#boards important topics

[catalyserindia]

Struggling to find the perfect balance between acing your board exams and preparing for the IIT JEE? Discover expert tips and tricks on how to manage both effectively in this insightful blog post!

For more such helpful blogs visit our blog page: https://www.catalyser.in/blog

And if you are looking for Top Coaching Institute for your IIT JEE Preparations, Reach us at: https://www.catalyser.in/

[zymstarz]

yeah sure that's how i'll [re]come out

[crescentmp3]

hii ^^ 'tis i. im home

[newageworldschoolbangalore]

Hi, my name is Vidya Natarajan, and I am an ICSE topper. Preparing for the ICSE Class 10 Board Exam can be a challenging journey, but with the right strategies, you can excel. 

In this article, I will share my top 7 tips to help you prepare effectively and achieve success in your exams. These tips are based on my personal experience and what I found most helpful during my preparation. 

[abyssalpriest]

"Great Death" are you for real. Ive been fucking calling him "Lord Death" since before I even knew he was a real person let alone a spirit this damn life

"In some texts, Mahākāla is described as a fearsome god, a "demon who steals the vital essence (of people)" and who feeds on flesh and blood, though he is also said to only devour those who committed sins against the Three Jewels of Buddhism."

"In China, the god was also associated with fertility and sexuality"

bruh why the fuck do i doubt lev is who he says he is

Like i fucking clicked on the "大黒天" name(s) (chinese and japanese) because i was like "fucking sky character spotted!!!!!!" and now im just like. bruh

[cherrygarcia-07]

The HR Meeting // Spencer Reid

In which you get called out for your flirting by HR in front of the team (yes it’s the HR meeting scene from season 9)

genre: idk this was just in my head and made me laugh to think about

pairing: spencer reid x (kinda flirty) bau! reader / established relationship

word count: 1.3k

(references to sex)

masterlist

———————————————————————————🍓—————————————————————————

‘So, let’s talk about sexual harassment.’

You let out a tired sigh as the HR representative continued on. You were trying to pay attention, really you were- it seemed an important topic- but you were just so damn tired and her somehow both shrill and monotone voice was making you zone out. You straightened your posture in an attempt to wake yourself up, shoulders brushing Spencer’s as he stood next to you leaning on the desk behind you both, but it was of no avail. Glancing over at him, you cursed him under your breath- it was his fault you were so worn out this morning in the first place.

‘Sexual harassment isn’t always a quid pro quo arrangement.’ You stifled a yawn. ‘maybe it’s a conversation between two coworkers that makes you feel uncomfortable.’ Curiosity cut off your yawning as you wondered what scandalous conversations you might have missed to warrant this talk, eyebrows raising without you meaning for it.

Looking around the room, you spotted Penelope nodding along to give off the impression she was listening intently but you knew she was wondering the same thing as you. Alex sat next to you to your right, chin resting in her palm as she listened earnestly- ever the professional- whereas JJ beside her seemed more on your wavelength and you flashed her a look of pure nosiness which she reciprocated.

‘Maybe these coworkers use phrases like ‘babygirl-’

No way. You bit back a laugh as you watched Penelope’s eyes widen and her head shoot to Morgan to her left, who mimicked her actions.

‘Chocolate thunder-’

This was too good. Morgan’s eyebrows were raised now too, a wary expression on his usually smug face.

‘Where’s my big black twelve pack?’

She dragged the phrase out, her voice laced with disapproval and quite frankly, disbelief. You had to look away, turning your head towards your shoulder pretending to cough in a desperate attempt to stifle the laughter threatening to spill out. Even Alex’s stoic facade had faltered, an amused look in her eyes as she tilted her head at Penelope who seemed positively mortified whilst Morgan simply shook his head, exhaling with an uncharacteristically embarrassed look taking over him.

‘And that creates a what? Hostile work environment.’ The woman turned to face the board behind her momentarily and you leaned forward to sneak a look at Spencer’s reaction. Despite the things you’d heard him say alone, you knew these types of conversations made him sheepish, but it seemed his not-so-secret affinity with gossip was stronger. He was trying to keep his expression unreadable, neutral but you knew him and you could tell in the way his brows shot up, his eyes narrowing beneath them with that mischievous twinkle, that he was loving this just as much as you were. Your eyes snapped back to the board as she turned back around.

‘So messages like… more cushion for the pushing- NOT appropriate,’ a scattered series of chuckles echoed throughout the room. ‘I’ll be Coco to your Ice-T- NOT appropriate’ oh you were so going to give Penelope shit for this later.

‘Flarpy Blunderguff…’ You couldn’t hold it in anymore. A loud laugh escaped you as if beyond your control and your hand shot up to your mouth instinctively to muffle the sound. Across the room Rossi’s lips pursed, a curious look on his face as he stared down at Morgan. A grin stretched across your face as you thought back to Penelope telling you all about ‘flarpy blunderguff’, about the paint and the food and the thought of her being caught discussing this was simply too much for you.

You giggled uncontrollably, and in an attempt to hide your juvenile glee, you leaned over and pressed your face into your boyfriend’s shoulder. Big. Mistake. The woman’s eyes shot to you. She called your name.

‘I wouldn’t get so comfortable if I were you, agent.’

Oh no. Your smile slowly dissipated and your face contorted in a mix of confusion and dread and you slowly pulled yourself up from Spencer’s shoulder, ignoring the highly entertained look he gave as he looked down at you. To your side, you heard a chuckle from JJ.

‘Likewise, phrases like-’ she turned back to the board, clicking a remote that highlighted your shame in big black letters before your coworkers, ‘Doctor Sexy.’ Breathing in, your eyes closed and your lips drew into a thin line, beside you Spencer became annoyingly unreadable. You only called him that as a joke, one time! Or two… or a few…

‘Love to watch you leave, pretty boy.’ Eyes still closed, you thought back to that day. He’d worn pants a little tighter as the result of a joke Morgan had made about him being, quote, ‘flat as a pancake back there’- not that Spencer would ever admit that’s what he was doing or why. You weren’t shy about how you felt about the way they hugged him, about how they made his waist look so pretty and how they made the rest of his lower half look even prettier. You’d been teasing him all day, revelling in the way he squirmed and lost his breath and as he turned to walk away your eyes dropped to his pants once again and you just couldn’t help yourself. Back to the present moment, Penelope’s eyes were now on you, mirroring the look you’d given her only moments ago.

‘Save the handcuffs for later.’ A blush rose on your cheeks and you could feel Morgan’s gaze on you, not needing to look at him to know he was wearing that devilish grin of his and planning a million ways to make fun of you. You hadn’t meant it seriously. Not really, anyway. It was just a joke that spilled out after making an arrest one night as you watched him tuck his handcuffs away, just something to lighten the mood… and maybe set one for later. You risked peeking a look at Spencer next to you and were shocked to find a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and his eyes wide and twinkling with amusement, you’d have thought him to be wishing the ground to swallow him whole by now.

‘Talk dirty to me, genius.’ Okay that one was completely out of context. It had been a sarcastic response to one of his infamous spontaneous tangents, only this one had been on the lovely topic of ants and parasitic fungi. To your right, cackles pierced your eardrums and your head snapped around to see JJ burying her head into her desk while Alex covered her face with her hands, eyes giddily darting between the two of you still leaning against the desk. This whole ordeal had turned your team into a bunch of immature school kids, you thought, ignoring the fact you had been acting the exact same way not even 5 minutes ago.

Feeling your embarrassment radiating off of you like heat from a fire, Spencer exhaled the last of his laughter and placed a hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. Mistake number two. Exasperated, the HR representative locked her eyes onto him.

‘PDA and physical touching between coworkers also create a what?’ She asked again, her voice shooting through you. ‘Hostile work environment, Doctor Reid.’

He froze, eyes widening even further as his mouth opened and closed until his jaw simply fell open in that way it did so often (‘you’re going to catch flies in there’ you’d tell him before threatening to kiss it shut- an offer which he would happily take you up on). Hastily, he snatched his hand back and placed it in his lap as he felt a flush race up his neck. You turned to him, and despite the humiliation and the scolding and the inevitable endless teasing the two of you had coming, you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered as you watched the flush reach his cheeks, his flustered, pink complexion matching yours.

-

[sarahmackattack]

🚨 Cool new project alert 🚨

WE- you, me, everyone- need to work together to get important science messages out to people.

We're in an all-hands-on-deck moment here.

We've learned the hard way that talking to each other on social media about these problems, while very important, is insufficient to get CORRECT information to a critical mass of people.

That's why, if you ask me, it's time to hit the street.

4 artists & 3 scientists collaborated on these posters. We hope YOU will put them out in your community. Each poster comes w/info about each topic.

Where should you put these posters?

Community Bulletin Boards

Classrooms

Your street-facing window

Wooden street poles

ETC

Here's who worked on this project:

Science Funding Saves Lives

Poster by Amy Schwartz

Article by @mikefeigin.bsky.social

Biology is Bigger than Binaries

Poster by@franzanth.bsky.social

Article by@jfmclaughlin92.bsky.social

Protecting Wildlife Starts with YOU

Poster by@zillahsmith.bsky.social

Article by me

Will our Oceans Thrive or Nosedive?

Poster by@invertebabe.bsky.social

Article by me

Alright now go buy some posters and put them in the public space. I'd give them to you for free but uhhhh I'm broke and can't afford to. We're making them as cheap as we can.

[catalyserindia]

Mastering math for the CBSE 2024 exam? Dive into our blog for the top 5 key topics that will help you ace your math paper with an 80+ score!

For more such helpful blogs visit our blog page: https://www.catalyser.in/blog

And if you are looking for Top Coaching Institute for your IIT JEE Preparations, Reach us at: https://www.catalyser.in/

[malusokay]

becoming a better student ₊˚⊹♡

Prepare for your classes ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Wake up on time. We don't want to be stressed first thing in the morning, right?

Eat breakfast. So you will be able to better focus in class.

Assigned reading and homework. Make sure you are prepared for your classes!! :)

Review your notes. Going through some of your flashcards before class is really helpful.

Check your bag and charge your devices. Ensure you have everything you need: Books, homework, chargers, pens, water...

In Class ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Listen and pay attention. You can save yourself a lot of trouble by simply paying attention, trust me.

Take notes. My favourite note-taking method is the Cornell method; I can make a separate post on that!! <3

"Quick notes." If you struggle with note-taking, try taking quick and messy notes. You can clean them up once you get home!!

Engage. If you have any questions or don't understand something, make sure to ask!! Most teachers really appreciate students who speak up. :)

No distractions. Turn off your phone, no chatting, you'll be glad...

After class ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Finish your assignments as soon as you can. Go home, put on a cosy outfit, have a snack, and get working!! <3

Prepare flash cards. A great way of reviewing your notes, too... :)

Update your Study schedule. Write down any assignment and due dates, reading you must do, upcoming tests, etc...

Clean up your notes. Review them, highlight the important parts, and maybe even make them look cute!! :)

Don't avoid topics/Subjects you dislike. I know it is tempting, but you can't avoid them forever, so you might as well get them done

Structure and routine ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Goals and Priorities. Keep them realistic and manageable.

Time management. Having a set schedule makes studying less overwhelming; it takes some discipline but is so worth it!! <3

Develop a routine. Figure out what works best for you; I prefer studying in the morning or at night.

No "zero days". Even if you can only do a bit, do it!! NO. ZERO. DAYS.

Remember your goals. Dreams will keep you motivated; remind yourself of what you're working for!! <3

Self-care and balance ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Don't forget about your hobbies. You need to do things that make you happy, so make time for those things!!

Maintain a balanced diet. I know chocolates and junk are tempting, especially when you are busy studying all day, but you're not doing yourself any favours.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. 8 Hours. Non-negotiable.

Exercise regularly. Even if it's just a walk, put on some headphones, listen to music, and give yourself a break. <3

Care for your social life. Reach out to your friends, make plans, and keep in touch; a good work-life balance is critical!!

Romanticising ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Study dates. Meet up with your friends at a cosy cafe, discuss your work, and have some fun!! Studying doesn't have to be all serious all the time ;)

Silly Pinterest boards. Visualising your goals will help you find motivation!!

Music to set the mood. I have a bunch of playlists on my Spotify that might help!! <3

Cosy sweater and candles. The cosy Rory Gilmore vibes haha...

Getting a coffee before class. A little treat before things get serious... Simple pleasures, you know? :)

Babes, The hiatus is OVER, and I'm finally back!! I got a lot of asks on studying, burnout, and school in general, so I thought, why not start off with a little student guide?? I Hope October has been kind to you, and school hasn't been too overwhelming (though I know it, unfortunately, has been for many of you), and I'm glad to finally be back!! <33

As always, Please feel free to add your own suggestions and tips in the comments!!

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[scentedpeachlandcreator]

How to manifest your desired body:

So i noticed that this topic which everyone struggle with, so i'm gonna talk about it here in this post.

!! Note !!: Okay first of all, please After this post don't send me Asks or questions, get it together and apply the Law and you'll thank me later.

Firstly let's simplify the Law of assumption :

Deciding and assuming that you have your desires + knowing it yours and that creation is finished + not Caring about the 3d and persisting in your assumption + Moving on with your life with the knowing feeling that you have your desires.

Done, that it, it is easy right?

And just let the work to your subconscious.

Let clear some limiting beliefs you have, shall we?

Is it possible to change my bone structure? YES.

Is it possible to go from fat to skinny overnight? YES.

Is it possible to have the exact same body of my visual board from Pinterest? YES.

Is it possible to have those anime/manhwa body? YES.

Is it possible to have a thigh gap and a hourglass body? YES.

Is it possibl-? SHHH, you Heard me, yes, the answer would Always be yes, why? As long you Can see it in your mind then it is possible.

Now to the important part.

How to deal with the 3d?

Hold up- first of all, why do you need to check the 3d when you already affirmed a minute Ago that you already have your desired Body? Seriously? Pull yourself together 🗣️👏🏻

YOU ALREADY HAVE YOUR DREAM BODY! done, that it, no question, no when or how, no but, no anything.

When i tell you that creation is finished, i really mean it.

I mean Come on! Manifestation is instant, the moment you affirm you have your desired body which mean it is NOW, not in the future or in the past, you have it in your imagination NOW, and that what matters, you just need to keep persisting and let the work to your subconscious, just don't freak out or start checking the Time and yada yada.

Just know that the 3d will change and will adapt to your 4d.

Seeing yourself in the mirror and nothing changed? Nope i already have it.

Your family or your mutuals pointing out at your appearance? Nope, i already have my desired body, i'm beautiful.

Time is running out? I have my desired body NOW.

Always flip your thought when seeing the opposite in the 3d, well that because the subconscious mind doesn't know what happening around you, it only hear your thought, so when for example your mother saying to you that you look fat or skinny well in your mind just flip your thought saying "oh yeah, i already have my desired body, i mean i'm very sexy", you know where i'm going with this?

That all you need to do.

Accept that it is done, and move on with your life, you know you already have your desired body like you know you have the phone in your hand, you are not going to Wonder where it is when it is obviously in your imagination, you see it in your mind? Then you have it now! Congratulations! You have such an incredible body!

You Can Do whatever you want in the 3d, you Can eat whatever you want and with the knowing that you're skinny or lean.

Stop complaining, stop asking, stop Being in the state of lack, stop Being Desperate, stop dreaming, stop wishing, stop making excuses, just STOP AND START APPLYING THE LAW!

It is very easy, you're just making it more complicated.

YOU'RE THE GOD OF YOUR OWN REALITY! YOU CONTROL EVERYTHING! SO STOP SAYING THAT MANIFESTING YOUR DESIRES IS HARD!

Remember: Everything Comes from you.

Now get your ass up and start manifesting.

If you want to loss weight read my post if you want ➜ (click here!).

Also if you have any struggle with your manifestation or the 3d i advice you to visit the page of @shradsmanifestt

Xoxo, Eli

© Scentedpeachlandcreator.

[redflagshipwriter]

Chef Beef part 1 of 2

inspired by this post.

Part 2

Jason squinted at his laptop screen. It turned into a confused scowl. “What,” he said, “the hell are they saying?”

Perturbed, he slammed the thing shut. Whatever! He didn’t need validation from viewers. He turned to finish cleaning up his kitchen. He had scrubbed everything down on camera, but the dishes still needed to be put away and he had to shut his kitchen for the night.

His nighttime phone pinged. It wasn’t the Bat business one, at least. He hesitated. 

Fuck. It probably wasn’t important. But what if it was, though?

Jason heaved a massive, dramatic sigh. He put the mixing bowl back and then dug the phone out to check. It was just the stupid intergenerational Titans group chat. The first message flicked away before he could read it, replaced by a series of fire emojis and a…drooling face? Yuck. Superboy was a lot. 

Jason screwed his face up in disgust and dismissed the notification without reading. Tim’s grungy little friends continued to be off-putting gremlins.

Kori chimed in with a series of hearts and flexing arm emojis. 

Yeah, okay, the topic definitely wasn’t important. Goddamn social media. He just didn’t get it.

He didn’t check the video comments again until the next day, curled up in an armchair stolen from Wayne Manor. It was vigilante morning, also known as noon. He tucked his feet into the seam where the cushion met the back of the chair and took a long sip of steaming tea. Thus fortified, he typed in his password and loaded up the video he had done yesterday.

“...Huh.” He opened up his phone to do a quick search on what it meant to go live. Jason ran a hand through his hair and thought it over.

The top comments were begging him to livestream, not post after he was done. That seemed… Well, it seemed social. He pursed his lips and stalled for thinking time with more tea. Part of the reason he was doing this was to motivate himself to cook more, but putting it online, he had to admit, could only stem from a desire for some sort of attention and connection.

Ew. Jason put that bit of self reflection somewhere far away where it couldn’t hurt him, and started thinking about how to change his setup. 

“One week,” he told himself. “I’ll do that for a week and see how I feel about it.” 

Monday

12:07PM

Jason set up a laptop on the counter so he could see any comments while he streamed. 

“Not that I’ll get comments.” He wasn’t doing anything that special. Embarrassed even alone, Jason got busy setting up. Ingredients in place and oven preheated, he started the livestream. 

He waited. 

Then he felt stupid. Probably no one was going to come. So he pulled over his cutting board and held up his first ingredient. “I,” he said to no one, “am going to make the best quiche you sorry motherfuckers have ever seen.” He pointedly twirled the cutting board and glanced back at the screen just in time to see notifications that people were joining. 

“I’m making a quiche now,” Jason reiterated. “Best goddamn thing you’ll see all day, so make a note.” 

He blinked. “Can I crush the onion in my hand?” He repeated, brow furrowing at the screen. “It would be unusable, Caitlin15.” He hefted the onion. “This beautiful motherfucker needs to be diced into perfect pieces.” 

Perplexingly, that didn’t stop it. More viewers chimed in. “Uhh,” Jason said. Was this some kind of streaming social norm? “…I only have one onion. I can crush this instead?” He reached over and pulled out a carrot from the basket on the far end of the counter. 

The screen erupted in all caps. He squinted. Did it have meaning? It looked like gibberish.

“Seems like a yes.” Well. Whatever. Jason crushed the carrot to a mush in his hand, catching the end that fell. He let the mush fall into the bowl he had meant for the onion. Thoughtlessly, he snapped off a bit of the carrot with his teeth and braced a forearm on the counter in front of the camera. “You gonna behave now?” He asked the stream, making sure to level an unimpressed expression to his viewers. “Sit the fuck down and listen.”

The screen erupted with ear emojis and weird dramatic shit like, “I am seated, King. 👑” Someone purchased a … sticker? What the hell? What was the point of that?

…Alright. He picked up the carrot mash bowl and considered it. “Might be making a carrot cake or bread later,” he said. “I can’t stand waste.” He shifted it out of the way and stretched up to get a new bowl from the storage up high. When he looked back down he saw there was a flurry of “six pack alert” messages and more notifications of people buying ‘stickers.’

He wheeled around to see what they must have– behind him was a collection of bottles. They were not alcohol.

“I don’t drink!” Jason snarled. “My body is a goddamn temple. No fuckin beer here.” He leveled a finger at the screen. 

That first stream went alright. He got a lot of subscriptions off of it, which probably at least meant that some people liked it. Jason closed his laptop with the vague impression that things were going to be alright. 

He was washing up when someone knocked on the door. Jason shook his hands twice to flick off water and then dried them with the hand towel. He threw it over his shoulder on the way to open the door. “Dick.” He opened the door, one eyebrow raised. “Everything alright?”

Dick pushed his way in, wearing his beat cop uniform. He had his pretty boy smile on, but Jason saw right through that. That fucker wanted money. “Hey, Jay!” He sniffed his way to the kitchen. “I, uh, heard you have a cooking thing going on, how’s that going?” 

Hm. Alright, maybe he wanted free food, the goddamn hyena.

“How do you know this shit?” He wondered fondly. “Creep.” 

Dick grimaced and put a hand to his head. “Roy showed me.” Dick sounded like he was in pain. Fair enough. That was a reasonable reaction to Roy Harper.

Jason closed the door and watched his sort-of-brother scavenge around the apartment. “Want some quiche?” He cast his thoughts back. “Oh, I have carrot bread.”

Dick gave him a slightly harried smile. “Oh, I heard about that. Crushing the carrot made an impression.” 

Jason blinked.

They looked at each other. 

“Are you watching my streams?” Jason asked slowly. “Hey, I’ve been getting a lot of slang in the comments I don’t know.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the list he had compiled. “People keep commenting ATE, in all caps. But I’m not eating.”

Dick stared off into the air mournfully. “It… It means you’re doing a great job. It’s not about food.”

Jason nodded. “Noted,” he murmured to himself. “Uh, raw?” He tried to make eye contact. “People send me that, also in all caps. But obviously I am cooking my goddamn food, that is the whole premise.”

Dick screwed up his face in pain and stuffed half a roll into his mouth to avoid answering. “Buddy,” he said through a mouthful of food, “I don’t want to tell you the details. But your watchers think you’re hot. That’s the gist of it.”

Jason stared at him. “...They think I’m hot,” he echoed slowly. “I am hanging out in my pajamas and cooking. I am being sloppy and rude. I call them names,” he pointed out.

Dick’s face twitched. “Yeah, some of them are into that. But also your whole…” He gestured vaguely up and down Jason’s body. “The t-shirt and sweats work for you.” He looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. “I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re comfortable and safe. Having fans is kinda a lot sometimes.”

Jason snorted. “It’s not like I’m modeling like you or Kori did,” he pointed out. 

“It’s not that dissimilar.” Dick rolled his neck. “Lemme see your account?”

Jason hesitated. “Why?”

“I bet you’ve gotten sponsor messages.” 

He snorted. “Yeah right.” He handed the phone over and watched over Dick’s shoulder. “…Didn’t know there were messages on this app.” His eyebrows crawled upward. “These people want to give me money?” 

“You need a manager,” Dick said promptly. “And a moderator to crack down on the horny comments.”

Jason physically recoiled. 

“That’s what I thought,” Dick said wryly. “I can get you a mod for free. I’ll manage your account for a modest 50% of your profit.” 

“Bullshit,” said Jason, despite thinking he’d make no money. “That can’t be the going rate for a manager. Fuck you. I’m going to ask Kory what she pays her manager.” He snatched back his phone and DMd her his question. “And why would anyone mod for free?” 

“A loser would do it,” said Dick. “And I know just the motivated loser. Anyway, how would you feel about doing a separate livestream where you eat?” He stuffed quiche in his mouth and talked around it. “Lonely people like that, they pretend they’re having a meal together. It’s a public service, Jaybird.” 

“Who on this goddamn earth would want to pretend they were eating with me?” Jason wondered. 

Dick eyed him. “Who indeed.” He sniffed. “I’ll do it for 30%, if you are gonna be so cold about it. I’m not in it for the money, I’m your brother,” he wheedled. 

“Your shitty cop job doesn’t pay for your lunches,” Jason said flatly. “Go get money from Bruce.” 

“Never.” Dick shoved the last of the quiche in his mouth so violently he actually choked. “Gotta go. I have your passwords now, I’ll set up sponsorships and pay out your stickers.” 

“Pay out what?” Jason asked, bemused. 

“My break is 30 minutes,” Dick hollered over his shoulder. “Gotta get back to 3rd in the next 4 seconds.”

“…You are a mess.” Jason watched Dick whirlwind out of his apartment less than five minutes after entering to steal his food and money he didn’t even know he had. “You’re gonna be at least ten minutes late.” 

“It’s fine, I’m ungovernable.” His footsteps thumped rapidly down the apartment stairs. A car tire screeched outside. A police siren started up and rapidly faded. 

Jason sighed. “Dinner with lonely people, huh?” He eyed his apartment. “I guess I could set up the table there…”

Tuesday 

12:51PM

“Good morning,” Jason greeted the camera. “Yeah,  yeah, it’s one pm. I just got up, so sue me.” He took a pointed sip of his morning drink. It was coffee this time. “I,” he said pointedly, “had a long night. And I need some comfort. So we are starting the day with cinnamon rolls.” He gestured to his oven. “I already have the first batch cooked and cooled, so you can see me ice it and eat.” He rolled his shoulders. “First, this bowl is going to be for my wet ingredients-” He blinked. “I don’t need a new bowl. I- why do you hate this bowl?” He tilted it, perplexed. “Do you all— okay, look, I’ll show you all my bowls and you will acknowledge the superiority of this particular bowl for this task.” Shaking his head, he extended up as far as he could reach to get the rest of the bowls down.

“...I still do not drink,” Jason scowled. He felt confused and vaguely uncomfortable. “Stop saying that, I don’t like it.” 

The chat listened, so whatever. He whipped up this batch of cinnamon rolls, set it to proof, and then got out his finished rolls to show the screen. “We need to make the frosting for these, but I am excited.” He let his voice rasp. “It’s gonna be way more than I can eat, but…” He shrugged. “Hey, meat? Why are you sending meat emojis– I can do you a good meaty dish tomorrow. Roast?” He brainstormed. “Steak, maybe, oh hell yeah, HawaiiHunk,  I could use some meat in me too,” he agreed. “Tomorrow, yup, you and me.” 

He cleared his throat and set out his supplies. “But first, let’s get that frosting.”

20 minutes later, once he had licked the frosting off his spoon, Jason showed a single perfect roll to the camera. “I’m going to sign off and have my breakfast now,” he said. Someone called GOATman said, “good job, it looks delicious.” He flashed them a smile.

“And then I guess I gotta find someone to shovel off my spare rolls to. Wish me luck.” He turned the stream off without checking what they were actually saying.

Wednesday

5:00 am

“Jason.” 

He stifled a shriek. “You’re an asshole.” Jason swore. He threw the shower curtain aside violently to glare at Tim. “I’m getting ready for bed, you little shit. You still follow my patrols?”

Tim stared at him with big, resentful eyes. There were bruises under both of them. “I heard you made cinnamon rolls. Heard a lot about that. Something about a carrot, too.”

“...Yeah.” Jason frowned at him. What a weird thing to say. “Did you get a concussion?”

“Put your clothes on,” Tim groused. He pushed himself off the counter and sauntered out of the room, as if he wasn’t the weirdo who had snuck into Jason’s home after patrol, followed him into the bathroom, and waited there.

Jason pulled on a t-shirt and shorts and made his way out to see Tim’s baleful stare. “What,” he said gently, “the fuck?” He made a shoo gesture. “I didn’t say I was open to strays.”

“Should I tell Kon that he isn’t getting any of your cinnamon rolls or quiche?” Tim said waspishly.

Jason reeled a bit. Kon? Leather jacket Superboy? The hell did he have to do with anything?

There was a more salient point to address.

‘Why does he know what I’ve been cooking?’

Jason pointed at him. “You’re creeping on me again. Do you have an alert set for anytime I send a text?” He sneered. “And yeah, I am not cooking for you or your friends. Besides, the quiche is gone.”

Tim let out a violent huff. “I wish I heard less about you.” He waved a hand. “But, yeah, Kon can give up any hope?”

“What,” said Jason, “the Hell are you talking about?” He frowned. “Hope for what? Does he wanna learn to cook or something?” 

He momentarily considered that. Kon was a C list celebrity. That was exactly the type of guy you might invite as a guest to your livestream.

Tim eyed him. Jason stared back. “Nothing.” Tim rolled his eyes. “To be very clear, you would never for a moment consider Kon as-”

“I never think about the guy,” Jason cut him off. “He’s a nice guy, does good work. But you’re being so fuckin weird. Take the plate of cinnamon rolls over there and get the fuck out of my house.”

Once Tim had been shoved out the door, Jason went to bed. He woke up again at 1 in the afternoon and started to set up for his next live stream.

That was a lie.

He intended to wake up at 1. Instead, he sat up from a dead sleep at 10:32 am when Dick banged on his door, dragging along his dumb cop partner and an armful of shitty coffees.

“I hate you,” Jason croaked. He wiped the protein from his eyes and snatched a drink.

“Everyone does,” commented the other cop.

Dick snorted a laugh, but both of them looked at her. “Why are you here, pig?” Jason asked pointedly.

She sniffled. “Oink, oink,” she said pointedly, and stole a cinnamon roll off the counter. “Because prettyboy is taking a break from ending the corruption of the Bludhaven cops in order to benefit from the corruption of the Bludhaven cops by selling access to his shitty little brother online.” She peeled the cinnamon roll open.

Dick pointed at her. “Amy, you said you’d be nice to me.”

She took a very large bite of her cinnamon roll and flipped him off with a smile.

“...Fair enough,” Jason said, and turned his tired glare at his shitty elder brother. “Why are you even up this early, I swear you were up as late as I was.” 

Dick hefted his ass onto Jason’s clean countertop and ignored the strangled sound he made. “I have an intricate system of micro naps at traffic stops and unimportant meetings. I can get by on as little as two hours of sleep at night.”

“What happens if you miss one?” Jason asked, darkly curious.

“His whole life falls apart,” Amy said, talking with cinnamon roll in her mouth still. Jason gave her a disgusted look. 

Dick waved that off. “Anyway, did you see that Kory messaged you? She wants to do a collab.” His brilliant smile faltered for a millisecond. “That would get views.” He smiled winsomely.

“...This hurts you,” Jason observed, reluctantly fascinated. “Why are you doing this? You don’t want me to hang out with your ex-fiance.” He cocked his head to the side. “Have you considered telling her that you want her back?”

“I never look back,” Dick lied breezily. “How about Raven? She’s open to a cooking video. Or.” He looked pained. “Kon. He has been messaging. A lot. He’s watching your streams.” 

“...This does seem more Kon’s speed,” said Jason, thinking of all the times he had seen that motherfucker scarf down chilidogs or nachos on camera. “Kind of below Kory, honestly. Raven?” His voice tilted upward in disbelief. “She’s your friend, not mine. Why don’t you do some kind of stream with your friends?” Jason shrugged. “If you like it, I mean.”

“I’m done modeling,” Dick said. “The body shaming really got to me.” He ran a hand up his perfect body and gave a little shrug. 

“That also why you’re done with a career as a world-class athlete?” Amy asked wryly. “Your career trajectory is the garbage can. I know why I’m giving parking tickets for 12 dollars an hour, but it’s just insulting that you’re here. Take your shitty Dad’s money.”

“Never,” Dick vowed. “So, collab with Raven? Great! She’ll be here tomorrow at noon.”

“I will kill you!” Jason shouted, but it was no use. The fucker was already halfway out the door.

Amy toasted him with the remainder of the cinnamon roll. “I’ve been making him buy us all donuts with what he’s making from your streams,” she told him.

Jason thought that over. “I guess you’re alright for a pig.”

She saluted him on her way out.

He managed to get a little more sleep before his stream. “I might have a guest tomorrow,” he told his viewers idly as he set up. “Feel free to guess who. My shitty manager is setting it up.”

Some of the world’s worst guesses rolled down the screen– Amanda Waller, President Luthor, Nightwing. 

Jason accidentally laughed. “No, uh, none of them.” He snickered. “Think younger.” He blinked. “No, probably not you, HawaiiHunk, you goddamn flirt,” Jason shook his head. “You better watch your ass, I think I have a mod today.”

Someone sent the salute emoji. “That you?” Jason squinted. “GOATman– greatest of all time man?” He snickered. “Everyone is on notice.”

The guy was vicious. The first time HawaiiHunk commented “ur sooo sexi babe,” he got a warning. 

A while later the mod said, “This is your final warning.” Jason looked up to see what the poor thirsty idiot had said. He snorted involuntarily when he saw that HawaiiHunk apparently wanted to be the dough. He wanted to see where this was going. 

“Ignore himmmmm,” said Sparklefairy. She somehow sent an explosion of glitter over his stream. Dollar emojis scattered. 

Jason raised an eyebrow and put some muscle into the bread he was kneading. 

‘Are some of them trying to buy my attention?’ he wondered, bemused. ‘Should I tell them I’m an independently wealthy criminal? I feel like I’m tricking them.’

HawaiiHunk typed up, “I’m so wet.” 

Jason stuck his tongue out and then shuddered dramatically. “That’s not my business, I don’t need to know that.” 

“That’s it,” said GOATman, a fantastic mod. “Blocked.” The official notification appeared a moment later.

“Goodbye, HawaiiHunk.” Jason saluted with a laugh. “And let that be a warning to the rest of you.”

GOATman sent the salute emoji and was immediately copied by others in a flood. Jason had to laugh.

That night, before patrol, Jason sat with a frown, scrolling through his comment section. He barely noticed when Spoiler sat her ass down beside him and started doing her inventory check. He did notice when she leaned into his space to see what he was looking at. 

“Dude, what the hell?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know. Look at this weird shit people are saying.” He tilted his phone screen. “Raw,” he repeated, disbelievingly. “Raw. My meat is not raw.” 

Stephanie choked on air.  

“I cook all my meat– I cooked it to 65C.” Jason gestured pointedly. 

“What, uh… Are you streaming?” Stephanie looked at him with wild eyes. “So, uh, these are fans?”

He looked at her. “Does it mean something?”

“...Yeah,” she said, after a suspiciously long pause. “It’s slang. They like you.”

“So it’s not about my meat?” Jason clarified.

“It is kind of about your meat.” Stephanie swallowed, hard. “I, uh– I think that we should… We should go. On patrol.” She pushed herself off the ledge and did a flip. “Time to hit the streets.” She flashed him a pretty, toothy smile, and then was gone.

Jason was not an idiot. Stephanie was avoiding telling him something embarrassing. 

Whatever. There was something off about it. He had caught that on his own, even if he didn’t know what. Maybe they were mocking him. The concept sent a sick feeling through his gut. But– she wasn’t a liar. It was overall positive, whatever it was. 

“It’s gonna be some pop culture shit I missed.” He grimaced. He wasn’t that old, but he felt old as balls sometimes. “I don’t need to be cool.” 

That affirmation hanging in the air, he blew out his bangs and then scraped them back so they wouldn’t plaster to his forehead with sweat when he went on patrol. He zipped his jacket closed and swung a leg over his motorcycle. Time to go.

[chogiwow]

the law of unintended consequences. | jake sim (part one)

→ posits that actions often have unforeseen and unanticipated effects, which may be positive, negative, or neutral, that are not part of the actor's original intent. MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k

warnings: slowburn, topics of abandonment issues, jake has his first kiss, makeouts, some touching (that's as far as it goes), cheesy ass astronomy rizz :'D

a/n: dividing this into 2-3 parts bc tumblr fuck you and your 1000 blocks limit

one. 

you are not supposed to be here.

you have zero qualifications in astrophysics, no background in quantum mechanics, and absolutely no business being inside one of the country’s top space research facilities.

but you’re just a desperate graduate looking for a job.

when you applied for an assistant role at a science institute – thinking it would involve scheduling meetings, filing paperwork, maybe even making coffee – you did not expect to end up working under a literal genius.

seriously, you thought you’d be running small errands. and here’s the thing. you’re good at what you do, you’re good at the whole administerial part of the job. you’re needed to print copies of the meeting notes? done. you need to coordinate with the finance department because sunghoon somehow submitted last year’s budget instead of the current one? you already emailed them. jay forgot about an important board meeting? no, he didn’t. because you added three reminders to his calendar and physically dragged him out of the lab when he tried to pretend he had “urgent research” to finish.

you keep this place functioning, to whatever extent you can. you are efficient. you are essential. you are the one making sure the right documents reach the right people in the chaos that is everyday and the coffee machine’s up and functioning.

but the moment anyone in the lab starts talking about science stuff? you might as well be a hamster in a quantum mechanics lecture.

seriously. it’s like your brain just taps out.

you’ve been working here for months, and you still don’t know what these people actually do. you know it involves space and big words and a lot of coffee-fueled all-nighters. but the second someone starts explaining their research, it’s like you’re staring into the abyss.

you’re basically surrounded by insufferable nerds who talk about wormholes and black hole singularities like they’re discussing the weather. it’s like walking into a foreign country where the language is pure equations.

the worst part?

not all of them are entirely insufferable. some are just too passionate for their own good, their conversations looping endlessly in circles you can’t follow. if anything, you’re the fish out of water here.

take jay, for example. he’s not that bad. in fact, he’s one of those hot nerds who knows he’s hot – but doesn’t flaunt it. sure, he runs a hand through his hair a little too often when you’re around, throws you that lopsided smile when you hand out research papers you don’t understand, and occasionally offers you free coffee when you pass by his workstation.

but he’s also the guy with an endless arsenal of space puns and the world’s worst pick-up lines.

so yeah, not entirely insufferable.

sunghoon is more moody, more reserved, always hyper-focused on his work. he doesn’t bother with small talk, barely acknowledges your presence unless necessary, and when he does, it’s usually with a furrowed brow and a clipped “can you move?” when you accidentally block the whiteboard. he’s a bit of a jerk in your opinion, but jay seems to swear by him, assuring you that his friends have been literal losers since university, never even having dated anyone at all and that he just needs time to warm up to someone. you believe him because it's believable.

but leading this entire team of genius lunatics?

dr. jake sim.

jake sim is brilliant. annoyingly brilliant. the youngest astrophysicist to be leading major research on gravitational waves and exoplanets. the golden boy of the lab. the guy who talks about space-time distortions the way normal people talk about the weather.

jake sim is also hot – surprise (not really). he completes the trio of jay and sunghoon – the hot trio of the lab. everyone knows it. every assistant and secretary in the building has fun batting their eyes and twirling their hair at them. but while jay flirts back and sunghoon ignores it, jake… doesn’t even notice.

jake has a quiet, brooding edge to him. he always wears his glasses – except when he slides them off to rub a tired hand over his stupidly handsome face, his black hair somehow fluffy yet perfectly in place. you’ve often found yourself staring, wondering what kind of haircare routine produces that level of effortless perfection. (“papaya extract shampoo,” jay tells you later.)

even when he’s frowning, he looks like a lost puppy. he’s not intimidating per se, he’s just … not a very socially apt person you’ve met. and that’s saying something because the first month you joined, sunghoon avoided you like the plague. you thought you had done something to offend him but turns out, as jay informed you later, sunghoon’s just very awkward around new people.

jake sim is a genius. a literal, world-altering, lab-coated prodigy whose brain works at speeds the average person can’t even comprehend.

he is also, unfortunately, a menace to basic workplace efficiency. you’ve learned this the hard way.

because for all his brilliance, jake has zero awareness of his surroundings. he’ll abandon pens in entirely different departments, walk off mid-sentence because he’s already three equations ahead in his mind, and somehow exist in a state of constant near-calamity – like a human science experiment teetering on the edge of disaster.

which is where you come in.

you, the assistant who keeps his world running. the one who reminds him to eat. the one who nudges a coffee into his hands before he even realizes he needs it. the one who subtly rearranges his misplaced files, retrieves his lost stationery, and – on more than one occasion – has saved his life by yanking him out of the way of an incoming cart of hazardous materials.

you do all of this seamlessly. efficiently. and completely unnoticed.

because jake sim doesn’t know your name. not really.

you’re just the person who hands him reports and dodges his absentminded shoulder bumps in the hallway. the one he thanks without looking up, too engrossed in his work to register you as anything more than background noise.

which brings you to now.

standing outside his office, gripping a file filled with research you don’t understand, mentally preparing yourself to not make a fool of yourself this time.

you take a breath. knock. no answer.

you knock again. still nothing.

maybe he’s not here? maybe you can just leave the file on his desk and escape unnoticed—

the door suddenly swings open. and you immediately take a step back, startled.

jake blinks down at you, clearly pulled out of deep thought, his glasses slightly askew, lab coat unbuttoned.

he doesn’t say anything. just stares.

and for the first time, you’re really seeing him up close.

his sharp features. the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw from too many sleepless nights. the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead.

yeah, this man has no business being this attractive.

you open your mouth, but words fail you.

jake glances at the file in your hands. then back at you.

“are you lost?”

what.

“no,” you say, straightening. “i—i work here.”

jake frowns, clearly trying to recall if he’s ever seen you before. he has not.

“��right.” his gaze flicks down to your name tag. “y/n.”

holy shit, it’s at this moment that you realise, this man has no idea who you are. he doesn’t know who his assistant is.

regardless, you nod, offering the file like it’s a peace offering. “dr. lee said to give this to you.”

jake takes the file from you, barely glancing at it before flipping through the pages. silence. you shift awkwardly, waiting for him to acknowledge your existence beyond just your name tag.

“this is wrong.”

…excuse me?

you blink. “what?”

jake flips the file around, showing you a page filled with numbers and diagrams that might as well be ancient hieroglyphics to you. “these calculations. they don’t match the expected parameters.”

your brain short-circuits. “uh… okay.”

jake sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “did dr. lee give this to you?”

“yes.”

“did you change anything?”

you gape at him. “do i look like i know how to change a single digit in that mess?”

jake finally looks at you properly, as if realizing you are, in fact, the last person who would alter high-level astrophysics data. then, to your absolute horror, he scoffs. somehow, that’s more insulting to you, the fact that he’s just now realising that you’re an assistant and not a fellow colleague or intern or junior. really, it was just a sign of realisation, but why did it piss you off?

“fair point.”

he steps back, gesturing for you to come in. “i need to cross-check this. you might as well wait.”

before you can protest, he’s already walked back to his desk, completely expecting you to follow.

here’s another thing about you. you’re efficient, yes. you keep the schedules running like a well-oiled machine. you manage people, deadlines, and occasional office chaos with ease. you have your occasional run-ins with the high tech coffee machine, but you compensate with the packets of instant mixes. you clock in and out of work on time, you don’t butt your nose where you’re not required. you sit quietly in those boring meetings, stifling your yawns but its not like many people notice you anyway. you are definitely efficient at what you do.

but you’re also... clumsy.

not in a way that actively disrupts work (you swear). just in a way that has you constantly bumping into desks, tripping over air, and somehow finding new, creative ways to spill coffee on yourself. you blame it on your flat feet – probably. but the truth is, you’ve simply made peace with your gravitational challenges.

it’s something that has plagued you since an early age where you’d be slipping off swing sets or bumping into tables or accidentally rubbing the eraser too hard across your notebook page, causing it to rip right through the middle. but it's alright, it’s not a life threatening… disorder, you’d suppose.

and for the most part, no one notices.

except that one time jay did when you tripped over a computer wire. he snickered so loud, half the office turned to stare at him. you ran away in a blushing mess before he could turn it into a full roast session.

you're standing in jake sim’s office with the hesitation of someone who just walked into an active minefield. but it’s always this way when you need to go into his office.

his office is… exactly the way you had seen it in your initial days of work.

not in the normal executive kind of way – no sleek, intimidating decor, no minimalist furniture that screams i’m too rich to function. no, jake’s office is chaos disguised as a workspace.

the walls are lined with whiteboards covered in scribbled equations – formulas, diagrams, and the kind of notes that make your brain hurt just looking at them. books are stacked in precarious towers, some open, some closed, all of them filled with words and symbols that might as well be hieroglyphics. a crumpled hoodie is draped over the back of his chair, and an abandoned coffee cup sits dangerously close to the edge of his desk, a faint ring staining the surface underneath.

there’s a rhythm to the disorder, though – like his mind works too fast for his space to keep up. you’ve known jake to be someone who knows exactly what he is doing and you have no doubt this is all just an organised mess to him. he’d probably be able to tell you in alphabetical order where all his things were. you knew the moment you saw him maneuvering himself through this trash pile of a room with the ease of a cat, that he knew exactly where everything was.

but you did your part as a good assistant and helped clean up his desk once in a while. nothing much, just stacking the reports in different piles, labelled ‘to be read’ or ‘needs review’ with coloured sticky notes for his sake, making sure his pen stand has a decent amount of working pens and sharpened pencils, bookmarking pages of books he left open on his table and stacking them in another corner of the desk, making sure the dust is cleaned off and no stains of coffee cups remain on his workspace.

it smells faintly of coffee, whiteboard markers, and something else – something subtly clean, like fresh laundry, though you doubt he even has time for things like that.

and in the middle of it all is jake sim himself, hunched over his desk, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he scans a file with sharp, calculating eyes. he absently pushes his glasses back up, muttering something under his breath.

you catch the words “data inconsistencies.”

you have no idea what’s wrong with the numbers on the page, but based on his frown, they seem to have personally offended him.

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to focus on the dim office lighting casting soft shadows over his face.

which, objectively speaking, is unfairly attractive.

in that disheveled genius way – like he hasn’t slept in days but could still win a magazine cover shoot by accident.

not that you care. obviously. you’re just here to do your job. your very normal, very non-physics-related job.

and then, in true you fashion – disaster strikes.

it happens fast. one second, you’re standing still, being the picture of professionalism. the next, your foot catches on something – probably your own dignity – and suddenly, the ground is rushing up to meet you at an alarming speed.

you don’t even have time to process your impending doom before a firm hand catches your wrist, steadying you just before you faceplant into the floor.

for a brief, shocking moment, you’re pressed against jake sim’s side, gripping his arm as if your life depends on it.

because it does.

you look up – eyes wide, breath caught – and find him staring down at you, completely unfazed, those damn glasses of his slightly crooked over his nose bridge. his grip is steady, warm, but impersonal – like he just reacted on instinct before immediately moving on.

and then — "dark matter interactions shouldn’t be this inconsistent," he mutters, releasing you as if the whole thing was a minor inconvenience.

you just nearly wiped out in his office, and he’s already back to contemplating the mysteries of the universe?!

you gape at him as he casually flips a page, frowning at the numbers again, like he hadn’t just saved you from a mild concussion.

"uh—thanks?" you manage, still trying to steady your heartbeat.

jake hums in response, not even looking up. "watch your step next time."

unbelievable. it’s official.

this man has zero self-awareness.

two.

jake swears on his life he had kept the papers on the ‘dark energy survey’ report on his desk last night before he left.

yet, as he stands in his office now, staring at the very-much-empty surface where they should be, his jaw tightens.

he exhales through his nose. okay. no need to panic. maybe they got buried under the mess.

he starts shifting through the stacks of books and scattered notes, moving one pile to another area of controlled chaos. but the more he looks, the more it becomes evident – those papers are gone.  

and he needs them. now.

biting his cheeks, he squats on the floor, peering under his desk but nothing. not the report he was looking for. maybe he kept it somewhere else, somewhere away from the mess on his desk just to be sure that they were in a more accessible place. but where? there’s not a single nook and cranny in his room that could possibly meet that standard, it’s all just piles of papers and charts and books.

his desk drawer?

a quick survey of that yields nothing but two dried up pens, some loose sheets he had scribbled rough calculations on and an empty paper cup.

fuck, where the hell did he put that report?

with a frustrated sigh, he runs a hand through his already-messy hair, striding across to the middle of his room and casting a wary glance all around. a muscle in his jaw twitches as he stares at the scattered disaster zone that is his office.

he has checked everywhere – under the desk, between stacks of papers, in his desk drawer (twice), even inside an old laptop case for some godforsaken reason.

nothing.

this doesn’t make sense. he left it right here – unless he didn’t.

he presses his palms against the desk, eyes squeezing shut for a second. he’s tired. maybe he just—

"are you okay, or are you plotting an intergalactic war?"

jake's head snaps up.

you stand at the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows quirked in amusement. you’re holding a different set of documents, clearly in the middle of your usual rounds, but now you’re just watching him suffer.

"i’m fine," he says flatly.

"uh-huh. that’s why you look like you want to launch yourself into a black hole."

jake pinches the bridge of his nose. "i lost something." he’s seen you before, weren’t you the person from yesterday? the one who tripped over air?

you hum, stepping inside. "what?"

“the dark energy survey report.”

at that, you pause. a flicker of something crosses your face, like you’re remembering something.

jake notices. “what?”

“nothing,” you say automatically. then, a second later, “wait. you’re sure you left it on your desk?”

“yes.”

“you’re sure sure?”

jake glares. “i don’t say things i’m not sure about.”

you give him a look, like you find that highly debatable, but instead of arguing, you shift the documents in your hands and tilt your head in thought.

"because," you start, "i came in yesterday to drop off a memo from dr. lee, and i remember seeing your desk. it was already a disaster zone, but i don’t think that report was there."

jake frowns. "that’s impossible. i was working on it last night—"

and then it clicks.

his expression shifts, frustration turning into something more like realization.

“oh,” he says.

“oh?” you echo.

jake straightens, rubbing his jaw. he had been talking to jay and sunghoon about data discrepancies in the report yesterday. they had moved to the adjacent lab to compare notes on a new simulation model—

shit.

"i think i left it in lab c," jake sighs, already making a beeline for the door. "i took it with me while discussing—"

"—dark matter inconsistencies, right?" you finish dryly, following him out.

jake doesn’t acknowledge that. but you’re right.

as jake strides toward lab c with you trailing behind him, you take a moment to process the absurdity of this situation.

you are an administrative assistant. your job is to schedule meetings, file reports, and occasionally wrestle the coffee machine into submission.

yet, here you are, following the lab's star astrophysicist on a quest for lost paperwork like you’re in some sort of intergalactic treasure hunt.

lab c is as chaotic as you expect it to be. desks cluttered with scattered notes, half-drunk coffee cups balancing precariously on top of stacks of journals, whiteboards filled with scribbles that look more like encrypted messages from an alien race than anything remotely comprehensible.

jake wastes no time. he scans the room, eyes sharp, movements precise. you, on the other hand, stand uselessly by the door, because let’s be honest – you wouldn’t even know what the report looks like if it smacked you in the face.

he mutters under his breath as he sifts through a pile of books, pushing aside a crumpled hoodie and a few loose sheets. “it should be here…”

“you know, for a genius, you’re pretty bad at keeping track of your own stuff.”

jake shoots you a look. “i have a system.”

you snort. “a system of losing things?”

he doesn’t dignify that with a response. instead, he bends down, checking under a table. you take this as an opportunity to glance around the lab, pretending like you’re helping even though you don’t know what you’re looking for.

then you spot it. a thick, spiral-bound stack of papers shoved to the very edge of a side desk, partially covered by a takeout container.

“uh… dr. sim?”

“what?” he asks, voice distracted as he pulls open a drawer.

you point. “is that it?”

jake follows your gaze, and for a second, he just stares.

then, with a slow exhale, he walks over, picks up the report, and flips through the pages.

“…yeah.” he sighs, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “this is it.”

you cross your arms, grinning. “you’re welcome.”

he glances at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “you didn’t actually do anything.”

“excuse me? i found it.”

jake shakes his head, turning his attention back to the report. “if you weren’t distracting me, i would’ve found it faster.”

your mouth falls open. “oh, i’m sorry – who was about to tear his entire office apart thinking it had magically disappeared?”

jake ignores you, already skimming through the contents like the numbers and graphs hold the secrets of the universe.

you roll your eyes. this man is impossible.

and it's a fact you make known very clearly when you’re in the break room, muttering under your breath about how a simple thanks would have sufficed, but no, jake sim is a dumbass with his head up his–

“woah, woah y/n, you know you don’t really mean that,” jay interrupts your rant with a smile that shows that he’s clearly enjoying this, “what did the man ever do to you?”

what did he do to you?

“well for one, he didn’t even know i existed until yesterday–”

“give him a break, he’d probably forget his own name with all the things that go around in that brain of his.”

“–and then he scoffed at me when he realised i’m just an assistant–”

“i don’t think he meant any offense.”

“and then today, he didn’t remember me of course and when i helped him find that damn report he didn’t even thank me!”

jay lets out a small laugh. “he was probably just too relieved that he found it. he’s been stressing over that for a while.”

you squint at him. “what are you, his boyfriend?”

your pout is completely involuntary, but jay, the traitor, just smirks knowingly.

he raises an eyebrow, clearly holding back laughter. “not yet. but hey, if he keeps ignoring you like this, i might have a chance.”

you groan, dramatically flopping onto one of the break room chairs. “i swear i’m going to lose my mind!”

jay snickers, settling into the chair across from you. “you’re being a little dramatic.”

“oh, am i?” you lean forward, eyes narrowing. “because i don’t think i am. i think this is a completely rational response to being treated like a piece of office furniture.”

jay bites back a smile. “so you’re saying jake treats you like… a chair?”

“no! worse! at least a chair gets sat on – it has a purpose!” you throw your hands up. “i’m like… i’m like an extra paperclip. you know? just there, completely overlooked, until one day he might need me for something and then immediately forgets i exist again.”

jay blinks. “that is… oddly specific.”

“because it’s true!” you shoot up from your seat, now fully committed to the metaphor.

jay opens his mouth, but you’re already spiraling.

“three months – that’s how long i’ve been working here as his assistant, but he didn’t even know my name!” you don’t why it bothers you, you didn’t expect everyone to know your name here, but that damn jake sim just… got on your nerves for some reason.

“last week, when he bumped into me in the hallway. i swear, jay, i could have been a ghost. no ‘excuse me,’ no ‘oh, my bad,’ nothing! i could’ve been a gust of wind for all he cared.” you throw up air quotes. “just a mild inconvenience in his trajectory.”

jay hums. “maybe he just didn’t see you—”

“i was wearing a bright red sweater, jay.”

jay coughs to hide a laugh. “okay, fair.”

“oh, and this morning? i held the elevator door open for him. you know what he did? he walked in, pulled out his phone, and scrolled on it the entire time like i was the automatic door button.” you gasp. “oh my god, i’m not even a paperclip. i’m a goddamn elevator button – just pressed when needed and ignored otherwise.”

at this, jay actually doubles over laughing, wiping at his eyes. “y/n, i’m begging you, please breathe.”

you exhale sharply, arms crossed, foot tapping against the floor. “i refuse.”

jay grins. “so you’re telling me you’re this upset because he, what, didn’t grovel at your feet for holding a door open?”

you scoff. “i’m not asking for groveling! i’m asking for basic human decency! a thank you! a nod! a brief moment of eye contact! something to prove that i’m not just an inanimate object in his world! to at least memorize his own goddamn assistant’s name!”

jay leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “so basically… you want him to notice you.”

you freeze.

jay’s smirk deepens. “ohhh.”

“no.” you point a warning finger at him. “don’t even go there.”

“but we’re already here.” he has a shit eating grin on his face which you want to slap off, “why is this bothering you so much? i swear i can’t remember you being this antsy when sunghoon avoided you in your first month.”

you scoff at that, a dry laugh following.

why? because you’re his goddamn assistant, not sunghoon’s.

“okay, what about last month? he walked into the office looking like a lost child because he forgot his laptop charger. guess who lent him one?”

jay winces. “you?”

“yes! and do you know what he said to me? ‘oh, you have one? cool, thanks, man.’ ” you pause, scowling. “man, jay. man.”

jay laughs. “okay, that’s a little rough.”

“i’m not done.” you hold up a finger, eyes ablaze. “lunch break. he was on the phone, right? kept checking his watch like he was late for something, totally zoned out. he dropped his damn wallet right in front of my salad.”

jay whistles. “and let me guess…?”

“i picked it up, ran down four flights of stairs because the elevator was taking too long, found him outside, and handed it to him before he even realized it was gone.” you cross your arms. “do you think he looked at me? do you think he was even the slightest bit aware that he nearly walked into financial ruin?”

jay grins. “what did he say?”

you deepen your voice in the best jake impression you can manage. “‘oh, sick, thanks, dude.’ ” you slap your hands on the table. “dude.”

jay is fully laughing now, shaking his head. “wow. okay. that is… a lot.”

“right?” you throw yourself back into the chair, hands dramatically covering your face. “i’m literally the human equivalent of an undo button. always there, fixing things, never noticed. just a—”

“a paperclip?”

“exactly!”

jay smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “you could just stop helping him, you know.”

you scoff. “and let him walk around with a dead laptop, no lunch money, and a general lack of survival skills? please. he’d die within the week.”

jay snickers. “so you want to help him?”

“no, i just…” you hesitate, glaring at the table. “it’s not fair that he gets to be so careless and people like me have to pick up after him.”

jay tilts his head. “people like you?”

“people who actually pay attention,” you mutter, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “it’s so easy for him, you know? he gets to waltz through life, forgetting names, misplacing things, just… assuming everything will work out for him. and the worst part? he’s right. because someone like me is always there to make sure it does.”

jay watches you quietly for a second. “y/n…”

you shake your head, standing up and grabbing your coffee. “whatever. it’s fine. it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose.” you glance at jay. “and no, before you say it, it’s not because i want him to notice me. it’s just…” you sigh. “it’d be nice to feel like i exist.”

jay gives you a knowing look but doesn’t push further. “well. if it makes you feel better, i notice you.”

you snort. “wow. how reassuring.”

but even as you joke, there’s a tiny, sinking feeling in your chest.

because deep down, you know – jake sim will never notice you the way you want him to.

okay, now that shouldn't be a problem. because the way you put it, anyone would conclude you have a thing for him, but that’s not it. because you don’t mention to jay how when you were just a week into the new job, you had spilled coffee all over yourself, and jake sim had been the one to hand you the spare hoodie in his arm.

it had smelled like laundry detergent and something vaguely citrusy. clean. warm.

you don’t tell jay how, back then, you had hesitated before taking it, surprised that the lab’s most brilliant astrophysicist had even noticed your minor catastrophe.

“here,” he had said, casual, like it was nothing. like it was just a reflex.

and maybe it had been.

because when you had stammered out a “thank you,” jake had already turned away, scrolling through his phone.

like you weren’t even there.

like handing a coffee-stained assistant his hoodie was just another thing on his long list of unconscious habits – like losing reports, misplacing wallets, or forgetting names.

just another thing he would never think about again.

and you? you had worn that hoodie for the rest of the day. then, after work, you had folded it neatly, walked up to him in the break room, and said, “hey, thanks again for this.”

and he had blinked at you. blinked like he had no idea what you were talking about.

“oh,” he had said after a beat, glancing at the hoodie in your hands. “right. cool.”

that was the first time you had felt it – the quiet, sinking realization that in jake sim’s world, you were just… background noise.

that was three months ago.

now, you’re still here, still stuck in the same loop, orbiting his chaotic existence like some unnoticed planetary body, pulled in by the sheer force of his gravitational field but never quite seen.

and it’s exhausting.

you sigh, dragging a hand down your face. jay is still watching you, amused but not unkind. “are you done spiraling?”

you groan. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

you glare. “no, but i might start.”

jay snickers, pushing his coffee toward you like some sort of peace offering. “here. take a sip before you actually implode.”

you roll your eyes but take it anyway, muttering under your breath.

jay grins. “so, what’s the plan?”

you blink. “plan?”

“yeah.” he leans back, crossing his arms. “clearly, you’re at your limit. are you going to keep playing office paperclip, or are you finally going to make jake sim realize you exist?”

you scoff, your eyes narrowing. “and why would i need to do that?”

jay hums, tilting his head like he’s studying you under a microscope. “y’know… i think this might be deeper than just wanting to be ‘noticed.’”

you narrow your eyes. “the hell does that mean?”

he taps his chin. “i mean, it’s kinda funny, isn’t it? how personally you take this?”

you scoff. “i do not take it personally.”

jay gives you a look. “right. which is why you’re two seconds away from stabbing a straw through that coffee cup.”

you immediately release your grip, only to cross your arms instead. “i just think it’s rude, that’s all. i do so much for him, and he doesn’t even know my name? it’s basic decency.”

jay nods, way too agreeable. “mhm. basic decency. has nothing to do with, say… i don’t know… a deep-seated need for validation?”

your jaw drops. “excuse me?”

“or,” he continues, as if he didn’t just hit you with psychological warfare over morning coffee, “maybe even something more?”

you blink. “more?”

jay grins like he’s just won the lottery. “yeah. like romantic feelings.”

you almost choke. “i—what—no—”

jay shrugs. “i mean, it would explain a lot.”

“oh, shut up.”

“i’m serious! if this were just about office politics, you’d be annoyed for, like, a day. maybe a week. but this?” he gestures vaguely at your entire existence. “this is an obsession.”

you point a finger at him. “i hate you.”

he smirks. “no, you don’t.”

you take a deep breath, trying not to lose your mind. “for the last time, jay, i do not like jake sim.”

jay leans forward, smirking. “then prove it.”

you blink. “what?”

“prove it,” he repeats. “if this really isn’t about your feelings, then let’s run an experiment. let’s make jake see you.”

of course the scientist proposes an experiment; you roll your eyes. “that doesn’t prove anything.”

“it proves everything,” he counters. “because if you really don’t care, then it shouldn’t matter how he reacts.” he tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “right?”

you hesitate.

jay takes that as his victory. “great! i’ll draft a game plan.”

“wait—”

too late. jay is already pulling out his phone, typing something with way too much enthusiasm.

you exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. this is a terrible idea.

but the thing is… you do want jake to see you. even if it’s just to prove – to yourself – that you don’t care.

right?

three.

you know, you don’t think you entirely mind that jake doesn’t know your name yet. you don’t think you would have cared so much. but then, once in a while, you’d catch him having lunch with jay and sunghoon and actually laughing – an act that makes him look younger than he is – a charming smile settling on his lips or chatting with a fellow colleague who he calls by their last name and it makes you realise that you’re probably not as important to him as these people are.

like, come on, he brushes shoulders with the top scientists of your country while you’re here, sitting behind a reception desk, manning phone calls and printing reports. of course he doesn’t care about you or your existence as a whole. but then it’s small things he does like thanking you absentmindedly when you hand him a report, not even sparing you a glance as he flips through the pages.

or humming under his breath when he passes by your desk, like he’s so comfortable in the space that he doesn’t even realize you’re there, like you’re just part of the background noise.

it’s never outright cruel. never intentional.

it’s just that jake sim, in all his effortless brilliance, has never had to make space for people like you.

and why would he? you’re not on his level. you never have been. you bet if you disappeared tomorrow, he wouldn’t even notice.

the world would keep spinning, jake sim would keep working, and someone else would take over the dull, insignificant tasks you do every day. your existence in his orbit is incidental – a means to an end, a faceless cog in the well-oiled machine of his career.

and yet, you notice him. even when you don’t mean to. even when you don’t want to.

you notice the way his sleeves are always rolled up to his elbows, his watch gleaming against his skin. the way his brows pinch together when he’s deep in thought, or how his hair falls into his eyes when he’s exhausted, too overworked to care.

you notice the way he speaks – smooth, confident, magnetic – and how everyone around him seems to hang onto every word like it’s gospel.

you notice the way he never fumbles. never hesitates. never second-guesses himself.

because that’s just the kind of person jake sim is.

and you – you are just the kind of person who will never be enough to matter to someone like him. but then he does things that make you doubt your reservations about him.

like, there was the elevator incident.

you were balancing a precarious stack of documents when you rushed to catch the closing doors, only to wince when they slid shut right before you got there. you sighed, shifting your grip on the papers, when you suddenly heard a soft ding – the doors sliding back open.

jake was inside, one hand on the door button, barely sparing you a glance as he scrolled through something on his phone.

you stepped in, mumbling a quiet, “thanks.”

he hummed in response. nothing more. no conversation. no recognition. just the soft whirring of the elevator and the occasional sound of him scrolling.

it was so small. so insignificant.

but you still felt yourself standing just a little straighter, just a little warmer, for the rest of the day.

and then, there was the pen.

you weren’t even sure when it started, but at some point, you began keeping track.

jake had this habit – whenever he borrowed a pen, he never returned it to the original spot. he didn’t even seem to notice he was doing it, always too focused on whatever was in front of him to realize he’d left the pen somewhere completely different.

so, naturally, you started leaving extras.

just subtle little things – placing an extra pen near his usual meeting spots, sliding one closer to him during group discussions when you were pretending to sort paperwork nearby. you never expected him to notice. you weren’t even sure why you did it.

until one afternoon, when you sat at your desk, rummaging through your drawers, only to realize you’d somehow misplaced your pen. you sighed, about to get up for a new one, when something was set down beside your elbow.

a pen.

you looked up, startled.

jake was already walking away. didn’t even spare you a glance, his attention on the tablet in his hands.

you stared after him, the pen warm from his hold, the weight of it heavier than it should have been.

it was probably nothing. probably just a reflex.

but you still use that pen for the next two weeks straight.

then there was the tripping incident.

now, it’s established that you can be clumsy, not dramatically so – no full-on disaster movie falls – but you do have a tendency to bump into things. desks, chairs, open cabinet doors that definitely weren’t open when you last checked.

and, of course, corners. corners were your worst enemy.

one day, you were hurrying through the hallway, files stacked high in your arms, when – bam. your hip slammed into the sharp edge of a desk, hard enough to make you wince. the papers wobbled dangerously in your grip, and you cursed under your breath, already anticipating the bruise that was definitely going to form.

you didn’t think anyone noticed.

but the next morning, when you walked into the office, there was a strip of foam padding stuck neatly along the desk corner.

your brows furrowed.

it was subtle – so subtle that if you weren’t you, if you weren’t someone with a running list of all the places in this office that had betrayed you, you probably wouldn’t have noticed.

but you did.

and later that day, when you caught jake in the break room, he was patting the foam as if ensuring it was stuck on there properly, absentmindedly nodding to himself as if he had confirmed what he was inspecting, then promptly left without sparing you a second glance.

you didn’t say anything.

didn’t bring it up.

but as you passed by the desk, running your fingers over the softened edge, something in your chest ached. just a little.

so jake sim did notice you – but not as an individual, just someone he thought might be having a hard time and because he is kind, he did what he could. it didn’t matter who the recipient of his good intentions was.

hence, you do what a good assistant does. because at the end of the day, you’ve seen jake work – you’ve seen the passion he pours into it.

so if he forgets to eat, you quietly step away from your desk, heat up the extra sandwich you packed for him from the cafeteria, and place it on his cluttered desk, clearing a small space first. a gentle knock on the wood to get his attention, a silent reminder to eat.

if he’s scribbling on the backs of old reports, running low on notebooks and clean sheets, you take a trip down to inventory, restocking his supplies, stacking them neatly within reach.

if his desk is drowning in coffee cups and crumpled post-its, you quietly dispose of the trash, leaving only the essentials behind – his laptop, his research papers, the single pen he never seems to lose (because you always make sure it’s there).

if he forgets where he placed his whiteboard markers, you don’t say anything – you just pull a fresh set from your drawer and slide them onto his desk before he even notices they were missing.

you’ve just been there, silently observing and noting things – like the way his brows knit together in deep concentration, or how he absently chews on the cap of his pen when he’s stuck on a problem. how he spaces out sometimes, staring at the whiteboard like it holds the answers to the universe itself, only to snap back to reality when you clear your throat to get his attention.

you know that he prefers black coffee in the morning but switches to tea in the late afternoon. that he always loses his glasses, only to find them perched on top of his head. that he hums under his breath when he’s deep in thought, a quiet melody that never quite forms into a song.

you notice everything, because that’s just what a good assistant does.

and that, apparently, is a problem. or so jay states. hence, the first step in jay’s ‘game plan’? make jake feel your absence.

“you’re too available,” jay had said, stirring his coffee with a smug little smirk. “jake doesn’t notice you because you make his life too easy. you’re like air – essential but invisible. so what happens when air gets sucked out of a room?”

“…people die?”

jay gave you a flat look. “no, they panic.”

and so, the plan began.

it’s such a tiny step, but it bothers you nonetheless because not only would this be disrupting jake’s routine, it’d be disrupting your perfect track record of a ‘good’ assistant.

but jay somehow manages to convince you. and you like the utter fool you are, give in, because hey… maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to disprove jay’s theory of your alleged feelings for jake. the need for validation? yeah, we’ll talk about that later.

today is the day you start, and you start small. it’s the little changes that usually go unnoticed.

you don’t remind jake about his 10 am meeting.

it’s a minor detail, barely even a test, because technically speaking, it’s not your job to remind him – it’s just something you’ve always done, anticipating his tendencies to get lost in his work. normally, you’d give him a heads-up around 9:50 am, watching as he’d nod absentmindedly, only to scramble up five minutes later when he finally processed your words.

today? radio silence.

at 10:07 am, sunghoon enters the meeting and frowns.

“where’s jake?” he turns to jay. his friend shrugs but hides the smile behind his cup of coffee.

meanwhile you’re glancing sneakily at jake’s door, slightly ajar and you can see him engrossed in something. your eyes glance at the time; 10:07 am. fuck, what if actually forgets he has a meeting? should you do something? is this going too far?

but you don’t have to worry because a few minutes later, there’s a thud, followed by a rushed shit, and then, a disheveled jake sim barrels past your desk, tablet clutched to his chest, hair a little messy from how he clearly just ran a hand through it in frustration.

his eyes flicker to you – just for a second. you’ve already gone back to pretending to be very busy typing nonsense into an email draft.

it works. he huffs under his breath and rushes to the meeting.

okay you should feel awful, but then you catch the tail end of jake’s coat disappearing behind the lift door and you can’t help the snicker that leaves your lips. surely, nothing could go wrong, right?

there’s one person who seems to be enjoying this more than you though: jay is having the time of his life.

like, actually. he hasn't had this much fun since the last office christmas party, when someone spiked the punch and sunghoon tried to fight the vending machine.

because watching jake sim fall apart over the smallest inconveniences? absolutely hilarious.

the moment you agreed to his plan, jay knew it would be gold. but even he underestimated just how much of jake’s daily functioning depended on you. it’s like watching a toddler suddenly realize their velcro shoes don’t tie themselves.

jake doesn’t realize something is wrong at first.

he barely makes it to his chair before the department head gives him a pointed look.

“you’re late.”

“i—uh—” jake swallows, trying to catch his breath. his tablet is still locked, his notes are disorganized, and when he flips open the file he brought, it’s yesterday’s report.

shit.

“right. sorry.” he forces a sheepish smile, scrambling to pull up the right document. across the table, jay lazily spins a pen between his fingers, watching with barely concealed amusement.

jake barely registers it – he’s too busy trying to recover. it’s fine. he’s got this.

except… something about this morning feels off.

and not in the way most of his chaotic mornings do. he just doesn’t know why. he just assumes his morning is…off. which, fine, it happens. he’s had late nights before, maybe he’s just tired.

jay had told you this would work.

in fact, he was so confident in his plan that he even grabbed a front-row seat to witness the destruction firsthand (he was already attending this meeting, but the man likes to gloat sometimes.)

and man – jake does not disappoint.

from the moment the meeting starts, jay knows this is going to be good.

jake looks off. nothing too obvious – just little things, things that someone like jay (who has spent years around him) can pick up on. the slight furrow of his brow. the way he keeps adjusting his notes, like something feels wrong but he can’t quite place why.

and then – the moment of realization.

jay almost chokes on his coffee when jake subtly pats his pockets, confusion flickering across his face.

oh, here we go.

he watches, barely holding in his laughter, as jake double checks – where, usually, there would be a pen. his pen. the one that miraculously appears every time he loses it, as if the universe itself conspires to keep him functional.

except today?

the universe (or rather, you) has left him to suffer.

jake blinks. blinks again. then, with the air of a man experiencing an existential crisis, slowly reaches for sunghoon’s pen instead.

sunghoon, understandably, looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind.

jay snickers and grabs his phone.

jay park [10:14 am]: what did u doooo jay park [10:14 am]: he looks like a lost puppy rn lmfao jay park [10:15 am]: deadass just patted his pockets like he was expecting something to magically appear there?? 

he glances up again, and – oh god, jake’s still buffering. he’s not even listening anymore, just staring at the table like it personally offended him.

all this over a pen? damn, maybe you were underestimating yourself, jay thinks, because there is no way you were just a paperclip, not if jake’s been this dependent on you.

jay is loving this.

four.

jake doesn’t notice things. not in the way people expect him to.

he notices equations. the subtle patterns in star systems. the way gravitational forces interact in ways most people don’t care to understand. his mind is built for that – patterns, logic, science.

but people? not so much.

back in university, he was dubbed a genius. a prodigy in astrophysics. someone who could map out entire celestial mechanics in his head but would somehow still forget his own birthday if no one reminded him.

the way jake relies on logic, structure, and predictability – because it’s safe. because he understands it. because people? people don’t make sense. they’re inconsistent. they leave. they change their minds. they say one thing and mean another.

but science? science is constant. a star will always burn out the same way under the same conditions. a planet will always follow its orbit. gravity will always exist.

as a kid, he preferred numbers over words, equations over feelings. when the other kids ran around the playground, playing tag or arguing over who was “it,” jake was perfectly content with his space books, tracing the orbits of planets with his fingers, memorizing the speed of light just because he could.

he learned early on that he wasn’t good at reading between the lines. that when someone said ‘i’m fine’, they didn’t always mean it. that people expected you to just know when they needed something, when they wanted comfort, when they wanted you.

jake never knew. so he stopped trying.

science was easier. there was no guesswork, no hidden meanings. an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. simple. predictable. the universe followed rules, and if jake studied hard enough, he could understand them. he could map them out, make sense of them, never be caught off guard.

but people? people made no sense at all.

and maybe that’s why, when he gets to work and sees that his desk is missing something so stupidly small – a cup of coffee, nothing more – he feels a flicker of something he doesn’t like.

a glitch in the system.

it doesn’t matter, he tells himself. it’s coffee. he can make it himself. he’s a grown adult with multiple degrees. a missing cup of caffeine should not throw him off.

and yet. jake stares at the empty space on his desk.

a week ago, he wouldn’t have noticed. wouldn’t have even thought about it. he never questioned why it was there in the first place, never thought twice about the sticky notes, the extra set of markers that magically appeared when he misplaced his own, the last-minute reminders that kept his schedule from turning into chaos.

he never questioned it. and that, apparently, was the problem.

because for the first time, he has to ask. and he really, really doesn’t want to.

jake debates it, which is insane. why is he overthinking this? it’s a simple request. a normal interaction. but something about it feels… weird. off-balance.

because asking means acknowledging. and acknowledging means admitting that he noticed.

his eye twitches. and after five full minutes of warring with himself, of sneaking glances at you like some kind of cornered animal, he finally forces himself to get up. jake clears his throat as he approaches your desk, hands shoved deep into his pockets. he doesn’t understand why this feels so monumental – why his stomach is twisting over something as simple as coffee.

you’re typing away, entirely focused, but the moment he gets close, you pause, sensing his presence.

your head tilts up, meeting his gaze with that same neutral, professional expression. “need something?”

jake opens his mouth. closes it. shifts on his feet.

this should not be hard. he’s faced oral examinations with award-winning physicists grilling him on quantum mechanics. he’s derived entire theorems on celestial dynamics with nothing but a whiteboard and a bad marker.

"hey," he starts, voice coming out a little too stiff, a little too rehearsed.

you hum, still typing. "what’s up?"

jake exhales. this is ridiculous. just say it.

"i was wondering," he begins, slow and deliberate, "if you could maybe—"

he pauses. rethinks. he doesn’t need coffee. he’s perfectly capable of getting it himself. this is a completely unnecessary conversation. maybe he should just—

you finally glance up, raising a brow. "if i could maybe…?"

jake swallows. why is your stare so expectant? god, this is awful.

he squares his shoulders. "if you could maybe—uh—get me a coffee?"

and you? you don’t even react. no smirk. no teasing. no indication that you know this is sending his pride into a tailspin.

“oh,” you say simply. “sure.”

and then – you go right back to typing.

jake waits. waits.

…that’s it? no acknowledgment?

he stares, baffled, as you finish whatever you’re working on before standing, grabbing your phone like this is just another task.

“i’ll be back in a few minutes.”

jake watches you walk away, his brain short-circuiting. he stares.

something in his brain glitches. for a moment, he just stands there, stuck in some kind of existential paradox.

this isn’t how he thought this would go.

not that he’d planned it out – he’s not that irrational – but he was at least expecting… something. a pointed look. a smug remark. some kind of acknowledgement that this was a thing.

because it was, right?

but you just – left. like it was normal. like it was nothing.

jake blinks, still rooted to the spot. his fingers twitch at his sides, his mind racing through a series of half-formed thoughts, none of which are useful.

this should be a relief. no teasing. no drawn-out conversation. no questioning. just a simple "sure" and the problem is solved.

so why does he feel weirdly unsatisfied?

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before dragging himself back to his desk.

fine. whatever. he got what he wanted. he’ll just sit down, work, and forget this happened.

simple. logical – except it’s not.

because now – now he’s waiting.

not actively, of course. he’s working. or at least, he’s trying to work. but for some godforsaken reason, his mind keeps drifting to the sound of approaching footsteps, to the faintest movements in his periphery.

it’s ridiculous. he knows that. he’s not that dependent on routine. it’s just coffee.

when you finally return, setting the cup down on his desk with a quiet thud, he doesn’t mean to react.

but his head snaps up immediately, eyes locking onto the cup before flickering to you, his brain processing entirely too fast for his own good.

same lid. same brand. same order.

how the hell—

"you got the right one," he blurts before he can stop himself.

you blink at him, expression unreadable. "yeah. that’s the one you always drink."

jake stares.

you say it so easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

like it’s just fact. like he’s the one being weird.

and maybe he is, because something about that – about the casual certainty in your voice – makes his chest feel tight in a way he doesn’t understand.

"right," he mutters, looking away. "of course."

you don’t say anything. just nod, turning back toward your desk.

jake watches you go, fingers wrapping around the cup, the warmth grounding him.

he doesn’t know why this feels significant. but somehow, it does.

you, on the other hand, mask your smile behind your hand, making sure you don’t spare him a glance as you take your seat again, eyes focusing on your screen, but you’re secretly enjoying your little victory.

and maybe your little win seemingly makes your happiness evident because jay seems to have caught on to your little smile and quiet humming as you load more paper into the printer later on.

“what’s got you humming?”

you blink at jay, feigning innocence. "huh?"

jay narrows his eyes like a detective who knows exactly when the suspect is lying. "you’re humming. and smiling. while printing documents. no one’s ever been this happy about office supplies."

you shrug, deliberately casual. "maybe i just like my job."

"oh, sure. and i’m the next ceo of nasa," jay scoffs, crossing his arms. "no, you’re definitely smiling about something else. spill."

you roll your eyes but can’t stop the small grin from creeping back onto your lips. "it’s nothing. just… a small win."

jay’s gaze sharpens with intrigue. "a small win? against who?"

you pause, realizing that if you say it out loud, it becomes real. but you can’t help it – you’re feeling a little smug. "jake."

jay’s eyebrows shoot up so fast you half expect them to launch into orbit. "oh? oh? do tell."

you bite your lip, pretending to be focused on aligning the printer paper. "i think he finally noticed."

jay leans in, practically vibrating with excitement. "noticed what? that you exist? that you’re cute? that you’re literally the only reason he functions? because if so, then this is big news—"

you wave a hand, shushing him. "not that dramatic. just… the coffee. he asked me for it today. like, actually asked."

jay goes still, then blinks. "no."

"yes."

"no." jay looks personally offended that he wasn’t there to witness it. "you’re telling me jake sim – the human calculator who forgets basic human needs – actually acknowledged the loss of his coffee?"

"and that i was the one providing it," you add, feeling very pleased with yourself.

jay lets out a low whistle. "damn. that’s practically a confession in jake language."

you chuckle. "i know, right? and the best part? he was so awkward about it. like, visibly struggling to form a coherent request. it was beautiful."

jay looks like a proud parent. "i knew my plan would work."

you snort. "you had a plan?"

"of course! i told you, jake needs to experience loss to appreciate things. he’s like a tragic space hero who doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone. but now? now he’s thinking about it. which means he’s thinking about you."

you roll your eyes. "don’t be ridiculous. it was just coffee."

jay gives you a look. "uh-huh. and yet, you’re humming like a disney princess who just got her magical moment."

you huff, turning back to the printer, but the warmth in your chest remains. you won’t admit it to jay, but it does feel like a small win. because for once, jake noticed something about you. and even if it was just coffee, it was your coffee. your absence. your presence. you.

the thought makes your stomach flutter a little, but before you can dwell on it, the door swings open.

and, of course, in perfect comedic timing, jake himself walks in.

you and jay freeze.

jake pauses mid-step, eyes flicking between the two of you, and immediately, you feel caught. not that you were doing anything wrong, but the way jay is grinning like a devil on your shoulder and the way you definitely look suspicious does not help your case.

jake frowns slightly. "am i interrupting something?"

"no," you and jay say in unison – too quickly, too forcefully.

jake’s frown deepens. "…right."

jay, ever the agent of chaos, suddenly smirks. "hey, jake, buddy, pal. how was the coffee this morning?"

your soul leaves your body.

jake blinks, caught off guard. "what?"

jay nods toward you. "the coffee. did it taste better? sweeter, maybe? like the hard-earned fruits of personal growth?"

you shoot jay a look that could incinerate a small planet, but he just grins wider.

jake, meanwhile, looks completely baffled. "it… tasted the same?"

jay sighs dramatically. "ugh, you’re hopeless."

jake looks at you now, confusion clear in his expression. "what’s going on?"

you scramble for an escape. "nothing. jay’s just being weird. as usual."

jake’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push further. instead, he just shakes his head, muttering something about how he "doesn’t have time for whatever this is." then, to your surprise, his gaze lingers on you for half a second longer before he turns and leaves.

as soon as the door clicks shut, jay explodes.

"did you see that? he lingered! that was a lingering glance!"

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "jay. stop."

"oh, no, no, no. this is happening. i can feel it. the great jake sim has been rattled."

you shake your head, but you’re smiling. "don’t you have that meeting with kang soon? are you sure you should be dawdling?"

jay waves a dismissive hand. “pfft. kang can wait. this is much more important.”

you roll your eyes, shoving a stack of papers into his hands. “go. before he chews you out again.”

jay huffs but takes the papers anyway. “fine. but mark my words – this is just the beginning.”

you snort. “of what?”

jay grins, backing toward the door. “of jake sim’s inevitable downfall.”

before you can throw something at him, he slips out of the room with a dramatic twirl, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

you exhale. jay is ridiculous. insufferable. an agent of chaos in the worst way.

but still… your fingers drum against your desk.

jake had lingered. just for a second. just long enough to make you wonder.

you shake your head, clearing the thought. it’s nothing. probably just your imagination.

probably.

five.

jake never really thought about his assistant.

sure, he knew you existed in the same way he knew his office had walls or that gravity kept him tethered to earth. a presence. a constant. background noise.

his research came first. always. anything outside of equations and astrophysics was just static.

which is why, when his inbox suddenly becomes a nightmare of unread emails, cluttered with everything from seminar invites to missed project deadlines, he stares at the screen in horror.

since when did his inbox look like this?

he scrolls. and scrolls. and scrolls.

the last time he checked, his emails were organized. neat little folders, color-coded labels – everything in its place. now, it’s chaos. absolute chaos.

his brows furrow in mild horror and yet again, he gets this feeling, like the earth’s off its axis, like his curated life is suddenly off kilter. 

he looks up, and across the room, eyes peeking through his door that is kept ajar. you sit there today, in a navy blue sweater, your hair pushed back neatly, your glasses reflecting the glare off your screen you’re currently frowning at.

was this also something you used to do for him? or did his inbox suddenly decide to get a mind of its own and go batshit crazy on him? no, that doesn’t make sense, unless he was hacked which would definitely be a cause of national concern to a certain extent—

he jolts in his seat, a gasp leaving his lips as you suddenly move away from your desk, standing up with a stack of papers. he positively feels his heart skipping a beat as he realises you’re walking to his door.

sure enough, there’s a knock a second later and if you notice the way his voice cracks when he tells you to come in, you don’t comment on it. instead, you look at him like you meant business.

oh god, you didn’t notice him looking at you, right? technically he wasn’t really staring more so than contemplating—

“dr. sim, the finance department dropped a reminder to submit your financial budget, here’s the budget form,” you hand him the stack of papers you had been carrying, “i’ve filled out the general stuff, you just need to put in the project details and all the technical stuff.”

he flips through the pages and sure enough, you’ve filled in the general details like you mentioned in your neat handwriting. the letters sit right on top of the blank lines and he recognises your penmanship right away. he’s never noticed before, but you do have a nice handwriting.

“oh and about your emails, there seems to be some sort of technical error. i noticed that some of your filters were disabled and the auto-sorting wasn’t functioning properly. it must’ve reset or something when the system updated last week.”

jake blinks at you. “wait. filters?”

you tilt your head. “yeah? you know, the ones that sort your emails automatically? important updates, admin notices, junk mail, things like that?”

jake stares. “i… had those?”

you pause, narrowing your eyes slightly. “yes. you did. i set them up for you.”

“oh.” a beat of silence. jake shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. you, on the other hand, exhale sharply, planting your hands on your hips. here he was, a grown ass man, unaware of his own email settings. but what’s more infuriating to you right now is the way he’s clearly looking at the mess of his inbox with the expression of a child faced with university level physics.

and it's really unfair because your brain actually has the audacity to chant a small ‘cute’ inside your head.

no. no. absolutely not.

you refuse to acknowledge whatever strange, fleeting thought just ran through your brain.

because jake sim is not cute. he’s frustrating. he’s a genius, sure, but in a hopelessly oblivious kind of way. the somehow-can-manage-quantum-equations-but-not-his-own-inbox kind of way. the so deep in his own head that he barely notices when you’re cleaning up the mess he leaves behind, kind of way.

except… he’s noticing now.

you clear your throat, shoving away any ridiculous thoughts. “right. anyway, i can help reset everything, but you’ll need to go through some of these emails yourself. some require your direct response.”

jake tears his eyes away from his screen, blinking at you. “wait, so my emails weren’t always like this?”

you give him a look. the kind that says, oh, you poor, oblivious man.

“no, dr. sim,” you say, tone patient but mildly exasperated. “i used to sort them out for you.”

jake stares. “you did?”

you nod. “yeah. you know, filtering out spam, organizing your schedule, responding to minor inquiries.” all the things that apparently, no one else on this team can do without suffering a minor breakdown.

jake opens his mouth, then closes it. then it opens again. his head tilts slightly. “wait. you did all of that?”

you resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. “dr. sim,” you say, very slowly, “what did you think i was doing all this time?”

jake, to his credit, looks vaguely sheepish. “i don’t know. admin stuff?”

you exhale, looking up at the ceiling like you’re asking the universe for patience.

“your inbox has over five hundred unread emails.”

he visibly recoils. “five hundred?”

“yes. and you have three missed deadlines.”

jake stares, running a hand down his face. “oh my god. i’m going to get fired.”

you shrug. “probably not, but kang will definitely strangle you.”

you take one look at the mild look of panic settling on his face, the ways his lips part open and his eyes fixate upon you like he’s constipated all of a sudden, and you realise that you’re going to have to save him again. so much for making yourself scarce.

“well,” you sigh, dropping your hands, “i can go through it and fix the filters again, but you should probably clear things out manually first. you have a lot of backlog.”

jake slumps back in his chair, groaning. “i don’t have time for this.”

“tough luck. you’re the one who ignored your emails for a week.”

jake groans again, scrubbing a hand over his face. his hair is slightly disheveled now, strands falling over his forehead. you refuse to acknowledge the way your fingers twitch with the urge to push them back. nope. absolutely not.

instead, you cross your arms and tilt your head. "look, dr. sim, i can reset everything, but you need to at least check the important ones. you know, like the ones from kang before he marches in here and reconsiders your employment."

jake peeks at you through his fingers, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like i should’ve never updated the system.

you sigh. "i'll go through them with you."

his hands drop, eyes snapping to yours. "you will?"

damn it. the hope in his voice makes something in your stomach twist. this isn’t supposed to happen. you’re supposed to be pulling away, making yourself scarce, not signing yourself up to hold his hand through his self-inflicted disaster.

but you sigh again, already regretting it. "yes, but only for today."

jake beams. actually beams. like you've just told him you're personally funding his next research project.

and oh, that is dangerous.

because the realization sneaks up on you, quiet but insidious: he looks really good when he smiles like that.

your brain promptly malfunctions.

jake, oblivious as always, is already turning his chair to face his computer. "okay, okay. what do we start with?"

you stare for a second too long before shaking yourself out of it.

get it together.

right. his emails. that's what you should be focusing on. not the fact that your stupid heart is doing something stupid again.

so you square your shoulders, push away the ridiculous heat rising to your cheeks, and step closer to his desk – because unfortunately, you are nothing if not professional.

even when your chest feels like it’s betraying you.

by the time the sun starts dipping below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow into the office, you realize with a dull sense of horror that you are still here.

still here. still working.

because, of course, jake spent the entire day buried in his research, completely unaware of the absolute mess waiting for him in his inbox. and now, after work hours, you’re forced to stay behind, sorting through the wreckage.

you shoot a glare at the oblivious man, who is hunched over his desk, frowning at his screen as if he’s personally uncovering the secrets of the universe. his sleeves are rolled up, glasses slightly askew, completely absorbed in his work.

annoying. but also, kind of impressive.

you clear your throat, rapping your knuckles on his door. “dr. sim, did you know that your inbox is starting to resemble a warzone?”

jake barely looks up. “mhm.”

“there are emails in here from last year.”

he finally blinks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “wait. what?”

you deadpan. “last. year.”

jake stares. “that’s not possible.”

“would you like to see the one from july 2024? it’s an invitation to a seminar. that already happened. that you missed.”

a horrified silence settles between you. jake leans forward, mouth slightly open, and for a second, you think he might actually pass out. “holy shit.”

you snort, shaking your head. then, sighing, you gesture toward his screen. “okay, come on, let’s start deleting the ones that don’t matter. at this rate, your inbox might actually implode.”

jake groans again but does as you say, clicking through emails with the enthusiasm of someone undergoing dental surgery.

an hour later, the two of you are still sitting in his office. you’re perched on the chair across from him, legs crossed as you scroll through his inbox, muttering complaints every now and then (why do you have thirty unread emails from the astronomy board? what is so ‘urgent’ about a faculty brunch?).

jake, on the other hand, is desperately trying to keep up, deleting and archiving whatever you tell him to. he’s drowning in emails and vaguely wondering if he should just… never check his inbox again.

the sky outside has darkened, streaks of orange and pink melting into deep blue. the office feels different at this hour – quieter, softer. there’s a warmth from the sunset filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor.

you’ve never been alone with jake like this before.

not that it matters. because all you’re doing is working. but still.

you steal a quick glance at him.

he’s different when he’s not hyper-focused on research. a little less untouchable, a little more human. his brows are furrowed as he reads through an email, one hand resting on his chin. his glasses have slipped down again, and without thinking, he pushes them back up with his knuckle.

you look away.

get a grip.

meanwhile, jake is having a bit of a crisis.

because, apparently, you’ve always been this efficient.

like, okay, he knew you were capable. obviously. you’ve been his assistant for months. but watching you now, the way you go through emails like a machine, fingers flying across the keyboard, perfectly organized with your neat little color-coded tabs—

he’s a little bit in awe. and maybe a tiny bit alarmed.

because how the hell did he not realize before that you basically ran his life for him?

the sun is starting to dip, casting a golden hue through the blinds, stretching long shadows over his desk. jake leans back, rubbing his eyes, only to glance at you and—

he sees you. for the first time in three months, he’s actually looking at you.

your sweater hangs slightly off one shoulder, the shirt underneath only slightly wrinkled, your hair a little messier than it was earlier, strands falling out of place.

and you look… exhausted.

not in the dramatic, world-weary way that some of his colleagues do after pulling all-nighters, but in a quieter, more subtle way – like you’ve been running on autopilot for so long that you don’t even notice it anymore.

jake frowns. has it always been like this? have you always been like this?

his gaze flickers back to your screen, where you’re still typing away, making quick work of the disaster that is his inbox. there’s a slight crease between your brows, your lips pressed together in quiet concentration. you’re meticulous, efficient – almost too efficient, and that thought unsettles him in a way he can’t quite explain.

“you should go home,” he says before he even thinks about it.

you glance up, startled. “what?”

“you’ve been here all day,” he says, shifting in his seat. “it’s late.”

you blink at him, then glance at the clock on the corner of your screen. the numbers glow back at you – 7:47 pm.

“oh,” you murmur, tilting your head. “i guess it is.”

jake waits for you to start packing up, but instead, you just roll your shoulders back, crack your knuckles, and go right back to typing.

he stares. “did you – did you not hear me?”

you don’t even look up. “i heard you.”

“then why are you still working?”

you pause at that, finally looking at him. there’s something almost amused in your expression, like really? you’re questioning my work habits?

“i still have emails to sort through,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

jake presses his lips together. right. of course. because of course you wouldn’t just drop everything and leave, because if you did, then who would make sure his inbox didn’t look like a post-apocalyptic wasteland?

and that thought sits a little too heavily in his chest. it's just that, he doesn’t get it.

he clears his throat, looking away. “still. you don’t have to do it all tonight.”

you shrug. “it’s fine. i don’t mind.”

for some reason, that irritates him more than it should.

jake doesn’t understand why. it’s not like you’re doing anything out of the ordinary. from what he can deduce from your conversation earlier this morning, you’ve always been the one keeping things together, making sure nothing slips through the cracks. that’s your job.

you could probably come back tomorrow and sort through the remaining emails. it’s not like they’re going anywhere.

but for the first time, he wonders – do you ever get tired of it?

his fingers drum against his desk. the golden light from the window glows softer now, settling into deep orange hues. the air between you is quiet, save for the occasional click of your keyboard and the distant hum of the office beyond his door.

and then, without thinking, he says, “i didn’t realize you did all this.”

you pause mid-keystroke, glancing at him. “did all what?”

“this.” he gestures vaguely to his laptop, to the neatly categorized folders, to the once-chaotic inbox now halfway tamed under your careful hands. “you keep everything running. i didn’t realize how much you—” he stops himself, brows furrowing slightly. “—how much you do.”

you blink at him. and for the first time all day, you seem caught off guard.

then, a slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “oh, dr. sim,” you say lightly, tilting your head, “have you been taking me for granted all this time?”

jake bristles, straightening. “that’s not what i meant.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “relax, i’m kidding.”

but something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist.

because maybe you are joking. maybe you don’t actually care that he’s never paid much attention before.

but he cares. and that realization unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

you turn your attention towards the screen again, biting your lip as you skim through his emails, occasionally frowning like you’re personally offended by his disorganization.

jake watches you for another moment before looking away, tapping his fingers against the desk.

his chest feels… weird. like the earth’s still off its axis. like something’s shifted in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

and for the first time, jake wonders if maybe – just maybe – it has something to do with you.

six.

the only times jake has thanked you have been in passing. like when you hand him a report, his fingers brushing against yours but his gaze still focused on his screen. a clipped "thanks" thrown out as he scrolls through equations and research notes. thoughtless, automatic, routine.

so you don’t expect it this time around.

you don’t think much of it at first.

jake walks in, looking as harried as ever, his hair slightly tousled from the wind outside, one hand holding his laptop, the other gripping his usual coffee. business as usual.

except — there’s a cup of coffee in his hand. no scratch that, there’s two cups of coffee in his hands. 

he stops in front of your desk, looking mildly uncomfortable, like he’s second-guessing his own existence. and then, without a word, he sets the second cup in front of you.

you blink. “uh. what’s this?”

jake clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “coffee.”

“no, i know it’s coffee, dr. sim.” you stare at the cup suspiciously. “why is it on my desk?”

he looks at you like you just asked him to solve a quantum mechanics equation without a calculator. “because… i got it for you?”

you squint. “why?”

jake pauses. his jaw tightens. then, with the energy of a man barely holding onto his dignity, he mutters, “because you – helped. with the emails.”

you swear to god, it physically pains him to say it. but holy shit, because not only did the jake sim get his own coffee today, he got one for you – his assistant, for the first time in three months.

you decide to let him off the hook. for now. “well. thanks,” you say, taking a sip, trying not to let the heat rising to your cheeks show.

jake mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like no worries, before retreating to his office.

you watch him go, mildly amused.

“oh-ho-ho, what do we have here?”

you don’t even flinch as jay suddenly appears beside you, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his head like he’s about to make an investigation.

you sip your coffee. “don’t start.”

jay ignores you. “jake sim. buying coffee. for someone else. this is history in the making.”

you sigh. “jay.”

he leans in dramatically. “do you know how many years i’ve known that man? years, y/n. and not once has he ever walked into a room and thought, ‘huh. let me get someone coffee.’”

you roll your eyes. “it’s not that deep.”

jay gasps. “oh, but it is.” he lowers his voice, like he’s about to tell you a government secret. “listen. the man barely remembers to eat unless someone reminds him. and suddenly he’s bringing you coffee?”

you pause. jay grins, catching the flicker of hesitation on your face. “see? see? something’s happening in that stiff little brain of his.”

you shake your head. “he’s just… acknowledging that i exist. that’s all.”

jay snorts. “oh, my sweet summer child.” he takes a slow sip of his own coffee, eyes twinkling. “first, it’s coffee. next thing you know, he’s showing up at your desk randomly with some dumb excuse just to talk to you.”

you raise a brow. “that’s oddly specific.”

jay grins. “call it experience.”

you roll your eyes, but as you glance toward jake’s office, where he’s staring at his screen, brow furrowed in concentration…and you wonder.

just a little. because hope would be something too dangerous in this situation. you’re still just his assistant, and this is a one time thing because you helped him last night. so you don’t hope. not yet.

and maybe it's a good thing too.

it starts with a joke.

well, technically, it starts with jay’s complete inability to keep his workspace from looking like an archaeological dig site.

you’re standing by his desk, watching as he fumbles through the mess that is his workspace. papers are stacked in precarious towers, there’s a half-eaten granola bar that has somehow been buried under a pile of sticky notes. a coffee cup with a lipstick stain, even though jay does not wear lipstick.

“you live like this?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you survey the mess.

jay, utterly unbothered, leans back in his chair. “organized chaos.” why does everybody around here insist on working in conditions not far from that of a pigsty?

you shake your head, crossing your arms. “you know nasa once had to recalibrate an entire spacecraft because someone forgot to convert metric to imperial?”

jay snorts. “imagine being that guy.”

“i’d simply launch myself into the sun,” you deadpan.

jay cackles. “real talk, though, you think the sun would just vaporize you instantly, or would you have, like, a second of awareness?”

you hum, dramatically thoughtful. “i dunno, but if i ever get fired, i might test it out.”

“technically—”

you blink as a third voice enters the conversation.

jake stands a few feet away, arms crossed, brow furrowed like you just presented an incorrect equation.

you were not expecting him to be here.

“uh—” you freeze, awkwardly shifting. jay’s eyes gleam with amusement.

jake clears his throat. “technically, you wouldn’t be able to launch yourself into the sun.”

silence.

“…what?” you blink, trying to process what is happening.

jake continues, oblivious to your slowly dawning horror. “you’d just end up orbiting around it. earth is already moving at about 30 kilometers per second, so unless you counteract that velocity exactly, you’d just—” he gestures vaguely. “miss.”

you stare. jay lets out a low, entertained whistle.

your face burns. “i—” you struggle to find words, feeling an overwhelming mix of why is he like this and oh my god he really just did that.

your fingers twitch against your arms. you open your mouth. then close it. then open it again—

nope. nothing. no words. just the slow, creeping realization that this guy has actually just fact-checked your joke.

it wasn’t even a good joke.

your face heats. “wow,” you mutter, focusing very hard on the floor. “thanks for the physics lesson.”

jake nods, completely oblivious to the fact that you are currently plotting your own orbital escape.

jay presses his lips together, struggling.

you let out a breath, shaking your head. “anyway. i have work to do.”

and then you walk out. not in a dramatic, stormy way – but in a stiff, awkward, nope, i’m out kind of way.

jake watches you go, confused. “what’s with her?”

jay grins, leaning back in his chair. “dunno, man. maybe she just needs some space.”

jake doesn’t get the joke. nor does his oblivious ass understand why his assistant is suddenly treating him like an afterthought?

of course this buffoon doesn’t understand. all he’s thinking of is last night and the way you had tiredly bid him goodnight before parting ways in front of the building, your figure growing smaller by the second. his offer to drop you to the nearest bus stand dying on his lips the further you walked away.

and this was a pivotal moment for him because jake? he doesn’t offer rides to people.

in fact, he doesn’t even think to do things like that – until last night, when he’d spent an extra two seconds debating whether he should insist, before realizing that no, that would be weird.

so instead, he had done something else.

this morning, after getting his usual coffee, he’d bought yours too. granted, he didn’t know your order, but he’s sure he’s seen you around with a cup of your own around the office, still he doesn’t really know your order. so he gets you a sweeter variation, a stark contrast to his bitter drink, because in his mind, he’s thinking about this in a logical way.

and you had accepted it, for that matter, sipping on the drink like you actually enjoyed it. so he had been right, you did like sweet drinks. noted. noted?

regardless you had reacted, albeit subtly. a blink. a pause. a slightly surprised but polite, “thanks.”

jake had left it at that, feeling oddly accomplished.

and now? now you’re walking away from him like he’s some malfunctioning algorithm, and it’s annoying.

he frowns, turning to jay, who’s still grinning like an idiot. “seriously. did i do something?”

jay hums, dramatically thoughtful. “i dunno, man. maybe she just needs some space.”

jake stares. “you already said that.”

jay just snickers. “yeah. and i’ll keep saying it until you get the joke.”

jake does not, in fact, get the joke.

but for some reason, he wants to. and this realisation is soon going to turn into something that’s going to keep bothering him till he’s forced to actually take note of it.

it happens at precisely 12:48 pm.

jake glances up from his screen when you hover by his desk, clipboard in hand.

“i’m taking an extended lunch today.”

his fingers pause over his keyboard. “…extended?”

you nod. “yeah, probably won’t be back for another hour and a half.”

jake blinks. “that’s… longer than usual.”

“yeah,” you say easily. “something came up. but don’t worry, you don’t have anything scheduled and i’ve completed the reports on my end, so it’s not going to affect work.”

jake doesn’t know why that information bothers him, but it does. his brows furrow slightly. “okay.”

you nod once, then turn to leave.

jake stares at the empty space you just occupied, something tugging at his brain.

why did that exchange feel weird? no, not weird, just… different. off.

his fingers hover over his keyboard, but he doesn’t start typing.

jake doesn’t even realize something is wrong until his stomach twists uncomfortably.

he frowns, checking the time. 2:13 pm. lunch had passed. and he hadn’t eaten.

he blinks at his screen, but the numbers on it blur. his focus has shifted, derailed by something he never thought would be an issue. food.

it’s not like he forgot to eat. okay – maybe he technically did, but that’s beside the point. the real issue here is that he never needed to remember, because you always reminded him.

or, if you noticed he was too caught up in work, you’d just… bring something back for him. something simple, easy to eat at his desk – half the time, he didn’t even ask, and yet there it was. a sandwich. a salad. once, a soup that he never even mentioned liking, but somehow you had known he was in the mood for something warm.

it had become routine.

no, actually, it had become a given. and today? today, you walked in, set your bag down, checked your emails – like normal – but you didn’t say anything.

didn’t ask if he ate. didn’t bring anything back. didn’t even look at him properly before sitting down to do your own thing.

nothing.

jake’s fingers twitch over his desk. his jaw tightens slightly. something about this whole situation sits wrong.

because this isn’t normal.

this morning, he even bought you coffee. he didn’t know your exact order, but he had put in effort. that meant something, right? even if you didn’t react much when he placed it on your desk, he thought – hoped – it at least counted for something.

so why does it feel like it didn’t? and why does that bother him?

he does something drastic. he actually walks up to your desk – the second time already this week – and clears his throat.

“hey um…” a small glance at your id card dangling around your neck, and he feels insanely embarrassed because wow, how the hell does he not remember your name, “y/n?”

you’re not going to lie, you totally saw him stumble right now, and it doesn’t help that he’s looking at you with those big brown eyes again, his hand shoved inside his coat pocket, the other rubbing the back of his head. no! you should be upset at him right now, not fawn over his boyish charms!

you glance up, fingers pausing over your keyboard. “yeah?”

jake hesitates.

he doesn’t actually know what he wants to say. he just knows he wants you to look at him a little less indifferently.

“i…” his voice catches slightly. he clears his throat. “can you, um. get me something to eat?”

your expression flickers – just for a second. not enough for jake to read properly, but enough that it feels like you’re choosing your words before speaking.

then, finally, you ask, “what do you want?”

jake pauses.

because – what do you mean, what does he want?

you always just know. you’ve been working together long enough that you order for him without asking. that’s part of why he never bothers remembering himself – he doesn’t have to.

this is new. this is wrong.

“uh…” jake stalls, grip tightening slightly on his pen. “the usual?”

you blink at him, unimpressed. “what’s the usual?”

jake freezes.

oh. oh, no. what is the usual?

his mind scrambles for an answer, rifling through vague memories of you setting food on his desk, but the details blur together. sometimes it was a sandwich. sometimes something with rice. one time, there was pasta. but were those his actual usuals, or just random things you decided to get him?

did he even have a usual?

jake, for the first time today, has to confront a horrifying fact: he has never actually learned what he eats for lunch.

because you always handled it.

and now you’re sitting there, staring at him, waiting for an answer – an answer he doesn’t have – and suddenly, jake feels something unfamiliar coil in his chest: panic.

he’s never been in this situation before. he’s used to having control, to knowing exactly what he wants and when he wants it. yet, somehow, in this one specific instance – a completely mundane scenario involving food, of all things – he’s at a total loss.

how had he not noticed this before? how had he gone this long without realizing he didn’t actually know what he ate every day? how had he become so reliant on—

jake blinks. his own thoughts slam into him like a freight train. because that’s exactly what’s wrong, isn’t it?

he’s used to you. your reminders. your routines. the way you anticipated things before he even noticed them himself.

and for the first time, it feels like you’re deliberately withholding that from him.

why?

jake swallows, forcing himself to think logically. there has to be a reasonable explanation for this. maybe you were too busy to stop and get him something. maybe you had your own things to deal with today. maybe you just forgot.

but then again – you never forgot.

so what changed?

seven.

it was jay’s idea really.

the whole pulling away subtly but not-so-subtly thing. the make-him-notice-you’re-missing plan. and it was working.

you knew it was working because the moment you walked out of jake’s office after that awkward exchange, you felt his stare linger. the hesitation in his voice, the way his fingers twitched slightly when you asked what he wanted – like the concept of having to ask you for something was completely foreign to him.

that was a win, right? so why did it feel so…

you press your lips together, stirring your drink absently. across from you, jay chews on a fry, watching you with far too much amusement for someone who wasn’t the one actively carrying out this ridiculous scheme.

“you look like you’re thinking too hard,” he comments, popping another fry into his mouth. “which is kinda concerning, considering all you’re doing is eating a sandwich.”

you glare at him. “shut up.”

jay snorts, leaning back against the booth. “what’s got you so conflicted? it’s working, isn’t it?”

you don’t answer right away. because, yes – it is working. you can tell by the way jake hesitated before asking you to get him something to eat, by the way he actually looked at you instead of just expecting you to handle things like always. you made him notice the absence.

“…it feels kinda dumb,” you admit finally, picking at your sandwich. “i mean—think about it. it’s lunch. it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?”

jay raises a brow. “you say that, but let me remind you of something. he didn’t know what his usual order was.”

you groan, rubbing a hand over your face. “don’t remind me.”

“no, no, let’s actually sit with that for a second,” jay continues, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “the guy has had you getting his meals for months and never thought to ask what he was eating. that’s not normal, dude.”

“i know,” you mutter.

“so what’s the problem?”

you sigh, rolling your cup between your palms.

“the problem is that it shouldn’t take something like this for him to notice me.” the words feel heavy in your mouth. “it’s stupid, isn’t it? i shouldn’t have to pull away for him to realize how much i do for him. like, why does it have to be some big, strategic thing? shouldn’t he just… care?”

jay quiets at that. for all his jokes and teasing, he’s not oblivious – not like jake.

after a moment, he leans forward, propping his arms on the table. “you’re right,” he says, voice softer than before. “he should care. he should’ve noticed a long time ago.”

your stomach twists.

“but,” jay continues, tapping a finger against his drink, “that doesn’t mean this isn’t necessary. i know it sucks, but think about it – would jake have ever thought about this on his own? would he have ever realized how much he relies on you if you hadn’t started stepping back?”

you hate that the answer is obvious.

“…no,” you mutter.

jay nods. “exactly. he’s used to things just… happening. you’ve made his life so easy that he doesn’t even have to think about it.” he smirks slightly. “and now? now he has to think about it. because it’s not just about lunch. it’s about you.”

you stare at him, fingers tightening around your drink.

you sigh, pressing the rim of your cup to your lips but not drinking. the ice clinks softly inside, melting into the coffee, much like your resolve seems to be melting into uncertainty.

“has he always been like this?” you ask quietly.

jay raises a brow. “like what?”

“with his assistants,” you clarify, glancing at him. “has he always been like… this?” you don’t say oblivious or careless, but jay understands anyway.

he studies you for a moment, his usually amused gaze flickering with something more serious. “i don’t know all the details, if i’m being honest. i never really paid attention to his working relationships.”

you press your lips together, turning your cup in your hands. “but you knew there were others before me.”

jay exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he admits. “there were others. none of them stuck around for too long, though.”

that makes your stomach twist.

“why not?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

jay hesitates. not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because the answer isn’t his to give.

“jake’s not an easy person to work for,” he finally says, choosing his words carefully. “he’s particular about things, but not in a way that makes sense to most people. he’s not demanding in the usual way – he doesn’t expect people to read his mind, but at the same time… he does. he assumes things will get done. not because he asks, but because that’s how it’s always been for him. he doesn’t really think about the ‘who’ behind it all.”

you swallow hard.

“and the others?”

jay shakes his head. “they got frustrated. some quit because they felt unappreciated, others just decided it wasn’t worth it. no hard feelings, no big fights. just… people coming and going. but you?” he tilts his head at you. “you stuck around.”

you let out a small, humorless laugh. “it’s only been three months, maybe i’ll quit too.”

you won’t. for reasons more than one, the first being that you have student loans to pay. the second…maybe that’s a thought better left for later.

“maybe,” jay says, but his tone isn’t teasing. it’s contemplative. “or maybe you’re different.”

you look up at him then, brows furrowed. “different how?”

jay leans back in his seat, arms crossing over his chest. “you actually care about him.”

the words sit heavy between you.

of course you care. that was never the question. the question was whether or not he cared. whether he even saw you as a person rather than just another name in a long list of people who handled things for him.

you exhale slowly, staring down at the condensation forming on your cup. “that’s stupid, isn’t it?”

jay tilts his head. “what is?”

“that i care about someone who barely notices me.”

there’s no pity in jay’s gaze. no smugness, either. just quiet understanding.

“it’s not stupid,” he says. “but it is a little sad.”

you swallow around the lump in your throat. “why do you think he’s like that?”

jay exhales through his nose. “i think jake has spent so long expecting people to leave that he doesn’t think much about why they stay. or if they do, it’s just a matter of when they’ll go. he doesn’t attach himself to people easily. i don’t know why, exactly, but i have my guesses.”

you nod, understanding that there’s a past here that isn’t yours to pry into. it doesn’t quench your curiosity though, because what really made jake into this oblivious, unintentionally selfish person? you haven’t known him long, but you’ve seen enough.

how he declines invitations to after work hangouts, how he’s never lurking at other people’s desks, cooping himself up in the confines of his own room, doing his own work. how he barely ever leaves that room unless absolutely necessary. it’s just work, work, work for him.

jay watches you for a moment, then leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “let me ask you something now.”

you blink. “okay?”

he gestures toward you. “why do you look up to him so much?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out.

because the truth is, you do look up to jake. or at least, you used to. maybe, in some ways, you still do.

he’s brilliant, that much is undeniable. he makes decisions with sharp precision, moves through life with a confidence that is enviable. he commands a room without even realizing it, and people naturally gravitate toward him.

and maybe that was part of the reason why you held on for so long. because you wanted to believe that he was someone worth believing in. worth staying for.

but what happens when the person you admire the most doesn’t even see you?

you lower your gaze. “i don’t know.”

jay hums, as if he expected that answer.

“well, maybe it’s time he starts looking up to you,” he says.

the thought sends a strange feeling through your chest.

because what if, after all this time, it wasn’t about you chasing after jake’s attention? what if it was about him realizing that you were someone worth keeping up with?

you exhale, setting your cup down with a quiet clink. “so, what now?”

jay grins, the mischief returning to his eyes. “phase two, obviously.”

you shake your head, laughing under your breath. “you’re ridiculous.”

“trust me, jake’s already starting to notice you y/n,” jay says, taking a sip of his drink. “so? you in?”

you glance down at your phone, at the list of unread emails waiting for you. and you think about jake – his hesitation earlier, the way he had to actually ask you about lunch. how for the first time, he seemed to realize that you weren’t just an extension of his routine.

deep down, you hope he’s right.

and it’s already started – jake is thinking about it. about you.

you just don’t know it yet.

jake had been off all day, and he knew it.

it had started with lunch. or rather, the strange lack of it – the missing familiarity, the offhanded nature of it, the unsettling realization that it hadn’t been waiting for him like usual. and then when you did get him something, it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right either. not that he could even say what ‘right’ was anymore. that part gnawed at him the most.

he had spent the better half of the afternoon distracted, shuffling between meetings and emails while the thought sat at the back of his head, growing heavier by the hour. it wasn’t about the food. it was never just about the food.

he leaned back in his office chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

why was this bothering him so much?

his usual? what even was his usual? how long had he stopped deciding that for himself? at what point had he gotten so used to you taking care of it that he didn’t even remember?

the realization was suffocating.

jake had never considered himself someone who relied on others – not in any way that mattered. he was independent, capable, and self-sufficient. at least, that’s what he had always told himself. but today proved otherwise.

somewhere along the way, he had gotten used to your quiet presence. the way you smoothed things over without him having to ask. the way you knew things before he did, handled them before they became problems, and – somewhere in the middle of all that – became something constant.

and now, the moment that balance wavered, he felt like he was losing his footing.

the evening dragged on, the weight of the day pressing against his temples as he sat at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen. he should go home. but even the idea of leaving felt exhausting.

then his phone rang.

jake glanced at the caller id. mom.

he hesitated for a second before answering. “hey.”

“jakey,” his mother’s voice was warm but laced with something tired. “i was just checking in. it’s been a while.”

he sighed, rubbing his temple. “yeah, sorry. work’s been crazy.”

there was a pause. a small one, but enough for jake to feel the unspoken words on the other end. he knew that pause.

“you’ve been eating, right?” she asked. “you sound off.”

jake nearly laughed, though there was nothing funny about it. his grip on the phone tightened.

“i’m fine.”

“jake.”

he clenched his jaw. the weight in his chest grew heavier.

how was it that this one conversation, this one question, managed to make everything worse? it wasn’t like he had told her anything. it wasn’t like she knew that something as stupid as lunch had been haunting him all day, or that he was suddenly questioning things he had never thought twice about before.

he exhaled sharply. “mom, i said i’m fine.”

another silence. then, softer, “you always say that.”

jake shut his eyes.

for a second, he was six years old again, sitting at the kitchen table, picking at his food while his mother sat across from him, pretending like everything was fine. like they weren’t waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

he barely remembered his father’s face, but he remembered the absence. the lingering silence. the way his mother never cried in front of him, but he knew she wanted to.

“people leave sometimes, jakey,” she had told him once. “even when they don’t mean to.”

jake had spent his whole life pretending that it didn't affect him. that it didn’t shape the way he saw the world, the way he kept people at arm’s length. that it didn’t make him hyper-aware of who stayed and who didn’t.

but now, sitting in his empty office, with the remnants of an unremarkable lunch sitting in the trash, he was starting to think it had affected him more than he ever wanted to admit.

“jake?” his mother’s voice pulled him back.

he swallowed. “yeah, i’m here.”

“i won’t push,” she said gently. “but you know you can talk to me, right?”

he let out a breath. “i know.”

a few more words were exchanged, mostly her telling him to take care of himself before she hung up. jake set his phone down on his desk and stared at it for a long moment.

he didn’t know what was worse – the fact that he felt like he was spiraling over something so insignificant, or the fact that it didn’t feel insignificant at all.

with a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his hands.

what the hell is wrong with me?

eight.

jake is not in a good mood this morning.

it’s evident in the way his jaw is clenched, the way his morning greeting to you sounds even more clipped and indifferent than usual and it’s apparent in the way he slams his door shut behind him.

you’ve seen him like this before – just once – in an intense mood all day, brooding over a particularly complicated issue at work. so you ignore the slight pang in your chest when he barely looks at you before shutting himself off in his room.

you give him space.

you go about your work, responding to emails, organizing the files on his desk, and making sure everything is in order for the meetings he has later. but throughout the day, you can’t help but glance toward his closed office door. there’s a stiffness in your posture whenever you walk past it, an awareness that you’re treading around a storm, waiting for it to pass.

it doesn’t.

by lunchtime, you hesitate before grabbing your own food. jake still hasn’t come out of his office, and you know him well enough to know he probably hasn’t eaten. the memory of the previous day – his offhanded question about lunch, the way he seemed oddly thrown off by you not bringing it – lingers in your mind. maybe that’s all it is, you reason. he just needs to eat.

so you order his usual, the one you’ve memorized without thinking. but when you place it on his desk, he barely glances at it.

“not hungry,” he mutters.

that’s it. no thank you, no acknowledgement. just a dismissal.

it stings more than it should. you don’t push him, simply nodding before stepping back. but something about the way his shoulders are tense, his fingers gripping a pen too tightly, makes you hesitate.

“are you okay?”

it’s a simple question, but it’s a mistake.

jake looks up at you then, and for the first time all day, he really looks at you. his expression is unreadable, his gaze sharp in a way that feels like a blade pressing into something delicate.

and then he scoffs.

“you don’t have to do that.”

your fingers curl around the tray you had got his food in. they clutch at the edges of the plastic, digging into your skin, imprinting a mark physically much like the way jake’s next words do in your chest.

you blink. “do what?”

“act like you care.”

the words hit like a slap. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

jake doesn’t stop there. “i don’t need you to hover. i don’t need your pity. i don’t need—” he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “just stop.”

you freeze. there’s something deeply frustrating about this moment – because you don’t understand, because you don’t know what’s going on in his head, because you’re just trying to help. but jake is looking at you like your presence alone is suffocating him, like you’re an inconvenience, like he wants to push you as far away as possible.

pity? he thinks you’re pitying him? is your gaze so misconstrued that he’s actually letting himself believe that someone like you could pity him?

but whatever it is that jake wants, it works.

you don’t say anything. you don’t argue, don’t snap back, don’t ask why he’s being an asshole for no reason. because really, what would be the point? you can’t help him, not with whatever impossible problem he’s been staring at all day. you’re not a genius like him, not someone who understands physics or engineering or whatever the hell he’s stressing over.

you’re just his assistant.

you nod once and leave the room, ignoring the way your stomach twists uncomfortably.

the afternoon drags on. you’re quieter than usual, working diligently and keeping to yourself. jake doesn’t seem to notice. or if he does, he doesn’t care.

jay drops by at some point, leaning against your desk with a knowing look. “he’s in a mood today.”

you exhale through your nose. “i noticed.”

jay tilts his head. “you good?”

“i’m fine.” it’s the easy answer, the one that doesn’t require unpacking anything. you don’t want to talk about how frustrating it is, how useless you feel, how much it actually bothers you when you know it shouldn’t.

jay doesn’t press, but he gives you a small nod of understanding before heading to jake’s office. you hear them talking – jay’s voice lighthearted, trying to ease whatever storm jake is caught in. but jake’s replies are short, clipped, his irritation barely restrained. eventually, jay gives up.

by the time evening rolls around, the tension hasn’t lifted.

you’re finishing up paperwork when you hear jake’s office chair scrape against the floor. a moment later, he steps out, his phone pressed to his ear. you don’t look up, but you can hear the strain in his voice, the way it’s unusually tense.

“no, mom, i told you—” a pause. “i don’t know. i haven’t thought about it.”

your pen stills against the paper.

jake exhales sharply. “because i don’t have time for this.” his voice drops lower, something more raw seeping into the cracks. “it doesn’t matter. he made his choice.”

silence.

and then, a barely audible, “i don’t care.”

your chest tightens.

you glance up, just for a second, but the look on jake’s face is unreadable. he’s standing rigid, shoulders tense, his grip on his phone almost painful. whatever his mother is saying, it’s digging under his skin, unearthing something you can’t begin to understand.

you don’t look away fast enough.

jake notices. his eyes flick to yours, and for a split second, something flickers there – something vulnerable, something tired. but then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

he turns on his heel and walks out.

you don’t follow.

jake is still in a bad mood when jay finds him.

he doesn’t know why he agreed to go out for drinks. maybe it was the way jay had looked at him after stopping by the office earlier, or maybe it was the unbearable silence of his apartment that he didn’t want to sit in alone. either way, now he’s here, sitting across from jay and sunghoon at some bar downtown, nursing a whiskey he’s barely taken a sip from.

he’s been fidgeting with his glass for the past fifteen minutes, watching the condensation trail down the sides, listening to jay and sunghoon talk about something he’s barely paying attention to. their voices sound distant, like they’re underwater, and everything around him feels just slightly off-kilter, like he’s caught in a strange in-between where he can’t fully ground himself. he feels like an outsider looking in on his own life, watching himself sit here, going through the motions.

jay nudges him. “you good?”

jake blinks. “yeah.”

sunghoon snorts. “you look like you’re about to throw yourself off a bridge.”

he rolls his eyes, but it’s weak. he takes a sip of his drink, wincing at the burn. “just tired.”

jay doesn’t buy it. “it’s work, isn’t it?”

jake exhales sharply through his nose. that’s the thing—it’s not just work.

it’s the way his day has felt completely off-kilter since this morning. no scratch that, it's been this way this entire week.

it’s the way he couldn’t focus, no matter how hard he tried, the way his own office felt too cold, too empty. it’s the way his lunch tasted like cardboard, even though you had gotten it for him like you always did. the way you had placed it on his desk so carefully, so deliberately, and yet it had felt… wrong. bland. like something was missing, and he couldn’t figure out what.

it’s the way he had snapped at you.

his grip tightens around his glass. he hadn’t meant to. he had been frustrated, overwhelmed, his thoughts eating him alive, and you had just – been there. and he had let his irritation get the best of him. he doesn’t even remember what he said exactly, just the way your face had shifted, the way something in your expression had dimmed before you had looked away and left him alone.

had he hurt you? the thought unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

“i don’t know, man.” he leans back, staring at the amber liquid in his glass. “people are so fucking unpredictable.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “where’s this coming from?”

jake shakes his head. “just—” he exhales. “you think you know someone, you think they’re a certain way, and then suddenly… they’re not. and you don’t know when it happened, or why, or if it was always going to happen and you were just too blind to see it coming.”

there’s a brief pause. then sunghoon says, “sounds like someone’s got abandonment issues.”

jake scoffs. “that’s not what i—” he stops himself. clenches his jaw. takes another sip of his drink. it burns down his throat, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts spiraling in his head.

jay is watching him carefully. “you want to talk about it?”

jake doesn’t answer immediately. he should say no. he should shut it down, brush it off, make some joke and move on. but something about tonight, about the weight pressing down on his chest, makes him want to keep talking. so he does.

“my dad left when i was six.”

it’s abrupt. unprompted. but neither jay nor sunghoon say anything, just let him speak.

“one day he was there, the next he wasn’t. no warning. no explanation.” he exhales, shaking his head. “i remember my mom sat me down and told me he wasn’t coming back, and i didn’t get it at first. i thought—maybe he was just on a long trip. maybe he’d call. maybe—”

he swallows hard. “but he never did.”

the words hang heavy in the air. he doesn’t know why he’s saying this. he doesn’t talk about his dad, ever. but something about tonight makes it easier. maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the lingering feeling of wrongness from earlier today. maybe it’s the way your face had fallen when he snapped at you. maybe it’s the way his chest has felt empty since then.

jay sighs. “that’s rough, man.”

and jay means it. because in all the years that he’s known jake, he’s never told them up front of his issues. sure, they’ve picked up some hints of it, how he barely talks about his family, how there used to be a picture frame in their old dorm room with only him and his mom, how he sparingly mentioned his family and even then, not a word about his father.

they had wondered, but never pried. some things are better left alone unless ready to be tackled.

sunghoon, uncharacteristically serious, says, “that’s why you’re like this, huh?”

jake frowns. “like what?”

sunghoon shrugs. “like you don’t trust people to stay.”

jake doesn’t respond. because what is there to say? he’s not wrong.

he glances down at his phone, at the unopened messages from his mom. she had called earlier, left a voicemail. he knows what she wants. it’s the anniversary of the day his dad left. she always calls on this day. but he hasn’t called back yet. he doesn’t know if he wants to.

his mind flickers back to you. the way you had looked at him after he snapped. the way you hadn’t said anything, hadn’t fought back, just accepted it and left.

had you expected it from him? had you seen it coming? had he proved you right?

jay’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “you ever think that maybe you push people away before they can leave?”

jake stills. something inside him twists. because – he doesn’t. does he?

he thinks about the way you had stayed, despite everything. how you had shown up, day after day, putting up with his moods, his silence, his sharp edges. how you had gotten his lunch, even when he had barely acknowledged you all morning. how you had tried, always tried.

and how he had snapped at you anyway.

he rubs a hand down his face. he suddenly feels exhausted. the weight on his chest has only gotten heavier.

“maybe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “maybe i do.”

neither jay nor sunghoon push further. they just let him sit with it, let him stew in his own thoughts.

jake exhales slowly, the realization sinking in like a stone in his stomach.

he doesn’t know why he feels like he’s already losing something he didn’t even know he wanted to keep.

[esperderek]

I have to have a chuckle at the Screenrant article posted recently about the Galactic Starcruiser, which totally wasn't about Jenny Nicholson's video honest.

In part, because early in Nicholson's video, she talks about how unnatural it is to have your influencers speak in adcopy and copyright rather than the more colloquial nicknames, and how it makes the people speaking about the product seem very insincere and, well, paid off. Because normal humans don't speak that way, but advertising does.

What's the first two lines in this article?

"As a life-long fan of Star Wars, there was nothing quite as exciting as finding out that I would be working on the immersive Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser experience. Located at the Walt Disney World Resort, the Galactic Starcruiser opened on March 1, 2022, and welcomed passengers to board a two-day, two-night cruise through the stars, during which they could live out their own Star Wars adventure."

No one talks like this naturally. No one writes like this naturally.

This is supposed to be your passioned defense of the place you worked at, the people you worked with, and the memories you made along the way. C'mon! Why don't you open with a story, perhaps an anecdote about the best moment you had working there, or the devastation of the day you lost your dream job. We need to feel your humanity! But there's nothing of that here, to the point where you can just hear the TM behind Galactic Starcruiser.

The first half of this article continues in this vein, reading like a press release Disney marketing put out, just with past tense rather than present or future tense:

"Essentially, the Starcruiser experience was a 48-hour movie that passengers were actually a part of. It was all facilitated through the "datapad," which was accessed through the Play Disney Parks app."

"To facilitate the overarching immersive experience and storytelling, the Starcruiser built a jam-packed itinerary for each and every guest that would consist of a variety of important activities: the captain's toast at muster, a bridge training exercise, lightsaber training, and more. These types of events were essential to understanding what was happening, as they would give passengers the chance to interact with characters and build their story. This is why the Starcruiser could never be just a hotel; every part of it was designed for enthusiastic interaction."

Like, c'mon. I used to work in television. I've seen and used adcopy in my former job, and this is some serious adcopy. It honestly wouldn't shock me if the author dredged up some old adcopy they had lying around about the topic and just transferred it over, changing the tense. You're not here to sell us this product, because there is no product to sell. It's gone, it's been gone for a year, you don't have to sell us on IT. Speak about your experiences.

The next part is yet another topic that Jenny Nicholson pointed out, the bad faith excuses that influencers and advertisers made for the extreme price point:

"What many people don't know, however, is that the price included much more than just a room. The passengers' food, park tickets, recreation activities on board, non-alcoholic drinks, and more were all included - with merchandise being one of the few additional costs on board."

Which is absolute bad faith reasoning, especially when there are plenty of other vacation options that are ALSO all-inclusive, but are MUCH cheaper and offer MORE amenities than the Galactic Starcruiser did! Including Disney Cruises, owned by the same company! Seriously, you can go on a halfway decent sounding cruise or all-inclusive resort somewhere warm for, like, a week or two and spend far less than GSC cost.

Then the last part is essentially: "All the workers liked working there and the bad reviews afterwards make the workers who worked on it feel sad. :("

Which, like, companies have been hiding behind that reasoning for ages. Curiously, the author never offers....any reasons or stories. WHY did working on it impact you so much? What set it apart, what were the people like, what did you like about working there, why are you so passionate about it even a year later? There's nothing, just a generic sort of "We worked hard." and "We're sad it's gone." Why? How? What happened? The video you're obviously writing this in response to is filled with personal anecdotes and stories, it's the backbone of the video! Again, you need to give us something to show your humanity!

Especially when you consider that Nicholson repeatedly points out that the only highlight about her experience, the only thing that kept the damn thing going was the workers.

She had nothing but praise for them, and nothing but contempt for the higher ups who wasted and abused that enthusiasm, to the point where one of her last points was "Hey, Disney is basically exploiting labor."

Much like Jenny, I'm also not condemning anyone who had a good time working there. Good! If you were having a good time at work, that's great. If you have good memories about the people, awesome. But I'll note two things:

a) That doesn't meant you weren't being exploited, and

b) That doesn't mean you have to be a useful idiot for the corporation you worked for afterwards.

I'm not conspiracy brained enough to go "Oh, Disney TOTALLY forced this article into being.", because a cursory examination of the author's prior works and such suggests a lifelong passion for Star Wars, she did work at the hotel, and she's a Star Wars Editor (whatever THAT means in this day and age) for Screen Rant. Apparently one of the heads of Screen Rant says that Disney had no hand in it either.

Though, I can see why people would think that way. It READS like a press release, not something a normal human being would write about an experience they feel passionate about.

[furiouszealot]

UPDATE: As of 25/04/2025, 4chan is back up and running again. This post and its addendum will be kept as is, and will no longer be updated unless it goes back down again. If you were on /ghost/, it was a pleasure shitposting with you.

All right, I know no one gives a shit, but let me give you a recounting of the fall of 4chan from the perspective of someone who was there and has been lurking both 4chan and tumblr for a few years now.

I'll try to provide as much context as I can, but a lot of images were either lost or im too lazy to look for them in the +5000 reply thread in soyjak party.

Anyways, info below:

So, necessary context: a few years back, 4chan had a board called /qa/, which if you know little about the page, you may think every board is like /b/ or /pol/, which means a containment cess pool of grifters, (you) baiters, incels, and other deranged individuals. The thing is, /qa/ was somehow worse. The entire board was plagued and infested with soyjack edits, board culture was a nuclear disaster, anons were incredibly hostile in there, you know the drill, the big bad 4chan, but this time its actually true.

One day, moderation deleted /qa/, anons that posted there got mad, tried to raid other boards, failed, and then moved on to an altchan called soyjack party, which entire purpose you can guess from its name alone.

Apparently, the boards that allow pdf uploads (paper and origami, for example) didn't check if the uploaded file was actually a pdf file, so postscript files could be used to get access. This is as far as my understanding of web backend goes, sorry.

The hacker claims to have been working on this since 2021, and that he had access since about a year ago, but was recopilating data.

Now, what actually happened when the hack ocurred? Well, a banner of miku dancing with a song that played automatically was placed on top of every board, with the text "/QA/ IS BACK", this was possible because apparently no board was ever deleted, they were just hidden from the public.

A thread was then made on soyjack party, claiming authorship over the hack, and shit went south from there. Anons went en masse to talk there, a lot of weird discussion happened, the thread got the bump limit removed and got pinned, more than 5k posts were amassed on the first night alone. Keep in mind this happened at about 8 pm and most of the stuff went on through midnight.

So, the hacker leaked some things, first of all, the html files for the entirety of /j/ and the email address for every moderation member (important note: the pressence of .gov mails was disproven by the hacker themselves, so i guess there were never any feds), what is /j/? the board exclusive for jannies and moderators to discuss actions taken on the website regarding spam, ban evaders, threads spiraling out of control, etc. Among other things, some of the inner workings of 4chan got revealed, such as the web extension for jannies that allows them to do their job easily, how reports are handled, and other stuff. (Anecdotically, some guy got permabanned for calling anons jews or n-words over a 100 times in the same few threads)

Then, the source code got leaked. Important to say, the hacker removed the part of the source code related to the captcha, as to not facilitate bot attacks on the future, and all information related to email verification or 4chan pass users information also got removed, so all in all users are safe.

What was found on the sourcecode? That it was old, mostly. Most boards used code that hasn't been updated since about 2016, and /flash/ used the exact same code from when it was created back on 2011.

From there, desuarchive, a site that archives threads that die from bump limit, opened a dragon ball general on ghost mode, and thus began what later got called /ghost/, a solely text based thread with well over 20k replies as of right now, where a fraction of the 4chan population took refuge and is currently discussing random things with no particular topic. Kinda hard to read, but its comfy.

What does this mean for other sites? Not a lot, really. A lot of anons already crossposted in 4chan and tumblr already, and the ones that din't most likely wont come here. Some of the bigger/most dedicated groups, like /vt/, migrated to other boards. Various altchans are trying/tried to catch some of the flock of users that got lost, but i doubt it will get anywhere, since soyjak party for example was struggling with just the influx of users that came for the hack thread given its poor infrastructure. Kiwifarms saw a surge of new accounts apparently, but a lot of anons kinda loathe the idea of having to register, so theres that.

Smaller communities, such as generals that didn't get a lot of traffic, or boards on the slower end (say, /ic/, /lit/, etc) will probably vanish or disseminate until (or if) 4chan comes back up. I'd say give it a month, don't get your hopes up whether you want it to stay dead or want it to come back.

Given how many anons are staying on places like /ghost/ or other similar archives with the same ghost posting feature, i doubt it will be as bad as people are making it sound. Besides, the communities that are most likely to migrate to places like tumblr are either /co/, /vg/ or /lgbt/ refugees, which aren't THAT bad. Not every board was like the main cesspools (/b/, /r9k/, /pol/).

From now on, either 4chan comes back up in a few weeks (somewhere between 2 weeks to a month is expected), altchans capture the migrating anons, or a brand new imageboard rises from the ashes to become the new go-to site for old 4chan posters.

In conclusion, nothing ever happens, but also don't worry, chances are this won't affect tumblr in the slightest. If it does, you can cash in your "you were wrong" ticket whenever you want, i'll take the L.

As a footnote, keep in mind: NO users were compromised, if you ever posted there and are worried for your safety, physical or digital, you are safe.

Edit: Forgot to add, if you are a 4chan refugee, im BEGGING you to dm me and tell what board you were from and where are you migrating, if at all.

[kwilquib]

Promised 9

chapter - 0

Fromis_9 x Male reader

Word Count: 4.5k+

Chapters: One | Two | Three

a/n: This is just set up of the story, no smut in this chapter. but this chapter is important, for the story.

The classroom buzzed with the faint whispers of students exchanging notes and furtive glances at their phones. You sat slouched at the back, staring blankly at your open notebook, the pages still pristine except for a single doodle in the corner: a coffee cup. You idly tapped your pen against the desk, your thoughts drifting far from the lecture.

“Mr. Kang Junho!”

The sharp voice of your Professor Min snapped You back to reality. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward you. You straightened, blinking rapidly as the professor leveled a stern gaze at you from the podium.

“Care to join us in this riveting discussion, or are you busy solving life’s great mysteries back there?” Professor Min’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“Uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, I’m listening,” You stammered, scratching the back of your neck. A few chuckles rippled through the classroom.

Satisfied, the professor adjusted his glasses and continued, pacing slowly across the front of the room. “As I was saying, today’s topic is about myths and their reflection of humanity. Take, for instance, the legend of the Promised Nine.”

The room quieted, the students now leaning in slightly. Professor Min always had a way of making even the dullest of topics sound compelling.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people. No matter how many treaties he signed or how many battles he fought, peace was fleeting. He despaired, knowing that humanity’s greatest enemy was not the sword but the emotions that drove men to wield it: pride, envy, wrath, greed, gluttony, sloth, lust, apathy, deceit…”

Junho’s attention perked up. There was something strangely familiar about the words, though you couldn’t place why.

“So the king, in his desperation, climbed the tallest mountain in the land to plead with the deity who ruled the heavens. He begged for salvation, not for himself, but for humanity. The deity listened, moved by the king’s earnestness. But salvation comes with a cost.”

Professor Min paused dramatically, glancing at his captivated audience. “A promise was made—a sacred pact between the king and the deity. Aid would be sent to humanity, not as armies or riches, but as nine beings, each representing the most volatile of human emotions. Their purpose? To keep the balance of these forces, preventing anyone from consuming the world.”

He walked over to the whiteboard and wrote the words The Promised Nine in bold letters.

“But there was a catch,” he continued. “The deity warned the king that these emotions, though tempered, could never truly be eradicated. The Promised Nine would struggle with the very forces they were meant to contain. And should even one of them fall to the temptation of their burden…”

Professor Min trailed off, his gaze sweeping the room.

“What would happen?” a student near the front blurted, unable to resist.

“Should one of the Nine succumb, their emotion would consume them entirely, turning them into a force of destruction. And that destruction could spread unchecked, tipping the scales and plunging the world into chaos once more. To prevent this, the Deity decreed that the Nine would be connected to a chosen mortal—an anchor. This anchor would serve as their confidant, grounding them when the weight of their burden became too great to bear.”

He turned back to the whiteboard, writing in large, bold letters: The Promised Nine.

“The anchor is as important as the Nine themselves,” he said. “Without them, the balance could not be maintained. The king agreed to the Diety’s terms, knowing full well the cost. And thus, the Promised Nine came into being.”

Professor Min stepped back from the board, his expression somber. “But the Diety’s warning still lingers in the echoes of time: no balance lasts forever. The story of the Promised Nine reminds us that humanity’s greatest strength—and its greatest threat—lies within ourselves.”

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the room, breaking the spell. Students began packing their bags, the hum of chatter returning.

“Read chapters six through eight for next week!” Professor Min called over the noise.

You gathered your things slowly, the tale still turning over in your mind. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door, you muttered to yourself, “Promised Nine, huh? Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.”

—

You exit the lecture hall, slipping into the stream of students flowing out into the bustling campus courtyard. The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow over everything. You glance at your watch—just enough time to get to your part-time job.

The café isn’t far, a cozy little spot just outside the university gates. Its charming wooden sign, Golden Brew, sways slightly in the breeze. The place is always busy, a favorite among students and faculty alike. But there’s one reason it stands out from the dozens of other coffee shops around: its owner, Gyuri.

You push through the door, greeted by the familiar hum of chatter, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The café smells like roasted beans and freshly baked pastries—a comforting combination that feels like a second home.

“Junho, you’re late!”

The voice is soft yet commanding, and you immediately straighten, turning to the counter. There she is—Gyuri, the radiant owner of Golden Brew. Her beauty is the kind that leaves people momentarily breathless. stood effortlessly graceful in her casual white t-shirt and mint-green cap, her gentle features framed by stray strands of hair and a gaze as warm as the morning sun

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gyuri,” you stammer, bowing slightly as you head toward the staff room to put your bag away.

“It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” she replies, her voice as warm as the golden light streaming through the café windows.

“Yes, of course!” you reply quickly, though you can’t shake the sense of unease you always feel around her.

It’s not fear, exactly. Gyuri is unfailingly warm and generous. She treats her staff like family, remembers the names of regulars, and always has a smile for everyone who walks through the door. Still, you find yourself hyper-aware of her moods, as though disappointing her might lead to something far worse than a lecture.

When you emerge from the staff room in your apron, Gyuri is already behind the counter, expertly steaming milk for a cappuccino. “Can you handle table seven’s order? They’ve been waiting a bit.”

You grab the tray, carefully balancing two lattes and a slice of cheesecake, weaving your way through the maze of tables. It’s almost automatic at this point—sidestepping bags, dodging half-turned chairs—but when you reach the corner table, you stop.

She’s there.

Seoyeon.

She’s a regular, not a student or faculty, just... always here. You’ve seen her enough times to notice the details: the dark circles under her eyes, natural and striking, framing her otherwise delicate features. She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you—her sleepy, almost lazy demeanor masks something deeper.

She’s hunched over her laptop, typing slowly, as if testing each word before committing to it. The oversized navy shirt drapes over her frame, and her hair carelessly tied, some falls messily around her face. You set the tray down gently, not wanting to disturb whatever she’s working on.

“Thanks,” she mutters without looking up, her voice soft, almost as if she’s halfway to falling asleep.

You nod, even though she doesn’t see it, and glance at her screen. It’s filled with text—lines upon lines of words you can’t make sense of from this angle. Stories, maybe? Essays? You don’t know, and it’s not your place to ask.

As you turn to leave, she stretches, her movements slow and languid, like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, you wonder what keeps her coming back here, day after day, to sit in that same spot, typing away.

But you shake the thought off. You’ve got other tables to serve.

.You make your way back behind the counter, tray in hand. It’s a small relief to retreat to this spot, even if only for a few moments. Manning the cashier is easier—less weaving between tables, fewer chances to trip or spill something. The register beeps softly as you organize receipts and prepare for the next wave of customers.

The door opens, and the atmosphere in the café shifts. It’s subtle, like a faint breeze stirring through a room, but you notice it immediately. Heads turn—students and faculty alike—and conversations falter as if someone hit pause.

You glance up and freeze.

Jiheon.

Her name is spoken in hushed tones across campus, her presence both admired and untouchable. She moves with an effortless grace that feels out of place in the mundane setting of the café, her bright smile commanding attention without even trying. But it’s her eyes that hold you—the way they curve into crescent moons with a hint of something sharper, more mischievous, just beneath the surface.

To your utter disbelief, she walks directly to the counter. Your counter.

“Hi there,” she says, her voice smooth and casual, like she’s greeting an old friend. Her gaze locks onto yours, and her smile widens slightly. “You’re Junho, right?”

You blink, caught so off guard that you almost drop the pen in your hand. “Uh… yeah?” Your answer comes out as more of a question than a confirmation.

Her smile grows, as if your awkwardness amuses her. “Thought so. I’m Jiheon.” She leans in just slightly, resting one hand on the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your wariness kicks in. Jiheon—the Jiheon—is talking to you? Asking for your name? It feels like the kind of thing that only happens to other people. Your eyes flick briefly to Gyuri at the other end of the counter. She’s busy steaming milk, not even sparing a glance in Jiheon’s direction.

“Nice to meet you,” you manage, your voice steadier this time, though your thoughts are racing. “Uh, caramel macchiato?” You blurt the question out more out of instinct than anything else.

Her laugh is light, lilting, but there’s something playful in it, like she’s already decided you’re her new source of entertainment. “Hmm. Good guess,” she teases, tapping a finger against the counter. “Sure, I’ll have that. But I’m impressed you remembered. I didn’t think I was that predictable.”

You feel your face heat up, fumbling to punch her order into the register. “It’s not that, I just—uh—” You stop, realizing anything you say will just dig you deeper.

She watches you, clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words. “Relax, Junho,” she says, her tone soft but undeniably amused. “I’m just messing with you.”

Handing her the receipt, you attempt a smile. “Coming right up.”

Instead of moving to find a seat, she lingers by the counter, her eyes drifting lazily around the café before landing back on you. “Nice place. Gyuri’s done a great job here, hasn’t she?”

Your gaze flicks to Gyuri again. Still busy. Still not looking this way. “Yeah, she has,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral.

Jiheon tilts her head, her smile still firmly in place. “You two seem close,” she muses, her tone light but probing. “Gyuri’s lucky to have someone like you helping her out.”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s toying with you, testing your reaction. “I just do what I can,” you say cautiously.

Her eyes light up, as if you’ve said something particularly amusing. “I bet you do.” She straightens up and takes a step back. “Well, Junho, it’s been… enlightening.” Her smile takes on an almost cat-like quality. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be around.”

As she walks away to find a seat, the tension in your shoulders eases, but her presence lingers like a shadow. You glance at Gyuri one last time, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she’s focused on the drinks in front of her, her usual calm smile in place.

And yet, for just a moment, you swear there’s something almost knowing in the way she glances at Jiheon’s retreating figure..

—

The bell above the door jingles as the last customer leaves, and you let out a long breath, leaning against the counter. The café feels different now—quiet, peaceful, but heavy with the lingering scent of coffee and pastries. It’s nighttime, and the warm glow of the overhead lights gives the empty space a cozy but slightly eerie feel.

“Good job today, Junho,” Gyuri says, flashing you one of her signature warm smiles as she locks the cash register.

“Thanks, Ms. Gyuri,” you reply, your voice softer than usual in the now-empty café.

After finishing up your closing duties—wiping down tables, stacking chairs, and sweeping the floors—you grab your jacket and step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now, with only a few scattered groups of students heading home. You adjust your backpack, your thoughts already drifting toward the comfort of your cramped boarding room.

As you turn a corner, someone bumps into you.

“Ah, sorry,” you mumble automatically, stepping back.

The girl doesn’t even glance up, her eyes glued to her phone. She’s wearing what looks like an e-sport jersey jacket, its bold colors contrasting with the dark street. Her brown hair catches the ambient glow of the streetlights, faintly shining as she moves past you. For a brief moment, her face is illuminated, and it’s enough to leave an impression.

She’s stunning.

Before you can fully process it, your impulse kicks in. You take a step forward, clearing your throat. “Hey, uh, I’m Junho...”

But she doesn’t respond. Her focus remains solely on the screen of her phone, and she keeps walking, oblivious to your presence.

You stand there for a second, feeling a bit foolish, then shake your head. The image of her lingers in your mind as she disappears into the night, leaving you with nothing but the quiet hum of the street.

When you finally reach your room, you fumble with your keys and push the door open. It’s as small and cramped as ever, but it’s yours. You toss your jacket onto the single chair by the desk, only to realize something’s missing. Your bag. You groan, running a hand through your hair. You must’ve left it at the café in your rush to leave. There’s no helping it—you’ll have to go back.

The walk feels longer this time, the quiet streets amplifying the sound of your footsteps. As you get closer, a strange unease settles in your chest. The air feels heavier, the streetlights casting elongated shadows that seem to move just out of sync with your steps. Your skin prickles, as if something unseen is watching.

When you reach the café, you notice something strange. Cars are parked outside. Not just any cars—luxury vehicles, sleek and expensive, the kind you’d expect to see in a high-end district, not outside a cozy student café. Their polished exteriors gleam under the soft glow of the streetlights, each one a testament to sophistication and taste.

Your gaze drifts across the lineup, catching details that feel oddly personal. A jet-black SUV, imposing and understated. A sapphire blue Porsche, sharp and vibrant, eerily luring you in. Your eyes stop briefly on a compact car that feels out of place among the giants—a Mini Cooper. Its emerald green paint shimmers, the kind of green that feels rich and alive, paired with racing stripes that speak of personality rather than pure extravagance. It’s less ostentatious but undeniably stylish, a subtle standout among its peers.

As you approach, an inexplicable resistance builds inside you, like a pressure against your chest. Your feet feel heavier, your thoughts fuzzier, and for a brief moment, you consider turning around. The café seems distant, almost unreal, like it’s shifting away even as you step closer. But you shake it off, forcing yourself forward.

You head to the backdoor, fishing out the spare key Gyuri gave you for emergencies. Pushing it open, you step into the staff area and spot your bag right where you left it. Relieved, you sling it over your shoulder and turn to leave.

That’s when you hear it.

The faint jingle of the front doorbell breaks the silence, followed by muffled voices.

You freeze. The café should be empty, but there’s a light seeping through the crack of the door leading to the main lobby. Slowly, you step closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

Peeking through the door, you see her.

She steps inside like she owns the air she breathes, her presence commanding yet effortless. Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, perfectly straight, with sharp bangs framing her face. Under the glow of the café lights, her striking blue eyes seem almost unnatural, as if they were cut from the sky itself.

For a moment, her gaze sweeps the café, and then it lands directly on you.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re sure you’ve been caught—your face heats up, and you’re ready to stammer some excuse about being here after hours. But her expression doesn’t shift.

Her lips curl into a smile, slow and deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for this very moment. It’s the kind of smile that feels personal, like it holds a secret meant only for you.

But then, as quickly as her eyes found yours, they slid away.

It’s deliberate—you’re certain of that. She must have seen you. And yet, she acts as if you’re invisible, as if your presence is of no consequence. She turns, her hair sweeping behind her like a silk curtain, and addresses the others in the room.

From your hidden vantage point, you take in the scene.

The café, which should have been empty, is instead alive with movement. A group of women fills the space, each one radiating an aura of distinct confidence and beauty. They aren’t just sitting or lounging; they seem to command the room, transforming it into something that feels foreign, almost sacred.

“Chaeyoung,” one of the women calls out, her tone both teasing and sharp, “you’re late.”

Your eyes dart to the source of the voice, and your breath catches—it’s her. The same woman you bumped into earlier, the one engrossed in her phone. She’s still wearing that e-sport jersey jacket, looking as effortlessly confident as she had before.

“And Nagyung? You’re not late?” Chaeyoung fires back, her tone teasing, her smile sharper now.

The casual banter between them feels like watching something private, yet you can’t look away.

Your gaze shifts to the rest of the table. The initial shock of seeing Chaeyoung fades as you take in the others, each of them equally striking in their presence. You almost stumble backward when you spot familiar faces.

Gyuri, whose warmth you’ve come to rely on, sits with an unfamiliar coolness about her. Her brow is furrowed, a faint trace of annoyance crossing her usually gentle features. It sharpens her striking appearance, making her seem like someone you’ve never truly known. There's a tension in her posture that makes you feel like you're seeing a side of her that’s been hidden until now.

Seoyeon leans lazily toward the women beside her, her relaxed posture contrasting the air of composure around the table.

The woman Seoyeon is leaning into feels strangely familiar, as if you should recognize her. She matches the others in beauty, her jet-black hair framing a delicate face. A soft smile plays at her lips, radiating warmth and charm. With luminous skin and deep, expressive eyes, she exudes an effortless elegance that captivates without even trying.

And as if that weren’t enough to leave you reeling, on the other side of the table, you recognize Lee Saerom.

The Saerom. The top celebrity, known for her flawless visuals and commanding performances.

Sitting next to her is Song Hayoung, the famous songwriter and soloist whose music dominates every chart. 

They’re casually leaning into the conversation, as though their combined fame and aura aren’t enough to make this room the most exclusive place in the city.

“Is Jiwon not here yet?” Chaeyoung asks as she slips into a seat, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes scanning the room with interest.

The front doorbell jingles, and the door swings open.

“I’m here!!” a bright, piercing voice calls out.

Your head swivels toward the source, and there she is. Jiwon, bounding through the entrance like a whirlwind of energy, her grin lighting up the room before her words even have a chance.

“Jisun, did you bring food?” Jiwon’s question comes rapid-fire, her tone playful but undeniably demanding.

The woman Seoyeon was leaning into rose. She moves with calm precision, her composure stark against Jiwon’s lively presence.

"Of course, I brought food. Wouldn’t want you to starve." Jisun says, her voice soft but firm, as she produces a stack of containers seemingly out of nowhere. She places them on the table, the gesture practiced, as though she had been anticipating the request long before it was asked.

It hits you then. Roh Jisun. The world-famous chef. Known for her culinary brilliance and beauty. You've seen her multiple times before in magazines, tv, or online articles. You can hardly believe she's here, so close, exuding an effortless elegance.

“Can we finally get started? I still have to clean up after all of you,” Gyuri complained, her annoyance clear.

Now that the group had gathered, all eyes shifted to Saerom, who was waiting for their attention.

“Our youngest is losing control,” Saerom began.

“We all constantly are,” Nagyung shrugged off the concern.

“This isn't the same, you know that,” Saerom replied firmly.

“Don’t try to ignore these meetings, Nagyung. I’m losing millions just being here,” Jiwon said, flaunting her wealth.

“Must be nice having all those millions,” Hayoung remarked. While her gaze focuses on the only fork on the table, in the hands of Chaeyoung.

“You’re a millionaire too. Why are you eyeing my money?” Jiwon shot back defensively.

“Ahem!… Losing control?” Gyuri steered the conversation back on track.

Saerom, now commanding their full attention, spoke with purpose.

“We need to consider finally finding an anchor.”

“Then we’ll get an anchor. Meeting is done,” Soyeon said with a yawn, stretching.

Charyoung, still twirling the fork between her fingers, smirked. “Do we have to? I’ve been liking her attitude recently.”

“It’s time,” Saerom replied, her tone serious. “We can’t risk it. If deceit consumes her…”

“It will consume all of us,” Gyuri finished, her voice dark.

You stay frozen, trying to make sense of the conversation. Consume? Anchor? Deceit? The weight of their words sinks in, and though you know you should leave, something keeps you rooted to the spot. The truth behind their cryptic conversation is just out of reach.

Then, without warning, a soft voice whispered near your ear.

“Curiosity can be dangerous, you know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find Jiheon standing inches away, her signature eye-smile curved upward in amusement. You’re certain she wasn’t there a second ago. How could she have gotten so close without making a sound?

“Wha—how—?” you stammer, instinctively taking a step back, only to hear the door creak open behind you.

Seoyeon, now fully awake, leans forward slightly, her drowsy facade giving way to genuine surprise. “How did he get here?” she asks, her voice carrying a rare edge of curiosity. Her eyes scan you, but it’s not just scrutiny—it’s disbelief, almost as if you’re some kind of anomaly.

“Who’s this?” Nagyung asks, clearly not remembering you.

“Junho,” Gyuri says softly, her voice now laced with concern and confusion. “How are you here?” Her warm demeanor has returned that almost makes you feel safe. Almost.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but Jiheon, ever calm, steps forward, her gaze fixed on you as if she’s reading your very thoughts.

“He overheard,” Jiheon says simply, her tone neither accusatory nor dismissive.

“Clearly” Jiwon crosses her arms, her lively energy dampened by suspicion. “Why did you let him through?”

Jiheon doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward, closing the already narrow distance between the two of you. Her eyes glint with an eerie amusement, her head tilting slightly as she examines you like a puzzle she’s just begun to piece together.

“Regardless of how,” Saerom says, her voice cutting through the murmurs and drawing every gaze. She rises slowly, her commanding presence quieting the room once more. “What matters is why. What did he hear?”

“I didn’t mean to listen!” you blurt out, your voice shaky as you raise your hands in defense. “I—I just came back for my bag, and then I heard voices, and—”

“And stopped to eavesdrop,” Chaeyoung interrupts, her voice playful but her eyes uncomfortably sharp.

“No! I mean—yes, but not like that!” you stammer, feeling the weight of their collective stares crushing you. “It’s not what you think! I swear I won’t tell anyone!”

Gyuri sighs, stepping closer. “Junho, you don’t understand. This... what you’ve heard... it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“I don’t know how you got through the mist ” Jisun adds, her tone firm but not unkind. “But this isn’t something just anyone can know.”

“Maybe,” Chaeyoung says, her lips curving into a sly smile, “he’s not ‘just anyone.’”

“Enough.” Saerom’s single word silences the room, her authority undeniable. Her eyes pierce through you, weighing your very existence. “What’s done is done. The question now is what we do with him.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “Wait!” you cry, your voice desperate. “I swear I won’t say anything! I don’t even understand what I heard! Just let me go, and I’ll forget everything!”

“That’s not how this works,”  Hayoung says from across the room, her voice carrying an edge as she’s now holding the fork she was eyeing earlier.

Jiheon smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she takes another step closer. “Oh, Junho,” she purrs, her voice dripping with playful malice. “It’s not your fault, really. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She tilts her head, her smile widening. “But... well, it’s a little late for regrets, don’t you think?”

Her hand lifts, faint cyan light dancing at her fingertips, and you can’t tear your eyes away. The glow reflects in her eyes, making her look ethereal and otherworldly.

“Jiheon, stop!” Saerom’s voice cuts through, but Jiheon doesn’t even flinch.

“Relax,” Jiheon says lightly, her tone almost soothing as she looks at you. “I’m just helping him... rest a little.”

“Jiheon!” Saerom’s command comes sharper this time, but it’s already too late.

Jiheon’s fingers flick, the cyan light tracing an elegant pattern in the air. “Just a little nap,” she whispers, her voice lilting and playful.

The moment the light touches you, an overwhelming drowsiness washes over your body. Your knees buckle, the edges of your vision darken, and Jiheon’s playful smile is the last thing you see as the world fades to black.

a/n: Before you move one the next chapter, can you guess who's who, with their pairing emotion?

(Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth, Deceit, and Apathy)

Next ->

[luminatricky]

Vampire? In Gotham! (part 3)

Summary: the batfam have a meeting, Constantine got a little too lost in the sauce when crafting Danny's sob story, and we find out what Dracula's been up to all these years. Oh and the DC version of Vlad is fully dead? More at 9

Relationships: the batfam

on god I spent too much time thinking about danny's vampsona. he's got two outfits so far. no I didn't make a concept board. no I didn't make a picrew. I don't know what you're talking about

(sorry if this is all horribly ooc I struggled a bit with making this intelligible)

Red Hood doesn't usually leave Crime Alley. That's a known fact. But Batman doesn't usually call a meeting that includes Red Hood. The old man learned years ago not to involve him unless it's important with a capitol I.

Pulling into the Batcave, Jason slows to a stop on his motorcycle. He follows the voices of his family to the Batcomputer. Everyone is in full gear, but not everyone is fully present.

Dickhead was ransacking the medical room for...blood bags? Barbie and Replacement carved out a corner to the right of the main computer. They'd set up a foldable table for their personal laptops, sitting side by side as they quietly schemed together. Damian was working hard on some sort of artwork with a similar table to the left. He stuck his tongue out in concentration. Adorable.

Bruce was pulling up a very old case file in the central system. It looked to be a string of serial disappearances.

Jason wasn't the last to arrive for once. The elevator to the manor dings behind him. Alfred and the rest of the brood step out into the cave, carrying weapons and gadgets by the armful. Old looking Batarangs, glorified flashlights, cases upon cases of the anti-toxin epipens filled with unfamiliar blue formula. And wooden stakes.

Like a good grandson he steps up to help lighten Alfred's load, but he only gets two steps in before the old butler gives him a very disapproving eyebrow raise. Jason retreats with his hands up. He turns back to Bruce.

"This better be a bloodsucker apocalypse or you won't see me til Christmas."

Bruce pulls up a detailed list of the weapons and their uses on screen. Everyone stops what their doing and takes a picture with their phones. Garlic Batarangs, flashlights with artificial sunlight, a cure for vampirism. Wooden stakes need no introduction or explanation, except for why his dad - who is very against killing to put it fucking gently - would be giving them a vamp equivalent of a gun.

"Potentially," Bruce says. "We need to draw up new contingencies. But we also need to debrief so we have all the facts to do so."

Surprisingly, both Duke AND Tim groan. Jason understands Duke. The teen does not have the patience - ahem, attention - to learn all the contingencies at once. Which Bruce recently subjected him to from what he's gleaned from the sibling group chat.

But Tim? Making and learning ridiculous lists is the guy's bread and butter, the freak. So why -

"C'mon Bruce. What we know so far about the guy makes it seem he might be genuine. We do not have to plan a murder yet. Murder is messy - and wrong, definitely wrong." Tim tacks the last part on way too quickly for anyone here to believe that's what he actually feels. Hah. Another one straying off the path of the No Kill Rule. He can't wait to hear the details when one of their siblings interrogates him about it later.

Bruce exhales through his nose. He puts the previous topic away in favor of pulling up a picture of a middle-aged man with glacial blue eyes. His face is long and angular, and he wears old style European clothes that screams 'I'm an old rich vampire, come stake me'. Jason snorts - something about his face is so punchable.

"Dr. Alucard seemed genuine at first, too." He pulls up a picture of the same man, but this time with sunken in cheek bones. His salt and pepper hair is fully bleached, and his eyes glow unnervingly. It's a candid of him mid-fight in the Batcave, a furious snarl on his lips, baring some wicked fangs at a young Batman. "Or should I say, Dracula." He's answered with a round of gasps.

Jason's starting to see how every single one of them ended up as (melo)dramatic little shits.

He puts the pictures away. "Around the time when I was first starting out, the Penguin accidentally freed him from where he was sealed in Gotham's cemetery." Bruce begins. Jason wonders with a tight chest just what was wrong with that place. Why do the dead keep coming back to life there?

If he had a nickel...

Bruce pulls up the headlines of the 'Lost Ones' case. Jason opens his mouth to comment, but Dick beats him to it. "They seriously thought it was Batman? C'mon! How incompetent is the GCPD?"

Jason scoffs. "Says the fucking cop."

"Ex-cop, thank you. And I worked in Bludhaven before I figured out they were just as corrupted and rooting that out from the inside was a terrible plan."

"Anyone coulda told you that," Duke snarks. Jason backs him up. "Your problem is you always want to give people the benefit of the doubt when you shouldn't."

"Boys." Bruce interrupts. They all stop at the tone he uses. Alfred clears his throat, and answers Dick's rhetorical question from earlier. "That was unfortunately a common occurrence when Master B was a young bat. It would do you all well to be mindful of keeping your reputations positive amidst suspicion."

Jason doesn't laugh out of respect for Alfred - he was so not talking about him. He needs to do the opposite of spit rainbows out his ass to be effective.

"Oh my God is that why Bruce keeps gatekeeping everyone he meets? He's hazing them like a vigilante initiation ritual?" Steph whispers to Cass. He hears her softly laugh in response as she nods.

"I agree with Grayson. The GCPD are fools to think that if Father were a serial killer or trafficker that they'd ever even know. He is better than that." The demon brat brags.

Bruce huffs fondly. "It's a good thing I'm not." He gestures to the weapons. "We fought. He'd started turning people left and right, making them mind controlled vampire pawns. The Joker got turned-"

Jason's vision floods green. "And you didn't fucking stake him? Even more fucking dangerous -"

"-and I managed to capture him at a blood bank before he could do more than destruction of private property." Bruce raises his voice over him. Jason clenches and unclenches his fists. He itches to shoot something, to break something, to get relief to this God forsaken green-flavored, rage-filled pressure starting to boil over in his chest at the reminder of his murderer.

Blessedly everyone shuts the fuck up as he tries to not blow his top. Bruce should've staked him. He had the perfect excuse all lined up, and the opportunity, and goddamit Barbara wouldn't be in a wheelchair and Duke's parents would be fine and Jason wouldn't have come back evil -

Bruce isn't and wasn't evil, he reminds himself. Not like Jason is. And it's not helpful to blame him for his nature right now when they need to fucking debrief. Woulda-coulda-shoulda's are for chumps.

When he blinks back the green, shoved it down to where it's there but managed, his family haven't moved an inch from where they had been. It's a small but meaningful relief to see that they hadn't taken defensive positions like they would've in the past. They just untensed as Jason's arms stopped trembling from supernatural rage.

No one calls attention to his near-episode further, and he's grateful. "I took him back to the cave. With his blood samples I managed to create a cure for the thralls. They all went back to their everyday lives without any memories of what happened. Joker is no exception."

Which is code for, 'I found a reason to bypass normal ethics and experiment on the Joker for the greater good and yes I still remember which cell he was in. It was the highlight of that week.' It makes him feel marginally better and worse in equal measure. Where the fuck was that energy when he kicked the bucket? (Superman, was where. They already had this conversation)

"At that time Wayne Enterprises had been taking it's first steps into solar energy. When Dracula invaded the cave, we were able to survive due to the stored sunlight that the proto-type gathered."

"Wait. No, wait. Hold on. The urn on the fireplace? Please tell me that's a grandma we don't talk about." Duke pleads. "Please. It's not Kentucky Fried Vampire. Please."

When Bruce doesn't say anything for way too long, Steph nearly chokes on trying to hold back her laughter. Alfred clears his throat. "Batman was rather hurt after the altercation. And Dr. Alucard was rather rude in how he barged in - uninvited! I found it suitable that if he insisted on destroying the decorations, that he should contribute."

Steph full out cannot stop once it begins. Everyone else stares dumbfounded either at Bruce or Alfred. Dick looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. Duke is regretting his life decisions, probably the ones about joining this family. Damian is not comprehending the issue with any of this, expecting a follow up anytime soon. Cass shakes her head, but Jason hears a quiet "grandma dracula is disappointed".

He doesn't know how to feel other than dear Lord please he cannot laugh. No matter how absurd this is. He sounds ridiculous in his helmet.

"...leaving the ashes unattended would spell disaster in the wrong hands," Bruce clarifies once the giggles fall away, "Dracula kidnapped Vicky Vale to use her soul in resurrecting his wife from her ashes. Letting Alfred hide it in plain sight didn't sound like a bad enough idea to try to stop him."

"Precisely, Master Bruce." The butler approves.

"Damn. That's just cold." Dick remarks. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free arm. "I would ask what the hell he deserved that for but he's literally an ancient evil vampire, so." His older brother jostles the blood bags he's cradling. "Hopefully this guy's an unrelated friendly."

Duke whines in the back of his throat. Jason squeezes his shoulder in sympathy.

"Tonight?" Cass redirects.

"Tonight I came across the unknown on our usual route. I had Robin stay back when I spotted him a distance away. He'd been running across rooftops, watching the people below. I followed for half a block before he walked down the side of a building and into an alley right on the border of Park Row."

"Crime Alley." Jason corrects.

"Crime Alley," Bruce amends. "Once there, he paused for a moment, searching the crowds for something. He took out a clear canister filled with a dark red liquid. It had the same viscosity as blood."

"Where's he getting the blood from? There hasn't been anymore blood bank robberies, attempted or otherwise. And no one's turned up with weird wounds, dead or alive." Steph pipes up. Babs lifts her hand up as she adds her two cents. "Unlessss, mystery teeth here is using the same tactic Drac did. If he's just arriving then we shouldn't be noticing anything just yet."

Bruce holds up a gloved finger in a 'I wasn't done' gesture. "When I approached, the unknown claimed that the canister was a synthesizer when asked. I couldn't detect any lie in his body language or voice. He then introduced himself as 'Dante Nightingale', but asked to be called Danny, which either means he's a modern vampire or an old one who is familiar with the times. I then confronted him about stalking humans from an alleyway. He revealed intel that will be worrying if confirmed."

Jason hums. "Sounds like this guy might not be the supernatural flavor of creep, at least," he mutters under his breath.

Tim raises his hand next. "From what B told me earlier, Danny said that there was some weird ghostly-doppelganger-vampire activity that our suspect hasn't seen before. The behavior, not the creatures." Tim pushes up his blue light glasses as he takes a breath. "Anyways. The info on Shades checks out. The JLD records told me all about them. Show of hands if anyone's seen Appalachia Tik Tok?"

Oh Jason doesn't like where this is going. Alfred (surprisingly), Cass, Dick, Babs, Steph, and Duke all put their hands up too.

Tim goes on. "The mimics? Shades are like that, but with a life force sucking aspect. They're basically ghosts who never were alive and didn't form right, so they eat human emotions until they become fully sentient ghosts called Specters. In a really creepy 'I'm going to replace you' way. So. Bad stuff."

Jason shivers when Bruce nods. "Nightingale claims that they're walking the streets in unusual numbers. That he had just arrived and in Gotham and that he was exploring tonight when he noticed something off."

"Ohhhhkay! Just what we needed, yeah? Invisible monsters in Gotham!" Dick says. "Quick, scratch that off the bingo."

Tim rolls his eyes. "Do we have a description? Power set, background check? I need everything I can to narrow down which type of vamp in the database." He's tapping away at his laptop again, not looking up as he types.

Bruce motions for Damian to come closer. The demon brat hands off the artwork he'd been quietly working on as they talked. Bruce observes it, before nodding at where Damian stands at attention like a good little soldier. Damian preens.

Jason blinks away the green.

Their dad scans the sheet with a device, and the image pops up on the main computer. The man in the portrait has pale skin - obviously. Fangs - no duh. Although notably shaped differently from Drac's. Claws a good few inches long and white in color. Jason spies an interesting ring. It's crown shaped and encased in fake(?) ice. Freckles on his rounder face, framed by wispy-looking stark white hair. Skeleton earrings, black turtleneck, a white blouse with a ridiculously low vee neck tucked into green pants. A delicate chain in the shape of a spiderweb wraps around his covered throat in a pleasing contrast.

The man's eyes are a hauntingly familiar shade of green. He sees it often.

The pupils glow a lighter hue of lazarus, shaped like four-pointed stars. Jason would say the guy looks more like a fae took a dip in the Pits than bloodsucker. But what does he know? Guy didn't deny the blood drinking accusations for fuck's sake.

Babs jumps in again. "We had B give Robin a description because apparently his presence is a hell of an EMP. Video feed and coms went down as soon as Batman joined him in the alley. So a few feet away." She clicks a few things on her own screen, and then starts reading down some sort of list she typed up for herself.

"Dante Nightingale, aged nineteen. A farm boy from Illinois. Parents Robert and Jane Nightingale. No other relatives. Totally normal until he was struck by lightning at thirteen and his metagene activated, giving him minor power over ice and sensitivity to heat." She taps something on her computer and a young Danny Nightingale jumps next to Damian's portrait. The black haired boy has a big goofy grin on his even rounder face, splattered with freckles. In this picture, it's obvious that although he's trying to look happy for picture day, the kid had serious bags under his eyes, and a look in those clear blues that just screamed that Danny had seen some awful things. "Then at fourteen, the whole family got into a car crash. Robert and Jane died on scene, while Dante lasted three days in the hospital before going missing entirely."

Babs pushes up her glasses and takes a deep steadying breath. "The nurses on duty reported a change in hair and eye color, as well as strange dental elongation in the canines. Paired with uncontrollable ice stronger than recorded earlier, this led them to believe that Danny's metagene strained under the new trauma and started causing physical mutations alongside the modifications to his original ability. But I think we all know what was actually happening to him."

"...What else do we know about the kid?" Dick asks. Anyone who didn't know him would say that Dick was relaxed, but Jason and anyone else who knew him could clearly see that Danny's story hit a little too close to home. Dead parents in an 'accident' where the kid was there to see. Yeah.

Heh. This looks like a classic meta trafficking case, the more he follows that thought. Not the casual kind most parents have to fear - pick a kid off the street just 'cause they were there, someone will pay for 'em no matter if they're pretty or not.

No. This was targeted. Planned out weeks, months, years in advance. Someone wanted this kid for something specific - enough to murder his parents for and make it look like an accident. Likely, it was to have an ice meta under mind control, considering what Bruce said about Dracula and his thralls. If he's right, Jason might have to go all Buffy Summers and deal with them.

Jason reaches out to catch Duke by the shoulder again and this time he doesn't let go. His newest brother looks at him, big brown eyes wide and fearful. It could've been him, easy. They both think it. They both know it. Fuck, Danny was just a few years younger than he is now.

Jason squeezes. He whispers low to him. "I'd shoot them in the balls for you. Won't let 'em take you. End bloodlines if I have to, to get you back." Duke gulps, and nods. The teen squeezes his eyes shut and Jason pretends he doesn't see him quickly wipe his eyes.

"...Recently, he got legally un-declared dead, and opened a bank account. Looks like one very dead Vlad Masters left his fortune to him sometime earlier. Man owned a goddamn castle. They found a secret lab in his basement with strange equipment when they went looking for evidence. And. Oh. Oh that's not good."

"What is it?" He asked, not wanting to know the answer already.

"Police found a mystery green liquid they couldn't identify but put the composition on file. I just ran it through our systems. 70% match to lazarus water. What's more, there were blood packs close by that were heavily contaminated with the same substance." She looks like she was ready to throw up at the dots they were all connecting.

He might as well. "Alright. Meta kid's trafficked at fourteen and turned into a vampire. Spends the next five years caught by mad scientist vampires who poked and prodded at him like a rat. Then, he murders the assholes, runs off with their money, and moves to Gotham. Fuck's sake." Jason sums up.

Bruce makes a 'I'm not disagreeing with you but I have an opinion' grunt. "That's one possibility. The most likely one from what we know right now."

"But?" Someone prompts.

"But. He mentioned a term called 'Fraid'. He said that someone told him that myself and 'my Fraid' were good people. Nightingale claimed it was a cultural term for found family," Bruce explained. The man's mouth twitches into a frown. "If he was being held hostage all that time, would they have bothered to teach him that? And if they did, experimentation wouldn't be all they had wanted from him. No one would bother to teach someone disposable."

Tim stopped typing for a second, eyes widening and then blanking quick as a whip. Swallowed. Went back in with a vigor.

"So. Either. He got away from his kidnappers, and there's some found family out there somewhere. Or he never got away from them, but he was not expendable. His kidnappers may have forced him into their family." Steph reasoned out.

"Man. This is fucked up." Duke mutters. "You're telling me, kid." Jason whispers back.

Damian bristles. "Father. We have to interrogate him. Nightingale may have connections to the League of Assassins, or a similar organization run by vampires. The lazarus water is damning. We must make sure." The demon brat demands. Which. Fair. More unknown lazarus pits are just asking for evil to pull up with some friends.

Bruce makes an 'I agree with you but I'm thinking' grunt. But before he can respond, Tim cuts in. "So Fraid is definitely what he says it means. But according to the records, only the dead or undead use it. Obviously I did a little digging. Vampires don't count as either of those, even though some sleep in coffins and stuff. No, most vampires count as something called 'death touched'. Meaning they're still alive, albeit really in tune with the other side." Tim shifts, chugging a quick bit of cold coffee. "Only one match came up when I searched for undead vampire. The thing is, it exists, but the file is on the JLD's red tape section."

Which is code for 'don't fucking touch this dimwits if you value your life, call us for fucks sake'. Pleasant.

"Yes Father. If Drake is not once again wildly incorrect and foolish, Nightingale is undead. And it's obvious how." Damian presses.

"I will make the call. Red Robin, keep looking. I'll type up the rest of the abilities and send them to you all. Everyone working with me officially, no one goes on patrol alone. We work in pairs until further notice. Everyone bring with them the anti-vampire precautions we have until we have better options." Batman commands to the group. He zeroes in on Jason, and Jason gears up to rip Bruce a new one for treating him like he's still one his birds.

But that's not what happens. "And Red Hood. Just...be careful."

Instead of acknowledging the icky ooey gooey feelings, Jason snorts derisively. "I'll tell my guys and girls to keep a lookout. If anyone goes missing I'd bet ya a thousand it'll be one of mine. Everyone knows no one's gonna call the cops." He turns around and stuffs his pockets with the gadgets, and Dick threw him a blood bag. "Later assholes."

Jason revs his bike. Tonight, he'll make his rounds, doing what said he would. And hey. Probably hit up that rage room in Bristol he goes to in civvies. Crime's been real quiet recently, and he knows it's likely purposeful.

That pisses him off that they think they can hide from him forever in his own territory.

Tonight's been bad, too. He'd rather go beat up some stupid garbage than risk a pit rage on some numb nut that at most only needs a couple slices to catch his drift. Heh. He's gonna see if they'd let him tape a pic of Dracula to a TV so he can cave his face in post-mortem.