#cant decide if he should hook up with his pretty student

[peachsayshi]

god, just…literature professor nanami.

[joonclouds]

Heat Packs | YoongixReader

You make a scrunchy face at the sandy-haired boy. “Not so bad? All I was, was concerned and he saw fit to make me feel as worthy as the dirt under your shoe.”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

When you raise an eyebrow pointedly at him, Taehyung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, shoe police, calm down.”

-

Yoongi x Reader (and shoeless friend Taehyung)

Plot: Producer!Yoongi, fluff at the end, kind of enemies to lovers?? arguments to lovers? idk man Yoongi is bad at expressing feelings

Warnings:  It gets a bit hot and heavy at the end but nothing else unless you want to consider cringey fluff as a warning lol

Wordcount: 7.3k

Note: Quarantine is still very inspiring. I am still very bad at naming my fics. producer!Yoongi is *chefs kiss* Hope ya’ll are well x *kisses*

-

It is a Tuesday evening in mid November that you decide you hate Min Yoongi. Hate was a strong word for you. Most of the time you hovered between a state of neutrality to mild displeasure, and sure, you’d been harbouring a (maybe not so subtle) crush on your reclusive boss, but you decide today that it was time to Burn That Ship cause you hate Min Yoongi.

You stand there, heart pounding. From embarrassment or from anger, you can’t really tell at this point - but heck, it wasn’t even your fault. Indignant, that’s what you felt. You had heard a loud bang and crash from his recording studio, and in a moment of panic and concern you’d rushed in to check if everything was okay.

Turns out he was moving his large bass speakers and didn’t need (or deserve, you think huffily) any of your help. Maybe you should have knocked first, but -

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Never heard of knocking?”

See, you were a Badass Bitch™. Which is why now your face is flushing an angry red, mouth open, ready with a snappy comeback. But Badass Bitch™ is also paranoid and doesn’t like confrontations, so she takes a baton and whacks the retort right out of your mouth. So you close your mouth again, stand there silently and look down. And if it could get worse, it does - a prickling at the back of your eyes starts to grow.

“And you’re just going to stand there?” The black-haired boy cocks a brow at you.

“I.. I heard a crash so I just came in to make sure everything was okay and-“

“What is this, your house? Is your name on the outside of the door?”

You wring your hands behind your back and pinch the fleshy part of your palm to ease the growing lump in your throat. No, you refuse to cry in front of him. After three months of working here you’d thought you’d finally wormed your way into the category of “acceptable humans to Min Yoongi”, but clearly you had not. In fact, as of now, you probably didn’t even exist on the Venn diagram.

“I.. No, but… I…”

“Does it. Say your damn name. On. My. Studio. Door.”

You stand there, speechless, mouth opening and closing, looking for something to say. A fat tear starts to pool in your left eye and threatens to spill, but by some miracle you manage to hold it in. Barely.

Yoongi lets out a sharp breath and makes his way across the room, yanking the door wide open.

“The rule here is no one comes into my studio. Get the fuck out.”

-

You are still crying as you sharpen the twentieth coloured pencil on the living room floor you share with a pixie of a girl called Chungha, who sits opposite you with her chin propped on folded knees.

“You should do this for a living, you know. Given how many times you’ve done this already.” She comments

“What, the crying?” You stutter out confusedly between a hiccup and a sniff.

“I meant the pencil sharpening.”

You blow your nose wetly into a tissue. “I can’t help it, okay? I cry. When people. Shout at me.” You choke out the last few sentences in between sobs.

All your admission does is bring forth another wave of tears.

“So who made you cry this time?”

“Min Yoongi. Min. Fucking. Yoongi.” With each syllable you turn the pencil with a newfound gusto, taking some sort of vicarious pleasure in watching the wood getting shaved off in neat strips.

Chungha’s eyes widen. “As in, owner of the studio, Min Yoongi. Your ridiculously elusive, black-clothes-only, don’t-come-into-my-office, hot in a weird way, Min Yoongi?”

You nod aggresively. “I hate him. So much.”

“You don’t mean that.”

You consider locking Chungha in the storeroom.

“Maybe he just had a bad day?” She offers.

“What did I do to deserve this? All I did was check on him in his studio!” In your angst you stop sharpening. You imagine the little plastic sharpener is Yoongi’s stupid head and you hurl it across the carpet.

“I’m sorry he shouted at you.” She pulls a Kleenex out of the box and dabs gently at your face. “Even if he told you not to go in, but you didn’t deserve that. He’s an idiot. Men are idiots.”

“I was just trying to be nice!” You protest, voice rising a good four octaves. “I heard a loud thud so I got worried and I rushed in without thinking, but turns out he was just moving his speakers and he just got so mad and saying all those mean things - “ you trail off slowly as hiccups and sobs leave you incoherent.

“You know how he is, grumpy old man. I’m sure he’ll apologise.” Chungha offers you another tissue. “And honestly my love, there’s no point crying now you’ve already forgiven him so…”

“I. Havent.”

“Tell me that when you next speak to him and aren’t a puddle of mush.”

You fling your snot-stained tissue at her.

—

The next week when your shift comes around, you still show up for work. Even though you are half an hour late from pacing up and down the street outside, considering if you should just not show up to spite him. It took three existential crises, five tears, and many muttered curses about the offending human being, but eventually you find yourself in the lift up to the recording office. You didn’t like to admit it, but you were the type who was quick to anger, but quick to cool.

Though cooling didn’t mean forgiveness. You were good at compartmentalisation and that was exactly what you were going to do.

The idea of not landing yourself in crippling school fee debt was wholly enticing, and to do that you needed this job as an admin at the recording offices. It paid well, and was easy enough. Keep the place clean, stock the pantry, manage the room bookings, make sure no one breaks equipment. Make ramen for customers. Don’t go into Min Yoongi’s studio. Even if he suffered a heart attack and might be dead. Easy.

You steel yourself with a breath and push open the swinging door with gusto, making a beeline for the reception with your head down and eyes trained on your shoes. Just get behind that tall white counter and you’d be safe -

“Oof.”  - if you didn’t first collide with a broad, hoodie-clad chest.

Warm hands grip your shoulders to steady you. “Whoa, watch where you’re going, little pea.”

You smile as you step back to see a familiar face face that takes your breath away. “I didn’t know you were coming in today!”

Taehyung, or Tae, as you had come to know him, was one of the regulars at the studio. A music student with a voice deep and syrupy as honey, and a face just as sweet to match - he made hearts go ba-dump in chests. Even after six months of seeing him three times a week, and the knowledge that he was already (secretly) attached to his art school’s equally pretty-boy dance major, you as a normal human being were still not safe from Tae’s charms.

“Yeah, I had some free time - Jimin’s off putting in extra hours in the dance studio so I figured I’d come here.”

You’re glad for his presence as you go behind the reception and get ready for work.

Tae walks up on the other side of the counter and rests an elbow on it, chin propped in his palm. From behind his long bangs you can see he’s sporting a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. He looks at you expectantly and you’re confused for a moment but it all clicks into place.

You fall into the chair behind the reception and let your head loll back on the backrest, giving him the side-eye. “What is it, Tae?”

He grins mischeviously. “So Yoongi unleashed the kraken on you, huh.”

“If by kraken you mean Mr. Shouty Pants, then yes, the kraken.”

Tae lets out a barking laugh. “Let him off the hook, fisherman. He’s not so bad once you get to know him - he wasn’t always like this, you know.”

You guess is that if that stupid recluse had anything such as a friend, then Taehyung would probably be the closest thing to it. But then again your guess was as good as useless because it was near impossible to not like Tae - he was definintely overly-friendly, but not in a smothering way and boy, did it grow on you. Out of all the people who came and went in the studio, Taehyung and about four other people were the only ones you had ever seen Yoongi say more than three words to in a single sentence. Well, now you were included in that category too, but for very different reasons.

You make a scrunchy face at the sandy-haired boy. “Not so bad? All I was, was concerned and he saw fit to make me feel as worthy as the dirt under your shoe.”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

When you raise an eyebrow pointedly at him, Taehyung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, shoe police, calm down.”

After a moment, he adds, “are you still angry?”

You sigh in resignation. “Honestly? Not really. I decided I need this job more than my dignity.”

Tae chuckles good-naturedly.

“Oh, by the way could I have the restroom key, Jungkook’s track got rejected again and the idiot’s gone and locked himself in there. Again.”

Bending to look under your table for the right set of keys, you cant help but feel the little worm of resentment wriggle in your heart. “If he were even half decent he’d apologise.” You grumble quietly.

“Looks like he already has.”

“What did you say?” You emerge from under the desk, a little red in the face, and hold the keys out to Tae.

“Thanks!” Tae grins widely at you as he takes the keys and makes in the direction of the hallway, calling out behind him, “Ramen at 9?”

“Choosing to have ramen with me over Jimin? I’m honoured.”  You tease.

Turning back to your desk you notice a little convenience store heat pack with a yellow sticky note that says ‘it’s getting colder’ messily scribbled on it. Tae must have put it there while you were searching for the keys - a right shame he batted for the other team, the boy was so sweet.

“Thank you for the heat pack!”

“Not my doing!” Is his muffled reply from inside the corridors, but you just leave it at that.

—

Taehyung trains his eyes on the mop of black hair sitting in front of him at the audio console. He slowly swings in the spinny chair he’s kneeling backwards in, arms and chin on the high backrest.

After a couple minutes of silence Yoongi turns around.

“Tae I swear. I tolerate you, but if you continue staring at me while spinning in that chair for one more second I will enforce a shoes-on policy on this studio.”

The spinning continues, a playful gleam in the younger boy’s eyes. I call bluff. “When I’m gone, who else will you spill all your admin staff related problems to?”

Yoongi lets out a resigned sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Why he chose to let this shoeless, pajama-clad hooligan into his life he would never know.

“This is about ____, isn’t it?”

Taehyung nods. “What you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing.”

He stops spinning in the chair. “Hyung. You didn’t misplace her printing, spill coffee on her notes, make her give out flyers in the rain, put in her pay three days late, or even ask her to make ramen for Jungkook.” (The boy eats four packets in one go.) He lists them all out on his fingers, much to Yoongi’s further annoyance.

“Heck, maybe even collectively doing all of those things might have been better.” He wags an accusing finger in his face, but Yoongi chooses not to acknowledge it. Just like he’s trying not to acknowledge the huge clusterfuck that was this situation with you.

“You made _____ cry. The _____ who waters the stupid plant outside your door and replenishes the bottled water in your personal fridge after you run out because you’re too damn lazy to do it yourself. You’d both die of dehydration if not for her.”

“You both?”

“You and the plant outside, you fucking dumbass, since both of you have so much in common.”

Yoongi slumps deeper into his chair, twiddling with the rings on his fingers uncomfortably. He’s looking at his three computer screens filled with music arrangements but all he can see is your face, hurt and angry. There was a particular point where he saw a tear threaten to escape and he can’t remember feeling like more of an asshole. He’s frustrated that you make him frustrated with your stupid pretty face all crumpled up like that and the fact that he’d been the one to -

“So?” Taehyung asks expectantly.

Yoongi has a defeated look on his face. “I already apologised!”

Taehyung gives him a stare that was equal parts appalled and in disbelief. “With a two dollar heat pack you bought from the convenience store? Which you left on her desk, along with some random post-it and no name. She thinks it’s from me, by the way.”

“She should have been able to tell? ... From the handwriting?”

Taehyung just looks at him.

“I didn’t mean what I said, Tae.” He adds huffily after a short silence. You know why I get so prickly when people come into my studio without permission.”

“Hyung, but ____ doesn’t know that.” He reasons with a softer tone. “I know you like her. If you didn't you’d have fired her on the spot. She’s the best one yet, and pretty, too. I bet if you explained yourself she’d forgive you.”

He hates it, but Taehyung was right when it came to things like this. Your feelings had been hurt and insulted (unjustly so by him) and he didn’t know how to fix it, so he’d just avoided coming out of his room or being at the studio when you were working your shifts. Which had turned out to be an unexpected inconvenience because you were there, manning the reception and running the room bookings more often than he had thought.

“Knew she was trouble from the moment I hired her.” Yoongi grumbles.

“Stop it, old man. You’re just saying that because you like her.”

And indeed you were, all doe-eyed and warm smiles in a floral print dress catching him off guard the day you tentatively pushed the doors of the studio open, asking about the position opening for a receptionist.

Yoongi soon discovered, over the three months you’d been here so far, that you were also a college student struggling to pay her bills, and your shy disposition hid a sharp tongue and intelligent dry wit that had left him chuckling below his breath before he could stop himself. You were definitely trouble, and just his kind.

“After you apologise you should just ask her out already,” tae adds, “she’s totally got a thing going for you."

Yoongi scoffs. “Yes, _____ totally has a thing for me and my winning personality.” He puts his hand on his chin in mock contemplation. “Now I know why she ran off crying. She’s in love with me.”

“I said, after you apologise. Properly. She’ll forgive you.”

“Maybe I can just fire her. Then I don’t have to see her again.” He groans.

“Then I’d never forgive you.”

The words were sharp, but that was just Taehyung. There was somehow always a kindness to everything he did or said, even if it was an unpleasant thing; it had made Yoongi see the error of his ways more than once. The kid was more mature than anyone gave him credit for.  

Tae pushes off the chair and claps an encouraging hand on the older boy’s shoulder before turning to leave the room.

“Just say sorry, Yoongi. It’s not that hard.”

—

The way Dongwon looks at you as he leans on the reception counter makes you uncomfortable. In the kind of way that you can feel his eyes on your face, your throat, your shoulders. It makes you want to take a shower. Not that you were wearing anything revealing. In fact, you are the antithesis of sexy right now in what Chungha liked to call The Nun Outfit - a  white turtleneck knit and a plain black midi skirt that fell to your shins.

Nevertheless, you force a smile out, respecting that this was one of Yoongi's previous work partners. “I’m sorry, but Yoongi specifically told me not to allow any unscheduled reservations today.”

“Come on babe. I left shortly after you arrived, but you know who I am. I just gotta pick something up, and use studio B for a while.”

His usage of the affectionate term on you makes your skin prickle but you shake it off. “Maybe you could leave a message?”

Fumbling at your desk, you reach for a pen and a notepad, pointedly ignoring the way Dongwon is leaning in closer, not sparing you an inch of his scrutiny. “Here, you can use this -"

“Are you fucking him?”

You freeze. “What?"

Dongwon gives you a once over and runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek. You think you’re going to throw up.

“Are you two fucking? Is that why you’re listening to him like a good little - ”

Yoongi is nothing if not a possessive man. So when he catches the tail end of your conversation with Dongwon on his way out to get this third Americano of the day, and sees Dongwon looming over you like you're his next meal, he feels a sharp, intense anger pressing against his chest.

“The heck do you want?” Yoongi is seething as he enters the reception area, but he tames the flames quickly. His tone is deceptively level.

Dongwon looks away from you and a weird expression crosses his face, but it’s schooled quickly. “Yoongi, my man.” He greets emptily.

“I’m just visiting. Seeing how you’re doing.”

“Great.” is Yoongi's clipped reply as he sets his empty cup on the counter and tosses a couple of bills in front of you.

“Im sorry, sajangnim, I told him you said no unscheduled -”

“Iced americano, triple shot.” Yoongi cuts you off. 

He looks at you pointedly, the first time he’s acknowledged you since he had shouted at you a week ago. Under normal circumstances you’d have snapped back about how ‘so we’re only speaking if you need me to be the coffee lady’ but today you just take the money and leave the office, glad to be out of there. You drag your feet, walking as slow as possible to the cafe downstairs and pray the barista takes longer, but there’s only so much time you can kill before you have to go back up. Coming to the end of the corridor you just hope they’re both gone by the time you get back so it saves you the confrontation but -

You stop just before they can see you through the glass door.

"You don't talk to my people that way."

"Your people?" You don't need to see Dongwon's face to know he's sporting a twisted mocking expression.

"What’s the matter, she’s free game if you guys aren’t sleeping together." His leering tone makes you blanch. "With a face like that? She's way out of your league, man, and even if you were fucking, it doesn't mean you can't share - “

Dongwon is cut off when you hear the loud, telling smack of a fist connecting with a face. It is all you can do to not drop the coffee in your hand, the other coming to cover your mouth to muffle a gasp.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you, Yoongi? Who shoved a cactus up your ass?”

There is a brief scuffling noise, and the sound of some pushing and shoving, but quickly, it is quiet again.

“You know I could end your career in one phonecall, right?” You can barely hear Yoongi from where you are, but one thing’s for sure. You’ve never heard him like this before. Angry and menacing.

“I know what you’re here for. I’m not going to fall for it again. I kept quiet to protect the people in Namjoon’s company, but don’t you for one damn moment think I don’t know you’re the stealing bastard who took my demos and used them as your own.”

"And when Namjoon realises what your work is like - ha!" Yoongi snorts. "I was gonna watch you die a slow and public death but I guess that can be sped up."

Suddenly, things click into place with a shrill clarity. You don’t hear Dongwon say anything.

“You. Owe. Me. So you be a good little bitch and apologise to _____ when she comes back, and if you even so much as breathe on the corner of my block again, I’m going to fucking end you.”

“Yoongi you -“

If there was a good time for Badass Bitch™ to make an appearance it would probably be now. So you squeeze your eyes shut and with a deep breath, push open the office door.

“Coffee’s here!” You say a little too brightly, like you didn’t just walk in on an altercation.

Dongwon is trapped against the counter, collar gripped in Yoongi’s fist. He’s sporting a shiner on his cheekbone. Your lip trembles, but you manage to hold it in place. After a tense moment, Yoongi releases his grip with a disgusted exhale. Dongwon brushes himself off, turning away to straighten his shirt.

You place the coffee cup on the counter, turning to Yoongi and holding out a small fist. When he just looks at you, you grab his wrist and deposit some coins in his hand. You notice his knuckles are definitely pink.

“Your change.”

Yoongi ignores you, looking over your head at Dongwon. He opens his mouth like he’s about about to throw a nasty remark, but then closes it again with fire burning in his eyes and turns to leave.

“Oi. You forgot something. ” Yoongi’s tone is dangerous, warning.

Dongwon looks back, eyes still blazing, gaze shifting to you when Yoongi tilts his head in your direction.

He scoffs before pushing the door open, but then as he leaves he spits out begrudgingly, “Sorry, or whatever.”

You stand there in shocked silence for a good full minute before your senses come back to you. You turn to Yoongi again, grabbing his wrist to examine his hand.

“Yoongi, your hand -“ you start, but he’s already yanking it back from your grasp and muttering an angry “I’m fine”, before grabbing his coffee off the counter and heading back into his studio with a slam of his door.

-

If Yoongi’s day could have gotten any worse, it just did. There is a knocking on his door, for the third time in a row now and -

Knock knock knock.

He groans, yanking the door open. If he could get any more pissed off, he does, when he comes face to face with Taehyung.

“The fuck do you want, Tae, I swear if it’s nonsense again -"

"Stop taking your problems out on other people, hyung. Getting real tired of your shit here."

Yoongi groans internally. Tae was right. Again.

"Sorry. Its been a day. Dongwon was here earlier." He explains wearily, and the younger boy softens a little with understanding.

"S'okay. He's gone now?"

"Yeah, left him with a present too." Taehyung eyes Yoongi's hand that rested on the doorframe. He nods a few times, and then shoves a plastic bag into Yoongi’s hands.

“I have a present for you. It’s from ____.”

Your name stuns him for a moment. “Wait. Who?”

“____. She asked me to give it to you. I think she’s too afraid to give it to you herself.”

“What? Why?”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes before walking away. Yoongi shuts the door and slumps back in his chair, hand coming to massage his temples but he winces when he tries to make a fist. His knuckles are an angry, painful red. He definitely hit Dongwon harder than he’d intended.

Sighing, he empties the contents of the little bag onto the table and finds a tube of anti-inflammatory ointment, a roll of bandages, and a little pink post it note. It’s from you. You’ve doodled a smiling caricature of yourself with a tiny speech bubble that says ‘thank you!’.

He picks it up, running a finger over the smiley face and plasters in the top right hand corner.

-

Huddling deeper into your coat as you trudge miserably back down the street in the direction of the studio, you silently thank Tae for the heat packs he’s been leaving you - though he always denies it and you wonder why. Of course it’s just your luck that you left your house keys at the office on the coldest night of the month.

It’s not that Yoongi was avoiding you, you reason to yourself, as you walk, he was always like that. Aside from the first interview, you didn’t get a second glimpse of him till the third week into your new job. And even then you didnt really know what he actually looked like, because his face was always covered with a mask or a black cap pulled low. You heard more about your boss than how much you actually saw him.  

Maybe he just felt embarrassed by the whole two situations? You reason to yourself. Frankly you were over the whole shouting fest. Maybe he just had an off day, so what? (Chungha was right, you were just a little miffed that he didn’t apologise to you, but you guessed he’d redeemed himself). As you round the corner you kick a stray pebble that bounces down the street -

Oh.

You remember the first time you had a Good Look at Yoongi. Not just glimpses of eyes under a cap pulled low, or a flash of his profile as he tugs his hood up over his head. Like, a real proper stare. It was about a month and a half in, when you were heading to water the plants outside his studio before you ended your shift, and caught him working late with the door open.

You had imagined him to have coarse, unrefined features, what with his reclusive, gruff personality. And so you were caught by surprise, when you're greeted with a delicate side profile, strong brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he experiments with different chords on the keyboard with long, elegant fingers. A plush lower lip is worried between a row of clean, straight teeth. It was an unconventional kind of handsomeness, a kind that made you want to look, and look again.

But it's like he knows you're there and looks up. Before you can apologise out of habit, he closes the door in your face, your gaze meeting his for a split second. His eyes are angled with an almost feline quality under long lashes, sharp and guarded. You didn’t know what they guarded, but you felt a curiosity take bud in your chest and it was in that moment you knew you were very much in trouble.

But it is not clear how much trouble you are in. And you thought you were clear of that trouble, given the happenings of the past weeks. But now you realise any chance of being clear of it is now shot to shit when you round the corner of the street and see him crouching at the curb outside the building near a small ball of fur.

He’s playing with a cat.

Softly, the three-coloured cat he’s watching purrs, abandoning the can of tuna in favour of rubbing itself against Yoongi’s shin. He pulls a hand out of his hoodie pocket and reaches down to scratch between its ears. A gentle, endearing smile finds its way onto his face. You feel your heart squeeze.

But like the last time, before you can make your presence known, he looks up. He knows. There’s an expression on his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Yoongi quickly stands up and shoves his hand back into his hoodie pocket as you approach. It is at this point a small logical part of his mind registers that it would be a good time to apologise to you, but for the most part it is a mental re-enactment of a keyboard smash when you give him an unsure smile and a tiny wave. All swaddled in your coat and scarf, you were so cute, and holy shit you were walking over and he had no clue what he was going to say.

“So you’re the one spoiling him.” You murmur as the cat leaves Yoongi to pad over to you.

“Him?” He replies dumbly.

You nod to the meowing ball of fur curling around your ankles. “Him. I named him Jimin.”

“Jimin.” He repeats slowly. “A very human name?”

Yoongi watches you, as you watch the cat, a small smile gracing your face. “He reminds me of a friend of a friend. Small and cute. But has claws. And very clingy once he gets close to you.”

You look up to catch him staring, and he quickly redirects his attention to a streetlamp in the distance. “Yeah, I’ve been feeding him for a couple of weeks now. You’re definitely right about him being clingy.” Yoongi admits sheepishly as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Crouching to give Jimin a head scratch, you can sense Yoongi wants to say something. But you reckon he doesn’t know how. You think about giving him a hard time, but you don’t. You figure getting caught feeding a little cat is enough punishment for him.

“Don’t worry, sajangnim. I won’t tell anyone." You say with a little smile. "I’ll keep your image intact.”

Your smile makes his brain short circuit. "What?"

You let out a laugh because this was the most flustered you’d ever seen Yoongi, over a cat, no less! (you were wrong about this) And boy, was it amusing.

It's a light, happy noise and it's so pretty, Yoongi thinks. A pretty laugh for a pretty girl.

"Y'know, your whole brooding, all black, don't talk to me, mysterious guy image." You make a mask gesture over your face and then to him in mock disbelief.

"Playing with cats isn't very on brand of you, but I'll keep that information to myself."

Yoongi laughs then, and he dips his head to try and hide it, but from where you're crouching with Jimin you're treated to a glimpse of the cutest gummy smile that makes your heart turn into mush. You mentally note to prepare yourself for the next time he does that.

Putting your hands on your knees you push yourself back up and you both stand in companionable silence for a little while, watching the little cat go back to his bowl of tuna.

“I’m gonna -“

“Yeah so - “

The expression of mild surprise quickly turns into amusement on Yoongi’s face, and it makes you laugh softly into your palm like a shy fifteen year old. You quirk your head at him. Yoongi feels like it is really unfair for someone to be this cute.

“You first.”

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck with his hand and looks up at you from behind the hair falling in his eyes.

“I’m. Uh.” He stutters. “Realised I never apologised for that day.”

“It’s okay,” you smile reassuringly. “I’m over it.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I mean, granted you were a Top Notch Asshole, but I guess it was just a bad day for you.”

“I deserve that. Taehyung told me I should stop taking my anger out on others. Its true.”

“I accept your apology. Everyone has their own… thing.” You say stupidly after not being able to find better words.

“I just have issues sometimes. With... intellectual property.” He gestures vaguely in the air, trying to explain the best he can and you understand that he doesn’t really want to say more.

“I know.”

Yoongi’s brow knits in confusion for a moment before realisation dawns upon him.

“You heard us.”

You nod with a tight smile. “I didn’t mean to.”

Yoongi nods. “You’re not curious?”

“I am.” You consider this for a while, before adding: “but I don’t want to hear it if you don’t want to tell me.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at you. He likes that you are perceptive, and that you don’t feel like you’re automatically owed a lengthy explanation (even though he feels like you were). He likes your humour and the way you say things, and how every emotion is displayed so clearly on your face. He used to hate it because he thought it was a lack of tact, but honesty like yours is something he’s recently come to treasure a lot.

His staring makes your skin prickle all over and your cheeks flush, so you look for something to say.

“So all the receptionists who've worked for you become your punching bag, or was it just me?”

“Only the pretty ones.” He's sporting that cheeky gummy smile again.

He thought you were pretty?

It was so cliche, but it made you giggle. "Okay, casanova."

Your laugh dies down and you do this little shrug smile thing at him. In the muted yellow of the lamplight, and the snow starting to fall around you, Yoongi feels his heart stutter.

“Thanks, for the... stuff.” He pulls his other hand out of his hoodie to show you that it’s bandaged.

“Ah, you got them. I’m glad Tae got them to you. I didn’t know if you um.” You pause. “... wanted my company or not.” Yoongi blanches apologetically. “I’m working on it.”

After a moment of silence, you point up at the building. “I gotta get going. I left my house keys in the office. I came back to get them.”

“I think I’ll stay here a little longer.” He looks down at his furry friend working steadily at finishing whatever's in the bowl. “With Jimin.”

A sudden gust of cold, sharp wind cuts by, and you shove your hands deeper into your pockets kept warm by the heat pack Taehyung had given you. You see Yoongi shiver in his hoodie, and in the spur of the moment you fish out the heat pack in your pocket and hold it out to him.

“Take this, if you're gonna be out here. It’s getting colder these days.”

There is an odd expression on Yoongi’s face and he stares weirdly at you for a moment before you go into panic mode.

“Oh no, do you mind that I’ve been holding it before? Oh no I’m sorry. It’s okay, my hands are clean, I wash them often, twice actually with soap and water. I don’t like germs. If you want I also have hand sanitiser - “ you begin digging around hastily in your little sling bag, but freeze when Yoongi’s hands settles over your own.

They are big and warm, and the rough callouse on his palm brushes gently over your knuckles. You can’t help but imagine what they’d feel like on other places of your body. He accepts the heat pack from you, fingers lingering just a little too long - you’re sure of it, you hadn’t imagined that.

“Thank you, ____.” He offers you a half-smile and you can feel your heart flip flop like a fish in your chest.

All of a sudden, self-consciousness hits you in waves, and you school your features, clearing your throat. “I… I’d better get going, sajangnim.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“Call me Yoongi.”

Yoongi finds himself biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide as he watches you, all flustered as you stutter a mumbled agreement and goodbye, trudging off abruptly in the direction you came. Only to turn back around because you’d gone in the wrong direction instead of going to get your keys. Cute, he thinks to himself. Very cute.

—

The first time you say his name is two weeks later and you’re not used to calling him that, so he really has to drag it out of you. (Not that he didn’t enjoy it, but you best believe he won’t ever let you live it down that you couldn’t bring yourself to drop the honorifics.)

It’s after hours, and he’s leaning against the audio console in his studio, with you standing between his legs. A random demo track of his plays in the background - a simple piano melody, but you don't recognise it. Must be one of the new things he's been working on - there were a lot of them lately. One of them being working up the sexual tension between you two, which had reached a head today, given the position you were in. You were about to burst. Into tears, or flames you didn't know which but you sure as hell were about to find out.

You are eye to eye with Yoongi. An arm around your waist presses you against his chest with nowhere to run, the other hand gently cupping the side of your face. He is terribly close, so warm and smells of soap and the leather jacket he’s wearing.

“Say it properly.”

A little bubble of annoyance rises in your throat at the smug expression on his face. You’re rather cute when you’re frustrated.

“This is blackmail. It’s illegal, you know?” You say huffily. “It’s just a name, why do you have to make life so hard for me? I’m sure you’d know - “

You ramble on, and Yoongi watches you fondly - you weren't much of a talker, but put you in a spot and suddenly you couldn’t stop talking. He’s rather excited to discover more of this side of you. Even your coping mechanisms were cute, and he thinks to himself that he’s pretty much done for.

Yoongi places his index finger under your chin, tipping your head up to meet his gaze and runs the pad of his thumb slowly over your bottom lip. You shut up, and watch him as he watches his finger press into the soft flesh. The guy knew exactly what he was doing, and you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.”

Yoongi tilts his face even nearer, lips hovering dangerously close.

“Not good enough.” He whispers. His breath fans gently across your cheek; it smells like the mint gum he likes to chew on when he’s working on a particularly difficult track.

Yoongi feels your small hands tighten around the lapels of his jacket, and he’s met with a glare that is pleading and dare he say… petulant? He’s wanted to kiss you for a long time, and he’s thought about it a lot. More than is healthy for him, he thinks, but oh, does he want to tease you just a little bit longer.

“Not. Good. Enough.”

“Yoongi, kiss me.”

When Yoongi first kisses you, he does so chastely. He nips delicately at your lips. His own are soft, unhurried and teasing - a tender shadow of a kiss. You can tell he's relaxing, savoring the moment, and like a fog settling in, your world grows hazy with the smell, taste and touch of him.

"There's my girl." Yoongi whispers as he pulls away, his breath mixing with yours. Unintentionally you shift, moving forward for another kiss because he's kissing you but not really kissing you. And unsurprisingly, he stays where he is, just out of reach.

"Kiss me. Properly ", you repeat.

He moves his lips slowly to your jaw and lower; you can feel his laugh through his chest. You crane your neck and let out a breathy "oh god" when Yoongi takes his own sweet time to suck a deep pink bruise into the creamy expanse of skin there. He appraises, with satisfaction, the way his mark looks on you before soothing it with his warm lips and tongue.

"Come on princess," he murmurs against your skin in between licks. "Try again."

The term of endearment he uses on you is your undoing, and he makes a mental note with emphatic exclamation points to revisit this tidbit of information at a later date.

"Yoongi. Kiss me. Please."

And just like that he continues where you two left off, this time with no ounce of teasing or flirting. It's hot and shameless and wanton. Yoongi is no longer gentle. The hand around your waist drops to the curve of your ass, gripping hard and pulling you onto your tiptoes. He slips a thigh between your legs, your hips now flush against his - a delicious pressure you can't get enough of. The other hand palms your breast, rubbing a pebbling nipple through your clothes and the sudden friction makes you gasp. He takes the chance parting of your lips to lick into your mouth, swallowing your soft moans eagerly. You run one of your hands up to the nape of his neck. Carding your fingers through the hair there earns you a low groan, and a heavy, languid swipe of his tongue against yours.

You don’t know how long you spend memorising the taste of him, his hands claiming every possible inch of your skin, but eventually the kiss slows. Yoongi takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently as he pulls away. For a moment all you can hear is the the blood roaring in your ears.

As the both of you catch your breath, Yoongi is just watching you now. The hand that rests on your waist moves up your belly, up your chest. It comes to rest at the base of your throat, thumb one one side and four fingers on the other. Silently, you revel in its weight. The feeling of his rings on your skin makes you shiver a little. Unable to help himself, he squeezes ever so slightly. Like this, he can feel your hummingbird pulse under the pad of his thumb.

Your eyes flutter shut momentarily, but not before you see his eyes light with desire.

You look up at him, and he decides he likes you like this. He really, really likes you like this - soft, pliant, all pressed up against him with your moans and kiss-swollen lips, and for the love of god, begging.  

It’s a bit pathetic how you’ve got him all wrapped around your little finger but he's had enough of teasing and he gets to kiss you now, so he doesn’t care. He smiles widely, closing the distance between his lips and yours again.

-

Six months down the road is the first time he lets you listen to that piano track when it’s finished. You don’t remember it at first, but he’s quick to jolt your memory with a very in depth and very realistic re-enactment.

When you finally get down to listening to it, he plays it off as cool and nonchalant, but you’re attuned to his little mannerisms by now, and the way he’s picking at the skin on his thumb told you this was important. He’s nervous to let you listen to it.

It’s beautiful - a soft piano backing track compliments his husky rap in an unexpected but flawless manner, and the way it builds into a crescendo fills you with raw emotion. Your eyes are wet by the time the last few notes play.

“Yoongi, it’s beautiful.”

He smiles at you, but continues picking at his thumb.

“You don’t think it’s too… different?” He frowns a little. “From my other stuff? Will people like it?”

You walk over to take his face between two of your small hands.  You’re looking at him like he’s your entire world and his heart is going to burst. “ Don’t worry. It’s going to be amazing. It is amazing. You’re amazing.”

In that moment, Yoongi feels invincible. He presses a long, sweet kiss to your lips.

“Some day, I’m going to write a song about you.” he breathes when he pulls away. You beam quietly.

“Music is my first love but you - “ there is a pause as he takes a moment to run a finger across your cheek, so gentle, as if he might break you if he wasn’t careful enough.“ - you are my forever love.”

- 

[bnhaficsforthesoul]

Shinsou fluff alphabet

Starting off this blog the right way

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

He really likes your eyes

Hes definitely the type of person that puppy dog eyes work on

When you look up at him with those pretty eyes he just melts into them

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He would want a baby eventually

Like after you get married

But he loves the thought of having a baby with you

Seeing which traits come out from both of you

Or adopting a baby, he thinks that would be awesome too

He loves kids, hes just kinda scared that he doesn't know how to take care of them

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

He is the c li n g I est mf

He acts like hes not but he is

He doesn't have a preference when it comes to being the little or big sppon

He loves holding you

Just wrapping his arms around your shoulders or waist and hugging you as tight as possible while pressing little kisses onto your forehead

And when you hold him he melts

He feels so loved and wanted

Play with his hair plz plz plz

His eyes will flutter shut and hell just be like

"Mmm... so comfy"

It's so cute

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Toshi is pretty spontaneous

So dates will either be

Let's go out at 3 in the morning and run around the city and buy junk food

Or

"Babe, I got us reservations for this super fancy restaurant so make sure you get dressed up. Were leaving in an hour."

They're always fun tho, even the more formal dates are super silly with you two making jokes and just being crackheads

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

To Hitoshi, you are his inspiration

His reason for moving forward in life

Before you, his only goal was to become a hero - and even then no one seemed to believe he could

Then theres you

You who tells him that his quirk does not make him evil

It's super effective against villains

hell be a pro hero someday

Before he wanted to become hero simply because why not

But now he wants to become a hero for you, to show you that your positive words were not misplaced and he is someone you can count on

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

It was one night after he was training with Aizawa in martial arts (since he knows his quirk isnt the most effective in battle if he cant get it to work)

And he walked out of the field to see you standing there with this big smile on your face

"What are you doing here? It's late, you should go home."

"I was but then I saw you training and wanted to watch 😊"

He kinda gives you a weird look and is like why

"Cause you're super cool Shinsou! If I wanna be a pro hero I need to make sure I can get strong too, so I wanted to take some pointers."

His eyes widen and hes like- you think I'm cool??? Me who has to do this training cause my quirk is useless most the time?? Me who's quirk actually sucks?? You think I'm cool.

You just give him this big smile and you're like well ya anyways see you tomorrow

And he kinda is just like fuckfuckfuckfuckdu kkckcdudyhsj the whole way home cause wow you're super cute and you're the only person to ever praise him like that

He lies awake all night and is like I'm in love fuk

So ya, he was in love long before you even started dating

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Hes so gentle with you

Like hell brush your hair out of your face and move it behind your ear

When you kiss his hand kinda just cups your jaw and his thumb rubs your cheek

He presses little kisses on your forehead when you hug

Theres times when he can be more rough, but you're his baby and he cherishes you so much

He doesn't wanna scare you in any way and treats you so well

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

When you're walking he likes to place his fingers with yours and holds onto your hand tight

But other than that, he prefers holding your hand by placing his on top of yours and lacing his fingers while his thumb rubs your pinky

Hell pick up your hand and press kisses on it

Lowkey to tease you cause he likes to see you blush but still

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

His first impression of you wasn't the best? It wasn't the worst either tho

He first met you at the sports festival

You were fighting after he did, so when he was walking back and you were going out you saw him

So you were like "great job in the match!!"

And he thought you were teasing him cause he felt he horribly lost so he got kinda pissed

And was like "ya whatever"

He realized you weren't lying later tho, when you kept talking to him whenever you would see him at school

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Oooooh yes, boy gets so jealous

You're HIS baby, not anyone elses

Hes put up with a lot of shit and a lot of shitty people and now that he has someone who loves him and he adores back - he doesn't like the fear of losing them

It's less of he gets angry when people flirt with you and more of he gets scared

Hes scared hes not the best and that you might decide you'll leave

He knows you love him and are loyal to him, but he cant shake that fear

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

So he initiated the first kiss

It was after your first date, and he kinda just kissed you out of nowhere (and you didn't mind at all)

While he does kiss you fairly gently, its lots of times a way to tease you

He loves to kiss you more roughly- the kinds of kisses that leave you breathless and your lips bruised

But he starts gentle half the time so that you get frustrated and have to try and make him kiss you deeper

Lots of tongue

Lots and lots of tongue

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

You did

Again, He knew he loved you before you started dating

But he didn't wanna put you off by saying it too soon so he waited for you

He did things to help you know he loved you, but he waited until you said it

The first time you said it you were cuddling

You were lying on his chest and he was playing with your hair on his bed and you quietly said "I love you Toshi. So much.."

His eyes widened and he got the biggest smile on his face

"I love you too baby"

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

His favorite memory with you is probably one of your first dates

He took you to an amusement park

You were holding hands the whole time and you were so happy throughout the whole night

Hearing your beautiful laugh, being able to play the games with you and win you prizes since hes for some reason super good at them, getting to be that annoying couple that just cuddles in all the lines

He was in heaven

of course you had to do the stereotypical couple thing and ride the ferris wheel

But! It got stuck when you were almost to the top (if only it had been at the top - it would have been peak amusement park date romance)

You two were so ready to kiss at the top, but now you get to make out for like 30 minutes?? Awesome!

Getting to have a whole photo shoot together with all the pretty lights from the park and the city?? Double awesome!

Sitting in the cramped seat and being able to just talk and cuddle without worrying about school or anything?? Tripple awesome!!!

Everything about the night was perfect, and now you two love going on amusement park dates (tho none will ever beat this one)

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

He won't Spoil you too much, hes broke anyways

Besides, hes not the most materialistic person anyways so he would rather give you gifts of like dates and stuff

When he does give gifts, it's more personal things

Hell spoil you for your birthday and anniversary tho, if you really want something hell do his best to get you it

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Pink

Why?

Because he loves that cute blush of yours ~

He teases you all the time, anything to get you to blush

So when he sees a pink, especially in the shade of your blush, he kinda smirks and is like aw

Also, its such a soft color, and you're his baby so he gets soft for you

So honestly pastel colors remind him of you too, but mainly pink

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

ANYTHING that will get you to blush

Hes tested out them all

Honey, sugar, babydoll, bub, cutie, EVERYTHING

But his favorites are baby, and kitten.

He likes cats so he tested out kitten and the BLUSH that erupted on your face, he was hooked

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

My dude he is so into ball room dancing

Like I guess that's modern if you're rich, but neither of you are so that's something you only see in like old movies

Dead ass he took you to an abandoned castle just to dance with you while he played music from like the 40s

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Loves rain

Wants to go play in it

He will drag you out into the rain so that you can run around and act like little kids

Then you'll come in eventually so you dont get sick and make tea and cuddle

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Hes more of the type that will just ignore his feelings when hes sad

Like it's no big deal they'll go away

But you got mad at him for doing that so now - he just tells you

Hell text you and be like "hey.. can we cuddle..."

And you'll immediately know what's up and run to cheer him up

When you're sad, he takes a more direct approach

He wants you to tell him straight up what's wrong, and hes willing to wait if you need time

Hell hold you until you're ready, but he won't leave until you're feeling better

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

He loves gossipping

Like you two talking about dumb stuff your classmates do

Makes up like 70% of your conversations

Also about movies, or TV shows, hes into a lot of fandoms and loves talking about them

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

You

Playing

With

His

Hair

That's it

Hes stressed? He will plop himself into your lap and you just know

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

He likes showing off his martial art skills honestly

Hes gotten good at them, and many of the students dont bother with learning any formal fighting style since they're more into just using their quirk or swinging as they please

So it's something hes proud of

Hes also proud of it cause the 2 people he looks up to the most - aizawa and you - are also proud of him for it

So he loves showing you new things hes learned, or showing you how to do them so that you can be safer

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Again, hes spontaneous, so it kinda just came out

You two were just goofing around one night - spending time with each other since soon you would go into working at an agency since you had graduated

He was just thinking about how much hes gonna miss not being able to be around you all the time

So this man deadass ran into a gas station that was still open, bought a ring pop, and ran back out and was like

"Shit babe I'm so sorry this is such a horrible proposal but I'm doing it cause I don't wanna back out so- (y/n), will you marry me?"

Hes down on one knee holding this ring pop and he expected you to start laughing (you did later) but instead you started crying and you just jump into his arms nodding

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Serendipity by BTS

His world changed when he met you, the love his life

Theres so much hurt in life, and you are his happiness

Even when you two fight, you only come back stronger

Hes so happy with you, and so hes worried that something will happen to take you away from him

This song kinda captures that

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Yes

All the time

He planned it a few times fully before when he actually did, and they were all much more romantic than the ring pop

He thought of the ring and everything

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Cat

Do I even need to say that

He wants you two to be crazy cat parents so bad

Even tho the max you ever have at a time is 2

[suckerforkpopboybands]

Fated: part 1

 The first part of my new series called fated. It’s a love story that the reader develops with Jungkook........ I hate descriptions check my page for the preview lol enjoy. 

Part 1

It was finally September 23rd, 2016 and you were in Seoul South Korea for the K-Pop world festival. You were the winner of the event for the United States of America. You didn’t really care or know too much about K-pop you simply enjoyed the language and well you were a great singer and well singers like Ailee and Sistar perfectly suited your style. It was your first time going to South Korea. Your Korean teacher back in New York City was from Seoul so her teaching helped you achieve the Seoulistic style of the Korean language. You impressed the team in Korean team during your auditions as well as the team that would help you when you arrived to the festival preparations.

You had a few days before you needed to be at the festival grounds for promotion and prep, so you decided to spend a few day in Seoul with a friend who was staying in Korea for the next few months as a language student. You spent that Friday night trying to get over jetlag but so wanted to explore. Your friend insisted that you two go to Itaewon. There was this neat bar that classy but sort of ratchet at the same time. You two spent the evening flirting and getting hit on by American soldiers and cute Korean men. You two weren’t really looking for anything but to dance and drink. While dancing you spotted a Korean guy watching you dance. He was with two other male friends. It was dark but you could tell they were all handsome. He didn’t get up he just watched you as you danced, so you decided to go over to him by the bar.

“You want to dance with me” you said in perfect Korean. They guys were shocked and clapped. You laughed at their clapping and said, “I think that it’s pretty normal to speak Korean in Korea”. The one watching you was nudged by his friend to dance with you. Before you knew this average sized but clearly in shape Korean man with brown hair danced with you. He smelled so nice.

“What is your name” he asked you.

You told him your name and then asked what his name was.

 He seemed a bit hesitant before saying, “You don’t know”?

You looked at him strangely and laughed. “Am I supposed to know who you are”?

“Never mind, forget it. I’m Jeongguk”, the handsome young man said.

“Nice to meet you Jeongguk. I am Y/N”.

Jeongguk invited you and your friend back to the private section and table but when you went to grab your phone you noticed you received a text that she was hooking up with some guy and that I looked like I was in good hands. She also sent a pic of the guy entitled just in case I get kidnapped. Jeongguk introduced you to his friends and two tall big guys who almost looked like bodyguards. It definitely made you uncomfortable. He whispered something to one of the big guys and then to his friend which caused them both to whisper to each other. He introduced you the guys.

“Y/N, this is Tae-hyung and Ji-min”.

They both bowed and smiled at you. Tae-hyung had a bunch of questions. How old you were, were you single, why are you single, and a really strange one what is your blood type. The main question of why you were in Korea came up. You explained to the how you were representing your country in a competition and how you love to sing and love the Korean language so the Kpop festival seemed like a great idea. They all seemed impressed. Ji-min couldn’t get over the fact that you spoke Korean almost fluently. You asked them what they did for a living and Ji-min joked and said they were struggling artist. You thought that was cool but could they weren’t really struggling.

Throughout the night you drank and sang random Korean songs in their private section that turned into noreabang. Jeongguk, slightly drunk, asked if he could take you somewhere private. You weren’t really sure. The last thing you wanted was to be kidnapped by this handsome stranger that smelled so good. Or maybe you did. You pulled out your camera to snap a pic and that’s when the large man swooped in and took your phone.

“You cant do that Y/N” said who you realized was in fact their bodyguard.

Jeongguk realized how startled you were and told the bodyguard that you didn’t realized who they were or the rules. Jeongguk finally explained that they were Korea idols in a group named, loosely translated, Bullet Proof Boys Scouts or more commonly known as BTS. You realized who they were. The boy also explained that pictures couldn’t be taken without their permission. You were shocked and realized that’s why he thought you knew who he was you tried to explain yourself.

“I am so sorry I didn’t mean anything bad by trying to take a picture. I was just jokingly but also seriously taking his picture because he asked me to go somewhere private and me my friend send pictures when we go on blind dates or meet with people we don’t know. I am so sorry”.

Your apology was accepted, and the guys thought it was funny and sweet.

Once everything was cleared up and the rules were explained you and Jeongguk left. The two of you went through a back door of the club and into an SUV. When you two got in the vehicle Jeongguk asked where you were staying you informed him you were staying with your friend in the area of the club. He also began to talk about his intentions for the rest of the night.

“Y/N, I am not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do. I won’t lie I was going to try and hook up with you but you’re so interesting I want to talk with you more. Not sure if I want to just hook up with you or maybe we can I don’t know. I know it’s 2am but I kinda just want to hang with you. I was allowed to get a hotel room so that’s where we are going if that’s okay with you”.

“Jeongguk, I’d like that a lot”.

“Y/N do you want food, we should get food”. Jeongguk told his driver to pick up some Korean fried chicken and Soju after you got dropped off. Jeongguk grabbed his hoodie and a pair of sunglasses. He also handed you a facemask and a pair of glasses.

“Oh wow this is serious”, you said laughing as you placed the glasses and mask on.

You two entered the front door of the fancy hotel that was about 30mins from Itaewon. There was no one in the hallways but Jeongguk insisted on being extremely cautious.

You entered the beautiful hotel room that looked more like an apartment. You could tell that he had been there for at least a day. There was clothing on the floor.

“Sorry”, Jeongguk said, “that was from earlier today. I’ve been here since Thursday evening. Sometimes I get a room for myself”.

“No problem”, you replied with a smile.

Jeongguk stopped trying to clean up once he realized you really didn’t care. You were simply happy to be hanging with him. Even though you just met him you though he was pretty interesting and that had nothing to do with him being a k-pop star. There was something sweet and innocent about him, even though you could tell he had some experience with women. He just plays coy. He moved closer to you as you stood in the middle of the room. He placed his hands around your waisted and you responded by placing you hands around his neck. You two just stared and smiled at each other before getting lost in a kiss. The kiss started with simple pecks that Jeongguk placed on your lips almost as if he were testing to see how far he could go. He started kissing you a little harder which made you open your mouth a bit giving way to his tongue. Your tongues danced in each other’s mouths; his arms were now holding you tighter as you two begin to move towards his bed. You two were interrupted by a hard knock once on the door. Jeongguk ran towards the door leaving you sitting on the bed. You two forgot about the food that Jeongguk requested for you two.

“Chicken, beer, and soju!” He was so excited about the food.

“Come eat Y/N”.

You started thinking about things he eat could and let’s just say it wasn’t the chicken but he was so happy so you didn’t try to change it. You two sat on the floor to eat. He poured you a drink and pecked you on the lips and a somber look took over his face before he began to speak.

“Y/N I knew we just met”, he said rubbing his neck, “but I feel like I’ve known you for longer than tonight, it’s also refreshing that you didn’t know who I am”.

You just smiled at him and placed a kiss on his lips before saying, “I am so glad to have met you I liked hanging with you”.

Jeongguk smiled at you and said, “If I am telling the truth I don’t know how long this is going to last we have a crazy schedule and I know you’re back to America after the festival. I didn’t tell you before but my group is preforming at the festival and well if we see each other there we won’t be able to interact with each other like we’ve met before. I may not be able to speak to you all during the festival other than as a contestant”

You never have dated or hooked up with any type of famous person, but you knew this wasn’t going to be the start of an uncomplicated relationship if any relationship even came out of it.

“I want to see you again”, Jeongguk said with his head low. You thought maybe the alcohol was getting to him. You lifted his head and kissed him and handed him water to drink. After you also to a drink of the water Jeongguk took this as opportunity to move closer to you until you were on you back with your legs spread and he was facing you on top.  You kissed him and said, “If you want to see me again why we don’t wait so we don’t regret anything”. Jeongguk smiled at you and then to himself as he rolled off of you and slipped his arm under you to pull your closer before going to sleep. 

[novatoast]

How Hajime/Nagito fit the 7 beats of Romantic Comedy

The first beat of romantic comedies is listed as the chemical equation, but we'll come back to that point later as it concerns who the protagonist and love interest are as people and danganronpa spreads this set up throughout the story or splits it into free times.

Meet Cute: The Catalyst The inciting incident that brings the two together and into conflict; an inventive but credible contrivance, often amusing, which in some way sets the tone for the action to come.

Danganronpa 2 begins with Hajime's meet cute with Nagito, it even shows it twice right at the start. They have been put on a tropical island without memory of how exactly they got there, the situation is so stressful that Hajime passed out. Nagito was the only one to be there when he woke up: being the first person Hajime sees once he wakes up. Hajime remains skeptical of the situation while Nagito shows him around making light hearted jokes to ease the mood and reminding Hajime that things could be worse (as they do become later).

A Sexy Complication: Turning Point Traditionally occurring at the end of Act 1, a new development that raises story stakes and clearly defines the protagonist’s goal; most successful when it sets the protagonist and love interest at cross-purposes and/or their inner emotions at odds with the goal.

The first turning point happens with the first trial: Nagito's willingness to die and drag others down with him for something conceptual like "hope" shocks and disturbs Hajime. At first Hajime doesn't want to believe it, but he's forced to accept that there's this side to Nagito that is a danger to himself and everyone else. The easy going nature of their relationship up to this point is then broken.

The Hook: Midpoint A situation that irrevocably binds the protagonist with the antagonist (often while tweaking sexual tensions) and has further implications for the outcome of the relationship.

The midpoint of their relationship arc is a period split between chapter 2 and 3. In chapter two Hajime finds out that Nagito was tied up for what he did in the previous chapter but he doesn't feel like he can face him: except then Mahiru pushes him to take over a duty to feed Nagito onto Hajime. Forced to face him again Hajime interprets Nagito's words as malicious and tempting. He gets fed up pretty quickly and leaves the food on the floor because he has to for the sake of not accidentally killing him but that's it.

Nagito being tied up and disappointed Hajime wont feed him is pretty sexy gotta say

In chapter 3 Nagito catches the despair disease and Hajime is far less reluctant to help. Once more Nagito is in a vulnerable state and Hajime is involved in his well being. Though Hajime wonders why he should be concerned about someone like Nagito it's notable that no one asks Hajime to check up on the other sick characters. Akane and Ibuki aren't deathly ill but it's completely optional for Hajime to visit them at all. So the daily life centers around Mikan and Fuyuhiko updating Hajime on Nagito's condition or asking him to check in on Nagito himself. In this state from Nagito we get the infamous lie "All alone with Hajime, huh... I cant stand being in the same room as you. [...] I don't want to see your face anymore." but while Hajime is much more willing to help out in this chapter he still flees from this sort of confrontation.  

Kind of funny how in chapter 2 Hajime runs away from being alone in a room with cute girls in swimsuits and he runs right to the body discovery, then in chapter 3 Hajime runs away from something close to a love confession right into a scene that leads to the next body discovery.

Swivel: Second Turning Point Traditionally occurring at the end of Act 2, stakes reach their highest point as the romantic relationship’s importance jeopardizes the protagonist’s chance to succeed at his [or her] stated goal–or vice versa–and his [or her] goal shifts.

Hajime is somewhat willing to put up with Nagito again by chapter 4, they aren't buddy buddy like they were at the start but they are approaching tolerance. This time the relationship hits a breaking point from Nagito's perspective when he goes through the Final Dead Room. Nagito finds out the horrible truth that in the memories everyone forgot they had become known as Despair, a terrorist group that only acted in the name of despair. This shatters Nagito's faith in the remaining survivors as he doesn't believe they are worthy of his idea of "Hope" if they were capable of falling so low. He doesn't show his cards in chapter 4 so his anger is shown through insulting everyone's intelligence and Hajime's status as a normal guy, but its the Despair thing that sets him off. The one thing he cannot forgive.

We do get a confirmation that Nagito still has feelings for Hajime, but we move on to the next beat here:

The Dark Moment: Crisis Climax Wherein the consequences of the swivel decision yield disaster; generally, the humiliating scene where private motivations are revealed, and either the relationship and/or the protagonist’s goal is seemingly lost forever.

Hajime is torn up about the reveal that he's just a reserve course student, meanwhile we head into chapter 5 where Nagito has decided to forsaken any relationship he could have had with Hajime for his idealistic goal of eliminating despair from the world for the sake of hope. The sentimental feelings still exist, which Nagito even points out when he asks Hajime to come with him to the hotel by reminding him that they used to explore the island together. But then Nagito blows up the hotel and his plan kicks into effect that leads to his death and the attempted murder of everyone on the island except for the only one who is innocent.

But because it's all just a game this isn't the end.

Joyful Defeat: Resolution A reconciliation that reaffirms the primal importance of the relationship; usually a happy ending that implies marriage or a serious commitment, often at the cost of some personal sacrifice to the protagonist.

The story of Hajime and Nagito comes to a conclusion with the anime and 2.5 OVA. Nagito's plan had failed and once released back into the real world Hajime set out to revive the comatose members of the 77th class at the end of the game. The OVA brings us back to the beginning by showing Hajime hovering over Nagito, being the first person he sees once Nagito wakes up. But they aren't back to square one, they are actually beyond that because now Hajime understands the good and the bad of Nagito and he chose to revive him knowing all that Nagito is capable of. Nagito's toxic mindset had been defeated by Hajime's determination and he gets a second chance with the story ending on a happy note for the whole class. One of the final scenes in the final episode of the anime leaves us with Hajime and Nagito eating together and smiling, Hajime had just had a final word with a vision of a girl he could have loved before he leaves her to be at Nagito's side. They are going to be okay.

2.5 OVA also has a scene with interesting framing. Here Hajime is inviting Nagito onto the boat, behind him is Peko and Sonia. Where the camera isn't facing is Nagito flanked by Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi. In romantic comedies you'll sometimes see beta couples, pairings that exist alongside the main couple to provide a foil to the mail relationship, often the best friend of the protagonist. Fuyuhiko and Kazuici as survivors had the longest time to get close with Hajime and spend significant time with him in the game compared to like Gundam or Nekomaru. In the dream world Nagtio seemed to be best friends with Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi as well even if that's not real reality (yet). By this framing we have Hajime/Nagito placed in between two beta couples: Fuyuhiko and Peko's absolute devotion to each other and love that has a pretty steep obstacle to overcome but they should be capable of it after events of the game and then there's Kazuichi and Sonia where it was a one sided obsession but Sonia has decided to tolerate Kazuichi. Hajime/Nagito is framed somewhere between tolerance and true love. They aren't married or in any sort of relationship, but the future (represented by a boat crossing a sea, refer back to Hajime's speech at the end of 2 about the future being an ocean you can drift anywhere you want) is a journey they are embarking on together.

This brings us back around to point number 1:

The Chemical Equation: Setup A scene or sequence identifying the exterior and /or interior conflict (i.e. unfulfilled desire), the “what’s wrong with this picture” implied in the protagonist’s (and/or the antagonist’s) current status quo.

So what do Hajime and Nagito get from each other that they are lacking alone? From his free times and everything we learn about Nagito we can see that what he really needs in his life is normality. Nagito's life thus far has been unstable and its taken a toll on his mentality, to be loved and understood by someone as normal as Hajime can bring him back down to earth. Hajime throughout the game kept running from things that were too difficult for him to deal with, but he kept getting pushed into dealing with someone as difficult as Nagito over and over again. What Hajime really needed was to feel confident in himself, and while the final push in that character development came from Chiaki, we've seen that Nagito can help Hajime relax in stressful situations with their first free time and we've seen Hajime acknowledge that Nagito has helped them as much as he's troubled them in the 5th trial. Nagito can be a handful to deal with, but he's also a great supporter. Nagito may want to be important himself but he gravitates towards a cheerleader role that puts Hajime in the limelight he has always desired to occupy.

[bbhoneylt]

IFD2019 bottom louis rec list!

Hey, for international fanworks day here is a bunch of larry fics i’ve read and love! these will all be bottom louis cause i’m a blouis stan and cant read bh, sorry 🤷‍♀️

almost all of these are one shots, they are only chaptered if stated otherwise assume it’s a oneshot

also, all of these are finished 👍😉

Worth Dying For by whoknows (44906- finished)

summary: “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

Ain’t No Tellin’ Who’s In Charge Here by whoknows (14562- finished)

summary: The thing about Louis’ and Harry’s dynamic is that while Louis is the instigator of 99% of the foolishness, Harry will always come back at him with something ten times dirtier than whatever Louis had thought up. Of course, Louis can’t let that go, so he does something else, so Harry has to do something else, and then it’s a vicious cycle that continues until one of them makes a plea for a truce.

It’s like that even when they’re at home. Sometimes it’s like that especially while they’re at home, because Louis gets bored easily and Harry is just such an easy target. The point is that the kind of foolishness that Louis is known for doesn’t stop when the cameras stop rolling, so when Louis lets himself into Harry’s bedroom at 5:30 in the morning to annoy Harry into waking up before he goes for a run is completely normal and to be expected.

Except that it turns out not to be so normal.

As Wicked As Anything Could Be by whoknows (21775- finished)

summary: It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

I Would Follow You (To The Moon And Back) by Dick (20355- finished)

summary: Everyone has baggage, some people sleepwalk, some have obsessive exes, and others turn into anthropomorphic wolf-like monsters that destroy furniture and run rampant in the forest. Perfectly normal.

Or the one where Harry and Louis have been dating for six months, Harry is a werewolf, and it's a full moon. This time they're going to get it right.

Pinkies Never Lie by emma1234 (83615 CH.7/7- finished)

summary: “I just think if we’re both into it and neither of us is looking for something serious, why not?” Harry asks, eyes soft and voice sweet. He pauses and gives Louis a moment or two to answer.

There are countless reasons why Louis shouldn’t agree to this, but in the end, none of them really matter. This will end with Louis in pieces, but he’s been in love with Harry for four years. There was only ever one answer.

“Yeah,” Louis answers finally, hoping his voice sounds normal. “Why not?”

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

Enter The Rose Garden by angelichl (10387- finished)

summary: Soft heats make omega Louis clingy. Enter alpha Harry.

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This (29982- finished)

summary: Loosely based on The Wedding Date. Inspired by 27 Dresses. Basically, Fake Boyfriend AU with a twist. Louis' sister is unknowingly getting married to the ex who broke his heart. When faced with the prospect of turning up alone, Louis panics and hires a corporate escort named Harry. General chaos and epic jealousy ensues.

Your Touch Is The Only Thing I Feel (15979- finished)

summary: Liam. Liam was finally here. Louis kept his eyes closed and cuddled farther into Liam’s side, revelling in the pheromones Louis’ body desperately needed. He wasn’t sure how long Liam had been holding him, but Louis figured it had to have been at least an hour by the way his body had loosened. The need of an alpha’s touch seemed to have been temporarily lifted from his mind.

Louis listened to the sounds of the pub around him. It was louder than before he had fallen asleep and he briefly wondered why Liam hadn’t just woken him to go back to their flat.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Louis’ eyes flew open at the sound of Niall’s voice, and the arm that had been around Louis shoulders lifted in the same instant. He missed the warmth immediately.

Louis looked from Niall’s stormy face over to the person who was definitely not Liam. The alpha Liam impersonator, who smelled a lot better than the actual Liam now that Louis was alert, looked back at Louis with wide eyes and familiar furrowed brows.

Or the one where Louis refuses to settle for just any alpha despite intense touch deprivation. Fortunately Harry isn't just any alpha.

Out Of The Wild by jaerie (21502- finished)

summary: Louis has spent most of his life as a wolf in the wild, Harry has spent most of his life as a human in the city. Their worlds collide during the audition process for the hottest new singing competition. What happens next should have expected.

Just my Style by thoughtsickles (15443- finished)

summary: Harry is sick, and the only thing that might help him is the pheromones from his mate--problem is, he hasn't got a mate.

Louis' just been disowned, and taking part in a medical study where he has to cuddle with some strange alpha seems to be his only option for earning a bit of cash.

The hippies and Omega Rights campaigners are busy changing the world--but all Harry wants is a chance to live.

Louis Lucas by theteapirate (67,999 5/5-finished)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/610929/chapters/1100722

summary: Pornstar!AU. Louis is a pornstar with more issues than he can drink away. Harry is a bisexual singer/songwriter who is desperate to be signed to a major label. Zayn and Liam are Louis's long-suffering best friends (who also happen to be pornstars, and also happen to be dating each other). Niall just wants to play his guitar.

Time Out by Speechless (27539 5/5- finished)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617757/chapters/36263115

summary: "I'm a mermaid." Louis decides, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck. "You're on holiday. Somewhere tropical, like-"

"No, no-" Harry mutters, leaving what's left of his sandwich on the desk. "You're a fairy." he says, bending down to mouth at his neck.

Louis scoffs.

"I was a fairy last week, Harry." he complains, barely resisting as he gets pushed towards the bed.

"You're my pretty, small, delicate fairy." Harry ignores him, sneaking his hands under Louis' shirt, dragging them up his back. "You're so small." he rambles, as Louis rolls his eyes, hides his smile. "If I'm not careful I might hurt you."

Harry and Louis are perfect for each other.

Everybody knows it.

They know it, their friends know it, everybody knows it.

That's why Zayn, Liam and Niall won't let them get away with breaking up.

No chance in hell.

The flatmates by centao592 (48425 14/14- finished)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797769/chapters/3855268

summary: Harry is a cheeky Alpha who vows never to settle down.

Louis is a hurt omega whose Alpha died just before they could bond officially.

Zayn is an artistic Alpha who doesn’t understand privacy, or personal space.

Liam is a curious Beta who is convinced the world is going to end.

And Niall is a drunk Beta who keeps falling asleep randomly without finishing his sentences….he might also suffer from narcolepsy. None of the lads know for sure.

Or

The story where five lads all respond to the same ad about an available flat and move in.

[queenangst]

More Than Friends

by: achievingelysium Summary: A classic, two-part throwback to "mortals-meet" fics. Part one: Annabeth's having a no good, very bad day. Percy swings by to help. Things go about as well as can be expected. Post-TLO, Annabeth's POV. / Part two: Much to his friends' chagrin, Percy tends to show up late to class and flakes out on a meetup, until they meet his elusive girlfriend. Post-HoO, mortal's POV.

Read on AO3 | FFN

Her phone buzzed.

Buzzed, then buzzed again.

Annabeth snarled under her breath, eyeing the teacher whose back was turned to the class, and then snatched the phone from her pocket. Whoever was texting her had better have something important to tell her, or gods help her—

It was Percy.

Despite herself, Annabeth smiled. The annoyance didn't fade—no, from this morning to that stupid brat earlier—she'd just about had it with the day. She'd only come back to school for a week, but already she ached to leave and go back to camp where she belonged.

Percy, 11:14 AM  hows it going babe me and grvoer r headed for the beach

Percy, 11:16 AM  wait grover and i?

You, 11:17 AM  you got it.

Annabeth ducked her head and grinned. She caught Lydia's attention in the seat next to her, her friend's eyes widening almost comically as she leaned over to see.

"You're texting in class?" Lydia hissed.

"Shh," she whispered back, batting Lydia away. Still, the girl was hooked, far too interested in what Annabeth was doing.

There was a noise from the front of the room, and the two of them froze, glancing up.

"False alarm," Lydia whispered as Ms. Martin kept writing on the board.

"You should all be writing this down," Ms. Martin said. "See, this is why you guys aren't doing well. I can only do so much, but if you want to learn, you have to be paying attention in class. It's not as hard as you think it is. Is anybody writing?"

Annabeth gritted her teeth, glaring across the room before looking pointedly at her open notebook. Scrawled on the page were notes, though Annabeth hadn't finished writing down everything. Her dyslexia wasn't helpful, nor was the way Ms. Martin organized her thoughts on the board, completely different from Annabeth's.

There was a general grumbling from the class. Furtive glances were cast around the room.

"Yeah, if only she would teach us," Michael muttered from two seats up. Annabeth and Lydia snorted.

It was no secret that no one in their school liked Ms. Martin. She was a hit-or-miss teacher, and she often berated her students on their less-than-stellar work in her class—even though that had always been a result of her teaching.

"There she goes again," Lydia said, sighing as she jotted down another line.

Annabeth wasn't paying attention, though.

Percy, 11:18 AM soo? good day [IMG _FILE] look at this cool shell grover said the pattern makes it look like its frowning but i don't see it

You, 11:24 AM  tell grover I don't see it either. also today's been awful

Percy, 11:24 AM  what wht why

You, 11:25 AM  ugh Helem got mad at me this morning. Again. *Helen

Percy, 11:25 AM she's too hard on u I thought u 2 were getting better

You, 11:26 AM yeah but last week I took off my necklace so I could go shower she almost threw it away. didn't know what it was

Percy, 11:27 AM she WHAT

You, 11:27 AM I guess it's not totally her fault but she should know by now right not to touch my stuff I hate it when people touch my stuf *stuff and I got really upset about it

Percy, 11:29 AM  u didn't tell me :(( ims orry

You, 11:30 AM its fine now I guess I got it back forgot about it when you called a couple days ago

Percy, 11:31 AM  what were u saying about this morning

You, 11:32 AM  UGH

You, 11:32 AM I came home yesterday [Unsent]

You, 11:32 AM went back yesterday at 2am because I ran into a couple monsters took care of everything but I got a little blood and monster dust on the carpet and in the bathroom was too tired to clean up got yelled at this morning for it

Percy, 11:33 AM ur fine right? ugh it wasn't ur fault

You, 11:34 AM I know she hates monsters and really wants to look out for the boys but she just and earlier I saw this girl talking about this kid in the bathroom and she was so rude I

Percy, 11:35 AM  did u get in trouble

You, 11:35 AM almost did I was about to punch her I was so mad and now I'm in English and I hate English and Martin

Percy, 11:42 AM hey… u have lunch next period i'll swing by with grover and take u out we can get those curly fries u like

Annabeth groaned. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Percy, but her friends had been pestering her about her boyfriend since she'd gotten back to school.

They were just scraping two months from the war; Annabeth had decided to go back with Percy and Sally's encouragement. She'd missed about a month—school had started late August, but Annabeth had wanted to spend more time with the other campers and with Percy before leaving.

Now Annabeth was currently drowning in work to catch up, but Percy seemed to have managed just fine starting in mid-September. He'd gone back to Goode, surprisingly, and had bounced between home, school, and camp.

They had some kind of parent-teacher conferences this week, or maybe a holiday, which meant Percy had four days of weekend instead of two. It made Annabeth insanely jealous.

Percy, 11:44 AM so what do you say

Percy's text brought her back to the present. Lydia had gotten back to leaning over, but Annabeth blocked her friend's attempt to read the screen, furiously typing back.

You, 11:44 AM no you cant my frien [Unsent]

"Miss Chase. Miss Faris."

Annabeth's fingers froze over the keyboard just as her heart stopped. She fumbled to turn off her phone, looking up to see Ms. Martin with crossed arms.

"Ma'am," she replied, feeling her heart start to pound against her ribs. She cast a frantic look towards Lydia.

Monsters, Titans, fire-breathing Chihuahuas… Annabeth had seen them all. Still, there was something about teachers that sent them to a completely different level.

The class had gone quiet, broken only by Jay.

"Ooooh," he sang quietly, and the class tittered.

"Would you like to share what you're looking at instead of what you should've been learning in class?"

Annabeth ground her teeth together. She needed to text Percy back to tell him not to come, wanted to keep talking to him, wanted desperately to leave the classroom and find something she could break. The anger and annoyance that had hounded her came back; Percy had been cooling it off, but now something had snapped again.

"Learning," she said deliberately. Someone audibly sucked in a breath at her tone.

Ms. Martin arched an eyebrow.

"Indeed, Miss Chase. Something you would know to do if you want to do well in my class."

This was dumb. This was dumb, and Annabeth hated it, hated the way her skin was crawling like spiders were climbing across her front. She hated Ms. Martin with her stupid voice, who'd failed her first assignment even after Annabeth had worked on it for three days straight.

Hated the way the teacher was looking at her, like she was dumb.

"Maybe if you were teaching us something, I'd pay attention," Annabeth said hotly, standing up. Her fists clenched at her side.

The classroom, which had been filling with whispers and murmured conversation, went silent. Lydia couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to gape at Annabeth or cower in her seat with the way Ms. Martin was glaring at them.

Ms. Martin strode forward.

"Phone," she said, holding her hand out. "I want to see you after class."

Annabeth glanced at her phone, shutting it off and handing it over. They stood off for another moment before Annabeth forced herself to slowly sit down.

It wasn't worth it, she reminded herself, but a little part of her whispered that it had. Ms. Martin had turned around, marching back to the front of the classroom. People had erupted into conversation.

"Girl," Lydia exploded once she'd sat down. "Wow. You… wow."

"Shouldn't have done that, should I?" Annabeth grumbled, sliding lower in her seat.

"Maybe," Lydia offered, "but that was the most badass thing I've ever seen. Just wait until lunch. Everyone's going to be all over you."

"Oh, gods," Annabeth said. She covered her hands with her hands for a moment and then lowered them, sending a satisfied grin at her friend. "Well… I guess that was a pretty good line, huh?"

The remaining time in English passed quickly. Ms. Martin went back to lecturing them, occasionally interjecting with a comment about their work ethic as she glared vaguely in Annabeth's direction. Everyone went back to taking notes, but there was a restless energy that lasted until the bell rang.

"Dismissed," Ms. Martin called, and the students surged for the door, yelling over each other and chatting. Lydia shoved her stuff into her bag.

"I'll save you a spot," she told Annabeth. She glanced at Ms. Martin. "Good luck."

Annabeth took her time putting her things away. She wasn't a terribly organized person, but today she made sure everything had a place. While she worked, she reminded herself that she couldn't afford to have Ms. Martin hate her. Any more, and she'd be failing English.

Not to mention phone calls. The minute Helen heard a word about what had gone down, she'd go off on Annabeth. What little relationship they'd been carefully building would come crumbling down. She'd be the unruly, good-for-nothing demigod.

She took a deep breath and forced herself towards Ms. Martin's desk.

"I'll have you remember that I tolerate no disrespect, Annabeth," Ms. Martin said. "I don't like it when any student uses their phone in class, and if you have constructive criticism, I'd like you to bring it up to me in a more helpful way."

Annabeth held her tongue. She could tell Ms. Martin meant it, but it didn't make Annabeth feel any less unhappy.

"I'm… sorry," she said.

Ms. Martin made a noncommittal noise. "Are we on the same page?"

Annabeth glanced at the clock.

"Yes, ma'am."

"If this happens again, Annabeth, I can call your parents." Here, Annabeth's lip curled in distaste. "And I will send you out of class. You know that."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ms. Martin sighed. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and though Annabeth didn't like her one bit, she thought maybe she was starting to understand where the teacher was coming from.

"It won't happen again," Annabeth offered quietly. She wanted to leave and slam the door.

"Be sure of it." Ms. Martin nodded, reaching over to a drawer and handing Annabeth's phone over. "You can go."

Annabeth left without saying goodbye, darting out into the hall and sighing.

"That could've gone better," she muttered, heading towards the cafeteria. She was five minutes late, give or take a few—the lunch line would be packed, and she'd have to wait longer to get food.

Annabeth stopped, suddenly remembering why she'd gotten into trouble in the first place. She checked her phone and found a number of missed texts and a call from Percy.

"Oh, gods."

"Annabeth!" a voice yelled before she could check it.

As she pushed her way towards her friends at the table in the corner, she caught sight of a small crowd. Over the din, she could hear a loud voice chattering away.

"What's Beatrice up to?" Annabeth said, sliding into her spot. Lydia lit up.

"Annabeth! You made it out alive!"

"Lydia told us all about it," Samarth said. He passed her a soda can. "Bought this from the vending machine as a gift, you brave, brave soul."

"Uh, thanks," Annabeth said.

"I still can't believe you said that," Jay crowed. "Did you see the look on her face?"

"What'd she say? Spill."

"It was fine," Annabeth muttered. "So what's all the commotion about?"

"Oh," Lydia said, slamming her water bottle down in excitement. "Queen Bea found a new guy to drool over."

Annabeth wrinkled her nose. "I'm sure."

Beatrice was nice enough, but she reminded Annabeth of Aphrodite kids. Cool, but sometimes overwhelming… and maybe a little too obsessed with getting a boyfriend.

She was pretty forward and could get a little bossy, hence the nickname Queen Bea. Still, the few times she'd seen her outside of being boy-crazy had admittedly impressed Annabeth. She was driven and smart. Med school, if she remembered correctly, though Annabeth never knew if that was her own ambition or if maybe she was fishing for a good-looking doctor in her future. Probably both.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Annabeth yelped, pulling her phone from her pocket.

Buzz.

"It's her boyfriend," Lydia said immediately. The table oohed.

"It's not," Annabeth said, hitting reply. It was Percy.

Percy, 12:21 PM hey its lunch but i don't see u i could use some help um u can probably tell where i am theres kind of a crowd is this normal

"Shit," Annabeth said. No doubt the "new guy to drool over" was Percy.

"Annabeth?" Jay called after her as she crossed the cafeteria. "Woah, wait, did we upset you?"

She shoved through the crowd, and there he was.

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm just here to find someone," Percy was saying. Beatrice was unsurprisingly talking to him, too close for both Percy and Annabeth's liking.

"Well, you found me," Beatrice said. She leaned a little closer. "Wanna go to lunch together?"

"Uh," Percy said. He looked nervous, eyes darting around the group of people surrounding him. There weren't actually that many people, maybe twelve in total, but they were all excitedly chattering about the new guy. With their small school and class size, everybody knew everybody, and anyone remotely new got people excited.

He tried to step away.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm gonna go."

"Hey, wait, what's your name?"

"Percy," he replied. He was starting to get jittery, Riptide appearing in his hands as he twisted the cap like he did when he got nervous. "And I'm looking for—"

Annabeth finally pushed through.

"Looking for me?"

Percy and Beatrice both turned at the sound of her voice.

"Annabeth," Percy said, obviously relieved. She'd been his best friend for years, knew the way he ticked, knew what every look meant. It made her stomach flip when his eyes lit up, his lips lifting in that crooked, troublemaker grin.

He held out his hand, and Annabeth took it.

"Oh my God," she heard distantly. "That's gotta be him. The boyfriend. Samarth, get a picture."

Annabeth wasn't paying attention.

"Hey, Percy," she said, not fighting as he wrapped an arm around her and daring to press his lips to her forehead. She closed her eyes for a moment. "What are you doing here?"

He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Curly fries, remember? I promised."

"Do you two… know each other?"

Beatrice looked like her dreams were being crushed slightly. Annabeth felt bad, then remembered she'd been flirting with her boyfriend and felt a little better.

Before Annabeth could open her mouth, Percy beat her to the punch. "I'm Annabeth's boyfriend."

It was a little silly, but it made her smile. Every time she got to call him her boyfriend, it sent warmth through her body.

Annabeth ducked her head to hide her blush, and Percy tightened his arm around her.

"Oh," Beatrice said. "Um. Sorry."

Now she was blushing, looking a little embarrassed.

"It's cool, I guess. Flattering, but I'm taken," Percy said. "Uh, sorry?"

Annabeth couldn't help but roll her eyes. Her friends took the moment to press in like predators hunting prey.

"So you're Annabeth's boyfriend," Lydia said triumphantly. She was grinning as she stuck a hand out. "Nice to meet you."

"That's Lydia," Annabeth said, sighing. They'd never let her get the end of it. "Samarth and Jay over there."

"Oh, man," Jay said. "Liv is going to be so mad she missed this. Uh, nice to meet you, man."

Percy shook hands with Jay, then Lydia, then Samarth.

"I guess Annabeth talks about me, huh?"

"Oh, she never shuts up," Lydia said. Annabeth kicked at her ankles.

"Lydia!"

"Really?" Percy asked, grinning. He slipped his arm down from around her shoulders, grabbing her hand instead. Her face burned.

"No," she grumbled.

"Kind of," Samarth said. "I think Lydia talks more than her, though."

"What? I'm interested."

There was a beat of awkward silence before Lydia blurted, "How'd you guys meet?"

"Oh, um," Percy said. "We met when we were twelve. Went to the same camp, and we got looped into some of the same, er, camp activities together."

"Arts and crafts?"

Percy was grinning again, and it was infectious. "Something like that."

"Cool," Jay said. "I got shipped off to summer camp a few times, too, but my summers were never quite as exciting as Annabeth's. Any way I can get in?"

Annabeth pursed her lips. "It's one of those you gotta apply at, but it's a little hard to get in. Pretty specific requirements."

Percy laughed. "You're not wrong."

"Guess I'm not going."

Percy shrugged and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. You never know."

"You're from New York, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm on break, so me and another friend came down for a visit. Then Annabeth said she was having a bad day, so I thought I'd come pick her up to get some food."

Jay poked Samarth. "Why don't you ever do that for me?"

Samarth only squinted back. "You're the one who can drive."

Percy glanced over at Annabeth, and she squeezed his hand.

"Missed you," she said quietly, stepping closer. "It's been weird being here."

"Hey, San Fran's pretty nice."

She looked away. "You know what I mean, Percy. I don't get to see your stupid face around."

He leaned their shoulders together. "Missed you, too."

Percy turned to the rest of the group. "It was nice meeting you guys, but I think we gotta go. Fries don't buy themselves."

There was a chorus of "You, too"s as Percy led Annabeth away.

"Mortals, huh," Percy said. "Cool bunch. Though I'm interested in what you've had to say about me, Wise Girl."

She shoved him. "Come on. Let's get some fries."

[octannibal-blake]

"We're in this haunted house tour and this smol stranger started holding my hand. I was going to complain but she's pretty, looks scared and holding hands doesn't hurt right?"

not to pick favorites, but this honestly might be my favorite one. thanks for this, nonny! 

also, side bar, ya girl is supposed to have internet back by Wednesday!! Thanks everyone for keeping me entertained during these desprate times. I love you all, I really do!

the set up

“You owe me.”

“Shut up, they’re coming.”

“They?”

It’s not like Bellamy tries to be the kind of guy that keepstrack of his favors. He usually does them because he enjoys being a good friendand honestly, it isn’t a big deal. He doesn’t want people to think they can’tcome to him when they need something. But this is a special case. A very specialcase and he is definitely marking this down as a favor that requires repayment.

Haunted Houses are cool, in theory. Paying some money to seescary stuff because adrenaline is fun and there is nothing quite like getting arush after facing your fears. Except he doesn’t find them scary. Haunted housesare corny, with poor costumes and stupid scare tactics. Everyone he’s ever beentoo has had the same setup – one Michael Meyers character, at least one clown(and he suspects that this year, that number will go up thanks to It), and someguy chasing you around with a chainsaw. Predictable and cheesy and not worthhis money. And yet Miller insists that this is different.

“It’s a corn maze,” he had pitched the idea yesterday, “It’llbe way cooler.”

“No.”

“Dude,” he’s never heard Miller plead before but it’s prettysatisfying to see his friend practically on his knees, begging, “Monty isbringing some of his friends and I don’t want him to think I don’t have any.”

“You all met in an online gaming match,” Bellamy pointedout, “He probably already knows that.”

“Please?”

And that’s how he ended up here, outside of a Haunted Mazedoing his best friend a favor. He’s not sure what making a corn field into ahaunted house is supposed to add. Maybe some weird creepy element because it’soutside in the middle of nowhere. He’s mostly bitter because his cell isn’tpicking up service and he had been in the process of setting up a hook up viaTinder (look, he’s a very busy Grad student and doesn’t have time to hit barsto do things the normal way).

He watches as two people approach, one he recognizes asMiller’s new…boyfriend? Date? He isn’t entirely sure, though he supposes thatif they had made things official, Miller wouldn’t have asked him to tag along.He’s never seen his friend this nervous before. When he talks about Monty, hischeeks get all red and he starts to stutter. It’s actually pretty cute especiallysince Miller tries to be all broody and sarcastic all the time. Really, he’sjust as soft as the rest of them.

The second person he doesn’t recognize. She’s a petiteblonde, almost a head shorter than him with long golden curls and a scarfcurrently wrapped around her neck like she might freeze to death without it. It’sat least fifty degrees – definitely jacket weather but the scarf seems a bitexcessive.

“Hey,” Monty greets as they approach and Bellamy cant’s helpbut grin when Miller leans in to give him a kiss. He really wants to documentthis moment, he’s never seen Miller smitten before, but doesn’t want to givethe wrong impression to Monty.

“Monty, this is Bellamy,” Miller extends an arm towards him,“My asshole roommate.”

“And best friend in the whole world,” Bellamy adds, offeringhis hand. Monty shakes it enthusiastically.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiles and then turns to hiscompanion, “This is Clarke. My roommate.”

Miller laughs, “Wait, roommate? Don’t you live in the dorms?”

Clarke pulls the scarf down from her mouth, and he can’thelp but think of how dramatic it seems to be, “They thought I was guy whenthey placed me. Apparently, they don’t understand the concept of gender neutralnames.”

Bellamy smiles at that.

“Nice to meet you,” Miller says politely and Bellamy nods inagreement, “We ready to head in?”

Clarke’s eyes narrow in confusion, “Wait, where are theothers.”

If he had blinked, he would have missed it. Miller and Montyexchange a quick look, though, unreadable. Vaguely suspicious.

“Jasper couldn’t make it and Raven had to work,” Monty saysquickly. He tries to lock eyes with her but didn’t seem to notice like he did.She just shrugs and begins walking towards the entrance. He tries to fall intostep with her to give Miller a small amount of privacy.

“You realize it’s fall and not the dead of winter, right?”he starts as they stand in line. She looks up at him and her eyes catch thelight. They’re an intense shade of blue. Pretty, even.

“I was cold,” she says defensively, though she begins tounwind the thick scarf from her neck. She unzips the jacket she’s wearing aswell, revealing a blue v-neck underneath. He doesn’t mean to look down, but it’s very hard not to notice. She has agreat chest.

“Wow, we just met,” she says and he looks up quickly,clearing his throat in embarrassment. She laughs at his discomfort, “It’s fine.They do look nice tonight.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies stupidly. He decides that he likesher. She’s blunt and doesn’t seem fazed by his apparently lack of manners.

“So, what are you going to school for?” he changes thesubject. It’s a safe subject and he manages to keep his eyes firmly away fromher chest. Fucking dick.

The line moves fairly quickly and it doesn’t take long forthem to reach the entrance. They hand over their tickets and move in, theirgroup consisting of just the four of them. He sneaks a glance back at hisfriend, who has a smile glued to his face and seems to be completely unaware ofhis surroundings. Maybe this is worth it.

“Wait,” Clarke says as the doors close behind them and themaze stretches out before them, “Is this everyone we go with?”

He detects a hint of fear in her voice and when his eyesconnects with her, he sees it plain as day.

“You nervous?” he grins at her.

“No,” her voice comes out a bit high pitch, indicating thatshe’s definitely nervous, “Just…maybe they should go first?”

He looks back at the couple behind them and shakes his head,“Nah, the people at the end of the line always die first.”

“Gee, thanks,” she mumbles and pulls her arms around herself.They walk forward and the maze is strangely quiet, as expected. He’s positivethat someone will jump out at them in the next ten seconds. When they turn thefirst corner, he’s right. Michael Meyers greets them at the edge and holds uphis butcher knife.

He scoffs, “Predicatable.”

He doesn’t really move, just holds up the knife and staresthem down. Clarke doesn’t seem too affected by it, though the guy decides toget uncomfortably close to her face when she passes by and it causes her tomove a little closer to him so their arms are brushing together. No big deal. It’sfine.

But then, not long after that comes the first thing to jumpout at them. They’re walking and suddenly the corn russles and something hopsout right in front of them. Clarke screeches and moves back, knocking intoMiller and nearly causing him to fall over. Clearly, he hadn’t been ready.

“Fuck,” she huffs when the thing disappears back into thecorn.

Miller pushes her gently off him with a laugh, “You good?”

“I fucking hate haunted houses,” she says finally, “I knownone of it’s real but when people jump out at me I kind of want to run away,kind of want to punch them in the face.”

“You should punch the next one in the face,” Bellamy addsquickly, “It would definitely be worth my money.”

She seems to relax slights after that, giving him a warmsmile and continuing forward. The next scene the stumble across isn’t thatscary, just a clearing filled with the children of the corn, which is sort ofdisturbing in its own way, but not scary. It’s when they here a laugh come frombehind him that he feels hand slide into his and grip it, hard.

He almost lets out a surprised grunt, but when she begins tocling to his arm and he sees the sheer terror in her eyes, he decides to let itslide. He squeezes her hand in reassurance. The comfort doesn’t last long as aclown (again, predicatable) begins to chase them down the row. Clarke grips hishand even tighter and drags him along with her as she practically sprints away.By the end of the row, she’s out of breath, but makes no effort to let go.

“Afraid of clowns?” he asks smugly. She sticks her tongueout at him in response. It’s cute, he decides. There isn’t much light in themaze, though they’ve come to the next part which happens to be a janky barn they’resupposed to enter (chainsaw guy is next, for sure). But in the faint light, hetries to get a good look at her. She’s the same age as Monty, making her onlyslightly younger than him. She’s definitely attractive, with her sharp eyes andlong hair. Great chest, too. But there’s also something spunky about her – he cantell in the way she cusses like a sailor and rooms with a guy out of spitetowards a school. She says things like “gender neutral names” and has strangeself-awareness of her own attractiveness.

“We going in, or what?” Miller hisses from behind him and hehadn’t even realized they’d been standing there that long. He pushes the dooropen and they enter. It’s full of clanking weapons and there’s a long tablesitting in the middle. They hear a scream and Clarke is once again glued to hisarm. He can feel her nails digging into his jacket and he shakes his head.

The barn is full of multiple stages, one guy pretending tomaim another person, fake blood spewing everywhere and awful screaming. Thereare four different jump scares, people sticking their head out of holes orjumping in front of them with fake intestines falling out of their stomach.When they reach the otherside of the barn, he hears the rumbling of a chainsaw.It revs from behind them and of course, they’re running again. He follows themand they come to a fork in the maze. They take the left and Clarke is onceagain dragging him along. He lets it happen – he’d hate for her to get stuck byherself.

The chainsaw fades into the background and the mazestretches before them in eerie silence.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes quickly, “I’m sure you didn’tcome just to have your arm pulled out of socket by me.”

“You are surprisingly strong,” he admits. She is. Hisfingers might actually be bruised by the end of it. Totally worth it, though.He is never opposed to having a beautiful girl hang all over him. Wait,beautiful? He doesn’t call people beautiful. Attractive, yes. Hot, even.Beautiful? Shit.

“Where did Monty and Miller go?” she glances behind them andsure enough, his friend is nowhere to be found.

“They probably went right,” he concludes. The fork in themaze is probably meant to separate groups. Make things a little scarier.

“I guess we’ll see them at the end,” she says and theycontinue forward. He offers his hand and she hesitates briefly and he thinksmaybe he’s overstepping his boundaries, but she takes it with a small smile.

“Monty really likes your friend,” she tells him, and heassumes she’s trying to make small talk to silence the paranoia. Something isbound to jump out at them. Better to be distracted and scared rather thanprepared for it and still scared.

“Miller likes him too,” Bellamy smiles, “I’ve never seen himact like that with anyone. Hell, not even me.”

“You all used to date?”

Shit. Maybe not the best thing to tell Monty’s friend. Shemight think he’s jealous or something.

“Oh, uh…” he thinks on it for a moment, “Yeah. Briefly. Wayback in early college. Like Freshman year and I wouldn’t really even call itdating.”

“What would you call it?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Friends with benefits? Figuring out ifI was into guys. Or girls. Or whatever. Which, it’s both. I did learn that.”

She nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, me too.”

Well, fuck. Just when he thinks she can’t get anymoreattractive. The moment doesn’t last long. It’s rudly interrupted by somejackass wearing knock-off Freddy Kruger gloves. The long claws wrap aroundClarke’s arm (somewhere along the years of his avoidance in these things,touching people became allowed, which, what the fuck?). She yelps but ratherthan run or wrap herself around his arm, she rears back and smack the costumedemployee across the face. She wasn’t fucking kidding, holy shit.

“What the fuck?” the guy yells as he stumbles back. Shepulls both hands to her mouth in shock. He can’t hold in his laughter andnearly doubles over.

“I’m so sorry!” she apologizes, “I didn’t know you all couldtouch us. I wasn’t expecting…I…shit I’m sorry!”

“There’s a sign that says it out front!” Freddy Krugerargues back, “Jesus.”

Bellamy does his best to sober up and grabs Clarke’s freehand to pull her away, “The mask probably broke the contact. You’ll be fine.Make the signs bigger.”

In her defense, he hadn’t read the sign either. He pulls heraway and can’t seem to stop laughing about it. She shoves his chest playfully.

“It’s not funny!” she hisses, though he can tell she’s doingher best not to laugh either.

“That was a nice hit,” he compliments, “You really put yourwhole body into it.”

“I took a self-defense class last semester,” she finallycracks a smile, “The beauty of being close to graduation. Easy, bullshitclasses.”

It’s honestly hard to focus on anything else at this point.The people chasing them don’t really have the same effect, and even Clarkeseems unfazed by it all. They reach the end about ten minutes after theincident and double back around to the front to meet up with Monty and Miller.They aren’t there so he assumes they haven’t come out yet.

“Thanks for letting me hang all over you,” she leans backagainst the railing that seperates the parking lot from the line, “I hope Ididn’t hurt you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he says, “Maybe check in withFreddy tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” she says incredulously, “Itold Monty this was a bad idea but he insisted.”

Bellamy watches her for a moment, admires the curve of herlip and the mischievous look in her eye, like she could wreak havoc at anymoment while simultaneously saving the world. He has a suspicion that maybethis was purposeful. That maybe Monty and Miller knew what they were doing whenthey asked them to come here. Bellamy hates haunted houses and thinks they’relame. Clarke is terrified of them. And yet they’re the only two to show up. Hethinks about the way Miller greeted Monty with a kiss, something he would dowith someone he was dating and comfortable dating at that.  That motherfucker set him up.

He wonders for a moment if Clarke figured it out, but itseems like she honestly thinks her other friends just didn’t show up and Montyreally wanted her to come for moral support. He can’t say he’s really that madabout it anymore. She’s funny. She’s cute. She punches Freddy Kruger’s in theface. Mark him down as gone because this girl, well, he can tell she’ssomething special.

“Where the hell are they?” Clarke asks, bringing him fromhis realization. His phone buzzes at the same time.

Miller: I’m taking Monty to a late dinner. Can you giveClarke a ride home?

Miller: I’d ask if that’s weird, but you all were makinggoogly eyes at each other the whole night.

Miller: Also, you’re fucking welcome. I don’t owe youANYTHING

Bellamy chuckles and slips his phone back into his pocket, “Well,our friends ditched us for a more private date. I can take you home if youwant?”

He hopes it’s not weird for her. After all they’repractically strangers.

“Or you could take me to dinner?” she offers, and her eyesare full of that same mischievous sparkle, “I mean, if you’re going to check me out the least you can do is buy me food.”

Yeah, he’s a fucking goner.

“I’d love to.”

[warmau]

{Special} College!AU Doyoung

major: pre-law / concentration: business law

minor: comparative literature 

sports: sometimes he says he’ll join tennis team to be closer to taeyong and taeyong begs him not to do that. anything but that.

clubs: book review club, uni orchestra 

everyone knows doyoung as a talker, he talks really well and no matter what he never seems to get nervous when there’s a crowd listening to him

which is why when he says “lawyer” everyone is like,,,,,,,,,,of course

his original plan was to become a professor because he likes books and discussion on literature

like,,,,no joke he’s always staying thirty minutes late debating on theories in books with all his teachers

and some teachers love it while others are like doyoung please i am just a teacher i need to go- and he’s like “have you considered that moby dick is actually trash? here’s 54 reasons why:-”

his older brother is an alumni of the school and everyone is like oh ~ you’re gong myungs brother??? and everyone in the pre-med department always wants to talk to doyoung about gong myung and doyoung is like yes. he went on to be a doctor. no. he isn’t married. no he ISNT LOOKING- 

he lovessss to bother taeyong when they all go out to eat and he’s just like “more handsome every day i see?” and taeyong is like someone save me. sicheng. yuta-

but doyoung just throws his arms around taeyong and is like ^^ let’s study together!~~~ and taeyong is dying but everyone else is living because it’s so funny,,,,

dorms with jaehyun and everyone is like wow,,,they’re so mature they’re probably in there studying and being studios students!!!!

while in reality they’re sitting on the floor playing video games and doyoung is betting jaehyun all his lunch credits for the weekend on some wii sports resort golf

but he really does give off the studios vibe,,,because out of everyone on campus he dresses so???? formally like

you’ll never catch him in sweatpants and a big t-shirt (see: taeil) like doyoung wears collar shirts, those dad pants that are jeans but made of corduroy??? maybe a tie if he’s feeling it,,,,,, flip flops on campus? he’d rather DIE he’s wearing those oxfords and u know it!

is lowkey trying to give advice to e v e r y o n e like “mark,,,,,i know ur going to soccer but wear knee pads - i don’t care if you’ve been playing for ten years sweetie” to “johnny. that color of green on you is ugly.”

people find him intimidating because yes,,,,,he can be straightforward and blunt

but,,,,he’s a sweetheart who looks like a curious kid with round eyes and a kind smile 

and as much  as taeyong might spend running away from doyoungs affection,,,,he loves having him around because doyoung never makes anything awkward

he’s a natural leader tbh and he can make a conversation out of nothing it’s crazy,,,,,,,

and you,,,,,,know who doyoung is because you’re friends with ten who is always telling about how much he LOVES doyoung

how silly he is,,,,,how fun he is,,,,,how he acts like a cute bunny sometimes

and you,,,,,do not get it

because you’ve seen doyoung and the way he looks so sharp and intellectual and how when he talks he sounds like he knows,,,,,,everything

you’re not even sure you’ve seen doyoung laugh

and ten shows you the pics on his instagram of doyoung laughing,,,hand over mouth,,,looking silly with hair a mess and soft skin,,,,

but you’re like,,,,,,,you’re still sorta intimidated by him you just??? don’t get how someone can be so naturally good at being social and confident

and ten waves it off he’s like doyoung has his insecurities too,,,you know he IS human too??

and you’re like nope,,,too handsome- i mean too smart to be human

and ten hears the handsome but pretends not to and you’re like coughing into your palm because leTS not admit that maybe you’re intimidated because you know if you spoke to doyoung you’d become a blubbering mess

because wow he’s ,,,,,,,,,, attractive ,,,,,,,,, and so much more intelligent that anyone you know TT 

that is until one day you’re looking down at your homework, stoic expression and ten throws his bag down beside you on the quad and sits down and is like whats up

and ur like,,,,,,,,,i have to give a speech for a class,,,,,,,,ten,,,,,,,i cant

and ten,,,,looks like christmas came early or something because he’s like DOYOUNG

and you’re like ?????? what about hi-

and ten is like DOYOUNG CAN HELP YOU OMG this is great you two can finally meet and fall in lo- i mean help each other ok ill introduce you right now let me text him

you aren’t fast enough to stop ten’s exited hands and before you can grab his phone ten is like sent!!!!!! 

and ur like ten,,,i don’t wanna bother him or an-

ten: doyoung says he’d love to help!! he’ll meet you in the library at 7

and u just sit there,,,,looking at ten whose give u the mOST GIDDY expression

and ur like fine ok and u get up and ten is like its gonna be grEAT and ur like,,,,,a little nervous because u,,,,,,have never been around doyoung,,,,,,,,

and ur like ten come with m-

but then u hear the familiar voice of johnny calling ten over and ten is like id love to but i gtg and johnny comes jogging over like whats going on

and ten is like “they’re going on a blind date~ except it’s not blind im hooking them up with doyoung”

and you’re like TEN I SWEAR TO GOD WHAT DID U JUST SAY

and johnny is like HEY cool doyoung and you would look cu-

and ur like so red u can feel it like a damn sunburn on ur face and ur like stomping away before johnny can finish

shaking your head and ten is just like LOVE WILL BLOSSOM

but ur just likea mess in ur head because this dumb speech,,,,dumb ten,,,,dumb e m o t i o n s because once u come to terms with the fact that u have to see doyoung

like up close ,,,, and personal,,,,,,,,,,

ur heart cant stop doing leaps,,,,,,,,,,how c*rny 

and 7 comes around much faster than expected and you’re in the library,,,,sure that doyoung wont be there right on time-

but he is,,,,,of course he is

and he’s sitting there,,,,,striped button down,,,,neatly laid out notebook and pen,,,,,,pretty side profile as he looks over something on is phone,,,,and wow his hands,,,fingers so long and pretty

ok snap out of it cmon

and somehow you manage to force yourself to go over there,,,,,doyoung looks up and you feel your legs turn to jello as he smiles and stands up as well putting his hand out to shake yours and introduce himself

LIKE you don’t know who he is but u stummer out ur own response and doyoung sits back down and puts his hands together and is like well! speech writing is tough but ive given a couple of them so i think i can be of use to u!

and ur like,,,,,not even sure what to say because what the HECK he makes u so nervous and its like chill he’s just another person,,,,a goofy person according to ten,,,,,,,,

but doyoung just smiles kindly and goes “is there anything you specifically need help with?”

and before you can even think you just blurt out; “ i can’t,,,,,,,,,talk”

and doyoung blinks but lets out a small laugh,,,,covering his mouth with his hand and he’s like “well yes you can, you just did. also,,,”

he leans over the table a bit and ur heart literally goes ! and he motions to his lips and he’s like “you have a mouth, and you can make noise, so i think you’re good on that. any other problems?”

and you’re like,,,,,dsfklsf,,,,,,,,, “i,,,,i just cant do it in front of people,,,,,lots of people.”

doyoung sits back and with a knowing nod says that that is a problem for a lot of people,,,,,but that instead of worrying about that you should first work on writing the speech

embarrassingly you admit that you havent and doyoung just grins and is like that’s why im here to help, so tell me about your class

and yes,,,,you’re nervous,,,,,but doyoung somehow makes it really easy for you to explain what you want to do because he’s ,,,,, just so good at making things understandable

and he’s ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, sweet

a part of you had always just assumed he’d be the kind of straightforward, blunt, cold kind of personality

but even with his slight jokes and his corrections and critique like,,,,doyoung isn’t mean or even off-putting

and your nervousness isn’t about asking him for help or even the speech anymore,,,,,it’s more of just,,,,,,,,,,,that feeling of a crush,,,,

when it hits ten though doyoung apologizes and says he has to go because of another late study group he has and you shake your head telling him he’s helped you aLOT

but before he leaves he pulls out a page from his book and hands it to you,,,,on it is his email and cell and he’s like send me your speech and ill look it over and we can decide another time to meet to talk about it

and ur so,,,,shocked you go “you- this isn’t a one time thing?” and doyoung grins again,,,,,,,,,that smile of his,,,,,,,,,,,and he’s like “did ten tell you im some kind of flake? really,,,,that guy,,,,,of course it isn’t a one time thing i said im going to help, right?”

and you want to tell him that no no ten has only said that he’s great,,,but you’re still shy and doyoungs smile and kindness is making it even harder to respond 

before you know it doyoung is halfway out of the library, turning to wave and you’re so caught up that when you lift your hand to wave back he’s gone

and you mumble to yourself that you forgot to thank him,,,,,,you really should

ofc the next day ten practically forces you to sit down and tell him e v e r y last detail and you’re like he,,,,,,,,,,,,,,doyoung is nice

and ten is like I TOLD YOU he can be a pain in the ass with his sarcastic comments but he has a good heart

and ur like,,,,,,,,,,,,ten and ten is like hmm and ur like ten i think ive always had a crush on him like those ‘ill admire u from afar kinda things but ten,,,,oh my god i think i might start liking him seriously if he really is this sweet”

and ten damn near spits out his iced coffee but he just grabs your hands and is like YESSSSS I HAVE AWAITED THIS MOMENT 

and you’re like wkfgfjr what and he’s like please ur lil crush was more than obvious but wow,,,,,,,,,,,a love on campus,,,,,a tutor and his student,,,,,,,,just like a drama i love it

and ur like ten please its not like he’ll like me - and ten is just like shh we just need to wait and see

and,,,,doyoung follows up on his promise. even in his tight schedule he finds the time to sit down and read over your speech and send you edits or meet up in person to talk

sure a couple of times you’ve had to meet him in the city at one of his internships,,,,,once you had to come over to the orchestra recital hall to talk to him,,,,,,then there was that time you meet outside a hospital???? that apparently doyoung’s brother was working in

and ,,,,, every time doyoung never failed to show you how much he was putting effort into really helping you

from having you read out loud to him and telling you ways to get over nervousness to fixing small grammar errors and helping with vocabulary

you could really see,,,,,,his intellect and social skills and,,,there probably isn’t anyone better on campus to help you than him

and finally as the date of your speech approaches doyoung suggests reading the speech in front of him and a couple of friends

so you end up all cramped into a small study room,,,,doyoung, ten, johnny, taeyong, yuta, winwin, taeil, mark, haechan, and jaehyun,,,,,and ur hands are shaking a bit 

but doyoung reaches out,,,smiling and somehow your body calms down and you go through your whole speech without a single mistake and doyoung is just like wah,,,,do you all see this??? my work has paid off,,,,,,they’re perfect!

and he gets up throwing an arm around you and pulling you into his side

and ten winks and ur like GFgFDSS

but,,,,,,,when you look up to see doyoung looking so happy you can’t help but feel that being right there beside him,,,,,,is a spot you want to keep

the day of your speech doyoung sends you a text of encouragement,,,,,a picture of him giving you the thumbs up too and you smile and go into class much more confident than you ever thought you’d be

,,,,,,the speech,,,,,,it’s great

you do so well you even manage to surprise your teacher and when you’re out you practically skip out of class,,,,taking your phone out to text doyoung that you did it!!! you got the A!!!!!

but,,,,,when you meet up with ten later he kind of bites back his lip when you bring up doyoung because apparently,,,,,,,he’s not feeling to good

and you’re like he’s sick??? and ten sighs and is like,,,no it’s just he has this really big speech of his own coming up,,,,it’s for his brothers alumni party,,,,,,,,,he said it wasn’t going to stress him but it turns out a couple of law school recruiters are going to be there so it’s messing a bit with his confidence

and you frown,,,,knowing doyoung,,,,,you’ve never seen him falter in his self worth and you decide that he helped you so you’re going to go help him

so with ten’s instructions you find yourself in front of doyoungs dorm,,,,a box of white chocolate cake,,,,,,and your heart going a thousand miles an hour

and you knock only to hear some kind of noise from the inside and the door opening by itself

and you can see doyoung’s shoulders hunched over at his desk and quietly you let yourself be known,,,,doyoung turning around in his chair,,,,bags under his eyes and you’re like “ten,,,,,told me about your speech” and he just waves his hand as if to brush it off

and is like “what about you - did it go well?” and you wonder ,,, maybe he didn’t look at his phone,,,,,,didn’t see your text so you nod and you’re like i couldn’t have done it without you

and doyoung smiles but its small and wavering and you’re like “doyoung,,,,,i ,,,,,i want to thank you for being there for me and helping me,,,,,,, i,,,,,,”

a sudden surge of adrenaline makes you stand a little straighter and you can’t believe you’re going to say this but you do

“and i was wondering if we could go ,,,,out ,,,,,on a date,,,,,sometime,,,”

you open your mouth to say that you’ll even treat since he’s given you so much of his time but doyoung’s eyes darken

and before you can he goes “im sorry. school will always come first for me.”

it’s not,,,,,a harsh rejection or anything,,,,,,,,,it isn’t even unexpected

but doyoung’s voice sounds so cold and heavy that you cant help but feel choked up,,,,,rather than that embarrassed too,,,,,and you look at him

doyoungs eyes shifting to the cake in your hands and then back to your face,,,but for the first time he doesn’t look you in the eyes

instead he turns back in his chair, tells you he needs to go back to preparing and that if you could close the door tightly on your way out that’d be good

you,,,,,don’t budge for a moment but when you come to you drop the cake on his bed and mumble out “it’s for you.” and do as you’re told, leaving the dorm eyes wet with tears

and ten doesn’t believe you when you tell him it,,,,,,,, he says that doesnt sound like doyoung,,,,,like yes he’s always putting school first and whatnot but doyoung would never,,,,,,,,,he’d never be so curt

but you just tell ten that there isn’t any use in lying,,,,,,,what would doyoung find in you anyway and ten seems ready to lecture you again but the look on your face makes him stop

and you tell ten that it doesn’t matter,,,,,,, a crush isn’t anything anyway

the rest of the month goes by slowly,,, you still have lots of your own work to concentrate on and you don’t think about the unanswered text from doyoung 

you try not to at least,,, ,and your other friends distract you,,,, ten does his best too and you’re happy even though seeing doyoung on campus still makes your heart sink

but you don’t expect that you’d be sitting in study hall one interview and you’d get a call from ten 

“can you come down to outside the main faculty building? doyoung - just come ok?”

confused you pack your things and make way to the big building at the end of the campus ,,,,, when you call ten and text him where he is there isn’t any response and you furrow your eyebrows wondering what the hell this is about

until the door opens and you turn “ten what the he-”

doyoung’s tall, lean frame comes stumbling toward you,,,,exhaustion and sadness apparent in his face

and you barely get your arms out in time to catch him 

the warmth of his face against your neck makes your body react and quietly as he stands there in your arms you ask whats going on

and doyoung doesn’t say much,,,face rubbing slightly against your neck and you don’t know what you should do 

finally he pulls back and you reach up to fix the hair thats gotten into his eyes

doyoung takes your hand though and while looking at you goes; “i was wrong.”

and you’re like ???? about what

doyoung doesn’t look like he has the words yet and he can’t say anything because the door opens and for the first time before you is gong myung

“doyoung, the speech-”

you look at him,,,doyoungs eyes squeezing shut and he’s like “brother i can-”

but you just grab his shoulders and smile at gong myung telling him doyoung will be back in a couple of minutes

slightly confused gong myung disappears back inside and you realize that this is the big alumni speech ten had told you about and you’re like “doyoung,,,,c’mon you’re the one who told me that i can,,,,i can because i can speak and i have a mouth right - so do you doyoung you’re the most eloquent person i have ever met what is going-”

your paused with the feeling of doyoung’s lips on yours,,,unmoving he stays like that for a while and your mind blanks

doyoung pulls back only to tell you that it’s not the speech,,,it’s the thoughts ,,,,, the thoughts about you

about how he blamed school just because he was too scared to just say yes,,,,

and you’re not sure what - but then it hits u and you’re like,,,,,,,,doyoung,,,,,,,,nOW iS NOT tHE T ime TO WORRY ABOUT thAT

and doyoung is like !?@#@?#$? but i was so mean i did want to go on that date wit-

and you’re like OK COOL WE WILL BUT SERIOUSLY ARE YOU BEATING YOURSELF UP OVER THAT 

and doyoung is like yES I THOUGHT I HURT YOU

and you’re like PLEASE ITS FINE NOW JUST FORGET IT AND GO UP THERE AND MAKE YOUR BROTHER PROUD

doyoung’s face brightens,,,,,the sparkle in his eyes returns and you shake your head because god ten was right this,,,,this boy really is kind,,,,,,even behind that constant confidence and laugh,,,he really thinks about the people around him

and doyoung is like i can do it. im gonna go in there and kill that speech.

and you’re like YES you will!!!! i believe in you!!!!

giving a little fist pump doyoung grins and turns to the door,,,only to spin on his heel back to you

holding your face with both his hands and kissing you once more before disappearing back inside

you wait a bit and your phone goes off with just a winky emoji from ten and you’re like huh but the doors open again and doyoung comes running out

arms engulfing you in another hug that leaves you blushing when he pulls back and behind him is a smug looking nct ,,,,, esp ten whose face basically screaming: I SAID SOOO

but also gong myung,,,, and you take like three steps away from doyoung because igflkdfsd skinship in front of his brother no no no

and gong myung is like “is this the person who made my brother such a mess?” and you’re like,,,,,,,,oh my god how do i answer that

and doyoung is like “dont make me bring up your significant other from high school brother.” and gong myung is like WELL I HAVE TO GO NOW

and doyoung comes closer and is like “so,,,,about that date? are you free now?”

and you’re like akjsfdf shouldnt you go with your brother and all the important alumn-

and doyoung shrugs and is like “i think my speech blew them away, now i have to mysteriously disappear and keep them guessing - right?”

you almost outright roll your eyes at the thought but also,,,,,you ARE free,,,,,,so,,,,,

taeyong as he watches you and doyoung giggling together: thank god he found someone to distract him

ten: i agree,,,,but also isn’t seeing him happy making you kinda happy ;)

taeyong: suddenly i cant read and i must go bye

anyway doyoung and you go grab some drinks and take a walk at a nearby park,,,,,even though it’s simple it’s kind of the perfect first date

doyoung insists that he’ll take you somewhere better but he needs time to plan and you’re like it’s ok,,,,these kinds of things are my favorite

and he smiles a bit and you’re like,,,,you’re thinking of something arent you?

and reaching out for your hand doyoung whispers “these kinds of things,,,,,,like just being by each others side?”

and you bite back your lip,,, stuttering because,,,,,,,ok,,,,,,,how can he just boldly say that?!?!?!

but doyoung finds it adorable and pulls you closer and is like “i like it too, i like having you here. when you weren’t around anymore,,,,,,it felt,,,,,empty.”

and ok ten is like,,,,,,,,,he is your biggest fan he literally sits you and doyoung down the next day and is like “i bless this marriage” “ten we aren’t-” “i bless this marriage but doyoung oh my god if you do anything to hurt them i will personally shave your head in your sleep and leak every video i have of you singing in the shower do not test me.”

but everyone else is happy too,,,,,yuta is like DAMN i didnt expect this and doyoung is like why not and yuta is like because you’re so uptight about everything. mr school is my life. mr school is my significant other. mr. school and i kissed for the first ti-

doyoung with his hand over yutas mouth: we geT IT narcisist nakamoto 

the only normal one about the situation is taeil but he’s also like be careful doyoung is sly~ a real playboy~

and you’re like really?!??!

and winwin is like yEAH all the old ladies from the campus cafeteria say hes the perfect son in law. he has all of them swooned.

you; oh. you meant that kind of playboy LOL

doyoung is,,,,everything you expect him to be as a boyfriend: caring, and helpful

but,,,,also too caring + helpful sometimes with the way he keeps shrugging off his blazer or cardigan to throw around your shoulders because the library is cold or switching out your soda for water because we need to stay healthy

but he’s doing it from a place of love,,,he really is

teaches you note taking tricks and when he takes you supply shopping he’s like “you are super special to me which is why im telling you where to get the best highlighters in seoul and you cannot tell ANYONE. A N  Y O N E.”

doyoung’s fashion sense doesn’t change,,,, not even on dates to the movies or amusement parks or the beach

like you and the guys planned to do some night time fireworks and everyone showed up in basically their pajamas but doyoung? nope. the oxfords were still on,,,,,even in the goddamn sand

but doyoung,,,, is the life of the party he really makes everyone laugh and you,,,,,,,,get to have inside jokes with him

that always leave you laughing till your stomach hurts and doyoung has to pull you into his lap and apologize and ur like ,,,babe im not just laughing because it’s FUNNY and he’s like YES but im too funny. im too powerful. you need to control me

and you’re like blushing and somewhere johnny is probably like “i taught him that” JKJK 

doesn’t look like the type but is totally a late-night snacker

you two will sometimes meet just to eat convenience store bread and chips and talk about how college is the WORST with your legs entwined on the bench outside of the law department

and it’s like midnight no one is on campus but you and doyoung are perfectly ok in the dark munching away your problems together

doyoung thinks flowers are the most romantic thing and if he ever goes into the city and comes back he always comes back with flowers

and they’re different every time and you always get shy when he gives them to you because everyone around you is like ooooooo and doyoung is so proud of himself and you,,,,just melt how is he so cute

once,,,just to see his reaction,,, you brought him flowers and you gave them to him after class and it was his turn to get all shy and it was the best moment ever

you made taeil record the whole thing and whenever doyoung gets cheeky you just bring up the video and you’re like look. look here. you’re a giant cute baby dont even argue. look ur ears turned cherry red

isn’t a big clothing sharer but he wears glasses when studying sometimes so you steal them every now and then to wear and ,,,, doyoung thinks you look so cute in them that he just lets it happen tbh

sometimes though he’ll start an argument over it just to be like “let’s settle it with a tickle fight”,,,,,he just wants to tickle you tbh

doyoung sometimes narrates what you do to make you blush like if you’re doing some work on your laptop he’ll be like “and they look at the screen,,,concentrated,,,focused,,,looking hot and smart. i would kiss them if they weren’t so busy,,,” and it gets u everytime 

because you turn to look at him and doyoung leans over to get a kiss and ur like AH IM TRYING TO WORK and doyoung is like well switch of your cuteness then i cannot help myself 

sometimes he talks to himself and you love it like you love doyoungs voice so much,,,,

like when u just had a crush you thought it was nice but now it’s just music to your ears honestly

has pet names for you and calls you them in public because doyoung likes to show of your relationship

not corny enough for couple sweaters or anything but couple phone wallpapers are a must

admitted that he said to one of his professors that ever since he fell in love he’s kind of grown an interest in romantic novels and you’re like wait wait fell in love 

and doyoung is like yeah,,,,,i love you,,,is that not obvious?

and you almost fell out of your chair,,,, but,,,, you love him too of course,,,

you always tell his not to cover his laugh because he has a habit of putting his hand in front of is mouth and you’re like,,,,,,,,i love your smile and laugh dont hide it

and doyoung ,,,,, when you compliment him its like the whole world is just the two of you and doyoung just wants to hold you in his arms because ugh he loves you so damn much

doyoung is a good talker but he’s an even better kisser

and kisses turn from innocent pecks on each others lips while you’re over at his dorm to full blow make outs with doyoungs big hands under your shirt

and the books thrown off his desk,,,him standing between your legs and the feeling of your lip between his teeth,,,,

doyoung does have a soft spot,,,his spine,,,,and when you settle kisses down it it makes him shiver and he becomes so cutely submissive,,,,,

sometimes you’ll sneak up from behind and kiss right below the back of his neck and seriously doyoung almost faints LOL

he likes to cook for you if he has time,,,,he cant cook a lot but he has some dishes and also he looks so cute because he always hums to himself and its just,,,,,,,,,so nice and sweet of him

you guys vibe so well with each other that just walking around for hours without going anywhere is exciting for you two

just looking at the scenery, holding hands, and talking,,,,,makes you two happy

ten tells doyoung that you used to think he was stoic and mean and ur like tEN and doyoung is like really?????? do you still think that??? do you not love me???

and you have to kiss him like 9403 times before he stops whining and bringing it up and ur like side eyeing ten for this whose just like WHAT I THOUGHT HE SHOULD KNOW

plays his flute when he’s stressed and you keep pestering him to teach you but seriously ever since you started dating its too hard to do anything when you’re around each other because you’re both so in love that it just turns mushy and its like yes teach me how to play the flute but also come here and cuddle me kinda situation

 taeyong secretly misses all of doyoungs attention but at the same time he thinks you make doyoung a lot brighter and better and hes thankful,,,,,,,,,like really thankful

doyoung is the kind of boyfriend who when you trip over something he doesnt hide laughter but he helps you back up and scolds the twig you tripped over for hurting you LOL 

taeyong | yuta | bangtan | vixx | monsta x | got7 + kard + amber | seventeen | 

[daehquns]

( * kyong dae-hyun. )

♡ — * » KYONG DAEHYUN looks so cute on the beach !! apparently, ( he/they ) come from ( south korea ) and are a ( twenty ) years old ( pansexual ) ( demiboy ) ( med student ). other hotel residents described them as ( gentle + sage ), but also ( ambivalent - faint-hearted ). don’t you think they look a bit like ( PARK JIMIN ) ?

WARNING: this is really long, my dudes. so long.

hello hi hi, it’s SKY ( 2-o, she/her, cest tz, but an insomniac ) & this is my smol blob of confusion, so if their story confuses you, i succeeded. also this is easily my absolute favourite character ever, so ,,, idk random info. ALSO: i have an exam tomorrow, my peeps, so i don’t think i’ll be around till tomorrow but !! i can’t wait to plot & interact with all of you.

SORTA BIO THING:

[ MISCARRIAGE TW ] kyong daehyun was born in daegu, south korea on the 22nd of february 1997. they were sort of a miracle baby bc their mom went through two miscarriages before them ( she’s rh negative & the babies were rh positive n ,,, i wont explain the biology behind it, im sure yall know that ). they’re an only child. they’ve always wanted a sibling ( an older one ,,,, they always want the impossible things smfh ). so yeah, they were a bit lonely while growing up

they were a very weak child who’d fall ill quite often (their family used to call them aga/aggie/babybc of it … sorta stuck with them to this day ), so much that it affected their education. the poor bean skipped a lot of classes, so eventually their parents decided it was best for them to leave school. they were homeschooled !! altho they now have incredible work ethic bc of this, they didn’t have many friends while growing up :( they sorta didnt even get the chance to develop n test their social skills. they came in contact with their parents, nannies, parents’ business partners, etc … long story short, they were surrounded by adults. this made them VERY mature for their age, even back then.

the greatest discovery of their life was the internet. they had little interest in sports & going outside, so they’d spend their free time glued to the screen of their laptop, either watching movies, youtube videos & tv shows or getting to know strangers from across the world thanks to various websites & apps. they’d often stay up all night n ruin their sleep pattern in order to talk to their friends from other timezones. they made them so happy. so. happy.

their parents sort of made them pursuit a medical career, though, they literally have -10 interest in it. not 0. -10. they just want to make them proud, ok ?? especially since they’ve always been an incredible student n studying came easily to them. they were praised while growing up, so naturally they started thinking they were exceptional as well.

COLLEGE ! they. hate. it. hate it. like, they are fallin apart n are like “wow so what is this, i thought i was smart ?? they told me i was the most intelligent kid in the world wHY cant i do literally anything now w o w im so average yUCK”.  i mean, they still get good grades, but they ARE struggling.

[ PROFESSOR/STUDENT RELATIONSHIP THING TW ] … idk maybe someone’s triggered by that. anyway, there was a class that made them 11/10 done with life & they were sure they’d fail it n ruin their entire life, so they approached the professor ( who ,,, was rly hot n made hyunnie weak in the knees ok ) n were like “i will literally do ANYTHING in order to pass this class ,,,,,, pls”. like, they had 0 shame bc they were so done with it. n ,,, long story short, they ended up sleeping with the professor … ,,, multiple times. t was bc of the grade the first time, but … they’re pretty much in love with him now. and they’re a bit foolish, they hope he’s in love with them too. n idk they sort of dream about being in a real relationship with them.  l mao … my poor kiddo.

COOLER INFO THING:

nicknames include: hyunnie, dee, mochi ( i have to steal that from jiminieeee bc yes. my squishy bol of cuteness ), aga/aggie/baby. or just call them dae or  hyun honestly

daehyun is a demiboy ( they/them or he/him. if you refer to them as she/her, they will feel uncomfortable, but they will not have the guts to correct you. lmao one time they watched a woman make them european-style pancakes with nutella & cherries, even though they asked for a nutella/banana combo. they did not correct her. they ate half of it, left with a pout on their face n were sad for the rest of the day tHATS HOW ANXIOUS N SHY THEY ARE BYE ). anyway, as i said   ——   demiboy. panromantic ( very romantic, a huge dreamer. the type to imagine cute scenarios with their crush before falling asleep ). pansexual, though the most attracted to masculine physique buT !! they’re too self-conscious n emotion-dependent that they can’t have sex with just about anyone. n o. byee. like, the thought of getting naked in front of someone is terrifying to them, so they really need to trust n know the person. i wouldn’t call them demisexual though, since they do experience sexual attraction without having an emotional bond, they just … can’t let go of their ~stupid insecurities~

[ FOOD TW ] they don’t eat meat. yes, they do love animals n feel sad about those poor things, but that’s not the main reason why they don’t eat it. the smell, the look, the taste of meat makes them incredibly sick. when they were smol & had any sort of meat for lunch, they’d sit at the table for 5 hours n eat everything BUT the meat. most of the time, they used to give it to their dog who was v chubby bc of them. lunch was the worst time of the whole day for them, it was suuuuuuuper bad, especially since their parents didn’t understand their problem n called them spoiled. now that they are away from home, they’re super happy cause they can eat whatever they want ( sweets n pastries ). this bish ALWAYS has a lollipop in their mouth n a candy bar with them.

why are they obsessed with lollipops ? thanks to them they destroy their nails n cuticles LESS when bored, since their mouth is occupied. you can determine how life’s goin for daehyun just by looking at their hands. when everything’s good, their nails are painted ( the execution n design also say a lot about how much free time they have n how clear their head is ). when everything’s shit, they aren’t painted, they are bloody and sore, skin completely damaged, so much that it hurts to touch items with the very tips of their fingers. everything burns n they’re wincing 25/8.

they always have literally everything with them. you need a tissue, a comb, a hair brush, a band-aid, a hand sanitizer, a nail polish, some water, something sweet, a set of stem cells & a cure for every illness in the world ?they have it all. they’re always prepared for every situation. this is bc of their huge fear of facing a situation for the first time unprepared. also … you should never make them order food on their own or make a serious phone call or wtvr bc .. they can’t do that.

they’re fluent in english, but pls don’t throw big words at them :( they feel so embarrassed when they don’t know what something means. they go home & write the new word on one of their colourful cards, along with its translation to korean, a smol explanation & an example sentence n they have loads of those cards that they reread whenever they have time. when they learn a new word, they love showing off lmao dumbass

while they were back in korea n spending time on youtube, they used to watch a lot of kpop mvs + makeup tutorials n fell in love with makeup n wanted to look as beautiful as the people in those videos. they started stealin their mother’s makeup n used to be awful at paintin’ their face, but got better with time. they used to save money for eyeliners n primers n highlighters n all sort of shit n they’d hide all the products in their room n play with them whenever they were home alone. they know it’s their true passion& call, but they are so discouraged by the fact that they can’t even walk outside wearing makeup. they aint confident enough & still don’t think they can pull it off.

they made a new youtube account with the intention to post their own tutorials, but … mm, there’s still 0 uploaded videos on that channel

i’ve been struggling to decide which hair colour to go with … black, platinum blonde, silver or pink n i chose …pink.

they’ve never been in an actual relationship. never cuddled, or did couple-y things. their professor took their virginity, so … ya. that’s one of the reasons why they’re refusing to let him go.

[MEDICATION TW] as i mentioned before, they were a weak child who was often sick and had bad migraines ,,, this sort of got them hooked on medication ?? like, they will convince themself that their head is hurting and jus pop a pill without any need to do so ,,,, like, they are 110% sure they need pills to function normally every single day.

nature !! the world !! they love it.

aesthetics hoe !!!!!!!!! will sell their soul for the things that please their senses

they know how to draw well. they lololololove drawing comic book characters. like, they have their own characters already

dancing !!! especially contemporary ! bc ,,, i have a lot of those gifs n icons that i gotta use

loves apples ?

wants a cat. d e s p e r a t e l y

PERSONALITY:

i think it’s quite obvious that they’re a very anxious, shy & alert person 24/7 and i guess that you can see how their upbringing had a lot to do with it. i don’t view their shyness as cute and adorable, but they definitely aren’t grim either. they’re just closed-off. they’re not used to sharing personal stuff with other people, at least not face to face. online, everything’s different.

most of the time they’re like … “uhhhhh, people - i’d rather not. that can get me in a lot of awkward n uncomfortable situations n i’d rather avoid that’. they don’t find solitude depressing. they enjoy their alone time, they find comfort in it. they are very aware of the fact that their social skills suck & as i said a part of them doesn’t give a damn, but … another part is worried bc if they truly want to be in the makeup world, they will have to learn to be a people person, have a fantastic charisma n ,, talk to people ? lmao

their zodiac sign is pisces n they HATE IT lol they’re like “i’m not a whiny baby emo dreamer ew go away” so they keep telling people that their zodiac sign is aquarius bc it’s close enough n they find them cool n admire the description of the seemingly stoic sign that goes through life with their brain rather than their heart. they love to think that they’re strong n logical, that they’re not emotional … but that’s not the case. it’s all an act really

once you demolish their shell, you’ll find the most adorable creature in the whole entire universe ?/ they also love tellin stupid jokes. they almost never finish them bc they laugh too hard at em

they get attached to people VERY easily n then they can’t live without them n that freaks them the fuck out. like. they fall in love ten times a day. im. not. kiddin.

they’re all about living life to the fullest, they just have a bit different vision of what true livin is lmao

philosophical af ? hates small talk, always wants to talk abt deep shit

the type to send you memes and stuff that reminds them of you

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

this is so important. online friends. they met online a couple of years ago ( we’ll figure out how ) n now they’re both here and ? hyunnie is so scared to meet them bc they’re afraid that person won’t like them irl, but the desire is bigger than the fear !

similar to the previous one, but it was a long distance relationship ( it ended bc the distance was too much ig ). they only chatted, but they know everything about each other. they were infuriated every single day bc they couldn’t physically feel each other, but they still planned a future together, or at least meeting irl … maybe they now finally have a chance ?

crush. as i said, hyunnie falls quickly for a person. it can be unrequited. it’s just someone they daydream about n sigh over. or it can be the other way around, but hyunnie is quite clueless n doesn’t pick up on their hints.

friends ?? the plot depends on your charrie tbh but dw about it, i usually have 57430865026701348 ideas, so ya.

i have no idea what else ,,,, imma go make a wanted connections tag n reblog some plots probably. bUT HEY feel free to send plots my way, i luv that

[andya-j]

There must be no compulsion to hide the bodies. Otherwise I’d have never found them. It was a Tuesday night. I was riding home after work, my leather roll of knives strapped across my back. I’d left my apron on the hook at the restaurant, but I still smelled like the kitchen. Before Doreen had moved out two months ago, she’d jokingly accused me of having a series of affairs at work, and that I was trying to mask the scent of all those other women with garlic and turmeric. It had been funny, a running joke, at least until the new sous-chef needed me to walk her through cleanup again after hours, and then leaned back into me while I was reaching around her to demonstrate where the fryer basket clicked in. I had been with Doreen four years, then. And the sous-chef—what the cheating man says in stories is that she didn’t mean anything. But that’s not right. That’s not fair. What she meant for me, it was a way out. So far, this is how my life’s gone, pretty much. I do all this work to build a thing—in this case trust, a relationship, someone to watch stupid television with, someone who lets me sleep late because chefs keep different hours—and then, once the Jenga tower gets tall enough to look a little bit scary, I start pulling out blocks, seeing how far I can skeletonize my life before it all comes crashing down again. Taking the bike paths home each night after work, though, it reminds me that I wasn’t always like this. There was a time. It was college. I was on the racing team. The university was buying us the latest bikes, sleek things, bullets with wheels—we weighed them in grams—and the sponsors were supplying us with the same shorts and helmets and gloves and glasses the pros wore, and every day my legs were pumping, pushing, pedaling. That was the only time I hadn’t started pulling out blocks, as it were. If college had lasted forever, I’d still be out riding, just zoning out at forty miles per hour, choosing the line I was going to take, just like Coach was always saying. You have to choose your line. Coming home at two in the morning, Velcroed into my old racing shoes that have the clips worn down to nubs—dull little nubs my pedals know like a ball knows its socket—I could pretend that life had never ended. That I was still me. That I hadn’t run Doreen off on purpose. That I wouldn’t run the next Doreen off just the same. All the other kitchen staff who biked in and out, their bikes were these bulky hybrids. Some were even labeled “comfort.” The comfort in riding—it’s not physical, it’s spiritual. My bike’s built for racing, still and always. Aggressive stance, the bars dialed low so you have to lie down on the top tube, pretty much. A butt-floss saddle canted forward like I’m a time trial racer. The only concession to middle age, I suppose, is the light clamped to the handlebars. It makes me feel old, but I’d feel older if I endo’d into the creek. The trail between the restaurant and my apartment is lit up intermittently, these pale yellow discs you kind of float through, but there are plenty of long, dark tree-tunnels over those two and a half miles. Those tunnels are fun to shoot in the dark, don’t get me wrong, but the dark isn’t the thing to worry about. The whole year, there’d been a battle going on in the opinion pages of the newspaper. Motorists were bullying bikers, bikers were kicking dents into fenders and doors. Nobody’d been hurt too bad yet, but it was coming. One of us was going to get nudged a bit too hard by a bumper, nudged hard enough to get pulled under the car, and the motorist was going to walk for it like they always do, and then cyclists were going to be riding side by side from one ditch to the other, stopping traffic for miles. It had happened before, and it was happening again. Even up in the mountains. Apparently—this just going from what I read, as I stick to asphalt and concrete—the hikers had been sabotaging the trail against mountain bikers. Deadfalls, rocks, the occasional spike. Helmets or no, riders were getting hurt. And now it had come to town. For five nights in a row, there’d been driftwood from the creek dragged up onto the trail. It was then I’d relented, finally started running a headlight. And the headlight was how I saw them. The bodies. Two guys, young, floating in the shallows where the creek turns west. On the shore was the large piece of driftwood they’d been trying to dislodge, to drag up across the trail. It was too much for two people. But they were the only ones there. One of them was floating facedown in the water. The other was on his back. His throat was gone. No blood was seeping from it. They were on the news by seven in the morning, the two dead kids. College students from one of the farming towns on the eastern plains. I had considered reporting them myself, but it was just a fluke of timing that I’d been the one to find them, I decided. Someone else would come along at about daybreak. Boulder’s full of concerned citizens, people for whom it would be a rush to get involved. Me, I was tired. We had two new bussers. You wouldn’t think a couple of non-lifers that low on the food chain would change the dynamic of a kitchen that much, but dishes, they’re our lifeblood. It had been chaos and emergency, from the first group reservation on. I deserved to just come home, watch some vapid cop drama until the sun came up. The last bit of the news I saw was the weather. The spring melt was coming down hard. Tonight the creek was going to be lapping at the concrete of the trail again. Awake again by three in the afternoon, I clamped my bike up onto the rack by the breakfast bar—by what would have been the breakfast bar—and administered to its various needs. The same way soldiers in movies are always taking their weapons apart and reassembling them, old cyclists, we like to perform our own maintenance. Old. I’m even starting to say it. When Doreen was leaving for good and ever, was on her last walk-through to be sure the last four years of her life were completely boxed up, we’d of course had to have it out a little. The main thrust of her accusation involved me just wanting to feel young again. That I’d never let that part of myself go completely, like other men did when it was time to grow up. I hadn’t had any accusations for her to feed on, to cultivate, to take with her and coat with saliva like a pearl. Just apologies, and very little eye contact, and one last offer of the apartment, which we both knew had just been a gesture, as it had been mine when we’d met. For dinner I ate sliced deli turkey straight from the container. Hang around a hospital for even ten minutes, you’ll see the nurses huddled up at the handicapped entrance, stabbing cigarettes into their mouths. Hang around chefs long enough, you’ll find us in the fast-food drive-throughs of the world. There we’ll be, walking out of the gas station with a bag of chips for dinner, so we can have enough energy to plate some salmon at sixty-per. The world doesn’t make sense. I tuned the news back on. The eyewitness—a senior citizen in a tracksuit with actual stripes on the sleeve and legs—was telling her story about finding the bodies. I watched the woods behind her, where the camera didn’t mean to be looking. At first I thought I was looking for myself—stupid, I know—but what I saw, what nobody else was seeing, it was a pair of cycling glasses, hanging by their elastic band from a small, bare sapling pushing up through the dank brush, way over in the ditch you never ford into, because you know it’s a literal dumping ground for the homeless population. What got me to hit the rewind button, then the pause button, it wasn’t as simple as castoff equipment. I’ve peeled out of I don’t know how many sunglasses and gloves and jerseys while riding, because I didn’t have time to dispose of them properly, but needed the ounce or two they’d free me of. What got me to hit the stop button was the color pattern on the elastic band. It was from a company that had been defunct since my junior year of college. And these glasses, they weren’t for the sun. They were clear. The kind you wear when riding at night, when what you need is a gnat-shield, goggles to keep you from tearing up, to keep the world from blurring away. And they were ten years old, at least. They had to be. I ate my turkey from the bag and I kept those clear glasses paused on the screen. Just watching them. My twenty-year-old self would have been disgusted, but when it started drizzling at five in the afternoon, and I was scheduled to meet the two new bussers twenty minutes before dinner prep—six—I accepted the ride downtown Glenda next door was offering. She asked after Doreen, said it had been too long since we’d been over for drinks. I agreed. Because she saw how I’d tried to shield my newly spotless bike from the water, loading it into her Honda’s hatchback, she backed up between the restaurant’s dumpsters for me. I grabbed my roll of knives and told her to drop in this week, tell the hostess she was my guest and, once again, she said she might just do that, thanks. Did she know Doreen was gone? Was this a game we were playing? I didn’t know, but it was too late to stop. I nosed my bike into the space past the line of coat hooks, chained it to the handrail like always. The components alone are probably two grand—all Campy, all high-end—and, while I’d like to think restaurant staff are good people, I also consider myself something of a realist. Only one of the bussers showed up for my hands-on training. I should have gone easy on him, repaid his loyalty or discipline or stupidity or whatever it was, but instead I just heaped all the attitude and scorn I had on him, and told myself that this is how it is for everyone, starting out in the kitchen. You’re tough or you’re gone. If I was chasing him off with this, then I was doing him a favor. He must have needed the work. The three times I came out to talk to tables—the first was someone I’d worked with years ago but wasn’t thrilled to see, and the other two were first dates showing off their food IQ, but masking it as simpering complaints—I made sure to linger long enough to see whether the groups huddled on the wrong side of the hostess podium were glittering with raindrops or not. I’d left my bike at the restaurant overnight a few times before, either hitched a ride home with a server or manager or just cabbed it, but I wanted to get out and stretch tonight, if possible. Judging by my second two trips out to the dining room—dry shoulders from the hostess podium crowd—it just might be possible. Granted, there would be puddles, a slick spot or two, and my bike would need another thorough rubdown once I got home. But the wind in my face would make it worth it. It always did. And, after a rain, the paths and bike lanes are usually devoid of traffic, completely lifeless. All mine. Coach used to always tell us to choose our line, to stay focused on that, to not look anywhere else but the direction you’re going. It was advice that worked in the kitchen as well. The line I could see ahead of me, it led past cleanup, out the back door, down the bike lane for half a mile before swooping and banking onto the path for nearly three glorious, empty miles. In the alley at two in the morning, my clothes steamed at first. It always made me feel like I was just touching down in this strange atmosphere, my alien fabric off-gassing, adjusting. It was just temperature differential, of course. It had been happening since I first started washing dishes, would clock out soaked from head to toe. I usually wasn’t this wet by the end of the night, had already paid those dues, but, because I was ready to be shut of the kitchen, and because the captain has to go down with the ship, I’d stepped in beside Manny, our dishwasher of nine months. You can’t help getting sprayed, especially when you’re dealing with a ladle. But we got it done in half the time, racked the wine glasses so they wouldn’t spot, and then I saluted him off into the night, hung my apron on its hook, and rolled up my knives. I should have been using them to cut up the day-old bread for croutons—a ten-minute job, with nobody tugging on my sleeve—but screw it. Sometimes you just have to walk away. Feed yourself first, right? The bike lane away from the restaurant was as empty as I’d imagined. I leaned back from the bars, planed my arms out to the side like I was twelve years old again. What do people who lose that part of themselves do, I wonder? When Doreen had accused me of not growing up, I’d felt parentheses kind of form around my eyes, the question right there in my mouth: And? It’s not some big social or emotional impediment to still be able to close your eyes, pretend to be an airplane. Some people hold on to that with video games, some with books about space, some with basketball or tennis, if their knees hold together. For me it was a bike. For me it was this. Soon enough the path opened up just across the creek, inviting me to slalom down it one more time, but I stopped mid-bridge, still clipped in, my arms crossed on the rail on the uphill side. The melt was coming fast, and hard. The surface of the water breathed like a great animal, the sides of the creek surging up just over the bank, washing the concrete of the path and then retreating. I was definitely going to be up until dawn, drying my bike out. Somebody old and sensible, they probably would have gone the long way, the dry way. My only concession was turning my headlight on, and hitching the strap of my knife-roll higher across my chest, like the bandolier it most definitely was. The first mile, the water never even crested up over my valve stem. And, down here by the creek, the sound was massive. It felt like the mountains were bleeding out. But I didn’t forget the promise I’d made earlier: A mile into it, right at the bend where the creek turned west, I stepped my right foot over the top bar, rode sidesaddle on my left foot, and looked behind me, at the rooster tail of mist I was leaving. It was stupid. It was wonderful. Before the bike rolled all the way to a stop, I stepped down into the grabby muck, hitched the bike up onto my arm like I was racing cyclo-cross. What I was really doing was playing detective. The mud in the tall grass and brush and tangle of vines and trash turned out to be sloppier than I’d hoped, but I trudged and clumped through it, picked those clear glasses off the naked sapling like the fruit they were. I’d been right, that afternoon. These were seriously antique, from another decade of cycling gear. Usually, something like this hung in a tree or set up on a rock with another rock there to keep it from blowing away, it was just what you did when you stumbled onto something somebody else had dropped. It was only kind. Surely they’d be back, looking for it, right? This was too far out for that, though. There were closer places to the path to hang a piece of equipment. I stood there by the sapling, raised the wet glasses to my face and looked through them. At the shiny path. At the silhouette of trees waving back and forth. At the creek where the two college kids had been floating. For maybe twenty seconds, I couldn’t look away from that bend. It was like I was seeing them again. Like a puzzle piece in my head was nudging itself into some bigger picture. Before it could resolve, I looked over, to the right. There was someone there. On a matte-black aluminum bike. You can tell aluminum from carbon by the turns in the frame. Aluminum bikes, they’re ten years ago as well. And the rider—where I was in kitchen rags, like usual for the ride home, he was in tights. Not shorts or a bib, but some kind of wet suit a surfer might wear: slick black like a second skin, ankle to neck to wrist. It would have been terrible in the sun, and at night it had to be terrible as well, since there was no way your skin could breathe. To match the black seal suit, this cyclist also had black shoes and black gloves, a flash of pale skin at wrist and ankle. No helmet. And—looking down to what I was holding—no glasses. I held them out across the muck, through the misting rain, and in response, this night cyclist, he snarled. I’d never seen anybody actually do that before. Like a dog you were happy was on a chain. “What?” I said, only loud enough for myself, really. He was already whipping his bike away, standing to granny gear it through the silt just under the water. When he looked back, his dank black hair was plastered to his white face. And his eyes—they were all pupil. Like smoke, like a whisper, he faded once he made the dry concrete. For maybe ten seconds, I considered what had just happened. And then I saw it for what it was: An invitation. A challenge. A dare. I smiled, splashed through the tall grass, ran past the deep water, and hit the concrete running alongside my bike, catapulted up into the saddle already shifting hard, my nostrils wide because my lungs were about to need air. It had been too long since I’d really gotten the opportunity—the need—to open up. Coach had diagnosed me early as a sprinter, and he’d kind of sneered when he said it, like there was no hope, really. He’d work with me, sure, but I was what I was. For four years it made me faster, better, harder. He was right, though: I’m a born sprinter. I’ll burn through my quads those first two miles, leave the whole pack in the dust. It was one mile until the trail nosed up into the canyon for twenty vertical miles. It was one mile, and this night cyclist, he only had about a half-minute head start. If only Doreen could see me now. Where I finally saw him again, it was at the pond the low part of the trail had become, downtown. He was standing there, one foot down in the water. There’s no way I was making any more noise than the flooded creek, but still, as soon as I rounded the corner, he whipped his head back settled his black eyes on me. I gave him a cocky two-fingered wave from my grips. He didn’t wave back. He was watching the water again. My big plan was to walk my bike up beside him, so as to keep from whipping water into his face. Not like we weren’t both already soaked, but manners are manners, even at two in the morning, in the dark and the rain. He never gave me the chance. I was fifty feet away when he hauled his bike around, rode the lapping edge of the water through the wet grass, all the way up to the road, stepped down for just long enough to lift his bike up onto the cracked sidewalk that runs up there. He didn���t lift his bike because he didn’t have momentum—the climb he’d just made would have even taxed my sprinter’s legs in their prime—he lifted it because road bike rims, especially old aluminum ones like he was running, they’ll crimp in from that kind of action. I bared my teeth just like he’d done, and I gave chase, having to run my bike up the last ten or fifteen yards, when my narrow road tires started to gouge into the mud. By the time I clipped in on the sidewalk, he was a receding black dot in the car lane. I ramped down off the curb at a handicapped place, and I gave my bike every last bit of myself I had. We took the turn—on the road, not the path—up into the canyon maybe ten seconds apart, him running the beginning of the red light, me catching the end of it, leaned over too far for wet asphalt but I didn’t care anymore. My left pedal snagged on the blacktop, hitching the ass-end of the bike over a hiccup, but the tire caught somehow, and I rode it out. Watching my line. I was watching my line. It led straight to him. He looked back just like Coach was forever telling us not to, but it didn’t slow him or tilt him even a little. A half mile after the turn, the road started its wicked uphill slope. Twice I’d gone up it, but that was fifteen years ago, and the road had been barricaded off for the event, and I’d still been pretty sure I was going to have to sag wagon it. Not because I was a sprinter. Because I was human. I’d promised myself never again. But this was now. This was tonight. I geared down, stood on the cranks. He was there in my headlight. Not riding away. Just crosswise in the road, like a barricade himself. I rear-braked, my rooster tail slinging past without me, like my intentions were going where I couldn’t. The night cyclist wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t anything. He was just looking at me. “I’ve got your—!” I said, pulling the clear glasses away from my neck, against the elastic. He turned in a huff, uphill, and, because I had the jump, I figured I’d be alongside him in two shakes. Wrong. He was faster on the climb than I was. It wasn’t even close. Even with me screaming for my lungs to be deeper, for my legs to be younger, for the grade to flatten out. It was like the mountain was sucking him uphill. And when he looked back on the first turn, his mouth wasn’t haggard and gasping like mine. He was calm, even. Not winded in the least. Two miles into it, blood in my throat, I had to stop. I threw up over the guardrail, then collapsed across it, not caring how it was chiseling into my midsection. No headlights came along to hitch me down the hill, into town. “What are you?” I said to the night cyclist, wherever he was. Miles away by now, I thought. Or—watching me from the trees? I tried to bore into the darkness, to catch his outline there, but then I was throwing up again, from deep, deep inside, like I was dry heaving all the years between who I was and who I had been, and then I climbed back into the saddle like the rag doll I was, rode my brakes home, taking the roads this time. I was bonked by the time I crawled into my living room. The adrenaline had burned through all the blood sugar I had, and left me in the hole for more. I couldn’t remember the last time this had happened. I didn’t miss it. It was like having sludge for blood, and having to look at the world through one narrow, long straw. I settled my bike against the back of the couch in exactly the way I never do—it was Doreen’s couch—unrolled my knives on the counter to be sure the oiled leather had kept them dry, and then I ate great heaping handfuls of corn chips and chocolate morsels from the pantry. Not because that’s any kind of magic formula, but because they were the first things I saw. It took ten or twelve minutes, but I finally woke up enough to rack my bike, dry it with a hand towel from the kitchen, even going so far as to twist off the valve stem caps, blow any lingering droplets in there back onto my face. Only after my bike was properly stabled did I change into dry clothes myself. Just some mountain bike shorts I’d only bought because they were on clearance and I had credit at that store. They were my house shorts, had a pocket right on the front of the thigh. My phone dropped into it perfectly. I turned on the television to see if our race had been documented, but all up and down the dial it was just cop shows sentenced to ten years, hard syndication. The first time I woke still watching, I rolled off the couch, checked to make sure the front door was secure—never trust yourself when your blood sugar’s flatlined—then climbed into bed on what I was still calling my side. The way I turned the lamp off in the living room was by shutting my eyes. The next time I woke, I wasn’t completely sure that’s what I’d just done. The way my legs were still both burning and noodled at the same time, I thought for a second that maybe I was at the end of a long ride, years ago. Something up in the peaks, in the thin, crisp air, permanent snow back in the shadows of the evergreen. Was that where he lived, I wondered? The night cyclist? Except—nobody could make that ride up the canyon. Any sane person would fork over the change for the bus. But this night cyclist, he hadn’t had a pack, hadn’t had a rack on his bike. If he did live up the hill, what was he even down here in the big wet for? Exercise? Recreation? That would be more like suicide, having to make that climb after bopping all around town in the dark. And, yeah, now that that was on the table: the dark. No light? Nothing reflective to him at all. Like he just wanted to whip past, be already gone by the time the smear he’d been even registered to anybody on the trail that late. “What are you?” I said out loud, but the comforter muffled my voice. Which was good. There was a shadow stretched out through the open doorway of my bedroom. My heart gorged up into my throat. And then, like my heart was that loud, the head of that shadow, it cocked around in a way I knew. A way I remembered. It was him. My first response was to curl deeper into the safety of my comforter. My next response, it was to ask him how he’d done that. How he’d sprinted uphill, away from me, a born sprinter. And on a relic of a bike at that. Keeping the blanket around my shoulders, I stood, shushed over into the doorway, for some reason superstitious about stepping directly into his shadow. Like it was a well I could fall into? Like that blackness was going to leech up through the print of my bare feet? I don’t know. It was instinctual; it was automatic. It was polite. In magical places, you make all obeisance you might think proper. He knew I was there, had probably clocked my approach from the exact instant I’d stopped breathing. What he was holding, and considering, it was his clear glasses. The reason he was considering them, it was that I’d put them on the plate Doreen had decreed the home for all glasses. The reason he was reconsidering them, it was that right there in the bowl were mine. My daytime ones, polarized, iridescent, and my night ones, clear and sleek, the elastic tight and young. My clear ones were enough of an update on his that they were practically a reinvention. He looked up to me, and his face, it was cut stone. Harsh, angular, pale. And those eyes. I’d been right, last time: The pupils or irises or whatever, they were blown out. There was hardly any white. Of course he didn’t need a headlight. Creatures of the night, they get along just fine in the darkness. There were no eyebrows, either. “What happened to you?” I almost said. And his thighs—if I hadn’t seen him ride, I’d never have clocked him for a serious cyclist. A rider who can rabbit up the canyon even just a mile or two without breaking a sweat, his quads should be jodhpured out past what any denim could ever contain, with thick, veined calves to match. Like gorilla forearms. His legs though, they were slender, smooth. Probably pale as his face, pale as those wristlets of white between his gloves and sleeve, between the cuff of his tights and the crescent of his shoe-tops. He must be corded like steel, and wound tight. At which point, finally, I cased the front door. It was shut, the deadbolt still twisted tight. Meaning—yep. Right on cue, the drapes over the sliding glass door billowed in, then sighed back out onto the balcony. The third-floor balcony. “I know what you did to those kids in the creek,” I said. “Before they were in the creek, I mean.” It was supposed to be what kept him from coming for me. Knowledge. Except, idiot that I am, I’d made sure he knew that the only place that knowledge lived, it was in my head. Dig that out, and he’d have nothing to worry about. “You didn’t have to,” I added. “They were never going to get that log moved.” He just stared at me. Evaluating me, it felt like. How long had it been since anyone attempted conversation with him, I wonder now? If he had spoken, if he could, what would he have even said, after so long? Would he have asked why a die-hard cyclist was defending those who would do violence to cyclists? Looking back, my guess is that he couldn’t speak at all. Not without showing me his teeth. “I didn’t invite you in here,” I said to him, my bulk—with the comforter—filling the doorway. To show how little threat I was, he turned away from me, studying his glasses again. Then raising them, to inhale their scent. “I didn’t wear them,” I said. “Not really.” What he was smelling, it was my sweat on the band, from when they’d been around my neck. From when I’d been chasing him. In a moment’s association, then, I knew that that was how he’d found me here on the third floor of an apartment building miles away from the last place I’d seen him. He’d picked my scent out of all the smells of the city. Out of all the thousands of other bodies out after dark. He’d known me through the rain. I swallowed, the sound of it crashing in my ears. He’d come here because I’d seen him. He’d come here because he couldn’t be seen. “You don’t ride in the sun, do you,” I said. It wasn’t really a question. I nodded down to the glasses he was still considering. “And the stores are only open in the daytime. So you can’t—you can’t update your gear.” I could tell by the new stillness about him that he heard me, but he didn’t look up. “Take them,” I said. Slowly, by labored degrees, he looked over to me. “Mine,” I said. “Take them. You need them.” Because it wasn’t in him to leave evidence behind, he hooked his down over his neck like I’d worn them, then settled mine around his head, the continuous lens cocked up on his forehead. When he lowered them, the dents left from the elastic’s pull didn’t fill with red color. But I’d known that wasn’t going to happen. “You’re fast,” I said to him. “I used to be fast.” He looked up to me for what I knew was the last time. I knew it was the last because there was a grin spreading across his face. No, not a grin. A sneer. What he was saying was that he was fast. The fastest. And he didn’t need lungs. And he slept—where he slept, it was probably burrowed into a hole somewhere up the canyon. Under a rock ledge, in a cave only him and the marmots and the chipmunks knew about, and whatever beetles and grubs can live in gaspy thin air, without the sun. The moment his grin flashed into a smile, I saw the dirty yellow sharpness past his lips and I took an involuntary step back. That was all it took to spook him. He moved like quicksilver over the couch, past the rattan stools, and onto the balcony. I rushed over after him, to see him silently touching down, or swimming through the night air, but he was already gone. I should have expected nothing less. Three nights later, the waters receded from the bike path. I hadn’t been riding to and from work. Doreen had called, actually. Just to talk. I told her to swing by the restaurant soon, that I’d make her favorite, like old times. Her breath hitched a bit over that. Four years, that’s a long time. For me too. “And you need to be careful,” she said, when we were both signing off awkwardly—awkward because we’d been saying the same thing at the end of every call for so long. What were we supposed to say now? “Careful?” I said. “Those two kids who died,” she said. “They weren’t riding,” I told her. “Just be careful.” I promised her I would and we somehow broke the connection. It was my night off. What she’d said, though. It was a challenge, wasn’t it? You only have to be careful when you think something can really happen to you. When you’re twenty, twenty-five, nothing in the world can touch you. To prove that still applied to me, I unclamped my bike from the rack, checked the tire pressure front and back, then nodded to myself about this, trucked us downstairs, to the sidewalk that led to the path that ran alongside the creek, up the canyon if I followed that far. It was one, two in the morning. Late enough that the hand-in-hand lovers would be bedded down someplace secret. Late enough that all the smokers who’d promised they’d quit weren’t out for one last drag. Just me and the creatures of the night. My headlight only stabbed fifteen, twenty feet into the darkness. To show I could, that I still had those legs, I pumped hard for the black space of the mountains. I knew better than to try to make the whole climb. But even a little would prove something. I made it the same two miles, not pushing hard, just steady climbing, before I wheeled around, rode gravity back to town. Two homeless men, tuned to nature better than the usual baby stroller crowd, stepped away from each other to let me slip between them at thirty miles per hour. I nodded thanks, but it’s always an empty gesture. You’re going too fast for it to register, and you can’t ever check back to see if they even saw your gratitude. Empty gestures are what make the world go round, though. I swooped under two, three bridges, pedaling though I didn’t really need to. There was still silt on the concrete. It crunched under my tires like sugar granules. “Careful,” I said again, to myself. Just retasting the word. Mining into it for what Doreen had really been trying to get across. I looked down, shut my eyes—I was on a straightaway, the one that tunneled through the next quarter mile or so of trees—watching my top tube coast back and forth instead of doing the first thing Coach always said: keeping my eyes on the line I was taking. My headlight was what saved me from myself. A piece of driftwood, obviously dragged up onto the path. Doing it without thinking—it was years too late to stop—I bunny hopped the wood. When you’re clipped in and your bike goes eleven pounds, you can do this. I came down with both tires at once, like’s proper if you want to keep control, and had to skid immediately, as clearing the next chunk of driftwood would only land me on a third piece. This wasn’t just a symbolic attempt to sabotage the trail. This was set up to hurt any rider who came at it with a head of speed. I didn’t wipe out, though. It was close, but I knew to cantilever out, ahead, and keep hold of the bike so it didn’t crash into me, send us both spinning into the darkness. It was a once-in-fifty tries dismount, but I landed it. Breathing hard from the close call, all the profanity I knew welling up in me, I looked back at what almost was, what should have been if I hadn’t just cashed in all my luck for the next ten years, and then I directed my headlight ahead, into the turn, to what other obstacles awaited. The night cyclists’s white face looked back to me. His white face and his red mouth and chin. His deep black eyes. I flinched, but then realized why he wasn’t already at my throat: He was impaled on the seat post of his own bike. He was impaled just like I would be, if I hadn’t reeled all my speed in. But my speed, it had probably only been half of his. I could see what had happened, too. Like me, he’d bunny hopped over the initial chunk of driftwood but, going faster, his hop had carried him farther, into the next strategically placed driftwood. It had been too much to recover from. He’d probably fallen over sideways, slapped the concrete of the trail hard, but he was going fast enough that instead of splatting into a skid, he bounced, he cartwheeled. And his bike was right there with him, coming apart at its welds, components spinning up into the night sky. Specifically, his seat. Only, the clamp hadn’t let go. The seatpost, it had snapped. A carbon-fiber seatpost, it would have splintered, would be showing thread. An old-style aluminum post like he was running, though, it’ll snap off up near the saddle, leave a ragged tube, a hollow spear. The night cyclist had hit the tree with his back, hard, and an instant later his bike’s seatpost, still extending from the bike itself, had jammed through his sternum. The blood around that wound, it was black, even at this distance. Not red like the blood at his mouth. I adjusted the strap across my chest, only just then realized I had my knives with me. They were clean, like always, but I could tell from the flare of his nostrils that he knew what I was wearing. That this was just one more insult the night had for him. One more stupid thing between him and wherever he was going. His lips thinned, his teeth baring, but before he could complete his display, he whipped his head over to the left. I looked too. Nothing. No sound. And then there was. Not voices, but brush and branches, parting. At first I thought it was the two dead boys from the creek, risen. But one of them had shaped sideburns this time, the other a shaved head. Different college kids. What they were carrying was a double-bit axe and a camp hatchet, one of those kinds with a textured hammer on the back side. And then I realized exactly where we were: at that bend in the creek. It’s why I’d thought they were the dead boys, risen. These were their friends, then. The other night, they’d tried to muscle that big log up onto the trail. This night, they’d come back with proper tools. To finish the job the night cyclist had interrupted. And to avenge their fallen comrades, as they probably saw it. When one of them dragged a flashlight up to the night cyclist, I saw that his chin and mouth, their redness wasn’t from himself. That Double-Bit and Hatchet were still standing, that meant that, a few minutes ago, they’d been three. I finally tracked down to the night cyclist’s feet, and there was the body that had to be there. The boy who had stepped too close, to taunt. At which point his two friends had decided to go for tools. For weapons. And they still hadn’t seen me. Because bicycles, when properly greased, they’re quiet. I laid my bike down into the grass, unlimbered my roll of knives, spread them out before me. I didn’t know for sure that Double-Bit and Hatchet could kill the night cyclist like they wanted—they’d still have to get close—but the sun would be coming up eventually, and if he was still pinned to the tree, then they might as well have killed him. The night cyclist saw me stepping forward but didn’t move a muscle on his face. And, because his eyes showed so little white, even if he was watching me, the two still coming at him wouldn’t have been able to tell. Double-Bit hit him once, swinging his great axe like a baseball bat into the night cyclist’s shoulder, and then Hatchet came not at the night cyclist, but the bike. He caught it on the bottom bracket with the hammer side, the full force of his impact traveling up the aluminum frame, driving the seat post deeper into flesh. The night cyclist didn’t even grunt. The black blood just slipped from his mouth, oiled his chin and chest. He did smile, though. “What do you have to smile about?” Hatchet screamed, bouncing like a boxer on his toes, wrapping up to swing again. Double-Bit smiled, seemingly pleased with how the night was falling out, but he caught me in his peripheral vision, too. At the last possible instant. He turned away just fast enough that my paring knife caught him across his open mouth, instead of his temple, like. The blade crossed between his upper and lower teeth, the dagger-point nicking the bunched-up jaw muscle at the back of his mouth on both sides, I was pretty sure. He reeled back, away from the pain. Into the mouth of the night cyclist, open just as wide as his now was, like a snake about to swallow an egg. When the night cyclist bit in, some of the blood spattered onto my face. I was wearing my backup clear glasses, but still I flinched, blinked. This all in a moment cut so thin it was nearly transparent. In the next moment, Hatchet was turning to me. I flipped the paring knife around and grabbed it by the tip, as if to throw—on the cycling team, we’d fake-lob a water bottle high to someone, then spray them hard with the water bottle we secretly had—and while Hatchet had his arms raise to protect his face, I drove my eight-inch knife up into his belly, digging for his diaphragm. Maybe I got it, I don’t know. He fell back into the night cyclist’s bike, fell back hard enough to crack it to the side, out of the night cyclist, and then the night changed. The night cyclist slumped down, free of the seatpost, his hair hanging over his face, and inside I was screaming at myself to run, to ride, to leave this place. But Hatchet was already coming for me, holding his guts in with one hand, his weapon high in the other. He would have got me, too, if the night cyclist hadn’t stabbed a hand forward, dug his sharp fingers into Hatchet’s calf. Instead of pulling Hatchet’s throat to him, instead of climbing hand over hand up to Hatchet’s throat, he simply pulled that calf to his mouth, and, with Hatchet facedown in the muck now, he drank, and drank deep, his Adam’s apple working up and down with each swallow. His eyes, they never left mine. When Hatchet was drained, just his foot spasming, the night cyclist pulled himself over to Double-Bit, drank some more there as well. And then he rolled over, convulsing in the mud, holding his shoulder. I could have run then, I know. But I didn’t. When he could, he stood weakly, looked up the path the way I’d come, then back the other way. We were alone. He lurched forward, for his ruined bike. “No,” I said. He stopped, studied me, his eyes showing real fatigue for the first time I’d seen. Shaking my head no, I pointed with my paring knife back to the bike in the grass, the one he could surely smell. He looked into that tall grass, then back to me. “Take it already,” I said, and nodded down to his bike. “Need to put this one out of its misery.” His front wheel was taco’d, one drop was lower than the other, and one of the cranks had bent in under the top chainring. I couldn’t imagine going that fast through the darkness, alone. It was a rush just thinking about it. “What the hell are you?” I said when he took that first step bike-ward, though I knew. In reply, he took my paring knife forearm in the cold grip of his good arm, pulled the meat of my hand right up to his mouth. He opened slow. His teeth were impossible. I had my big knife in my other hand, but it might as well have been someone else’s hand. He lowered his teeth to my skin, his eyes never leaving mine, and I understood what he was offering. Eternal youth. Night rides forever. Going faster than I’d ever dreamed. He was offering to share the night with me. What had my scent told him, revealed to him? Standing in the living room of my apartment, had he smelled the flavor of Doreen’s last accusations? I don’t put anything beyond him. Or his kind. When his teeth brushed my skin, I didn’t jerk back, but I did hear myself say it, my eyes welling up: “No.” He stopped, looked up into my face. “I’m going to call her back,” I said, trusting that he knew what I was talking about. Who. He held my eyes for a moment longer, long enough for me consider exactly what I was giving up here, then he nodded, pushed my arm back to me. He licked his lips, dabbing at a bit of dried blood, and then his eyes snapped up to the path. Company, soon. “Go,” I told him, and when he walked by I smelled it on him, from him. The decay. If he ever peeled out of his suit, it must smell like the grave for acres in every direction. Partway to my bike, he scooped up my leather roll, slung it back to me as if it was something any chef could possibly ever just leave lying there. Then he leaned my bike up from the grass, stepped across the top tube then back off, to adjust the seat. Not with a multi-tool, but by pinching the clamp’s bolt between his fingers. When he stood into the pedals, the bike was dialed perfect for him. He clipped in with both feet, just balancing there, getting the feel of this new machine—he liked it, could sense the speed locked in its geometry—and then, without looking back, he powered away, into the silhouette of the Flatirons, which, at night, are the maw of a great cave. Who he must have passed, who showed up two, three minutes later, it was a pregnant woman and a guy. They were bundled up, both crying over something—I’d never know what. He’d let them pass, though, the night cyclist. He surely needed even more blood to rebuild himself, but he needed worse to ride. I understood. With every part of myself, I understood. When the couple got to me, the pregnant woman yelped, stumbled back—I was standing in the gore of three more college kids, both my knives dripping, bug-eyed under the clear glasses, my face spattered with blood—and, and this is why I love the world, why I’m going to cook Doreen’s favorite meal tomorrow, just take it to her: The man, scrawny and useless as he was, he stepped in front of her, to stand between her and the monster I looked to be. “There’s no compulsion to hide the bodies,” I said to them like a joke, spreading my arms as if to showcase my night’s work—words and a gesture that would be on the national news by morning—and then I bowed once and stepped back into the darkness, and came out onto the path a half mile later, walked up onto the plank bridge, my knives cleaned and in their roll again. The waters were surging beneath me, inexorable, going for miles and miles, for centuries. I patted the rail’s cold steel and walked on across, home.

There must be no compulsion to hide the bodies. Otherwise I’d have never found them. It was a Tuesday night. I was riding home after work, my leather roll of knives strapped across my back. I’d left my apron on the hook at the restaurant, but I still smelled like the kitchen. Before Doreen had moved out two months ago, she’d jokingly accused me of having a series of affairs at work, and that I was trying to mask the scent of all those other women with garlic and turmeric. It had been funny, a running joke, at least until the new sous-chef needed me to walk her through cleanup again after hours, and then leaned back into me while I was reaching around her to demonstrate where the fryer basket clicked in. I had been with Doreen four years, then. And the sous-chef—what the cheating man says in stories is that she didn’t mean anything. But that’s not right. That’s not fair. What she meant for me, it was a way out. So far, this is how my life’s gone, pretty much. I do all this work to build a thing—in this case trust, a relationship, someone to watch stupid television with, someone who lets me sleep late because chefs keep different hours—and then, once the Jenga tower gets tall enough to look a little bit scary, I start pulling out blocks, seeing how far I can skeletonize my life before it all comes crashing down again. Taking the bike paths home each night after work, though, it reminds me that I wasn’t always like this. There was a time. It was college. I was on the racing team. The university was buying us the latest bikes, sleek things, bullets with wheels—we weighed them in grams—and the sponsors were supplying us with the same shorts and helmets and gloves and glasses the pros wore, and every day my legs were pumping, pushing, pedaling. That was the only time I hadn’t started pulling out blocks, as it were. If college had lasted forever, I’d still be out riding, just zoning out at forty miles per hour, choosing the line I was going to take, just like Coach was always saying. You have to choose your line. Coming home at two in the morning, Velcroed into my old racing shoes that have the clips worn down to nubs—dull little nubs my pedals know like a ball knows its socket—I could pretend that life had never ended. That I was still me. That I hadn’t run Doreen off on purpose. That I wouldn’t run the next Doreen off just the same. All the other kitchen staff who biked in and out, their bikes were these bulky hybrids. Some were even labeled “comfort.” The comfort in riding—it’s not physical, it’s spiritual. My bike’s built for racing, still and always. Aggressive stance, the bars dialed low so you have to lie down on the top tube, pretty much. A butt-floss saddle canted forward like I’m a time trial racer. The only concession to middle age, I suppose, is the light clamped to the handlebars. It makes me feel old, but I’d feel older if I endo’d into the creek. The trail between the restaurant and my apartment is lit up intermittently, these pale yellow discs you kind of float through, but there are plenty of long, dark tree-tunnels over those two and a half miles. Those tunnels are fun to shoot in the dark, don’t get me wrong, but the dark isn’t the thing to worry about. The whole year, there’d been a battle going on in the opinion pages of the newspaper. Motorists were bullying bikers, bikers were kicking dents into fenders and doors. Nobody’d been hurt too bad yet, but it was coming. One of us was going to get nudged a bit too hard by a bumper, nudged hard enough to get pulled under the car, and the motorist was going to walk for it like they always do, and then cyclists were going to be riding side by side from one ditch to the other, stopping traffic for miles. It had happened before, and it was happening again. Even up in the mountains. Apparently—this just going from what I read, as I stick to asphalt and concrete—the hikers had been sabotaging the trail against mountain bikers. Deadfalls, rocks, the occasional spike. Helmets or no, riders were getting hurt. And now it had come to town. For five nights in a row, there’d been driftwood from the creek dragged up onto the trail. It was then I’d relented, finally started running a headlight. And the headlight was how I saw them. The bodies. Two guys, young, floating in the shallows where the creek turns west. On the shore was the large piece of driftwood they’d been trying to dislodge, to drag up across the trail. It was too much for two people. But they were the only ones there. One of them was floating facedown in the water. The other was on his back. His throat was gone. No blood was seeping from it. They were on the news by seven in the morning, the two dead kids. College students from one of the farming towns on the eastern plains. I had considered reporting them myself, but it was just a fluke of timing that I’d been the one to find them, I decided. Someone else would come along at about daybreak. Boulder’s full of concerned citizens, people for whom it would be a rush to get involved. Me, I was tired. We had two new bussers. You wouldn’t think a couple of non-lifers that low on the food chain would change the dynamic of a kitchen that much, but dishes, they’re our lifeblood. It had been chaos and emergency, from the first group reservation on. I deserved to just come home, watch some vapid cop drama until the sun came up. The last bit of the news I saw was the weather. The spring melt was coming down hard. Tonight the creek was going to be lapping at the concrete of the trail again. Awake again by three in the afternoon, I clamped my bike up onto the rack by the breakfast bar—by what would have been the breakfast bar—and administered to its various needs. The same way soldiers in movies are always taking their weapons apart and reassembling them, old cyclists, we like to perform our own maintenance. Old. I’m even starting to say it. When Doreen was leaving for good and ever, was on her last walk-through to be sure the last four years of her life were completely boxed up, we’d of course had to have it out a little. The main thrust of her accusation involved me just wanting to feel young again. That I’d never let that part of myself go completely, like other men did when it was time to grow up. I hadn’t had any accusations for her to feed on, to cultivate, to take with her and coat with saliva like a pearl. Just apologies, and very little eye contact, and one last offer of the apartment, which we both knew had just been a gesture, as it had been mine when we’d met. For dinner I ate sliced deli turkey straight from the container. Hang around a hospital for even ten minutes, you’ll see the nurses huddled up at the handicapped entrance, stabbing cigarettes into their mouths. Hang around chefs long enough, you’ll find us in the fast-food drive-throughs of the world. There we’ll be, walking out of the gas station with a bag of chips for dinner, so we can have enough energy to plate some salmon at sixty-per. The world doesn’t make sense. I tuned the news back on. The eyewitness—a senior citizen in a tracksuit with actual stripes on the sleeve and legs—was telling her story about finding the bodies. I watched the woods behind her, where the camera didn’t mean to be looking. At first I thought I was looking for myself—stupid, I know—but what I saw, what nobody else was seeing, it was a pair of cycling glasses, hanging by their elastic band from a small, bare sapling pushing up through the dank brush, way over in the ditch you never ford into, because you know it’s a literal dumping ground for the homeless population. What got me to hit the rewind button, then the pause button, it wasn’t as simple as castoff equipment. I’ve peeled out of I don’t know how many sunglasses and gloves and jerseys while riding, because I didn’t have time to dispose of them properly, but needed the ounce or two they’d free me of. What got me to hit the stop button was the color pattern on the elastic band. It was from a company that had been defunct since my junior year of college. And these glasses, they weren’t for the sun. They were clear. The kind you wear when riding at night, when what you need is a gnat-shield, goggles to keep you from tearing up, to keep the world from blurring away. And they were ten years old, at least. They had to be. I ate my turkey from the bag and I kept those clear glasses paused on the screen. Just watching them. My twenty-year-old self would have been disgusted, but when it started drizzling at five in the afternoon, and I was scheduled to meet the two new bussers twenty minutes before dinner prep—six—I accepted the ride downtown Glenda next door was offering. She asked after Doreen, said it had been too long since we’d been over for drinks. I agreed. Because she saw how I’d tried to shield my newly spotless bike from the water, loading it into her Honda’s hatchback, she backed up between the restaurant’s dumpsters for me. I grabbed my roll of knives and told her to drop in this week, tell the hostess she was my guest and, once again, she said she might just do that, thanks. Did she know Doreen was gone? Was this a game we were playing? I didn’t know, but it was too late to stop. I nosed my bike into the space past the line of coat hooks, chained it to the handrail like always. The components alone are probably two grand—all Campy, all high-end—and, while I’d like to think restaurant staff are good people, I also consider myself something of a realist. Only one of the bussers showed up for my hands-on training. I should have gone easy on him, repaid his loyalty or discipline or stupidity or whatever it was, but instead I just heaped all the attitude and scorn I had on him, and told myself that this is how it is for everyone, starting out in the kitchen. You’re tough or you’re gone. If I was chasing him off with this, then I was doing him a favor. He must have needed the work. The three times I came out to talk to tables—the first was someone I’d worked with years ago but wasn’t thrilled to see, and the other two were first dates showing off their food IQ, but masking it as simpering complaints—I made sure to linger long enough to see whether the groups huddled on the wrong side of the hostess podium were glittering with raindrops or not. I’d left my bike at the restaurant overnight a few times before, either hitched a ride home with a server or manager or just cabbed it, but I wanted to get out and stretch tonight, if possible. Judging by my second two trips out to the dining room—dry shoulders from the hostess podium crowd—it just might be possible. Granted, there would be puddles, a slick spot or two, and my bike would need another thorough rubdown once I got home. But the wind in my face would make it worth it. It always did. And, after a rain, the paths and bike lanes are usually devoid of traffic, completely lifeless. All mine. Coach used to always tell us to choose our line, to stay focused on that, to not look anywhere else but the direction you’re going. It was advice that worked in the kitchen as well. The line I could see ahead of me, it led past cleanup, out the back door, down the bike lane for half a mile before swooping and banking onto the path for nearly three glorious, empty miles. In the alley at two in the morning, my clothes steamed at first. It always made me feel like I was just touching down in this strange atmosphere, my alien fabric off-gassing, adjusting. It was just temperature differential, of course. It had been happening since I first started washing dishes, would clock out soaked from head to toe. I usually wasn’t this wet by the end of the night, had already paid those dues, but, because I was ready to be shut of the kitchen, and because the captain has to go down with the ship, I’d stepped in beside Manny, our dishwasher of nine months. You can’t help getting sprayed, especially when you’re dealing with a ladle. But we got it done in half the time, racked the wine glasses so they wouldn’t spot, and then I saluted him off into the night, hung my apron on its hook, and rolled up my knives. I should have been using them to cut up the day-old bread for croutons—a ten-minute job, with nobody tugging on my sleeve—but screw it. Sometimes you just have to walk away. Feed yourself first, right? The bike lane away from the restaurant was as empty as I’d imagined. I leaned back from the bars, planed my arms out to the side like I was twelve years old again. What do people who lose that part of themselves do, I wonder? When Doreen had accused me of not growing up, I’d felt parentheses kind of form around my eyes, the question right there in my mouth: And? It’s not some big social or emotional impediment to still be able to close your eyes, pretend to be an airplane. Some people hold on to that with video games, some with books about space, some with basketball or tennis, if their knees hold together. For me it was a bike. For me it was this. Soon enough the path opened up just across the creek, inviting me to slalom down it one more time, but I stopped mid-bridge, still clipped in, my arms crossed on the rail on the uphill side. The melt was coming fast, and hard. The surface of the water breathed like a great animal, the sides of the creek surging up just over the bank, washing the concrete of the path and then retreating. I was definitely going to be up until dawn, drying my bike out. Somebody old and sensible, they probably would have gone the long way, the dry way. My only concession was turning my headlight on, and hitching the strap of my knife-roll higher across my chest, like the bandolier it most definitely was. The first mile, the water never even crested up over my valve stem. And, down here by the creek, the sound was massive. It felt like the mountains were bleeding out. But I didn’t forget the promise I’d made earlier: A mile into it, right at the bend where the creek turned west, I stepped my right foot over the top bar, rode sidesaddle on my left foot, and looked behind me, at the rooster tail of mist I was leaving. It was stupid. It was wonderful. Before the bike rolled all the way to a stop, I stepped down into the grabby muck, hitched the bike up onto my arm like I was racing cyclo-cross. What I was really doing was playing detective. The mud in the tall grass and brush and tangle of vines and trash turned out to be sloppier than I’d hoped, but I trudged and clumped through it, picked those clear glasses off the naked sapling like the fruit they were. I’d been right, that afternoon. These were seriously antique, from another decade of cycling gear. Usually, something like this hung in a tree or set up on a rock with another rock there to keep it from blowing away, it was just what you did when you stumbled onto something somebody else had dropped. It was only kind. Surely they’d be back, looking for it, right? This was too far out for that, though. There were closer places to the path to hang a piece of equipment. I stood there by the sapling, raised the wet glasses to my face and looked through them. At the shiny path. At the silhouette of trees waving back and forth. At the creek where the two college kids had been floating. For maybe twenty seconds, I couldn’t look away from that bend. It was like I was seeing them again. Like a puzzle piece in my head was nudging itself into some bigger picture. Before it could resolve, I looked over, to the right. There was someone there. On a matte-black aluminum bike. You can tell aluminum from carbon by the turns in the frame. Aluminum bikes, they’re ten years ago as well. And the rider—where I was in kitchen rags, like usual for the ride home, he was in tights. Not shorts or a bib, but some kind of wet suit a surfer might wear: slick black like a second skin, ankle to neck to wrist. It would have been terrible in the sun, and at night it had to be terrible as well, since there was no way your skin could breathe. To match the black seal suit, this cyclist also had black shoes and black gloves, a flash of pale skin at wrist and ankle. No helmet. And—looking down to what I was holding—no glasses. I held them out across the muck, through the misting rain, and in response, this night cyclist, he snarled. I’d never seen anybody actually do that before. Like a dog you were happy was on a chain. “What?” I said, only loud enough for myself, really. He was already whipping his bike away, standing to granny gear it through the silt just under the water. When he looked back, his dank black hair was plastered to his white face. And his eyes—they were all pupil. Like smoke, like a whisper, he faded once he made the dry concrete. For maybe ten seconds, I considered what had just happened. And then I saw it for what it was: An invitation. A challenge. A dare. I smiled, splashed through the tall grass, ran past the deep water, and hit the concrete running alongside my bike, catapulted up into the saddle already shifting hard, my nostrils wide because my lungs were about to need air. It had been too long since I’d really gotten the opportunity—the need—to open up. Coach had diagnosed me early as a sprinter, and he’d kind of sneered when he said it, like there was no hope, really. He’d work with me, sure, but I was what I was. For four years it made me faster, better, harder. He was right, though: I’m a born sprinter. I’ll burn through my quads those first two miles, leave the whole pack in the dust. It was one mile until the trail nosed up into the canyon for twenty vertical miles. It was one mile, and this night cyclist, he only had about a half-minute head start. If only Doreen could see me now. Where I finally saw him again, it was at the pond the low part of the trail had become, downtown. He was standing there, one foot down in the water. There’s no way I was making any more noise than the flooded creek, but still, as soon as I rounded the corner, he whipped his head back settled his black eyes on me. I gave him a cocky two-fingered wave from my grips. He didn’t wave back. He was watching the water again. My big plan was to walk my bike up beside him, so as to keep from whipping water into his face. Not like we weren’t both already soaked, but manners are manners, even at two in the morning, in the dark and the rain. He never gave me the chance. I was fifty feet away when he hauled his bike around, rode the lapping edge of the water through the wet grass, all the way up to the road, stepped down for just long enough to lift his bike up onto the cracked sidewalk that runs up there. He didn’t lift his bike because he didn’t have momentum—the climb he’d just made would have even taxed my sprinter’s legs in their prime—he lifted it because road bike rims, especially old aluminum ones like he was running, they’ll crimp in from that kind of action. I bared my teeth just like he’d done, and I gave chase, having to run my bike up the last ten or fifteen yards, when my narrow road tires started to gouge into the mud. By the time I clipped in on the sidewalk, he was a receding black dot in the car lane. I ramped down off the curb at a handicapped place, and I gave my bike every last bit of myself I had. We took the turn—on the road, not the path—up into the canyon maybe ten seconds apart, him running the beginning of the red light, me catching the end of it, leaned over too far for wet asphalt but I didn’t care anymore. My left pedal snagged on the blacktop, hitching the ass-end of the bike over a hiccup, but the tire caught somehow, and I rode it out. Watching my line. I was watching my line. It led straight to him. He looked back just like Coach was forever telling us not to, but it didn’t slow him or tilt him even a little. A half mile after the turn, the road started its wicked uphill slope. Twice I’d gone up it, but that was fifteen years ago, and the road had been barricaded off for the event, and I’d still been pretty sure I was going to have to sag wagon it. Not because I was a sprinter. Because I was human. I’d promised myself never again. But this was now. This was tonight. I geared down, stood on the cranks. He was there in my headlight. Not riding away. Just crosswise in the road, like a barricade himself. I rear-braked, my rooster tail slinging past without me, like my intentions were going where I couldn’t. The night cyclist wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t anything. He was just looking at me. “I’ve got your—!” I said, pulling the clear glasses away from my neck, against the elastic. He turned in a huff, uphill, and, because I had the jump, I figured I’d be alongside him in two shakes. Wrong. He was faster on the climb than I was. It wasn’t even close. Even with me screaming for my lungs to be deeper, for my legs to be younger, for the grade to flatten out. It was like the mountain was sucking him uphill. And when he looked back on the first turn, his mouth wasn’t haggard and gasping like mine. He was calm, even. Not winded in the least. Two miles into it, blood in my throat, I had to stop. I threw up over the guardrail, then collapsed across it, not caring how it was chiseling into my midsection. No headlights came along to hitch me down the hill, into town. “What are you?” I said to the night cyclist, wherever he was. Miles away by now, I thought. Or—watching me from the trees? I tried to bore into the darkness, to catch his outline there, but then I was throwing up again, from deep, deep inside, like I was dry heaving all the years between who I was and who I had been, and then I climbed back into the saddle like the rag doll I was, rode my brakes home, taking the roads this time. I was bonked by the time I crawled into my living room. The adrenaline had burned through all the blood sugar I had, and left me in the hole for more. I couldn’t remember the last time this had happened. I didn’t miss it. It was like having sludge for blood, and having to look at the world through one narrow, long straw. I settled my bike against the back of the couch in exactly the way I never do—it was Doreen’s couch—unrolled my knives on the counter to be sure the oiled leather had kept them dry, and then I ate great heaping handfuls of corn chips and chocolate morsels from the pantry. Not because that’s any kind of magic formula, but because they were the first things I saw. It took ten or twelve minutes, but I finally woke up enough to rack my bike, dry it with a hand towel from the kitchen, even going so far as to twist off the valve stem caps, blow any lingering droplets in there back onto my face. Only after my bike was properly stabled did I change into dry clothes myself. Just some mountain bike shorts I’d only bought because they were on clearance and I had credit at that store. They were my house shorts, had a pocket right on the front of the thigh. My phone dropped into it perfectly. I turned on the television to see if our race had been documented, but all up and down the dial it was just cop shows sentenced to ten years, hard syndication. The first time I woke still watching, I rolled off the couch, checked to make sure the front door was secure—never trust yourself when your blood sugar’s flatlined—then climbed into bed on what I was still calling my side. The way I turned the lamp off in the living room was by shutting my eyes. The next time I woke, I wasn’t completely sure that’s what I’d just done. The way my legs were still both burning and noodled at the same time, I thought for a second that maybe I was at the end of a long ride, years ago. Something up in the peaks, in the thin, crisp air, permanent snow back in the shadows of the evergreen. Was that where he lived, I wondered? The night cyclist? Except—nobody could make that ride up the canyon. Any sane person would fork over the change for the bus. But this night cyclist, he hadn’t had a pack, hadn’t had a rack on his bike. If he did live up the hill, what was he even down here in the big wet for? Exercise? Recreation? That would be more like suicide, having to make that climb after bopping all around town in the dark. And, yeah, now that that was on the table: the dark. No light? Nothing reflective to him at all. Like he just wanted to whip past, be already gone by the time the smear he’d been even registered to anybody on the trail that late. “What are you?” I said out loud, but the comforter muffled my voice. Which was good. There was a shadow stretched out through the open doorway of my bedroom. My heart gorged up into my throat. And then, like my heart was that loud, the head of that shadow, it cocked around in a way I knew. A way I remembered. It was him. My first response was to curl deeper into the safety of my comforter. My next response, it was to ask him how he’d done that. How he’d sprinted uphill, away from me, a born sprinter. And on a relic of a bike at that. Keeping the blanket around my shoulders, I stood, shushed over into the doorway, for some reason superstitious about stepping directly into his shadow. Like it was a well I could fall into? Like that blackness was going to leech up through the print of my bare feet? I don’t know. It was instinctual; it was automatic. It was polite. In magical places, you make all obeisance you might think proper. He knew I was there, had probably clocked my approach from the exact instant I’d stopped breathing. What he was holding, and considering, it was his clear glasses. The reason he was considering them, it was that I’d put them on the plate Doreen had decreed the home for all glasses. The reason he was reconsidering them, it was that right there in the bowl were mine. My daytime ones, polarized, iridescent, and my night ones, clear and sleek, the elastic tight and young. My clear ones were enough of an update on his that they were practically a reinvention. He looked up to me, and his face, it was cut stone. Harsh, angular, pale. And those eyes. I’d been right, last time: The pupils or irises or whatever, they were blown out. There was hardly any white. Of course he didn’t need a headlight. Creatures of the night, they get along just fine in the darkness. There were no eyebrows, either. “What happened to you?” I almost said. And his thighs—if I hadn’t seen him ride, I’d never have clocked him for a serious cyclist. A rider who can rabbit up the canyon even just a mile or two without breaking a sweat, his quads should be jodhpured out past what any denim could ever contain, with thick, veined calves to match. Like gorilla forearms. His legs though, they were slender, smooth. Probably pale as his face, pale as those wristlets of white between his gloves and sleeve, between the cuff of his tights and the crescent of his shoe-tops. He must be corded like steel, and wound tight. At which point, finally, I cased the front door. It was shut, the deadbolt still twisted tight. Meaning—yep. Right on cue, the drapes over the sliding glass door billowed in, then sighed back out onto the balcony. The third-floor balcony. “I know what you did to those kids in the creek,” I said. “Before they were in the creek, I mean.” It was supposed to be what kept him from coming for me. Knowledge. Except, idiot that I am, I’d made sure he knew that the only place that knowledge lived, it was in my head. Dig that out, and he’d have nothing to worry about. “You didn’t have to,” I added. “They were never going to get that log moved.” He just stared at me. Evaluating me, it felt like. How long had it been since anyone attempted conversation with him, I wonder now? If he had spoken, if he could, what would he have even said, after so long? Would he have asked why a die-hard cyclist was defending those who would do violence to cyclists? Looking back, my guess is that he couldn’t speak at all. Not without showing me his teeth. “I didn’t invite you in here,” I said to him, my bulk—with the comforter—filling the doorway. To show how little threat I was, he turned away from me, studying his glasses again. Then raising them, to inhale their scent. “I didn’t wear them,” I said. “Not really.” What he was smelling, it was my sweat on the band, from when they’d been around my neck. From when I’d been chasing him. In a moment’s association, then, I knew that that was how he’d found me here on the third floor of an apartment building miles away from the last place I’d seen him. He’d picked my scent out of all the smells of the city. Out of all the thousands of other bodies out after dark. He’d known me through the rain. I swallowed, the sound of it crashing in my ears. He’d come here because I’d seen him. He’d come here because he couldn’t be seen. “You don’t ride in the sun, do you,” I said. It wasn’t really a question. I nodded down to the glasses he was still considering. “And the stores are only open in the daytime. So you can’t—you can’t update your gear.” I could tell by the new stillness about him that he heard me, but he didn’t look up. “Take them,” I said. Slowly, by labored degrees, he looked over to me. “Mine,” I said. “Take them. You need them.” Because it wasn’t in him to leave evidence behind, he hooked his down over his neck like I’d worn them, then settled mine around his head, the continuous lens cocked up on his forehead. When he lowered them, the dents left from the elastic’s pull didn’t fill with red color. But I’d known that wasn’t going to happen. “You’re fast,” I said to him. “I used to be fast.” He looked up to me for what I knew was the last time. I knew it was the last because there was a grin spreading across his face. No, not a grin. A sneer. What he was saying was that he was fast. The fastest. And he didn’t need lungs. And he slept—where he slept, it was probably burrowed into a hole somewhere up the canyon. Under a rock ledge, in a cave only him and the marmots and the chipmunks knew about, and whatever beetles and grubs can live in gaspy thin air, without the sun. The moment his grin flashed into a smile, I saw the dirty yellow sharpness past his lips and I took an involuntary step back. That was all it took to spook him. He moved like quicksilver over the couch, past the rattan stools, and onto the balcony. I rushed over after him, to see him silently touching down, or swimming through the night air, but he was already gone. I should have expected nothing less. Three nights later, the waters receded from the bike path. I hadn’t been riding to and from work. Doreen had called, actually. Just to talk. I told her to swing by the restaurant soon, that I’d make her favorite, like old times. Her breath hitched a bit over that. Four years, that’s a long time. For me too. “And you need to be careful,” she said, when we were both signing off awkwardly—awkward because we’d been saying the same thing at the end of every call for so long. What were we supposed to say now? “Careful?” I said. “Those two kids who died,” she said. “They weren’t riding,” I told her. “Just be careful.” I promised her I would and we somehow broke the connection. It was my night off. What she’d said, though. It was a challenge, wasn’t it? You only have to be careful when you think something can really happen to you. When you’re twenty, twenty-five, nothing in the world can touch you. To prove that still applied to me, I unclamped my bike from the rack, checked the tire pressure front and back, then nodded to myself about this, trucked us downstairs, to the sidewalk that led to the path that ran alongside the creek, up the canyon if I followed that far. It was one, two in the morning. Late enough that the hand-in-hand lovers would be bedded down someplace secret. Late enough that all the smokers who’d promised they’d quit weren’t out for one last drag. Just me and the creatures of the night. My headlight only stabbed fifteen, twenty feet into the darkness. To show I could, that I still had those legs, I pumped hard for the black space of the mountains. I knew better than to try to make the whole climb. But even a little would prove something. I made it the same two miles, not pushing hard, just steady climbing, before I wheeled around, rode gravity back to town. Two homeless men, tuned to nature better than the usual baby stroller crowd, stepped away from each other to let me slip between them at thirty miles per hour. I nodded thanks, but it’s always an empty gesture. You’re going too fast for it to register, and you can’t ever check back to see if they even saw your gratitude. Empty gestures are what make the world go round, though. I swooped under two, three bridges, pedaling though I didn’t really need to. There was still silt on the concrete. It crunched under my tires like sugar granules. “Careful,” I said again, to myself. Just retasting the word. Mining into it for what Doreen had really been trying to get across. I looked down, shut my eyes—I was on a straightaway, the one that tunneled through the next quarter mile or so of trees—watching my top tube coast back and forth instead of doing the first thing Coach always said: keeping my eyes on the line I was taking. My headlight was what saved me from myself. A piece of driftwood, obviously dragged up onto the path. Doing it without thinking—it was years too late to stop—I bunny hopped the wood. When you’re clipped in and your bike goes eleven pounds, you can do this. I came down with both tires at once, like’s proper if you want to keep control, and had to skid immediately, as clearing the next chunk of driftwood would only land me on a third piece. This wasn’t just a symbolic attempt to sabotage the trail. This was set up to hurt any rider who came at it with a head of speed. I didn’t wipe out, though. It was close, but I knew to cantilever out, ahead, and keep hold of the bike so it didn’t crash into me, send us both spinning into the darkness. It was a once-in-fifty tries dismount, but I landed it. Breathing hard from the close call, all the profanity I knew welling up in me, I looked back at what almost was, what should have been if I hadn’t just cashed in all my luck for the next ten years, and then I directed my headlight ahead, into the turn, to what other obstacles awaited. The night cyclists’s white face looked back to me. His white face and his red mouth and chin. His deep black eyes. I flinched, but then realized why he wasn’t already at my throat: He was impaled on the seat post of his own bike. He was impaled just like I would be, if I hadn’t reeled all my speed in. But my speed, it had probably only been half of his. I could see what had happened, too. Like me, he’d bunny hopped over the initial chunk of driftwood but, going faster, his hop had carried him farther, into the next strategically placed driftwood. It had been too much to recover from. He’d probably fallen over sideways, slapped the concrete of the trail hard, but he was going fast enough that instead of splatting into a skid, he bounced, he cartwheeled. And his bike was right there with him, coming apart at its welds, components spinning up into the night sky. Specifically, his seat. Only, the clamp hadn’t let go. The seatpost, it had snapped. A carbon-fiber seatpost, it would have splintered, would be showing thread. An old-style aluminum post like he was running, though, it’ll snap off up near the saddle, leave a ragged tube, a hollow spear. The night cyclist had hit the tree with his back, hard, and an instant later his bike’s seatpost, still extending from the bike itself, had jammed through his sternum. The blood around that wound, it was black, even at this distance. Not red like the blood at his mouth. I adjusted the strap across my chest, only just then realized I had my knives with me. They were clean, like always, but I could tell from the flare of his nostrils that he knew what I was wearing. That this was just one more insult the night had for him. One more stupid thing between him and wherever he was going. His lips thinned, his teeth baring, but before he could complete his display, he whipped his head over to the left. I looked too. Nothing. No sound. And then there was. Not voices, but brush and branches, parting. At first I thought it was the two dead boys from the creek, risen. But one of them had shaped sideburns this time, the other a shaved head. Different college kids. What they were carrying was a double-bit axe and a camp hatchet, one of those kinds with a textured hammer on the back side. And then I realized exactly where we were: at that bend in the creek. It’s why I’d thought they were the dead boys, risen. These were their friends, then. The other night, they’d tried to muscle that big log up onto the trail. This night, they’d come back with proper tools. To finish the job the night cyclist had interrupted. And to avenge their fallen comrades, as they probably saw it. When one of them dragged a flashlight up to the night cyclist, I saw that his chin and mouth, their redness wasn’t from himself. That Double-Bit and Hatchet were still standing, that meant that, a few minutes ago, they’d been three. I finally tracked down to the night cyclist’s feet, and there was the body that had to be there. The boy who had stepped too close, to taunt. At which point his two friends had decided to go for tools. For weapons. And they still hadn’t seen me. Because bicycles, when properly greased, they’re quiet. I laid my bike down into the grass, unlimbered my roll of knives, spread them out before me. I didn’t know for sure that Double-Bit and Hatchet could kill the night cyclist like they wanted—they’d still have to get close—but the sun would be coming up eventually, and if he was still pinned to the tree, then they might as well have killed him. The night cyclist saw me stepping forward but didn’t move a muscle on his face. And, because his eyes showed so little white, even if he was watching me, the two still coming at him wouldn’t have been able to tell. Double-Bit hit him once, swinging his great axe like a baseball bat into the night cyclist’s shoulder, and then Hatchet came not at the night cyclist, but the bike. He caught it on the bottom bracket with the hammer side, the full force of his impact traveling up the aluminum frame, driving the seat post deeper into flesh. The night cyclist didn’t even grunt. The black blood just slipped from his mouth, oiled his chin and chest. He did smile, though. “What do you have to smile about?” Hatchet screamed, bouncing like a boxer on his toes, wrapping up to swing again. Double-Bit smiled, seemingly pleased with how the night was falling out, but he caught me in his peripheral vision, too. At the last possible instant. He turned away just fast enough that my paring knife caught him across his open mouth, instead of his temple, like. The blade crossed between his upper and lower teeth, the dagger-point nicking the bunched-up jaw muscle at the back of his mouth on both sides, I was pretty sure. He reeled back, away from the pain. Into the mouth of the night cyclist, open just as wide as his now was, like a snake about to swallow an egg. When the night cyclist bit in, some of the blood spattered onto my face. I was wearing my backup clear glasses, but still I flinched, blinked. This all in a moment cut so thin it was nearly transparent. In the next moment, Hatchet was turning to me. I flipped the paring knife around and grabbed it by the tip, as if to throw—on the cycling team, we’d fake-lob a water bottle high to someone, then spray them hard with the water bottle we secretly had—and while Hatchet had his arms raise to protect his face, I drove my eight-inch knife up into his belly, digging for his diaphragm. Maybe I got it, I don’t know. He fell back into the night cyclist’s bike, fell back hard enough to crack it to the side, out of the night cyclist, and then the night changed. The night cyclist slumped down, free of the seatpost, his hair hanging over his face, and inside I was screaming at myself to run, to ride, to leave this place. But Hatchet was already coming for me, holding his guts in with one hand, his weapon high in the other. He would have got me, too, if the night cyclist hadn’t stabbed a hand forward, dug his sharp fingers into Hatchet’s calf. Instead of pulling Hatchet’s throat to him, instead of climbing hand over hand up to Hatchet’s throat, he simply pulled that calf to his mouth, and, with Hatchet facedown in the muck now, he drank, and drank deep, his Adam’s apple working up and down with each swallow. His eyes, they never left mine. When Hatchet was drained, just his foot spasming, the night cyclist pulled himself over to Double-Bit, drank some more there as well. And then he rolled over, convulsing in the mud, holding his shoulder. I could have run then, I know. But I didn’t. When he could, he stood weakly, looked up the path the way I’d come, then back the other way. We were alone. He lurched forward, for his ruined bike. “No,” I said. He stopped, studied me, his eyes showing real fatigue for the first time I’d seen. Shaking my head no, I pointed with my paring knife back to the bike in the grass, the one he could surely smell. He looked into that tall grass, then back to me. “Take it already,” I said, and nodded down to his bike. “Need to put this one out of its misery.” His front wheel was taco’d, one drop was lower than the other, and one of the cranks had bent in under the top chainring. I couldn’t imagine going that fast through the darkness, alone. It was a rush just thinking about it. “What the hell are you?” I said when he took that first step bike-ward, though I knew. In reply, he took my paring knife forearm in the cold grip of his good arm, pulled the meat of my hand right up to his mouth. He opened slow. His teeth were impossible. I had my big knife in my other hand, but it might as well have been someone else’s hand. He lowered his teeth to my skin, his eyes never leaving mine, and I understood what he was offering. Eternal youth. Night rides forever. Going faster than I’d ever dreamed. He was offering to share the night with me. What had my scent told him, revealed to him? Standing in the living room of my apartment, had he smelled the flavor of Doreen’s last accusations? I don’t put anything beyond him. Or his kind. When his teeth brushed my skin, I didn’t jerk back, but I did hear myself say it, my eyes welling up: “No.” He stopped, looked up into my face. “I’m going to call her back,” I said, trusting that he knew what I was talking about. Who. He held my eyes for a moment longer, long enough for me consider exactly what I was giving up here, then he nodded, pushed my arm back to me. He licked his lips, dabbing at a bit of dried blood, and then his eyes snapped up to the path. Company, soon. “Go,” I told him, and when he walked by I smelled it on him, from him. The decay. If he ever peeled out of his suit, it must smell like the grave for acres in every direction. Partway to my bike, he scooped up my leather roll, slung it back to me as if it was something any chef could possibly ever just leave lying there. Then he leaned my bike up from the grass, stepped across the top tube then back off, to adjust the seat. Not with a multi-tool, but by pinching the clamp’s bolt between his fingers. When he stood into the pedals, the bike was dialed perfect for him. He clipped in with both feet, just balancing there, getting the feel of this new machine—he liked it, could sense the speed locked in its geometry—and then, without looking back, he powered away, into the silhouette of the Flatirons, which, at night, are the maw of a great cave. Who he must have passed, who showed up two, three minutes later, it was a pregnant woman and a guy. They were bundled up, both crying over something—I’d never know what. He’d let them pass, though, the night cyclist. He surely needed even more blood to rebuild himself, but he needed worse to ride. I understood. With every part of myself, I understood. When the couple got to me, the pregnant woman yelped, stumbled back—I was standing in the gore of three more college kids, both my knives dripping, bug-eyed under the clear glasses, my face spattered with blood—and, and this is why I love the world, why I’m going to cook Doreen’s favorite meal tomorrow, just take it to her: The man, scrawny and useless as he was, he stepped in front of her, to stand between her and the monster I looked to be. “There’s no compulsion to hide the bodies,” I said to them like a joke, spreading my arms as if to showcase my night’s work—words and a gesture that would be on the national news by morning—and then I bowed once and stepped back into the darkness, and came out onto the path a half mile later, walked up onto the plank bridge, my knives cleaned and in their roll again. The waters were surging beneath me, inexorable, going for miles and miles, for centuries. I patted the rail’s cold steel and walked on across, home.

From Horror photos & videos July 14, 2018 at 08:00PM

[cyberdelusionphilosopher-blog]

If someone is unemployed how do they get health insurance?

"If someone is unemployed how do they get health insurance?

I'm trying to understand this Obamacare. What if a person is unemployed and has no income. How are they suppose to get health insurance? How are they gonna fine someone if they have no job. I know one of my friends rather pay the fine cause its cheaper then having health insurance, but what if a person has no job. I really am curious.

BEST ANSWER:  Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://freeinsurancequotes.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr 

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So i passed at 17, Iam 21 now, at the age of 19 i got my licence taken off me for driving without insurance (my fault thought i was insured third party on my dads car with his permission) With 8 points and a fine included. Since 19 ive been taking buses and sick of it missing lessons etc because i commute to Uni. 2 years later ive had enough and passed my test. How on earth do i get insured at 21 with 8 points in Bradford? Surely someone must be in the same boat and have some advice ? I have a car and 3 children and they are nearly all starting school i really need to be driving them there. I want to do the right thing and be fully insured its bin 3 years since i had the in10 cant they not be so harsh as its been so long now. Ive matured and am the calmest driver ive ever been. Thankyou to anyone who helps !""

Education determining car insurance...?

Here in NJ (USA) auto insurance differs by your level of education. I have an associates degree but if I were to put on my insurance that I have a bachelors for cheaper insurance would that be alright? I have been in an accident once and used insurance once and they never asked to see my degree or transcripts.

What will happen when the car dealer finds out I lapsed on my insurance?

I financed a car from an in-house (buy-here-pay-here) finance car dealer, about 2 months ago I lapsed on my insurance, and now the finance company is asking for proof of insurance. I also got into a car crash about 1 month ago, and its currently getting the damages fixed by my hook-up, but not drivable yet. My payments have been made on time every month, as well. So my questions are * What will happen when the car dealer finds out I lapsed on my insurance? * If they repo my car, can I get it back? if so, and how long do I have to get it back?""

How long do I have once I cancel my auto insurance in Florida?

Okay so I just got a quote from Geico that is half of what I'm paying my current insurance company. My insurance payment is due the 23rd though. Now they told me that the whole process of signing up would take from a few days to 30. I wont be driving my car these holidays so would it be possible for me to cancel my coverage with the other company and sign up with Geico. If I cancel will my license get suspended? I just don't wanna have to send the tag back because it cost me 400 dollars to take out.

Should you be able to buy home owners insurance when your house catches fire?

Your house catches fire. You call the fire department and as they're fighting the blaze, you're on the phone looking for home owner's insurance to cover your loss. Do ...show more""

Which is the best child insurance plan?

Which is the best child insurance plan?

What is good car for cheap insurance?

okay im 16 and now have enough money for a car. I want a GM or Ford car what would be a good car from the 90s that would be the cheapest on insurance.

""For Home Owner Insurance purposes, is an unfinised basement included in total square footage of the house?

Are Insurance company underwriters not supposed to include unfinished living areas of the house when determing my total square footage of house for replace cost purposes? My premium went up even though the home inspector from Allstate did not know I had part of my house that is unfinished. I was not home at the time when he did this home based underwriting square footage procedure.

Car insurance question?

Ive got a younger brother who's 16 years old, newly licensed, had his drivers license for about 4-6 months... he's buying a car soon but he's paranoid of what the insurance will be! Its going to be a used car with a lot of miles (90-130K) and he'll spend no more than $4,000 on the vehicle. I know there are discounts for good grades, he has a GPA of 4.2 Advice? How much will it be per month, AND what provider is best? Thanks!""

Car insurance increase?

my friend was pulled over for speeding while unlicensed due to a 6 month lapse in insurance, she was arrested and charged with a misdimeanor of aggrivated unlicensed operation of a vehicle as well as speeding 20 miles over the speed limit. She had at least one other ticket from several months ago that she never paid. it was for talking on a cell phone (illegal in nys). She has gotten other tickets in the past as well but those have long since been taken care of. She is 25. she believes that her car insurance is only going to be $80 a month in a few months when she is able to get her license back, and told me that the speeding ticket it will raise it a little, but the driving without a license and not paying car insurance for 6 months does not affect her rate. Can someone prove her wrong? Has anyone experienced an increase in their car insurance because of a lapse or becuase they were arrested for driving without a license?""

What is the best way a low income student can get health insurance?

Again, low income and can't rely on parents and how could I get retro coverage for an emergency bill a month ago. Currently uninsured, only insurrance is car insurrance.""

What is a good life insurance?

Does anyone know a good life insurance that they would recommend? and would you recommened term or whole?

Collingwood Drivers Insurance?

I'm currently looking to get provisional driving insurance with this company and was wondering do I also need a full insurance policy alongside the provisional one with this company, Can not find any information about it thanks""

Is car insurance mandatory in the United States?

My friend told me that in some States, you don't need car insurance. Is this true or do you have to have it before driving your car?""

Ex husband to pay off car. Who pays insurance?

Since my ex is paying my car off in the divorce shouldn't he be responsible for the full coverage insurance? I cant afford full coverage. If I only get liability should he cover the rest to obtain full coverage? Help!

Is it misandric that young men have to pay more for car insurance?

I mean, its noted that young men tend to have more severe accidents, than women and older men - but isnt this just another case of generalising based on age and sex? A similar generalisation made about women, would have caused an uproar and certainly no policies would have been based on such generalisations about women - as it would face immediate protest, then why is it OK to generalise young men like this? Source : http://education.yahoo.net/auto-insurance/articles/why_do_men_pay_more_for_car_insurance.htm""

What are my health insurance options?

I recently changed jobs to a small company that does not provide health insurance. I was turned down when I applied independently to Aetna for medical reasons. Would the decision of another company likely be any different or is COBRA my only option? Despite some issues in my medical history I virtually never go to the doctor and would be happy with a plan that just covers unexpected catastrophic issues but I'm not sure how to go about looking for that.

If someone is unemployed how do they get health insurance?

I'm trying to understand this Obamacare. What if a person is unemployed and has no income. How are they suppose to get health insurance? How are they gonna fine someone if they have no job. I know one of my friends rather pay the fine cause its cheaper then having health insurance, but what if a person has no job. I really am curious.

Teen drivers??? what is the average cost of insurance for a teenage girl?

its my first time buying insurance and im trying to average the cost and calculate some things...what do you pay?

How much will the insurance pay me?

I got a 87 mustang and a truck hit my front bumper. I made a report and i need to wait about for days to pick up the report at the police station. I had a Stalker front bumper by the way. How much y'all thing there going to give me back, because they usually send a check after they inspect the car. They need to buy a $500 Stalker Cervini bumper install it and paint it. It was his fault and his insurance needs to pay, but im just wondering because sometimes insurance companies are pain in th bud!!""

Third party fire and theft? car insurance?

hi im currently searching for car insurance and ive been quoted 2800 for comprehensive insurance and when i gave third party fire and theft it came out to 1700 the car is a corsa 998c 2006 what is the difference between them both? thanks

Question about car insurance?

My grandmother traded my car in & got me an 06 explorer. They financed it threw C&F fiance Company. The interest rate it 16.99% and the payments are $439.57 for 72 months. My question is, after we got home she got to looking at the paperwork and realized they put GAP insurance on the car charging $625.00 What exactly is this insurance? Is it necessary with me with my full coverage? Why was she not asked rather she wanted this kind of insurance or not? Thanks to anyone that may could possibly help me!""

What type of lawyer do I need to fight a car insurance company?

I was involved in a car accident where the car insurance company for the other person involved is supposed to pay for my car andnhave accepted liability for the accident. But. I haven't received any payment from them. And it's been 4 months! I want to hire a lawyer, just need to know what type do I look for...???? Thanks in advance""

Which is the best medical insurance policy?

which is the best medical insurance policy in india..? i need a mediclaim policy for my Family(3 members). lic ,star health, icici or any other else..? please suggest me.""

Who is the most dependable Motorcycle insurances and the cheapest?

What all do I really needfar as coverage..I have good medical already...what's the minimum coverage? I have a new HD fatboy 2006 with the 1689 cc with custom pipes. I just wantthe basic coverage. How much is a good premium?

Best car insurance price for financed cars?

I'm only 19, and I'm getting a financed car VERY soon. I know I can't look at the big name guys, cause I've already done that and they want $450 a month just for a car with no power and isn't even sport. I plan on either getting a 2009-10 Dodge Avenger or 2009-10 Nissan Altima/Sentra. I have had car insurance without a gap for almost 2 years now on my current car, so I won't have any problems having anyone cover me or anything. I live in FL, so if anyone knows of any small insurance companies that are good with financed cars and teens, PLEASE list it below. Thanks.""

Has anyone heard of critical illness insurance?

Has anyone ever used or benefited from ctitical illness insurance through Great-West Life insurance? I am thinking of getting it, I am a health male 38 year old in Canada?""

Retiring at 62 need health insurance?

I live in Florida, work at Walmart. How can I get health insurance if I retire at age 62?""

How much would insurance cost for my moped?

So I'm going to be 16 soon and I'm going to get a 50cc moped. Could someone tell me what the average cost of insurance would cost please? Thanks

Part-time and need affordable health benefits. Any suggestions?

My COBRA is running out in 4 months. Any suggestions for affordable benefits for part-time workers? Thanks!

How much insurance cost for 350z?

how much does it cost for insurance on a 350z for a 19yr old guy clean driving record in Texas?

One day car insurance?

Does anyone know were a 20 year old girl can get one day/week car insurance or is it pointless looking? Can't seem to find any for under 21's and i don't have time to go to family insurance companies tomorrow. its urgent!!

Do you have to show proof of insurance to register a car in utah? ?

I just bought a used 2004 car in utah. I got a temporary tag using my bill of sale and title. A paper they gave me said all I need is my safety and emissions to register fully. But my parents are insisting I need proof of insurance to register. I plan on getting insurance within the next week. I just want to get my plates on by tomorrow if I could. Please someone help.

Does home owners insurance covers water leaking ac ?

my central unit ac is leaking ,i have insurace but not sure if it will cover it . please help!""

What is the difference between farmer's insurance and state farm?

I'm confuse. and what is the best insurance company.

Would a fix it ticket raise your insurance?

I just got pulled over for a minor issue. My tags were expired, but I had the new sticker and I just forgot to put it on. I got a fix it ticket and I was just curious if it would affect my insurance. I live in California.""

What is the cheapest car insurance?

I had State Farm but they terminated my insurace because of to many tickets, i herd Progressive was cheap, what do you think? I am 19 by the way""

I need RV insurance! Who is the best RV insurance company out there?

I need RV insurance and currently live in California. Who provides the best priced RV insurance with good customer service?

Does AAA charge more for tow insurance if you have old heaps for cars?

For years I have frowned upon this service. But now considering it since our cars are getting old. 100K+ miles each. About how much does this cost a year? And do you have to pay a deductible, or do they cover the entire tow? Still don't know if I should break down and consider a service like this. (I'm anti extra insurance on anything) I think Geico (my ins co.) has coverage for this also""

""I'm a 20 year old girl who has just passed my driving test,whats the best small car for insurance,as I dont kn

The car will be roughly 5 or 6 years old it goes by insurance band levels WHICH i AM LOST WITH

How much should it cost for a 16 years old driver to get a insurance?

How much should it cost for a 16 years old driver to get a insurance?

Help! driver's license and auto insurance?

so I just got my driver's license (im 18), but i don't have a car yet. im driving my mom's car, is that ok? do we need to call the insurance comany and tell them to add my name to our car insurance? do we need to pay extra money? thanx for ur time! p.s. we r in Maine""

Thinking of switching to Progressive Insurance?

Would like to know if anyone has Progressive Insurance for auto insurance. Would like to switch to them from Farmers because I can double my coverage for the same price as Farmers. Has anyone had problems with Progressive such as filing a claim? or rate increases for no reason. I have not had an accident in over 14 years, knock on wood. Just afraid if I switch my rates will go up for no reason. I know there is good and bad about Progressive. Any input would help. I live in California""

If someone is unemployed how do they get health insurance?

I'm trying to understand this Obamacare. What if a person is unemployed and has no income. How are they suppose to get health insurance? How are they gonna fine someone if they have no job. I know one of my friends rather pay the fine cause its cheaper then having health insurance, but what if a person has no job. I really am curious.

Car Insurance?

I just got my license and my parents bought me a used car (03 Nissan Sentra). It has insurance under my mom's name, but not mine. Can I legally drive that car and if I do get into an accident driving it, will it be covered?""

Car insurance help!!?

ok, im trying to get the cheapest insurance possible. i am 18, i have over a 3.5 in high school, i took drivers ed, and i have never had any problems with the law. oh and if it matters i live in oregon so which car insurance company will be the least expensive?""

Insurance for new driver.?

does anyone know how much the insurance would be for a clio or a 106 for a new driver?

How much does the average person pay yearly for car insurance?

I'm considering buying a 2007 Nissan Sentra or Toyota Corolla. It may be new or certified pre owned.

Will the insurance company cover my accident on a rental car?

What happen if i rent a car in my friends name and take it out of state but use my dad's insurance card? I am only 19 and live with him. I am not adding my name as the secondary driver at the rental place. If i get in a accident in a different state will my dad's insurance cover the accident. And i can't rent in my dad's name. So that's out of the option. I am renting in Georgia and going to Florida. Thank you

How Much Is Insurance For A Mustang?

I'm 16 and am looking into getting a 2000 or 2001 mustang/mustang gt. im a great driver. my parents have travelers for auto insurance, and they're going to add my car to their insurance. my parents are also great drivers, no wrecks/tickets or anything. what is the average i would have to pay for my car insurance each month? thanks:)""

Car insurance cost if I want car insurance only 3 months?

Hi, I'd like to buy car insurance for only 3 months, and I'm wondering how much this will cost me approximately. * car price: $3000 * city: Phoenix * new driver, no record Could someone give me a ballpark figure please? Do you think it will be more like $300 (this is $100 per month) or more like $1500 (this is $500 per month)..... I have no idea. Thank you in advance.""

""How much does it cost to be on birth control w/ no insurance, how often do you have to see a doctor?

thanks

Is the presidents plan to get everyone insured but no one covered?

The Affordable Care Act is a pro-insurance-industry plan implemented by a president. You have to closely look at your plans. Know what illnesses you are going to come down with. See what kind of medications you will need. Know all the advanced medical care needed and the facilities needed. Then insure they are in your plan. That is only the easy part. When you sign up. You should daily check to see if you are covered. People are going to emergency rooms thinking they are covered when they are not. Democrat have an answer to out of network medications and doctors. Pay out of pocket. Democrats say it is personal responsibility to know every disease facilities and medications needed for every conceivable disease. Then insure they are in your plan. Democrats have your best interests at heart when they insure your sex life is listed in your medical record. Democrats would never misuse sex or gun information requested in Obama Care by looking in the electronic records. They are safer then the doctor putting them in a file and keeping them in their office. Now they keep it in their office and a database that Obama can access.

Motorcycle insuance question?

I am 18 in CA and I plan to get a motorcycle as my first motorcycle because of high gas prices. I am thinking of getting the Kat 600 because of its comfort, I read so many reviews how good it is for long trips and stuff, now how much might my insurance be, also take note that I am getting one used and that I have 0 road experience even in a car, and I am starting my own insurance policy. Thanks.""

Would unemployment insurance work better if it were run by a private insurance company?

Would unemployment insurance work better if it were run by a private insurance company?

""I was informed that my surgery will not be covered by my insurance, and so what can I do?

Is there an additional insurance I can buy immediately or a California option to get me through this?

What is The best Auto Insurance to get?

What is The best Auto Insurance to get?

Insurance nightmare help?

tommorow im leaving for florida in my grandmothers car. i just discovered the car hasnt had a proof of insurance for over a year. if i cannot find a proof of insurance i cannot begin my 1300 mile trip to florida. does anyone have any ideas on some way we can get a proof of insurance between now and tomorow at 9 am?

Insurance on a 1979 Dodge Challenger?

I know I've asked this before but this time I'm just being a little more specific. I'm looking for how much insurance would be on a 1979 Dodge Challenger. I live in Ontario Canada near Toronto. I am a male and single. School and work are within 15 Kilometres of my house. I will be 18 when I get the car, I will be the principal driver on this car and there are 3 other drivers in my house. My driving record is clean, no accidents or tickets.""

Why won't insurance pay for my MRI?

I'm 16 and I've been having problems with my TMJ. So a month or two ago I went to the hospital for an MRI on both sides of my jaw. Yesterday my mother told me that they are charging $11,000 for my MRI and insurance isn't going to pay for it. She also told me my maxillofacial specialist told her at the most it should have been $3000 total or $1200 for each side. Why does insurance pay for the surgery to correct TMJ disorders but not the MRI to diagnose it? Even when surgery is a last resort effort to correct the problem and isn't recommended most of the time. And it sucks even more for me once I am 18 because I'm basically screwed.""

Insurance prices for 17 year old male?

I would like to buy a car after just passing my test. Which would be cheaper for insurance? A ford ka, fiesta. a vw lupo or a nissan micra? All second hand of course. Or any other suggestions are welcome""

""5. If you get paid $8.00 per hour at your job and insurance is $200 a month, how many hours will you have to..?

work to pay for insurance?

Cheapest car insurance? Don't care if my car gets damaged.?

Hi, I have a really old car that I just want to use to get around town. I don't care if it gets damaged in a crash or whatever, because it already looks terrible. SO, how do I get the most basic and cheapest car insurance? Does anybody know what company will charge the least for insurance?""

BEST CAR INSURANCE?????????????????????...

Generally, which car insurance company has the best price for full coverage for a 19 year old female. I know many things can change the price, but I just want a general quote. note: I want to insure a 2006 traillblazer, 4-door with 18,000 miles.""

How will USAA Insurance decide how much my car is worth in an accident?

I'm not a member and was not at fault - the liable party was a USAA client. I had a 1996 VW Passat and am waiting to hear if they are going to total it. If they do, how do they determine worth? How soon will I get the money?""

What if I can't afford health insurance? How is that Affordable Health Care ?

What if I can't afford health insurance? How is that Affordable Health Care ?

Should I change my Car Insurance company?

I am planning to renew my current automobile insurance policy. I am told by my current provider that in spite of my clean driving record, automobile insurance rates are rising. In light of developments and changes in insurance carriers, policies and regions, is this TRUE or am I being told a partial-truth ?""

""Getting my new car, Challenger 2009, any insurance rates?""

How much would the APPROXIMATE insurance rate be on a 2009 Dodge Challenge R/T? I know it won't be low, but it won't be that high since it's an American car....correct? Her is the bad part...My record. 2 Accidents and a stop sign...But i will turn 18 soon if that matters. Car Info (another bad thing) 5.7 Liter V8 Hemi, 375 horses. How much is the Approximate insurance guys, just throw me an estimate.""

How much is a down payment on a insurance rate of $161?

Im looking to buy progressive and they're rating my car at 161 a month. if anyone has this rate, do you remember what you paid?""

If someone is unemployed how do they get health insurance?

I'm trying to understand this Obamacare. What if a person is unemployed and has no income. How are they suppose to get health insurance? How are they gonna fine someone if they have no job. I know one of my friends rather pay the fine cause its cheaper then having health insurance, but what if a person has no job. I really am curious.

Auto Insurance rates?

Is there a web site where I can see how a particular type of car rates for insurance vs another car?

How much is goin to cost me per month if i own a peugeot 206?

im 19 and a student at uni, i want to buy a but im nt really sure how much it will cost me can someone help me. i will be travellin about 5miles per day with the car road tax servicing insurance petrol etc""

Is honesty really the best policy when insuring a car?

Is honesty really the best policy when insuring a car?

What's the average cost of maintenance of a recreational aircraft (piper archer III)?

How much you would have to pay annually to maintain a hobby like this one. Including fuel, hangar, insurance, etc.""

Will my insurance cover my newborn?

Ok right now i have Gateway, (I know, not the best insurance) my fiancee does not have insurance threw his job, but will my insurance cover my babys when she is born in September? Or how do i go about getting it?""

How much will my father's insurance go up for me?

yea well i want my license and he says no because it will raise his insurance through the roof. just how much will it increase? im 18 and i live in brooklyn. the car id drive would be a 06 nissan maxima. any idea around how much it would go up?

Car insurance?

I am a newly licensed driver and i dont know who insures them. Please help. I am 19 and own a jeep cher. If you are or know anyone that could help it would thanked. I am also in California.

What would my insurance be around?

how much money a month would my insurance be around for a 17 year old with drivers ed course and been insurance for 7months the car I want is a 1984 cutlass and just say the car is worth 1500 and please no stupid answers

Insurance question??

Could i have a vehicle put in my name (because i make the payments).And the insurance in my girlfriends name (because its cheaper) in the state of ky?

Why does Infinity car insurance suck?

everytime i called them for help they always sounds like they are mad and rude at the same time, and they don't even care about helping me out just by the sounds of their voice!!! my question is what a good car insurance out there???""

How do insurance companies handle cars rolling into others?

I was changing the oil in my truck with my boyfriend and all of a sudden my truck just started to roll down the driveway and rolled right into his car. I know im am totally responsible for it but i want use my insurance but i don't want my rates to go up. So i was wondering how insurance companies handle this situation i have Mercury.

What are the best car insurance sites for a 17 year old male?

Im just looking what sort of prices id be looking at for insurance for small cars (1.0/1.1 engines) and cant get a quote under 3000. Who are the best insurance providers for recently passed 17 year olds?

How expensive would liability insurance be for a pageant?

I am directing a pageant, and I have to have liability insurance to host it at the place we are hosting it. How much would that cost?""

3rd party/ business car insurance?

Because im a young driver my insurance will be really expensive so i am getting 3rd cover insurance however this job i found requires me to have b1 insurance my question is do i have a have a comprehensive insurance to also have a b1 insurance? and how much more would business insurance cost me?

Taking new car home with no insurance?

So the car is in my Moms name and she has insurance, but she has to drive her car home, meaning I have to drive the other one. I don't have insurance, but we are getting GAP insurance. Is this safe? If I damage the car are we covered?""

What is the difference between being forced to buy auto insurance and being forced to buy health insurance?

From my understanding: People have to buy health insurance so that if people get sick/injured, other people won't have to pay for them. Medical bills are very expensive so that's why people have it. And if a patient doesn't pay their medical bills due to not being able to afford it they will be treated anyway because of the Emergency Medical Treatment and Active Labor Act. The health insurance companies will compensate for this by raising insurances rates of the insured. Having car insurance is so that if a driver causes an accident that driver's insurance can pay for the victim's damages. But if an uninsured driver hits an insured driver, the auto insurance company is allowed to raise the insured driver's rates. The reason for this is because the insurance company has to pay for their insured driver's car because there is no on else to pay up, and sometimes even they raise rates because they believe the insured driver is purposely putting themselves in situations to cause accidents. And it is a fact that unless a person lives in a major US city such as New York City, driving a car is a necessity. You need a car to be able to function in a non-metro environment without a car. The only time a person should have their driving privilege taken away unless they hurt someone. So the point is if another person doesn't pay into either health or auto insurance. The people who do pay lose. Because their rates increase. I don't see any significant punishment for people who do without either insurance. Because I know illegal immigrants pull stunts like these all the time. So I just don't see how their different.""

Is it true that most Americans that have health insurance are getting it from the federal government or their?

state? If this is true why not have affordable health care for all. We can't all work for the federal government or for the state we live in. Most companies can't afford ...show more

What company should my son contact for affordable health insurance in the state of Virginia?

What company should my son contact for affordable health insurance in the state of Virginia?

How much does it cost to insure this car?

Im 17 years old and im planning on buying a car soon and the car i want is a 2002 Acura RSX, but i heard it expensive to insure? I havent been in any accidents no tickets. Iv had my license for more than year. And I live in the state of IL. My dad is planning on putting my name in his insurance as well and i just want to know how much it would cost to insure this car? We have state farm. Oh yeah another question since we are talking about insurnace do they give you an option to pay every month or every six months?""

Can i claim insurance if i'm driving amother car?

if i was driving my friend's car and we got into an accident, can i claim insurance on her car under MY NAME/POLICY, since i have my own insurance with my own car?""

Why is reasonable profit for insurance companies bad?

Many jobs are provided in insurance.

Please help. Is it a must to get a car insurance in order to use and drive my car?

Hi guys, I wanna buy a car, but I wanna be sure if I have to get a car insurance in order to drive my car legally on the streets. Thanks XD""

How can OBAMA force people to pay for health insurance without providing financial security as first priority?

Guess it is real hard for the people with huge income's to understand what life is like for millions of Americans going without proper diets/food/income NOW like about 50-75 million people in USA mostly several generational Americans while the federal govt keeps providing cheap labor immigrants for business!!!

Should I take off full coverage and just get liability insurance on my car?

I have a 2001 Ford Taurus worth around $5k according to kbb.com. Should I take full coverage insurance off of the car and just get liability? I am not accident prone (though I ...show more

How much is insurance on a Kawasaki Ninja R6 with 636cc displacement?

Im wanting to buy this bike, but all the insurance companies I have found are outrageous. Do you know of any that offer cheap insurance?""

If someone is unemployed how do they get health insurance?

I'm trying to understand this Obamacare. What if a person is unemployed and has no income. How are they suppose to get health insurance? How are they gonna fine someone if they have no job. I know one of my friends rather pay the fine cause its cheaper then having health insurance, but what if a person has no job. I really am curious.

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/how-can-you-add-illegal-alien-your-car-insurance-where-carlene-ostara"

[owlways-and-forever]

Cześć kochanie! Fairy lights, moodboard, sunrise, bands, grunge, lightning, love proszę! (Mira)

Dzięki Mira, kochanie!!

Fairy lights: if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about anything, what would you want to know?

if i’ll ever find love, and with who

Moodboard: do you feel you had a happy childhood?

I grew up like an old timey kid, I didn’t watch much tv, I played outside all the time, when the whole family was together the kids roamed free and nobody knew what we were doing, and all that was great, so in that sense, yes, i had a happy childhood. But i also struggled a lot with my parents divorce, and i remember experiencing depression first when i was 12, so in those senses, it wasn’t entirely happy. but isn’t everyone’s childhood (and life really) a combination?

Sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally.

Differences of language and habit are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open. - JK Rowling, Goblet of Fire

I love this quote because I feel like its something we could all do with remembering these days. We get so caught up in who’s from what country, and who’s what religion, but the thing is that none of it matters. It doesn’t matter if we’re different ethnicities or different religions as long as we’re all open to each other and we all want the same things, if we all want peace.

Bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way.

Two years ago, I had a particularly difficult few months, in which I lost four family members in the span of three months, some very unexpectedly. about a month and a half later, patd released doab, and impossible year in particular was somewhat of a respite, and i listened to it constantly for a while. 

Grunge: who in the world would you most like to receive a letter from and what would you want it to say?

sillier answer - it’d be great to get a letter from my crush saying he’s madly in love with me.

more serious answer - from someone dead, idk my aunt or one of my grandparents, just idk telling me things are going to be okay, that they’re proud of me, giving me advice? just anything really, just to hear from them. if it has to be someone living, then i guess from my ex, saying that everything that happened is okay, that he forgives me. i was young and still having a lot of trouble dealing with some of my issues, and it affected our relationship in negative ways, and being older and wiser now, i know that a lot of it wasnt healthy or fair, and it would be nice to know that its okay, no hard feelings. 

Lightning: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high?

BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS, ITS STORY TIME. I’ve got two different stories and one is more funny embarrassing kind of worst and the other is like shit show kind of worst.

Story #1. It’s sophomore year of college, Halloween, and I have a 9am flight back home in the morning, but my friend convinces me to go to the frats with her anyway, and we proceed to get shitfaced, and it should be known that I’m banned from using my phone when drunk because I have an embarrassing tendency to text anyone I can manage to open a conversation with “omg you’re so hot”. Except on this particular night, my friend decided to hook up with one of the frat guys, and me, not wanting to abandon her in a frat house, decided to park my ass in the hallway at like, the opposite end of the hall. But of course, then I’m bored as well as plastered, so I whip out my phone because aha there’s no one to stop me anymore, and I start talking to this guy in my class that I sort of had a thing for. And it’s going pretty well, we’re chatting, and I’m rapidly becoming more incoherent as the alcohol kicks in, and he asks me “how is it possible that you’ve become completely incoherent in such a short time span” to which my answer, i shit you not, was “idkkkk but you’re hottttt” perfectly executed, not a single letter out of place. i dont remember what his answer was because what really stands out is that apparently i also decided to try to send this message to my mother at 3:00 in the morning. which of course prompted her to try to call me at 4am because she got a completely unintelligible text message and obviously she thought i was being kidnapped.

Story #2. when i was in morocco, a bunch of university kids decided to throw a fourth of july party for the american students, and so they rented a house and got lots of beer and liquor and assorted drugs and really whatever they could get their hands on. so we’re partying and having fun, and i decide i want a little bit of a buzz, so my friend and i decide to go try to find some weed to smoke, except what they dont teach you in language classes is how to ask for weed, so we’re trying to mime this to some guys and idk eventually we think we’re all on the same page, so she and i start smoking with them, and we smoke a lot, like seriously, large quantities of weed, and naturally i make out with one of the guys in return for the weed, and this guy that i sort of liked walked in on us, which was kind of awk, and so then i went after him and told him that it should’ve been him i was making out with, could still be him if he wanted (why i thought that was a good idea i’ll never know), anyway, at some point i went upstairs, talked to this other guy who is super awesome, but he’s drinking out of a bowl which is very confusing to my mind so i ask about it and he says its magic soup, and im like holy shit magic soup thats fucking awesome, and he gives it to me to try and im like wtf dude that is not magic soup thats fucking beer, i spend some time talking to people, the whole time i cant seem to decide which language i want to speak like im switching back and forth every other sentence. i go back downstairs and am hanging out (i may have smoked some more, i dont remember?) and then i decide to go upstairs, and someone else also goes upstairs, but at this point the paranoia starts to set in and i decide that the other person is following me, so i fucking run upstairs, crying, and find my sober friend, and cant manage to explain whats wrong so my friend is just kind of like okay how bout some sleep and helps me get settled, except the poor guy has to also take care of our other friend who’s vomiting, but i start sobbing every time im left alone, so its a fucking mess, and then somebody says the police are coming, so we all fucking run for it, except its like 2-3am and our university is closed campus, and the gates are locked until 6am, so we cant go back, so we find a park and decide to sleep there, and which point i’m a royal pain in the ass, and magic soup guy has to give me is button down and backpack so i can sleep comfortably on my bench, and then at 6am we went back to campus, got out stuff, and met the bus for an 8 hour drive to the fucking desert and let me tell you ive never wanted someone to kill me more than i did on that fucking bus ride. and that’s when i found out that it wasn’t weed we’d been smoking at all it was hasish, and long story short don’t ever smoke hashish like its weed because it will fuck you up

Love: have you ever fallen in love? describe what it feels like to realise you’re in love.

Once, a long time ago. He used to say there was a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. I don’t know when I realized I was in love with him though, to be honest. It was such a long dance for us - first I hated him, then we were friends, then we were trading off liking each other while seeing other people. I guess… I guess there were two moments when I knew, kind of related. The first was shortly before we started dating. I wore a claddagh ring, one that I’d gotten in a flea market for like $10, but I never took it off, except when I was swimming. One day, I’d been at his house and we’d gone swimming, and I accidentally left my ring there, and I was freaking out when I realized, He wore it for a few days until he could get it back to me, and we had an in depth conversation about why it was so important to me, and I told him that it was symbolic but the actual physical ring meant nothing, and he told me that when he went to ireland a month later he wanted to get me a new one, so that i’d have one that meant something to me, not just symbolically. it was really touching, the fact that he paid attention to how important it was to me, and he wanted to do something to make it even more special. and to not even expect anything in return, i just remember feeling so special, like i was precious to someone else, irreplaceable, and it was an amazing feeling. the second time was i guess a little less than two months after we started dating, he was playing with the ring and made a comment about one day getting married, and he wouldn’t get me a diamond ring, he’d get me sapphire. it’s such a small thing, but it was… he knew me so well. i dont like diamonds, never really have, they’re too glittery and fancy for my taste, but anyway, idk just being with someone who knew me well enough to know that about me without me ever saying it, or ever really thinking about it, it just, idk, i felt like i was whole, complete. i felt like he was my other half, and it was just a very warm and fuzzy feeling, idk. 

[saintkimora]

ooh a lot happened on thursday and friday. my fave part was when my sociology prof literally gave up in class bc we “looked bored”

so on thursday my first class was sociology and for some reason the topic of the lecture was nyc? i literally have no idea what that has to do w sociology esp when he spent so much time teaching us about his “alternative plan” for how nyc should be run. his plan was that there would be no cars allowed. anyways it was super boring obv and he ended class like 20 min earlier than when its supposed to end which he literally NEVER does. he was like “folks i just cant take looking at all of your bored faces, it makes me feel like im failing as a professor. idk maybe ive just lost my touch. class dismissed” like hes always so sensitive asfjadgnadf like last time when someone accidentally made a sound while yawning in class he went OFF he was like “youre lucky i dont know which one of you just yawned so im just gonna say whoever did it youre a fucking asshole and your parents must have done a bad job raising you for you to have no fucking manners. asshole” like...its a 9am class ofc people are gonna yawn LMAO hes so dramatic and he was like “if whoever did it doesnt come forward by the end of class and apologize im done trying with you guys” like this is the most cracked prof ive ever had

then psych was pretty uneventful except for this one part where i saw the 2nd hottest guy in the class (vikram is first obv) he came in wearing shorts even though it was still cold out and he had such nice hairy legs AND he had ass i was smitten. his name is hassan and hes so cute and has like cute dark brown eyes and he has nice facial hair

then in anatomy we watched the best video in like...the history of man. we are currently doing the heart so i guess this has to do with it bc its about heart attacks. so the prof pulled up this video from extreme pigouts about the “heart attack grill” and it was the FUNNIEST video i was literally crying in class while we were watching it. it was the most ive laughed in like...a year. like its called the heart attack grill bc its so unhealthy and they serve like quadruple burgers and stuff and the funny part is that all the waitresses have to dress up as “sexy” nurses and they refer to customers as patients and orders as prescriptions and they like check the patients vitals before taking their order ASFNAKFENGSK and the person who started the restaurant is a DOCTOR and they showed him on the grill pressing the burgers with a stethoscope lmao and they use so much lard and instead of like a salad bar they have a fry bar like it is just the messiest restaurant and my new dream is to work there as one of the nurses. and it was even funnier bc my classmates were so grossed out and confused 

after it ended my anatomy prof looked at me and he was like “i think perry enjoyed that a little too much...lets all pitch in and get him a gift certificate for it” ooh my man noticed how much i was laughing

then on friday the first thing i had was this budget training for the treasurers of the clubs. theres like 4 dif dates for it since they wouldnt be able to fit all of the treasurers in one session so i went to the first one and it was just 2 people including me (the last training thing was 3 people including me) and the guy doing the presentation was the same guy from the last training and he is like... literally THE cutest. his name is claudio and he is a grad student i think and i usually dont care for guys w/o facial hair but it works for him bc he is just so good looking! like he has nice hair and lips and the cutest smile and he has some of those mole/beauty mark (?) things on his face and he has like gay voice (but he has a gf rip) and he has a nice ass too and his mannerisms while talking are so cute too like...i love him. anyways the actual presentation was whatever but im gonna have to write out the gsa budget for next semester soon and it is stressing me out

then i had a little over an hour until my next thing so instead of going home i decided to go to the library and work on my orgo lab stuff! i only went bc it was a friday so i knew it wouldnt be too crowded. so ya it was nice i was able to do like half of my next mini report 

then at 3 i had to go participate in a psych study bc we if you take gen psych you have to participate in studies. and it was iconic bc we had to complete an online personality survey beforehand and then i came in and she gave me a print out of my results and then she went to go print out the debriefing forms while i read my results and it said for future problems i was at risk for having a “socially avoidant personality” or something and this analysis DRAGGED me it was like “you will most likely end up alone you will lose all of your friendships and relationships by your mid 20s and any marriages you have will not last” i was bald then a while later she came back in and i had to fill out a form for how i was feeling rn and then i realized it was a trick lol and she was like yeah we give everyone that analysis and it was a test to see if people use their phone to escape stressful situations and we’ve been videotaping you this whole time and it was true i guess bc after reading it i did go on my phone while waiting for her! but idk if it was really applicable to me bc i wasnt really stressed i was laughing about it bc i know not to take these kinds of personality tests too seriously but yeah that was a fun little trick they tried to pull on me

also i reinstalled grindr and kyle started messaging me but he wasnt free at all this weekend bc his mom came to visit smh but after that we are going to start seeing each other. he is fine w either a relationship or just hooking up but i told him i wasnt ~emotionally available~ for a relationship when actually i am just not with him bc once freddy has time for me in his life again im gonna go back to him