buried in his coat and hands in his pockets, he found himself coming to an abrupt stop outside the studio.

With a hammering heartbeat clogging his throat, he vigilantly did his best to peek into the dance studio’s front window, his jaw hanging on by a mere thread as he gauged the sight that had been beautifully framed by a shower of moonlight. Soonyoung’s hands were pressed against your back, holding you close to him whilst your arms cradled his head at your shoulder, fingers just barely combing his hair. Together you swayed, tangled in the other’s company, to a much muffled melody Minghao had to absolutely strain to hear.

Once he saw Soonyoung’s iPod glowing from the doc station, Minghao nodded to himself, a smile crossing his lips at a relationship he never thought possible.

Yet, now that he witnessed Soonyoung raise his head from your shoulder and softly capture your mouth in a slow and gentle kiss, Minghao could see that it was a relationship that made the most sense. As much as he yearned to fetch his camera, Minghao decided to place his own needs aside. Besides, he would most likely return to the restaurant to find Wonwoo offering the server a blunt and Chan shoveling handfuls of mints into his pocket whilst Junhui distracted the front-of-house manager.

Minghao left the two of you to your moment.

Soonyoung had finally attained his wish.

✧✎ a/n: lol starting this i inferred it would only be abt 6-7K... obviously that DID NOT happen! i dont know why my brain is solely programmed to make such long stories. i mean... i have written shorter things... but not very many. hopefully you can see why it takes me eons to respond to requests!! i havent posted smth this lengthy in a while so i hope those who read it had fun!!! comments r welcomed!!

it felt very nice writing a one-shot for soons bc i only have ONE other one-shot for him... and it’s like done in a second. Tragic!!!! anyways, i envisioned this story listening to allie x’s song, catch!! i would have linked the song, however adding links seems to prevent work from showing up in the tags :( if youre interested in listening tho, i guess youtube exists lol. this author’s note is going to become as long as the fic if i dont stfu, sooo... BYE!!!!

[alexandric-blog1]

hey everyone !!! i’m admin sam and i’m super excited for this to finally get started !!! i reside in the est tmz and i go by she/her . this is my baby alexandria ( ya w an i in it sometimes ppl get confused whenever i use this name ) and she is a somewhat pre-existing muse so i already got a good idea on who she is and all that . anyway , without further aideu , here’s alexandria !!!

have you seen ALEXANDRIA BRENNAN? the CISFEMALE look like NATALIA DYER and live in 423. their rent is overdue! that TWENTY-ONE year old always seems to be IMPETUOUS, but you have to admit they are also GREGARIOUS. maybe it’s because they are so busy working as a GROCERY STORE CASHIER.

if u wanna plot , pls like this & we def will , i will hit u up ( or im me , whatever is easiest ) !!!

stats, bio, hc’s and connections here !!!

alex was born on november 15th, 1996 ( making her a scorpio ) in winona, colorado so she has been here her entire life . born and raised baby !!!

growing up, alex was a good angel child literally such a white suburban girl. she had okay-ish grades but tbh just wanted to live up and impress her family ( espec her parents ) bc uhhh middle child syndrome amirite. she has an older brother and younger sister and ofc they are both super smart and shes jus .... alex

once middle school rolled around , sis tweaked and started acting out but so subconsciously she didnt know what was going on ever . like somehow she would accidentally make her science project fuckin uh explode by mixing wrong chemicals or she would accidentally kick a soccer ball right into someones face

but uhh god forbid this chismosa entered high school . she tried to keep up good grades until gr 11/junior year ( whatever u call it ) when the how do u say TEEN ANGST kicked tf in !!!

she was like ‘ uhhh college , who is that ?? i deleted her from my contacts month ago ! ‘ whenever asked about it and pretty much accepted she wasnt going anywhere in life ( even tho she has such an interest in art and shii )queue rebellious teenage phase of getting drunk every weekend and smoking weed heheheh shes SOOOO CRazy !

alex didnt rly get out of her rebellious phase but now it jus kind of a life style ??? like shes kween of impulse !!! any crazy decision she has made is always in the moment and could sometimes lead to bad endings, though that doesn’t stop her now regardless of how many times her dumb ideas have gotten her in trouble

she loves and supports her friends so much crying face emoji <3 but alex herself literally doesnt know how to confront her own damn feelings bc shes a chismosa

^ also , even though she doesn’t like expressing herself and acknowledging her feelings , when she needs to let things out , it’s generally in a very explosive or mood swing-y way. she can lash out over little things if something has been building up but it’s not something that happens often + she always regrets it afterwards bc she both verbally attacked someone most likely innocent and bc that person knows how she’s feeling

^^ very hidden about a lot of things unless she’s close with you

^^^ ALSO just because she’s not good at handling her own feelings , she wants to do her best to make sure her friends are happy and tries to give them the best advice she can ( but bc of this , she a bit hypocritical )

anyway , currently , she’s working at a grocery store bc she doesnt know how to get her life started again  ( but like since shes into art i plan on eventually getting her to grow n expand as a person and get an actual job ) but she doesnt care that much bc shes havin fun and livin life

ok sorry this got so long i probably forgot so many points i wanted to add but whatever

[youreghanamissme]

Carol Getting Married, Or Coming to America

8/14/17

My trip to America in a nutshell: Holly (the cat) hops onto my lap as I sit on the porcelain throne, scrolling through my Facebook news feed.

It's recommended that y'all put Calvin Harris' Funk Wav Bounces Vol. 1 in the background while reading forward. That album has been giving me life the past month and is somehow emblematic of this post.

Mona and I at Target. Initially, we tried the headbands on ironically, but then we kept wearing them around Target as we looked at stuff we didn’t need. When we got to the register, we bought them for their sentimental value. 

Adhering to the better judgment and insistence of a trusted friend, I took half an Imodium (anti-diarrheal pill) before my 14-hour journey from Tamale to Accra, and booooy was that rough but so, so necessary. I had been running (Ghana speak for recurrent diarrhea) for a week prior. Being a kitty-corner from a toilet/latrine was not just necessary; it was equal parts redemption and self-preservation. And while that plug kept my pride intact on the bus, it nearly made me want to commit seppuku. Accra was the same as usual: foreign to me (as a northerner), expensive, and awkward. Highlight of being in Accra two days before my flight: I got my (seven) cavities taken care of. Lowlight: half of those fillings chipped away or fell out entirely in America. Oh, Ghana.

My flight to Paris was an adventurous one. Without going into too many details, I sort of held up the flight. But only by no more than 5-10 minutes! And it wasn't really my fault!! The flight attendants blew the whole ordeal out of proportion, even going so far as talking smack about me—in my presence—in French. They probably needed to take half a chill pill. We got to our destination on time, and I don't regret what I did. Don't worry—it was neither illegal nor immoral.

Paris to San Francisco was one of my worst experiences to date. I felt restless. My body was tense, my neck was killing me, and I was in the thick of a four-seat row. It didn't help that European airline food is leagues better than what I had been eating lately, and I was losing the fight to reject free brie cheese, butter, and ice cream en route. Lactose intolerance, be damned!

My three week stay in America was split between San Jose and San Francisco, my parents' home and my sister's/BIL's house. I no longer had my apartment in Oakland, and while my friends and former flat-mate were more than willing to let me crash at their place, I felt a little weird about it. They had real jobs and some had real families, and I didn't want to loaf around on netflix all day in front of them... which is what I often did in San Jose. Hours and hours spent catching up to beloved shows and binging on ice cream, cake, chips (party size), and cookies. I gained about 7lbs by the time of the wedding, two days before my return to Ghana. Most of my SJ friends didn't live in the area anymore, and even if they had stayed to reside in the 4-0-8, we had drifted apart so that a lot of what we did together was reminisce. I spent as much of my free time as possible meeting up with old friends in Oakland and San Francisco. For those who have yet to revisit America, here's what's up:

Hawaiian poke bowls are now a thing

There are now many apps to have food delivered to you. Be the recluse you aspire to be!

Boba tea has expanded into the mainstream, something us Asian-Am's have known and drank for years

Kick-boxing-ballet is on the rise

Homelessness has increased significantly in the bay area

You can order your weed online and have it delivered to you via a phone app (in CA, at least)

Coming to America was... weird. It wasn't too much of a culture shock. Maybe because it takes a lot to faze me; maybe because I've gotten some pre-America exposure to department stores and grocery markets in Accra, but having set prices was oddly comforting. No more haggling over a couple Cedis and wondering if I got a fair price or an inflated foreigner price. And the American merchandising of consumer products? Alarming, alienating. I never realized how greatly consumerism and commercialism ruled Americana. Or how courtesy is a real form of currency.

I watched a YouTube video one day that convinced me I needed to go buy, or at least check out, some LUSH products because they were all natural and good for you and better for workers and the environment (1: covert advertising). I went to a LUSH store in San Francisco, and the people were all so nice and accommodating, if not a little too eager to have me sample something (2: everyone is kind of fake-nice in USA, but I know everyone is good people, especially retail workers. I've been there; I've done that). The store smelled divine; the products seemed truly high-quality. And then I looked at the prices. Holy Jesus, Mother of Mercy, and the ineffable Buddha. FUCK. Those prices were eye-gougingly high. But then it is America. And then I converted the costs into Ghana Cedis—something I had to intentionally prevent myself from doing as my vacation continued to preclude a moral quandry at every run to CVS—and I felt like an asshole. I then spent the next hour musing in the small shop to look for the cheapest thing to buy (3: because manners matter in America, and they were all SO nice. I didn't want to be one of those people who actually talked to the workers, stayed forever, and then left without buying anything. This is why I can never work in a book store, no matter how romantic and cool it seems... and how much I want a 10% employee discount). I left the store with a shampoo bar I could use but didn't really need. I won't reveal the cost, but rest assured that for the same price, I could have bought three shampoo bars on Amazon.

And that's another thing: Amazon! The paragon of consumerism in America! I am critical of it all, but I can't deny that I'm in it; they have me, my wallet, and my soul. Disregard my rants as I lather my tresses with my new sea salt LUSH shampoo bar. And you know what? It feels really fuckin' good, and it does voluminize my hair, I think...

Y'know, I feel like something of a celebrity in Ghana. I'm a foreigner and a novelty and most strangers want to be my friend. Why, the kids scream my name—“Deeshini! Deeshini! Deeeeeshini!!”—everywhere I go in the village. And while I didn't have the same A-lister power in America, a lot of people did want to meet me. I felt like the Queen-motherfucking-Bee in a teen movie. It sucked that I couldn't hang out with everyone since conflicting schedules and locale were an issue, but for the folks that I was able to see and spend some time with, I am so grateful and thankful. It meant more to me than I can articulate.

Since I've been gone, my friends got engaged/married, are making strides in the pursuit of their dream careers, and evolving into cooler versions of themselves (and they were already pretty dope creatures). I love all of that. We talked lives, marriages, politics, failed connections, social unrest, self-discovery, and all the minutiae over good beer and better food. That's mostly what I did: enjoy the best food (Thai food, Vietnamese che (desserts), sushi, smoked salmon, burritos, cream donuts, STRAWBERRIES and PEACHES and CHEESE #sighpies ...and PIE. All the pies, yespleasethankyoumuch) with high-quality company and drink my weight in liquor. I was reminded how lucky I was to not have to drink Club beer (aka Bud Light's even less impressive cousin) for another three weeks. Don't get me wrong—Club will do, but why drink Club when you can have a Rasputin? Or a quality IPA?

My sister and Nathan (BIL), bless their hearts, had a few crates of beer available at their wedding. I drank a few Anchor Steams to calm my nerves before my sister-of-the-bride speech. I wasn't drunk, but I got the hiccups anyway. The speech itself was worse than a train-wreck. It was a dumpster fire that somehow rolled down the street. I wish I could have also left the building and escape onto the streets of SF.

...Okay, no, I didn't. But I ended up ugly-crying/ bawling the whole way through... to the point where my sister AND our father told me, 30 seconds in, that I didn't have to finish what I had to say. I wanted to though; I'm no quitter! And especially not on a night that would be remembered for the rest of my sister's life!

Well, I tell you what, neither she nor the other 340-plus guests will forget the night I read my speech—something that should have been one minute but took three instead—through tears, frequent mucus snorting, and awkward pauses into a microphone. By the way, my mess was not only filmed on camera for future generations' sake, it was also live-broadcasted for all the guests on the mezzanine to see since they didn't have ground-floor views. So much for all that expensive make-up. It washed away in three minutes. I didn't think I'd cry. That's the problem. I should have known better. I'll cry at anything, even a drop of a hat if it happened in a way I deem poetic.

It wasn't something I shed a tear over, but seeing family was a huge joy of being back home. Carol's wedding became the impetus for the reunion of my paternal cousins. They hail from all over the world—Paris, Portland, Calgary, Vancouver, Montreal, LA, New York. It was pretty cool. Some cousins I had never met before, and for others, it had been at least a decade since we were in the same room. I knew it meant a lot to my dad that several of his siblings made it to the wedding. He hadn't seen some of them in almost two decades. I don't think I would ever want to let that happen with Carol. Reuniting with my maternal cousins was something that I was also fortunate to do. I'm lucky I had cousins to grow up with; I know that's not the case for a lot of people. A lot of them had moved northward, towards Sacramento, as the Bay Area became too expensive to live in. It had been such a long time since I sat down and talked to the few that were in my age range. And on top of that—the baby cousins were no longer babies! Now they were in high school and finishing college, and I wondered to myself where did the years go?

The rest of the wedding banquet was bomb-diggity. There was a photo booth with props. Music was on point (leave it to my BIL to play the theme song to COPS at his wedding). The in-laws are Chinese, so of course we had a Traditional Chinese Ten-Course Meal. Yumsville, population: Diana. I ate until I couldn't eat anymore. Best part was the cake. I even ate other people's uneaten and half-eaten slices left on their tables as they headed home. Want not, waste not—cream and all!

By the end of the night, I was walking barefoot as I could no longer walk in those four inch heels that prevented my dress from dragging more on the floor than it did. My mom has night blindness, and my dad has avoided driving on the freeway for the past 15 years. It was up to me to drive us all and a fellow bridesmaid back to San Jose that night. It was a little nerve-wracking as I had only driven once before while being back, but it all went fine. Maybe driving is one of those things you don't really forget, like riding a bike.

Most of my time in America was spent before the wedding. Really, the whole point was to make sure my ao dai (one of my bridesmaid's dresses; an ao dai is traditional Vietnamese garb for gals) fit. I came back as early as I could to have alterations made in case the measurements I gave my sis didn't work out. I also wanted to help out with pre-wedding prep. While we never did go to the tailor before the wedding due to laziness (it fit, thankfully), I was glad to assist with the flowers and some small tasks.

When I was preparing to leave for America, I just couldn't wait to return to Ghana. I had work to do; a life to get back to with a purpose, but by the end of my stay, I wish I had more time to spend with my parents. They look older, more tired. I'm still in the selfish phase of my life: the unsparing twenties where hedonism is the choice idea, responsibilities feel better suited for my 30's, and I have few qualms about being an ocean away from my ma and dad. Good news is that they're both more or less retired now. Better news is that our relationship, no matter how frigid or awkward, is improving. They spent most of my time in America running around getting the house ready for the wedding. We're not Christians, so the house was renovated and the backyard landscaped to be presentable for the ceremonies—the American one (an officiant... who happened to be my sis' bff and a fellow bridesmaid!) and the Vietnamese/Chinese one (tea ceremony... where the groom's side of the family comes into the house in a procession, dowry-like gifts in hand)—at home. I was humbled by the tea ceremony, with all its intricate formalities and greetings and ancestral acknowledgment. I wondered quietly to myself: “Wow. This is a lot of bowing and citation to this person and that person... and who is that guy? I don't even know who they're talking about, but everyone else seems to. Will any of us second-generation American kids know how to guide each other through another tea ceremony when everyone from the old country has passed?” I'm sure my cousins and I will manage, somehow, but it did make me hyper-aware of how disassociated I feel from my Vietnamese culture sometimes. Not quite American enough for America, and not Vietnamese enough for the Vietnamese... It's sometimes a kind of limbo being the child of immigrants. Just a thought.

I think when everything was all over and everyone could finally breath a sigh of relief, both my parents and I regretted not spending quality time together. I say so because my dad said it indirectly. It's unfortunate, and I understood. I was in the same boat: the only reason I was even back was because of the wedding! My parents... they're old school. They didn't grow up hearing their parents say “I love you.” A roof, plentiful food, and all necessities met (and a few gratuitous material pleasures here and there) meant love. I'm learning more and more about how they communicate all the time, and I'm learning more about their lives too. They didn't like talking about it when I was little. I think it's an immigrant/ refugee thing. I've heard similar situations amongst friends and family. But the older I get, I think the more comfortable they feel about detailing their lives and all the struggles within it. It's the same for myself too. I'm learning more about the way I express myself—feelings, thoughts, friendship, and all. And I'm trying harder to communicate with them. It's humbling to realize how we will always be discovering more facets of ourselves. I can't wait to know what I will know and feel how I will feel at 40. In the meantime, I need to call home more.

[christopherrichardpoir-blog]

Transformer Man: The Time Neil Young Got Sued for Not Sounding Like Himself

“They put me down for fuckin' around with things that I didn't understand - for getting involved in something that I shouldn't have been involved in. Well, fuck them.” -Neil Young, Shakey: Neil Young's Biography (2003)

“Sometimes in a bar, you will hear someone try to defend Neil Young's '80s albums. This is technically known as a 'desperate cry for help.'” -Rob Sheffield, The New Rolling Stone Album Guide (2004)

A process server arrived at Neil Young's door in early November 1983. It was several days shy of the artist's birthday, and he was visiting on behalf of Geffen Records, but he wasn't there to deliver royalties. That's not how royalties are delivered, and that's not what process servers do. He was there to serve Neil Young with a $3.3 million lawsuit, and in that moment, Neil Young became the first artist ever to be sued for not sounding enough like himself.

Filed by Geffen, which had signed Young less than two years prior, the lawsuit accused the artist of having produced albums deemed “not 'commercial' and … musically uncharacteristic of Young's previous recordings.” His most recent flop had been Everybody's Rockin', a goofy-eyed 25-minute jaunt through the rockabilly '50s. But the conflict really stemmed from a series of misadventures set in motion by Trans, the artist's intensely bewildering excursion into Vocoder-voiced electronica, which then proved to be his most alienating release to date - literally. By that, I mean it sounded to most listeners as if Young had replaced himself and his backing band with a small army of Martians, beaming his tunes down to Earth by way of some cosmic transmitter he had probably concocted on his California ranch, knowing him. Certainly that was what the campy, sci-fi album cover seemed to suggest.

No one at Geffen - or elsewhere, for that matter - could have known that Trans, in all its neon-tinted, spacey fancy, was an intensely heartfelt project for Young, one that he would later describe as “an expression of something deeply personal.”

How could they have? In the first of many strategic miscalculations, Young kept it all a secret.

Here's how I discovered Trans: I couldn't find it.

Thumbing through my father's sizable collection of Neil Young vinyl as a teenager, I somehow noticed that Trans was missing. Pretty much everything else up to and including 1987's Life was there and accounted for, as I recalled in a 2011 essay, even the forgotten Time Fades Away LP and the Journey Through the Past soundtrack, out-of-print rarities that have never been issued on CD and are more likely to be spotted in Graham Nash's attic than at Amoeba Records. So, why not Trans? If not for my Musichound Essential Album Guide book, I probably wouldn't have even known that Neil Young had released anything in 1982.

But he did, and as soon as I read some review or another referring to it, dismissively enough, as “Neil Young's techno album,” I knew I'd end up tracking it down.

So, I hunted it down. I found it used on Amazon, a dog-eared vinyl copy shipped from God knows where, and I was immediately charmed by the album's geeky song titles, which read like Prince-speak poisoned by some digital totalitarian nightmare, as well as its eerie, synthetic veneer, which is never quite thick enough to obscure Young's trademark melodicism. I was confused, probably, by the presence of three tracks that didn't trade in Kraftwerk rhythms and bleepy textures, but maybe I didn't mind the respite from the Sennheiser Vocoder VSM201 that otherwise swallowed up Young's vocals whole.

  I didn't, at any rate, know about the son who had been unable to communicate verbally with Young because he had been born with cerebral palsy and quadriplegia, and so I didn't know about the 15 hours a day Young and his wife Pegi spent in therapy programs, grueling work that would first channel into the pounding, repetitive crunch of 1981's Re-ac-tor. I didn't know that the synclavier and vocoder that subsume the record were meant to signify Ben Young's inability to vocalize in ways comprehensible to those surrounding him 24 hours a day, and I didn't read between the lines of songs like “Transformer Man”, in which alien-voiced Young bemoans that there are “so many things still left to do/ But we haven't made it yet.” Nor did I know about the music video Young envisioned for the record, which, in Young's words, would depict “a lot of scientists and doctors trying to unlock the secrets of a little being who had so much to say and no way to say it.” That video was never made.

I didn't, in other words, realize that Trans was a concept album about messages lost in translation whose message had been lost in translation.

Not that its themes were entirely without precedent. Like so much of Shakey's best songwriting, it concerns itself with a break in communication - but this time not with a love interest (“Will to Love”) or a dead junkie friend (“The Needle and the Damage Done”, “Tired Eyes”) or a shallow, posturing celebrity culture (“On the Beach”). It's a failure to communicate, in the most literal of ways, with one's young son, which somehow makes it all the more personal and all the more devastating. “That's why, on that record, you know I'm saying something, but you can't understand what it is,” Young would later explain to Mojo. “Well, that's the exact same feeling I was getting from my son.”

Except, of course, that the message was lost on pretty much everyone who heard it in 1982. That's probably because the record was drowned by its own obsessions, an LP about miscommunication that happened to be garbled and choked on the way to its audience. Young used every instrumental tool at his disposal to channel disconnection to his listeners, and in 1982, those instrumental tools had become all too heady for a popular audience that had been weaned on the pastoral tones of Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere and the even-footed country-folk of Harvest, an audience that thought Kraftwerk was a type of salami, not a musical outfit of any consequence. Too heady, too much, too soon.

That the artist responded to calls for a rock 'n' roll record in the most caustic and sneering possible manner - by throwing together a jokey '50s-rock outing - did little to improve the glass wall that had emerged between Young, his audience, and his increasingly impatient record label.

But it made for a thrilling contrast. Everybody's Rockin', for all its grinning, old-timey spirit, turned out to sound a hell of a lot colder than the LP that was designed to sound like a bubble bath with robots. Trans, by comparison, was a disarmingly honest, if excessively weird, statement. Ignored by thousands and despised by many others, it contains some of the most unusual, inventive, and even catchy material of Young's career.

So, here's the thing. Neil Young was sued - made a “Prisoner of Rock 'n' Roll”, as he would joke on 1987's Life LP - for making music deemed “not commercial and … musically uncharacteristic of Young's previous recordings.” But it wasn't. Well, sure, it was uncommercial. Of course it was. Synthpop hadn't yet broken through to the mainstream, and even if it had, Young hadn't the foggiest idea what it was supposed to sound like, a fact that gives Trans its distant, alien edge. But it wasn't unrepresentative of the impulsive, follow-every-rabbit-hole spirit that had characterized the artist's tireless and careening muse since well before 1980. Consider the ditch trilogy (Time Fades Away, On the Beach, Tonight's the Night) or the odd country excursion (Comes a Time).

All of which is to say, Trans wasn't “musically uncharacteristic of Young's previous recordings,” not really, not unless you focus only on the bewildering sonic properties that overwhelm the songs, which is a preposterous distinction to make because of course you are going to focus on the bewildering sonic properties that overwhelm the songs; that was all anyone focused on in 1983, how could it not be, who the hell am I to suggest otherwise?

Look: Imagine you are the process server guy made to serve papers to Neil Young in 1983, the hapless nobody tasked with rapping on a Real Live Rock Star's door and meekly informing him that he is in trouble - label trouble and maybe also legal trouble - because his records are getting too freaky. Imagine being that guy. He must have known who he was speaking to, what sort of bewildering message he was delivering. How do you do that? Did he prepare for this meeting, rehearsing his lines in front of a mirror? Did he take a mental inventory of the look on Neil Young's face, the artist slack-jawed, waving a joint, let's imagine, smoke curling in circles around his flannel shirt, and did he carry it with him for three decades so that someday he might relate it to his grandchildren? “I was the one,” he might boast, “who put Neil Young under arrest” - come on, you have to exaggerate when you are talking to children - “for not sounding enough like Neil Young.”

Now imagine that the case wasn't settled and here we are in court and I am the defense attorney. I am the one who goes before the judge and endeavors to defend Trans - not Everybody's Rockin', only Trans - against charges of uncommercial villainy and treason or whatever. I don't have to prove that it is perfect, because of course it's flawed; it's a messy and confusing record, but that never was the impetus for the lawsuit. I just have to prove that it isn't altogether uncharacteristic of Young's career, that beneath the alien-voiced specter lies genuine melodicism and heart, that some of its songs might even contain traces of what might modestly be called commercial potential.

Anyway, that's sort of what this essay is. So, here we are. The defense rests his case.