#but most of the time i just cant express my fondness very well....

[cherrylight]

i love my f/os so much i dont know... i dont know....... its hard to express love sometimes..... but i genuinely feel so much love for these two gaaaaaaaaaah rfhdjgdfh like i get so smiley seeing them or giggle or have to scroll away from fanart i see because im just a flustered mess........

i sometimes think i really needed a new f/o to be able to get so happy and excited and just overall gushy worthy about......

i still love my old f/os...... but i dont think its as much as i do with these two........ idk these two just make me so happy.... i also cant stop saying i miss them like every 5 seconds T_T but oh well....

[starshipdecay]

Toon Zelda redesigns! I've never been fond of the Toon Zelda design, and these girls deserve some individuality. Design notes and rambles below the cut :D

(time to turn the proper grammar off i aint capitalizing all this. warning: i am verbose)

first up, tmc zelda!

shes the one most like toon zelda, since i felt like the vibes fit the *most* (though not a lot). also, with her place on the timeline, i could justify a lot of bits, like the wings and the cape

the cape! obvs it comes from the toon zelda base design, but also it involves skyloftian fashion! i take the timeline as a challenge, and i once saw a take somewhere that the skyloftians all wear their family crests (most often birds lol) on their person. zelda here (and link too) do just that, wearing their family crests on little caplets. on the back is, of course the royal crest

i went very cutesy princess for her. tmc has such a *whimsical* vibe that i feel is very. muted? by the fact its stuck with the toon style. so i wanted to put in that vibe here. also her sprites make it look like her skirt is super poofy, so how could i not?

curly hair: i wanted something interesting, and most zeldas have straight hair. so! adds to the cuteness

i didnt draw it so well but she (and link) both have very sleepy expressions. zelda especially just has a sleepy expression in her sprite, its quite adorable.

shes not as decked out as other princesses, cuz i see tmc taking place before the royal family really starts to get *royal* as we see it. shes still of course got a tiara and some embroidery tho.

Tetra! her base design isnt all that changed from the original. her name is a fun hc of mine tho. i think "von Hyrule" sounds better as a surname than just "hyrule". shes not zelda, but shes still a descendant.

(WW) princess z (as i call her)

I went more oot zelda vibes for her, since she would be closer, temporally, to oot. i also went very warm, since ive never seen the flood as a *warm* endeavor.

shes got the shoulder danglies, as most zeldas have shoulder armor of some kind. the danglies instead of actual armor are supposed to kind of evoke a royal sea captain kind of vibe.

shes ghostly, with a fish-eyed stare. shes been dead and gone for a long time. shes also a bit taller and a few years older than tetra (as of ww). shes just some spectre the king saw in tetra, not at all a close match

tetra, being smaller than princess z, doesnt fit into the clothes. the dress is too big for her (as is in canon gd that skirt is WAY too long for her), the coat is baggy. the role of a princess *literally* does not fit her.

the ribbons! theyre my replacement for the wings, and they represent the wind in the game! since its represented by white lines, the ribbons are a perfect symbolic match. (also, a note, tetras hair is shorter and coarser than princess z's)

i mostly bullshitted the blue panel but the vague idea i gave it was 'a hope for the triforce to give good fortunes to the people' (pictured as dots, mostly behind her arms)

Pirate Queen Tetra

ph! about a year has passed, and tetra has really grown into her own! as well as literally grown!

shes still tetra, pirate and captain, but shes incorporated that royal heritage into her identity: quite literally! she made piecemeal of the original outfit (what was left of it anyway after the fight), and added bits and pieces to her new life.

she also takes full advantage of said heritage to call herself pirate queen. its great for branding. whos gonna say she CANT go by pirate queen?

the seagull feather is from Aryll. only crew member tetra wears a trinket from (who can say no to that ball of sunshine! certainly not tetra)

not many notes. yall can see whats there. (also she still wears her hair in a bun, its just in a low bun (you can almost see it) when she wears her hat)

st zelda!

first note is: shes not a princess! shes an heiress of the company tetra had made and left behind. hence her title of Lady zelda. ("new hyrule" rly just like-- the ending of ww was *literally* that hyrule is dead and thats okay. how did they miss that :sob emoji:) also calling her Lady Zelda fits with the train vibes

shes in a 1880s style bustle dress because 1) i am OBSESSED with bustle dresses. i love them. so much. 2) the more historical vibe works really well with trains! also a lot of the other outfits in the game have late victorian vibes, so shes certainly not out of place.

her hat (and gloves): any proper lady has a hat on when going about town, however, when she gets body snatched, she pulled out her hatpin to use (ineffectively) as a weapon (she IS tetras great-great-granddaughter), causing her to lose her hat *and* hairdo.

shes still got the hatpin in her ghost form, too. she uses it to threaten people for funsies

Ribbons! on the topic of hairdo, her ribbons! visually tying her to tetras design, the ribbons here instead take on the image of train tracks, with her pin (on the left side) evoking a train engine. the pin also makes her look rich and girly. when her hair comes undone, this makes the ribbons all loose, like how the train tracks disappear in game. (the hat also kinda connects her to tetra)

thanks for reading :D i hope you liked reading this as much as i liked typing it

[thetoffeefox]

How The Protocol Feels About Gekkos Little Buddies Headcanons

Astra: Absolutely adores every single one of them. No reservations with any of them. She loves being able spend time with them and get to know each of their personalities. She has a soft spot for Dizzy

Breach: Surprisingly he does seem to mind them most of the time. There is this thing where if dizzy gets too excited she sploots on people. Not to mention the same thing with Thrash accidentally detaining the others due to excitement. Between all of them he tottally adores little wingman.

Brimstone: Not to say he dislikes the cute little creatures but hes awkward around them. Given the fact theyre stolen kingdom property and I fully 100% believe the man grew up with out pets he doesn't know how to act with them. Not to mention the time wingman took his laptop hostage.

Chamber: He doesn't hate them, but her certainly doesn't like them much. Between Dizzy splooting on the agents in excitement and wingman being the little clepto guy he is and stealing his teleporter he isn't exactly fond of them.

Cypher: Oh how this man finds these creatures so interesting....but also a bit of a handful. Wingman once again being a clepto and trying to help thinks taking the mans hat is acceptable. Cypher although frustrated still in some ways finds this very endearing and will always be gentle with the little bird like creature.

Fade: Doesn't openly express ot a lot but she loves all of them. Dizzy seems to have wormed her way into the nightmare womans heart due to her general calm personality.

Harbor: Lord have mercy this man is an animal man and although there is nothing else like these little guys he enjoys playing, snuggling, and entertaining them. Hes taught wingman how to surf using his artifact you cant change my mind about that.

Jett: She absolutely adores every single one of them, but prefers they stay away from the kitchen and her knives. Dont want them to get hurt. She very much enjoys Mosh.

Kay/o: He doesnt seem to dislike or like them. Finding them to be interesting he always tends to be very observing of them. For some reason Thrash seems to very much like the robot, so he often gets detained due to her excitement of seeing him.

Killjoy: She thinks theyre adorable especially when wingman IS NOT RUNNING OFF with her tech. She near had a heart attack when the little guy was running around with one of her swamp grenades.

Neon: Like Kj she finds them quite adorable. Doesn't seem to have really any reservations with them....Well except Thrash, she adores her but the affectionate creature does detain her often.

Omen: He is....Hes anxious around them. Fear is too strong of a word, but they make him ancy.

Phoenix: He thinks the little guys are cool. Nothing against Dizzy but hes hesitant around her because she might just sploot on his jacket or shoes. Wingman is as he likes to say is his little homie.

Raze: Not a single ounce of reservation is in this womans body towards these cute cuddly creatures. After seeing wingmans cleptic tendencies she keeps a sharp eye on her satchels and grenades. The woman would beat herself up if something happened to them due to her explosives. She has quite the affection for Mosh and Wingman

Reyna: Isnt going to openly show it but adores these little guys. Dizzy is her favorite and it seems she to enjoys the empress company.

Sage: Oh heavens they are cute but they do cause quite a bit of trouble at times. Being the mom figure of the protocal she often hears the complaints about Wingman taking off with something. Thrash detaining someone, or dizzy splooting on someone or something. At the end of the day though they are cute and a great addition to the team!!

Skye: She adores them and her pack has play dates with them. Thrash and dog have a good tug of war. Dizzy and her bird love going on flights. The play dates are the best days.

Sova: Wingman makes this man feel sich an unbridled joy. All of them do but the little bird like creature just makes this man melt. To the point where he indulges his nad habits of running off with things.

Viper: She isnt much of an animal person. She doesnt dis like or hate them. It's more she doesn't really like cleaning up after them or having to worry about them getting into things they shouldn't. Out of all of them she does find mosh endearing but that could be because he isnt really able to get into anything like wingman. Also, she is Moshes favorite person. He absolutely just loves and adores the cold woman. Theres times where she simply allows him to sit off to the side in her lab and he does so watching her the whole time in awe.

Yoru: He thinks theyre all cute but isnt going to admit that. He has an image and reputation to uphold. Although Dizzy has splooted on his head a time or two so he is a tad wary of her because well he really doesnt want his hair messed up.

[krisbianbitchface]

Ok so to warm my heart a little from the coldness of knowing I will have to wait 2 years to see dear Rhaenyra again I have started watching Game of Thrones,I was not very fond of it when it came out however now I am older and just desiring to binge watch anything to get myself to sleep and I have a few thoughts I need to get out of my head or maybe opinions,it might me a little over the top since of course I am a lesbian drama queen and I live to complain,im only in season 3 almost ending the season...

I fucking hate that kid bran,he takes soooo much screen time just to retell dreams and look like that snarky kid that throws random stuff on the ground in Walmart with a stupid look on his face (I really Wish Jamie would have killed his ass)

Melissandre is the most interesting character of the series,so witty and cruel in the best way,I was shocked when she killed that king with her baby demon and absolutely smitten,I love cruel women.

Jon Snow is the most boring character I have EVER witnessed in the story of television and trust me I've been there since Xena Warrior Princess graced the screens,just no goals,no path,no big dick or small dick energy,no energy AT ALL,just a big fat ugly Hero complex that I just can't stand because the actor has the same expression everytime no matter what happens,even having a boner with a cute girl cuddling his dick he is 😐 like gtfo of my face

Cersei is second to Melissandre in the scale of bad bitches,she is just so fucking resented and hot,everything she says sounds like wind chimes even if she is sending a child to his death,I cant help but want her to hate fuck me and call me a fagg0t and then tell me Im the worst fuck she's ever had and just use me again.

Dragons...Should I say more? I started the series of House of the Dragon because I just love dragons,and a particular scene is just edged in my mind like iron,Daenerys saving her little dragons from that sorcerers dungeon and their cute little faces watching her almost like trying to say "Momma! You're here! we missed you!" I think is the cutest scene ever.

Daenerys...She serving cunt,she ate and licked the plate,she served and left no crumbs,the director said cut and she heard CUNT and went with it, she caused a motherquake of 9.99 in the cunt scale,she's mother, and no other than the Mother of Dragons, I just love her,she is what Cleopatra VII was before hollywood found her and turned her into a makeup propaganda fashionista, a true strategist and conqueror.

Kal Drogo,I just mourned his death,he was so cute and murderous, i wept real tears for sweet Daenerys, I think the actor was really good and he needed more screen time, his scenes were charged with masculity and power,something we really lack these days in television.

Sansa, she is a beauty,the kind of beauty fantasy writers try to describe and there is just no way that human exists and then there is her...But she is so fucking traumatized and set aside just like every other woman in that universe,hell,even in life,I feel for her...And also wanna date her,i won't lie

Aria is a tough little woman,I think they really need to step up her action scenes because I think she serves well as a hope in the darkness kind of character however I do wish the actress was more prone to make a proper action sequence ala Eleven from Stranger Things,you can say what you want about miss Millie Bobby Brown but she is one of the few actresses willing to make many changes ln television for years to come with her characters.

Jamie Lannister is an interesting fighter and I wish it was possible to swap his fight scenes with Aria since i think it was proper giving the context,anyway he has good fighting sequences that I think were ment for someone else.

The sex scenes... This was a series HBO really set the bar high for nudity,there is so much nudity,sometimes unnecessary and cruel for the actresses involved and at the same time, is not surprising considering this series was made by two straight men,this always happens in the industry although these days is harder due to the constant intimacy coordination, but yeah in those times I can't imagine how unerving it was for actresses to bare it all for a couple of coins in a popular series.

Enough with my ramblings,I declare myself a fan of game of thrones only for Daenerys and her cute little dragons 💖

[olberic]

so the first time i played the da games 9 years ago i just picked the romances based on who i as the player liked, and my characters had very little depth bc i was just playing to try and maximize approval for everyone. but this time around im letting my characters develop more. im picking dialogue options that result in disapproval bc my characters are sticking to their beliefs. it also means the romance stories come about based on who my character ends up getting along with. heads up for talking abt my characters, itd be under a readmore if i wasnt using an ancient version of the app lol

so my city elf warden, lev, picked zevran. she had a hard time trusting humans after what she’s been through in the alienage, and though she comes to see morrigan as her closest friend, she doesnt warm up enough to leliana or alistair to pursue their more serious romances. did have the threesome with isabela. when zevran has the choice of going back with the crows, she realizes she cant stand the thought of losing him.

this time around, my marian hawke ended up being down bad for aveline, which surprised me, tbh. just so put out when aveline liked donnic instead (but i DID get the kiss scene. heheh). she eventually ended up with isabela, though i interpret the specific events of their romance a little differently than that first main romance convo. my hawke also flirted with merrill a bit, and was definitely fond of her, but it never sparked. this particular hawke is also a lesbian even though my first playthrough had hawke as bi. her absolute best friend ended up being fenris.

im still working through inquisition so im not sure who teolin (dalish, and the keeper’s second, not first, thank you very much) is interested in. im playing him as bi, and flirted a lot with cassandra at first, but rn shes mad at him for being so pro-mage. otherwise thinks josephine is cute and has been enjoying flirting with dorian, but is very much an impulsive sort than what the dialogue options strictly let me choose. highest non-romance approvals are with varric and solas, and has been getting along well with leliana, as far as he can tell.

im also not as invested in the romance as a whole this time playing the games. as a teen it was really exciting to have romance options, so that stuck around in my memory of the games. this time its not as important to me. yes im making a post about it because it is a commonly discussed element of the games but its not my main thing with them this time.

im appreciating the other relationships a lot more. lev struggling with deep distrust for humans while learning to trust alistair as an ally, her respect for morrigan, her appreciation for oghren’s straightforwardness. hawke’s love for her mother and sister, her unconditional support for anders and the mage underground, her honest discussions with fenris as her best friend. and while i cant say much for teolin yet, as the player im really enjoying interpreting his approval levels based on his beliefs and how that makes others see him.

and when my warden struggled for half the game to drag alistair’s approval up, and my hawke stood her ground when defending apostates against people she cares deeply about, and teolin’s pride in being an elf and a mage means hes shooting down his “inner circle”, its still really satisfying to me. not everyone needs to be uncomplicated besties like i thought they had to be when i played it the first time. the games are so political and give you enough freedom of expression to stick to what you believe (for the most part), so why not embrace it?

[seobshome]

seventeen as midnights songs

notes - this is literally my first ‘customized’ post on tumblr so if you have any tips plz help me lol. I got this idea because I saw some videos on tiktok of taylor and svt cross overs and the tour dates gave me this idea. The explanations just get longer and longer and some of them don’t make a lot of sense lol.

       Below the cut !

Lavender Haze - Joshua

I just feel like it fits him so well. I literally look at him and it reminds me of the vibes of lavender haze, he’s so vibrant and expressive, quite literally the most dreamy man ever. He’s so ethereal and full of beauty and that's how I see Lavender haze, its a beautiful song. “I’ve been under scrutiny, you handle it beautifully” I believed Shua is loyal to a fault, I just can’t describe why he’s so lavender haze but he is. 

Maroon - Mingyu

Easily it belongs to Mingyu, the song is just so him. “laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closet friend” sounds so him, like a relationship with him would be so intense but such fondness. Maroon to me is a relationship full of passionate love and that’s how I see this. Mingyu is literally a Taylor Swift song I don’t care, I am so down bad for this beautiful man.

Anti-Hero - Seungkwan

You cant tell me he doesn't embody it. All the hate he’s received, and the insecurities he’s talked about. Some people make it seem like a chore just to compliment all his hard work. He still pushes through it through no matter who says what on his name. Along with how the industry treated him before he made a name for himself and his. 

Snow on the Beach - Vernon

In my mind Vernon is such Lana material, he would be a Lana stan, I don’t care. How he’s spoken about his ethnicity and how he can get uncomfortable with it, but yet is still seen as so handsome in the eyes of many. “weird but fucking beautiful” his mixed ethnicity is looked down upon in Korea, but he’s so looked up to and complimented often on his other-worldly looks.

You’re on your own kid - Chan 

Everyone saw this coming, but that’s okay because its accurate. Even though he does have 12 older brothers to look after him and help guide him everyone knows the childish urge to want to do everything on your own. Everyone wants to try to prove themselves and often times it leads to them distancing themselves and trying to do it on their own, I see that in him especially growing up in the scene from a very young age. (this is me projecting btw)

Midnight Rain - Seungcheol

“A deep portal, time travel all the love we unravel and the life I gave away” quite literally Choi Seungcheol, he’s sacrificed so much of himself just to succeed and make a name for himself and the rest of the boys at such a young age, stepping up to be their leader. He has so much love for all of them and all I could hope is he looks back and sees his sacrifices have made him into who he is today. 

Question...? - Hoshi 

Honestly at first I didn’t really have any reasoning for assigning him to this song just a feeling but then the lyrics. “ It was one drink after another” made me think of him in ttt, “fuckin politics and gender roles” His duality and his style of dance is so fluid and I feel Hosh is such an open awesome guy and I just thought of him. “ Does it feel like everything's just like second best after that meteor strike” I feel he is often hard on himself and the others just from having to build themselves up from nothing and wanting the best for everyone. (idk if this one makes sense)

Vigilante Shit - Woozi

This song just makes me think of Jihoon honestly I don’t really have an explanation to my thoughts here. “Sometimes I wonder which one will be your last lie they say looks can kill and I might try”, everyone always says he the scariest when he’s mad but we all know Jihoon would do a lot for seventeen, he already does. There's just so many layers to him, and I think he defends the group much more than he lets on. This man could definitely write a diss track or something as his revenge.

Bejeweled - Jeonghan 

Obviously bejeweled is his song he’s so elegant with such a big personality. Not to mention his gorgeous looks and smile its hard not to smile at him when he’s giggling and grinning. His personality is layered though but he’s still such a sweet soul and he blesses those around him in a caring way under his mischief. Many members have talked about how they can come to Jeonghan with whatever, I just think he lights up a room.

Labyrinth - Jun

This song just suits him in my opinion “lost in the labyrinth of my mind”, we all know Jun spaces out a lot and he’s in his own world quite often which is one thing I really love about him. I cant explain it but his vibe is literally this song to me and the mixed beats and genres is just perfect. “you would break your back to make me break a smile” I just wanted to include this because it reminded me of the Jun 2nd place episode, plus seventeen as a whole love Jun so much and he can do nothing and they’d smile and laugh which I think is so precious. 

Karma - Minghao 

Nobody can tell me this song isn't Hao, he literally embodies karma. He wouldn’t stoop to anybody's level just to get back at them but he’d let the universe take care of it. “My pennies made your crown” literally came from nothing, a bankrupt company to the group its been made to today. By far one of the best dancer’s of the 3rd gen. “ ask me what I learned from all those years ask me what I earned from all those tears ask me why so many fade but I'm still here” It wasn’t an easy battle for them to get to the top either they went through many hardships and struggles and yet all 13 are still together.

Sweet Nothing - Seokmin 

I’m gonna try my best to make up a description for it but this was a no brainer between him and gyu. He’s literally one of the sweetest men ever in my eyes, and his gorgeous smile. “Outside they're push and shoving you're in the kitchen humming” this line just reminds me so much of him, he’s almost always so sweet and gentle with all the members and he doesn’t want any special treatment in return. Soft head pats, loving smiles, and laughing fits is what I imagine with dk.

Mastermind - Wonwoo

We all know Wonwoo as an intelligent man so of course it makes sense he ended up as mastermind. “saw a wide smirk on your face, you knew the entire time” that line just reminds me of him, like even if you schemed against him I just think he would know the whole time and let it flow because he wanted it too, and to see you happy. Wonwoo is a mastermind himself too so it just makes sense. (gives me debate night vibes lol)

[bonesandthebees]

OH GOD ITS THIS CHAPTER (5) OH GOD OH FUCKSHFKGKF

I remember this chapter caught me SO OFF guard, i wasnt expecting the angst to be so intense /pos goddd this chapter is so good

Another eerie parallel of hats and my life is my aunt gifted me tarot cards, and we spoke a lot about tarot when i went to visit her, wild

Apparently her mom used to do tarot but then she predicted her best friend's death so she stopped 🧍‍♂️ LIKE??!?! MY AUNT JUST DROPPED THAT ON ME AND CHANGED THE TOPIC LIKE HELLOOO GO BACK WDYM UR MOM PREDICTED SOMEONES DEATH?!??!?@?

Shits wild, she ALSO told me some hella spooky irl ghost stories

Also lmfao i love hats tubbo sm, hes so iconic

I LOVE WILBUR SO MUCH

HES SUCHHHH AN OLDER BROTHER SOBS CRIES WAILS

SCREAMS

*SCREAMS*

I FORGOT HE ALMOST SLIPS UP OHMYGOD OHGMDYDOHGKDYFI

OIHDHDJDJD

HE LOVES HIM SO MUCH:(( HE LOVES HIM SOOOO MUCH BROISHFODUEOF 😭😭😭 THIS FIC MAKES ME SO ILL MAN SO ILL

It is crazy how accurate tarot can get like bruh... whenever i do it the cards themselves align with each other so well, to the point where sometimes they'll literally say the same thing 😭 out of the 60 plus cards in my deck i somehow chose the two that say the same thing, wild (i dont have an exact tarot deck, it's a spiritual oracle one but still cool :D

EUEUEUEU i love thr reading sm

I love how immediately after the cards call tommy out for not talking to Phil, he runs into him 😭😭 its so funny i love it sm

HEJRKFIGJDGEKFJFJDD OHMYGOD WE'RE AT THE SCENE OHMYGODDHDKGKF

I remember being so jumpscared by the amount of adrenaline this scene gave me like ??? Bro its a slice of life movie, Why do i feel like im fearing for my LIFE /pos THE ADRENALINE IS SO MUCH FUN I LOVE THIS SCENE SO MUCH ITS SOOFOGOSJGKGK AAAAA ABDKGKGNDKDJKGKGMFBRJGNFNFKGMNF I CANT EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS FIC

THIS IS SO AWKWARD [SCREAMS] OHMYGODDD

I love tubbo:( all of them are so supportive

This is the most fucking awkward conversation 😭😭

GODDD I CANTTT HE WIDPFIFKF THE MISCOMMUNICATION HURTS SJFOGIGJTN AAAAA SOBSSS

Wilbur caLLED PHIL DAD OHMYGOD NOBODY MOVE BEE SANDDUO OHMGYFOHMGYDPHLHUDHSFODIAHEFODUODFJKFKDJEOTJDJFKGKF IM SO WEAK AND FRAIL AAAAAAA

SGFKFUSORHSKFJJFJDB ABDKAVJRBSJDBSKSBRKSN

SLAMS FIST ON DESK

CRIMEBOYS

THEYRJEOSOSOSUDKSDIFJFK THEYRE A9DOOOSODJFDLFJ I CANT I CANT OHMUGODUDHDOWHRIDJ

HES SOOOO FOND OHMYGOD

Tommys such a little shit shfkgkfkf a clever one but still shfkgkglf

THIS FIC IS SO GOOODOFJFLGKDHSJFKF

THE HUG, IM SCREAMING

God i am not ready for the next few chapters

LMAO ngl I don't know how your aunt's mom could've predicted someones death when that's not really what tarot does (at least to my knowledge) but uhh idk I don't do it myself so who knows

tangerines crimeboys make me so ill you dont understand aaaaa wilbur wants to be a supportive older brother but also doesn't wanna push too hard and make tommy uncomfortable bc tommy was so young the last time they were siblings and just gahhh

I'm actually very much a skeptic of all those kinds of things tarot included, and I view tarot as more of a self reflective tool than anything else, but yeah it can definitely feel scarily accurate at times. the few times friends have done readings for me sometimes they say something insanely close to what i'm dealing with in my life and I'm just like OH

lol yeah ngl I was like "do I really want them to run into phil right after this tarot card reading" but I didn't want to put it off for another chapter bc the setup was just too convenient so I was like oh well it'll be plot convenience

it was SUCH an awkward conversation god all the interactions between tommy and phil in this fic are so tense

crimeboys <333 tommy using being drunk as an excuse to get a hug we love to see it

[a-wild-things-rambles]

💖❌🌹 for any you want!

[this got Long so much more under the cut]

thank you for asking!!

so gonna go with 'weapon' from this ficlet more explanationon the verse here [they are a variation on aftruda]

💖 Has your OC ever been in love, be it romantic or platonic or otherwise? Who with and did they ever express their feelings or keep it private? How long did these feelings persist / do they still feel this way?

romantically they still have the alchemist and the hunter, the alchemist is a fellow member of their ladys inner circle, and becomes the weapons second in command, the hunter is a knight and after the ladys death ends up working a lot closer with both of them, they are all in a relationship, but it often straddle the line between fwb/romantic and queerplatonic. the bonds are very strong and they care a lot for both of them, even if they dont always say

their feelings for the alchemist grew slowly, they slept together long before there was much fondness between them, when they realized they did love the alchemist, they told them right away, not wanting to hide it from them, more not wanting to make them uncomfortable and being honest than with hopes of reciprocation, luckily she returned the sentiment, what followed was a disastorus attempt at being a 'normal' couple before they both desided they were happier with how they were, just know knowing the full extent of the others feelings.

it was different when they were introduced to the hunter, they got on surprisingly well and both respected the others relationship with the alchemist [the weapon and teh alchemist had been on a bit of a break and stayed that way when they met up again and the hunter was there] they became fast friends, and so they became three [im still not sure how they became a trio in a relationship, as the weapon would respect the relationship to much to start anything, even by accident, with either, and i dislike making the alchemist shove them together. same for alcohol induced confessions/makeouts. i have a feeling an onlocker shoved them all in a closet.]

they are still very much in love with both of them!

in general love, it takes a while to warm up to people, but they are loyal as a dog, romantic/platonic doesn't really matter to them,

[they also have a childhood bestie who was manipulated into betraying them by a guy but its personalTM and dont want my petty projection to become a major part of the story]

❌ What kind of things would end any relationship for them? Is there a history behind why these things bother them? Could they ever take someone back despite this? If so or if not, why?

betrayal. mostly of their personal secrets/story, but also hurting another person they love, they would cut ties and bear the wound for a long time.

the history is mostly to do with having been taken advantage of a lot [woo! autisum and the chronic need to please] and having their boundrys trampled all over

they could never go back to what the relationship once was, and it would take years to even talk, but if the traitor was manipulated or victim to another they could eventually at least converse, or be able to be around them without lashing out- half of it because they are setting boundary's, half because they cant be nice or civil with the betrayer, and dont want to kick them when their down

💋 How affectionate are they with their friends? Their family? Their romantic partner(s) (if they have any)? Are they more physical or emotional when it comes to displaying their affection? Why?

them and their people have their own brand of affection, lots of hidden meanings and subtle gestures, most common with the people who spend a lot of time in court/among high society, most of them are warriors, so you get the rougher affection too, they have several younger people they mentor in various strengths, and they balance respect for the kids skill and independence with being a shoulder to cry on and supporting them in what they want. they are pretty physically affectionate, lots of hugs and being physically close with people, they also try to be emotionally affectionate, complementing people a lot, they value open communication, and emotional talks are common.

overall they are careful with affection, and they think they do it a lot less than they do, from an outsider it can be hard to see t, but if you know them the love n care they have for you will always shine through

[dsmutp]

Learning Curve (C!Charlie Slimecicle x Reader)

Teaching Charlie was a delight.

When Quackity had put you up to the job, you hadn’t been too sure about it. Teaching someone how to be human (whatever that entailed) seemed like more than you had signed up for when you had become a resident of Las Nevadas - just imagining long hours of helping someone learn the intricacies of human life made your head ache. But Quackity had insisted, and you really had nothing better to do.

Three months into the job though, and you were quite attached to Charlie.

He was a wonderful student - eager to learn and bright enough that it never took him too long to grasp new concepts (though, as with any student, some things came more naturally than others) - and an even more wonderful friend. It was amazing how a sentient piece of goo (though it was really hard for you to think of him like that anymore) could be more kind and caring than half of the actual people you knew. 

You were pleased to say that Charlie had become quite fond of you as well. Though you were only supposed to spend six hours a day with him, oftentimes you wound up just spending your days together, wandering around the unfinished Las Nevadas after you had completed his schooling for the day, talking about whatever crossed your minds. Charlie was always eager to hear stories from your day to day life, and the amount of history he had seen just from being around for that many years never failed to make you gaze at him with wonder. 

It wouldn’t have been a stretch to say that he had become your best friend.

You certainly liked him enough - that goofy smile never failed to brighten your mood, even on the worst days, and though the slight fluidity of his skin had been off putting at first, through the amount of daps you shared, you had gotten used to it - come to enjoy it even, something that was uniquely Charlie.

For all his wonderful attributes though, there were still some times that you got a little exasperated with him. 

“Nope.” You sighed, watching as his arm bent the wrong way again. “You can’t just bend the joint that way, Charlie, that’s not how bones work.”

“But you said to hit the lever behind me..?” Charlie asked, righting his arm again. 

“Right, but with humans, remember, the joints don’t bend all the way around because of the bones.” You reminded him. “Just because your body can bend that way, doesn’t mean mine can.”

Charlie nodded slowly, but the confused look was still hovering in his eyes. 

“Do you want to go over joints and movement again?” You asked. 

Charlie smiled sheepishly. “Yes please.”

You stepped forward, extending your arms. You had done this exercise a few times before, just to help Charlie learn which body parts worked together and which joints moved in which directions. It was easy for him to forget though - his body didn’t really have limits to movement, being slime - and he had a bad habit of just throwing human joint movements away in exchange for what was the most easy at the time. 

Charlie placed his hands on your elbows, and you bent your arms, letting him feel how the joints moved and worked. “See? One way.”

“Right.” Charlie said, nodding now. His hands moved to your shoulders. “But these ones go all the way around?”

You rolled your shoulders, moving the ball joint in a circle. “Correct.”

His hands wandered down to your wrists. “Same as these?”

You rolled your wrists, nodding. 

From there, Charlie’s hands found your hips. “But these ones only go forward and backward.”

“For walking.” You said, nodding. “They can go out, a little - nothing too far though.” 

Charlie nodded, his eyes wandering over your body innocently. The first few times you had done this with him, you had been a little uncomfortable - it was strange, to be treated like a scientific model, slightly slimy hands running up and down your skin, asking what each of your joints and muscles did. But over time, you had gotten used to it - Charlie was only curious to learn, after all, and you were more than willing to help.

A hand over your crotch startled you, and you broke out of your train of thought, raising an eyebrow at Charlie. He only blinked at you though, saying, “You never said what this part’s for.”

You closed your eyes, steeling yourself. You had known this day would come, eventually - sex was a large part of human life, after all. You didn’t really want to be having ‘the talk’ with a sentient piece of goo that you had come to know and love, but you supposed it had had to come at some point. 

“It’s for sex, Charlie.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “You have a stripper pole on you?”

The comment was so out of place that you couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “What?”

“A stripper pole.” Charlie repeated. “Like the one in the casino? Quackity said it was for sex-”

“No, no.” You said, cutting him off, still laughing. “Sex organs Charles, for the actual act. They’re part of basic human anatomy - everyone’s got some.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, and movement under his pants caught your eye - the fabric shifted and pulled until it filled out a little more - like his very skin was reshaping itself to include what you had just told him. 

It was then that you realized that Charlie might be the answer to every sexual fantasy you had ever had. 

---

It didn’t take much convincing to get Charlie into bed with you.

You had always known that he had had something of a puppy dog crush on you - just from the way that he hung on your every word, even when you weren’t teaching, and followed you around like a little duckling. You had stopped yourself from doing anything about it though, telling yourself that it would be wrong, that he was your student - but those sentiments had faded the more time you had spent together outside of the teaching. 

They were completely gone now, as you tossed Charlie’s pants over the side of the bed. Though you were both naked as the day you were born, he was perfectly comfortable, sprawled out on the pillows like he owned the place. 

“So, again,” He started. “You want me to put my dick inside you? But not detach it? And thats sex?”

“The basics of it.” You said. “Simple stuff, really. You tell me if you don’t like it though - I don’t know exactly how it’ll feel for you.”

Charlie nodded, arranging his arms underneath his head with a smile. “I am ready to sex.”

You laughed as you straddled his hips, gently wrapping a hand around his cock and aligning it with your hole, just pressing his tip against your entrance. “Promise you’ll tell me to stop if it feels bad, okay? Just because I wanted to try this doesn’t mean you have to suck it up for me.”

“Promise.” Charlie assured you. “I won’t pretend to like it just because you do- hhh.”

You sank down on his cock, reveling at the feeling - there was almost no stretch as he entered you, the slime of his body simply moving like a liquid, filling out your insides completely without having the painful stretch around your entrance. Every nerve ending in you lit up at the contact - the slime filled every space without pushing too far - Charlie’s cock had molded to you completely, hitting all your spots without even trying.

“Wow.” You breathed, placing the palms of your hands on Charlie’s chest. “This is- wow. How’re you feeling Charlie?”

Underneath you, Charlie was in a daze, eyes glazed over as he stared at some point past your shoulder. His mouth moved, but only a long string of syllables came out - more like a moan than any real words.

“Descriptors, love.” You prompted, shifting to place your hands on either side of his face. 

Charlie let out a breathy whimper, his hands finding purchase on your hips, squeezing the skin there. “Good.” He said. “Very very good, uh, sort of tingly? And warm? I-I don’t really know words for it…”

You smiled, caressing his hair. “Good.” You said. It was good to know that it felt pleasurable for him - you weren’t quite sure how slime anatomy worked, and if human sex was something that he would enjoy, but now that you knew it felt as good for him as it did for you, you had no intention of holding back.

You began to rock, slowly, rolling your hips over Charlie’s and letting his cock begin to rub against your walls. Charlie’s fingers dug into your hips more as his breathing canted upwards, instinct taking over as he bucked up into you a few times. You welcomed the movement, using the momentum to fuck yourself down on him harder, savoring the feeling of him running over your nerves, lighting you up from the inside. 

Charlie let out another whimper, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, still keeping your hands framed gently around his face. Charlie kissed back eagerly, releasing his little whimpers and moans into your mouth now, the hands at your hips moving up to your lower back, holding on for dear life.

“You’re doing so well.” You cooed, feeling that familiar coil begin to tighten in your gut. “You’re a natural, Charlie.”

“Really?” Charlie said, a grin overtaking his features. His slimy complexion really didn’t allow for a blush, but you could see the flushed pride just in his expression.

“Really.” You gasped out as a particularly good thrust made your head spin. Your hands fell from Charlie’s face as you instead buried your face into the crook of his neck with a groan, rolling your hips down with more intensity now, chasing your orgasm. Without the painful stretch in the beginning, you were reaching it so much more quickly now - though it probably also helped that Charlie’s cock had become a perfect fill for your insides too - leaving no nerve ending spared.

“Mmmm.” Charlie tipped his head back as he moaned, lips pressing together into a thin line. “It feels different now.” He said, voice shaky. “Bigger, I think?” He tried. 

“That’s supposed to happen.” You said, speeding up your thrusts, for both your sake and Charlie’s. You were getting to the brink of orgasm now, the pleasure making it’s way all the way down your legs and to your toes. It was only a moment more before you were shaking with it, the rolling of your hips slowing as you rode out your high. 

Charlie groaned underneath you, tipping his head back into the pillows as the slime inside you rippled, the sensation making you moan at the strangeness of it. You hadn’t really known what his orgasm was going to look (or feel) like, but you hadn’t been expecting that. 

For a moment, you just laid there, head still tucked under Charlie’s jaw as you both caught your breath, just feeling him breathe.

“That was pretty fun.” Charlie said. “It felt weird, but good weird.”

You sat up, rolling off him to sprawl out on the rest of the bed, his cock sliding out as easily as it had gone in. “Glad you liked it.” You said, letting yourself stretch out into a boneless heap. “For your first time ever, you were really good, Charlie.”

Charlie beamed at the praise, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. You were definitely going to be doing that again.

[teacupsandcyanide]

The outcome I honestly want most is “Colin Robinson comes back as a fucked up baby and the vamily have to raise him for s4”, which I’ve seen circulating around and am constantly delighted by

Mostly because I am just a big slut for accidental baby acquisition tropes and “idiots have to look after kid” and any kind of adoption theme however vague and tenuous but I argue that with this we could get endless comedy potential:

• They argue over what to call him now. Nandor says they should just keep calling him Colin Robinson because he’s still Colin Robinson. Nadja says that’s fucking stupid look at him you idiot he’s a tiny stupid baby and what are we going to do when we need to distinguish between talking about old Colin Robinson or this thing. Guillermo suggests Collie Rob and Nandor tells him to stop larking about and take this seriously please.

Laszlo: No wait. He’s into something. Cummy Bobs.

Guillermo: [chokes] we can’t - we’re not calling the baby Cum- that

Laszlo: He’s MY BABY I get to name him

Guillermo: YOU CANT you can’t call a baby that it’s so inappropriate

Laszlo: [voice warbling with emotion] How so? Respecting a dying man’s wish is inappropriate? Sounds like you’re the one projecting YOUR weird shit onto Cummy Bobs

• Laszlo acts like a new mother who is convinced her baby can do no wrong even though the last time Cummy Bobs got out onto the front lawn they found it hunched over the unconscious postman, eyes glowing bright blue, chuckling an adult man’s chuckle

• Nadja goes through a phase of dressing Cummy Bobs up in her collection of dead Victorian baby dresses which she calls that bc they’re all from dead Victorian babies. More arguments break out over how to dress the baby and Guillermo has to settle things by sewing little baby sized replicas of Colin’s old clothes

• Nadja Doll objects loudly to sharing Nadja’s attention, and the attention of the household at large, who have fussed over her since her little tantrum. She does not want to have her picture taken with him in matching outfits. She does not want to share her little swords with him. Generally acts like a jealous first child. Repeatedly tries to murder Cummy Bobs, who is blithely impervious to all attack. This makes Nadja Doll even more murderous. The others don’t take it seriously, except for Guillermo, who is deeply alarmed when he finds Nadja Doll trying to assassinate Cummy Bobs.

Guillermo, holding a smiling Cummy Bobs in one arm and a screaming kicking biting Nadja doll in the other: [panting] Guys. Guys I just found - she - she was trying throw him down the well

Nadja, unbothered, working on making the VC website even more awful: Oh good they’re finally bonding

Guillermo: What NO she was trying to kill him again it’s the fifth time this week

Nadja: [looking at him over her glasses] Little Gizmo. You didn’t have siblings did you?

Guillermo: Actually -

Nadja: Exactly. I had 17 and believe me baby this is just what it’s like! He’ll look back on this with very fond memories! [over the sound of Nadja Doll snarling and trying to bite Cummy Bobs] you know I remember the first time my brother Andrei threw me down a well!! Oh how we laughed and I screamed and bit him on the ankles…

• Episode where Guillermo has to go away for the night and expresses deep doubt that the vamps can be trusted with looking after the baby without him around. Cue the vamps being strenuously and melodramatically offended by such spurious accusations. And of course the moment Guillermo leaves the house a never ending sequence of catastrophe breaks loose wherein Cummy Bobs is drowned, set on fire, dropped off the roof, and nearly thrown headfirst into the meat-grinder Guillermo uses for body disposal. He’s comedically unharmed, obviously, but by the end of the night the vamps are a dilapidated shell of their former selves from trying to simply feed and bathe and clothe the baby and put it to bed as Guillermo instructed.

• Obviously the baby wears Colin’s glasses

[dilucatic]

characters : diluc, kaeya, razor

summary : suddenly patting their head ?!

word count : 486

additional notes : this is my first time writing for multiple characters at once and i actually kinda like how this came out woah :00 i hope u guys enjoy it too hehe

diluc

he immediately gets flustered when he feels your hand gently patting his head. diluc’s more used to giving you affection rather than receiving it. he’s not the type to openly ask for it, but he won’t turn away anything you offer. head pats, in this case, are new to him.

he feels kind of silly at first though; why, exactly, were you patting his head as if he were a child ? it takes him a minute to get more comfortable with it.

overtime he starts to think that it’s cute !! you’ve always been cute in his eyes but your head pats were very cute to him as well :D they’re strangely comforting to him. he enjoys head pats but he’d appreciate it if you only gave them when you were in private. diluc would get way too embarrassed if you patted his head in front of anyone else,, if you want him to blush in public this is the way to go !!

kaeya

he laughs the first time you pat his head >:( thinks you’re adorable and will end up patting your head back !! he loves any type of physical content he can get from you so he’ll indulge in whatever you give him. kaeya’s definitely the type to give out head pats so he’d get really happy if you gave him any back.

he gets pretty smug when he feels you patting his head out of nowhere. he might even make a little game out of it just for you two to see who gives the best head pats :(

this man has no shame he will head pat you at the most unconventional times. passing you by in the street ? head pat. you seem to be fighting a hilichurl ? head pat. you’re in the middle of eating ? head pat. he gets genuine happiness from just being around you, being affectionate with you in small ways makes him even happier !!

razor

he’s kind of confused at first ?? in a good way though, he just wasn’t used to receiving that type of fondness. it makes him happy in a way he cant describe,, it makes him feel soft and warm inside. he stiffens up at first but relaxes pretty quickly. he trusts you enough to see through with the things you do even if he’s unsure.

head pats end up being one of his favorite things ever :( he sees it as a way for you to let him know that he’s done well and he loves the feeling he gets from it.

he starts returning the head pats really fast actually,, he wants you to experience the same type of joy you give him. they’re kind of awkward at first but he gets more gentle with his hands the more pats he gives. razor likes the thought of being able to show you his love and faithfulness through his actions if his words aren’t good enough to express his feelings !!

[wincore]

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 

Do you love it? 

Of course you fucking do. 

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal. 

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 

Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 

Afterparties are not your thing. 

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze. 

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 

You were not one of them. 

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 

Secrets. 

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 

And perfection is your dear old friend. 

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 

“Sour.” 

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 

Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 

Or is it him? 

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 

Afterparties are still not your thing. 

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 

“(name), thank you.” 

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

[im-going-to-cryo-bust]

Diluc and Kaeya on: Missing you

You've been away for a long time staying in Liyue. Here are my headcanons:

A bit more quick-tempered in the period of time you are gone and gets into more face-offs with Kaeya

He tries to control his anger by asking himself, WWYD?

WWYD? = "What would Y/n do?"

He doesn't talk as much and is more introverted without you to talk to

You sometimes get a letter from those who know you two are close, groaning about how sulky Diluc has been and wishing you were back

He chews on things (e.g. toothpicks) or slurps on grape juice when he gets into his thoughts concerning you

There is no grape juice by the time you come back and he turns as red as his hair

He respects your privacy, knowing that's what he would want, and knows you are capable of taking care of yourself

He is WORRIED, but attempts to act all chill about it

He thought about writing letters, but said it was ridiculous and he fervently refuses to do so

You get a letter every 2 days, they are short and to the point about what had occurred when you are gone - very formal

But when he is done recounting what he believes you are interested in, his tone quickly switches and he shyly asks you how you've been or if you've been eating your meals

If you point it out, he'll stay silent for the 2 day period and leaves your observation unaddressed in his next letter

Diluc never forgets to write, “I hope you come back soon.” at the end of each letter

When you come back

He would be waiting for you with his signature poker face glancing around. You feel your heart drop at the blank expression, disappointed and embarrassed. All of that doubt is erased, when Diluc lays eyes on you and just...gleams. He rushes to you and hugs you tightly, breathing you in and exhaling a sigh of relief. Your heart pounds in your chest, because - when you seperate - Diluc looks at you with crinkled eyes and a content smile. You haven't seen him so expressively happy in a while, and you've missed it too. You pat and caress his hair like you always do, and he leans slightly to your touch. He would grab your hand for the reminder of the day and never lets go, a frequent soft smile on his face.

"I've missed you, Y/n."

He paces around a lot, leaving many of the knights confused, but he's up in his head about how you're doing

Secretly calls in his favours from his connections in Liyue to check on you and your well-being.

He would usually talk to you face-to-face after work, but now he cant and the daily letters are a substitute

The letters are long and detailed about his day - excitement shown by the rushed handwriting and less eloquent words.

He shares the pranks he did on Jean and the consequential punishment of cleaning the entire headquarters, or having to rescue Klee from further damage.

Sometimes he is worn out from all his commissions and his annoyed ranting gradually fades into melancholy

After a while, you notice his letters get more specific on quest locations and hold hints on certain quests

You're a little upset that he decided to spy on you, even though you appreciate the help

You confront him about it and he quickly apologizes, either: being more sneaky with his snooping or completely holding back

Kaeya is honest, his questions about how you are doing are subtly written with jitter-worry under a mask of "cool".

The things that you cherish the most is the “I will be awaiting your arrival back in Monstadt” with an playful heart at the end of each letter

When you come back

At first you would scan the entrance of Mondstadt, hoping he was waiting for you. Your happiness is dampened by the fact that: you can’t see Kaeya anywhere? Maybe he had an emergency or a commission that is holding him up. The moment you let out a sigh of defeat, arms wrap around your waist and a cold breath blows on your neck. You let out a tiny squeak when you are slightly lifted off the ground, and a welcome fond laugh emits from your “capturer”. Your feet touch the ground, you turn around, and there he is: the brains of the Knights, Kaeya, in all his peacock dressing glory. He would not waste a second and would wrap at least one of his arms around you for the unique warmth he has missed.

“I told you I would be waiting.”

🌼💫 I hope you like my head canons for what these boys would be like if they missed you, their lover. Do send in your requests if you like my writing :)

[literallyshiv]

ok i have to ask you. whats your take on willa and connor. i just finished my rewatch and i just cant figure them out. does willa even like connor. does she pity him? love him? both at the same time? is she using him (i support her. go girlboss go) for her career? is she attached? is it a good relationship? i cant tell. im swinging like a pendulum here what is your read

WOOO YAYAYAY well first of all to establish my biases i fucking love them i get the most excited when they are on screen more than any other characters probably and i want them to be together so that willa stays integral to the story.

THAT SAID. i think the most obvious things that come to mind that prevent me from saying she loves him are the moment in s1 when connor asks her to be exclusive and she's very reluctant to commit, and then again when he asks her to marry him and she takes days to respond, finally commits with the attitude of "fuck it", and and then has what i would absolutely describe as a look of dread as she gets in the car lmao

but she definitely does have a fondness for him that goes beyond just using him for her career too? the most stand out example in my mind is at kendall's birthday party when she's telling people that connor is 'polling close to 1%' and tells off kendalls staff with 'my partner would like to keep his coat on'. i think those little moments were just so sweet and clearly she wouldn't be bragging(?) about connor's presidential numbers if she didn't enjoy seeing him happy. the siblings all find connor's attempt for the white house as something embarrassing but not only does willa not seem to be ashamed to be associated with it, she actively takes joy in connor's success.

i especially think thats interesting when compared to their relationship at the start of the series at shiv and tom's wedding when willa says that connor doesn't really do anything. at this point in time i definitely think she still thinks of herself more as his escort than any sort of personal-focused relationship. she's in it for the financial support and connor's rich people celebrity connections in the interest of furthering her playwrighting.

i think that the shifting point was connor applying himself more seriously to his presidential campaign and willa seeing him dedicate himself to something, and is starting to see him less as some guy with too much time on his hands who pays her to spend time with him. what especially sticks out to me is that when shiv asks willa about her deal with connor and her response is that they "support each other's dreams". because thats such a romantic way to phrase that? i don't think it's her making something up to avoid telling shiv that she's literally just connor's live-in escort, i think she really sees their relationship as a reciprocal arrangement where they are both supporting each other emotionally, and the fact that connor also supports her financially is no longer the core of what's keeping her in the relationship.

that brings me to the little blips they have in s3. i think willa being annoyed that connor dragged her to that virginia summit thing was just her being frustrated at being dragged away from her writing, not any indication of some core malice she holds for connor. and i think her hesitation towards his proposal was again not out of doubt about her feelings—and i think the fact that even at this point her first thought when connor suggests they have a conversation about their relationship is that he's going to ask that they go back underground rather than take a step forward in commitment indicates that she doesn't totally grasp how devoted he is to her and the fact that it always catches her off guard when he reminds her of his feelings reflects that she probably feels a bit bad that she doesnt feel that same intensity towards him so she avoids thinking about it when she can. that devotion is intimidating and i think that explains a bit of the hesitancy she expresses in response to a proposal. not to mention we see essentially the entire arc of their relationship over the course of the series—it hasn't even been one year since she agreed to be exclusive which is a really short period to have been an actual couple before agreeing to marriage. but i think she also sees that he can take care of her and love her and even if she isn't in love with him i think she has a lot of love for him

as for whether its a "good" relationship depends on whether you're able to set aside the fact that at least one half of that relationship is a conservative libertarian so like, its not a relationship that I'd want to be in skrbfbdjkfc but we have seen that of the roys, connor is the most emotionally well adjusted and he absolutely adores willa. and he seems content with their relationship with willa feeling the way she does—she clearly doesn't return his feelings as strongly as he does but he doesn't mind as long as she's willing to stick around and accept the love that he wants to give her. AND its very clear that the actors put soo much love into their relationship.. i think alan ruck and justine lupe are rooting for connor and willa harder than anyone else out here<3

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Herbert West

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

“Oh, Herbert, this is-”

“Y/n. …Yes I know.” The man interrupted, prompting your awkward smile to drop momentarily. Herbert was an …interesting character, to say the least. 

- You met the re-animator through Dan who’d been a friend of yours since you joined the school. Dan had sort of taken you under his wing after you first met, becoming like an older brother to you. You; being a year younger than him and away from home for the first time, were very happy to have someone looking out for you. 

- Obviously, Dan was a pretty big part of your life and you were a pretty big part of his life as well. Because of this, Herbert most likely heard of or had; at the very least, seen photos of you prior to your meeting which is why he didn’t need an introduction. 

- At first, Herbert finds you; like pretty much everyone else, dreadfully irritating. He’s very short and stand offish with you, only calling you miss y/l/n or a harsh sounding y/n. But that all changes when you’re finally able to speak with him alone. 

- You’d stopped by Dan’s apartment one day, only to find that the only one home was Herbert who seemed very ready to close the door on you after informing you that Dan was out with Megan. You said the magic words before he was able to. 

“Herbert? I haven’t really been able to speak with you until now but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of your work,” Bingo. “Or, rather, your theories. Dan's told me about a few of them and I find them very fascinating and well, um-”

“Why don’t you come inside Y/n?” Herbert says, a small smile on his face, one without any hidden boredom behind it. 

- Prior to that, you’d never heard him speak your name without a touch of irritation to it so you were eager to do whatever you could to remain in his good graces. 

- When Megan and Dan arrive back at the apartment, they’re surprised to see you and Herbert sitting in the living room and talking, or more accurately, surprised to see Herbert talking to you rather passionately about life and death.

- Dan gives you an odd look as you greet them and say how you should probably get going, the look only grows more confused as Herbert says goodbye with a seemingly rather genuine smile on his face. He doesn’t know what happened but he isn’t sure he likes it. 

- From then on, Dan watches suspiciously as Herbert seems to grow more and more fond of you. He grows to somewhat dislike Herbert's sudden interest in you, especially after he finds out what the man does in his spare time and is propositioned by him. He fears that he’s trying to manipulate you into helping him. 

- But that isn’t the case. No, Herbert just likes having you stroke his ego and listen to him talk about his work like he’s gods gift to earth and to you, he is. 

- You thought Herbert was attractive the moment you met him, regardless of his somewhat odd and standoffish behavior. When he starts letting you into his life, your crush on him only worsens until you’re pretty much head over heels in love. So you sort of follow him around like a lost puppy and while he generally dislikes having people bother him, you become a bit of an exception. 

- Over time, Herbert genuinely begins to like you, and he certainly cant deny that you’re attractive. He has a very scientific way of understanding his feelings for you, refusing to believe that love is a thing or admit that he actually has romantic feelings for you. 

- He reasons that his body thinks you’re a suitable mate and that's why he cant stop thinking about you. He allows himself to lower his ego and believe that he’s not above his animalistic urges, if only to refuse that he actually loves you. 

- Herbert doesn’t think of himself as one for relationships but seemingly against his own will, he yearns for one with you. So after a few days of avoiding you in an attempt to see if his feelings will fade away, he pulls you into his life once and for all, intending to never let you go. 

- After things had been going so well, the sudden cold shoulder from the scientist had bothered you, so when he calls you on the phone and asks you to come by the apartment, you jump at the invitation, happy that things are back to the way they were. 

- When you arrive, he leads you into the basement and sits you down, telling you to watch as he injects his reagent into one of his specimens. He watches the way you react, his body nearly pressed against your back as you stare in awe at the creature before you.

- If anyone were to walk in, they would see far more than just a man showing a friend his morbid creation. The expression on his face would say everything. To him, this is one of the most intimate things he can do. To introduce you to his work, to trust you with his findings, to explain to you how it works. 

- When Dan returns home, he finds you sitting side by side in the basement, Herbert's notes and reagent sprawled out before you. A wave of discomfort rolls through him as he asks what's going on. Herbert merely says “she knows” with a small smile playing at his lips, his eyes moving to the side of your face with a look of subtle adoration. 

- From then on, you’re involved in practically everything, even if Dan isn’t pleased with it. Your relationship with Herbert evolves very quickly, he’s not one for patience. 

- He doesn’t verbally confess his feelings for you, not at first. Instead, he lets the tension grow between you until he’s pushing you back against his desk and kissing the life out of you. 

- There’s very few times where Herbert truly loses his calm and collected composure and this is one of them, his mouth moving feverishly against yours, hands wandering, breathing shallow. 

- The two of you say nothing as you part, he goes back to work and a while later you go home, a million thoughts racing through your head and your heart still beating quicker than normal.

- A few more kisses like that and the two of you wind up in bed together. By the time you’re finished, its the middle of the night. You know you should probably go home but you don’t think he’d let you with the way his arms are wrapped so tightly around you. 

- You try to move and his arms tighten even further, pulling you back against him even closer. The message reads loud and clear; you’re his now and you aren’t going anywhere. 

- Your relationship won’t be conventional, you knew that from the start. Nothing Herbert does is very conventional and that's something you’ve learned to accept. But for better or for worse, you’re together and there’s no signs of you ever parting. 

- There’s two sides of Herbert out in public. There’s the Herbert who doesn't touch you at all, acting somewhat distant because he wants to remain professional. And then there’s the Herbert who never lets go of you, remaining close at all times and holding you in some way, shape or form. 

- He’s pretty much touchy with you at all times, unless you’re in front of someone he feels he must put on airs for. Anywhere else or in front of anyone else and his hands or some part of him never leaves you. 

- Deep kisses. Herbert..., how should I put this, devours you?  He’s always got this tight hold on you like he’s scared you’ll part from him as he steals your breath away. 

- Distracted pecks on the lips as you go to leave the room while he’s working. 

- He finds it sort of amusing to startle you which he oftentimes does so without even meaning to. He’s fairly quiet so you usually don’t hear him enter the room, you only realize he’s there when you turn and nearly have a heart attack upon finding him suddenly standing near you. He’ll usually try to hide his smirk but occasionally your reaction will earn a laugh. 

- Beware the flattery. If he’s complimenting you more than once in the span of a minute, he most likely wants something. 

- Trying to get him to take a break and/or actually go to sleep. He gets really wrapped up in his work and won’t go to bed for literal days so occasionally you’ll just have to drag him away against his will. 

- As much as he tries to avoid sleep, he’ll still have to at some point. When he does go to bed, he likes being the big spoon and holding you tightly against him. 

- Sometimes he legitimately cradles you or a part of you against him, especially when you're scared or upset. He’ll usually either hold your head in his lap or quite literally wrap himself around you, speaking to you almost uncharacteristically sweetly. 

- He’s somewhat touch starved. He’s never really bothered to find himself a girlfriend, thinking of them as pointless distractions, but now that he has one, he can’t help but admit that it does feel good to be touched and loved, particularly by you. 

- Occasionally, he’ll have you sit on his lap as he records his data or let you write down what he says, leaning his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

-  He doesn't use nicknames very often but occasionally he’ll let slip a “dear” or “darling”. Honey, sweetheart; generic little things that come naturally out of a persons mouth when they’re in love. 

- Tight hugs while he speaks softly in your ear. 

- Cheek kisses. 

- Making sure he actually eats and doesn't waste away in the basement. You’ll bring him down some food if he doesn’t want to leave his things, it’s one of the rare times that you get a very earnest, pleasantly surprised yet still a little distracted thank you. 

- Occasionally keeping him company down in the basement. You’ll go to leave after you do what you needed to do and he’ll call your name and say; almost shyly, “Why don't you stay? Sit down here. Keep me company”. He’ll usually let out a little laugh as well, trying to ease his feelings of awkward vulnerability. 

- You're really not sure if he owns anything besides a suit. You legitimately think the only comfy thing he owns is a sweater you got for him on his birthday. 

- Speaking of birthdays, he doesn't like celebrating his; mainly because he’s never really had someone to celebrate it with. He accepts your gifts almost like he isn't sure what he should say or do, usually replying with an “oh... thank you.” and a quick kiss to the cheek. 

- He’s not fond of parties or social gatherings but he will go with you, mainly just to be your date and make sure you’re alright. That and he thinks your coworker has a thing for you which he is not happy about it.

- Your friends and family are most likely going to find him strange, though I think your mother or grandmother would probably fall for his carefully constructed charm and like him a lot. He isn’t ashamed to say that he’s fond of her as well, occasionally asking about her and getting a genuine smile on his face whenever he sees her. 

- He may or may not constantly forget your anniversary, not because your relationship doesn't matter to him but because he’s Herbert and he doesn’t understand the intricacies of dating. 

- Your pets don't like him and he’s not very fond of them ether. He stiffens when they enter the room and they leave once they see him. You find it almost amusing. On the other hand, they could also never leave him the fuck alone, absolutely adoring him while he tolerates them for your sake. 

- Sarcasm and snide retorts. That’s literally just how Herbert talks so don’t take offense.

- Stopping Dan from trying to kill him whenever your boyfriend turns into an asshole and starts trouble.

- He definitely likes ordering you around a little. He’s sort of a wimpy guy so being in control of things is like a drug to him.

- Letting him ramble on about his work and accomplishments. You think he likes to hear himself speak. 

- He’s not much of a small talker. Unless the conversation is about something actually meaningful or science; specifically his science, he isn't all that interested in it. Meaningless talk annoys him and he’s got more important things to do than exchange pleasantries.

- He’s not a very heavy set boy so you could pull him away from his work if you really wanted to, though I suggest you don't. You don’t want to get between him and his work.

- Being roped into his plans and work. He always manages to get you to help, even if you really don’t want to.

- I never said Herbert was nice, did I? Well, he isn’t; not completely at least. He’s oftentimes selfish and will do whatever it takes to persuade you to do something or change your mind about something. He’s a master manipulator first and loving boyfriend second.

- Bandaging him up when his work gets …rough.

- Trying to comfort him when things don't work out. He never wants to accept that its his fault so you just agree with what he says and pull him away from his work. 

- Feeling bad for laughing at his somewhat morbid humor. 

- Apprehensively helping him inject himself with reagent, only because you know he’ll do it anyways. He’s a stubborn bastard, all you can do is try to ween him off of it. 

- He’s a scientist who works with the dead and get’s covered with blood daily, your period isn’t going to gross him out in any way. Tell him you have cramps, he’ll give you advice. Felling emotional, he’ll be a little more caring than usually. Want to cuddle, he really wants to work but seeing you desperate to hold him is worth leaving it momentarily.  

- You’ll leave something of yours in his room and he’ll tell you that he put it in his bottom drawer. When you open the drawer, you’ll find that it’s empty besides the thing you were looking for. That’s how he’ll tell you he’d like you to leave some of your things there so that you don’t have to constantly leave at night or early in the morning.  You’re pretty much the only one ever allowed in his room, mind you.

- He gets very jealous and he wont play nice either. He’ll openly insult them and probably get a little snappy with you too. His attitude has definitely caused at least one argument between the two of you.

- He’s ready to kill to protect you. He’s not necessarily protective of you but he doesn't want you getting hurt. He tends to pull you behind him or stop you from moving any closer to something if he’s not sure about what will happen or if it’s safe. 

- He takes care of you when you’re hurt or scared, assuring you that everything will be alright, dressing your wounds or trying to snap you out of your fright whether he’s doing it for you or for his own selfish reasons is up to interpretation. 

- He has no filter. He just says what he pleases without any regard towards other peoples feelings, whether his words are directed at you or towards someone else. There’s always a bit of tension in the air as/after he speaks. 

- He gets snappy when he’s frustrated or under pressure. He’ll raise his voice at you and argue wickedly, still continuing his rant even as you go to leave though he’ll angrily question you as to what you’re doing in the middle of it. 

- He can definitely hold a grudge if you really make him upset so you’ll either have to force your way back into his life and apologize or wait until he just cant take it anymore and begins to miss you. Let it be known that Herbert never truly lets a person out of his grasp. Being close to him is like being in a spider web. 

- He isn't above manipulation. In fact, he practically wrote the book on it. Its usually subtle when its with you, careful word choices and purposeful touches. He’ll apologize and say all the right things to get you to forgive him. Don’t worry, he is actually sorry and tries his best to not do what upset you again. 

- He doesn't say I love you; Its not really in his vocabulary. He may have said it a few times in your relationship but not at all often. He shows you he cares more than he verbally expresses it. 

- He has no intentions of letting you go anytime soon and you have no intentions of going. You might have a strange relationship but its your strange relationship and you love it. 

[curiosity-killed]

evidence of a lost past part 5

chronologically after 1 & 2 and a bit before 4

fun fact of the day: Hua Cheng’s dancing to Lover’s Tears as performed by the Shanghai Conservatory Symphony bc it’s one of my favorite lazy improv songs

story tag

By the time seven comes around, Xie Lian’s legs are trembling with fatigue and his hair’s plastered to his forehead and nape. Winding lazily out of a renversé, he drops his arms and exhales. He feels...worn, gently pummeled like a sock in a washer or a stone along the riverbank. It’s been a while since he used his body like this—even these last few weeks of borrowing Hua Cheng’s studio have been more about relearning how to move at all, retracing the lines of the technique he’s let fall by the wayside.

Now, for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s properly danced. The feeling buoys up in his chest, bright and a little heady. It still feels funny to break the rules he grew up with, to blend classical lines and break up languid adagio flows to hit the ground, but the way it leaves his body feeling exhausted and satisfied makes it hard to resist.

He takes a few minutes to stretch properly, working down from his neck to his feet and closing off with a short round of abs before he shrugs his sweatshirt back on, picks up his shoes by their heels, and goes to find Hua Cheng.

He’s lured up the stairs by the arching strains of strings and the low rumble of piano underneath. Wandering to the upper studio, he finds himself swaying absently to the three-four time as if the music itself is drawing him into a waltz. He hums softly along and turns the corner off the stairs to find the studio door propped open. Here, the music swells so loudly he can nearly feel it buffeting his body like ocean waves. He comes to a halt at the door.

Hua Cheng is alone inside, a single lean figure in the half-light of the studios. Only two of the four rows of fluorescent lights are on, and they form dim lines like walls of silk strings through which Hua Cheng weaves as precisely and deftly as if he were the shuttle, the hand shaping the cloth.

The choreography is some Xie Lian has seen before—today, even. On Hua Cheng, though, it is a wholly different creature than when He Xuan performed the same steps. He Xuan is a capable dancer, with strong technique, but it’s abruptly clear that he’s a younger dancer with less experience than Hua Cheng. Where He Xuan maintained the extended balances with a tight jaw and stiff shoulders and dropped from them gratefully, Hua Cheng suspends on the ball of his foot, drawing it out and slowing his extension till it seems he’s pushing the music, curving the song’s fermatas and languid sweeps.

In time with the trills and high ornamentation, he flicks through hand gestures in rapid succession while his legs sweep rond de jambs into a light leap off his left hand. The motion rolls him back up to the start, into the sequence that begins the entire pas de deux: a heavy step to the side, the sway of loose arms carrying him into a spin.

At this point in the piece, the dancer never looks to the downstage left corner, like it’s bad luck or a persistent blind spot. When He Xuan danced it this afternoon, the choreography had seemed awkward, the missing corner too self-conscious. Watching Hua Cheng now, though, Xie Lian’s heart aches. Hua Cheng pours himself into the movement, every reach a desperate plea, every sharp twist furious rejection. Standing in this absent corner, where Shi Qingxuan is to enter, Xie Lian suddenly understands why Hua Cheng has been so insistent about the facing. He bites the inside of his lip at the familiar welling of grief that laps at the insides of his ribcage.

Hua Cheng presses into a suspension with his leg nearly to his ear before dropping into a double turn as rushed and frantic as a hurricane. He stops sharply, finally facing the corner as his leg stretches back in an exquisite arabesque, his arms reaching forward as if begging an indifferent god. His gaze sweeps up and then catches on Xie Lian. Freezing, his eye goes wide, and he stumbles forward half a step, falling out of the final pose.

“Ah, I’m sorry, San Lang,” Xie Lian says, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head even as he rubs the back of his neck. Wiping his hand on his thigh, he gives a small shrug.

“Gege is always welcome,” he says, a little breathless. “I was just surprised.”

His hair’s coming loose from the ponytail, hanging in hanks around his face. With his t-shirt and bright eye, he looks softer than usual, and Xie Lian is briefly possessed by the inexplicable urge to hug him.

“Ah, it looks very beautiful, San Lang,” he says instead before pausing. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth before adding, “I think I see why you were dissatisfied in rehearsal.”

“Oh?”

Raising an eyebrow, Hua Cheng tilts his head to the side in open curiosity, and Xie Lian flusters. He’s still not used to such sincere consideration, to having his words listened to with such care. He scratches his cheek.

“Mn,” he says. “It’s just—you choreographed it with a more experienced dancer in mind, didn’t you?”

Hua Cheng blinks at him once, and Xie Lian mentally goes over his words before flushing. His hands fly up, trying to wave off the offense, and he nearly clocks himself in the face with his shoe.

“No, no, I don’t mean it like that! He Xuan is definitely experienced, too, and plenty capable,” he says in a rush. “Of course he’s a very skilled dancer—all of them—”

A laugh escapes Hua Cheng, and he crosses the space between them with two easy strides. Catching Xie Lian’s hand, he smiles at him. Although there’s amusement in his look, it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at Xie Lian. It just feels—fond. Warm.

“Gege, it’s alright,” he says. “If you say it’s so, then He Xuan must really just be a useless upstart.”

The teasing edge to his tone is enough to cut through Xie Lian’s fluster, but he groans and buries his face in his free hand at the shameless teasing.

“San Lang,” he mumbles.

Hua Cheng laughs, bright and irresistible, and gives Xie Lian’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“Anyway, gege’s right,” he says, stepping back slightly and tugging the elastic out of his hair. “I didn’t choreograph it with He Xuan in mind.”

His hair falls to his shoulders, a little rumpled and wavy from being up, and briefly hides his face. As he drags his fingers back through the crown to retie it, Xie Lian cants his head and considers him. He Xuan is the most experienced of Hua Cheng’s dancers, along with Shi Qingxuan. Lan Chang is older, of course, but from what she’s said, she only dances for fun and to teach now. It would take months for her to build back the strength and stamina needed to perform.

“Why don’t you do it?” he asks.

Hua Cheng startles, looking up in surprise. Tightening the elastic, he dips his head a moment before shoving his ponytail over his shoulder to hang in a long line down his back.

“Ah, it’s silly. You’ll laugh,” he says.

“Noo,” Xie Lian insists, grinning. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

Looking at him a moment, Hua Cheng narrows his eye, but his lips press together like he’s suppressing a smile. He looks briefly skyward and takes a breath, losing his fight with the smile. Parting his lips, he draws breath to speak before pausing and letting it out in a quiet exhale as he settles his hands on his hips.

“Well. It’s a pas de deux,” he says, like that’s the end of it.

Xie Lian pauses, pressing his lips together and tilting his head. When no more is forthcoming, he can’t help the snigger that escapes him, and Hua Cheng shoots him a betrayed look.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” he chides, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m not, I’m not!” Xie Lian says, holding up his hands. “It’s just—you really dislike dancing with someone else so much?”

It’s not that Xie Lian would blame him, exactly: as skilled as his company dancers are, Hua Cheng is exceptional. Even with Lan Chang in the peak of her career or He Xuan at his finest moments, the pairing would still be unequal.

“Not exactly,” Hua Cheng hedges. He presses the toes of his left foot into the floor, arching the foot into an absentminded stretch. “It’s just—the one I thought of when I was choreographing isn’t an option. So to dance it with anyone else—they really can’t compare at all.”

Oh. Xie Lian swallows, startled by the sincerity of the explanation. That really isn’t anything to laugh about. He hesitates, chewing at his bottom lip and sneaking a glance up at Hua Cheng. This person Hua Cheng thought of—if Xie Lian ever knew them, they’ve been lost to time. The knowledge weighs like a stone anchor deep in the pit of his chest, but he tries to swallow it down. He’s being presumptuous, really. He shouldn’t make so many assumptions.

“Ah, then maybe we could figure out how to make it work for He Xuan and Qingxuan together,” he offers, tentative.

Hua Cheng’s expression softens, the hesitance fading into a gentle and welcoming warmth. Nodding his head decisively, he smiles.

“Gege has the best ideas,” he praises. “Where should we start?”

Setting his shoes and bag down by the wall, Xie Lian draws in a breath and steps more fully into the room. It’s not for him, to be lit up on the stage with hundreds of eyes glued to every articulation of his hands and feet—but maybe he can still help Hua Cheng, if only by being a second set of eyes.

“Ah, the a la seconde turn that turns into a tilt?” he suggests. “The floor sequence after that seemed to give He Xuan some trouble.”

Hua Cheng nods and rolls his shoulders once before moving back into the center of the space. Starting a few steps ahead, he glides through the movements as naturally and confidently as if they were the only way his body knows to move, as if fit to his long limbs by the finest of tailors. Xie Lian offers advice and suggestions where he thinks they might better shape the choreography to He Xuan’s own movement, but it seems a quiet kind of betrayal.

Watching Hua Cheng dance, Xie Lian doesn’t want to see the piece altered or made for another. He wants to see it like this, like it was meant to be, with Hua Cheng alone in the thin light and the corner empty, open, waiting.