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someonegoood · 4 months ago

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SUTURES & SCARS part 1 ✫ jeon jungkook

CONTAINS: medical!au, surgeon!jungkook x surgeon!reader, slow burn, teasing, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, fighting turned bonding, past and present love, fluff & angst :)

NOTE: well... i'm back with a medical!au inspired by doctor slump (that drama was so good omg). thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoy it!! this work is not revised, and english is not my first language. next part will be uploaded tomorrow!!

my main masterlist! ❀ comment to be on the taglist!

taglist 🩺 @senaqsstuff @jjkluver7 @lovingkoalaface @khadeeeeej @pipipipiiiii @jungkooksmytype @jkxlvrr @whoa-jo @anemonatae @iviamagatitos @nerdycheol @thelilbutifulthings @banana-creampie @beomluvrr @user-190811 @mar-lo-pap @jiminismine4ever @boringmichelle @marilo11 @jenniebyrubies @littlestarstinyseven @kooeuphoria @rayyrayy10 @moonchild1 <3

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

This hospital—one of the most prestigious medical institutions in the country—was never meant to be your landing place. It had a reputation for being exclusive, only taking in the most skilled and accomplished doctors. Under normal circumstances, your application wouldn’t have even made it past the first round. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

They were desperate.

A sudden shortage of doctors had left the trauma surgery department scrambling to find specialists who could take on the relentless workload. And that’s how you, despite not being part of their initial selection, had been handed a contract at the last minute.

Still, there was no warm welcome waiting for you. Your arrival hadn’t been met with admiration or respect. Most of the staff knew exactly who you were—not because of your surgical skills, not because of your work ethic, but because of that video.

The one that had gone viral.

A single moment of frustration, caught on camera and spread across the internet like wildfire.

At your last hospital, you had been drowning. The shifts were relentless, the expectations impossible. No matter how many hours you put in, no matter how many patients you saved, it was never enough. Your superior—an arrogant, self-important man who treated younger doctors like disposable tools—had pushed you too far.

And you had snapped.

You hadn’t planned for your voice to carry across the entire ward. You hadn’t expected someone to be filming. And you certainly hadn’t expected the clip to be uploaded with captions like "Doctor Stands Up to Toxic Work Culture!" and "She Said What We All Wanted To Say!"

But that’s exactly what happened.

You had told your superior—bluntly, unapologetically—that you were tired of being exploited. That working 36-hour shifts with no breaks wasn’t a sign of dedication, it was a sign of systemic failure. That no matter how much you loved medicine, you wouldn’t let yourself be crushed under its weight.

The words had barely left your mouth before his furious response had followed: “if you think you’re so indispensable, why don’t you find somewhere else to work?”

So you did.

Or at least, you tried.

But the video followed you. Some people admired your courage, others saw you as reckless, unprofessional. A liability. Your name was whispered in hospital halls, passed around in hushed conversations. Respected institutions suddenly had no available positions when your application landed on their desks.

Still, you told yourself it didn’t matter. This was a fresh start. You would put your head down, do your job, and prove that you belonged here. But then, of course, there was him.

Jeon Jungkook.

The person who had, at one point, made you want to pull your hair out in medical school. There had always been a gap between you and Jungkook. A space carved not just by time but by opportunity. It started with the entrance exam.

You had worked yourself to the bone, studying until the words blurred together, until caffeine barely kept you functional. And yet, no matter how hard you pushed yourself, Jungkook had ranked higher. He had scored near the top effortlessly, securing his place in the best medical program without breaking a sweat.

While you had to fight for your place every step of the way, Jungkook had walked through the doors like he belonged there.

And, to be fair—maybe he did.

His talent was undeniable. He was the kind of doctor who made procedures look easy, who had an instinct for trauma surgery that couldn’t be taught. But that wasn’t the only reason people gravitated toward him.

It was his face.

The moment Jungkook entered the medical field, his reputation exploded. Patients wanted to be treated by him, some even exaggerating their conditions just for the chance to see him in person. His name spread through social media—the handsome trauma surgeon, the genius doctor who looks like he walked out of a magazine.

You had seen the way people looked at him, how his mere presence commanded attention. And deep down, you hated to admit that you understood why. Because you remembered a time before all of this.

Before the fame. Before the Dr. Jeon Jungkook reputation had taken over.

You remembered late-night study sessions when he was just an annoyingly competitive classmate, back when you were both just students fighting to survive. Back when there was no distance between you. Back when he was just... Jungkook.

And now?

Now, you stood in the same hospital, both specialists in trauma surgery. But while Jungkook had been welcomed with open arms from the beginning, you had barely made it in. You were a last-minute addition, a second choice.

And worse?

He probably didn’t even care.

Maybe he didn’t even remember.

The trauma surgery unit was the kind of place that didn’t allow for distractions. It demanded focus, precision, and expertise. Every decision counted. Every second mattered. That’s why Jeon Jungkook thrived here.

He was respected, no, admired, for his technical skill. But if there was one thing Jungkook lacked, it was an emotional connection to his work. He could save a life with a steady hand and a clear mind, but when it came to anything beyond that, his walls were impenetrable. He’d spent years cultivating that distance—after all, trauma surgery wasn’t the place for sentiment.

The day he returned to the hospital after an extended time away, it should’ve felt routine. But as soon as he walked into the trauma bay, something felt different.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the trauma surgery unit buzzed above, their hum a constant, almost soothing companion to the chaos unfolding below. The scent of sterile antiseptic mixed with the faint tang of blood in the air, and yet, Jungkook moved through it with practiced ease. This was familiar territory. The pressure, the critical patients, the intensity of saving lives—he thrived in it.

Yet today, there was a subtle undercurrent of tension he couldn’t quite shake off.

His gaze swept over the trauma bay, the usual clamor of activity surrounding him, but something felt off. The familiar presence of his colleagues was there, but it wasn’t until he stepped into the main OR corridor that he saw her.

You.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected to see you. The hospital was a big place, and you were a trauma surgeon now, just like him. You were bound to cross paths at some point. But the reality of it hit him all at once. His pulse quickened before he could stop it.

You—the one person who had always challenged him. Who had made him question his approach to everything. You were part of this team now. Not that he had expected anything less. You were brilliant, after all.

You, with your patient-centered approach, always thinking of the person beyond the injury, beyond the trauma. He’d never understood that about you. You were too empathetic, too invested in the stories of the people you saved. To him, it was all about the procedure, the perfection, the technical execution. The detachment was necessary. It kept him sharp.

You were standing by the operating table, your back to him. Your movements were fluid, efficient, as you spoke to a resident with the calm authority that had always been so effortless for you. You had a way of speaking, not loud, not commanding, but with such quiet conviction that it felt like everything you said was an undeniable truth.

His breath hitched in his throat. He hadn’t expected the old feelings to resurface so quickly. There had been years—six of them—between now and the last time he’d seen you. Six years since you had been his rival in medical school, six years since that fateful day when everything had changed.

When Jungkook first heard that a new surgeon was joining the trauma team, the thought barely registered—just another name on the roster, another doctor to either impress or ignore. But for a fleeting second, as he skimmed the email announcing the department’s newest addition, his mind had entertained a thought he hadn’t let in for years. What if it’s her?

It was ridiculous, really—he hadn’t seen you in so long that you’d become more of a memory than a real person.

But some part of him, buried under layers of pride and time, still remembered the way you used to challenge him, push him to be better, and make him feel something he never quite understood.

But here you were, looking the same as you had back then—composed, confident, untouchable.

As his eyes lingered on you, the noise of the trauma unit faded into the background. The beeping of machines, the rushed footsteps of nurses, the rustle of surgical gloves—all of it seemed to dissolve into a soft hum. He didn’t want to feel this way, but the old animosity—the rivalry that had always thrummed just beneath the surface—flickered back to life.

It had started innocently enough. You had been another medical student, just like him. The two of you had been assigned to the same rotations, but where Jungkook was determined to prove himself with hard work and sheer perseverance, you had a different approach. You made it seem easy. Effortless.

It wasn’t that he disliked you—it was the way you moved through everything. The way you never seemed to struggle, never seemed to fall behind. You were always ahead, always one step further. And no matter how much he tried, no matter how much effort he put into studying, it never felt like enough.

The real clash had come in the third year of medical school. Both of you had been assigned to the same trauma surgery rotation. The patient had been a young girl, barely seventeen, who had been in a car crash. Her injuries were grave—broken bones, internal bleeding, and a collapsed lung.

In the OR, there had been no room for egos. At least, that was what Jungkook had thought. But you, always calm, always calculated, had known exactly what to do. The attending had left the two of you in charge, and the moment you had stepped in, it was clear that you were taking control.

“I’ll handle the internal bleeding,” you had said, your voice soft but firm. Your eyes locked onto his, and he had felt something shift in the air, a small but undeniable challenge.

This was your first surgery in a while since the video. And now, standing in the operating room, hands steady despite the weight of everything that had led you here, you knew there was no room for mistakes. Not when everyone was watching. Not when he was watching.

Jungkook had felt his throat tighten. There was no way he was going to let you take over—not now, not after everything he had worked for.

“I’ll lead this one,” he had said, his voice tight, almost too tight.

You had raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Of course you will, doctor. But if you miss something, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Now, Jungkook tried to push the past from his mind as he walked back into the trauma bay. The noise of rushing footsteps, the shouts of nurses, the beeping of monitors all flooded back to him. He had a job to do, and he would do it perfectly, just as he always had.

But there you were, standing at the head of the patient’s bed, giving orders with that same calm, steady demeanor that always made him feel like a novice. Your presence was unmistakable, and though he told himself he didn’t care, the tightness in his chest said otherwise.

The OR was a chaotic, controlled madness. Every second counted, and every decision had to be precise. But even amidst the pressure of a life-or-death situation, there was one thing that always managed to break through: the undeniable clash between you and Jungkook.

The patient on the operating table had sustained severe trauma—a shattered femur, multiple fractures to the ribs, and internal bleeding. The first few minutes had been smooth, the team working together efficiently to stabilize her. But the situation had quickly escalated. She wasn’t responding to the fluids they had administered, and her vitals were dropping rapidly. Her blood pressure was dangerously low, and the internal bleeding was proving harder to control than they anticipated.

Instead, your eyes were on him. Watching him. Your gaze was sharp, almost like a challenge.

"Get the hemorrhage controlled," Jungkook ordered, his voice sharp as he focused on the screen displaying the vitals.

"I’m on it," you replied, stepping in to assist the anesthesiologist with stabilizing the airway, watching her oxygen levels as the other doctors worked on her fractures. There was a quiet efficiency to your movements. It was the same calm approach you’d had in medical school, the one that had driven Jungkook crazy all those years ago.

But this time, the two of you weren’t in sync.

You reached for a clotting agent, about to administer it, when Jungkook’s hand shot out to stop you.

“No, that’s not the first thing we should be using,” he said, his tone dismissive as he moved to the other side of the table. “Clotting agents aren’t going to solve this if we don’t address the internal bleeding first.”

You paused for a moment, the air thick with tension. “I know what I’m doing, Jeong-woo. We don’t need to delay any longer. Her vitals are crashing.”

“She’s not going to survive if we don’t control the internal bleeding first. You’re always looking for the quick fix, but you can’t just keep throwing medications at the problem and hope it’ll solve itself,” Jungkook shot back, his words sharp, his focus never wavering from the patient.

There was a small but noticeable pause before you spoke again, this time more firmly. “I’m not throwing anything at the problem. I’m trying to stabilize her enough so we can actually get to the root cause of the issue, instead of playing catch-up with her blood pressure. You’re too focused on your sterile approach, Jungkook. This isn’t about just getting it done—it’s about caring for the whole person.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “We are caring for the whole person, but we need to stop acting like we’re treating some emotional case. This is trauma surgery. We need to act fast and with precision, not waste time comforting a patient who’s already in critical condition.”

The words cut through the tension like a knife. It was always this way with you—compassionate, almost to a fault, and unwilling to see the raw practicality that Jungkook valued so highly in this field.

"You don’t understand," you said quietly, but there was an edge to your voice now. "It’s not just about speed, it’s about being mindful of the body’s limits. You’re not seeing the full picture here."

Jungkook took a deep breath, trying to rein in the rising irritation in his chest. He had always found your approach frustrating. The way you treated patients like emotional beings, rather than just cases to be solved. To him, it was a weakness, one that had no place in trauma surgery. This wasn’t some soft-care ward; it was a battlefield where the strongest survived.

“Your approach is too emotional,” he finally spat out, barely keeping his voice low enough for the team not to overhear. “You’re making decisions based on what you feel instead of what’s medically necessary.”

Your eyes narrowed as you shot him a look, but you didn’t let the argument show on your face. Instead, you focused on the patient, your hands still working with precision, despite the fact that you could feel every word he threw at you like a punch.

"We’re all in this for the same reason, Jungkook," you muttered, your voice unwavering. "The difference is, I’m not willing to sacrifice everything else for the sake of 'just getting it done.' I won’t lose my patients just because I’m trying to be quick and detached."

The tension was palpable. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, but neither of you could back down. It wasn’t just professional pride at stake; it was something deeper—something that had started back in medical school, that simmered beneath every exchange. You were both experts, both brilliant in your own right, but the differences in how you viewed your profession were beginning to clash violently, both on and off the operating table.

The situation was growing worse, faster than anyone had anticipated. The patient’s blood pressure plummeted even further, and despite the efforts to control the bleeding, she was slipping away. The constant beeping of the monitors only intensified the pressure mounting on both of you.

“I’m telling you, we need to clamp the artery,” Jungkook said, frustration seeping into his voice now as he leaned over the patient’s abdomen. "We can’t waste any more time with these temporary fixes."

“No,” you retorted quickly, taking a step forward to assess the patient yourself. "She’s bleeding internally because her system can’t cope with the stress. Clamping the artery will only worsen the shock. I’m going to administer a vasopressor first to help stabilize her blood pressure before we do anything more invasive."

It was clear you weren’t backing down. Jungkook shot you a look—angry, dismissive—but he didn’t have the luxury of time to argue further. He had to act.

“Fine,” he muttered through clenched teeth, "But this better work."

You kept your gaze steady on the patient’s vitals, ignoring his sharp, biting criticism as you prepared the medication.

For a moment, the room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of rapid beeping as the seconds ticked by.

Just as the situation began to spiral out of control, the anesthesiologist called out. The patient’s heart rate dropped drastically. It was now or never.

Without thinking, you and Jungkook moved in sync, both of you leaning over the patient, working together despite the tension that had been building all along. You shoved him aside just as his hand was about to clamp the artery, pushing your way in to apply the pressors. Your heart raced, your hands steady despite the heat of the moment.

And then, something happened. Amidst the frenzy, as you both fought to save the woman’s life, you found that the team was working together in a way that only you two could manage. Despite the constant bickering, despite the criticisms, you both knew how to make it work—however begrudgingly.

The crash didn’t happen. Slowly, the woman’s vitals began to stabilize.

Hours later, as the team was finishing up, you stood off to the side of the break room, your hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline. Your back was to the wall, and you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension that still buzzed through you.

Jungkook entered shortly after, a slight frown on his face as he grabbed a cup of coffee, his usual detached demeanor firmly in place. But as he took a seat, he couldn’t ignore the strange, lingering feeling that sat between you two. It wasn’t just rivalry anymore. It was... something else. Something unspoken.

He glanced at you briefly. “You did good,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you focused on your coffee, not daring to look at him directly. “You did too,” you replied, though it was more a formality than a compliment.

And yet, as you exchanged those words, both of you knew something had shifted. The rivalry hadn’t disappeared, but there was a quiet acknowledgment of each other’s strengths. A crack in the wall that had been between you for so long.

But neither of you was ready to confront it—not yet. Not while there was so much left to prove.

The conference room buzzed with quiet chatter as the trauma team assembled after the surgery. The air felt thick with unspoken words, the weight of the earlier tension hanging heavily over the room. Jungkook was already seated at the front, a posture that suggested his usual calm confidence, but even he couldn’t mask the storm that had been brewing throughout the surgery. His thoughts, his frustrations, still swirled around his mind like a whirlwind.

You walked in, the door clicking shut behind you, as you made your way to your seat. Conversations stilled, subtle glances exchanged across the room. They all knew. Knew about the video, about the controversy, about how you had barely made it into this hospital.

You could feel the weight of their curiosity, the silent judgment lingering in the air, as if waiting to see if you’d live up to your reputation—the surgeon with a sharp tongue and an even sharper fall from grace.

The rest of the team, quieter now, took their places, sensing the undercurrent of tension between you and Jungkook. Everyone had noticed the clashes earlier, but none of them dared to speak up. It wasn’t their place. Not now.

The meeting began. The attending physician, Ryuk Jinho, quickly moved through the cases, reviewing patient outcomes and discussing next steps. He started with a breakdown of the trauma cases from the past 24 hours, highlighting complications and successes.

“For the MVA patient from last night,” Jinho began, flipping through the reports, “the splenic rupture was managed well, though there was significant blood loss pre-op. Good call on prioritizing vascular control first.” His eyes skimmed the room before landing on you.

“But I’d like to discuss the choice of a non-operative approach for the hepatic injury. In cases like these, aggressive management can lead to better outcomes.”

“I don’t understand why you insisted on using pressors before the hemorrhage was under control,” Jungkook began, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “It’s not an approach that works in trauma. You can’t stabilize someone with just medications when their vitals are crashing because of direct blood loss. You just don’t get it.”

You took a deep breath, meeting his eyes across the table. The weight of his words pressed on your chest, and though you’d spent years perfecting your ability to stay calm under pressure, something about his cold dismissal stung. He was so sure of himself. And the worst part was, he was doing this in front of everyone, as though it were a public spectacle, a way to undermine you.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” you shot back, your voice firm, but just under the surface, there was the anger you’d been holding in. “I’m not the one who was about to clamp the artery without considering the bigger picture. You’ve been so wrapped up in your textbook approach that you didn’t even think about the patient’s whole condition. I don’t operate just on numbers and guidelines, Jungkook. I care about how they’re doing, not just what is happening.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, that look of cold detachment never leaving his face. He was used to people criticizing him. He had perfected the art of shrugging it off, of distancing himself from anything that wasn’t logical, wasn’t quantifiable.

“It’s easy to care about how when you don’t have to make the hard decisions,” he said dismissively, eyes narrowing. “You don’t even understand the weight of the responsibility. You think your feelings will save these patients, but it won’t. The reality is, if you don’t make decisions based on science, you won’t survive in trauma.”

The words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. For a moment, the room seemed to close in on you, the faces of your colleagues blurring as the anger flared within you. You weren’t just defending your methods anymore.

You were defending yourself.

“You don’t even know what it’s like to care,” you said, quieter now but laced with an emotion that surprised even you. “You hide behind your cold, sterile approach because it’s easier than facing the fact that these patients are people, not just cases to check off.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. The team—trauma surgeons like Dr. Min Jihoon, meticulous and composed; resident doctors like Seo Hana, always eager to prove herself; and interns who had barely gotten comfortable in the OR—froze in place, eyes darting between you and Jungkook. No one had ever spoken to him like that, not in this hospital.

Seo Hana shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze flickering to Dr. Min, who remained impassive but was clearly intrigued. One of the interns swallowed hard, while another subtly leaned forward, as if waiting to see how Jungkook would react. Even Ryuk Jinho, who had seen his fair share of heated exchanges, looked taken aback.

Jungkook’s lips tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he looked around the room as if challenging anyone to speak up or question him. His reputation as a skilled surgeon was unshakable, and he knew it. You, on the other hand, knew that no matter how good you were, your methods would never be enough in his eyes.

But there was more, wasn’t there? This wasn’t just a disagreement over how to treat a patient. This was deeper, rooted in something that had never been resolved. And just as you were about to respond, the attending physician called the meeting to a close.

Jinho raised a hand before the conversation escalated. “Both approaches have merit. In trauma surgery, decisions are made in seconds, and not every call is black and white. That said—” he looked between you and Jungkook, clearly aware of the tension crackling between you “—we need to focus on cohesive teamwork. Let’s move on.”

The three co-workers began to gather their things, heading out of the room, but you and Jungkook stayed behind, your hands gripping the edge of the table as you stared at the empty chairs in front of you.

You could feel Jungkook’s presence behind you, his posture still rigid, still exuding that coldness that had been a constant throughout your medical journey. And just as you felt like you couldn’t hold it in any longer, you turned to face him.

His expression remained unreadable, but you saw the hint of something in his eyes—a flicker of something that almost looked like regret, or maybe it was just frustration. Either way, you couldn’t hold back.

"I didn’t remember you were this cruel," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The weight of the statement hung heavily in the air between you, and you could see the immediate tension in his eyes as if the accusation had stung more than he cared to admit.

Jungkook’s gaze sharpened, but he said nothing at first, just standing there, like he was deciding how to respond. But you could see the walls he had built around himself, the ones he’d used to protect himself from feeling anything, crack ever so slightly.

“I’m not cruel,” he finally replied, his voice quieter now, but still firm. “I’m just... practical. It’s easier that way.”

You shook your head, trying to process everything in your head. “No, Jungkook. It’s easier to shut people out. Easier to treat everything like a puzzle, like you’re just solving a problem and not dealing with the consequences. That’s what makes you cold.”

He didn’t look at you, instead turning toward the door, but you caught the briefest flicker of something in his eyes. A crack in his armor. Something vulnerable, something you had never seen before.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. “But I can’t afford to be anything else.”

You didn’t have a response. Not for that.

The door clicked shut behind you as you walked into the apartment, your mind still reeling from the tense encounter with Jungkook earlier that day. The sound of laughter and chatter from the living room broke through the cloud of frustration hanging over you.

"Doctor, you’re back!" Coco called out from the couch, her voice upbeat as she kicked her feet up on the coffee table. She was sprawled out with a book in one hand and a can of soda in the other.

“About time, girl,” Aerum added, sitting next to Coco, already holding a bottle of soju and a bowl of Kimbap on the table between them. “We were just about to start without you.”

You couldn’t help but let out a tired sigh as you dropped your bag by the door, your shoes clicking on the hardwood floor as you made your way over to them. "Long first day," you muttered, sinking into the chair next to Aerum.

Coco grinned, reading the mood perfectly. “Let me guess. The ever-so-charming Jeon Jungkook is as insufferable as always?”

You laughed bitterly, running a hand through your hair as you thought about the morning’s events. "Worse," you admitted, accepting a beer from Aerum and leaning back against the couch. “I didn’t remember him being that cruel.”

Aerum raised an eyebrow as she grabbed a piece of Kimbap. “What happened?”

You took a sip of your beer, trying to calm the rising frustration. “We had a patient today. Pretty critical trauma case. It was bad, but we both... we were both working on it, and he just—” You paused, trying to put the words together. “He criticized every single thing I did. Like, everything.”

“Classic Jungkook,” Coco said, clearly not surprised. “He always did that back in med school. The whole ‘I’m right, you’re wrong’ attitude.”

You remembered a particular group assignment where Coco mentioned her interest in dermatology. He had scoffed, eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. “Dermatology?” he had said, the tone dripping with condescension.

“You really think you’re going to make a difference in skin? It’s like choosing the easy route when everyone else is dealing with real, life-and-death stuff. You’re wasting your potential.” The way he said it, like her choice was somehow lesser, made your skin burn with frustration.

Aerum nodded, adding, “I don’t get how someone can be so brilliant but so… detached, you know? He’s like a robot with a scalpel. No warmth at all.”

Jungkook and Aerum, now a gynaecologist, had clashed during a highly competitive clinical rotation in obstetrics and gynecology. The tension between them escalated when they were both selected to perform a delicate procedure—an emergency C-section—on the same day.

You shook your head. “It’s like he’s too focused on just fixing the body and not looking at the bigger picture. It’s frustrating. He always acts like he knows everything. But today—today, it was like he didn’t even see the patient as a person.”

Coco scoffed, leaning forward to grab another Kimbap roll. “So, the ‘ice prince’ is still stuck in his ways, huh? He used to be the same in school, always acting like he had all the answers. But I remember—he’d never admit when he was wrong.”

"Yeah," you said, letting out a deep breath. "But what really got to me today was the way he shut me down in front of the entire team. It was like he was trying to make me look bad in front of everyone. Like he couldn’t even see what I was doing for what it was."

Aerum exchanged a look with Coco before turning back to you. "Isn’t it kind of funny though? The way you two still go at it after all these years."

“Funny?” You raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-exasperated. "It’s infuriating."

Coco laughed, but there was a knowing look in her eyes. "No, seriously. The amount of chemistry there was between you two was honestly… ridiculous."

You choked on your beer a little, shooting her a glare. “What? I don’t—I mean, it’s not like that.”

Aerum smirked, leaning back in her seat. “Oh, please. You two were always at each other’s throats in med school, but it was obvious. We all saw it. You just refused to admit it.”

“Admit what?” you asked, now feeling like you were under a spotlight. “There’s nothing between us.”

Coco rolled her eyes. “Right, sure. Whatever you say. But back then, it was like you both thrived off being at each other’s throats.”

You shook your head. "He’s impossible!"

Aerum snickered. "Sure, whatever. But if you’re going to be miserable around him, at least admit that there’s something there."

You threw your hands up in mock frustration. "Okay, fine! Maybe there’s some kind of… I don’t know… tension between us. But it’s not like I want anything from him. He’s just… he's so cold and detached. There’s no way I could—"

“Please,” Coco interrupted, giving you a knowing look. “It’s obvious to anyone who’s ever seen you two together. You hate him, but you also can’t stand being apart from him. The minute he starts being a jerk to you, you snap back. But the minute he does something… even slightly kind, like today, you get all flustered.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you stared into your beer bottle. "I’m not flustered."

Aerum leaned in closer, her tone playful yet serious. “Look, girl, we’ve known you for a long time. We’re not saying you like him—at least, not in the way you think. But it’s clear that you’ve got something with him. Whether it’s hate, chemistry, or whatever else—it’s there. Don’t pretend it’s not.”

You felt a mix of irritation and disbelief. "I don’t even know what you’re talking about. You’re just imagining things."

Coco smirked, reaching for her drink. “Tell me this then: when’s the last time you’ve ever been this mad at someone and still wanted to talk to them afterwards?”

You went quiet for a moment, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Sure,” Coco said with a raised eyebrow. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You groaned, dropping your head back against the couch. "I didn’t expect him to be like this. It’s been years, and I thought he’d changed. But now I feel like we’re back in med school again, and he’s still acting like the same insufferable guy he always was."

“Well,” Aerum said, her voice a bit more serious now, “he’s probably still carrying a lot of that same baggage. And honestly, I’m not sure it’s just a matter of work. The way he treats you—like you’re beneath him, or like he’s always trying to prove something—it’s so familiar.”

You felt a slight pang in your chest. "Maybe you're right. I just don’t know how to handle it anymore."

Coco nudged you gently. "You don’t have to handle anything. Just keep doing you—you’re brilliant. Don’t let him get inside your head."

Aerum grabbed another piece of Kimbap, her expression turning sly. “But if you ever decide to actually get close to him, just make sure to invite us to the wedding.”

Coco laughed, leaning over to grab her soju bottle. “Yeah, we want to be the first ones to know when it happens.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "You’re both ridiculous."

But despite the banter, you felt lighter. A bit of the weight that had settled on your shoulders after that surgery and the confrontation with Jungkook had lifted.

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byuno-o · 10 months ago

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RETROGRADE PLANETS IN NATAL CHARTS.

NOTE: PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS. HENCE, MIGHT NOT BE APPLICABLE FOR EVERYONE. ONLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT. HENCE, DISCRETION IS ADVISED. DO PROVIDE FEEDBACKS, I LOVE IT. :)

MERCURY IN RETROGRADE

If you have mercury in retrograde in your natal chart, you might deal with aversion when it comes to verbal, direct communication. Putting your ideas and thoughts into clear sentences might not be your forte. However, I've read somewhere that people with Mercury Rx, have really good intuition. I can vouch for this since my brother has this in his 11th house, and boy has he saved himself from bad influences countless times purely because he could sense BS right away. People with Mercury Rx, however, possess a unique way of communicating their ideas and thoughts. They don't necessarily use art, but just different words and their brains are often configured differently. They might see logic in things that others can't, and somehow, everything works fine for them. These people also tend to be profound thinkers and internalize their life philosophies instead of using those philosophies for other, unlike forward mercuries. People with forward mercuries-even the ones with debilitated mercuries use their words and ideas in order to help others. while retrograde mercuries wants the betterment of self. Hence, seeing other perspectives can be difficult for them, and finding balance between conscious and callous communication can be hard. Retrograde mercuries have hard-hitting sense of humour which can be the result of unique communication style. Forward mercuries can choose their words carefully, but retrograde mercuries often cannot, for this is their lesson for their present life.

2) VENUS RETROGRADE

I see people with venus in retrograde having issues with their sense of self, which can be seen in their communication style and sense of humour. Overcompensating outwardly for lack of sensing lack of style and panache that forward Venus tend to possess, even the debilitated ones. yet they can't see their own unique flavour which goes against the conventions. A friend whose venus is in retrograde has the wildest love life in my group. Her standards are high, which stemmed from dealing with problematic, almost karmic relationships. There can be confusions regarding one's own opinion about self, likes, dislikes, and there can be a tendency to see oneself through other's judgements. Finance can be a hard to deal with, overspending can be a problem. Their lesson for their present life is to accept themselves the way they are, and love themselves before looking for love and validation elsewhere. The root cause of almost all of their problems is the lack of sense of strong self and self-validation which come first and foremost. That is the only one they can see their own uniqueness, and leverage it for their benefits.

3) MARS RETROGRADE

These people can deal with heavy procrastination, and lacks efforts when it comes to their dreams and goals. There can be a push and pull effect regarding their individuality. A cousin of mine has mars retrograde, and despite having his mars in Scorpio, he loathes adventures, and risks--and you can also add changes. while people with forward mars can be very courageous--even the debilitated ones, although they need immense pressure to make them feel agitated, people with mars retrograde rather suffer in silence than assert themselves. For them, action-orientation, and assertion can be the lessons for their present lives. However, I also think Mars in retrograde can make one very diplomatic and can make the person possess mercurial qualities. That same cousin have debilitated mercury, yet he sounds the most critical and logical among us when we have to fight for our food rights (jokes) against our grandparents. Rather than have a individualistic nature, these people can harness excellent group qualities. They can suffer through sex related traumas.

4) JUPITER RETROGRADE

People with Jupiter in retrograde may be raised with issues regarding self, religion and higher knowledge. Their viewpoints are very different, and may often come off as illogical. They care very cautious when it comes to voicing their opinions. However, they can possess a very twisted kind of luck. Since I have this, I can vouch for this. I may never get what I want, but what I need always finds me, Unlike people with forward Jupiter who may get what they want just like that. my brother has forward Jupiter in Cancer, and I have never seen a person as lucky as him. Brotha is protected by angels and our family. One order, and the whole family scrambles to obey him. While in my case, I just work hard and get the bare minimum, but the things I get always helps me at times. Getting higher knowledge is especially harder for people with Jupiter in Rx, and may deal with confusion regarding the validity of knowledge. People with jupiter in Rx also deal with lack of mentors and teachers needed to shape their personality and inner world, hence they become vagabonds when it comes to knowledge. It is only them they can rely on for a strong sense of self, hence they may go through hard time alone. It is not like they don't look for help, it's just help never comes, but rewards are worth the pain. There's always a tendency to question everything which may lead to paranoia and overthinking. Yet, they are overly self-righteous, causing relationships to falter. Their main lessons are to have faith in them, and build their unique perspectives.

5) SATURN RETROGRADE

People with saturn in retrograde tends to introspect a lot. The limitations they bear are often internalised. they tend to have problems with authority and authoritative figures, such as father and teachers and boss, yet there is a deep sense of responsibility and lack of discipline. I also have saturn retrograde in my natal chart and well, it is a blessing in disguise. to be honest. I do tend to disregard authority, but there were times when I was asked for help by some authoritative figures. Although I have a deep sense of responsibity, I lack the courage, the strategic mind and the general effort I need to fulfil my dreams, which is why this saturn retrograde is proving to be immensely helpful. There is a strong fear of failure, and the person's success is always delayed. Trust me, I know. While I work twice as hard as my friends, I am often the last person to taste any success. Same is happening with job hunt. I have read that this retrograde is strongly related to past life karma, and I think I might be deal with lessons regarding finance and material gain since I have Saturn in Taurus in 2nd house. These people often deal with loneliness, and the lack of communication from their side only add salt to injury.

6) URANUS RETROGRADE

While Uranus deals with rebellion and one's uniqueness, Retrograding Uranus may often lead to these aspects being internalised by the person. There may be a strong sense for rebellion and forging one's own path, but the person may lack the spine to do so--often relying on others to validate their uniqueness. Changes may come like tornados, ruining their very sense of being, and forcing them to refine everything again and again, until there no sense of old self is there. Unlike Pluto, Uranus retrograde often forces the person's outer world, and outer relationships to change. These people have heightened intuition which not only scares the outer world, but also force it to alienate the person. There is a strong need for rejecting tradition which might stop them from becoming the eccentric person they can be. Note, I am not using 'eccentric' in a negative way. I just think, people with Uranus Rx need to learn showcase their eccentric side to the world. so that innovation can be made. There's a huge between one accepting their eccentricity and showing the world who they actually are. If anything, I think Uranus in Rx is one of the best placements one can have for the sheer creativity it can bestow. These people must have been destined to become pioneers, but their fears of outer rejection had stopped them, hence they ended up with Uranus in retrograde in their present life. They are supposed to let go of the fear in order to fulfil their purpose.

7) NEPTUNE RETROGRADE

So, my other brother has mars, Uranus and Neptune in retrograde. And I kid you not, I have never seen someone so eccentric, so prideful yet so fearful, so disillusioned yet so full of himself till date.

For me, Neptune Retrograde is one of the worst placement one can have. This placement is not about the outer world, but breaking oneself to fill the world with happiness. people with Neptune Rx has to go through a whole journey of living in a illusionary world to become disillusioned and hate the real world, only to realise that there's more than pain and suffering in the world and it is not a utopia. these people have heightened intuition, only to never master it. They get fed with escapism illusion by the universe time and time again, for them to learn to exercise their intuition yet the fog in their mind becomes the biggest obstacle. For a long time, these people believe in, "my way or highway" and "all or nothing." Hence, when faced with failure and pain, they crumble and become disillusioned. Once they see the world as it is, they go through the spiritual quest of learning and unlearning the ways of the world. And acceptance of the worldy woes, and understanding that one can never change the ways of the world but the ways of human minds are the lessons these people have to learn. They have to make peace with the fact that there will pain and suffering, and this is what feels like to be humans. They have to learn to avoid escapism, and grab life by the balls and open their arms to the gifts of intuitions, detachment, art and healing.

8) PLUTO RETROGRADE

I see Pluto retrograde as an eagle which keeps gnawing onto one's guts while the person can do nothing but accept the eagle. The pain never goes aways. People with pluto Rx in their chart internalises every thought, every little or big change, causing them to go through intense overthinking and traumatic relationship changes. The world is never these people's friends. If you think having Pluto placements are tough, look at pluto Retrograde people. Another cousin of mine has this. And she is a control freak, with really great psychological insights. There's obssesion with every little thing, and fear of betrayal and others breaking their walls and trusts. These people live an intense karmic life. If they badmouth someone, they get tenfold of it. If they wish someone bad luck, they get ten fold of it. These people must have done something great or something very loathsome which needs heavy penance and great patience. These people are bound to become great. These people are supposed to learn the ways of the world and help change the world, but on a ground level. What I mean by that is, these people need to learn to accept their shadow side in order to help the ones who have lost their paths to attain goodness. I see people with Pluto retrograde as the ones who has to break a piece of themselves in order to fix others, since they constantly get their heart broken, and trust broken, and fears spitting on their faces until they overcome those fears, and they are constantly forced by the universe to bare themselves naked in order for the world to use their vulnerabilities. Yet, these people rise like phoenix, and continue the cycle until they realise that their higher purpose is to have faith in the ways of the universe and let it run its magic. Good things may take time, but are always worth the wait.

NOTE: I SEE RETROGRADES AS BLESSINGS IN DISGUISE. ALTHOUGH RETROGRADE PLANETS MAKE THINGS HARD, AND ALMOST UNATTAINABLE, HARD TIMES MAKE GREAT PEOPLE. THE TWISTS UNIVERSE PLAYS ON PEOPLE WITH NATAL RETROGRADE PLANETS ARE SUPPOSED TO PUSH THESE PEOPLE TO THEIR EDGES UNTIL THERE'S NOTHING THEY CAN BE FEARFUL OF. FOR GREAT CHANGES NEED GREATER HANDS.

ALRIGHT, DO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS. AND I WELCOME CRITICISM AND HARD HITTING FEEDBACKS WITH OPEN ARMS. JUST MAKE SURE I DON'T HAVE TO SHOW MY FANGS, TOO. :) I LOVE GATHERING NEW INFORMATION, SO UNTIL THEN, MAY GOD BLESS YOU.

#astro community #astro notes #astro observations #astro thoughts #rising signs #moon signs #astro tumblr #astrology #retrograde planets #natal retrograde

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fairuzfan · 1 year ago

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Id:

I wouldn't have won The International Women's Media Foundation (@IWMF)'s Courage in Journalism Award 2024 this June if I hadn’t been on the ground reporting events and exposing Israeli flagrant violations under perilous conditions, all while being systematically attacked by supporters of the perpetrators.

Winning a prize for “courage” means being subjected to attacks and choosing to continue your work regardless. However, I regret to say that the very organization that recognized these perilous conditions and awarded me the prize succumbed to pressure and chose to act contrary to courage; they rescinded the award in a decision that would put my life at risk.

In fact, I’m very glad that both my winning the award and its withdrawal have starkly demonstrated the systematic physical and moral attacks Palestinian journalists endure throughout their careers. These threats and character assassinations aim only to silence us and perpetuate the longstanding bias in global media. I have never worked to receive awards, nor have I ever submitted an application to nominate myself. I didn't choose journalism as a profession; I became a journalist after recognizing the extent to which the world overlooks Palestinians’ suffering and opts to conform to Israeli pressures.

Every year, Palestinian journalists are recognized with international awards for their brave reporting under the Israeli occupation and relentless attacks. These accolades honor their courage and dedication to uncovering the truth.

However, each announcement of an award to a Palestinian journalist is systematically followed by extensive smearing campaigns and intense pressure on the awarding organizations from supporters of the Israeli occupation and the Zionist lobby. While some organizations uphold their principles and maintain their decision to honor these journalists, others, regrettably, cave to the pressure and withdraw the prizes.

Instead of recognizing the threats they face and contributing to their protection, a decision to withdraw a prize from a Palestinian journalist in Gaza—where over 150 journalists have been killed by the ongoing Israeli genocide—can further endanger them and increase their risk of targeting.

I have no regrets about any posts or reasons that led to the rescinding of this award, and I will not stop expressing my views. Before being a journalist, I am a Palestinian living under military occupation, a strangling blockade, and genocide in Gaza.

My grandparents were expelled from Jerusalem upon the creation of the state of Israel, and I have been expelled from my home in Gaza during this genocide.

If winning a prize entails enduring and witnessing war crimes while remaining silent, I am not honored to receive any prizes. I will always be objective in my reporting, but I can never be neutral; I will always point out the perpetrators and stand in solidarity with the victims. This is what journalism is truly about.

#palestine #gaza

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soliloquality · 1 month ago

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End Up Together - A.H.

You love Aaron, Aaron loves you. But you don't talk about it. Oh, you'd never. Until your mom says a thing, and feelings finally tide over.

A/N: a whole lot of unspoken/suppressed feelings, years of restraint culminating into...something, Aaron taking a chance, reader feeling conflicted, angst, so much pining.

Word count: 3.5k

The steering wheel is warm beneath your fingers, sticky even, from sweat and sunscreen and general car-grime that has accumulated in your old Nissan Altima over the years, complemented by faded, worn-out seat covers and the stubborn Black Vanilla Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror. It’s pointless, really—its scent has faded into oblivion by now—but it clings there like a badge of honor, a relic from the past. This car has stood the test of time—your first car and you’re preferential to firsts, even if they’re a little stuffy inside.

First taste of ice cream (Jo’s Caramel Cookie Crumble), first time out of state (Sarasota, 1992) and your first ever love letter—to Craig Sullivan, devastatingly.

However lyrically—? A work of art.

“I can’t believe she said that, you know.”

Aaron’s crammed in the passenger seat, knees squished against the glove department and nightly shadows swallowed by jet black hair, but if you looked at him, really looked, you know you’d see the street lights reflecting in his eyes—bright, sparkling, taunting.

If.

You’re not sure you can ever look at him again.

___________

Such a beautiful ring, my dear.

It’s funny though, how life works. I always thought you two would—

___________

“She didn’t mean it.”

Right. Of course not.

Your jaw ticks, eyes drifting from the barely visible road to your phone. 0.3 miles until the next turn, left on Hill Drive, then another left and you’ll be straight on the I-95 to Washington.

ETA: 00:06 AM. 37 minutes to go.

“I don’t care if she meant it,” you say through your teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “She can’t just—“

Say what you’ve never had the courage to say? What you never dared to even think about?

Aaron and you. You and Aaron. Like a pendulum, two poles forever divided, but always connected. By something.

You remember being small, innocent, playing fetch with your neighbors’ son—Sean, not Aaron—because Aaron was always busy fixing your mother’s house or mowing the lawn for some extra cash—to get the fuck out of Manassas—and when he did, he left you, too.

You were only eight, but still. Sean was four, and practically lived at your house instead of next door. You never thought of it as particularly neglectful on anyone’s part—you just liked having a little brother to torment.

And before you were old enough to even grasp the meaning of love, Aaron was head over heels for Haley, blushing furiously whenever your mother mentioned the theatre club, when she teased him about being the worst fourth pirate in The Pirates of Penzance to date, and yet—and yet, maybe you liked Haley even more than Aaron.

She was the big sister you never had, but always wanted—and while Aaron threatened to punch Craig Sullivan for cheating on you with a girl from Eastwood High, in a god-darn tree of all places, Haley was the one who actually helped you through senior year.

Checking in on you from GWU campus, revising countless applications essays—she even took you dress shopping for prom, which you attended with Craig’s best friend.

Better to go out with a bang, right?

And it’s not like you thought about Aaron in any sort of way—ever—at least not until you really grew up and started to subconsciously compare any guy you met to Aaron and any of your relationships to his marriage.

A marriage that is now over—your once so highly esteemed picture-perfect image of partnership, of love, festered into something else entirely by the force of responsibility, by careless negligence and scathing loneliness.

Priorities, for short.

But it’s weird, right?

The man who chose his job over his own wife and son countless times—which you condemn, of course—flies in from Wisconsin the moment your mother calls from the hospital?

It makes you wonder, would he do the same for you? You know you would. Any day, even at three in the morning, without hesitation.

“I’ve been engaged for two months,” you point out finally, the words grating on your throat, “even as a joke, it’s not fair to Nathan.”

And although it’s not your truth per say, somewhere in this universe, in a dimension where you’re more worried about your fiancé than your ever emotionally unavailable childhood best friend, it’s a truth, at least.

You thought your mom liked Nathan; his happy-go-luckiness, the quirky glasses, always coming through with some sort of historical fact or grammatical pun.

He’s a teacher—a fun teacher. Reliable. Nice.

A real sweetheart.

Everything you should ever want. Everything you do want.

“You keep saying that like it’s already over.”

From the corner of your eye, you catch Aaron’s hand landing on his thigh, the way he shifts in the passenger seat—and your chest constricts.

“What do you mean?”

He doesn't even hesitate.

“It’s always ‘I’ve been engaged’ or ‘I got engaged’. Past tense, like you’re detaching yourself from the reality of ‘I am engaged’ or ‘I’m getting married’.” Aaron’s voice is quiet, a low, steady rumble that is void of any real affliction, like he’s solving a case.

Like he’s solving you.

“Really, Aaron?" you ask, unimpressed, but there's a subdued sharpness to your tone. "My mom just had a heart attack and you’re profiling me?”

Aaron mumbles, “Costochondritis,” as if that matters at all—as if you didn’t get a phone call sixteen hours ago and drove 180 miles to D.C. under the impression that your mother did have a heart attack.

And you haven’t been able to get it out of your head; the image of your mother, the strongest woman you know, in a hospital gown, talking with a slight voice and shaky fingers, her face pale and drained in a moment she thought could have been her last—and the one thing she chooses to tell you isn’t I love you, kid or I’m proud of you. No, it’s:

I always thought you two would end up together.

It makes sense, the both of you.

Like that’s at all an okay thing to say to your engaged daughter and in-the-midst-of-his-divorce surrogate son. And Haley, god, she loves your mom. She and Aaron chose you as Jack’s godmother—that way you’re officially part of our family, isn’t that beautiful?—and if it wasn’t for her being the second half to in-the-midst-of-Aaron’s-divorce, you would’ve asked her to be your maid of honor. Hell, you still might.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

You cast a squinting look at Aaron in the passenger seat, just for a moment.

Is he being serious?

“For a plethora of reasons,” you reply gravelly, trying to keep your voice level, “Nate. Haley. The fact that it’s absolutely absurd.”

You scoff sharply, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as you relive the scene.

Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? The way Aaron didn’t flinch when she said it—not even the bat of an eye. No surprise on his features, no denial.

As if he’s had the thought before, maybe even the conversation.

And that, the simple idea of it slowly ships away at your resolve, clawing straight into your chest, where a quiet, stickling truth resides, always there, hiding, lingering—the one you’ve never wanted to face—and never had the chance to.

“The question is,” you continue, signaling left to turn on Hill Drive, although it’s not like there’s any other vehicle around at this time of night, “why doesn’t it bother you?”

The moment it’s out, you regret it. Deflection means there’s more to the truth.

You remember the first time he said that to you, in his brand new prosecutor’s office, back when the USAO building was just a couple blocks from the National Gallery on 6th street, and you had just come back from taking a stroll to enjoy the architecture—or, more accurately: call Craig Sullivan from a payphone down the street.

You were sixteen, for god’s sake.

“Maybe because she’s not entirely wrong.”

Something in you snaps, shatters—and the world turns upside down. Your world, carefully constructed to hold everything together, to reconcile this feeling with that feeling, to keep everything neatly compartmentalized, safe, unchallenged.

Aaron and Haley. Haley and Aaron.

You and…someone else.

That’s how it’s always been.

Craig from high school, Jordan from college, then no one for a while—and now Nate, anchoring you to a reality where things are clear-cut, where your engagement means certainty, where Aaron is just Aaron, the brother-like figure, the best friend who has always been there although for you, at times, it’s not been quite enough.

But you never thought—

—yet here you are now, in your first car with the signature Black Vanilla Little Tree, and Aaron isn’t denying your mother’s words. He isn’t scrambling to explain them away. He’s just… accepting them, as though they’re not absurd at all.

“You’re joking,” you balk, but it’s not as sharp as you intended. Your voice wavers, thoughts whirring, desperately trying to keep this, whatever it is, at bay.

Aaron exhales slowly, hands pressing into his thigh. “Not like that,” he says, and it’s tired, weary, like he has had this conversation before—but not with you. Never with you.

With who, then? Your own mother? Sean? Haley?

Betrayal weighs on your chest, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. How dare he?

“Then what is it like?” You don’t mean to sound defensive, but you are. Defending everything you’ve ever thought to understand about him, about yourself. About boundaries, unspoken, but always there.

Heat sizzles beneath your skin, anger bubbling in your veins. Your right foot steps on the throttle as Hill Drive stretches ahead, empty and dark, giving you nothing to distract yourself from the growing heaviness in your chest.

“Please enlighten me, Aaron,” you snap, wondering if this is him finally reacting to Haley filing for divorce. Maybe he’s overcompensating, prodding at the stability of your relationship, testing the vigor of your choices because he regrets his own.

Maybe it’s the broken home he’s from—alcoholic father, a passive mother—and he just can’t bear to be happy, to see anyone else happy.

You know that’s unfair. But he isn’t being exactly fair either.

“Why do you think Nate’s wrong for me?”

“I don’t,” Aaron says quickly, decisively, and you feel the slightest bit appeased. Until he adds, “But maybe different things can be true at the same time.”

You blink in confusion, frozen as your chest slowly fills with dread. Your eyes drop to the TomTom, the new-tech navigation device Aaron got you for Christmas three years ago.

Philadelphia’s a big city. I don’t want you to get lost.

But isn’t that exactly what you are?

Living somewhere between a fantasy and a delusion, balancing it out with careful calculations to not feel too out of control. Because what you do is what you feel, right?

Daily runs equals 10,000 steps equals feeling healthy. A busy calendar equals productivity equals feeling purposeful. And Nate checking a lot of your boxes? A steady foundation equals a happy relationship.

It’s a logic you thought Aaron could appreciate, at the very least.

31 minutes to go.

You hum quietly, carefully, like you’re bracing yourself for impact, a revelation, perhaps. A tipping point.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your eyes stay on the road, grip tight around the steering wheel as your pulse kicks up. This isn’t happening. This conversation isn’t happening.

“That it’s…crossed my mind,” Aaron’s voice is gentle, the familiar rumble of syllables and words, hushed, like he’s running out of time, always. But for you, he makes time, he makes room. It’s music to your ears on any given day, and right now, if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through your body, you probably would have asked him to tell you again and again and again.

Because he says it so simply, like it’s just another fact about the world—as if it doesn’t unravel something buried deep inside you, something you’ve never had the nerve to examine or admit, not even to yourself. A threat to the foundation you’ve so carefully laid.

“Aaron—” you choke out, pleading, asking him to stop, to repeat. You don’t even know anymore.

The time on the TomTom drops from 31 to 30 minutes, and it’s the longest sixty seconds you’ve ever endured.

Waiting for Aaron to say something, to do something, laugh it off, tell you it was just a joke, a test, anything that doesn’t mean what you think it means. But he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t take it back. And for a moment, just one second, you allow yourself to imagine it—

Coming home from a long day at work, tired and exhausted, to a wall of warmth and Aaron’s favorite freshly cooked pasta—the one your mom always makes with lentils—and he’d greet you with a hug and a smile. Then you’d have dinner, talking about work and how Jack’s doing, maybe you’d be thinking about buying a house, about building a life together.

You’d drive to Manassas on the weekend to visit your mom and she’d finally have something nice to say about your partner.

You’d bicker about something stupid on the way home, like you always do, and he’d kiss it better later in the night, knowing just how much you could take, how much you wanted it, needed him—

“No.”

It’s sharp, panicked, cutting through the air like a blade, like a door slamming shut before something dangerous can slip through. Something you’ve kept under lock and key for a long part of your life.

In front of you, the windshield blurs for a moment, but you blink hard, force yourself to focus. And then the anger comes back, red hot in your veins.

“No,” you repeat, lower now, and your head shakes, “you don’t get to do this.” Your voice is thick with emotion, uneven, like the ground is shifting beneath you and you’re trying to stay upright. “Haley’s my friend. I’m getting married.”

“I know,” Aaron nods once, slow, measured, like it’s another fact he’s just…accepted. But his voice is strained, frayed at the edges, like he’s at war with himself, but about to give up.

Frustration rises in your throat, bristling against something dangerously close to fear—maybe a dooming realization that Aaron feels it too, that you might not be alone in this, maybe haven’t been for a while.

It makes everything worse.

“This isn’t fair,” you say, voice clipped. It’s not fair to Haley or Nathan or you, after all these years of keeping your mouth shut, after all the times you bit your tongue, forced a smile, tucked emotions away like secrets. When you sat across from your boyfriends and thought—Aaron wouldn’t say it like that. Aaron would know better. Aaron would understand.

Every moment you had to remind herself that wanting more would never be an option.

“I’m just trying to be honest.“

Now that—

That does it.

There’s a beat of silence—deafening, devastating silence. You glance at the rearview mirror, and before you can think about it, you slam the brakes. Aaron jerks forward in the passenger seat, caught by the seat belt. His right hand snaps to the dashboard to steady himself.

“What are you—” Aaron starts, but you don’t let him.

The moment the car stills, you stare at him, eyes wide, streetlights flashing through the windshield, casting fractured streaks of gold and shadow across his face, and for once—he looks caught off guard. But you’re too angry to revel in it.

“Honest? You want honesty?”

The heat behind your words builds fast, sharp and unforgiving, spilling out before you can stop it. “I have been watching from the sidelines for years, Aaron. I was happy for you, for Haley and I never said a thing because it would have ruined the life of everyone I love.”

Your voice is rough, edged with something close to regret—not for holding back, but for never getting the chance not to. You shake your head slightly, swallowing hard, forcing down the ache rising in your throat before locking your gaze on him.

“And you throw this at me now? When it’s finally my turn? When I finally found someone who—”

You stop short, words catching like a lump in your throat.

Someone who ticks all the boxes? Someone so opposite that you couldn’t possibly compare him to Aaron?

This is a farce. A cruel joke you’ve played on yourself for years—pretending you don’t care, convincing yourself that holding back was a choice and not survival. That your careful decisions, your curated relationships, your picture-perfect stability meant you’d won.

But the truth is, you’ve been fighting against this from the very beginning—against him, against whatever this is. And what’s worse?

It makes sense, the both of you.

Ultimately, it’s the truth. You know it is.

Aaron’s jaw shifts, slow, deliberate. His gaze flickers toward you, unreadable—but not indifferent. Never indifferent.

“Your turn?” There’s something careful in his voice, calculated, knowing. The weight of his words settle between you, thick and suffocating, pressing into the space where something shouldn’t be—but is.

Always has been, maybe.

“Are you getting married to prove something?”

Your stomach twists, brows pulling together in something that feels like being caught, ensnared in your own web of divisions and self-preserving lies, and for what?

A sense of control? A lifeline for something simpler, something less...impossible?

“That’s not—” you exhale sharply, leaning back in the seat, your head falling against the headrest as you try to keep it together, scrambling to hold onto the reality you’ve built over the last three years, the one that was supposed to protect you, to help you move on.

Because you had to, after Haley announced that she was pregnant. It was the last straw, undeniable proof that Aaron belonged somewhere else—that there was no space for whatever you had convinced yourself wasn’t real.

So you did what anyone desperate to move on would do.

You left Washington. You packed up your life, relocated to Philadelphia, took on a different job, met new people—built something from scratch, far enough away that you wouldn’t accidentally run into old ghosts. You filled your days with work, routine, order. When you met Nathan, cheerful, fun, shining bright like the sun, it was like two jigsaw puzzle pieces entwining, factoring into a bigger picture.

It was supposed to be enough.

“I love Nate,” you force out, the words scraping against your throat, raw, uneven, too fragile to feel real. You stare straight ahead, refusing to meet Aaron’s gaze, because if you do, if you see whatever’s sitting in his expression, you might not be able to hold back.

He studies you, and for once, you let him, assuming—accepting—that you will not get out of this conversation unscathed.

“Because you choose to, yes.”

Your breath falters, letting out a hollow laugh, sharp, bitter—because isn’t that the truth?

A person chooses actions, feelings choose a person. It’s a cycle you’ve been trying to escape for years, by making calculated, careful decisions, the kind that leave no room for recklessness.

Because recklessness is what led you here, on the side of a road with Aaron, unraveling years of restraint with just a few sentences.

“What else was I supposed to do?” The question is desperate, but your voice carries an edge, and your gaze lands on him—reproachful. “Did you want me to put myself on hold while you were married with a kid? Always at your disposal when it’s convenient? That’s selfish, even for you.”

Aaron’s jaw tightens slightly. His gaze flickers toward the windshield, toward the empty road ahead, like the words have landed somewhere he isn’t sure he wants to explore.

“I didn’t know you felt like that,” he says, his voice quiet, pondering.

De-escalating.

You let out a breath, shaking your head as something pulls at your chest—something heavy, similar to grief.

“How could you?” you ask, your gaze softening in the dim lighting. It’s been a long day, and his hair is messier than usual. Unkempt in a way that makes him look younger, less intense, more approachable. “I suppose you’re not the only one with a good poker face.”

It’s a try at lightness, at easing the blow of this conversation. But your momentum ends as soon as Aaron breaks eye contact, turning in on himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says, murmurs, and it sounds sincere. “I never wanted you to feel that way.”

Suddenly you’re twenty-four again, sprawled across your tiny apartment floor, notes scattered and cradling a half-empty coffee cup in your hands, complaining to Aaron about legal terms like prudent person and quid pro quo.

He used to revel in it, you—a trained nurse, taking after him, fighting for patient’s causes, for justice.

It’s addicting, right?

And it was, just like him.

When you finally got that certificate, he was so, so proud of you. And you loved every second of it, loved it in a way you shouldn’t have.

That’s when you knew, six years ago.

Your eyes close, just for a second, but the weight of it doesn’t lessen. If anything, shutting out the world only makes it louder. The memories, the choices, the things you told yourself you were better off leaving behind.

None of it has worked.

So you open them again, the world settling back into place—but it doesn’t feel any steadier.

“What do you want then?” The words spill out of you before you can stop them. Sharper than you meant, but there’s no taking them back.

Silence stretches between you, long enough to feel unbearable, to make you second-guess, wishing you never had this conversation.

Because this might be the end of it all—the end of you and Aaron, Aaron and you, two poles forever divided by time and place and the weight of your choices.

Then, softly—too softly, like he’s had the same realization and wants to recover—he says, “I don’t know.”

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