#bread bin (ask box)

[etheralisi]

Boop!

Evil Boop >:)

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi!!!! I'm currently indulging in your adorable fluff fics about our beloved COD men!! They are FREAKING ADORABLE.

Could you write one imagine with just pure cute, domesticated fluff? Like married life/life w kids or smth with TF141. I'm up for anything haha. It's okay if u don't want to ! 😄<33

I did have someone request domestic fluff not too long ago, but I couldn't help myself. I had to jump on your ask, anon, and write some more domestic fluff!! You can read that other domestic fluff imagines fic here. I incorporated some dad!141 here with Ghost and Price. The whole thing is just softness and sweetness. Enjoy!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: domestic fluff, dad!Price, dad!Simon

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

This isn’t John’s thing, but he’ll do it for his daughters.

John sits at one end of the table while you sit on the other, your two daughters seated on either side. His three favorite girls are all dressed up. You’re decked out in a witch’s outfit, something you found stowed away in a storage bin. His two daughters with you are dressed up like their Dungeons & Dragons characters. One, a wood elf ranger. The other, a half-elf cleric.

John isn’t dressed up, but from the character sheet you’ve put in front of him, his name is Gurlak, a half-orc barbarian. Rip and tear. Punch and smash. Easy. He can do that.

Family board game night has become Dungeons & Dragons night. The girls’ school started a club, and now they’ve brought it home, completely obsessed with it.

“From the dark,” you begin, lowering your voice. The girls lean in, eyes wide. “Yellow eyes peer back at you.”

The girls giggle, the youngest bouncing in her chair.

John smiles, and sighs with contentment. He wishes every night could be like this.

Your hands raise high above you, and then smack against the table. The girls jump, startled.

“Roll initiative!”

John "Soap" MacTavish

It’s early, and Johnny is determined. Upstairs, your alarm is off, silenced on purpose.

Before him on the kitchen counter is everything he needs to prepare breakfast. Eggs, bacon, batter for pancake and waffles, fresh fruit, shredded potatoes—an endless list of items that covers the granite countertop in a sea of colorful boxes and containers.

With the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips, Johnny begins warming pans and popping slices of bread into the toaster. He melts into the work, slicing fruit, placing bacon in the pan to sizzle. Johnny’s minds drifts, and with his back turned to the stove, he doesn’t notice the bacon fat as it urges toward flame.

It’s the whiff of something burning that distracts him from turning a strawberry into a flower. Then the shriek of the smoke detector.

“Hells,” he mutters, snagging the smoking pan and dumping it into the sink. He opens the window.

“What’s happening?” You rub at your eyes, sleep lacing your tone.

Johnny shrugs sheepishly. “Making you breakfast? Burning the house down?”

You blink, and then laugh, rushing to turn the vent fan on, the two of you laughing as you clear the house of smoke.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle awakens in the dark. Immediately, without even having to turn over, he knows you’re not in bed. That familiar weight is missing.

With a slight twist, Kyle reaches out, finding only coldness. Stretching, Kyle sits up, glancing around the silent bedroom. All is still and dark. The bathroom door is cracked, but the light isn’t on. Slowly, with sleep still clinging to his muscles, Kyle guides himself from bed, heading for the door. Out in the hall, he walks toward the living room, knowing that you might be curled up on the sofa, completely absorbed in a book.

But you are not on the sofa with your book and blanket.

Kyle finds you in the kitchen, the double doors of the refrigerator standing open, the harsh light bathing you in its glow.

“Midnight snack?” asks Kyle.

You pop your head out from around the door, chewing on something. Kyle snorts and saunters over, coming up behind you. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he places his chin on your shoulder.

“Willing to share?” he murmurs.

“Not if it’s ice cream,” you reply.

Kyle smiles, and places a kiss your neck. You lean into him, and Kyle pulls you closer.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Dinner is always chaotic, but everyone sits at the table.

Simon forks up some of his lasagna, popping it into his mouth as he grabs the plate of his youngest. Using the child-size plastic knife and fork, he starts hacking away at her portion of lasagna, cutting it into smaller pieces. She watches, pointing and directing while chewing on her garlic bread when she thinks Simon isn’t cutting the pieces small enough for her liking.

The two middle children fuss and argue at each other from across the table. They both want the bottle of salad dressing, but only one manages to snag it before the other. She shakes the bottle, pops the tab, and a massive wad of ranch splatters across her plate. Her sister laughs in her face, and then complains loudly when half of the smeared ranch ends up on her plate.

Simon glances up, finds you in conversation with the oldest as she shows off her report card. His heart flips, surges, becomes so full that it’s prone to bursting. Most of his life, a family seemed a distant, unobtainable dream. But surrounding him is all he cares about in this world.

He couldn’t be happier.

[thedensworld]

Out The Door | l. c

Pairing: Idol Chan! x Reader!

Genre: exes au!

Type: angst, fluff

Word count: 15k

Summary: Chan was certain that you two should never have broken up. So, he made up his mind—he was going to find a way to be with you again.

Chan smirked at the bouquet of roses sitting on his counter, the vibrant petals almost mocking him. He felt betrayed—by himself, by the memories that refused to fade. Who was there to blame? It was February 14th, after all. A day that used to mean something. A day when he’d pick out flowers for you—never chocolates, because you didn’t like them.

Now, he was on the verge of laughing at himself. How pathetic was it that, even after a year, he still remembered every little thing about you? The way you preferred lilies over roses but accepted them anyway because he had terrible taste in flowers. The way you’d roll your eyes at grand gestures but secretly adored them. The way Valentine’s Day had never really mattered to you—until it did.

And yet, here he was, staring at a bouquet that wasn’t even meant for you, feeling like a fool.

"That's pretty," you had said a year ago, your gaze lingering on the red roses displayed in the flower shop window as you passed by.

"You want it?" Chan had asked playfully, his tone light but his intent obvious. He would have gotten them for you in a heartbeat.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's no reason to get me flowers."

Chan had only smiled, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek as he steered the wheel with his other hand. His voice was soft yet certain when he said, "I don't even need a reason to give you the world."

Now, standing in his kitchen, Chan exhaled sharply, shaking his head at himself. How pathetic. How utterly ridiculous that even after a year, the memory still clung to him like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

Pushing himself up from the barstool, he grabbed the bouquet in one swift motion. His strides were long and deliberate as he walked to the bin, gripping the same exact roses you had once admired. Without a second thought, he tossed them in.

The petals rustled against the trash bag, a quiet, almost mocking sound. Chan stared for a moment longer, then turned away, jaw clenched.

It was just a bouquet of flowers. Just another February 14th. And yet, it still felt like letting go.

The doorbell rang. Chan let out a sigh, already knowing who it was. It had to be Hansol and Seungkwan.

Dragging himself toward the monitor, he glanced at the screen and chuckled when his guess was confirmed—his two friends stood outside, waiting.

"Go," Chan muttered as he pressed the button to let them in.

He barely lifted his finger before Hansol’s amused laughter came through the speaker, followed by Seungkwan’s dramatic whine. "Why? We brought chicken!"

Shaking his head, Chan unlocked the door. Moments later, they strolled into his living room like they owned the place, setting down a box of fried chicken and a few cans of beer on the coffee table. Chan simply stood there, watching them move around, as if they had done this a thousand times before.

"Why are you guys here?" he finally asked, settling onto the couch.

"Can’t we visit our favorite little brother?" Seungkwan teased, grinning.

Chan cringed. "Never say that again."

Hansol chuckled, stretching his arms before reaching for a can of beer. "There’s a new chicken shop nearby. Everyone says it’s good."

Chan smirked at the excuse. Yeah, right. Deep down, he knew the truth.

A year ago, they were here too. Sitting in this very spot. Eating chicken. Drinking beer. Trying to distract him the night you walked out of his life.

*

Chan stepped into the bakery, his eyes instinctively scanning the space. The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, but it did little to calm the nervous hammering in his chest. His breath hitched at the thought of seeing you again.

Hansol—completely out of sobriety that night—had blurted out something that caught Chan off guard. His so-called "new favorite bakery," the one where he always grabbed kaya bread before practice, was your bakery.

"She opened a bakery?" Chan had blinked, his voice laced with disbelief. Opening a bakery had always been your dream.

Hansol had nodded, looking almost guilty. "I've known since, like, half a year ago."

Seungkwan had chimed in with a sigh, "We’ve known. I told him about the bakery… and we met her."

Chan had tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"

Then, as if catching himself, he shook his head. "No—I mean… That’s great news. She always wanted this." He let out a forced chuckle, but the nervous energy lingered. "I just don’t get why you’re telling me now."

Seungkwan and Hansol exchanged glances before Seungkwan exhaled. "I met her last week," he admitted, pausing for a beat before continuing. "And… she asked about you."

Chan's stomach twisted. He swallowed.

"Now—hear me out," Seungkwan pressed on, his voice softer, more careful. "I know the breakup wasn’t great. I get it. But from where I’m standing, it seems like you two still have feelings for each other."

What made him say that?

Had he been that obvious? Had he been showing everyone that he still had feelings for you?

Chan didn’t like the thought of it. The idea that his emotions were visible—that anyone could see right through him—made his stomach churn. He didn’t want people to think he was pathetic, still holding on to someone who had walked away.

Still loving someone who had already left him.

"What can I help you with?" a shopkeeper asked as Chan wandered through the bakery, his eyes subtly scanning the space.

He turned his head, expecting—hoping—to see you. But it was just the shopkeeper.

Forcing a polite smile, Chan bit down on his lower lip, trying to push away his disappointment. "Do you have any recommendations?" he asked, shifting his attention to the employee.

The shopkeeper's face lit up as he gestured toward the sandwich section. "Here’s our new menu! We have tuna, beef, and bacon sandwiches—perfect for breakfast."

Chan nodded absentmindedly, barely registering the words. "I’ll take ten bacon and ten beef, please." He pulled his wallet from his pocket, handing over his card.

The shopkeeper quickly packed the order, then, to Chan’s surprise, handed him a cup of Americano with a bright smile. "This one’s on the house. Thank you so much!"

Chan hesitated before lifting the cup slightly in acknowledgment. "Oh, you don’t have to… but thanks," he murmured, accepting the drink.

Once he settled into his car, he glanced at the neatly packed boxes of sandwiches in the backseat. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head at himself. Pathetic.

Taking a sip of the Americano as he pulled onto the road, he let the familiar bitterness settle on his tongue—except, something was different. His brows furrowed as he pulled the cup away, eyeing it curiously.

That taste.

Americano with berry syrup.

Your favorite.

*

Chan scrunched up his face the moment the taste hit his tongue.

You burst into laughter at his expression, quickly pulling the cup away from him. "Why do you look like that?" you teased, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"It's weird!" Chan exclaimed, wiping his lips as if that would rid him of the lingering taste. "It’s bitter, sweet, and sour all at once. Coffee shouldn’t taste like this."

You smiled, holding the cup close to your chest. "No… it tastes good. It has everything—the sweetness, the bitterness, and the tang of berries. Just like life."

Chan let out a chuckle, raising a brow. "Since when did you get this sentimental?"

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "Excuse me? I’ve always been a sentimental person!"

Chan shook his head, giving you a playful look of disbelief. "You? Sentimental?" He scoffed. "You literally just leave my goodnight texts on read every night."

You giggled, tilting your head at him. "That’s because they’re too sweet. I was speechless."

Chan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, so you were so speechless that you couldn’t even type a single reply?"

Chan shook his head, exhaling as he tossed the empty cup into the trash before stepping into the practice room.

From across the room, Seungkwan’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of the plastic bags in Chan’s hands. He recognized the logo instantly—it was your bakery. His gaze flickered to Chan, suspicion creeping into his expression.

Hansol, however, was too excited about the food to notice anything. The moment he got his hands on a sandwich, he eagerly unwrapped it and took a huge bite. "This is delicious!" he mumbled, already reaching for another.

Seungkwan, still observing Chan, took a bite of his own.

"It does taste good. Where did you get this, Chan?"

Before Chan could answer, the other members in the room—who had also helped themselves to the sandwiches—started chiming in.

"Whoa, this is really good."

"I could eat this every day."

"Seriously, where did you buy these?"

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the growing pile of empty sandwich wrappers. He hadn't planned for this much attention.

"This is from the place where I always get my kaya bread," Hansol said nonchalantly, taking another bite.

But the moment the words left his mouth, his chewing slowed. His eyes widened as realization sank in, and he snapped his head toward Chan.

"Wait—really?!"

As if finally processing his own words, Hansol immediately glared at the younger, his eyes practically screaming, You went there?!

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided Hansol’s accusing stare. He knew this was coming. Meanwhile, Seungkwan let out a knowing exhale, arms crossed, as if he had expected this exact scene to unfold.

The other members, noticing the sudden shift in Hansol’s behavior, exchanged confused glances.

"What’s up with him?" one of them muttered, glancing between Hansol and Chan.

Seungkwan, ever the smooth talker, quickly waved them off with a casual grin. "Ah, you know Hansol. He’s just being a little extra again."

Hansol scoffed but kept his mouth shut, though the way he kept side-eyeing Chan made it obvious—this conversation wasn’t over.

*

"He came again today."

You glanced up as you packed the leftover pastries into the boxes Sunoo had set up on the counter. You knew exactly who he was talking about—Chan, your idol ex-boyfriend. But for the sake of keeping up appearances (and maybe your own pride), you feigned ignorance.

"Who?" you asked, keeping your voice light.

Sunoo shrugged, his legs dangling off the counter like a kid who had just discovered something amusing. His knowing smirk didn’t help.

"That well-known ex of yours," he mumbled.

You snorted. "No one even knows we were dating. Never got caught." There was a hint of pride in your voice, as if that secrecy had been some kind of achievement.

Sunoo rolled his eyes. "I mean that well-known person who also happens to be your ex-boyfriend. Stop pretending you're not affected! He’s been coming here almost every day for a week."

Your hands stilled for a moment, but you quickly resumed packing, forcing a chuckle. "Maybe he just really likes the sandwiches."

Sunoo gave you a deadpan stare. "Right. And I’m the Crown Prince of Korea."

"And?" you asked, sealing the box filled with leftover donuts before heading to the sink to wash your hands.

"And you’ve been hiding in the kitchen every single time he comes in, i thought you still love him." Sunoo huffed in frustration, arms crossed over his chest. The pout on his face made him look even cuter than usual, which only made you laugh.

"I do..." you admitted, drying your hands.

Sunoo’s eyebrows shot up. "Then?"

"That’s it," you shrugged, lifting the box into your arms.

Sunoo let out an exaggerated sigh, grabbing another box and trailing behind you as you made your way to the exit where your car was parked.

You popped open the backseat door and carefully placed the boxes inside. Tonight, you’d be dropping off the leftovers at the nearest police station—something you did regularly.

Sunoo, still not letting the topic go, leaned against the car with a pointed look. "With him constantly visiting, don’t you think it’s time to get back together? I mean, he might feel the same way."

You froze for just a second before turning to face him. Sunoo shifted under your gaze, suddenly looking unsure.

"Having the same feelings isn’t enough to get back together," you said softly.

Sunoo shrugged. "But at least it gives you a reason. Isn't love about finding a reason?"

You chuckled at his comment. "You're right. But how do you know that? Didn’t you just graduate high school?"

Sunoo snorted as if you had just said the dumbest thing he’d heard all year. "I might’ve dated more people than you, and I only graduated high school."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, his voice softened. "But really. Stop denying your feelings. That’s what’s hurting you the most."

You sighed, slipping into the driver's seat. Sunoo stood there, watching you expectantly, but you simply started the car and drove away.

You weren’t denying your feelings. You never had.

You let them flow, like water, even after breaking up with Chan. You still celebrated his birthday and his band’s anniversary by preparing special treats at your bakery. You still kept up with his activities on social media.

You never once denied the warmth that still lingered in your heart.

But you refused to give yourself false hope.

The idea that Chan might still feel the same way—it was too dangerous to entertain. When Seungkwan and Hansol had shown up at your bakery out of nowhere, catching you off guard, they reassured you that they held no resentment toward you. Then, just as casually, they mentioned that Chan had gone through the hardest year of his life after the breakup. That he hadn’t shown a single sign of moving on.

And that was unlike him.

This was Chan—a man who had never let himself be alone for long. A man who, before you, had always found himself in a relationship.

Yet, a year had passed since you walked out that door. And he was still alone.

*

Meeting you at the police station wasn’t something on his to-do list—not today, not this month, not even this year. Yet, here you were.

Chan had just been about to step out, his younger brother trailing behind him, when he saw you standing there, frozen in place, holding a box of what he assumed were pastries. The sight of you made his heart race, and he felt a mix of surprise and anxiety.

Beside him, his brother cleared his throat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t the reason Chan was here in the first place.

Great. Another reason to slap the remaining puberty out of his high school brother:

1. Getting into a fight with another student.

2. Making Chan come all the way here to pick him up.

3. And now—leading him straight to you.

Also, what the hell were you doing here with pastries?

Chan's mind raced. He hadn't seen you since the breakup, and now, here you were, looking as beautiful as ever.

Before either of you could speak, an officer approached, breaking the thick tension hanging between you and Chan.

"Ms. Ji, good evening. Long time no see," the officer greeted politely.

Chan immediately shifted his gaze, suddenly very interested in the interior of the police station. He kept his expression neutral, but his ears burned at the sound of your name.

You smiled at the officer, handing him the box of pastries. "Good job for today, Officer. Thanks for the hard work." Your voice was soft—just like it used to be when you’d ask him if he had eaten after a long, exhausting day.

The officer beamed at you. "You didn’t have to come all the way here for this, Ms. Ji. But thank you so much!"

Then, as if only just noticing the thick, unspoken air between you and Chan, the officer glanced between the two of you.

"Do you two know each other?" he asked, clearly curious.

Chan stiffened. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat felt dry.

But you? You barely hesitated.

"We’re acquaintances," you replied smoothly, sparing Chan the briefest glance before looking away again.

"I should go, good evening." You bid the officer goodbye with a polite nod, turning on your heel to leave. The officer walked you out to the entrance.

Chan looked conflicted, exhaling sharply before running a hand through his hair. Then, with a pointed look at his younger brother—a silent command—he made his intentions clear.

Go hail a cab.

For once, his brother didn’t argue. He simply sighed, pulling out his phone as he stepped toward the curb. Thank goodness. Even though he had just been detained for fighting with another student, at least he had the decency to recognize that Chan’s love life was a bigger mess.

Chan, however, had no time to dwell on that. His long strides carried him after you, his heartbeat picking up as the crisp night air bit at his skin.

"Hey."

You stopped.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the strap of your bag before you slowly turned to face him.

"Hey."

It had been over a year, yet your voice still sounded exactly the same—soft, steady, untouched by heartbreak.

Chan swallowed, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. How did you still manage to look so unaffected?

"You, uh… come here often?"

A dry breath of amusement left you as you tilted your head slightly. "If you’re trying to make a joke, that was a terrible attempt."

He huffed out a short chuckle, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, figured." His gaze flickered to the police station building, then back to the box in your arms. "You do this a lot? Bringing pastries to the station?"

You shrugged, adjusting your grip on the box. "Yeah. They work long hours, and I always have leftovers. Seemed like a good way to put them to use."

Chan nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. A small muscle in his jaw twitched, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.

Of course you’d do something like this. Thoughtful. Considerate. Always looking out for others.

Still the same.

And yet, he couldn’t say the same about himself.

The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words. The last time you had been this close, it had been different. Warmer. Familiar. Now, there was a distance that couldn’t be measured in steps.

Chan exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. "It’s been a while."

You gave a small nod, your gaze unreadable. "Yeah, it has."

There were a million things he wanted to ask. How have you been? Are you happy? Do you still think about me the way I still think about you? But instead, all that came out was—

"You look good."

The words settled between you, heavier than they should have been.

You pressed your lips together before offering a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Thanks."

Chan wanted to say more, to keep you standing there just a little longer, but before he could, a car honked nearby. His brother waved him over from the curb, signaling that the cab had arrived.

You took that as your cue to leave, adjusting your grip on the box before turning slightly. "I should get going."

He nodded, even though everything in him wanted to stop you. "Yeah… me too."

Another pause. Another breath caught between the past and present.

"Take care, Chan."

And just like that, you were walking away.

Chan stood there, watching as you disappeared down the sidewalk, his hands clenching into fists in his pockets.

Funny. He had spent so much time convincing himself that seeing you again wouldn’t change anything.

But now, he wasn’t so sure.

*

That night, Chan found himself doing something he never thought he would—scrolling through your social media. The account he had unblocked just hours ago.

You didn’t post often, just the occasional pictures with friends or snapshots of your bakery. But as he scrolled, his eyes caught on the details—the way your hair had grown out before you cut it again, the soft waves framing your face in a way that tugged at something deep in his chest. That image stayed with him longer than he expected, lingering in the back of his mind like an old song he couldn’t shake.

Then his finger stopped.

A photo of your bakery.

Decorated for his birthday.

Chan’s eyes narrowed, his breath catching slightly as he took in the details. His face on the banners, the pastries colored to match his band’s theme—every little thing meticulously arranged. And the post date? Just last month.

Why would you do this?

You had no reason to. You weren’t together anymore. If anything, he thought you resented the fact that he had chosen his career over you.

Wasn’t that why you broke up in the first place?

A strange feeling curled in his stomach. He didn’t know what it was—regret? Hope? Confusion?

But then, as he scrolled further, the feeling twisted into something else entirely.

A group photo.

You, smiling, standing among friends. And beside you, a man.

His arm slung casually over your shoulders. Too casual. Too comfortable.

Chan’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around his phone as he zoomed in slightly, analyzing the guy like it was second nature. As a man himself, he knew that kind of touch. It wasn’t just friendly. There was something in the way the guy stood close to you, the way he seemed at ease, like he belonged there.

"Who the hell is this?" he muttered, brows furrowing.

Like a magnet, his eyes kept finding the same man in different posts. Sitting beside you. Standing beside you. Slinging his arm around yours. Even touching your cheek in one picture—something that had Chan’s stomach flipping uncomfortably.

"What’s up with this guy?" He snorted, irritation creeping into his tone.

He tried to check the guy’s profile, but you hadn’t tagged anyone. Not a single name. Smart. Frustratingly so.

And then—

A notification.

You had just posted an Instagram story.

Chan tapped on it immediately.

A simple, cryptic sentence:

“Even if there’s a reason… could it be the reason?”

His brows shot up.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He stared at the words, trying to decipher them, trying to connect them to the birthday post, to the pictures with that guy, to you.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar creeping in—

The unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe—

He had been too late.

*

"That's your problem, Lee Chan. You're too possessive but insecure at the same time."

Seungkwan didn't hold back as he took a sip of his drink, lounging comfortably in his apartment. He, Jeonghan, and Chan had settled into an impromptu drinking session after Chan had shown up unannounced, dragging along bottles of soju and cans of beer—clearly looking for an outlet.

Jeonghan raised a brow, intrigued by the turn of conversation. “That could be true…”

Seungkwan chuckled, shaking his head. “That is true. If you want to have a good relationship, you only need one—either confidence or possessiveness. Look at Mingyu and Seungcheol hyung.”

"Seungcheol is a bit possessive, though," Jeonghan pointed out.

Seungkwan waved a dismissive hand. "That’s just a concept. It makes him look cute."

Chan groaned, running a hand down his face. “But think about it—how could I not be insecure when she never wanted to introduce me to her friends? Was it because of that guy?” His voice tightened on the last part, irritation creeping in.

Seungkwan sighed, exasperated. He pointed a finger at Chan to Jeonghan. “Look at this fool. You’re an idol, Chan. How could she introduce an idol as her boyfriend? Where’s your brain? Did you leave it behind at practice?”

Jeonghan nodded, though he was still weighing both sides. "I actually get where Chan’s coming from, though. Y/n is very beautiful, and she’s competent too—a lot of men want her. But she never really made it clear that she was off-limits.”

Chan’s eyes widened in relief. “Right?! And I was so patient, trying to understand her, trying to make it work. But she was the one who broke up with me?” His voice rose slightly, frustration evident. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a fresh wound rather than something that had happened a year ago.

He put his can of beer down a little too abruptly, the sound echoing in the quiet of Seungkwan’s living room.

Jeonghan glanced at him, amused but also slightly concerned. “What did she say when she broke up with you?”

Chan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. The memory crashed into him like a wave—too vivid, too raw, even after all this time.

It had been the day after Valentine’s Day.

Chan had just gotten back from a three-day trip abroad, exhausted beyond belief, desperate for nothing more than a proper rest. He had been on edge all day, feeling sensitive after the long flight. But the moment he stepped into his apartment, his fatigue was replaced by confusion.

Your suitcase was sitting in the living room.

Your bag rested beside it.

His heart sank.

Hadn’t you two been arguing all week? Was this about Valentine’s Day? Had it really come to this?

"Let’s not do this," Chan had said the moment he saw you emerge from the bedroom, another bag in your hand.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t even pause. You simply walked forward, grabbing your luggage as if he wasn’t even standing there.

Chan moved quickly, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. “Where are you going?”

Your expression was unreadable when you finally met his gaze. "Home."

Chan’s chest tightened. "This is your home," he insisted.

But you shook your head. "Let’s take a break."

Chan had never believed in breaks. There was no such thing in his dictionary. A break was just a softer way to say breakup. And if you wanted to break up, then he deserved to at least know why.

"Is this because I chose work over spending Valentine’s Day with you?" he demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.

You frowned slightly. "That’s what you think of me?" A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Then let’s say that’s the reason."

Chan’s frustration spiked. "What do you mean? At least explain it to me!"

You just shook your head again, gripping your luggage and moving past him.

"How can I let you go if you don’t tell me the real reason?"

That was when you turned to face him, your voice quiet but firm.

"You said it yourself— you chose work over me. That’s the reason."

Chan had stared at you, searching for something in your face. A crack in your expression. A hesitation. Anything that would tell him that you didn’t mean it.

But you nodded, steady. Unwavering.

"Yeah."

And then you walked out of the door, left him.

Back in Seungkwan’s apartment, silence stretched between the three of them after Chan finished recounting the memory.

Seungkwan was the first to break it, crossing his arms over his chest. "If I were you, I wouldn’t believe it."

Chan shot him a skeptical look. "Why? She said it herself."

Seungkwan sighed, shaking his head. “You know… sometimes women don’t tell the truth—not because they want to lie, but because they don’t want to hurt you more than necessary.”

Jeonghan, who had been silently listening, hummed in agreement.

"And maybe," Seungkwan added, his voice softer, "that was the least painful thing she could say to you."

*

"I'm sorry, but we're clo—"

Your words faltered the moment you saw who stood in front of the entrance.

Chan.

There, standing just beyond the threshold, was Chan. His presence felt almost out of place against the warm glow of your bakery’s lights, his frame silhouetted by the dim streetlamps outside. He held a paper bag in one hand, gripping it just a little too tightly. He looked unsure—out of place, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be standing there at all.

For a second, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was filled with things unsaid, memories neither of you had dared to touch for too long.

Then, finally, you found your voice.

"Chan… Hey," you greeted, pushing open the counter divider to step closer to him.

You glanced at the clock. 10 PM. The bakery had closed an hour ago, yet here he was, standing at your doorstep like he had something important to say.

"I haven’t come here in a week," he said abruptly, as if that explained his presence.

You nodded, already aware of it. It wasn’t hard to notice when someone like him stopped showing up. He had been coming almost every morning—until that night at the police station. After that, he disappeared.

Your eyes flickered to the bag in his hand. Before you could ask, he extended it toward you.

"I was in Italy for a week," he said, shifting slightly. "I got you a bottle of wine from a local winery there."

Surprise flickered across your face as you carefully took the bag from him. You peeked inside, fingers tracing over the sleek packaging before your eyes landed on the label.

Made in 1999.

Your lips parted slightly. That was the year Chan was born. The wine was as old as he was.

"You didn’t have to," you murmured, glancing up at him. "This must’ve been expensive."

Chan shrugged, his eyes darting toward the bakery’s interior instead of meeting yours. "I just… I wanted to thank you. For the birthday event. The fans must’ve loved it."

Your heart clenched at that. He was referring to the special decorations you had set up last month—his face on banners, pastries in his band’s colors. At the time, you weren’t even sure why you had done it. Maybe it was just an old habit you couldn't shake, or maybe it was something else.

You bit your bottom lip, your gaze shifting to the wine glasses sitting on a cabinet nearby.

Without thinking, you walked over, grabbing two and setting them on a small table near the counter.

"Let’s drink it together," you said, glancing at him over your shoulder.

Chan immediately waved his hand. "No, it’s a present. You should keep it."

You smiled, tilting your head slightly. "It’s okay." A small chuckle escaped your lips. "I don’t like drinking alone."

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Because once upon a time, he had been the one you shared drinks with. Late-night conversations, quiet moments, the kind of familiarity that felt effortless.

And now, standing across from him, you weren’t sure if you were trying to relive a memory—

Or trying to forget one.

"Your worker..." Chan started, his voice casual yet laced with something unreadable.

You turned to him as you poured the deep red wine into his glass, the rich aroma filling the small space between you. He looked as charismatic as ever, effortlessly commanding attention even in something as simple as denim pants and a loose white shirt. His long hair, tucked neatly behind his ears, framed his face in a way that made your breath hitch—a sight you hadn’t expected to affect you so much. Unfair. So much unfair.

"Sunoo?" You guessed, already knowing your overly enthusiastic employee was the likely subject. Sunoo had a knack for keeping the bakery alive with his energy and charm, but sometimes—just sometimes—you wished he’d mind his own business, that little menace.

Chan nodded, confirming your suspicion. "Yeah, I think it’s Sunoo. He always makes me that Americano with berry syrup."

You froze.

Oh, dear god.

You needed to sit down. Or disappear. Preferably both.

Internally, you launched into a full-scale attack on Sunoo. That little rascal. That absolute traitor. You should’ve known better than to trust him near the espresso machine unsupervised.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Oh my god. Chan, I am so sorry. You hate that flavor, don’t you?"

Chan chuckled, waving it off. "Yeah, but it’s fine. He didn’t know."

"No, it’s not fine!" you wailed dramatically, gripping the wine bottle like a lifeline. "I can’t believe he’s been sabotaging your morning coffee all this time. What should I do to make it up to you? Free pastries? Free coffee for life? A legally binding contract that bans Sunoo from touching the espresso machine ever again?"

Chan laughed, shaking his head. "You don’t have to do all that."

"No, I do," you insisted. "And while I’m at it, I might need to stage an intervention for Sunoo. What was he thinking? Who just decides to put berry syrup in an Americano?!"

Chan grinned, watching your mini meltdown with mild amusement. "Maybe he was just trying to be creative?"

You pointed an accusatory finger at him. "No. No. We do not encourage Sunoo’s creative coffee experiments. That’s how we ended up with the Matcha Espresso Disaster of last year."

Chan laughed even harder, and for a moment, the bakery felt a little lighter, like you weren’t two exes dancing around old wounds.

Still, you were going to have a very serious conversation with Sunoo in the morning.

"Have dinner with me."

Chan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the bakery, steady but carrying something unspoken—something heavy.

Your breath hitched for just a second. "I’m sorry, what?" The words tumbled out before you could catch them, your brows furrowing in disbelief.

Chan didn’t flinch. He only nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet urgency. "Have dinner with me this weekend. You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?"

A soft, nervous laugh escaped you, but it did nothing to ease the sudden tension that thickened the air. "Chan… I don’t think—"

"As a friend," he cut in, his voice quieter this time, almost pleading. "Just as a friend. Please." His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against the counter. "It’s been a while since we really talked."

Your chest tightened. You glanced down at the glass in your hand, as if the deep red of the wine might offer you an escape. "We’re talking now, aren’t we?" You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

Chan let out a breath—part scoff, part something else. Then, he leaned in just slightly, the warmth of his presence making it impossible to ignore him.

He licked his lower lip, eyes still on you, unwavering.

"Are we?"

*

You stepped into his house just as the clock struck seven. Chan’s eyes immediately landed on the plastic bag in your hand—probably filled with your favorite food, just like always. It was a habit of yours, bringing something to eat whenever you came over, as if his kitchen wasn’t enough. It was something so familiar, so you, that it almost made him forget how long it had been since you last stood here.

He held the door open as you slipped off your shoes and made your way to the living room.

"It's clean…" You remarked, your eyes scanning the space with mild surprise.

Chan let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tick. "Yeah… I try to keep it that way. But, you know, sometimes a hectic day hits, and it turns into a shipwreck."

You chuckled, settling onto his couch like you belonged there. And maybe that was what threw him off the most—you still fit into this space.

Chan swallowed and turned on his heel, heading toward the kitchen. He quickly grabbed a couple of containers for the food you brought, his hands moving on autopilot. But as he reached for a dish towel, he caught himself—he was stalling. Wiping down a bowl he’d already washed an hour ago just to keep busy, to calm the subtle panic creeping up his spine.

Because if he stopped moving, he’d have to face the fact that this was completely insane.

It had been an impulsive text, one he barely thought through before hitting send. Asking his ex to come over and hang out in his barely put-together apartment on his day off? He should’ve known better.

But what shocked him more was your response.

"Sure."

So casual. So effortless. So unlike the emotional mess he’d expected.

Chan had to check his phone twice to make sure it was actually you who replied.

And now here you were, sitting on his couch like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he stood in his kitchen trying to push down the ridiculous amount of effort he put into cleaning just because you were coming over.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Or maybe… he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Chan approached you, setting the containers down on the coffee table before crouching beside you to help unpack the food. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he pulled out a box, and for a moment, he wondered if you noticed. If you cared.

"You didn’t have to bring anything," he commented, glancing at you as he reached for another container. "We could’ve just ordered something."

"You say that like you don’t miss my good taste," you teased, but there was something softer in your voice—something familiar.

Chan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. But the moment his eyes landed on what you’d brought, he froze.

His favorite snack.

He blinked, his fingers still hovering over the box as realization settled in.

"I brought this for you," you said, casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "It’s from your favorite place."

Chan finally looked up at you, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. "That’s pretty far…"

He knew neither your place nor your bakery was anywhere near the restaurant.

You shrugged. "I went there this morning and got this on my way home. It’s already cold, though."

Cold? Did he care about that? Not at all.

The only thing that mattered was that you thought of him. That you saw the place, remembered him, and stopped to grab something for him.

His chest felt tight, like something warm was curling inside it, something he couldn’t quite name. Instead, he exhaled a quiet laugh and nudged the box closer to himself.

"You remembered," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

And for the first time that night, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he still had a place in your heart.

Chan cleared his throat, pushing away the warmth creeping up his chest. He didn’t want to dwell on it—not now, not when you were sitting here in his living room, casually unpacking food like old times. So instead, he latched onto the first neutral topic that came to mind.

"What about your bakery?" he asked, picking up a piece of the snack you’d brought. "Who’s taking care of it while you’re here?"

You glanced at him before reaching for a pair of chopsticks. "It’s closed today."

"Really?" Chan raised a brow. "You barely take a day off."

You nodded, leaning back slightly against the couch. "Sunoo, my part timer, his grandmother passed away. He went back to his hometown for the funeral."

Chan’s expression softened at that. He remembered that part timer, the one that always gave him americano with berry syrup. "Ah… That’s tough. He must’ve been close to her."

"He was," you said, stirring the food absentmindedly. "She basically raised him. That’s why I went to his hometown this morning—to pay my respects."

Chan stilled for a second, his grip on his chopsticks tightening just slightly.

You went all the way there?

His eyes flickered to you, studying your face, but you looked calm—like it was only natural for you to go.

Of course. That was just the kind of person you were. Always showing up for the people you cared about.

Chan exhaled, setting his food down. "You must be exhausted then. Going all the way there and then coming here?"

You tilted your head, as if just realizing it yourself. "Maybe a little," you admitted. "But it’s fine."

Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You should’ve just gone home to rest."

You shot him a small smirk. "And miss the chance to see your shipwreck of a house? No way."

Chan let out a laugh, finally letting the warmth settle. Once again, maybe, he wasn’t the only one holding on to things that felt familiar.

*

Chan woke up feeling refreshed this morning. He stretched his limbs, tossing and turning in bed to shake off the lingering sleepiness before finally rolling out and heading to change into his workout gear.

On his way to the gym, his fingers were busy scrolling through his phone, instinctively opening your chat from last night after you went home. He hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to send you a message.

A morning text? Too much.

A witty text? Maybe something playful—

"Hey... I dreamed about you last night ;)"

Chan grimaced. Nope. That sounded like a terrible idea for a text to an ex.

Before he could think further, his thumb betrayed him.

"Hey.."

His eyes widened. He gasped.

Did he just—

Chan stopped in his tracks, staring at his screen in horror. Maybe if he deleted it fast enough—

Ding.

Your reply came almost instantly.

"Hey."

Chan blinked. Then exhaled, pressing his lips together to suppress a stupid smile.

Chan: In your bakery?

You: Yup!

Chan: Can I visit after my gym session?

You: Sure. I'll get your sandwich ready then. Bacon?

Chan: Perfect. See you then!

Chan breathed a sigh of relief, his heart feeling oddly lighter as he continued his walk to the gym.

Upon arriving, he spotted Jihoon—a rare sight at this hour. Given that it was still their day off, the older guy usually wasn’t functional before 1 PM.

"You’re here early," Chan noted as Jihoon finished his set, placing the dumbbells down with steady breaths.

Jihoon nodded. "Got an agenda this afternoon."

Chan smirked, whistling playfully. "Oh? That sounds suspicious—"

Jihoon shot him a glare. "Don’t look at me like that as if you weren’t with your ex last night."

Chan’s smirk instantly dropped. His eyes widened. He stepped closer to Jihoon, lowering his voice. "How do you know?"

Jihoon gave him a flat look. "I saw you sending her off. We live in the same area, genius."

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. Right. He forgot about that.

Jihoon tilted his head slightly, arms crossed. "So… you two back together?"

Chan shook his head, trying to dismiss whatever was running through Jihoon's mind. "We’re just talking again. As friends, I guess? Yeah..." He nodded, as if saying it out loud would make it more true.

Jihoon hummed, wiping his hands with his towel. "Uh-huh."

Chan shot him a look. "What?"

Jihoon shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Nothing. Just funny, that’s all."

Chan rolled his eyes and checked the time. "I don’t know why I still talk to you."

Jihoon chuckled. "Because you need someone to call you out on your denial."

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not in denial."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Jihoon said, patting his shoulder before grabbing his own water bottle.

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally giving in. "Alright, fine. I’ll tell you what happened."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Go on."

Chan leaned against a nearby bench, crossing his arms. "Yesterday, I invited her over. It was kind of impulsive, but she said yes."

Jihoon nodded, waiting for more.

"So, I spent the whole damn day cleaning my place—like, deep cleaning, man. I don’t even know why, but I just wanted it to look nice."

Jihoon smirked but didn’t interrupt.

"She showed up with food, her usual thing, right? But this time, she brought my favorite snack. And guess what? She got it from that place across town—the one that’s way out of her way."

Jihoon let out a low whistle. "That’s commitment."

Chan ignored the way his stomach flipped at that. "I didn’t even know what to say. I just—man, she thought about me while she was out there. That kind of messed with me a little."

Jihoon gave him a knowing look. "And you’re still calling this just talking?"

Chan shot him a glare. "Let me finish."

Jihoon held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Continue."

Chan exhaled. "We talked, she told me about Sunoo, her staff—he’s dealing with some family stuff, so she visited his hometown earlier that morning."

Jihoon’s expression softened. "Oh, that’s rough."

"Yeah, she closed the bakery for the day because of it. Which means she didn’t even have to be up early, but she still went out of her way for all that."

Jihoon hummed, the teasing tone fading slightly. "She cares, Chan."

Chan rubbed his neck. "I know."

A beat of silence passed before Jihoon smirked again. "And then this morning?"

Chan let out a short laugh. "Woke up feeling... I don’t know, refreshed? Like, it wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t exactly normal either."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. "You felt happy."

Chan groaned. "Why do you have to say it like that?"

Jihoon chuckled. "Because it’s the truth."

Chan shook his head. "Anyway, I’m stopping by the bakery after this. She’s already making my usual sandwich."

Jihoon grinned. "She remembers your usual? And you’re still trying to act like this is casual?"

Chan shot him a look. "Hyung."

Jihoon laughed, slapping Chan’s shoulder. "Alright, alright. But I’m telling you, man, this? This is not just talking."

Chan sighed but didn’t argue. Because deep down, he knew Jihoon was right.

*

Days passed, and without either of you realizing it, things started to shift.

It wasn’t a sudden, dramatic change—it was subtle, natural, as if the distance that had settled between you was melting away piece by piece. Conversations stretched longer, laughter came easier, and before Chan knew it, you were slipping back into his life the way you always belonged.

And then, one night, it happened.

A kiss.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t talked about—it just happened. Maybe it was the way you looked at him when you laughed, maybe it was how the night air felt warmer with you by his side, or maybe it was just that deep, undeniable pull that had never really left.

But the moment his lips met yours, he knew.

This is it.

This was the cue. The silent signal that everything was starting again, that whatever had broken before was slowly, steadily piecing itself back together.

From then on, Chan didn’t hesitate. After his schedule, he would drive to your bakery just to pick you up, sometimes without even texting beforehand. He’d lean against the counter, watching as you wrapped up the last orders, his presence so familiar that even your staff stopped questioning it.

"Long day?" you’d ask, handing him a cup of tea or whatever you’d decided he needed that day.

And he’d smile, nodding as he took the cup from your hands. "Better now."

Sometimes, the two of you would just drive around with no real destination, the quiet hum of the car and the city lights making everything feel weightless. Other times, you’d take slow walks through empty streets, talking about your days, about nothing and everything at once.

It felt easy. It felt right.

And Chan?

Chan felt like he was finding a part of himself that had been lost all this time.

You.

Chan stepped inside your house, his gaze instinctively sweeping over your living room. It looked different from last year. The cute trinkets and soft pastels that once decorated every corner were gone, replaced with a more refined, mature aesthetic. The change was subtle, but he noticed. It wasn’t just the decor that had shifted—something about the entire space felt different, as if time itself had settled into the walls.

His eyes drifted to the kitchen, where a few dishes sat in the sink, remnants of breakfast still lingering on the counter. Maybe you hadn’t gotten around to cleaning, or maybe you’d spent the night experimenting with new recipes for your bakery. Either way, it was lived-in, real—you. And Chan liked that. It felt warm, like home, like the way you used to make his kitchen feel.

"You want tea? Coffee?" you asked, already moving toward the kitchen.

Chan shook his head, stepping closer. "No need to get your hands busy. Just sit with me," he murmured, tapping the empty space beside him on the couch.

You hesitated for a second before joining him, barely getting comfortable before he pulled you into his arms.

"I like this…" he muttered, his voice low, as if he was admitting something to himself more than to you.

A soft laugh escaped you. "Like what?"

"This," he whispered, arms tightening around you just enough for you to notice. "Being here with you again."

Your breath caught for a moment. His warmth, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne—it all felt so natural, so right. Like something neither of you had ever truly let go of.

You sighed, relaxing into him. "I missed this too."

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of your breathing against Chan’s chest. His arms tightened around you slightly, as if grounding himself in this moment, as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.

You shifted just enough to look up at him, and Chan’s gaze met yours—warm, searching, lingering. His fingers brushed lightly along your arm before trailing up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"You’re staring," you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice.

"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation, his lips curling into a small smile. "I missed looking at you."

Your breath hitched slightly, your heart betraying you with the way it picked up pace. There was something so effortless about Chan, the way he could make you feel like the only person in the world with just a look.

"Then make up for lost time," you whispered.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation flashing in his features for just a second—one last moment of restraint before he closed the distance between you.

The first brush of his lips was slow, careful, almost like he was testing the waters. But the second? The second was deeper, fuller, laced with all the unsaid words and emotions that had been hanging between. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to his as he pressed in closer, his thumb stroking gently along your cheek.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed—it was unhurried, savoring, like both of you wanted to memorize this moment, to make sure it wasn’t just a fleeting dream.

Chan sighed against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Tell me this isn't just nostalgia," he whispered, voice slightly breathless.

You shook your head, brushing your fingers through his hair. "It’s not."

Relief washed over his face before he captured your lips again, this time with more certainty. Like he wasn’t just falling—he was diving headfirst. And this time, he wasn’t afraid of the landing.

Chan woke up with you in his arms almost every morning. Not that he planned it every time, but he tried—and he could. Sometimes he crashed at your place, claiming it was too late to drive home. Other times, he dragged you to his, using the excuse that his bed was bigger, softer, warmer. The truth was, he just wanted to see you first thing in the morning.

Like now.

He blinked against the morning light filtering through your curtains, the weight of your body pressed against his chest grounding him in the best way. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, your hand lazily resting on his hoodie, the fabric bunched slightly in your grasp as if even in your sleep, you didn’t want him to go.

Chan smiled, his fingers brushing along your back, tracing idle patterns. You stirred slightly, a soft hum escaping your lips before your body relaxed again.

"You're staring," you mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

Chan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah. I like looking at you."

"You say that too much," you whined, but the way your fingers curled against his hoodie betrayed the warmth spreading through you.

"Then you should get used to it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop."

You sighed, tilting your head up just enough for your lips to find his. It was slow, lazy—like the morning itself, like neither of you were in any rush to move, to leave the bubble of warmth you’d created. Chan sighed into the kiss, his hand slipping under the hem of your sweater, resting against the bare skin of your waist.

"You have to open the bakery today?" he asked between kisses.

You hummed, but made no move to pull away. "Not until ten."

Chan smirked. "That means we have at least two more hours."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already curving into a smile as Chan flipped you onto your back, leaning over you with that mischievous look in his eyes—the one that always, always made you weak.

"Two hours," you reminded him, though the way you pulled him closer told a different story.

"Plenty of time," he whispered before capturing your lips again.

*

"You're back together."

Hansol mentioned it too casually one day during their recording session for the next comeback, his voice carrying over the hum of instruments and the quiet chatter of the producers.

Chan raised a brow, glancing at him from his seat. "How do you know? Jihoon hyung told you?"

Hansol furrowed his brows. "Jihoon hyung knew?"

Chan let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean—he saw us. So..."

Hansol nodded slowly, then sighed, arms crossed over his chest. "I saw her in your clothes this morning. That shirt—I gave it to you."

Chan’s mouth formed an "O" as realization hit. Right. That oversized, faded gray shirt you had grabbed from his closet before rushing out the door.

"You're right..." He huffed a laugh before shrugging. "And yeah, we’re talking again."

Hansol smirked. "Isn’t it a bit much to be wearing your clothes in the morning while still in the ‘talking again’ phase?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "Hey, respect all the effort. It took me a whole year to finally realize everything."

Hansol’s smirk softened into something gentler. "Well, I’m happy for you, though." His voice was quieter now, more sincere.

Chan met his gaze, the corners of his lips twitching up. It felt nice, hearing that from Hansol—like the pieces of his life were finally clicking back into place.

"Did Seungkwan know about this?" Hansol asked suddenly, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Chan blinked, then quickly shook his head. "Haven’t told him yet."

Hansol snorted. "Oh, that’s gonna be fun."

The next day, Seungkwan strolled up to Chan with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest like he was about to deliver some sort of life-altering news.

"You’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday," Seungkwan started, watching Chan’s face closely.

Chan barely looked up from his phone, tapping out a quick message before pocketing it. "Who?"

"Wonha."

That got Chan’s attention. He blinked, brows furrowing slightly as he tried to place the name properly. Wonha. His ex from his early twenties. One of the few exes he actually had a good relationship with after the breakup.

"Huh," Chan muttered, tilting his head. "How’s she doing?"

Seungkwan raised a brow. "She’s doing well. And—" He leaned in slightly as if dropping a bombshell. "She asked for your number."

Chan blinked again, this time in mild surprise. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Said she wanted to catch up."

Chan leaned back in his chair, processing that. Wonha had always been a good friend, even when they realized romance wasn’t for them. There was no dramatic fallout, no resentment. Just two people who grew apart but still wished each other well.

"Did you give it to her?"

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. "Would I be telling you this if I didn’t?"

Chan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess not."

And so, he waited. Not anxiously, not with any particular anticipation, but with a vague curiosity. He knew he wouldn’t reach out first—that wasn’t his style. If she really wanted to talk, she’d text.

And she did.

A simple Hey, Chan! It’s been forever. How’ve you been? popped up on his screen later that evening.

Chan hesitated for half a second before typing back.

Hey, Wonha! Yeah, it has been. I’ve been good. You?

The conversation flowed easily after that, casual and familiar. Like two old friends catching up. Because that’s all it was. A friendly catch-up.

Or at least, that’s what Chan told himself.

The next day, Chan found himself spending the entire afternoon at your bakery, pretending he was just there to help out but mostly just looking for excuses to be near you. He chatted with Sunoo, stole a few samples of the new pastries you were testing, and even helped clean up when things got a little messy in the kitchen. But really, he was just waiting for the clock to hit nine.

And the second it did, he was already grabbing your coat from the rack and tossing it over your shoulders.

"Let's go," he said, nudging you toward the door.

You raised a brow, amused by his impatience. "I need to close up first, you know?"

"I’ll help," he insisted, already moving to flip the sign to closed and gathering whatever needed tidying up.

It barely took five minutes before he was pulling you to his car, a familiar routine by now—one that neither of you questioned anymore.

"Where to?" he asked, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he glanced at you.

You hummed, thinking. "Han River. Convenience store. Instant noodles and maybe a can of beer."

Chan grinned, nodding as he shifted gears. "Classic."

The drive was smooth, city lights blurring past as the two of you fell into easy conversation about your day. It was moments like this that made Chan realize how much he had missed this—the late-night drives, the effortless company, the way you made him feel like no matter how exhausting his schedule was, this was always worth it.

When you arrived, the convenience store was quiet, only a few other night owls scattered around, either enjoying their own late-night snacks or lost in their own worlds. Chan grabbed a basket, filling it with your usual picks—two cups of instant noodles, a can of beer for you, and a bottle of water for himself. He threw in a bag of chips for good measure before heading to the cashier.

As you both settled at one of the outdoor tables overlooking the river, the crisp night air wrapped around you, but it wasn’t cold. Not with Chan beside you.

"You ever think about how we always end up here?" you mused, watching the steam curl up from your noodles.

Chan chuckled, tapping his chopsticks against the rim of his cup. "Yeah. It’s like our thing, isn’t it?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "Our thing."

Chan watched you for a moment, something warm settling in his chest. Maybe it had always been this simple. Maybe it had always been you.

After a while, between bites of noodles and sips of beer, the conversation flowed effortlessly—talking about anything and everything, teasing each other, reminiscing old memories. The laughter came easily, and for Chan, it felt like breathing.

Then someone approached.

"Chan?"

He looked up, chopsticks frozen mid-air, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Wonha?"

She smiled, standing there with casual ease, as if running into him was the most natural thing in the world. They greeted each other, the familiarity still lingering despite the years apart.

Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity flickering in her expression. "And you are...?"

Chan blinked. He hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about how to define this, to define you. Girlfriend? Ex? Friend? What were you now?

"We're close," he finally said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

You, ever composed, simply smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Y/n."

Wonha shook your hand, offering a polite nod. The conversation that followed was friendly—catching up, lighthearted small talk. Wonha mentioned she was back in town for a while, talked about work, asked about Chan’s schedule. But despite the casual nature, there was an underlying awkwardness, a tension Chan couldn’t quite shake.

And when Wonha finally excused herself, the silence she left behind was even heavier.

You didn’t say anything at first, just finished the last of your drink, eyes focused on the rippling water of the river. Chan shifted in his seat, glancing at you, waiting for you to say something—anything.

Then, after what felt like forever, you spoke.

"Let’s go home."

It was simple, but it carried weight.

Chan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Finally, the silence is cut.

He nodded, standing up and grabbing the trash, his mind racing as he followed you back to the car.

*

Chan couldn’t reach you for almost a week. At first, he thought you were just busy. He texted, called a couple of times, but the replies were short, if they came at all. He even stopped by your bakery, only to have Sunoo mention in passing that you had gone on a business trip to another town.

That was when the uneasy feeling started creeping in.

You hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip to him. And worse—when he thought about it, he realized you had been slowly distancing yourself for the past week. Maybe even longer.

He wanted to believe he was overthinking, but deep down, he knew better. You were avoiding him.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, another problem decided to make an appearance.

That morning, his phone was bombarded with notifications—texts, calls, mentions. At first, he thought it was just another work update or a group chat going off. But then Seungkwan's name flashed on his screen.

"Congrats, man. So, when were you planning to tell us?"

Chan frowned. "Tell you what?"

Seungkwan sighed dramatically. "The dating news, obviously. Your article is everywhere."

Chan's heart dropped. He pulled up social media, and there it was—a headline with his name splashed all over the place:

"Seventeen's Dino spotted on a date? Rumors of a relationship surface after café sighting!"

Accompanied by a picture.

A picture of him sitting across from a girl at a café.

And the girl in the photo?

It wasn’t you.

It was Wonha.

Chan froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. His members started chiming in one by one—congratulations, playful teasing, all assuming the article was true.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "This isn’t true."

The only thing he could do now was call the company, demand a clarification, and make sure the world knew that Wonha was just a friend.

But even if he could fix this problem, there was still you.

And right now, you were already slipping away.

"Why don’t you ask the girl you met at the café about her?"

Sunoo’s response was sharp, his words slicing through the tension in the air. Chan had barely stepped foot into the bakery before being met with that cold remark.

It had been a week since the scandal broke, a week since he had last seen you. And now, here he was, standing in the familiar warmth of your bakery, trying to explain himself.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Chan started, his voice firm but laced with frustration. “The media twisted it, like they always do.”

Sunoo didn’t look convinced. He crouched behind the counter, rummaging for something, before standing back up and placing a small sign in front of the register.

Chan furrowed his brows, reading the words aloud.

"House reserves the right to refuse service to anyone."

"Wait—this is a thing?" Chan asked, blinking in disbelief. He had never seen that sign here before.

Sunoo nodded, arms crossed. "House rule. F&B industry stuff. You wouldn’t understand since you come from entertainment."

Chan let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes. "You keep talking about industries. Why don’t you just tell me where Y/n is?"

Sunoo’s expression hardened. He leaned against the counter, gaze unwavering. "Why? You want to see her? Talk to her? Do you always check in on your ex like this?"

Chan felt his breath hitch. "What are you talking about?"

But before Sunoo could respond, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. In an instant, his demeanor shifted.

"Welcome!" Sunoo greeted with a bright, polite voice, flashing a smile at the guest. But just before he turned away completely, he cast Chan one last glance—one filled with something unreadable.

And just like that, Chan was left standing there, feeling as though the ground beneath him had suddenly become unsteady.

"He's gone..." Sunoo murmured, still watching through the bakery window as Chan disappeared down the street.

You stepped out of the kitchen, wiping your hands on a towel before settling onto one of the bar stools. Your expression was unreadable, but Sunoo could see the tension in your shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

You let out a chuckle, though it lacked humor. "Why wouldn’t I be okay?"

Sunoo raised an eyebrow. "Well, for starters, you’ve been avoiding him for a week. And second, you were just hiding in the kitchen the moment he walked in."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "I was busy."

"Right," Sunoo drawled, crossing his arms. "Too busy to tell him you were going on a business trip? Too busy to tell him you're upset?"

You exhaled, resting your elbows on the counter as you looked down at your hands. "What do you want me to say, Sunoo?"

"Maybe the truth?" he suggested. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running away."

You bit your lip, but didn’t say anything.

Sunoo sighed, softening his voice. "You know, whatever it is you're feeling, you're allowed to feel it. You don’t have to act like nothing happened."

You glanced at him, eyes flickering with something close to hesitation. Sunoo didn’t push further, but he didn’t back down either.

"Just… think about it," he said before turning back to work, leaving you with your thoughts.

*

You went home, exhausted, only to halt in surprise at the sight of Chan squatting in front of your unit, scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his furrowed brows, but the moment his eyes caught yours, he stood up immediately.

"Now we meet," he said, his voice firm. You could hear the frustration laced in his words, see it in the way his shoulders tensed. But you were more upset than he was, and in your mind, he deserved every second of silence you'd given him.

"You're just going to give me the silent treatment? Like you always do?"

Your hand froze on the door handle. Slowly, you turned to face him.

"I thought we were over a year ago," you said, your tone indifferent.

Chan sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "And here I thought we had a chance."

You crossed your arms, looking at him with unreadable eyes. "What do you want, Chan?"

"You have no idea how crazy I’ve been this past week. After everything between us, you just disappeared, like you always do. This isn’t how you handle things. You don’t just vanish when things get tough."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes. "Oh, sure…" Lifting your head, you met his gaze with something sharp, something cold. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Playing with someone’s heart."

Chan's brows furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "What are you trying to say?"

"You’re good at it," you said, voice unwavering. "Messing with people's feelings."

His frustration cracked into something closer to disbelief. "You’re the one who left me. A year ago and now. Don’t make it seem like I was the one who walked out that night."

Your jaw clenched as you turned away, gripping the door handle once more. "You have no right to tell me that."

"Grow up."

You stopped.

"Nobody in this world is a mind reader," Chan continued, his voice quieter but no less firm. "So grow up and say what’s in your head. I can’t guess what you’re thinking, and I need you to tell me what’s wrong, what needs fixing. I know I lack a lot, but after everything—after seeing you again—I want to be better. But the way you treat me... it's making me feel small."

You didn't respond immediately, your heart pounding in your chest. His words hit you in places you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Have you ever thought," you started, voice softer now, "how things would’ve been different if you had asked me to stay that night?"

Silence.

You let out a breath, your lips curling into something bitter. "You wouldn’t know, would you? Because you never even tried. And that’s what hurt me the most."

Finally, you turned fully to him, looking straight into his eyes. "You never knew how hard it was to speak my mind just to be ignored. And that’s why you never understood how much it hurt."

Chan exhaled sharply, as if your words had physically struck him.

"And now, you want me to speak?" Your voice didn’t waver, but there was a slight tremble in your fingertips. "Tell me, Chan, if I do—will you actually listen this time?"

Chan stared at you, his lips parting as if he had something to say, but no words came out. The weight of your words sank into his chest, heavy and suffocating. He had spent so long trying to understand you, but he had never really asked himself whether he had truly listened.

His silence was enough of an answer.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned back to your door. “Exactly.”

Chan stepped forward, desperate. "I know I messed up. I know I should’ve done things differently, but Y/n, do you really think I didn’t want you to stay?"

You let out a dry laugh, gripping the doorknob but not turning it yet. "Wanting and actually doing something about it are two different things, Chan. And I waited—God, I waited for you to just say something. But you didn’t."

"I was scared," he admitted, voice raw. "I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without being selfish. I thought maybe—maybe if you left, you’d be happier."

You turned around, eyes narrowing. "And who gave you the right to decide what would make me happy?"

He faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I—"

"Chan," you sighed, your voice softer this time, tired. "I don’t want to do this again if it's just going to end the same way."

"Then don’t let it," he pleaded. "We can be better this time. I can be better. But I need you to talk to me. No more running, no more silence. Just us—figuring this out together."

You searched his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation, the regret. But was it enough?

"You broke my heart," you whispered.

Chan swallowed hard, his own heart aching at your confession. "I know," he said quietly. "But if you let me, I'll spend however long it takes putting it back together."

The air between you was thick with emotion, the past lingering like a ghost neither of you could quite shake. The choice was yours now. To let him try—or to walk away for good.

You let out a quiet sigh before pushing the door open wider. "Come in."

Chan hesitated for a second, as if he didn’t expect you to actually let him in, but he stepped inside nonetheless. You didn’t want anyone witnessing the two of you arguing in the hallway, and frankly, you were too tired for a public spectacle.

The door clicked shut behind you as you walked to the dining table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. You didn’t look at him. Instead, you focused on the smooth surface of the table, tracing invisible patterns with your fingertips.

Chan, meanwhile, stood by the window, three meters away. His hands were in his pockets, his back against the frame, his posture tense yet composed. His eyes weren’t on you either. The space between you was filled with silence—thick, suffocating, and louder than any argument you could’ve had outside.

Seconds stretched into minutes, neither of you speaking. The weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, settled heavily in the room.

Eventually, Chan broke the silence. His voice was quieter this time, hesitant but firm.

"Why did you leave that night?"

Your fingers stilled against the table. You swallowed, debating whether to answer honestly or give him the same indifference you had been holding onto.

"Because I was tired," you finally said. Your voice was calm, but the bitterness in it was unmistakable.

In the past, you had always known that Chan was friendly and well-liked. That wasn’t the problem. The problem started when you kept hearing from other people—friends, fans, even strangers—that he was still close with all of his exes. Some people even made jokes about how he had never been single for more than a month before jumping into another relationship.

At first, you brushed it off, trusting him. But over time, it started to bother you—not just the rumors, but the way Chan never reassured you about them. Instead of addressing your concerns, he dismissed them like they were insignificant.

“Why are you listening to those people? You know me.”

“Come on, it’s just people making up stories. Don’t let it get in your head.”

“So what if I’m on good terms with them? It’s called being mature.”

Every time you tried to talk about it, he shut it down, making you feel like you were overreacting. He never cheated, but he never made you feel secure either. And that’s what hurt the most—his failure to recognize that trust isn’t just about being faithful, it’s about making your partner feel like they’re the only one who matters.

As months passed, you tried to hold on, tried to trust him, tried to ignore the way doubt kept creeping into your heart. But it became exhausting—feeling like you were the only one fighting against the rumors, the only one trying to hold the relationship together.

Then, there was one final moment that broke you. Maybe it was another passing comment from someone about him still being close to a particular ex. Maybe it was seeing a picture of him with one of them, looking too comfortable, too familiar. Whatever it was, you tried one last time to make him understand.

“Chan, I’m tired of always hearing about you and your exes. I’m tired of feeling like I’m competing with ghosts.”

But instead of listening, he got defensive.

“You don’t trust me at all, do you? Why are you making this such a big deal?”

You sighed deeply, crossing your arms over your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together. “I was tired of fighting with my own thoughts. Because whenever I tried to bring them to the table, you brushed them away.”

Your voice was steady, but Chan could hear the exhaustion beneath it. That quiet kind of hurt—the one that lingers long after the wound is made.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I did that?”

You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yes. And I started to feel alone. Alone… alone… while you were out, hanging out—a lot—with your exes. And I was left by myself. I saw you that night. You were with your friends, and there was her…”

You didn’t have to say her name. He knew exactly who you were talking about.

Chan exhaled sharply, looking away. The weight of your words pressed against his chest, tightening like a vice.

He remembered that night—the night everything between you fell apart.

He could still hear his phone ringing, your name flashing on the screen. He had answered casually, thinking it was just another call. You told him you were at his place. You wanted to talk.

He said he’d be home soon. But he hadn’t meant it.

Instead, he stayed. Another drink. Another story. Another hour.

When he finally did go home, you were already waiting—but not in the way he had expected. You weren’t curled up on his couch, waiting to be held. You weren’t upset, demanding an explanation.

No, you were standing there—rigid, distant, already pulling away.

And before he could even process what was happening, before he could even reach for you—

You ended it.

Just like that. No screaming, no accusations, no dramatic fights.

Just quiet devastation.

“You didn’t trust me.” His voice barely broke the silence.

You met his eyes, and it sent a shiver down his spine. There was no hesitation when you answered.

“You’re right.”

The finality of it crashed into him like a wave.

Chan clenched his fists, his mind spiraling back to that night. He had stood there, watching you walk away, unable to move, unable to say a single word. Because at that moment, he was too caught up in himself.

He hadn’t thought about you. About how you had tried—again and again—to tell him what was wrong. About how you had begged, without ever raising your voice, for him to reassure you.

Instead, he had let his own frustration consume him. He had spent so long convincing himself that you were the problem—that you were overthinking, being irrational, asking for too much.

But now, hearing you say it so plainly—

You didn’t trust him. And he had given you every reason not to.

His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “You never told me why…”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable—hurt, regret, maybe even disappointment.

“Because you weren’t on the same page as me.”

Silence.

And it was deafening.

Because he knew it was true. Even if you had explained back then, he wouldn’t have understood. He would’ve dismissed it, convinced himself that you were just being insecure.

But this wasn’t insecurity.

This was trust breaking, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to hold onto.

And suddenly, he realized—you hadn’t left because you wanted to. You left because, at that moment, you had no other choice.

And that realization hurt more than he ever thought it would.

Chan knew he had lost you once because he failed to listen. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He stood there, leaning against your window frame, the weight of everything sinking in. The silence between you was thick—so many words left unspoken, so much hurt neither of you had truly acknowledged until now.

But this time, he wasn’t going to brush it aside. He wasn’t going to let his own emotions overshadow yours.

Chan took a slow breath and finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with raw sincerity. “I was selfish.”

You didn’t say anything, but the slight twitch in your expression told him you were listening.

“I thought I was doing enough just by being with you. I thought… if I wasn’t doing anything wrong, then there was nothing to fix. But I never stopped to ask myself if I was making you feel safe with me. If I was making you feel like you mattered.”

He pushed off the window frame, stepping closer. Not too close—just enough to show you that this time, he wasn’t running from the conversation.

“You were right to leave me that night,” he admitted. “Because I wasn’t ready to hear you. I wasn’t ready to understand. But I am now.”

The room felt smaller with Chan standing there, his presence filling the silence between you. The weight of everything—the past, the heartbreak, the unspoken words—pressed down on both of you, but for the first time, neither of you looked away.

You exhaled slowly, your arms still crossed, the shield you had built around yourself refusing to fall so easily. "You say all the right things now," you muttered, your voice quieter than before. "But words don’t erase what happened."

Chan nodded, his expression serious. "I know." He took a cautious step forward, just enough to close the emotional distance without overwhelming you. "I know words aren’t enough. But I’m not saying this just to make you forgive me. I just... need you to know that I finally get it."

His voice carried none of the frustration or defensiveness you had once been so used to. Instead, there was something raw—an understanding, a regret that felt real.

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. "It took you losing me to understand?"

"Yeah," he admitted, a small, humorless smile on his lips. "I guess I had to lose you to really see how much I took for granted."

Your shoulders eased just slightly, the tension in your chest loosening. You weren't ready to forgive him, not yet. But something about the way he was speaking—**without excuses, without pushing blame onto you—**made you feel like, for once, he was truly listening.

He glanced down at his hands, exhaling deeply before meeting your gaze again. "I don't expect things to go back to the way they were. I don’t even expect you to give me another chance. But if you ever think there’s even the slightest possibility of trusting me again..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Then I want to be someone worth trusting."

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as suffocating this time. The anger that had once flared between you had softened into something else—something uncertain, something hesitant, but no longer painful.

You sighed, finally lowering your arms. "I don’t know if I can just believe you overnight."

Chan nodded, the corner of his lips twitching into the smallest, most understanding smile. "Then let me prove it to you. No rush, no expectations. Just… let me be here. This time, I’ll listen."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he would.

*

"Have you seen this?"

Attached was a screenshot—an official announcement from Pledis Entertainment.

"Dino of SEVENTEEN is currently in a relationship with a non-celebrity. We ask for your support and understanding."

The news took you by surprise.

Your name wasn’t mentioned in the official announcement, but you knew. You were the non-celebrity. The one the world was suddenly talking about. The one they were wishing happiness for.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—friends, acquaintances, even people you hadn’t spoken to in years, all reaching out with the same excitement. "Is it true?" "Are you really dating Dino?" "How did this even happen?"

You stared at the screen, overwhelmed, heart racing.

And then, there was the photo. The one of Chan in an apron, standing behind the counter of your bakery. Box on his hands, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile as he handed a customer their order. It had been taken just last weekend, completely candid. You knew because you had been standing right beside him, laughing as he struggled to tie the apron properly.

You weren’t sure how the photo got out. Maybe a customer had snapped it. Maybe a fan had recognized him. Maybe it didn’t even matter anymore—because now, the world knew.

And surprisingly, they were happy for you.

You had been terrified of this moment. Afraid of what people might say, of the scrutiny that would come with being associated with him again. But as you scrolled through the comments, you saw nothing but excitement, nothing but support.

"Dino looks so happy!"

"He really found someone special."

"He’s literally boyfriend goals, helping out at her bakery like that."

"I hope they stay together for a long time."

Your chest tightened. It felt surreal.

It had taken months to get here. Months of hesitation, of slow conversations, of learning to trust again. Months of Chan proving to you—through actions, not just words—that he had changed.

That he had finally understood.

You thought back to the first time he had shown up at your bakery. He hadn't said much, just stood there awkwardly, asking if you needed help. You had been hesitant, but you let him stay. Then he kept coming back. On his free days, between schedules, whenever he could.

And somewhere in between rolling dough, wiping flour off his face, and sneaking bites of pastries when he thought you weren’t looking—he became part of your life again.

Not as an idol. Not as the Chan you once fought with. Just as him.

You put your phone down, heart still racing.

Chan had yet to text you about the announcement. He was probably waiting, letting you process it on your own.

And for once, you weren’t afraid.

You looked toward the kitchen, where he was now—tying his apron, completely unaware that the world had just found out about you two.

You took a deep breath, stepped forward, and smiled.

"Hey, boyfriend," you teased, leaning against the counter.

Chan looked up, confused for a second, before his phone finally buzzed. His eyes widened.

"You okay?" he asked immediately, concern flickering in his gaze.

You nodded. "Are you?"

He exhaled, then grinned. "Well… at least they got my best angle."

You rolled your eyes, but you laughed. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking at the past anymore.

At first, you weren’t sure how things would change.

Chan had always been social, always surrounded by people, and a part of you feared slipping back into old patterns. The nights where you’d feel left out. The moments where you questioned your place in his life. But this time, things were different.

He made sure of it.

The first time he invited you to hang out with his friends, you hesitated. You still remembered how it felt before—watching from the sidelines while he laughed with people who had known him longer, had history with him in a way you didn’t. But Chan noticed.

And instead of brushing it off, he reached for your hand.

"Hey, come here," he had said softly, pulling you into the conversation. "They’ve been wanting to meet you properly."

Properly.

Not as someone in the background. Not as just another presence in the room. But as his girlfriend.

From that day on, he never made you feel like an outsider. You were part of his world now, not just someone looking in.

Whenever he was with his friends, his arm always found its way around your shoulders. If you were feeling quiet, he’d gently pull you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head, whispering, "You okay?" If he laughed at an inside joke, he’d take the time to explain it to you. If his friends teased him, saying he had changed, he’d just smile and say, "Yeah. I did."

And then there were his exes.

Chan never cut them out of his life—not because he was holding onto the past, but because he had learned how to balance things. He didn’t hide it from you. He was transparent, always telling you if he happened to run into them, if they caught up once in a while.

But the difference now? He never let it make you feel small.

If his exes were around, he made it clear where he stood. His hand in yours. His attention on you. His presence next to you, always.

"You don’t have to worry," he’d say, eyes sincere. "I know what I want."

And he showed you.

When someone brought up his dating history, he never entertained it. If an old friend joked about how he’d never been single for long, he’d only shrug and say, "That’s in the past."

And if there was ever a moment—even the smallest second—where doubt crept into your mind, he always knew.

One night, after a dinner gathering, he noticed how you grew quiet as an old conversation about his past relationships resurfaced. He didn’t wait for you to bring it up.

In the car ride home, he reached for your hand and held it against his chest.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

You sighed, unsure how to put it into words. "I know you’re close with them. And I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s insecure about it. But sometimes…"

"Sometimes it still lingers?" he finished gently.

You nodded.

Chan didn’t get defensive. He didn’t dismiss it. He just squeezed your hand and said, "I get it. And I’m not asking you to ignore your feelings. Just… let me remind you, whenever you need it."

You looked at him, heart softening. "How will you remind me?"

He turned to you, eyes full of certainty.

"Like this."

And before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

Not rushed. Not just for reassurance. But because he wanted to. Because he chose you.

And he would always make sure you knew that.

*

Seungkwan had absolutely nothing in his head as he stood near the break room, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. It was one of those rare moments where his brain wasn’t running a hundred miles per hour—no schedules to stress over, no members to yell at for losing their things nor refusing to take their vitamins. Just mindless scrolling.

That was until he overheard Hansol’s voice from inside the room.

“She sent me some pictures. It looked good.”

Seungkwan barely paid attention at first, but then Chan’s voice followed, casual as ever.

“Yeah, she was developing a new recipe last night. She told you about that? Jeez, you’re still her favorite member, hyung.”

Seungkwan’s thumb froze mid-scroll.

She?

Recipe?

His eyes narrowed. He replayed the sentence in his head, dissecting it like a scientist analyzing a new discovery. There was only one “she” in their circle who was obsessed with baking.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

His brain took a second too long to process the words. The next thing he knew, he was barging into the room, his eyes darting between Hansol and Chan.

"WAIT, WHAT?! WHAT’S GOING ON?!"

Chan looked up lazily from his phone, blinking at Seungkwan like he had just asked if water was wet. "Uh… what do you mean?"

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. "DID YOU JUST SAY SHE—AS IN Y/N?!"

Hansol smirked but said nothing, sipping his drink.

Chan nodded, still looking completely unbothered. "Yeah? Why?"

Seungkwan’s face contorted in a mix of betrayal and disbelief. "YOU’RE BACK TOGETHER?!"

"Uh-huh."

"AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!"

Hansol chuckled, leaning back. "Dude, it’s been months."

Seungkwan gasped dramatically. "Months?!" He placed a hand on his chest as if he had just been personally attacked. "And I was the last to know?"

Chan shrugged, completely unfazed. "We didn’t exactly keep it a secret. You were just… too busy freaking out over the whole scandal thing."

"Busy freaking out—Chan, I lost SLEEP over that! I thought I ruined your life! I was having nightmares about it!" Seungkwan clutched his head as if reliving the trauma. "And the whole time, you two were just happily together behind my back?!"

Hansol patted his shoulder, failing to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, man. You really stressed yourself out for nothing."

Seungkwan groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Unbelievable. This is betrayal. I feel so betrayed." He pointed an accusatory finger at Chan. "You should’ve told me! I deserve better than this!"

Chan chuckled, finally setting his phone down and walking over to ruffle Seungkwan’s hair. "Alright, alright. I’ll make it up to you. How about we all hang out at the bakery tomorrow? She’s testing out her new recipe."

Seungkwan’s ears perked up slightly, but he kept up his sulking act. "...The one with the cream filling?"

Chan smirked. "Yup."

Silence.

"...Fine," Seungkwan muttered, crossing his arms. "But only because of the food."

Hansol shook his head. "He forgives fast."

Seungkwan scoffed but didn’t deny it. "You’re lucky I love desserts. But I’m still mad at you."

Chan laughed, slinging an arm around him. "Sure, sure. I’ll let her know her favorite member is coming by."

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, "liar. You said it was Hansol earlier." But he couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.

And just like that, the weight of the past lifted, leaving only laughter, warmth, and the start of something even better.

End.

[lsunstreakerl]

Feeding Pebble:

[Search History Verse]

Messages between [you] and [Chéri 💖]

Max: hey schat, can you do me a favor

Charles: yes of course

Max: can you feed Pebble for me

Charles: who is Pebble

Charles: do we have a new pet?

Max: Pebble is my sourdough starter

Charles: ...

Charles: .........

Charles: you know I hate that thing

Max: don't say it where she can hear you please

Charles: STOP TALKING ABOUT IT LIKE ITS ALIVE

Max: but it is alive

Max: that's why I need you to feed it

Max: I want to make bread later

Charles: maaaaaax

Charles: can't you feed it when you get home?

Charles: please?

Max: :(

Max: :((

Charles: please don't start with the frowny faces

Max: :(((

Charles: FINE

Charles: I will feed your creepy bread thing

Charles: never let it be said I do not love you

Max: :)

Charles is armed and ready. He's wearing the stupid gag gift apron Valtteri had gifted him last year, that says 'Blow the Chef!' In fancy cursive across the front. It's pattered with little dicks. He'd laughed so hard he cried when he opened it as his white elephant gift at the Christmas party, because none of them even cook their own food anyways.

Since then, it's been banished to the very depths of their hall closet, but he'd brought it out today, for this very specific warfare.

He does not want to get eaten by Max's creepy parasite bread thing. It's clearly infected his beloved boyfriend's brain, because it makes him feed it and water it and name it fucking Pebble, but it will not get Charles. He refuses.

He has oven mitts over both hands, and he's dragged a pair of goggles from their "work sponsored box of tricks" he and Max keep in their office. They're Redbull branded, from some kind of snowsports collab, but it's not like anyone's around to see it anyways.

He approaches the jar that's invaded their kitchen counter, uses a pair of tongs to gingerly lift the lid.

It pops and bubbles, and Charles feels his stomach roll. He hates this thing.

Next comes a salad spoon, which is 100% getting thrown away after this, as he scoops out a huge chunk of it, flinging both the starter and spoon into the trash bin.

He leans over to check his directions from Max again, reaching for the flour, dumping what is probably close to the right amount into the jar.

Pebble gurgles. Charles gags.

He grabs the water he'd set out, pouring it from as high up as possible while also leaning back as far as his body allows, squinting his eyes just in case Pebble is unsatisfied and decides to expand and eat him.

As soon as the water is in the jar, he's grabbing a stirring spoon, the longest one they have. He's only doing this for exactly the three minutes Max has instructed, because he feels like the white guy in a horror movie who's about to die.

Done.

The spoon also gets chucked into the bin, and he's slamming the jar shut, shoving it back to its corner of the counter.

He watches it tensely for a moment, the way it moves and pops inside the jar.

He fucking hates Pebble, stupid little yeasty homewrecker, taking so much of Max's time and attention, all while being ugly.

Messages between [you] and [Chéri 💖]

Charles: I fed the thing

Max: thank you <3

Charles: never ask me to do that again

Charles: I thought I was going to die

Charles: or it was going to explode

Max: but you like the bread I make with it?

Charles: that's different

Max: oh of course

Max: I appreciate you doing that

Charles: thank you

Charles: I was very brave

Max: I'm sure you were, schat

[indigosunsetao3]

Chapter 1

It's always interesting when the new neighbor(s) move in.

AO3 (Full list of tags/warnings. Please check them.) Masterlist 2.2k Words

Chapters 1 | 2

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Celeste offered as a farewell as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

The café was only partially packed at this time of day, after the lunch rush and before the early dinner customers. During the off-season, it was easier to predict the day-to-day schedule; during peak tourist time in the summer and winter, it was a crap shoot on how busy they would be. Too cold and people wouldn’t brave the mountains to ski even if that was why they came to visit. Too hot and they weren’t going to be out boating in the heat of the day, opting for an early dinner then perhaps hitting the lake at sundown.

“See you tomorrow. Are you still good to work over with Andrea needing off for her kids?” Her boss asked as he shoved another tray of fresh bread into the display case and stood up with a groan, holding his lower back.

“Oh, yes, no problem,” Celeste answered, having already forgotten she had agreed to that last week. Not that it mattered; she had no one at home waiting on her. Well, except for Samson.

The day was overcast, as it usually was this late in the winter. The snow mostly melted, even on the highest peaks, with temperatures rising to give way to spring. It was rainy season, and as Celeste yanked open her car door, she felt a few errant drops catch her arm. She hated driving in the rain and hated everything about that particular weather, so getting home quickly was the goal.

The fifteen-minute drive, the average time when only the locals were around, passed without much fuss. The roads weaving through dense woods before opening to spectacular views of the lake on the left were why people came to this sleepy place. It had something for everyone: a lake for sailing, racing, and water skiing. Mountains in the not-so-far distance for hiking, camping, skiing, and even sheer rockface mountain climbing for the bravest.

Celeste hadn’t bothered with any of that in months, barely left her own home unless it was for work or to go to the grocer. She had only officially moved into the family cottage right before Christmas, though the place still looked like a vacant house. She hadn’t even entered the den; the furniture was still covered in sheets, and packed boxes littered the halls.  She just didn’t have the energy or willpower to finish, only pulling out the bare minimum to get by the past three months.

Putting her car in park, she stared in her side mirror at the bins she needed to drag into the detached garage. Just as she had pulled in, the sky opened up to deluge the area, and she didn’t want to get soaked messing with them. How long could she get away from leaving them before the neighbor up the road came calling to remind her? Trash day had been three days ago; leaving the bins out all week wasn't proper. As she twisted in the backseat to try and find an umbrella, she noticed movement at the cottage next door that made her pause.

The place had been for sale since she had moved in. It had been falling into disrepair for as long as she could remember. The owner's adult children had moved from England years ago, and the parents were too old to maintain the property. They had rented it out for a while but stopped when the roof collapsed on the sunroom while guests were staying. No one had repaired it, and the house sat empty month after month until the For Sale sign appeared. It caused a fuss in the town; people were mad that the family home would likely go to strangers, but Celeste kept quiet. She was also a stranger here; the family cottage she moved into was her husband’s.

She watched quietly as a man climbed out of the sleek town car, jacket pulled over his head to shield himself from the rain.  He ran to the backseat and wrenched open the door one-handed before digging around inside, leaning slightly to reveal his other arm was wrapped tightly in a sling. He found his quarry after a moment, a large duffel before he slung it over his back and slammed the car door shut. His steps were quick to get to the front door, and she watched him fumble one-handed with the keys for a moment before he shouldered the door open and slipped inside.

It seemed like an odd choice for a man to move into a cottage that was falling apart. He could barely do anything one-handed, and guessing by how he juggled everything, the hand in the sling was his dominant one. Maybe his partner would be coming along to help. Or perhaps this guy was just the investor who bought the place to flip it and sell it to some out-of-town rich people. Just another outsider moving in.

What was she thinking? She was also the outsider, and here she was judging another person who probably had no idea anyone was even paying attention to them.

With a sigh, she gave up on her search for the umbrella and grabbed her purse. The bins would have to wait another day. After one last search of the car to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, Celeste opened the door and ran for it. The rain was freezing, sliding down the back of her shirt and soaking her hair. She shoved the key in the lock and wrenched the door open, lifting it a bit to keep it from scraping the floor before stepping inside.

----------------------------

Kyle stared around at the inside of the cottage with a small sigh. When Price said it needed some work, he had sorely undersold how much it actually needed. The smell of must hit him square in the face just a foot inside the place. Then, when he dropped the duffel in the entryway, a cloud of dust floated back up to him, telling Kyle that the place had been empty for months, if not years.

He shuffled down the small hallway to the kitchen, bypassing the living room to the right to find it wasn’t much better. A few cabinet doors were still half open, with plates and cups inside that were probably older than he was. The stove had grease stains all over the top, and Kyle made a face as his feet stopped short of some old mouse droppings in front of the fridge.

“You said it needed a little work,” Kyle muttered into the phone a few minutes later as he climbed up the steps to the bedroom area.

“Not sure I said little, Sergeant,” came John’s voice over the line. It was crackled, sounding like it was coming from a long distance.

“Let me ask Johnny if he remembers what you said,” Kyle answered with a small smile as he toed the metal bedframe of a twin bed.

“He’s busy,” Price answered. Through the tone, Kyle could tell he was grinning as well. “I’ll be there in a couple of days. See what you can get figured out.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll get along just fine one-handed. I’ll have that collapsed porch built in no time,” Kyle answered, his voice dropping humor to reveal his frustration with his injury.

“Don’t overdo it,” Price answered quietly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle answered as he peeled back the faded yellow comforter before collapsing on the bed. It squeaked ominously under him, and he stiffened, expecting it to give way under his weight, but it still held. “A new bed is the first thing I’m getting,” he answered after a moment. As he shifted, the metal whined loudly under even the slightest movement, threatening to cave.

“Put it on the list,” Price answered before the sound of his hand covering the speaker muffled his voice.

“Just go,” Kyle said before Price could return, telling him he had to cut the conversation short. “I’ll see you in a few days, Captain, as long as this place doesn’t fall apart with me in it first.”

He hung up the line and threw the phone onto the nightstand before rising with a groan. He needed a shower and food. Strolling to the window to peer out at the lake, he watched the rain bounce off the surface, churning the calm image from the pictures Price had shown them all into a raging mess. He stared briefly, taking in the view of the small dock and boat bouncing on the waves and the mountains across the way before a light caught his eye.

This was supposed to be a tourist town, one that many people didn’t truly live in year-round, but yet someone else was here. Kyle narrowed his eyes to watch as the backdoor opened, and a figure appeared. They were wrapped in a bright yellow rain jacket, and he smirked a bit as they gestured for someone to hurry up. He assumed it was a dog that needed to be coaxed to go out in the rain, but when nothing came, he watched as the person stomped out into the rain. They went right toward a bush, and when they bent down, a flash of bright orange streaked in from under it and into the house.

The person righted themselves and stared at the open back door for a moment. He saw the person, a woman, push back her hair into the hood where it had fallen out and saw her mouth moving. If he were to place bets, he would have taken a fiver on the fact that she was cursing up a storm at her errant cat. She stood in the rain a moment longer, twisting to glance out at her dock, where two chairs sat, before making her way back inside herself. When the light finally cut, Kyle turned around and headed down the hall to find a bathroom. He hoped he didn’t fall through the floor or the pipes wouldn’t explode when he turned on the water.

---------------------------

“I will leave you out there next time,” Celeste threatened as Samson sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, licking his paws. He was soaked to the bone but still seemed pleased with himself. Celeste was careful never to leave him out when she wasn’t home, especially in the evening. But the little shit had used one of the floor registers to get under the house and out that way. She would need to place another one of the boxes on his newest escape tunnel and figure out a way to secure it from her little Houdini properly.

Bending down, she dried him off as best as he would allow with a tea towel before throwing it in the washing machine. The laundry was piling up again, spilling out the front of it, and she eyed it angrily. She knew she’d need a fresh apron and undergarments for her shift tomorrow. Laundry was just one of those things that always fell to the wayside for her until she was left sniffing a shirt to see how bad it was and if she could reuse it for a third day.

“Dinner first,” she muttered, opening the fridge to stare at her options. Fuck. When was the last time she had been to the grocer? She had half a loaf of bread, a few slices of deli cheese, and some questionable leftovers from the week before. The rest were all condiments and half-drunk bottles of wine. “Cheese it is,” she decided, grabbing the bag and a bottle of wine before wandering to the pantry to open a can of cat food for Samson. He was still attempting to dry himself, but the minute the can popped, he trotted over and began to eat.

Celeste shoved a piece of cheese in her mouth before finally peeling off her dirty work apron and pushing it into the washing machine. She jammed a few buttons, threw in some soap, and started it before collapsing at the kitchen table. The rain was still coming down in sheets outside, and she swigged directly from the bottle, debating how she was going to spend the rest of her evening. Nothing seemed appealing. She could read, of course, but books had lost their charm over the past months. Television was nothing but trash, love stories, or bad news. And unpacking the rest of her boxes was off the list for the time being.

The last time she tried to dig through her hastily packed things, she was smacked in the face by one of his unfinished projects. It was a little thing he had started on a rainy day on a creative whim. She always bugged him about his new hobbies and ideas, how he’d start things but never finished them. But he promised this one would be different because he was making it for her. A promise that felt cruelly ironic as she turned the thing over in her hands while she sat alone in the hallway and cried.

Just another vow that would remain forever unfulfilled.

[fluffy-ghoulettes]

i can't stop thinking about diabetic Copia. I hate to be that person, but maybe some more diabetic Copia? 👉👈

Sure!

Copia has a habit of going high when it comes to his blood sugars. He loves carbs, what can he say?

If he does go high, all of the ghouls scrunch up their noses and pull faces. Poor Rain gags at the smell every time, walks off until Copia fixes his bloods. To them, it smells sickly sweet. They can smell the pheromones on Copia's body, on his breath.

When Copia goes high, he gets really dizzy, his head aches, and he's parched. Seeing Copia chug bottles of water outside of performing are sure signs that his sugars are high.

If he's on tour, he'll usually lay down on a sofa backstage (before the show, but after he's eaten) and hold an arm over his eyes, wait for the room to stop spinning.

The ghouls never stay away from him for long, so they come marching into his dressing room soon after, with a view to annoy Copia. But they all freeze as soon as they smell his scent.

Rain gags and walks straight back out. Aether and Cirrus both look at each other and sigh tiredly. Swiss goes "Fuck!" exasperatedly. Mountain mumbles that he has his backup Copia Kit (that's what they call his glucometer kit) always on his person, if needed. Cumulus tuts in sympathy, while covering her nose with her hand. Dew grumbles in frustration.

"Papa, do you know you're high?"

"No, no, I just have a headache..."

"What did you have for dinner?"

"Carbonara... Garlic bread..."

"PAPA."

"It tasted too good, I couldn't resist. It was just a little treat..."

"Did you do your shot before eating?"

"Ehhh... The food came quicker than planned, I didn't have time..."

"PAPA. You always have time."

"Yes, yes..." (dismissive hand wave)

Aether sits by Copia on the sofa, uses the lance from Mountain's kit to check his bloods. They all know he's high, but they can't pinpoint the exact glucose concentration in his blood. Aether always has a little game in his head, he tries to predict Copia's sugar levels before it flashes up on the screen. This time, he predicted 8.5 and Copia was 8. Close, and thankfully not as bad as he thought.

In the meantime, Dew starts to prep Copia's insulin while grumbling in annoyance to himself. Copia knows what will send him into a hyper, and yet occasionally, he still eats carbs and sugars like a starved man.

They always make sure there's a bottle of insulin in the minifridge in Copia's dressing room, and a sharps box on one of the counters. A couple of venue staff have given him weird looks for having a sharps container in his dressing room out of context.

While Aether takes Copia's bloods, he tells Dew exactly how much insulin needs to be drawn up. They're all trained in what to do if Copia goes into a hypo or a hyper, but having Aether there, who's a Ministry infirmary medic when he's not touring, helps keep them on track.

The other ghouls stand close by Copia, wanting to show that they're there for him, but unable to get too close due to the smell. Cumulus steps over, her shirt pulled up over her nose and mouth, and strokes Copia's hair soothingly. She's pulling a face behind the shirt, and keeps coughing.

When Dew comes over with the capped needle, Aether gives him a look and asks him if he wants Aeth to inject Papa. Dew shakes his head silently and pulls up Copia's sweatshirt.

Him laying down isn't the best position to inject in, the skin on his tummy is pulled quite taught, but Copia would flop over if he tried to sit up right now. Dew uncaps the needle and pinches a roll of fat, trying to go somewhere that doesn't have too many track marks, and injects in that area.

Copia hisses and Dew mutters a quiet "That's what you get for not carb counting properly..."

Once the insulin has been infused, Swiss holds out the sharps bin for Dew, and then they all sit and wait for Copia's blood sugars to come down. It usually takes between fifteen to twenty minutes, and the pack don't leave him alone during that time. Just in case they haven't dosed the insulin correctly.

During the waiting period, the ghouls keep themselves entertained. They play a card game, scroll on their phones, chat quietly (Copia's hypers and hypos always make him sensitive to sound). As his sugars slowly drop, checked every ten minutes by Aether, the ghouls slowly shuffle closer to Copia, his scent returning to normal.

By the time he's back down at a normal sugar level, Rain's been invited back into the room, and the ghouls have climbed onto the sofa for a cuddle with Copia,

Dew grumbles to Copia (from where he's curled up on his chest) to never let himself get that high again. He was worried about him.

Copia nods, and agrees that carbonara is off the menu. For now.

[i-am-still-bb]

FiKi Week by @gatheringfiki - Day 3 - 06.24.24

Never have I known a soul more familiar than yours, more worn into softness, more moulded to the very shame of my fingers, so that they may curl in it and hold you fast and steady. 

A/N: This isn't quite finished, but I'm not going to finish it tonight and I need to get tomorrow's piece done tomorrow... so... I ended it at what felt like a good point. It will continue in a couple of days when I have the other prompts filled. Until then... <3

--

Fast Car AU - Before

Fili’s house was quiet. His mother was out of town for the day. She had driven down to Fresno to see a show with some friends. They were even going to be staying the night in the city. She told Fili that she wouldn’t be back until around noon the next day. She had reminded him to take the bins to the curb in the morning, left $20 dollars on the fridge of pizza, and told him to behave himself. 

“Why would I ruin my choir boy reputation?”

His mother had rolled her eyes with a smile before she backed the SUV out of the driveway. 

//  Want to come over? - FeeD  //

// What’s on cable? - KiliO  //

//  Law and Order. American Dad. Movies featuring spiders. James Bond. The history channel is doing a Roman Empire weekend again. - FeeD  //

//  Hmm… Tempting… I’ll have to check my planner. - KiliO  //

//  Did I mention that the house is empty until tomorrow? And I’ve got pizza money? - FeeD  //

//  You mean that you have garlic bread knots money. - KiliO  //

//  So? Or do you have a better offer? - FeeD  //

//  Now that you mention it Max did say something about having a fifth of tekela… :p - KiliO  //

//  If that’s all it takes… ;) - FeeD  //

//  I’m not _that_ easy. - KiliO  //

//  Don’t I know it :p - FeeD  // 

//  Rude. - KiliO  //

//  Do you need a ride? - FeeD  //

//  I’m at the library. I’ll just bike over when I finish up here. - KiliO  //

//  Can’t wait. - FeeD  //

They had settled for the Law and Order themed reruns. It was warm outside, but the house was dark and cool with the curtains drawn and the A/C running. Kili was stretched out on the chaise lounge of the couch. He was wearing jeans—he hated the way that his legs looked in shorts—and a dark band t-shirt, but he still had an afghan pulled over his legs. He also had a Fili draped over his lap. Fili had stretched out on the main body of the couch. He had his head on Kili’s lap and his arms around Kili’s waist. His face was pressed to Kili’s belly.

A commercial came on flooding the room with light and always being a bit louder than the show. Kili adjusted the volume down and dropped his head back on the couch cushion. He slipped his hand down the next of Fili’s shirt and absently massaged the muscles there.

Fili groaned and shifted to provide better access for Kili.

Kili chuckled. “I thought you were asleep.”

Fili stretched, toes pointing, legs stiffening, back arching before he relaxed again. “I was,” he nuzzled his face against Kili. “That feels nice,” he hunched his shoulders. “Dwalin’s been killing us at practice on the field and in the weight room. I’m just so exhausted. And sore,” he winced when Kili’s fingers worked over a particularly sensitive spot.

“That sounds like a you problem. You chose to do football again this year. You could have been a bum like me and done cross country or nothing.”

Fili grumbled. “And be the guy who didn’t get the pin his senior year?”

Kili rolled his eyes.

“Still sounds like a you problem.”

Fili retaliated by biting Kili’s stomach through the blanket and Kili’s shirt, but Kili still shouted in exaggerated pain.

—

The pizza box was open on the coffee table and the bread bites were balanced on the arm of the couch waiting for an errant arm or leg to knock it over. The two litre bottle of Sprite that they had been sharing sat where the two parts of the couch intersected. It was almost buried by the blanket when it had been pushed aside.

Neither of them knew what was playing on the television anymore.

“I forgot to ask earlier—are you staying the night?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to?” Kili looked uncertain.

“Only if you want to,” Fili assured.

“I didn’t bring any of my stuff.”

Fili shrugged. “We’ve always got spare toothbrushes and stuff in the bathroom.”

“I don’t have clothes for tomorrow or pyjamas.”

“For tomorrow you can just borrow one of my shirts, but for tonight what makes you think you’ll be wearing clothes?” Fili asked with a lopsided grin. He caught his fingers under the exposed waistband of Kili’s underwear and gently snapped it.

Kili’s cheeks flushed even in the dim and flickering light of the television screen. He pulled away from Fili and looked over Fili’s shoulder before asking, “Do I… can I… do I have to…” he looked down. He pushed himself off Fili’s lap. Fili’s eyes were wide with concern.

“Hey…” Fili reached for Kili’s hand.

“Can I wear pyjamas?” Kili asked quietly.

“Of course you can!” the word rushed out of Fili. “I was just teasing. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I—”

“I know you were teasing,” Kili took Fili’s hand. “I just…” he sighed. “I don’t want anyone else to see me… I guess.”

“But we’re the only ones here?”

Kili looked away. “I know. I just…” he shrugged. “What if like your mom came home early or your uncle let himself in or… I don’t know…”

“Pyjamas it is.”

Kili’s smile was weak.

Fili pulled a pleading face. “Will I still get cuddles?”

Kili pushed Fili’s foot with his own. “Only if you let me have the last of the Sprite.”

“Deal.”

—

“Uncle Dwalin, can I ask you something?” Fili asked. He was watching Dwalin work on someone’s second-hand chopper. 

“I’m not letting you skip out on fifty 40s just because I know your uncle,” Dwalin replied without looking up.

“Good to know. But that wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you know if Uncle Thorin is going to be using the cabin this weekend or next?”

“I dunno, why?”

Fili glanced to the open door of the work bay, “I’m just trying to help Kili feel more comfortable with… you know,” Fili lifted his shoulders. “And I thought hanging out at the cabin would help him feel safer, you know, less like his fuckhead dad’s going to walk in any minute.”

Dwalin rubbed a wrench with a rag, checked to see if the dirt had come off before resuming the motion. He looked at Fili. “And why are you asking me instead of Thorin?”

The tips of Fili’s ears turned pink. He stuffed his hands in his jeans. “I just… I figured you would know, I guess…” he kicked at a patch of dirt with his boot. “And thought you’d be less likely to tell my mom?” he finished hopefully.

Dwalin laughed at that. “Kid, your mother busts my balls about that stuff and has given more sex talks to more guys in the club than I can count, she’s not the one I’d be worried about finding out about you using your uncle’s cabin as a love shack.”

Fili’s flush deepened. “It wouldn’t be a love shack,” he said defensively. “Kili’s just a bit jumpy, and I think it’d be nice for him.”

“And you,” Dwalin teased.

Fili scowled.

—

The key for the cabin was hidden in a birdhouse that was shaped like a motorcycle’s fuel tank. 

Kili crossed his arms, his sweatshirt that was at least two sizes too big hung from his sharp shoulders, and looked around. “Why are we up here again?”

Fili shrugged and fiddled with the lock. “I just thought that it’d be nice to get away from everything… everyone for a while.”

“It’s just going to be us up here?”

Fili looked over his shoulder, “Is that alright?” 

“Yeah,” Kili grinned. 

They had been up here many times before, sometimes with just Thorin, sometimes Dis, Thorin and Dwalin, Thorin and Dis, sometimes whole groups of the club. When that happened the area around the cabin would be filled with brightly coloured dome tents. They would roast marshmallows, hotdogs, toasted sandwiches in pie irons, chase each other with sparklers (depending on the fire warnings), play in the trees, and star gaze. All things that they remembered fondly.

“Can you get the cooler?” Fili asked, tossing his bag inside the now open door. “I’m going to open the windows, it smells like Thorin and Dwalin hotboxed it last time they were up here.”

They’d brought some basic sundries for the nearly two full days they’d be here—milk, cereal, materials to make toasties, energy drinks, boxed mac and cheese, chips, and packaged snacks. Kili busied himself putting things in the fridge while Fili did some dusting and pulled out the linens that had been sealed away from the dust.

The cabin was small. You walked onto a small porch before turning into the main living space. There was a couch to the left, a coffee table, and low bookshelves with games. Beyond that was a small kitchen table, the far wall had a fireplace with built-in bookcases. The books were mostly old thrillers, and books about the Sierra Nevada. The two chairs in front of the fireplace were well worn. There was a narrow kitchen, only room for one person, a cramped bathroom, and then a bedroom that was mostly filled with a king sized bed. The cabin often served as a base for hiking and backpacking, but all of that gear was stored in the  shed that was nearly as large as the cabin itself....

TBC

--

Tag List @silvermoon-scrolls @metztlilua @I-am-pinkie @dubhlachen

[heyybaejjk]

SAU, LA'U TAMA AULELEI - CHAPTER 9 !

pairings; OOC teen!miguel o'hara x fem samoan oc

summary; just manaia being upset every single fucking second of this chapter

warnings/notes; baby manaia crying 😞 childhood trauma/ptsd, familial problems, M M MOMMY ISSUES

series masterlist | prev chap | next chap

Manaia was obedient, more than anything. She stayed loyal to her religious upbringing and went by anything and everything her church preached, a perfect example of what any Islander parent wanted. Obedient and complying.

She had been on her third day of fasting. Her church announced for everyone to comply that everyone would eat no meat for three weeks. Her pastor encouraged and informed everyone it was for cleansing, understanding and humbleness. David and Kiuga liked to call bullshit on that, nonetheless Manaia listened and obeyed like she always does. [I failed on my first day, s/o to harley berry for the kfc 😞]

The poor girl tried, but with David, Kiuga AND Sione by her side, she was bound to fail within the first few hours.

Sure, no meat, no fish, only fruit, vegetables, and meat. She can do that, it's not like she hadn't eaten for more than a week besides her church saying to. Her mum just liked to be tight on money, whatever money her mum had, it was hers. Not Manaia's. After all, it is Manaia's fault if she doesn't earn as much as she wants, her mum would say. She held most of the responsibility for paying bills, water, electricity, and the food she put in everyone's mouth besides her own.

Manaia couldn't study properly because of the corruption that clouded her mind. Too many assessments, exams, work, just everything. And there was no way she was going to study in a full classroom, so she asked her teacher if she could go down to the library and into a study room with her two friends.

She hums a quiet tune to herself and looks over to Sione, right before she pokes her best friend in the rib. He jumps at the ticklish feeling.

"Ow! What do you want, dick?" Sione glares at her, poking her back in the side.

She gives him a teasingly smile, "Do you still have that Nutella sandwich you saved? Can I have it?"

Sione pretends to think, his eyes going everywhere but at Manaia. "Hm... no, fuck you," he laughs and puts his whole hand on Manaia's face to push her away slightly.

To this, Manaia groans. Her hand on his wrist to push it away, "But we share everything," hugging his arm to persuade him further.

"Fine. Gimme your apple raspberry cordial and I'll give you my sandwich."

He pulls out a white bread cling-wrapped sandwich and hands it to Manaia mindlessly.

David who mindlessly did his work across the pair had taken out his earphones, "Ay? Cunt, you said I could have it before!"

"Yeah, but you didn't wanna give me your koko alaisa your mum made yesterday."

"You only wanted it 'cause my mum touched the container, you fucking weirdo."

Sione sighs, "You are the wrecker of a man's dreams."

"Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! You told me it was Nutella!!" Manaia tries to say with a stuffed mouth, her mouth was full of chewed-on processed meat, lettuce, cheese and tomato. Her eyes seemed to turn glossy, her heart full of guilt at the accidental break of her fasting. Her breathing was irregular. She had disobeyed. She hadn't listened. She can never do anything right, can she?

"The fuck do you mean?!" Sione yells.

He takes the bread out of her hands. He gave her the wrong fucking one. Manaia had bit into it without even looking, overborne by the thought of hunger.

The yell of her male friend had shifted into multiple, distorted shouts.

"Why wouldn't you look at it before biting into it?!"

"Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house!"

Something she always wanted to avoid when she was around her group of loud friends.

"Sione, grab that box of tissues and the bin so she can spit it out!"

"Don't you yell at me! You watch your mouth before I throw you and your stupid kids out!"

"Don't you touch my kids with your unfaithful hands! Get out! Get the fuck out!"

Her mind was running at a million miles a second but she couldn't pinpoint a single thought.

"Sione, what the fuck?!" David chimes in.

"SPIT IT OUT!" Sione yells.

Without thinking, Sione sticks his hand out just as Manaia spits every single content onto his palm. Spit and all.

"WHY'D YOU SPIT IT ON MY HAND?" Sione gags at the sight, his eyes avert from his hand as he sees drool falling onto the floor.

"I-I'm sorry.. I didn't know what to do!" her lip quivers, her breathing is shaky.

Manaia wipes her teary eyes before the boys would notice, too taken aback at the glob in Sione's hand.

"So you spit on it?" he glares back at the shorter girl.

"I'm sorry!" she cries a little louder. She hides her face in her palms as she takes in deep breaths.

Her stuttering breaths was something Sione had noticed in comparision to David who was frantic in finding a box of tissues. He inhales a sighs, "It's- I'm sorry, Manaia. Just give me a minute."

He walked over to a rubbish bin that stood near the study room door they were in. David rushed to him and wiped off the remains while pouring water he had onto the other boy's hand.

Sione glances over to Manaia who has a small pout on her face, her cheeks slighter tinted. "Is it okay if you get my phone back up in class? I left it on my desk," Sione lies through his teeth.

David nods and leaves the study room.

Sione is slow with making his way over to his best friend. "I'm sorry for yelling. I really am."

Manaia sniffles. Snot running down her nose. Sione laughs but stops when Manaia glares at him.

"You're such an egg, Naia," he places an arm around her shoulder, his free hand going under his shirt to pull it up, bringing it up to Manaia's face.

"Ew," Manaia whispers.

"Just do it, David finished the tissues."

Manaia sniffles once more before wiping her face all over his white shirt.

Manaia was far too flustered to ever bring up that embarrassing moment down at the library from yesterday. She had made Sione swear to it. She was too engrossed by the loud music that blasted through her earphones and the disgusting thought of ever touching meat for the rest of the few weeks that were to come.

"Just promise you won't tell anyone I spewed on your hand?"

"Bro, promise, you've been saying this for the past 10 minutes."

"Hey."

Miguel stares down at Manaia mindlessly from across the table. He stood tall, dressed from head to toe in school uniform. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he avoids her doe eyes that stare up at him.

Manaia shakes her head, rushed out of thought. She takes out one of her earphones to further listen. "Hi, Miguel," Manaia smiles, looking around to see the class they were in was empty. Her blasting music must've distracted her enough to not notice everyone leave. "Are you okay?"

Miguel shifts his weight from one foot to another, he attempts to distract himself from looking at her too much, "I'm fine, thank you for asking, Manaia."

Manaia hums, now waiting for the boy that stood in front of him to continue, but he just stares mindlessly.

"Hm, it's alright," Manaia spoke, tucking a strand behind her ear after she begins to pack her equipment away. Miguel noticed fatigue had slowly grown on her throughout the days, only not as much weeks prior.

Without speaking, Miguel is quick to make his way around the table and sit on the chair beside her. "I just wanted to talk to you."

Manaia feels her heart swell at the closeness of his body next to hers. She missed talking to him, but she felt like Miguel had grown distant. Mainly towards her. She was going to endure every moment with him.

No, she wasn't going to try and scooch closer to Miguel and remember the smell of his warm, musky cologne that lingered around even when he wasn't present. And no, she wasn't going to switch the side of where her sei laid in her hair to show off more of her beauty to him. No, no, no, why would she do that?

"Mhm, you can talk to me about anything, Miguel," she says, her voice ever so smooth. Miguel wishes to listen to her talk through day and night.

"I heard from Sio..." his lips form a thin line, internally punching himself in the gut, "-the grapevine that you can't eat meat."

Manaia groans, her hands cover her face. She feels her cheeks heat up, "That idiot!"

"He only told me you can't eat meat, that's all he said, I promise," he says lowly to calm her down.

"He blurted out that something happened in the library and that you can't eat meat for a while, he didn't want to tell me anything else." And the truth Miguel speaks. Sione was dumb, but still loyal to his main companion.

Manaia looks away not fully convinced.

Miguel reaches into his black bag, pulling out a purple container.

"I packed Gabriel lunch but he didn't take it, so I wondered if you'd take it instead?" Miguel asks reassuringly, a white lie lingering on his tongue.

"Are you sure I'm allowed to have it?"

Miguel nods his head with a smile, "Very sure, Manaia."

They faced each other, Miguel's arm had propped onto the table, lengthy, veiny hand placed on the container. Manaia's workbook was long gone pushed to the side, her arm parallel to Miguel's. Their fingers itch to reach out to the other. In contrast to Miguel's cold hands, Manaia's warm hand slowly lifts, leaving a sweat mark on the table from her nervosity, and is on top of Miguel's.

Miguel smiles, and she shyly smiles back.

"I've missed talking to you, Miguel," Manaia bites back a giggle when she sees Miguel avert his gaze with a small grin on his face. He coughs back a shy laugh.

"I guess Gabriel just loves stealing you away from me. You keep letting him win."

Manaia's smile falters slightly, "I don't understand what you're getting at. I don't want to be talked to so I can be won over. I want you to talk to me because you want to talk to me."

"Yes, of course, Manaia, I want to talk with you and hangout. It's just, you know, you never really want to hangout with me."

"I do, I swear I do. I feel like you give me the cold shoulder when I'm around you. Do you not like me? Is there something I've done-" Manaia's eyebrows furrow, the warmth of her hand long gone from Miguel's.

"I can never not like you, Manaia. You're just around my brother a lot and-"

The stunned girl is confused, "What does he have to do with anything? I'm not together with him, or anything like that."

"You both are close and I don't want to ruin whatever you might have."

"Have you ever thought that maybe "whatever" Gabriel and I have might be something that I want with-"

Manaia's phone goes off, her screen faced right up as it glows.

*buzz buzz buzz*

gabri <33 is calling you !

gabri <33 has left you a message !

gabri <33: i got detention during halfway thru the break, i'll see you later in class beautiful girl

That idiot. That fucking idiot, Miguel thinks. Even when he wasn't here, he had to ruin things either way.

"What were you going to say?"

Manaia plays off his question and packs her things. What she could grab from the table was thrown into her bag.

"Nothing, it's stupid. I should've stuck by what you said weeks ago."

A girl can only dream of having a full 8 hours of sleep.

Manaia opened the door to her house slowly so as not to have it creak loud to wake up her younger brother. Her shift was terrible as always. Stupid customers, stupid teammates, stupid everything.

She's greeted with the sight of her mother looking in front of her, entranced by the large TV that was turned off. Bottles of the cheapest beer she could find were laid out everywhere. Dried-up tears ran through her cakey attempt at makeup, smudged mascara rubbed against her eyes. The armchair of the single chair her mother sat on had a spill on it.

Manaia puts her work bag down, and sighs. She walks over to her mother before sitting down in front of her on the ground, her legs criss cross.

Her hand lifts and hesitates to touch and comfort her mother, so she stops and leaves her hands at her legs.

"Mum?" Manaia calls out sweetly, "Are you okay?"

Manaia manages to not whince when her mother glares down at her.

"Siana, sorry," she gulps. "Siana, are you okay?"

Siana meets Manaias gaze. Her wrinkly hands tremble as she leans down, they're close to meeting Manaia's face. To this, Manaia sucks in a breath and hopes that what was to come was only for a short moment, just for a change unlike how they were before.

But her heartbeat softens when her mother's hands hold her cheeks in a way she's longed for. Siana's thumbs caress her cheeks, and her ragged breath fans over Manaia's face. Manaia leans into the warmth of her mother's touch, and then her mother speaks with a broken voice.

"Ese le aulelei o la'u kama." [my boy is so beautiful.]

Manaia sighs, "I'm a girl, Siana."

"You're not my Johnny?"

Manaia's lip quivers, and tears brim in her eyes. "No, I'm your daughter."

"Hm," Siana nods her head in disappointment. She tsks and lets go of her daughter's face.

Manaia itches to reach for her hands, yearns for the warmth, but she can only wish.

prev chap | next chap

[willlville]

I'll keep this brief.

Had no breakfast, woke up late. I made the bed and took a shower.

I cannot remember what I did before I went to the Cafe.

I wore my yellow Secret Room Press hat. I love that hat.

The wind was blowing hard and the waves crashing on the shore.

While I was there I had a breakfast sandwich and coffee. There was a pair of young parents sitting close to me and their baby was observing me very closely I smiled and continued to eat my sandwich. His Mom looked at me and smiled and she "He is very observant, I hope you don't mind." I told her I didn't at all. I waved and said "Hey buddy how are you doing?" his Mom told me his name is "Forest" and I said "Hello Forest."

I told them that I am an uncle to a 2 year old and a 4 month old. I said that it is a lot of fun. I mimed a fun gesture. The Dad said "Oh yeah, I was the fun uncle for awhile it's awesome." "Then we got older and thought, hm maybe we should be parents." The baby let out a long grunt that was an exclamation. I thought it was funny that the baby knew how to talk in his own way. I could understand him a little bit. They had daughter that was three with them as well.

I thought that I couldn't wait to see my nephews. It's going to be fun since one of the can communicate a lot more since I last saw him. I hope I get to be a parent one day.

They left and we said goodbye and nice to meet you. I hope I see them again.

Bill and Laurie came into the cafe and I said hello and we talked and caught up for awhile. I told them about Korea. Laurie is the first person who understood the kinds of observations that I made about being there. That made me feel heard. I made her laugh with a joke about my boss from the trip. Bill has aged a lot since I saw him last. He was bundled up and had a hot chocolate and bread pudding. He is a champ for braving the weather here and never complaining after being a lifelong Californian.

They told me about their trip to California where we had all lived at one point and said that it has changed a lot. Way more people - bustling and too many cars for the roads.

When I left the wind had gone weak and the waves disappeared.

I came home and was high on Coffee. My neck and back was hurting from the caffeine tension. It felt as though the muscles were tightening down pulling the back of my head onto my shoulders. The way I tighten down hard and slow on turn buckles with rebar. I felt like wire, tight and painful but strong.

I took ibuprofen to keep from getting a headache. I am not moving around enough. That was the great part about the ship, I am always moving and on my feet all day. I feel loose and strong.

I looked out the window breathed deep watching the rain and the trees bend in the arriving gale.

I took out all of my clothes from the bins, boxes, and random drawers just to see what I have. I find it hard to know what I actually own since I have no place to put it other than the plastic containers I use to move. There is a rod in the closet now.

With it all laid out, I saw that I don't have much. This made me a little sad knowing that so much of my stuff has gone from all the moving I've done. Most of the clothes I thought to myself I don't every want to wear. What would that leave me with? Not much. I like the funny and odd clothes I have. Although I don't wear them, I probably won't get rid of them.

My thesis in school was vaguely about this. That seems so long ago now - Have I learned anything regarding the life energy and memory that imbues itself into the objects you own? Yes and No.

I went to a yoga class and I was the youngest person there. The instructor was nice and when I came in she asked me:

"What's your good name."

I told her "William" I told her "I am a beginner" and she said "This is the best class, about all we do is roll around on the ground." I chuckled.

The class was good, but it hurt. The class was packed and the attendants were all older people. One person kept audibly farting and I found it hard not to laugh. Namaste.

OOOOOoooommmmm.

I came back home and cooked stir fry with my Mom. I am trying to cook with her as much as I can while I am here because her cooking is good. I like her cooking because it defined some of my taste and preferences. I want to emulate it on my own. I am taking this chance to learn from her since I didn't when I was younger. She is a good home cook.

I put tuna salad on toast as a snack and ate chocolate as well. Very interesting style of chocolate. Sweetened with dates, it was almost more of a fudge while giving a cooling sensation in the mouth. Interesting.

I cooked rice and watched her do the rest. So much style in one's cooking is in their preparation to cook. The shapes that one cuts things into.

I ate it very fast then did all the dishes.

Later I scanned all the drawings I did while on the ship. None of them really make me happy, they just make me feel weird or perverted. I set out to get better at drawing faces and figures. I started drawing both men and women, but I stopped drawing men because I was tired of looking at men since I worked with men all day. later, I threw all the drawings of men away except for one and kept all the drawings of women.

I drank a glass of milk.

and Now... I am typing this.

[ashes-writing-corner]

Alright! So I wanted to go ahead and do another part to Ghosts that We Knew! This is a follow up to the last one, but the next will kinda be its own thing. Anyway, I hope yall like ^^ it's a little shorter and less angsty than I thought it would be :)

Ghosts that We Knew

Part 5: Reconcile

Ghost had seemed to disappear. When you and Ellie came back, the apartment was cleaned, scrubbed down and sanitized of everything. They had even, rather courteously, had taken your stuff from the boxes and put them in plastic bins for easy organization and unpacking. Ellie couldn’t feel Ghost there anymore. It seemed the clean up crew had even washed him away. It saddened her. 

“Mama…where is he?” Ellie asked, looking up at you as she entered the apartment again, “I don’t see him”. 

“I don’t know sweetie. I…I’m thinking he may have moved on. Maybe he just completed his purpose”. 

Your little girl looked skeptical but seemed to understand what you meant. She went to her room, trying to get familiar with everything again. It was like moving in all over again. You stopped in front of the closet, now pristine and scrubbed down. Like Ellie, you felt like they had scrubbed him away too somehow. 

In the days following, you couldn't help but feel that a part of you was oddly lost. He was there and yet, not. Still around, just not as strong. It was a very surreal and odd feeling. The whole vibe of the apartment felt off, so you did what you normally did when you felt out of whack. 

You baked. 

This time, you worked on a loaf of banana nut bread, one of yours and Ellie’s favorites. You had hoped maybe Ghost would come again at the smells and sounds of you baking again, keeping your phone out and the communication app open in case he said something. But nothing came through on the phone, even as you waited for it to finish baking. It just felt empty all around. The apartment was tainted, despite having been cleansed, and it felt barren and cold. A part of you wondered if the cold was due to his presence, or because you just felt cold without him there. Again, it was just a really odd, sad feeling. You read a little on your phone as you waited for the banana loaf to get done, but you could hardly read the words. Something just didn’t feel right. 

You got up, and approached the closet in the hall, noting that Ellie’s door was closed. You had your phone in hand as you sat down in front of the closet. You didn't know what his fascination with that space was, but you had an idea. 

The thought of it honestly broke your heart…well it broke somebody's. You remembered as you touched the scar on your chest. "Your" heart wasn't exactly yours. You couldn't stand remembering that fact…

Pushing it to the back of your mind, you focused on the task at hand. If he was still here, this is where he'd be. 

"Ghost…if you're still here, I want you to know that it's okay. You did what you had to do and you did it to protect us. Even if we weren't home, who's to say they wouldn't have come again? I just wanna let you know that I'm not mad at you, if that's what's wrong. Yes, I was scared. Yes, I was caught by surprise. I just didn't expect to see you. I only saw you a little that first night. I wasn't expecting a full body apparition" you paused, trying to think of what to say, "if you're still here, I'm making banana nut bread. I know you can't eat it, but you mentioned you liked the smell. I'll leave a piece out for you". 

You kissed your hand and gently pressed it to the door. "And if you have moved on, well…congrats soldier, you earned it". 

You moved to stand back up to check on the loaf in the oven, leaving your phone in the hallway in front of the closet. Inside, Ghost did his best to keep quiet, definitely not a difficult feat. Sure you explained yourself, but he didn't want to risk scaring you again. Besides, he needed time to regain his strength. Possession took a lot out of him, as he imagined it did with most spirits. 

Sorry. 

At the sound of the word, you nearly dropped the loaf in the kitchen. You heard the squeak of Ellie's door, she had heard it too. The little girl sat in front of the closet. 

"Ghost? Ghosty? Are you in there?" Ellie asked. 

You were somewhat easy to resist, but Ghost had a deep soft spot for your little girl. Any time she was around something in him felt oddly alive, warm and bright. Anything she wanted, anything she asked, he gave an answer. 

Here. 

"Mama! He's here! He's back!" Ellie called excitedly. 

"I'll be there in a second, hon. Want a piece of banana nut bread?!" You asked. 

He could hear the smile in your voice. You were happy he was here, actually happy. It was beginning to feel like home again for you, and even more like home with your supernatural roommate. 

"Yes please!" Ellie called out, "don't forget one for him!"  

You were indeed smiling. "I would never forget". 

Ellie went to her room to grab a blanket and a couple pillows. She didn't want to leave her spooky friend alone in the lonely hallway tonight. Besides, sweets tasted even better when shared with friends.

"I missed you" Ellie said looking first at the phone and then the door. 

Missed you. The phone seemed to echo back. 

She smiled as you came back with slices of the fresh loaf. You sat down with your little one, setting the plate between the two of you. 

"Banana nut bread tastes the best when made fresh" you smiled, "and it's even better tonight". 

"Yum!" Ellie took a piece excitedly, loving when you made things like this. 

You pushed a piece on a smaller plate towards the closet door. Sure Ghost couldn't eat it, but at least he knew you thought of him. You watched your little one eat, a soft smile on your face. 

"Ghost…you won't leave us right? Promise?" She asked, her little voice soft. 

He took a moment to think. He was touched, Ellie wasn't afraid of him anymore, and he felt a little more complete. Ghost had no idea why he was still stuck here, but a part of him thought it was for the two of you. Whatever higher powers there were, they had finally gifted him that one thing he wanted in life but never felt worthy of: a home and a family. 

Again, he was aware of how selfish it was, but after dedicating his life to the protection of others, perhaps it was time to be a little selfish…

Never. He promised. 

He was home, and Ghost had no intention of leaving. Home was where he was staying, no matter where you and Ellie were…

If you guys enjoyed please consider liking, following, and most importantly reblogging! If you wanna be tagged for this little series, let me know ^.^ thank you and I hope your days going awesome :D

-Ash <3

[etheralisi]

Hello,

"Mootagen"

👈🏻👈🏻

*badum-tss*

[midnightfire830]

I found an old little narrative blerp from my notes and I decided to make it a one-shot for my Royalty AU. I am in no way a writer. So don’t expect a whole lot. But I thought it would be fun to share how I see these characters interacting.

TW: Manipulation, Gaslighting (?)

Cuphead slowly crept around the kitchen as quietly as possible. His feet were careful to avoid tripping on any stray objects and boxes strewn across the ground. Shaky hands fingered through wooden bins and brown clay jars of food, each tightly packaged to keep any unwanted bugs and pests from getting to it. The dim light of his candle doing little to help him pick out the details of the dark pantry.

Eventually his eyes pick out a barrel of apples set in the far corner of the room. Around it were similar bins of other produce: potatoes, carrots, pears and some imported goods from other countries. He snatched an apple from the top of the barrel and grabbed a small loaf of bread off of one of the shelves as he slipped out the pantry door.

Hurrying to get back to bed before the guards realized he ever left, cup walked around the island towards the door clutching his candlestick and the food close to his chest. If cup’s memory served correctly, of which it oftentimes did, the guards on their nightly rounds should be just down the hallway, another set of guards several paces behind the first. The tricky part would be getting past those guards. Then he needs to cross the courtyard and climb the trell-

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice crooned behind him.

Cup let out a (very deep and very dignified) shriek, as he whirled around to meet the voice. With his harsh movements he began to fumble with the objects in his arms, barely managing to keep his candlestick upright while keeping a hand on his food at the same time.

It took a little time but eventually cup managed to not drop the candlestick, at the sacrifice of dropping his food. If someone later asked why he had a mild burn on his hand from the melted wax, well that was his business, thank you.

Once he had his candlestick under control, he slowly looked up to see Dice. The older man leaned against the doorway of one of the kitchen entrances, arms crossed, dark eyes glinting in the dim light, a sly smirk spread across his face, like a younger sibling that had just caught the older doing something wrong. (Which, let’s face it, what else is new?)

“Now, what’s a sickly, little prince like you doing here with stolen food after bedtime?” The man chuckled darkly and pushed off the door he was leaning against, sauntering around the island table that separated the two of them.

“I-I’m just here for a snack, Dice. I’m not bothering anyone,” Cup stuttered. His confidence quickly left him with each step that Dice took. The boy slowly shrinked in on himself as he tried to look anywhere but Dice’s preparatory gaze.

“Now, now, young Prince,” Dice tsked. “You and I both know that your physician put you on a very strict diet, yes? You can’t go aroudn going against doctor’s orders, now can you?” Dice’s heavy hand grabbed Cup’s shoulder in a tight, nearly bruising grip. A sly grin spread across the older man’s face. “Besides, what’s the point of eating if you can’t even keep it down in the first place? Why waste perfectly good food?” Cuphead frowned, offended.

Dice looked down at the fruit and bread now on the floor in disdain. “Well, you’ve wasted it now anyways,” he grumbled. Cup looked away from the ruined food in slight embarrassment. Dice DID have a point on that one. He did drop it. Maybe he could just make it up to Granny later for ruining her food? Maybe he could arrange a way to replace the old food? Or perhaps she’d prefer he find a new book to read to her? More knitting needles and yarn? Maybe he could knit her something new?

Before Cup could go down that rabbit hole Dice clapped him on the back and began to guide him out of the kitchen.. “Come, let’s get you back to bed, boy. All this excitement can’t be good for your poor health.” He didn’t even spare a glance at the food left on the ground when he responded with, “We’ll leave the food there. The staff will pick it back up in the morning, yes?” Cup silently nodded as he let Dice push him towards the door.

Barely even a step in and a loud voice echoed in the mostly empty room. “What’s with all the ruckus in here?!” Granny’s voice demanded. She must have been asleep before because she was dressed in a simple nightgown, brandishing her wooden cane and a half melted candlestick attached to a crudely fashioned iron grip for light. Cup felt a little pang of guilt when he realized that he must have woken her up.

Cuphead began to stutter through a response before Dice interrupted. “The Prince was just headed off to bed, Mrs. Gopher. We’ll be lea-“

“I wasn’t asking YOU.” The old woman interjected. Calmly she turned her expectant gaze to Cuphead who, at the moment, wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else. His guilt was slowly and thoroughly eating away at his stomach, and his mind whirled with dark thoughts.

Biting his lip and stuffing his hands in his pockets, Cuphead stammered out a response. “I j-just came down here for a snack. It-it was just some fruit and bread and I dropped it on the ground. I’m really sorry for sneaking out and taking the food without asking, Granny. I shouldn’t hav-“

“All you wanted was a snack?” Granny sighed, effectively cutting off Cup’s apology. She shuffled further into the kitchen, rolling back her sleeves and setting her candlestick down on the table. “You should have said so. I would have made you something.” She began to pull out some ingredients from the pantry and set them down on the table.

“N-now see here, Mrs. Gopher,” spluttered Dice as he walked around the island table to stop the older woman. “The head physician made it VERY clear tha-“ Dice cut himself off as a wooden spatula, from stars knows where, was suddenly shoved into his face. The old gopher woman glared at the taller man, her face twisted in a scowl.

“I don’t give a flying LEAP what you or that kook Oddswell says. If that boy is hungry, then dammit he’s allowed to get something to eat.” She barked with a stomp of her cane. “Stars knows he doesn’t get enough as it is. So, if he’s up to it, then I see nothing wrong with giving him something to snack on.” Dice’s eyes narrow in a challenging glare. The two stubbornly lock into a glare contest for a few moments before granny decidedly whipped her spatula to point at a startled Cuphead.

“Cuphead! I am putting it on the record that you are allowed, at any time, to take anything from the kitchen to snack on. If anyone says otherwise then they will have to talk with ME. Understood?”

Cuphead squeaked out a small “Yes, ma’am,” before Granny went back to work cutting up some fruit and plating in a small glass bowl.

“I’ll escort him to bed, Mr. Dice. You can leave now,” she dismissed, not even looking up from the fruit she was cutting up.

Dice looked like he very much wanted to both argue and strangle her while also looking remarkably baffled. Though he mostly achieved a very constipated expression. At some point he managed to steel himself, he smoothed out the front of his deep purple tunic and straightened out his ridiculous mustache. “Very well, Mrs. Gopher,” Dice grit between his teeth. “I’ll be going, then.” He gave a small strained bow to Cuphead and a polite nod to Granny before briskly walking out the kitchen entrance.

Now that Dice was gone the kitchen was plunged into silence, the only thing breaking it was the occasional chop of Granny’s knife and the sound of footsteps down the hallway.

While Cup appreciated Granny advocating for him, he couldn’t help but still feel guilty. He shouldn’t have assumed that just because he’s the prince that it’s ok to take food. It’s not his to begin with. How could he be so stupid? And dropping the food? Now Granny won’t be able to use it in the meals she and the cooks prepare! Maybe he should try to apologize to her? Make it up to her somehow? What do people normally do in these situations?

A glass being pushed into his vision knocked him out of that thought process. Granny offered up a glass of water and a bowl of cut fruit and slices of bread in his face. Her expression was softer than the one she had when Dice was in the room, this one was kind, understanding, and slightly worried.

Cup took a hold of the offered glass and bowl softly, taking a small sip of water and began to nibble on an apple slice as Granny worked on putting the leftover food back in the pantry.

They sat in comfortable silence as Cuphead watched Granny shuffle around the kitchen, tidying up little things, wiping down countertops and making sure food was secured away for the night. He did, of course, offer to help her, but that was quickly shot down and she demanded he sit and eat his food while she cleans up a bit. So. He huffed. And he sat. And he ate. Silently.

“Best not to let what he says get to you,” Granny’s voice suddenly rang across the room at some point. When Cuphead didn’t respond she looked up from what she was doing and their eyes met. Something akin to doubt must have been in his expression, because Granny put down what she was doing and hobbled over with a very serious expression. She leaned against the counter with a sigh. “I’m sorry that man treats you the way he does. He has absolutely no right to.”

Cuphead shrugged half-heartedly as he turned his attention to pushing his snack around inside the bowl. Anything to not look at Granny’s very serious expression. “It’s not that bad,” the prince muttered softly. “He’s just trying to look out for me. I get it.”

“What he’s doing is not looking out for you,” Granny softly argued. She idly ran her fingers along the head of her cane. Feeling the groves in the old wood. “He’s being a bully. Especially to you. Don’t let him take advantage of you.”

Cuphead only gave another half-hearted shrug as he shoved some fruit in his mouth, not wanting to talk on the subject anymore. Granny sighed, slightly disappointed, as she realized that the prince didn’t want to talk. She placed a small hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze as she went back to work.

Despite what you’d think for a woman of her age, Granny finished her tasks quickly and before Cup knew it, the pair was making their way through the grounds to the Prince’s room.

They were stopped a few times by some guards on occasion, mostly them asking what the prince was doing out at the time, why Granny was with them, that sort of thing. But generally Cuphead and Granny were left alone to travel to the Prince’s room.

Cuphead, as soon as he walked into his bedroom, set the bowl and glass on the nightstand by his bed, and climbed underneath the covers of his bed. Granny shuffled to sit in her usual rocking chair that sat in the corner of the room, right next to Cuphead’s bed.

She rooted through a large wicker basket Cup kept next to the rocking chair. In it held several balls of yarn of different colors and textures and extra knitting needles. He always kept some in his room for moments like these when she decided to stay in Cup’s room.

“Are you staying here tonight?” Cup asked as he finished off his snack and water and pulled up the covers to his chin.

“Just till you fall asleep,” Granny replied simply as she quickly settled on a ball of a light bluish-gray yarn, grabbed the extra needles, and began a new project. Something for her to work on absentmindedly.

“Thanks” Cuphead responded as he tried to shift to a much more comfortable position. Granny only hummed in response as she continued to work on her little project.

Cuphead fell asleep to the sound of the chair rocking, granny’s occasional singing, and the clack of knitting needles.

So ye. That’s all I have. Hope y’all like this lil’ thing. 👍

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Porus (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nickname- Po by his family

Age- 34 (immortal)

Location- Shadowstone neighborhood, New Olympus

Personality- He's an introverted idealist who thrives on creative ingenuity. He's also brilliant, resourceful, & is constantly inspired by new ideas. He's married.

He has the standard abilities of a god except shapeshifting. As the god of resourcefulness his other powers/abilities include enhanced craftsmanship, supertasking, thought acceleration, limited pyrokinesis, pathway generation, & hypercompetence.

Porus resides at The Polysēmantōr Chambers, an apartment building complex in the Shadowstone neighborhood of New Olympus. He lives with his wife Penia (goddess of poverty) and her sister Ptocheia (goddess of beggary). He takes pride in the fact that he built most of the furniture (except for the china- it was bought at A Hearth Design furniture store during a super sale) as well as the large self-organizing mahogany closet in his bedroom. He often finds thrown out glass jars in recycle bins in the city which then become reused to store obol coins.

Other members of his immediate family includes his older brother Ponos (god of hard labor & toil), and his mother-in-law Amechania (goddess of helplessness & want).

Porus will almost always start off the mornings early with a bike ride through the city. He'll sometimes go for a walk through Eaglepoint Park with his wife if she's up early too.

Go-to drinks for him include water, ginger ale, beer, orange juice, iced tea, & earl grey tea. He also doesn't mind red wine. His usuals from The Roasted Bean is an olympian sized roast coffee and a large iced green tea.

Porus designed and made the saddle (using leather from an old railway car) for his brother's dragon Shadowsteel.

There's always loose change in his pockets.

Porus always has his beloved notebook with him, where he's writing down & drawing new invention ideas.

He enjoys slices of toasted wheat bread topped with butter and honey. He also likes his wife's rizogalo and scrambled eggs (added with tomatoes, spinach, & feta cheese) along with his sister-in-law's blueberry oatmeal muffins.

Porus and his wife are still newlyweds having been married for a little over a year. He fondly remembers the moment her intense dark amber hued eyes met his at a council meeting in New Olympus City Hall. He quickly admired her intelligence and tenacity. Porus had asked for her mother's blessing twice- when her asked her out on a date & when he proposed. Porus even forged their own wedding bands- made out of Celestial Bronze.

A guilty pleasure of his are the 20 chicken nuggets from Olympic Chef. He eats them without any dipping sauce.

His favorite thing to get from The Bread Box is a grilled chicken sandwich along with a green bean salad (topped with toasted almonds & feta cheese).

Porus' main job is as an inventor. Some of his products (like the self-organizing closets) are sold at The Lumber Shed, a home appliance store. He's also working with iCHOR Tech to design and develop their latest smartwatch. Another of his inventions littered throughout the city are the touch screen parking meters.

His favorite frozen treat ia a plain vanilla sundae topped with crushed gingerbread cookies & vanilla cake pieces from The Frozen Spoon.

Even though he cares for his sister-in-law, Porus does feel that it's long overdue for Ptocheia to begin living independently. Most times when he tries spending time with his wife or going out with her, it becomes a third wheel affair. Never mind that it's always uncomfortable for Porus to initiate intimate contact with Penia- the fact that her sister is a floor below being at the forefront of his mind. He often vents his frustrations to his friends and brother.

In the pantheon he's friends with Ktesios (god of the household), Neicus (god of debate & appeal), Karmanor (demi-god of the harvest), Eikono (goddess of iconography & literature), Axiótimos (god of honor), Kópros (god of manure & excrement), and Corymbus (Cory) (god of the ivy).

Outside the pantheon, Porus has many friends who are cyclopes!

His all time favorite meal is his wife's balsamic pasta salad.

In his free time Porus enjoys spending time in his workshop, reading, blacksmithing, chess, doing crossword puzzles, bowling, yoga, playing pool, drawing, fencing, doing puzzles, bike riding, and playing various card games.

"It's not the lack of resources that causes failure, it's the lack of resourcefulness that causes failure."

[augment-techs]

28, 32, 39 for the Ship Ask Game for BillySkull

Who’s the better chef? Do they cook for the other? With all things being equal, Billy grew up in a house with loving parents who provided for him and tried to teach him the basics of life so he could get along, but most of the time he was always in his head with calculations and theoretical problems and just ate whatever was in front of him without taking in how it got there. Therefore, when he was finally on his own, only then did he realize...recipe instructions are liars or idealists. He can cook for himself, but would never want to subject anyone to anything else he might make other than that floral tea he got very specific instructions on from Trini.

Skull on the other hand learned as much as he could so he didn't accidentally poison himself with the food he scraped together for most of his childhood; and only got better as he got older. He can make choco-strawberry cinnamon shortcake waffles, traditional Ukrainian Paska bread, lime jello fudge that Bulk claims causes Summer Camp flashbacks, Nutella stuffed donuts, Pupusa cheesy and thick, and a special kind of steak soaked in red wine so rich and easy to cut that it melts in the mouth. Really, if Billy hadn't already been into him, he would have dropped his pants five seconds after eating any one of those dishes and jumped Skull's bones for the rest of eternity. Do either of them drink? If so, who’s the lightweight, and how does their partner care for them? Being that he has a rough time being a Ranger and has earned personal time, Billy does imbibe in champagne during celebrations or wine during a rich dinner, but is very much a light weight, so he paces himself and never goes above three flutes or glasses. The one time he went too far, Skull took him home, made him drink an entire 8oz. glass of water, and made sure there was a bin next to the bed for when he puked his guts out. Followed up by making him light toast and chewy bacon that Billy actually managed to keep down...even while wrapping himself around Skull like a sloth. Skull has lived his entire life with a family that imbibe in horrible garbage and do terrible things because of it. The most he'll take on is a bottle of the shittiest beer, and maybe a Bloody Mary if it slides his way. (Except in the Coinless Universe; there Skull has trained himself to drink an entire bottle of pure vodka or good tequila and not die... but nobody takes care of him the next day, except usually one of his fellow sentries standing outside of the communal bathrooms wincing while he pukes, looking to give him an egg and some coffee.) When and how did they admit that they loved each other? If they haven’t yet, why? When they were tiny little kids, Skull told him Billy he loved him in little ways right up until the blond broke his heart and they separated into different venues of life for almost two decades. Helping him tie his shoes, carrying him around on his shoulders during parades, giving him the last cupcake in a box, finding him four leafed clovers to tuck in his hair, bandaging Billy's scraped knees and then kissing them better. When they were in their thirties and got back in touch after a decade of absolutely nothing (which Skull didn't have a choice in and Billy felt like shit about); it took a long time of getting to know each other again before they could even come close. Billy had an inter-galactic relationship that didn't work out even after he realized he was gay and his partner was a trans man, spent all his time teaching or supplying material for Ranger teams on Earth without stepping foot there until his mom took ill, and spent the rest of his time trying to bring Zordon back. Skull had a child that he kept safe and happy, even while having absolutely no help--Bulk on Mirinoi, his mother hating him, his brother with his own husband going through health issues--and having to spend his first few years as a parent being a street worker. He got lucky selling a couple jingles, which lead him to getting signed up as a singer for a theme song for a hit Japanese anime, which lead him to become popular as a singular artist. Fortunately, Skull doesn't have his head stuck up his ass and noticed how well Billy got along with his son. A year later and Billy finally says the words, which Skull simply replied with, "About time, dummy."

[calvinhobbs27]

Yesenia was shocked when she looked into the massive area. She saw sculptures, wooden furniture, old-time period clothes, and jewelry.

“What all is this Matt?” She asked Matt. “This is the cellar under my grandparent’s house.”

“This area in left front is all the cellar was when I used to play down here when I was a kid.”

Matt and Yesenia started exploring the 2,000 sq foot cellar.

The left side of the cellar is the side Matt remembers. The stairs leading to the cellar door to go outside were now water-sealed concrete. The HO scale train and scenery were still in the concave to the left of where the stairs used to be. That was Matt’s favorite part of the whole house.

After looking and exploring through the original part of the cellar, they continued their self-guided tour.

The layout of the cellar wasn’t the usual layout of a house with 2,000 sq ft. There were eight rooms lined down the walls, four on each side. In the very back middle, there was a much bigger room.

They both walked up to the first room on the left and opened the door. The room was filled with jewelry and trinkets. They were neatly arranged, displayed, and categorized in glass displayed furniture. There was also jewelry neatly arranged in drawers in cubby boxes.

“Wow!” Matt explained.

“Where did this all come from?” In a rhetorical tone.

Yesenia asked,” What in the world?”

“You never told me he liked collecting jewelry. These are gorgeous pieces.”

They couldn’t fathom how much all the jewelry was worth.

They both together continued to walk into each room. Each room was filled with different items, according to categories. One was filled with small pieces of furniture. Another was rolling hanger stands with all types of clothing. Clothing made out of leather, wool, polyester, and even burlap. Each piece was labeled. Matt and Yesenia walked into the next room and Yesenia smiled. This was the art room. It was filled with watercolor, acrylic, and oil paintings. Landscapes, portraits, and abstract paintings lined the walls. There are also bins filled with paintings, so many paintings.

All the other side rooms were filled with valuables also, except one. The one in the back right was a full bathroom. It had a stand-up shower, a vanity, and a bidet. James was fancy.

Yesenia and Matt entered the room, which was more like a small apartment. It was kept very clean and organized. Back against the wall was James' mahogany desk. It was massive. Behind the desk on the wall was a beautiful watercolor of the mansion and its landscape. This room was the total setup. It had a small kitchen with a refrigerator and dishwasher. In the back of the room was a Swedish Zero Gravity recliner. That’s where James took naps. The room had a long closet with two long sliding doors. Matt was expecting a long row of clothes and maybe a suit or two.

But instead, there were 50 large leather portfolios lining up against the wall. Yesenia was looking over his shoulder when Matt zipped open the first case. Inside were 15-20 watercolor paintings, each one unframed on high-quality paper.

Each painting depicted some kind of building, city, landscape, house, or small town. Yesenia slid up a painting and it was a shopping area in Stamford, Connecticut. The shopping area was in the middle of town. James' favorite shoppe was a bakery that specialized in breads. Matt’s dad would always go there when he visited the family. The tones of the paints were browns, greens, and grays.

[gottamakesurveys]

Have You Ever Done These Things?

Elaborate if you like :)

A and B Edition

Absailed?

Acted in a play?

Lied about your age?

Skipped ahead in a queue?

Visited at least 5 American states?

Made amends with someone you fell out with?

Anchored a ship?

Made applesauce?

Tried aqua aerobics?

Took part in. An art class outside school?

Been Armed in public?

Wrote an online article?

Asked for someone’s number you don’t know personally?

Attended a rave?

Attended a festival?

Attended seminar?

Drove an automatic car?

Made a big faux pas because of autocorrect?

Avoided someone you knew out and about as you didn’t want to talk to them?

Won an award or trophy?

Backpacked across a region or country?

Made a bad decision due to the influence of alcohol or drugs?

Bought a new bag to then realise you no longer liked it?

Got hit in the face really hard by a ball?

Made animal balloons?

Done ballet?

Been banned from an online page or forum?

Been part of a band?

Attended more than one bands concert or gig in the same week?

Been down to a basement or up in an attic alone?

Ate the batter of a cake mx?

Been up all night and not gone to bed?

Belonged to an exclusive group?

Bet money on an outcome and win?

Bet money on an outcome and lost?

Read all the Bible?

Bid on an item in an auction?

Bought an item of clothing way too big for you by accident?

Binned a present someone bought you that you didn’t like?

Made your own homemade birthday card?

Planned a surprise birthday party for someone?

Had a surprise birthday someone planned for you?

Blamed someone else for a serious mistake you made?

Blared music really loud at a very late hour?

Blocked someone on social media?

Been blocked on social media? Watched a Bollywood movie?

Had your own online blog?

Watched a Bond movie?

Been rude to a boss or teacher?

Been towelling?

Hid in a box?

Had a favourite boy band you were obsessed with?

Bragged about an achievement you had?

Made bread from scratch?

Bribed someone to keep quiet?

Called someone your brother who isn’t actually your brother?

Ate a bug?

Been stung by a bumblebee or wasp?

Been burnt bad enough you needed treatment?

Been on a night bus servic