#feat. aunt may

[pool-spidey]

[whetstonefires]

You know what I realize that people underestimate with Pride & Prejudice is the strategic importance of Jane.

Because like, I recently saw Charlotte and Elizabeth contrasted as the former being pragmatic and the latter holding out for a love match, because she's younger and prettier and thinks she can afford it, and that is very much not what's happening.

The Charlotte take is correct, but the Elizabeth is all wrong. Lizzie doesn't insist on a love match. That's serendipitous and rather unexpected. She wants, exactly as Mr. Bennet says, someone she can respect. Contempt won't do. Mr. Bennet puts it in weirdly sexist terms like he's trying to avoid acknowledging what he did to himself by marrying a self-absorbed idiot, but it's still true. That's what Elizabeth is shooting for: a marriage that won't make her unhappy.

She's grown up watching how miserable her parents make one another; she's not willing to sign up for a lifetime of being bitter and lonely in her own home.

I think she is very aware, in refusing Mr. Collins, that it's reasonably unlikely that anyone she actually respects is going to want her, with her few accomplishments and her lack of property. That she is turning down security and the chance keep the house she grew up in, and all she gets in return may be spinsterhood.

But, crucially, she has absolute faith in Jane.

The bit about teaching Jane's daughters to embroider badly? That's a joke, but it's also a serious potential life plan. Jane is the best creature in the world, and a beauty; there's no chance at all she won't get married to someone worthwhile.

(Bingley mucks this up by breaking Jane's heart, but her prospects remain reasonable if their mother would lay off!)

And if Elizabeth can't replicate that feat, then there's also no doubt in her mind that Jane will let her live in her house as a dependent as long as she likes, and never let it be made shameful or awful to be that impoverished spinster aunt. It will be okay never to be married at all, because she has her sister, whom she trusts absolutely to succeed and to protect her.

And if something eventually happens to Jane's family and they can't keep her anymore, she can throw herself upon the mercy of the Gardeners, who have money and like her very much, and are likewise good people. She has a support network--not a perfect or impregnable one, but it exists. It gives her realistic options.

Spinsterhood was a very dangerous choice; there are reasons you would go to considerable lengths not to risk it.

But Elizabeth has Jane, and her pride, and an understanding of what marrying someone who will make you miserable costs.

That's part of the thesis of the book, I would say! Recurring Austen thought. How important it is not to marry someone who will make you, specifically, unhappy.

She would rather be a dependent of people she likes and trusts than of someone she doesn't, even if the latter is formally considered more secure; she would rather live in a happy, reasonable household as an extra than be the mistress of her own home, but that home is full of Mr. Collins and her mother.

This is a calculation she's making consciously! She's not counting on a better marriage coming along. She just feels the most likely bad outcome from refusing Mr. Collins is still much better than the certain outcome of accepting him. Which is being stuck with Mr. Collins forever.

Elizabeth is also being pragmatic. Austen also endorses her choice, for the person she is and the concerns she has. She's just picking different trade-offs than Charlotte.

Elizabeth's flaw is not in her own priorities; she doesn't make a reckless choice and get lucky. But in being unable to accept that Charlotte's are different, and it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with Charlotte.

Because realistically, when your marriage is your whole family and career forever, and you only get to pick the ones that offer themselves to you, when you are legally bound to the status of dependent, you're always going to be making some trade-offs.

😂 Even the unrealistically ideal dream scenario of wealthy handsome clever ethical Mr. Darcy still asks you to undergo personal growth, accommodate someone else's communication style, and eat a little crow.

[nightdiary]

last night's story | jake

pairing: jake x female reader word count: 28.2k

synopsis: lured by the prospect of earning a couple extra bucks for the summer, you head north to man your aunt's surf shop on australia's sunshine coast. it's a visit that reacquaints you with everything you've been running from– old friends, abandoned memories, and one unforgettable jake sim.

genre: surfer!jake, childhood friends to exes to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, attempt at humor

warnings: surfing inaccuracies galore, reader almost drowns, smut (fem oral receiving, fingering, penetrative sex). MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! please let me know if i've missed anything.

Despite growing up a five-minute drive from the ocean, you’d never quite learned how to keep yourself afloat among the waves.

Looking back on it, you found it quite ironic considering how everything you loved somehow tied back to the ocean one way or another. Whether it was your vacant seaside town, the colorful dishes your aunt prepared for you as a kid, or the people you cherished most– all of it was somehow irrevocably intertwined with the water.

And yet you’d always felt an unexplainable dread when you found yourself a bit too deep in. Once past the shallow end, surrounded by erratic water and a depthless bottom, you found it hard to breathe. No matter how much you fought to stay above, there was always a tide under all the waves, seizing you by the throat and rendering you motionless.

Coming back to your hometown felt a little bit like that– diving headfirst into a swelling wave and fearing you’d never find your way back up.

The handle of the train window jams as you yank it downwards, letting out a harsh squeak when you attempt to pry it open once again. After struggling to tug it flush against the sill, you prop your elbows up on the glass and heave your upper body to lean out, careful not to lose your balance.

Outside, you’re met with the heady smell of brine and the sun’s dying rays. The rusted sign denoting your town’s outer limits flies by in a hazy whisk, followed by the first few houses and tiny streets. The sky is a brilliant blend of soft pinks and warm yellows, the horizons of which frame the buoyant ocean’s glistening ripples.

Australia’s Sunshine Coast has always been beautiful, but the prospect of returning so soon has your stomach in knots.

The loud squawk of a passing seagull startles you into ducking back into the passenger carriage. The stop coming up is yours, but you can’t bring yourself to gather your luggage. Getting off the train seems like an impossible feat when you’re practically glued to its walls, too afraid to face what may be waiting for you once you get off.

A sharp whistle resounds from the conductor’s carriage, and you hear the tracks below you screech as the train begins rolling to a steady stop. You duck back towards your aisle to tug your suitcases out from underneath the seat, palms numb as you grip their handles and wheel them towards the door. You know you can’t stay.

The world outside slows to a painful stop as the train reaches your town’s platform, and you hesitate before pushing the rotational gear to open your door. You’re able to momentarily forget about all your nerves as you struggle to haul your baggage off the carriage, too preoccupied with the fear of missing a step to look up.

Sunghoon’s waiting for you by the singular bench the shoddy platform has to offer, hands pocketed in his light-washed denim shorts. He squints at you through the last beams of the setting sun, lips pulled in an uncharacteristically fond grin. The golden light catches his face at an angle that makes him look like a ghost. He’s everything you remember and yet nothing you recognize.

“Well, well, well,” he tsks, but it isn’t unkind. Sunghoon crosses his arms and looks you over, cocking his eyebrow sassily. It almost makes you want to forego the initial jibing, but you surmise it wouldn’t be a proper reconciliation with Sunghoon without it. “Look at what the tide dragged in. Haven’t seen this species of blobfish before.”

“I missed you too, Hoonie,” you croon, abandoning your suitcase in favor of running forward and looping your arms around him. Sunghoon readily envelopes you in his hold, bringing you into his warmth with a teasing oof.

He’s soft and smells faintly of sunscreen, the generic kind you stopped buying once you moved away to Melbourne. He still holds you like you mean everything to him, and he’s still everything to you.

Pulling back, you study the grooves of his face where the sun dips into, frowning at the chiseled remains of Sunghoon’s younger self. He’s different and grown– his cheeks don’t carry the same youthful chubbiness and his eyes are sharper, nearly devoid of the juvenile spark you’d come to adore so much.

You’ve only been away for two years, and yet Sunghoon looks like a stranger.

The two of you haul your luggage into the back of his junky Toyota, flinging the trunk closed with a resolute bang and crowding into the vehicle to avoid staying out in the humidity for a second longer. The air conditioning system sputters to life after Sunghoon slams on the dashboard twice, and you sigh out of relief once you’re finally met with air that doesn’t feel suffocating.

Leaning back into your seat, you hiss when the heated leather meets the bare skin of your thighs, pouting as Sunghoon drives off from the train station.

“How was the trip in?” Sunghoon’s question is too customary, too formal, but it still distracts you from the lingering burn.

“Fine,” you answer. You pick at the stuffing that’s coming out of a rip in your seat, frowning. “There was a crying baby in my carriage and a weird stain on my seat that I hope was juice, but otherwise just fine.”

Sunghoon hums, peering at you out of the corner of his eyes. He pulls into another street and stops at a red light, tapping his fingers impatiently on the wheel and shifting in his seat. He clears his throat, uncharacteristically nervous, and finally turns his head to look at you fully, “You look different.”

“So do you!” You’re quick to fire back, feeling flustered. You gesture at him limply with your hand, unsure of how to tell him he looks nothing like what you remember. Attractive, clearly more confident in his skin, but different.

It makes you slightly queasy, the thought that in just a matter of a year or so, you’d lost track of the boy you’d called your best friend for so long. You blame it on the swaying from the train.

Your town’s small enough to cross through with a car in about 15 minutes, but it feels like you’re locked in Sunghoon’s Toyota for several hours. The burning leather under your legs doesn’t ease up, and at some point, the air conditioner stops working and starts bringing air in from outside, so it feels a little bit like hell.

As you round the corner and enter the street where your aunt’s shop is located, you feel your chest tighten with anticipation. The houses you pass are achingly familiar, with shades of blues, yellows, and reds nudging memories that you thought you’d left in the back of your mind. It feels like the neighborhood has been locked in time, put away and forgotten after you’d seen it for the last time two years ago.

But unlike Sunghoon, you find that the shop looks virtually the same as it did when you left. The relief you feel is quickly replaced with guilt.

Parking his car in front of the sidewalk, Sunghoon pops the trunk and the two of you get to action immediately. You heave out what bags you can carry, wanting to minimize your trips to the car, and waddle after Sunghoon as he goes to unlock the front door. In the window of the shop, you spot a note with Sunghoon’s loopy writing spelling out Closed, I’ll be back later!.

Entering the shop feels weird, but not in the way that you’d anticipated that it would. You’re hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia as you look around, taking in the interior of the place with a racing heart. Minus the cheap paint job in an effort to reverse the sun bleaching along the walls, you can find traces of yourself still left behind in almost everything.

By the crown of your foot, there’s a splotchy stain you’d left on the welcome mat after attempting to balance your friends’ coffee orders, too distracted to consider the fact that the cups were hot as shit. Next to you, there are markings along the door frame where your aunt had kept track of your height throughout the years, notched into the wood for you to remember till eternity.

As you step further into the shop, you spot drawings and paintings you’d done as a kid on the wall behind the register, hung up with colorful push pins. Above them, up on the shelves, there’s a potted plant you’d gifted your aunt for one of her birthdays, now much larger and with more leaves than when you had parted with it.

“Auntie kept a lot of your stuff,” Sunghoon voices your thoughts, grinning when you look up at him with wide eyes. “Most of it’s upstairs in the guest room. You’re cool with staying there, right?”

Nodding, you set your duffle bag down with a huff, rolling your neck. The prospect of going up any stairs at the moment seemed almost painful to you, but the thought of falling into bed and resting your head on something soft (and not the dingy window of a train) was too tempting to ignore.

It takes three trips in total to move all of your belongings from the car to the room you’ll be staying in, but Sunghoon doesn’t complain even once as he strains under the weight of your luggage. You gather all of your bags in an empty corner of the room, drawing up a chair to tug open the small window higher up on your wall. Outside, the sky has darkened to a deep purple, and the first stars are beginning to appear in scattered formations.

Collapsing on the bed, you shuffle around until your head hits a pillow, sighing as you sink into the soft material.

“There’s dinner in the kitchen,” he muses, “I bought it before I went to pick you up so it won’t be warm, but you should still probably eat before going to bed.”

“I should,” you sigh, heaving yourself up and blinking blearily at Sunghoon. He leans patiently against the doorframe and stares back at you, sticking his tongue out when your sleepy mind begins drifting off again. You startle, suddenly remembering, “Shit, wait. Hoon, where are you going to sleep?”

“The couch in the living room folds out, and it’s surprisingly comfy. Don’t worry,” he promises, flicking the light switch off and cackling when you squeak in surprise. “That fried chicken isn’t going to get any warmer, by the way.”

“You got me fried chicken?” You mumble as you get up, trudging after Sunghoon into the well-lit kitchen. Indeed, you find a bucket of fried chicken sitting on the counter, covered with a plastic bag in a vain attempt to keep it warm. “Fuck, I love you Hoonie. I’m so glad I came back.”

Sunghoon laughs as you pluck a drumstick off of the top and bite into it like a vulture. He leans onto the counter and continues to watch you eat, a slow grin spreading on his lips.

“Yea? I’m glad, too.”

☀

The decision to move away was one you’d been planning since high school.

Despite containing so many places and people that you loved, you’d always thought that there was something bleak, almost draining about your town. It felt like it was slowly bleeding you out from the inside, and the choice between here and elsewhere was one that was inevitable for you to make.

Jake had always called you crazy when you brought it up, but you knew he’d never get it. His whole life was set up here. Meanwhile, you knew your existence here was only fleeting. A momentary thing, never meant to stay for long.

The logistics of it were simple enough to your sixteen-year-old self; you’d work hard to finish school with high marks, get into a university in Sydney or Melbourne on a scholarship, and leave your town for good.

But the year after you graduated high school was stagnant. You picked up a job at a seaside restaurant and focused on saving up money to afford university and move to an apartment in a bigger city. The work’s long and tiring enough to numb you for a while, but it’s unavoidable that you get sucked up in everything you didn’t manage to leave behind.

Jake’s there too, because he’s always been in every single part of your life and you can’t run from him no matter how hard you try. Freshly-single, nineteen-year-old Jake had committed himself to ensuring that you stuck around for as long as possible, even if that meant inadvertently clipping your wings by telling you he loves you.

You don’t mind it at first. It’s hard to find a problem when the boy you’ve wanted since middle school admits that your feelings are reciprocated. It’s hard to think about moving away when you’ve yearned for so long, when Jake is finally in the palm of your hand and not off with somebody else. You’d forgotten to factor him into your delicate future, forgotten that him loving you back was an option.

It’s enough for a while– even if your job is shit and every day feels like a monotonous cycle of nothing, your head’s in the clouds when you’re with Jake. You feel yourself most when you’re with him, even if you’ve begun to forget who you are without him.

Moving away is at the forefront of your mind until it suddenly isn’t– there’s something keeping you tethered down and you can’t ignore it no matter how much you love Jake.

“I don’t think I can stay here any longer,” you tell him. “I’m not meant to stay here forever, Jake. It’s not fair.”

Jake had looked at you with a tired smile, almost like he knew you two didn’t have much time left. When the light caught his eyes at the right angle, you could see that they were glossy with regret. “I know. But it’s not fair to me to uproot everything I have here. I won’t be anyone if I leave.”

And in a way, you understood. While this place was nothing to you, it was all that Jake had.

That night, you rushed home to pack everything you could fit into a suitcase and backpack. For better or worse, Jake didn’t answer when you picked up, so you left him one last token of yourself in the form of a voice mail. The final decision to move away was made on a whim, finalized with a one-way train ticket you’d bought in the late hours of the night, and you hadn’t looked back on it. Until now.

A week before you were set to finish off your university term, Sunghoon’s name had shown up on your phone at a time far too late in the evening for you to ignore. After months of radio silence, you’d been startled into picking up and stuttering your way through a greeting. You’d barely recognized his voice over the phone at that time.

He’d called with a proposition so stunning you could barely gather your thoughts before responding with a shaky yes. Your aunt had to leave her surf shop behind to get treatment, and desperately needed someone to cover while she was gone. Sunghoon had told you that he couldn’t possibly do it by himself, and he’d called the only person he knew would care so much to arrive on such a late notice.

The decision to come back was not one you’d planned for either. You’d left with the intention of staying in Melbourne until you graduated from university, and foresaw nothing that could bring you back this early. Followed by another ticket bought at an hour so late the sky outside was beginning to pinken, you ended off your last exam and left for home on the same day.

The parallels between the situations were cruel in the way that it felt like you could never really leave– something would always bring you back, no matter how much you ran from it.

The shop is drowning in the morning light when you make it to the bottom of the stairs. It’s too early for you to be up, that much is evident in the way your feet drag behind you, but you cannot afford to flake out your first day on the job. And it seems like your boss is already waiting for you.

“Mango!” You squeal, suddenly all too awake as you run to approach the counter. Your aunt and Sunghoon hadn’t mentioned anything about her cat staying behind as well.

The chubby orange cat blinks back at you unfazed, fluffy tail swishing noncommittally over the cash register. When you reach out to pet the beloved baby, he rolls over on his back and chirps while you coo over him like you’ve personally carried him for 9 months and then birthed him.

You begin setting up to open the shop for the day after you fill Mango’s bowl up and sneak in a few more chin rubs. Though you were no stranger to how your aunt ran things, you found yourself retracing your steps and looking around blankly more than once as you went through the ministrations. You felt like a ghost hovering, revisiting opaque memories and relearning how to navigate what you’d once called familiar.

Your stomach’s in knots over the prospect of having to face people you know again. Last night was different– you’d been locked away safely with Sunghoon upstairs, away from peering eyes and curious mouths. This was about to change as soon as you opened the shop.

You manage to get the doors open with only a two minute delay. No one actually enters the shop until an hour later, when you’ve cozied up behind the counter and taken to eating your breakfast. At that point, you’d shaken away some of the nerves you’d woken up with and are able to welcome the customer with a soft smile that doesn’t feel forced.

Sunghoon comes down to check on you sometime later, still in his pajamas and sporting a surprised look on his face.

“Wow, I’m genuinely shocked you haven’t destroyed the place by now,” he comments slyly, taking a loud sip from his coffee mug.

“I’m more shocked that you’ve managed to keep this place open for so long by yourself,” you bite back. When you hear the front bell chime, you immediately straighten up and call out a friendly greeting to the customer, ignoring the way Sunghoon laughs at your switch up.

He saunters over to join you behind the counter, pretending to busy himself with fixing things on the shelf while the customer pays. Once you’ve bid them goodbye and closed the register, Sunghoon rounds on you and crosses his arms, shaking his head gravely.

“You forgot to give her the receipt that the card machine printed, fucked up big time now. I should fire you.”

“If you came down here to micromanage me, I suggest you go back to sleep,” you huff, reaching out to crumple up the forgotten receipt.

Sunghoon’s face visibly softens. “Hey, you know I’m just messing around, right? I’ve forgotten receipts countless of times before.”

Humming, you begin to clear off the counter and wipe down the surface.

“Are you mad at me?” Sunghoon asks carefully, lingering next to you. “I’m sorry. We used to make jokes like this all the time back in the day, I assumed you’d still be okay with it.”

This makes you frown guiltily. Your hands pause and you turn around to look at Sunghoon fully. “I’m not mad, just a bit on edge at the moment. I’ve been a bit stressed out about this whole thing all week, and it feels like I’m going to explode if something else goes wrong. I guess all this anxiety’s been making simple shit slip my mind.”

Sunghoon nods quietly as if to urge you to continue.

“Everything is so familiar and yet it’s all so strange and I feel like I’ve forgotten everything,” you whisper, voice cracking at the end. “I miss my aunt, I miss my apartment, I miss Melbourne. I feel so silly for not coming back earlier, but I know I wasn’t ready. And I don’t even know if I am now.”

There’s a weight on your chest that’s suffocating you and making the words stick to your tongue like tar. Sunghoon’s eyes are gentle as they look into your own, understanding and patient, and you feel the guilt consume you from the inside.

“I’m scared, Sunghoon. I’m scared to see Jake again. To go outside and see everything that reminds me of him. I’m scared that I’ll have to live with this fear always, that I won’t know peace where I’m supposed to feel at home.”

You don’t realize you’ve teared up until Sunghoon quietly hands you a tissue. You wipe your eyes and laugh shakily at the incredulity of it all– you’d cried enough before leaving Melbourne, convinced you’d forget all about your worries once you were actually here. You were far from right.

Sunghoon’s warm arms wrap around you and your mind blanks for a second. He squeezes you tightly and holds you for a while, until you feel your breathing begin to even out again. Quietly, you thank him and relax in his embrace.

After promising Sunghoon you’d be fine with finishing your shift, you go back to cleaning out the counter. You only have half an hour left, but you’re determined to see it through to the end. There’s a box of inventory that needs to be unpacked anyway, and you’d rather not sit around at the register and think for a minute longer.

Once your shift’s over, you trudge up to your room and immediately slump onto your bed. It’s got a loose spring somewhere that’s poking into your thigh, but at the moment, it’s the most comfortable surface you’ve ever laid down on. You could care less when a nap is overdue.

Mango seems to have different plans, however, as he saunters into your room and meows loudly. You don’t bother to look up until he’s resorted to jumping onto your bed, incessant meowing now right under your ear. You really should’ve closed the door.

Blearily blinking your eyes open, you see that Mango has situated himself next to your bedside drawer and is preparing to jump onto the very limited surface there. Yelping, you sit up and carefully move him back onto the ground, where he can do less damage and knock over less of your belongings. He makes an angry huff, but you ignore him in favor of checking to make sure everything on the drawer’s fine.

There’s a cup that you most definitely hadn’t left. Squinting and peering inside, you find that it’s filled with tea, made from the spearmint packets your aunt used when you weren’t feeling your best. There’s still steam coming out from the top, which means Sunghoon must have made it for you right before coming down for his shift.

You can’t stop the giddy smile that stretches across your lips while you pick up the mug. As you take tiny sips, your stomach begins to warm, and the feeling slowly spreads to the ends of your being. The feeling in your chest unfurls the tiniest bit, and you surmise that despite it all, you’ll be just fine.

☀

Working at the shop is monotonous for a while. You and Sunghoon take turns swapping shifts so that you don’t have to be up with the sun every morning, but you still keep each other company for the later ends of your hours. It’s nice to have someone there with you to fill the gaps in between the customers, someone to whine to about the guy who came in reeking of wet dog and the kid that left sand all over the floor.

Catching up with Sunghoon is simultaneously weird and the highlight of your day. You’d practically grown up with him, and yet you now knew close to nothing about him. His irregular Instagram updates were nothing to lead off on, but you surmise your own lack of social media presence must’ve frustrated him right back.

Sunghoon is more than eager to share stories from the gap in his life for which you’d been gone. You’re able to piece together who he is now with relative ease, even if you’re bridging unfamiliarities in areas you’d thought he’d never change. He’s no longer the awkward, floundering boy you knew for so long. He’s sure in himself and his actions, he’s deliberate with his thinking and purposeful with everything he tells you.

Sunghoon shares with you that he’s almost finished with his kinesiology degree and that he’s been visiting the local hospital more and more often to shadow doctors. He still wants to do medicine, just like he’d told you in high school, but he wants to focus more on sports medicine and hopefully work in therapy. He also proudly tells you that he’d recently gotten his driver’s license, despite refusing to touch a car when you were both finally old enough to drive, to which you snort and tease him with yeah, who passed ya?. 

He’s still your Sunghoon, even if he’s blossomed differently from the Sunghoon you grew up with.

Aside from him, you have Mango to keep you company. The cat barely pays you any attention as usual, instead choosing to nap in places he shouldn’t be and ignoring you when you call him for pets. But you know that behind that tough exterior, Mango loves you so.

To say you’re lonely would be untrue. Every now and then, a customer will chat you up while you’re at the register. They’re curious at seeing an unfamiliar face and you can’t blame them, but it’s sweet all the while. You get a few recognizable faces in between as well, people you went to high school mixed in with older family friends who coo at you and instinctively reach out to pinch your cheek.

It’s Jake’s face that you least expect to see in your shop. You think it’s inevitable that you’d eventually run into him, but it doesn’t surprise you any less.

You were manning the register just half an hour after swapping with Sunghoon when the bell above the door whistles familiarly. You call out a friendly greeting and look up, only to choke on the last syllable. Just from his side profile you immediately recognize him– the grooves of his face are achingly familiar and the sweet tone of his nonchalant good afternoon back is like a punch to the gut.

You know he’s likely unaware that you’re back at all, let alone working here now, but it feels oddly motivated from the universe’s side. Your stomach swoops as you watch him disappear one of the back aisles, and you have a minute to pace your breathing again before he reappears and begins approaching the register.

Your blood runs cold once he finally looks up and notices you. You think your heart’s going to beat out of your chest and fall onto the tile floor when he stops in his tracks and stares back at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh,” he says surprised, mouth hanging open around the syllable. “Um, hi.”

Your lips twitch but you’re unable to utter a greeting back. Jake approaches the counter like one would a wounded animal, and you hate the way your legs jerk with the want to step back. You think you hear him say something more, but it’s masked by an echoey ringing in your ears.

“Hi,” you croak, mindlessly reaching out to what he’s placed on the counter. Your palms are sweaty and so, so cold and you can’t even feel your fingertips where they’re wrapped around the sharp edges of the box.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Jake says, but it barely registers in your mind. Despite the gaping feeling in your stomach, you laugh at the formality, some color returning to your cheeks. Jake visibly relaxes at this.

“Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting to run into you right now.” Or ever, but you think it’s best left unsaid.

Jake shrugs. His eyes roam over your face curiously and you try not to curl in on yourself. “How long have you been back?”

“Just over a week now.”

He hums, gaze settling on the way your hands fidget with the item until the scanner finally picks up on its barcode. You hurriedly place it back onto the counter and slide it toward him.

“I really do mean it, you know.”

Starting, you blink up at him unassumingly. “Sorry?”

“That I’m glad to see you again,” Jake clarifies.

“What’s all this for anyway?” You’re quick to ask instead, words bubbling out of you like a stream. Your heart’s racing pathetically and you’re embarrassingly hung up on the fact that Jake cares.

Jake doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the change in topic. “I needed a new fin set for my board. I’ve got a few competitions coming up and figured I’d polish things up a bit.”

Right. It was no surprise to you that Jake never abandoned his love for surfing, unlike everything else.

“You should come watch me at the state qualifiers next week,” Jake continues while leaning over the counter, propping himself up on his elbows and fixing you with an impish look. You want to reach out and shove his forehead with your fingers, but you have to remind yourself that this isn’t the same Jake you’d grown up with. Whatever you’d once had was forgotten in the past.

“Sure,” you say, ignoring the nagging warmth in your chest. Feigning nonchalance, you busy yourself with tapping on the checkout screen of the iPad, if only to give your hands something to do other than to fidget with your shirt. “Me and how many other chicks?”

Jake laughs good-naturedly, but the momentary lapse of insecurity in his voice isn’t lost on you. You feel guilty for just a moment, but don’t allow yourself to dwell on it. After finalizing his order on the screen, you look up to find Jake already looking back at you, almost expectantly.

“Your total’s $270.59.”

Jake’s face falters the slightest bit, but you don’t think it’s because of the ridiculously high price. “Does that factor in the ‘good friend discount’?”

The phrase makes something sour flood in your mouth, and you resist the urge to scowl. The receipt machine prints out his total, and you rip the paper out with more force than admitted necessarily. You nearly slam it down on the counter in front of Jake, peering up at his shocked face through your lashes. “Yea? What’s my favorite color, Jake?”

Noticeably taken aback, Jake’s confident demeanor slips away as easily as a receding wave. He stutters around his next sentence, and you try not to let your satisfaction show as you open the register. Jake looks down as he counts through the bills in his wallet, pulling out several and passing them timidly across the surface. “Uh–, well, hmm. Something… blue? Wasn’t it blue?”

“I hate blue,” you spit the lie out a bit too quickly, and hope Jake can’t see right through you. You accept the bills you’re handed with pursed lips, slipping them into your register and handing back the few cents you owe him.

“You don’t,” Jake answers immediately, not bothering to reach out and pocket the change. “You love blue. Specifically that light seafoam shade you see on the shore. Said it reminded you of summer.”

Despite how much you want to disagree, your throat feels all dry and your eyes are stinging and you don’t think you can bear to look at Jake much longer without saying something regretful. But something about letting him think he still knows you makes your fists clench and gut boil.

“People change,” you say with an air of finality. “I changed. You changed.”

Jake takes his bag and steps back from the counter with the expression of a kicked puppy. He looks back at you like he wants to say something, something long left untouched, and you resist the urge to hide behind your counter and cover your ears with your hands.

You feel naked and vulnerable– like Jake has carefully stripped away every last layer of your defenses and he can see the rotting remains of everything you didn’t say. You hate how he looks at you, like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind and the inner monologue you’ve been fighting since you first met him. Like he still knows you in and out, despite moving away and changing every last bit of yourself that reminded you of him.

“Thanks for shopping with us,” the smile you give him is painfully artificial, and you shut the register with a bang that echoes around the shop. “Have a good day, Jake.”

☀

Besides taking a trip up the coastline, there were only a handful of other things one could do in town to stay busy. You relied on the usual small-town things that somehow never got boring; going to the drive-in theater, drinking milkshakes until your jaw and stomach ached, and driving endless loops around the town.

Problem was, most of these only worked with other people. Your few options decreased even further during the summertime, when leaving an air-conditioned space was essentially a self-inflicted death sentence. Alone or not.

Living in such a small town also meant that out of the three or so choices you had, you were guaranteed to run into someone you knew wherever you went. It was one of the reasons you were so eager to leave, to finally go live in the big city where shops didn’t close at 5 and where you could go for a walk without seeing a familiar face you had to avoid.

And whether or not you dared to admit it, you were afraid of running into someone while out on your own.

You’d nearly forgotten about that aspect when coming back, only to be cruelly reminded on your first designated day off.

“What do you mean I’m not working today?” You cross your arms, frowning at Sunghoon’s figure behind the counter. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“You and I both know there’s like, only two possible answers to that,” Sunghoon sniffs, not bothering to look up at you from his phone. “And I don’t think you’d be interested in either of them.”

While true, you also didn’t want to give up that easily. “Shoot.”

Shrugging, Sunghoon finally divulges you with his attention, rubbing at his brow bone contemplatively. “Auntie Lee’s diner got a new arcade machine. Plus you never got to try that cookie dough shake she introduced after you left.”

“Cute, but I feel stupid going by myself,” you sigh. Heaving yourself up on the counter, you ignore Sunghoon’s noise of complaint and prompt him to keep going.

“Go see a movie or something?”

“All the new releases look like shit.”

“Get some coffee?”

“If I have another cup I’ll start vibrating.”

“Yard sales?”

“No, it’s hot as balls out.”

Sunghoon pauses, and you nearly think this is it, you’ve finally gotten on his nerves, but he taps his chin and hums, almost like he’s genuinely as invested in this as you are. And then he looks up at you with something malicious in his eyes, and you know you made a mistake coming to him.

“Jake’s place has a pool,” Sunghoon drawls knowingly, “but I’m sure you already knew that.”

Hopping off the counter, you ignore his cackling in favor of flipping him off. “Go fuck yourself, Hoon.”

The rest of your afternoon is spent very excitingly: you rot around in bed for a few extra hours, switching between three apps until refreshing your timeline no longer produces any dopamine. You get up only once Mango saunters into your room and begins incessantly meowing, a clear demand and order for you to feed him. 

Whilst in the kitchen, you decide to have lunch as well and reheat some leftovers for yourself. As the microwave drones on in the background, you fill out a postcard for your aunt to remind her you’re thinking of her and scavenge the drawers for stamps.

Unsurprisingly, you find your phone nearly dead when you come back, so, driven by a sudden burst of Marie Kondo-like motivation, you forgo charging it in favor of attempting to rearrange the entire layout of your room. It only ends up looking even more like a prison cell, except now you’ve precariously stuck up a bunch of wall decor that you unearthed in the clean-up process. A pretty prison cell.

There’s a band poster above your bed of four dudes you don’t recognize, along with fashion and music magazine cutouts from the 90’s. Your aunt had kept a surprising amount of the drawings little 5-year-old you had ceremoniously gifted her, and you try your best to arrange them in a way that complements the other shit you’d stuck up. Obviously, it doesn’t work out quite well.

Sunghoon finds you laying down, though this time it’s on the floor and not your bed. You hear him sigh obnoxiously loudly, followed by his phone’s camera shutter going off, and then a delayed but very pronounced Sunghoon-y laugh. The floorboards creak as he steps closer, pausing right next to your head.

“I’m going out with some friends,” he announces, prodding your shoulder with his foot. “I’m extending the invitation to you ‘cause I don’t want to have to drag your corpse out of here later.”

You sit up way too fast and your neck flares up in pain, but you ignore it in favor of batting your eyes up at him. “Where are we going?”

“Get dressed, Jay’s going to be here in ten,” Sunghoon sing-songs, not paying mind to the customary middle finger you flash him. “Something you can get wet in, preferably.”

There’s a dirty joke missing somewhere, but you forgo it in favor of jumping up and tugging off your ratty gym shorts.

Making yourself look presentable in ten minutes is a feat, but you manage to tidy up well enough that Sunghoon gives you a thumbs up when you join him in the shop upstairs. Despite the fact that you’re wearing shorts and a tank, it’s hot enough that you have to fan yourself aggressively as you wait for Sunghoon to finish packing his tote bag. He himself is donning a very similar attire– another pair of jean shorts and a loose, tucked-in shirt with a palm tree stitched onto the front.

The two of you are locking up the front door when a car honks loudly from behind you, startling you into dropping the keys by your feet. You grumble as you reach down to pick them up, ignoring Sunghoon’s bellowing greeting back.

As you approach the vehicle, the windows on your side roll down in tandem, and two familiar heads poke out like meerkats to gape at you.

“Holy shit, since when are you back in town?” Heeseung is the first to speak, leaning through the window and breaking off into a wince when he slams the top of his head against the window trim.

You have to hide your laughter behind your hand as Heeseung rubs at his scalp and Beomgyu chastises him for being stupid. They get over it pretty quickly though, and turn back to stare at you like meerkats. 

“Hey to you too,” you flush under the sudden attention, hugging your bag to your front. “I came in last week.”

Sunghoon must notice your discomfort, because he tugs you toward the other side of the car, opening the door for you and covering the top rim with his hand lest you suffer the same fate as Heeseung. Thanking him, you duck inside, scooting in next to Beomgyu and giving him what you hope comes off as a warm smile and not an anxious waver. 

Sunghoon climbs in after you, shutting the door and settling back in his seat with a groan. He reaches behind his back to pull out a fast food wrapper, chucking it at the back of the driver’s seat with enough force to send it bouncing back in his own lap. “Jesus fuck, when’s the last time you cleaned up around here, Jay?”

“I would’ve cleaned up had I known we’d have company,” Jay mumbles sheepishly. He drives off from the store, rounding the corner and setting you off on what you faintly remember as being the way toward one of the main beaches.

“It’s really nice to see you again,” Beomgyu interjects brightly, nudging your shoulder gently with his own. Wordlessly, you lean back into his warmth, letting your shoulders sit flush against each other. You think he gets the message.

“Why didn’t you let us know you were coming back?” Heeseung turns around to pout at you from the front. “We would’ve thrown you a welcome party or something. We missed you.”

Hesitating, you shrink under his unblinking gazes. You hadn’t given it much thought, let alone considered that you’d be missed. “Uh, wanted it to be a surprise?”

“We all know you guys would’ve been annoying as fuck about it,” Jay chimes in, “If I were her, I wouldn’t have told you either.”

“The difference is that we wouldn’t miss you,” Sunghoon chucks another wrapper at Jay, snorting when this one ends up hitting him square on the head.

Despite the growing havoc, you find yourself grinning, laughing along when Jay sends a horribly misaimed empty paper cup flying back. You allow yourself to lean back into the seat and relax, just like you used to do before you left. It’s easy to forget how on edge you were feeling earlier when you’re surrounded by people you’d missed.

You’d left many things behind, but it seems like your fondness for your friends never stopped following you.

Jay brings the car to a stop in an empty parking lot bordering one of the several beachfronts in your town. You remember this particular one being further south, where the waves grew taller and where many smaller-scale competitions were held.

Wriggling out of the vehicle after Beomgyu, you make yourself useful by popping the trunk and retrieving the straw mat that you knew Jay kept around for such visits. It’s now tattered and bears several holes in it after being thoroughly used, but you can’t imagine sitting on the burning sand with nothing underneath you.

Heeseung skips over to help you, hauling a case of beer out from the trunk and balancing it precariously over his shoulder. It’s then that you conveniently take notice of what he’s wearing– a band shirt-turned-tanktop with very revealing armholes– and nearly choke on your spit. Pretending to be unbothered, you train your gaze on the tips of your shoes, trying to focus on the way your toes wriggle, but fail miserably. Heeseung looks too good.

“We get it, you started hitting the gym,” you tease, trying not to openly gape at the way his arms fill out his sleeves.

It seems you’ve made it a bit too obvious, because Heeseung practically preens under your attention, grinning cockily and flexing the bicep nearest you. “Yeah? Just wait till I get in the water. There’s more where that came from.”

The comment combined with the rolling humidity makes you feel like you’re about to pass out, so you sneak one last glance at Heeseung’s arms before scurrying away. You choose to set up camp under the shade of a leaning palm tree, somewhat close to the shore but far enough so that the crashing waves don’t dip into the sand nearby.

As soon as the mat’s down, you flop onto it, spreading your arms and legs like a starfish before someone else can take up the space. Despite your efforts, Beomgyu easily crams into the space next to you, humming a melody under his breath while he unpacks the snacks he’d brought. He offers you a bag of gummies, so you don’t bother complaining.

The rest of the boys join you soon after, hissing once the hot sand begins to burn at their soles.

“Fuck this, I’m going in to cool down,” Jay announces, halfway through tugging his shirt off. “Someone text Sunoo and tell him to bring his speaker. And that inflatable Spongebob ball we found the other day.”

As Jay bounces down the remaining distance to the ocean, you tuck your knees under your chin and watch as a flock of seagulls crosses over the melting sun on the horizon. Despite being later in the afternoon, the air still felt heavy and sticky like caramel, practically oozing down your skin in trickles of molten sweat. You try to fan yourself with your hands, but it’s no use when each new gust of air just felt like you were being submerged further and further into a pot of boiling water.

Sunghoon heaves down next to you and Beomgyu, cracking open one of the beer cans from the case. He takes three, four, five long gulps, sighing at the relief from the cold liquid. When he notices you staring, he holds the can out in a silent offering, but you shake your head and point toward his mouth, where some of the beer had trickled out in his haste to gulp it down.

“Aren’t the waves too small for surfing?” Beomgyu asks.

Looking back at him, you find that Beomgyu’s frowning in the direction of the ocean, where a figure is trying to balance on a board under the lip of a crashing wave. Though you yourself never quite took on a surfboard by yourself, you knew that there were certain tricks one could only perform with taller waves, ones which were certainly not found on this beach during this time of year.

It was typically beginners who practiced on such small peaks, but from observing the surfer for a while longer, you could easily deduce that this most certainly wasn’t a beginner. Though they were having trouble because of the lower crest, their maneuvers were carefully executed and dynamic enough to be on a professional level, and even as the wave dipped, they didn’t lose their balance.

“Sunoo!” Your attention’s pulled back by Heeseung’s excited bellow, and you turn to find another familiar face approaching your mat.

“Are you for real?” Sunoo’s question is directed at you, judging by the way his wide eyes meet yours, and you shuffle around so you can hold your arms out for him. He readily launches himself into your embrace, albeit a bit awkwardly because he has to lean down, but it’s warm and inviting nonetheless.

The five of you pack yourselves onto the mat as you wait out the sun to dip further down the horizon. Sunoo asks you about your life back in Melbourne, and you’re more than happy to answer. In turn, you ask him about his job, about that motorbike he’d always wanted, and about the last boy you remember him having a crush on. Judging by his reaction, not everything had gone according to plan.

It’s nice to just hang around like that, too– even as you can’t help but think about someone missing. By the time your stomach’s all twisted up, Heeseung and Sunoo eventually begin to whine about their muscles cramping and get up to go cool off in the water. You watch as they race to the shoreline, snorting when they both end up tripping because of a wave.

“Sounds like you missed us too,” Sunghoon muses, eyes resting carefully on the side of your face.

Your ears warm at the prospect of being watched so carefully, and you duck your chin to avoid letting Sunghoon notice.

“I’m going to take a dip too,” you decide, hauling yourself up and beginning to tug your outerwear off. Though you immediately feel some sort of relief, it’s short-lived and it only makes you feel more eager to jump into the ocean.

The sand is pleasantly warm under the soles of your feet as you jog toward the shoreline, keen yet careful not to snag your leg on a stray branch or rock. Sunoo and Heeseung have trudged further into the ocean, joining Jay who’s now sat atop one of the huge jutting rocks and sunbathing like a cat. They’re close enough that you can make out their scheming expressions as they approach him.

As the water meets your feet, you’re overcome with an inundating sense of peace. Though you’ve already spent a week back at home, you haven’t yet had the chance to come visit the ocean. Growing up so close to it, it had become inevitably tied with your youth, associated with everything you considered home. As much as you tried to forget about it, the riptide pulled you right back under.

Jay’s squawk of surprise as Sunoo and Heeseung haul him into the water startles you into looking back over at them. You bark out a laugh as you continue to watch their shenanigans, Jay resurfacing and promptly dragging both of the perpetrators under with him. They all yell in unison, cut off once they plummet under, followed by a stream of bubbles as they wrestle with each other.

Any thought of joining them is thrown out the window when you see one of their legs stick out from the water, only to flail around uselessly and be sucked right back under.

You dip further in until the water is lapping at your chest. It’s pleasantly cool against your sun-streaked skin, and as you run your palms through the undulating water, your body readily immerses itself until you’re bobbing pleasantly with each new wave. The noise of the ocean stuffs your ears like cotton, and you can’t help but think you never want to be so far from it again.

An unexpectedly forceful wave has you yelping and rushing to keep your head above the water. When you bring your palms back up, you notice with a sinking feeling that a few of your rings are missing, ones you were sure you came into the ocean with. Cursing yourself for your carelessness, you look around aimlessly, squinting against the sun and watching for any signs of them in the water.

A bright glare reflecting from a stroke’s distance away from you has you venturing deeper, toward a section of the water where you’re certain you see something floating.

You lunge forward, expecting to catch onto the next level of rocks with your feet, but instead, you’re met with cold gaps of water and nothingness. A surge of panic seizes you by the throat, and you have half a second to process that you’re falling before your head’s submerged and you’re entirely suspended in the ocean.

There’s something tugging at your body, relentless and forceful and even as you squint blearily through the water, you don’t see anything there.

You feel yourself go cold all over, and the shock of the situation renders you immobile for a split second. Your legs thrash about trying to locate the nearest surface to find purchase on, but you’re pulled back by another crescendoing wave, and you lose all semblance of direction before you can head for the surface. As the wave flips you, you’re sent hurdling even deeper, where the water grows colder and the noise from above is muffled beyond comprehension.

You feel your chest grow tighter and tighter by the second, a newfound fuzziness suffusing your head. Your lungs burn with the need to breathe in, but you can’t tell which way is up and down and you think you’re going to run out of breath and–

There’s a tight grip at your forearm, pulling you toward the surface with a searing strength. Your legs kick out from under you as you try your hardest to propel yourself along, until another hand joins the other to clasp onto your other arm. You break the surface of the ocean with a ragged gasp, groaning when you feel your torso hit something solid.

You realize you’ve been hauled onto a surfboard as it buoyantly sways atop an incoming wave. Inhaling deeply, you grip the sides of the board until your knuckles turn white, fearful of slipping back into the never-ending whirlwind of water. The roaring of the ocean fills your ears like static until you can’t discern it over the sound of your own coughing.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” there’s a familiar voice above you, but you’re too preoccupied with hacking up water and trying to breathe to look up.

Something brushes your forehead, and you feel your hair being pushed out of your face, allowing the setting sunlight to burn against your eyelids. You blink the world back into view, wincing when some of the salty water dips right back into your eyes. You find an achingly familiar face staring back at you amidst the noise in your ears, and for a split second, you think it’s your oxygen-deprived brain conjuring up hallucinations.

Jake blinks at you timidly when your gaze focuses on him. He looks alarmed, as if the sight of him is enough to send you rearing back into the water. But even in the hazy aftershock of your incident, you’re unable to feel anything but gratitude.

Slumping against the board, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths. The water around you sloshes as Jake maneuvers the two of you toward shore, taking extra precautions not to let any waves spill out against you. You hear shouting from the shore end, where you presume the rest of your friends have caught on to what’s happening.

As the board reaches the shallow end, you feel the same hands envelop your sides, this time bringing you into a secure hold against Jake’s firm skin. Your heart’s pounding in your ears and you’re too preoccupied with taking shallow breaths to focus on how warm Jake feels against you.

The next few minutes feel like a blur in the most literal sense. Your vision is still bleary and you have a hard time making out your friends faces as they cluster in around Jake and try to help him lay you down. There’s so much noise that you can’t discern any words in particular, everything jumbled together into a sequence of distant-sounding, unrecognizable utterances.

You groan as your back hits something soft and you become acutely aware of all the unwavering stares on you. You try to sit up but fail, clearing your throat and taking a few deep, staggering breaths.

“Fuck, I feel like shit,” you rasp. It makes a relieved bout of laughter ring out around you, and you smile despite the discomfort in your chest.

“We’ll give you some space,” Sunghoon says gently, patting your calf. The touch lingers as he draws away, and you follow his retreating figure with your unfocused gaze.

One by one, you watch as your friends pull back, reconvening further away so as not to overwhelm you with their conversations and bearings. But you feel a lingering presence remain by your head, and the curious urge in you beats out the embarrassment you think you should feel. Looking up, you find Jake already staring back.

“Is it hard for you to breathe? Do you feel like there’s still pressure in your lungs?” Jake’s eyes seek yours out anxiously, and you realize with a start that he’s genuinely worried.

“I’m okay,” you promise, “I think I just need to rest. I’m more in shock than anything else.”

Nodding, Jake exhales sharply, and you notice his shoulders deflate. He settles down on the mat, leaving a comfortable gap between the two of you. You watch as the material beneath him dampens from his swim trunks, eyes trailing along the exposed skin of his legs, now covered in smatterings of sand. You only look away when you spot a familiar mole on his upper thigh.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

You’re met with silence, heavy and unnerving. It’s the kind that makes you think you’ve said something wrong, something that needs to be taken back, forgotten. You nearly think Jake’s missed it until you hear quiet shuffling, then–

“S’okay, you just scared me a bit back there, that’s all,” he mumbles. You feel the warm weight of his gaze settling on your face again, but you think any last breath you have in you will be knocked out if you try to look back up at him. Looking at Jake has always been a bit like looking into the sun. “I still care about you a lot, despite what you might think. I was really worried.”

The sincerity in his words makes your chest churn painfully. Breathing in deeply, you reach out blindly with your hand along the mat, feeling the damp straw beneath your fingertips as you search for the familiar callouses you held onto earlier.

“I know,” you whisper, for a lack of better words. There’s something unsaid left hanging in the air, and you hope Jake can catch onto it before it disappears.

Jake’s fingers meet yours, and you hold your breath as they slip between the crevices of your own. You don’t dare to open your eyes, instead focusing on steadying your racing heart, on Jake and his gentle touch along your knuckles. His hold is grounding, but your mind still flutters at the prospects of what if, what if, what if.

☀

The momentum between you two shifts after that, but the nagging voice at the back of your mind stays.

Jake begins joining your group around town more and more often, usually for smaller increments of time between his practice sessions and work shifts. You come to learn that he now works as a trainer at the same academy he started training at, and that he coaches the under-12 group. He’s still busy as ever, but your friends make it a point that he’s always invited no matter when he’s able to join.

Jake takes these invites seriously; he drops by your hangouts nearly every time you’re there, a feat that isn’t hard for you to miss. He keeps a respectful distance but it doesn’t feel like he’s taken to ignoring you and ruling you out of his life completely. If anything, it’s the latter. You know the distance is more for your own sake than anything, and with each time you see him, it becomes increasingly harder for you to stay away.

Jake also begins visiting the shop more and more often, though never to buy anything substantial. He’ll usually do a quick round of the aisles before coming to hang out at the counter, where he’ll make (initially shy) conversation with you before purchasing a Clif Bar and leaving.

Admittedly, you enjoy the company more than you should, even if Jake’s presence is technically a hindrance to your professional work environment.

“Don’t you have a competition to be getting ready for?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, and he stops reading the ingredients label of the bar he’s holding to look up at you like you’re crazy. “I am. This is part of my new pre-practice ritual.”

“What, buying Clif Bars and showing me funny Tiktoks?” Your question’s meant to be amusing, but Jake nods at you, dead serious.

“I think I like the Crunchy Peanut Butter flavor the most,” he hums, handing over the bar so you can scan it. “Also, if I don’t have your socials, how am I supposed to show you all the red panda Tiktoks I’ve been seeing?”

The iPad dings softly as you go through the motions of finalizing his purchase. You feel Jake’s unfaltering gaze follow your hands, and you try not to let how flustered you feel show. “Is this you trying to be slick while asking for my number?”

“Maybe,” he grins. “Only if it’s okay, though.”

Jake slides a bill toward you, taking the bar and pocketing it in his shorts. No matter how confident he sounds, you’re able to tell he’s nervous by the way he wrings his hands behind his back.

Wordlessly, you pass your phone across the counter, trying not to look too pleased as Jake practically whoops and picks it up to type in his digits. When you get it back, you see that he’s written himself in as Jakey, followed by an emoji combination that you can’t make sense of. Something warm stirs in your gut.

☀

It’s your fourteenth birthday when you finally muster up the courage to let Jake teach you how to surf.

The word teach being used very loosely, but rather, just letting Jake mess around with you on his board. At that point, he had been in the academy for just over three years, enough to give both of you some kind of reassurance that he knew what he was doing. Jake had offered you lessons countless of times before then, eager to get you on the same board that had brought him so much joy, but you’d never had the guts to agree.

“This feels like attempted murder,” you whine from where you’re perched on his board, shrieking when a wave jostles you the tiniest bit.

Jake laughs at you, though not unkindly, and he expertly grabs onto your forearms and maneuvers you into a more secure position. He’s surprisingly gentle yet firm, and when he wades a bit deeper into the water, you find that you’re not as nervous as you thought you’d be. He instructs you on what to do when the next wave comes, promising you that he’ll be next to you in case anything happens.

He helps you ride out the first wave, making a show of clapping for you even though you did none of the work. The next few come and go very similarly, until you begin to get a hang of the general motions needed to keep you above the water. The reassurance of Jake’s hands on your skin is enough to have you soaring with your head in the clouds.

When a higher wave approaches, you tell Jake you’re confident in taking on it yourself. His eyebrows arch when he looks at you, but he steps away to let you handle it on your own. Your stomach swells in tandem with the wave and you scream bloody murder once you feel the board move, but you’re somehow able to stay above the water without any of his help.

“I did it! Did you see that? Jake, holy shit!” Your peals of joy are muffled suddenly when a wave slams into your side and your open mouth fills with briny water. Sputtering, you turn to see Jake fail miserably at hiding his amusement, doubling over from his laughter.

“Yah, it’s not funny! I could’ve died!” You scold him, but it only makes him laugh harder.

“It’s a little funny, you have to admit,” he says, and you really can’t disagree with him. “Besides, you’re doing really well. I’m happy you finally let me, even if it’s taken me months of convincing.”

“There’s a reason I don’t trust you,” you huff, but the words carry no animosity and you couldn’t mean them less. You trust Jake with your every fiber.

“I think this is your sign to join me in the academy,” Jake declares.

Frowning, you move to dismount the board and sink into the water next to him. “I can’t see myself enjoying it as much as you do, Jake.”

Jake hums, frowning. You can’t take looking at him upset, so you decide the best option is to climb up on his back and smother him in a tight hug. He complains when your arms come to encircle his shoulders and you cling onto him like gum, but his protests are weak and only motivate you to hug him harder.

“Can I be honest?” The vulnerable edge to Jake’s voice has you stiffening. “I’m scared we won’t be as close soon. I’ve got the academy and school, and I know you’ve got all those tutoring sessions after school too. What if we can’t hang out anymore? What if you start to think you’re too cool for me?”

Snorting, you can’t help but squeeze his shoulders tightly and lean even more of your weight on him. Jake doesn’t seem to mind one bit, hands warm where they’re holding your knees.

“If I thought I was too cool for you I wouldn’t be spending my birthday alone with you.”

“Not true, we had lunch with the rest of your friends earlier,” he mumbles, which earns him a chastising flick against his temple. “Ow, what! It’s facts!”

“Can you just accept the fact that I care about you?” You rest your chin atop his damp hair. “Maybe I even love you. Have you thought about that, Jake?”

When Jake doesn’t respond, you’re left to listen to the crashing of waves around you. You sit with the words in your head, and as anxious as you feel having said them out loud, you know you mean them. Jake’s been an inseparable part of your life for as long as your brain can conceptualize being alive, it’s inevitable that you’d grow to care and love him.

You didn’t know it then, but it was also inevitable the love that you felt would blossom into something much, much harder to ignore.

“I love you too,” Jake echoes, and it’s so quiet you nearly miss it.

Clambering off his back, you fall into the water with a splash.

“My last birthday wish is that you get me to that buoy over there.” Pointing in the distance, Jake follows your finger and squints at the bobbing yellow buoy. You’ve never been that far in, but you feel oddly brave in the wake of the setting sun.

“This is, like, your 5th birthday wish already,” he says without much conviction, already moving to pull the board in closer to you.

“I know,” you grin. “But you love me, so I doubt you care all that much.”

☀

The day of the state qualifiers falls on the first Saturday of January, a warm and humid day with a sky as blue as the ocean. You and Sunghoon close up the shop at noon to join your friends on the beach, where they’ve occupied the closest spectator area to the shore and are frantically applying sunscreen before the shade pulls back from their zone.

As expected, they’re all boasting varying shades of blue– Jake’s (mostly) self-proclaimed lucky color. The whole shtick started at one of his first competitions at the academy, where you and Sunghoon had happened to both be wearing blue when Jake won his first ever podium title. Jake had called you his lucky charms, fully knowing it was silly, yet neither of you ever dared to show up without the color afterwards.

You’re also donning your own bit of blue, a discreetly tucked handkerchief in one of your pockets, with which you mindlessly fiddle as you approach your friends. You’d thought it to be subtle enough, easy to blame on a mindless coincidence, but one raised brow from Sunghoon had confirmed otherwise.

Sunoo’s speaker borders on obnoxiously loud as it blasts Megan Thee Stallion’s Thot Shit, garnering concerned looks from the company of grandmothers that have taken up seats next to you. They seem to reconsider their choice of seating, but the quickly filling lot on the sand leaves them with few options to move. You and Sunghoon have to squeeze in next to Heeseung on the end to fit on the blanket, and end up sitting shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee.

You’re also close to the judging panel, a small shaded hut where a few people in white polos are shuffling around with papers, readying as the tournament draws to a start. Heeseung passes the bottle of sunscreen to you and you thank him with a smile, squeezing out a handful to begin lathering onto your exposed arms and legs. The sun overhead begins muscling through the canopy soon after and you’re forced to savor the last few moments of shady reprieve.

The first competitor is introduced over the speaker, and an immediate ripple of cheering rings through the audience. You clap good-naturedly but can’t deny your attention begins to stray the longer it takes for Jake to be called. He’s one of the last names, and as soon as the two familiar syllables of his name are announced, you perk up excitedly.

Jake and his signature baby blue board appear seconds later, followed by a tumult of deafening cheers from your section. It’s partly due to Sunoo’s incredible lung capacity, but it’s also no secret that your town has always shown up to support Jake in competitions. He’s been a favorite ever since he began winning the junior championships in high school, climbing his way up to the highest ranks along the Sunshine Coast and earning himself the title of your town’s pride.

The rest of the competitors are familiar to you in their own ways. You recall seeing a few of them at past events, where they’d gone against Jake and failed to strip him of his title, and the rest being fellow members of Jake’s surfing academy.

The panel of judges officiates the beginning of the tournament, and with a resounding whistle, the first surfer drops into the water and meets his first wave.

Though you’d been to your fair share of surfing competitions, you’d forgotten the infectious thrill that usually accompanied attending them. The thrum of excitement in the air has you leaning forward throughout the entirety of the first, second, and third heats, watching the surfers tackle waves with an effortlessness that leaves you astonished.

Jake’s able to pass through all of the heats with remarkably high scores, a feat that’s never failed to impress you. The waves he catches within the competition zone are simple enough to leave no room for mistakes, and yet complicated enough that the other competitors struggle in their maneuvers to impress the judges. He performs his usual routine, the one you’d watched him rehearse for years on end during practice sessions, and ends it off with a foam climb that sends a ripple of applause throughout the audience.

As his last twenty-minute set draws to an end, Jake paddles back toward the shoreline while the competitor prepares to jump in after him. He waves over at your section, grinning boyishly when Heeseung wolf-whistles and Sunoo makes a suggestive hand sign at him. Your eyes meet for the briefest moment right before Jake has to exit the water, but it’s all you’re able to think about while the rest of the competition drags on.

As expected, Jake takes a place among the top 3 competitors. He’s just a few points from first place, but it’s enough to qualify him for the next, higher level competition that’ll undoubtedly be more important to him.

As the customary ending ceremony concludes, your group waits for him off to the side, away from the huddle of audience members queuing to get a photo. They’re currently swarming the third place champ, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but there.

Jake appears not long after. He’s still shirtless, which is really awful but also really great for you, and he’s pushed his damp hair away from his face. You think you’re going to die when he gets close enough for you to make out that the necklace he’s wearing is a wooden star charm you gifted him when he first started surfing. You know he’s most likely forgotten who gave it to him in the first place, but the chance that he might possibly remember has you feeling feverish.

Sunoo jumps on Jake’s back as soon as he joins you all under the shade. Jake oofs, but readily supports Sunoo with his arms, who cheers cutely and grips onto him like a koala. You tell yourself that you really couldn’t care less if Jake’s biceps flex from the action.

“There’s our guy,” Jay hollers, ruffling Jake’s hair. He circles Jake like a vulture and tries to jump on Sunoo’s back, which sends all three of them screeching and barreling down into the sand. You can’t find it in you to feel embarrassed even as people look over, laughing heartily at the way they wriggle around and curse.

“I’m going to blacklist you from all of my competitions,” Jake threatens once he’s finally off the ground, scowling as he shakes the sand out of his hair.

“You did really good,” you blurt out. “That last Pipeline came out of nowhere, but you handled it well. Even the judges thought so.”

Jake knows this. He knows his routine better than you do, knows what happened out in the ocean better than you do. And yet he still smiles sweetly, thanks you, and tells you he’s really glad you came. You see the way his eyes flicker towards the bandana sticking out of your pocket, and try not to preen under his gaze when he all but flushes.

“You should all come to mine to celebrate, my mom’s going to be making barbecue later,” he offers. Much to your dismay, he tugs a shirt on and hauls the strap of his bag onto his shoulder.

“Auntie Sim we fucking love you,” Sunoo mumbles.

It’s a unanimous decision, and you couldn’t be happier cramped into the back of Jake’s car.

☀

Aside from your friends, the only thing you’ll admit to missing from your hometown would be Auntie Lee’s Double Cheeseburger and Milkshake Combo™. It was what you ate to celebrate your high school graduation, what you ate with Jake to console him after one of his many breakups, and the last thing you ate before you thought you’d be leaving for good.

But despite Melbourne’s more than abundant choices of fast food, all of the restaurants you’d tried out had only left you missing Auntie Lee more. You blamed some of it on nostalgia, but really, when it came down to your very professional opinion, she just made a really good burger and milkshake.

So, when Heeseung proposes you all hang out again soon, you’re quick to suggest her diner as the meeting spot.

Thankfully, not much has changed there either. Auntie Lee’s hair is now a burgundy red, a shade you think suits her better than her past ginger tint, and she greets you at the register with the same crooked smile you’ve come to associate with her good food. Her apron still has an array of colorful pins she’d collected over the years and a stubborn grease stain right below the neckline that makes you feel oddly reminiscent.

The six of you squeeze into one of the booths by the window, the same one you used to crowd into as high schoolers after late-night study sessions. The formation in which you choose to sit in is strikingly similar as well, and when you run your fingertips along the underside of the table on your side, you’re able to quickly locate a carving that you’d done haphazardly in your senior year.

“Holy shit, our initials are still here,” you say, and Sunghoon reaches under the table to check as well.

As Auntie Lee brings your orders in record time, you sit back against the booth and survey the rest of the table. If you dig far back enough in your camera roll, you’re certain you have an exact shot of a moment just like this captured.

“Inflation somehow never hit this place.” Jay’s looking at the food like a predator, and you try not to giggle. You hear Sunghoon mumble a prompt amen from next to you and you look down at your own food with an increasingly salivating mouth.

“Cheers to us and to the economy,” Heeseung raises his milkshake, and the rest of the table is quick to follow suit. As you laugh and clink your glasses together, you catch Jake’s eyes peering at you from across the booth, but he’s quick to look away when you notice.

As you dig into your burger, you try not to think about the lingering feeling of his eyes on you. Jake’s always had a sort of maddening effect on you– once the thought of him circulated in your mind, getting rid of him was like tugging gum off of hot asphalt.

“My shift earlier was ass but this is enough to fix me,” Heeseung mumbles through his mouthful of burger, wiping at his sauce-stained mouth with a napkin.

“Do you still work at that cafe by the bike rental place?” You ask.

Heeseung furrows his brows and shakes his head adamantly, swallowing his bite before responding. “I left a while ago. I work at that one hotel by the beach now. The one with the funny misspelled sign outside.”

Humming in acknowledgement, you swallow the bite in your mouth and frown. “Huh.”

“I feel like I don’t know anything about you anymore. And I feel like you don’t know anything about us anymore, either,” Jay admits with a pout. His words make your stomach turn uneasily, and you put down your burger with guilty fingers.

“Yeah,” Sunoo hums in agreement, “what’s been going on with you? You told us you were leaving to study in Melbourne, but that’s pretty much all I know. You never post on Instagram either.”

It’s true– when you were first planning on leaving, you had no intention of forgetting everything behind. You didn’t have time for goodbyes, and as shitty as it was, the thought of keeping in close touch with your friends scared you. You worried that what had happened between you and Jake would alter all of your friendships forever, and that they no longer saw you in the same way.

Clearing your throat, you try not to let your voice waver under the weight of their attention. “I do study in Melbourne, I pretty much live there full-time now. Have an apartment and everything,” you pause when Sunoo cheers brightly, and you flush at his enthusiasm before continuing. “That’s pretty much it, though. I was going to work in the city this summer, but I’m honestly kind of glad Sunghoon called. Didn’t realize how much I missed this place.”

Everyone awes, and from beside you, Sunghoon squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Do you live with anyone?” Sunoo asks slyly, popping another fry into his mouth. He props his chin up on his hand, feigning indifference, but you know him well enough to tell when he’s trying to be foxy. “Roommates? Friends? …A special someone?”

Waving him off, you laugh at how his lips quirk up inquisitively. “No, it’s a small space so I’m glad it’s just me. And if you’re trying to ask if I’ve got a boyfriend or girlfriend, you’re not being slick at all.”

The rest of the table laughs with you, but you don’t miss Sunoo’s whine of protest.

Jay crosses his arms, cocking his head. His stare makes you put down your fry. “So? Do you?”

“I expected this from Sunoo but not from you, Jay,” you huff. “Fuck, you’re all nosy as shit, you know that?”

When everyone continues to stare back expectantly, you pout and look down in defeat, “But yes, for the record, I’m single.”

“Jake’s studying in Brisbane now,” Heeseung says out of nowhere, and you look up to see the boy in question choke on his milkshake out of surprise. “He commutes, like, every day. As much as it’s crazy, I respect the grind. He’s always been smart as shit.”

The rest of the table hums in agreement, but you feel Sunghoon stiffen up next to you.

Jake clears his throat and rubs his neck sheepishly, clearly a bit startled by the sudden attention. Not for the first time that afternoon, he looks up at you tentatively, almost like making eye contact with you will sting him. “Um, yeah. I’m studying engineering. Architectural engineering, if we’re being technical. I applied and got in last year.”

“That’s really nice,” you say earnestly. Your throat feels all dry but you’re eager to hear more, almost desperate to grasp at everything you’ve missed in his life since you’d left. “Sounds hard, won’t lie, but you’re smart like that. I’m happy for you.”

Nodding, Jake’s lips twitch, almost like he’s trying to suppress his grin. The edges of his eyes crinkle as he tips his head forward in a show of gratitude. “Thank you.”

You’re not quite sure if you should continue the conversation or leave it where it is, so you reach for your milkshake, awkwardly tucking the straw between your lips to give yourself something to do. As you sip up the last of the liquid, your slurping screeches around the table and you wince.

“Fuck, it’s worse than I thought,” Heeseung groans loudly. His fork clatters in his plate where he drops it, the clang resounding around the empty diner dramatically.

“You two need to fix this, like, now,” Jay agrees, rubbing his temples. “The sexual tension is throwing me off. Do you get how bad that is?”

Frowning, you let go of your straw to stare at them in dismay, and, quite frankly, embarrassment. You’re sure your ears and neck are telling shades of red, based on how warm you feel all over, and you’re sure everyone can see. You knew you couldn’t avoid this for much longer, but the bandaid being ripped off didn’t hurt any less.

“You’re making her uncomfortable,” Jake speaks up. He’s looking at you concerned, but you can’t bear to meet his eyes for longer than a second.

“It’s okay, I know they’re joking,” you say meekly, frustrated with how upset you sound. You’re not, no matter how much you wish you were anywhere but here.

The blanket of silence that swathes the whole table weighs on you like stones. You stare at your empty cup stubbornly, refusing to look up at the pairs of eyes that are watching you intently, some with pity, some with guilt. You feel like a caged animal, backed into a corner and left with nowhere to run.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” you announce. Still looking down, you get up abruptly and wade out from the booth, murmuring apologies under your breath as you knock into Sunghoon’s feet.

The night air is stuffy and briny as you breathe in mouthfuls of it. The headlights of a passing car blind you momentarily as you lean against the wooden railing of the restaurant’s porch, making you blink disorientedly. A group of teenagers noisily clamber in past you, and you ignore the looks that get thrown your way.

Jake steps outside soon after. Some part of you knew he would come after you, and it preens selfishly when he spots you and all but jogs to you.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly. There’s some scuffling against the porch floor before he comes to join you against the railing. A beat of stillness passes, then– “I’m really sorry.”

You snort. “Not your fault. Nothing to be sorry about.”

Jake regards you silently, the intensity of his gaze burning into your slumped shoulders. He always looks at you like he can see right through you, right through all of your skin and flesh and ugly secrets. It's unnerving thinking about just how much he knows.

“No, I–”

“Jake,” you cut him off, voice falling just short of desperate. Your knuckles begin to turn white where your hands curl against the porch. “I don’t want you to apologize. What happened between us isn’t something to be sorry about. It happened, and that’s that. Just wish you and everyone else wouldn’t be so stubborn about bringing it up all the time.”

The silence that follows rings in your ears and settles uncomfortably in your gut. You hesitate before speaking again, wanting to gauge Jake’s reaction, but you’re afraid he’ll leave if you don’t hurry.

“I just want to start over. Clean slate,” you mumble.

Jake remains quiet for what feels like an eternity. Your stomach twists anxiously, tossing and turning when his ruminating gaze shifts up from your shoulders and onto your face

“Is that what you want?” Jake’s voice is feeble and it washes over you like a breeze.

Breathing in sharply, you nod.

“Okay,” he says simply.

Then, in an act so unexpected it throws you off guard for a good few seconds, he thrusts a hand between both of your bodies, grinning impishly. “I’m Jake. Nice to meet ya. You come here often?”

The laugh that bursts from you is so raw and genuine and it makes your chest flutter. You take his hand and mutter your name between giggles, ignoring how the warmth encasing your palm is achingly familiar. "Fuck, you’re actually unbelievable. And no, first time in town actually.”

“Really,” Jake plays along easily, smirking when he leans against the railing next to you. “You wouldn’t reckon you need someone to show you around, would you?”

The implications of the offer are clear as day, and you visibly hesitate in your response. Jake’s features soften the slightest bit, like he’s afraid he’s crossed a boundary, and you hate the way your heart swells at this.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you say cheekily.

☀

You and Jake have always had somewhat of a normal relationship.

You first met him in primary school, when he was still shorter than you and had a gap in his teeth when he smiled. Having recently moved into town, he was placed in the same homeroom as you, and, by the will something much greater than the both of you, into the empty chair next to you.

It was hard to ignore him for more reasons than the fact that he was sitting just two feet away from you. Jake was full of personality, as you’d come to learn, and as charismatic as a boy could be at the tender age of 7. He was funny, knew a bit too much about whales and turtles, and was nice enough to share his lunch with you on the days you’d forgotten yours.

It was inevitable that he’d become your friend– you’d walk home together, play at the park together, and dig around in the dirt for worms occasionally– and you never thought it would get any more complicated than that. Until you entered secondary school.

Jake followed you into one of the three secondary schools in your town, and it’s where the two of you would come to meet Sunghoon. Although you two were no longer in the same homeroom, you still made efforts to spend the majority of your free time together, now joined by a third. Sunghoon seamlessly became interwoven into your life just like Jake had, and you couldn’t think about a future without either of them.

At the end of your first year in secondary school, Jake started surfing lessons and got his first girlfriend at the academy.

It was weird for you and Sunghoon, now one person less as you gathered at your usual spots at the park, your backyard, and the parking lot behind Auntie Lee’s diner. Sunghoon reasoned that nothing much had changed, but you both knew that wasn’t true. There was a Jake-shaped void that was impossible to ignore, much less fill, as he became more and more enthralled with the sport and his new girlfriend.

You’d never really met Haeun properly, despite how entangled you both were in Jake’s life. You had no reason to believe she wasn’t nice– Jake seemed more than happy every time he talked about her and boasted the widest grin you’d seen on him every time they texted. She was among the top in her age group at the surfing academy, had pretty hair, and even followed you back on Instagram. You really had no reason to believe anything bad.

And yet, you couldn’t help it. There was some deep, ugly feeling within you that you couldn’t get rid of for as long as she was involved with him. Looking back, it didn’t bother you as much as it probably should’ve. When you’d divulged your feelings to Sunghoon, he’d also brushed it off as innate jealousy. Your best friend was spending more time away from you, who wouldn’t be a little bit frustrated?

But from there, everything went downhill. Jake and Haeun broke up by the time summer ended, much to your relief, but it was far from the last girl that Jake got involved with. As the three of you worked your way up toward graduating, Jake grew further into his features and learned to embrace his hobbies with more and more groups of people. It was inevitable that Jake would earn himself a place among your school’s most well-known, and consequently, draw even more attention to himself, both from guys and girls.

Despite all of that, he continued to be someone you and Sunghoon could lean on. He had rigorous practice sessions that took up most of his week but made an effort to visit both of you after school to study and get food. Any time you felt like he was drifting away, he’d reel himself back in and attach himself to your side like gum. Which only made the suffocating feeling in you grow stronger.

It wasn’t until year 12 prom that you realized what was wrong with you.

While Jake had a date from another class, you and Sunghoon decided to show up to the event together, if only to take advantage of the free food and drinks your school was offering. The whole night, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Jake from across the dance hall, anxiously watching the way he’d spin his date, the way he’d smile, laugh, and look at her like she’d personally hung the stars up in the sky.

As selfish as it was, you imagined yourself in her spot. And in retrospect, it really couldn’t have been more obvious.

“Are you not having fun?” Sunghoon had asked, hands slipping from where they were holding you by the waist.

When you’d turned back to look at him, the crestfallen expression on his face made you flinch. He looked like a kicked puppy, and it stung more to know you’d been the one kicking this whole time. “I’m sorry, I got distracted.”

“Really?” He’d scoffed, this time fully letting go of you. There was a vulnerable look in his eye as he stepped back, face dipping into the shadows of the dancing lights. “What’s the point of agreeing to go with me if you’re just going to stare at him like that the whole time?”

Everyone had gotten a bit weird around this time, but it wasn’t hard for you to tell what was going on. Sunghoon had never been really good at hiding his own feelings; you knew the cafe study dates were beginning to turn into more than just study dates for him. You’d noticed the lingering touches, the meaningful glances, the fond way he’d call your name. Somewhere along the way, Sunghoon had gotten caught up in you.

In hindsight, it was selfish of you to forgo addressing it. It was selfish to ignore it, stash it away at the back of your mind and hope he’d one day find his way out. But the paralyzing fear kept you so eagerly and cruelly reciprocative, so willing to play along. You already felt like you’d lost Jake, you couldn’t afford to lose Sunghoon too.

“Hoonie, I’m sorry, you know I–”

“I know,” he’d said, lips twisting into a pained smile. His eyes drifted over somewhere behind you, where you knew Jake was dancing with his date, and he shook his head. “And yet some stupid part of me hoped you’d finally get over him.”

In all your infinite luck, it seems like you never fully could.

☀

Slowly and heedlessly, Jake intertwines himself in the fibers of your life once again.

He’s the first face you see in the mornings at the shop. His laugh reverberates in your ears long after you two part ways for the day, his brief, fleeting touches linger along your skin like those of a receding wave’s. His contact name is the last thing you see at night, and he’s all you think about until you slip away to unconsciousness.

You’re so full of him you’re drowning– he’s everywhere around you and you think there’s really no escaping him this time.

“When does your shift end?” Jake pushes yet another Clif Bar across the register’s counter toward you.

The clock behind you chimes softly in response. You squint up at the rusted arrows and turn to Jake inquisitively. “In 10 minutes. Why?”

“Cool,” Jake rips open the wrapper and takes a bite from the bar. Chewing, he grins at you slyly. “You wanna come by mine after?” The proposition sounds more like a question than anything, but Jake knows you’ll say yes.

Jake’s car is a shacky little thing his family gifted him for this 18th. It’s the same as you remember it, with a mess of stickers haphazardly stuck along the dashboard and a row of stuffed animals along the back window that his cousins had left behind. The passenger seat still squeaks when you try to adjust it, and you both laugh when you end up sitting down and the cushion whines from under you.

Jake drives you through a route you know too well. He rolls the windows down (as far as the car allows them) and points at renovated buildings and new lots alike, narrating everything you’d missed while away. You lean against the door and let the breeze wash over your face, fiddling with the bag in your lap.

You’re there but you’re also not– Jake’s voice serves as an anchor while your mind wanders off just far enough not to worry him. These are all places you’ve been with him, and with each passing place, you have to blink away vivid memories that flash before your eyes in technicolor film.

You and Jake celebrating your middle school graduation at the rundown arcade that’s now been modernized. You and Jake troubling over what to gift Sunghoon at the comic book store that’s now shut down forever. You and Jake chasing his dog at the park that now finally has a special fenced off section just for dogs. You and Jake–

“This is the park where you lost one of your baby teeth from falling off a swing. You started crying and I had to take you home on my bike.”

“You remember that?” You blink at him incredulously, face growing hot.

“Of course I do,” Jake says matter-of-factly. “It’s hard to forget when the tooth’s still in my room.”

“What?!” Your bag slips off your lap when you sit up straight, bewildered and embarrassed. “No way, your mom wrapped it up and I took it home with me.”

Jake brings the car to a steady stop by the curb in front of his house. He reaches over across you to help you roll your window back up, and you try not to squirm under his amused gaze. “I’ll just show you then.”

Layla greets both of you at the threshold of the door, yelping once she lays eyes on you. You have a solid second to brace yourself before she leaps forward, propping both of her front paws against your thighs and wagging her tail so fast you worry she’ll start floating. Nearly losing your balance, you squeak in surprise, but are quick to reach out and pet her. 

You coo at her like she’s your own baby and in a way, she certainly is.

She’s soft and warm, cuddly as she headbutts your palms and licks at your fingers. “I missed you so much, cutie.”

“She missed you too,” Jake says, and you look up right as the camera shutter on his phone goes off. Squawking, you cover your face, albeit too late, because Jake giggles at his screen and you hear him mumble a quiet cute.

Jake’s room looks smaller than you remember it being. You think it’s because the small twin he used to have has been replaced by a modest queen, but you’re also no longer fresh out of high school and naive. There are sun-bleached spots in places where his old posters are, the walls now sparsely lined with polaroids and printed film photos.

Your feet subconsciously bring you closer to the walls. You squint at each of the photos, the people in some of them unrecognizable to you. There’s one from the day of your graduation, but it’s just Jake with his mom, along with a bouquet large enough to take up a third of the frame. There are a few of Layla in a wide range of settings, including one that you’re certain was taken while you were at the park together. There’s even one of the sunrise at the beach on a morning with calm waters and no people in sight.

Most notably, there are none of you up there. You reason that it wouldn’t make any sense for there to be in the first place, given everything that had happened, but some pathetic part of you wishes that Jake still held onto you the same way you did to him.

“Here,” Jake says, snapping your attention back to him. He’s unearthed a plain blue box from the depths of his closet, and he’s pushing it towards you with a lopsided smile.

You abandon the photographs and plop yourself down on the carpet. Peeling back the lid of the box, you peek inside and try to ignore the way your breath quickens when Jake situates himself right next to you. Your knees brush together as your fingers slowly sift through the contents, your mind barely registering what you’re looking at in the box.

A bunch of movie tickets from screenings you’d seen years ago. A birthday card you’d painted for him in middle school. An old Pikachu figurine you’d won for him at the fair. A postcard you’d mailed him from a school trip to Sydney. A magazine cutout from when you’d sat down to do vision boards together. A polaroid of you and Jake at the beach, posing with a hyperactive Layla who’d come out blurry on the film. A tiny plastic box with your baby tooth in it.

Your mind is racing so fast you feel the world around you halt still. Your shaky fingers pick up the box, peeling back the napkin that it’s wrapped up in.

“You– Why’d you keep all of this?”

Jake blinks at you like it’s a ridiculous question. “What, am I supposed to get rid of everything that reminds me of you? This box doesn’t have even a fraction of all that, anyway.”

It’s hard for you to wrap your mind around the thought, but Jake’s been holding onto you far longer than you could’ve hoped for.

“Can I tell you something?” Jake asks.

“You already did,” you joke, crumpling up the napkin under your hands and chucking it at him.

Jake catches it effortlessly and grins at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know you said you wanted to forget everything from before, but I feel as if I owe you an explanation. If not you, then for my own sake. It keeps me up sometimes, ya know?”

Your breath begins to thin out, but you nod anyway. You’ve known this conversation was inevitable, no matter how much you pushed it off. You couldn’t go back to Melbourne without letting Jake rip off the same bandaid for which he was responsible.

Jake’s eyes are soft as they meet your own, his hands gentle as they seek yours out to cradle them. “I could never be upset at you for prioritizing your own future back then, and I hope you don’t carry any of that burden with you. It was me who was unsure of what was happening in my life, what I wanted to do after high school. And it was wrong of me to try and tie you down with me here.

“If anything, you were the only direction I had in my life. And I was so, so scared I’d lose you to something else. Something better. But when I look back on how selfish I was, how desperate I was to keep you around, I can’t help but feel so guilty. Because I should’ve seen how unhappy you were here, and being with me couldn’t change that.”

Jake’s voice is so fragile you could smash it into a million pieces like fine china. Your eyes blink once, twice, and then your cheeks feel all damp and you can’t hold it in anymore. Jake thumbs at the tears that skid down your skin, and you try to swallow down your erratic hiccups, but even through your sobs, you can feel yourself laughing. Despite your tears, you’re happy.

“I don’t think I was ever unhappy,” you admit. “I was just scared. Scared of getting stuck here like everyone else. Scared I’d never accomplish anything and that I’d waste away the most important years of my life. I was so scared I forgot to think about everything that was worth staying for here. Like you.”

Pulling the box into your lap, you look down at its contents with a teary smile. Though you feel shaken up, there’s an underlying cathartic release to it all– this is the closure that you left without, the closure you thought you were never going to get.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking my tooth home with me,” you tease, pocketing the packaged tooth in your shorts. Looking up, you push the box into Jake’s hands. “You can keep the rest.”

Jake regards you silently, but the look on his face is so soft it makes your ears feel all hot. He nods, looking down into the contents of the box with a smile wide enough to make the edges of his eyes crease up. “I don’t mind,” he muses, “I really did keep a lot of things, huh?”

“It’s cute though!” You’re quick to reassure, and Jake’s answering laughter sounds like fizzy soda pop.

The two of you lounge around on the floor of his bedroom until it’s too hot to even lay around. As Layla enters the room and pounces on you, Jake sits up to look at you while you scratch behind her ears and mumble nonsense to her. “You wanna go in the pool?”

“I didn’t bring my bathers though,” you frown between coos.

“Oh my God,” Jake groans, getting up from the floor and pacing over to his drawers. “You’ve even started speaking like a Melburnian. They’re togs, excuse you, and I can lend you some shorts or something.”

The shorts and shirt he passes you have random cartoons on them and are thankfully dark enough to not go transparent in the water. You clamber up from your spot on the floor and wince as you stretch.

“I’ll change in here,” you tell him. When Jake remains standing in the room with a blank expression, you point towards the door and tell him to shoo.

“Got it chief,” Jake salutes you jokingly, “Layla, let’s go girl.”

“Layla can stay,” you interrupt him, whistling to call her back over. Layla obediently follows, planting herself by your feet and barking at Jake, who remains frozen in the doorway.

“This feels really mean,” he pouts at you, grabbing the door knob to shut the door after him. But even after he closes the door, you can hear his voice in the hallway. “Last one in the pool is a loser!”

Huffing, you look down at Layla and giggle when she nudges your foot as if to say hurry up.

☀

There’s a lightness to your breaths that you swear came after that day at Jake’s. You think it’s silly to attribute it to a mere conversation, but in retrospect, any weight you’d carried before was because of an absence of any such conversation.

You feel good, oddly much so that it’s almost weird. You feel as if the universe had absolved you of all the pain and guilt you had tied to this place, and all you were left with was the fondness and euphoria of finally being back.

Until shit begins hitting the fan soon after.

On an unusually gloomy day for the summer, you and Sunghoon find yourselves on the steps in front of the shop, taking advantage of the opportunity to be outside without experiencing heat stroke symptoms. The concrete is still warm under your legs, enough so that Sunghoon offers up his shirt for you to sit on at one point, but it’s a welcome change from the unpleasant temperatures you’d seen thus far.

It’s Sunghoon’s part of the shift currently, but the store’s been eerily empty for the first half of the day, so you two have taken it upon yourselves to take a well-deserved break. Perks of being your own bosses, and you’re sure your aunt would approve. You’d hardly broken a sweat, and who are you to turn down Sunghoon’s offer of ice cream and a soda?

Besides, listening to Sunghoon fervidly talk about the new tv show he’s started watching while you chow down your cone is a treat of its own. You take the chance to rant about the last weird TikTok you saw while Sunghoon finishes off his own ice cream before it melts.

There’s a natural lull in your conversation at which point you decide to check your phone. Jake’s name is atop most of the notifications on your screen, and you’re not quite sure what to reply to first. Your fingers fidget on the device and you bite your bottom lip, holding back a grin when you finally click on your messages and see a picture of Layla with a hat too big for her head.

“What’re you smiling so much at?” Sunghoon’s voice is teasing, and you have half a second to process his question before he’s cramming into your side and peeking at your phone with prying eyes.

“Hey!” You scold, but it’s too late, because he’s seen the contact name atop, and you can’t think of a lie fast enough before his next question comes.

“You’re texting Jake?” The teasing smirk on his lips melts with the accusatory tone in his voice, and you wince as you lock your screen and hide your phone.

“Why do you sound like that? You’re acting like you’ve just walked in on me trying to hide a body or something!”

Sunghoon’s lips purse and he eyes your side, where you’ve tucked your phone away. “Don’t be ridiculous, this is basically the equivalent.”

“Ridiculous?” You scoff. Something in your throat settles uneasily, and you try not to sound too hurt when you speak again. “I’m just talking to him, Hoon. What are you on about?”

“Really? You’re giving him a second chance after everything he’s done?” Sunghoon fixes you with a dismayed stare, brows furrowed and fists clenched where they rest in his lap. “Do I have to remind you that you left in the first place because of him?”

The lump in your throat grows and you feel like you’ll throw up. Looking away, you blink up at the cloudy sky and try to focus on evening out your breathing. Fights with Sunghoon have never been easy, but fights with Sunghoon about Jake, though rare, always left you numb for days on end.

“I’m not giving him a second chance. We’re friends, testing the waters again, that’s all,” you say meekly. “And I didn’t leave because of him, I was going to study in Melbourne anyway. Stop giving him so much credit.”

Sunghoon’s silence feels like an eternity. You hear him shift next to you, then, out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he stands up. His stare burns into your scalp like the scalding sun. “Even you don’t believe yourself.”

Sunghoon’s eyes are glossy and tender from where you can see them, and it dawns on you that he’s close to crying. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip and his eyebrows are set and furrowed, but you can tell that he’s upset and failing at hiding it.

“It may not seem like it, but it hurt all of us when you stopped keeping in touch after you left,” he continues, wiping at his eyes with his hand. “It sucked a lot. We all thought we lost a good friend forever.”

“Sunghoon,” you call, voice breaking off at the end. You reach out to grab him by the wrist, looking up with wide, apologetic eyes. “Sunghoon, I’m sorry. I’ve always–”

“Had a thing for Jake? Yeah, I know,” he dismisses, smiling shakily. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know. And you know I’ve always had a thing for you. But I didn’t let that get in the way ”

“Because it’s not fair to either of us.” You can feel your throat begin to tighten in the same way it does when you’re about to sob, can feel your eyes sting and your heart falter painfully.

Abruptly standing up from the curb, you ignore the way your skin burns from the heated concrete and reach out to envelop Sunghoon into a tight hug. His arms remain limp at his sides for a brief second, until he hears you sniffle and immediately reciprocates the embrace. You close your eyes and inhale deeply, coaxing Sunghoon into rocking back and forth with you.

“I love you,” he says. “I love you so much and I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Nodding against his shoulder, you pull back to look at him. The rims of his eyes are red and his face is slightly puffy, but you realize he’s no different than the boy you’ve always held so dear to your heart. No matter the distance you’ve spent apart, the disagreements you’ve struggled over, the spats and rocky paths. He’s still your Sunghoon.

“I love you too, Hoonie.” Wiping at one of the tear streaks on his cheekbone, you gently cup his cheek and ignore the way your heart falters when he leans into your touch. “Even if it’s not in the way I wish I could, I still love you so much."

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything for a minute, instead resigning to just closing his eyes and melting against your hand. You hold still all the while, humming softly under your breath until he feels ready to move off.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Sunghoon decides. He wipes at the remaining tears on his face, and moves to hold the door to the shop open, gesturing you inside. “I’ve got cookie dough Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer that I need your help finishing. And no, you cannot get out of this.”

Snorting, you step inside and look over your shoulder to tease, “If you seriously think I’d pass on Ben and Jerry’s, we should re-evaluate this friendship.”

Sunghoon laughs, a full-bellied one where you can see the endearingly sharp edges of his teeth and his Adam's apple bob, and closes the door behind him. He doesn’t say anything to that, silently wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he leads you up the stairs. When you look over, he’s still smiling. You think you’ll be okay.

☀

Rolling down the window, you thrust your arm out into the humid evening air and relish in the gust of wind that meets your palm. From your position on the hill, you can see the entirety of the shoreline in all of its tranquil glory, devoid of any visitors and undisturbed in the wake of the sunset.

You think that this is where you’re meant to be– in a quiet world, next to Jake, with every trivial worry left behind.

Jake parks the car underneath the jagged shade of a pandanus tree and races over to the other side to open your door, almost tripping in his haste. Laughing, you step out and help him unload his board from where it’s tied to the roof of the car.

The two of you have routinely begun choosing the same spot on the beach. It’s close enough to the water so that you can reach it without the sand burning your feet, but far enough so that the crashing waves don’t end up touching you. You know it’s the same spot because it’s next to a mosaic made of seashells that has yet to be destroyed.

Jake thinks the mosaic resembles a cityscape, but you think it looks like a blooming rose.

Sometimes, Jake swims around on his board and practices old moves while you watch him keenly. Sometimes, you read an old book or doze off while Jake does laps around the shore. Sometimes, he even invites you into the water with him, and sometimes, you say yes. You mutually bask in the presence of the ocean and each other, and it’s all you really need.

“God, it’s so humid today,” you complain, huffing as you drop your bag onto the sand. Jake hums in agreement and straightens out the blanket so that you can sit down.

“It won’t be getting much worse after this. Summer’s almost over anyway,” Jake says mindlessly, tugging at his own bag and rummaging through it with a pout.

Right. It was at the forefront of your mind until it suddenly wasn’t– leaving again.

The prospect of having to return to a life without Jake and Sunghoon and everyone else you loved here was proving difficult for you to conceptualize. The return ticket sitting in your wallet was long forgotten, tucked away in a pocket and left untouched until now. Your fingers itch to reach for it in your bag, to rip it to shreds and dig it under the sand and forget about it for good.

A nudge on your shoulder snaps you back to the present, and you find Jake holding out a Melona bar in a silent offering. You take it with a wide grin and rip open the plastic without hesitation. You haven’t had these popsicles in a while, probably since the last time Jake bought you one.

“You wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

Popping your mouth off of the bar, you lick your lips and crane your neck to look at Jake. He’s in the process of opening his own popsicle, but he’s watching you carefully, almost timidly.

“A bunch of silly shit,” you admit. “Like how I don’t want to go back to Melbourne all that much anymore.”

Jake’s eyes dip across your face, like he’s searching for indications that you’re lying. You think they pause on your lips for the slightest second longer, but then he’s looking away altogether and you don’t know if you can trust yourself.

“I don’t want you to go back to Melbourne either,” he laughs, voice breaking off toward the end. He’s nervous.

“Clingy much?” Your joke’s meant to ease the ache in your chest but it only makes it worse. “It’s fine, you have my number and socials. You can bother me there.”

“We don’t have to talk about this right now. You’ve still got a few weeks anyway, why focus on leaving when we could be making the most of this time?” And Jake’s right. Last you were here, you hadn’t known you wouldn’t be back for a while. You never got a proper goodbye with many people or places. But now you knew, and there was no use mourning the inevitable.

You knew you would be back eventually.

You and Jake finish off your Melona bars and shed your outerwear so you can wade into the water. As your fingertips graze the water by your hips, you close your eyes and wiggle your toes against the sandy floor. You hear Jake dive into the water nearby, followed by a split second of calm before something brushes along your calf and you can’t hold in your terrified shriek.

Looking down, you find Jake peering up at you through the water, his wide grin visible even under the buoyant ripples. He resurfaces with a big splash in front of you, sticking his tongue out at you childishly while you wipe the water from your face. You feel your jaw drop incredulously, and you have half a mind to retaliate and give him a taste of his own medicine.

Jake seems to read your mind, however, because he makes a dash for the shore before you can move to splash him back.

The sand dips beneath the soles of your feet as you chase after Jake, sending water droplets scattering up around you in frantic arcs. You think he’s running toward one of the inlets, the one where there’s a loose rock formation that allows you to venture further into the ocean. He stops where the sand bleeds into dark, jagged rocks, leaving you to catch up to him in seconds.

You barrel into his back and giggle as he turns around to hug you to his chest, shrieking when he lifts you up and your feet kick around aimlessly in the air. Your heart flutters in your throat as you look down to see Jake grinning up at you, eyes crinkled up endearingly and mouth opened around a boisterous laugh. His hands are warm where they’re holding your waist tight, fingers splayed out against your skin.

Jake sets you back down, chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath he takes. Your skin feels impossibly warm even after he’s let you go, and you find yourself unable to look away from him. Against the backdrop of the sun, he looks like an angel.

Wordlessly, he holds out his cupped hand to yours, and you reach out to accept with wide eyes. When he pulls back, you see that he’s left two seashells in the dips of your palms, small and round in shape. The bigger of them is tawny and has a dipping crevice in the middle, while the other is a pristine white with several ridges along its arch. They’re beautiful.

“Do you still collect these?” Jake’s question makes the butterflies in your chest stir.

“I do,” you murmur, feeling oddly bashful that he remembers. “The box is under my bed in Melbourne.”

The same wooden box he’d gifted you for your 16th birthday once you told him you kept all the shells he’d been giving you.

The two of you abandon your blanket and sit on the patch of damp sand you’ve been standing over. The yolk of the sun has begun to slip behind the ocean’s horizon, coloring the water and sky a brilliant red and sending cascading pockets of light along the shore. Jake’s gaze follows the length of the skyline and you can’t help it that yours strays to him.

There’s a rough, pink scar bridging across the length of Jake’s shoulder, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re no stranger to Jake’s recklessness out in the ocean, but the long span of it is unlike the rest you’ve seen on his skin. From its color alone you’re able to tell that he’s gotten it recently, and it hasn’t quite healed yet.

“This one’s new,” he says as if reading your thoughts. Jolting, your eyes snap back to his face to find him looking at you knowingly. “I was too close to an inlet and lost control of my board.”

You hum in response, reaching out to brush your fingertips against the blemished skin. It’s jagged under your touch, warm from where the sun’s kissed it, and you ache to lean down and run your lips over it. Jake exhales softly, head tilting the slightest bit so he can watch you.

“You’ve always been a bit clumsy,” you joke breathlessly, in an attempt to disregard the weird squirming in your chest. But then Jake continues to stare at you silently, and you shift nervously, hand pausing to hover above his back. “Guess you haven’t changed all that much.”

“Neither have you,” Jake mumbles, eyes still caught on your face, “you still look at me like that.”

You burn to ask him what he means, but your heart is stuck in your throat and you don’t think you can speak without saying something you’ll regret.

Yet in a way, you don’t need to ask him what he means. You think there has never been any need for explanations like this. You love Jake, and that’s true without all of the complexities that the statement conjures up. Past or present.

The lapping waves at the shore flood your ears like cotton. Jake’s face is so, so close, and yet it feels like he’s too far away. Like he’s always been.

“Hey,” he whispers, but the word crashes louder in your ears than the waves. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

You can’t speak, but the eagerness that bleeds into your nod is telling enough of just how you feel. Jake’s warm hand tenderly cups the side of your face to bring you closer, and right as another wave breaks onto the shore, his lips meet yours in an achingly gentle way.

He’s everything you remember– he tastes like ocean brine and spearmint gum and his favorite iced tea, remnants of the past and the future you’d yearned for. The calluses on his palm are familiar where they brush against your jaw as he angles your face to deepen the kiss, and you try not to practically whine into his mouth when his tongue slips past your lips.

Your hand travels up from his shoulder to tangle itself in his hair, weaving your fingers through his locks with an urgency that seems to throw both of you off guard. Jake giggles into the kiss when you tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, and you break off when you feel a string of laughter bubbling out of you in response.

“Wow,” he whistles, face adorably red as he tries to smooth his hair back into place. You snort at his predicament, though you suspect your own state isn’t much far off from his. When Jake reaches out to fix up your hair as well, you go quiet, watching him through your lashes.

The silence you lapse into is silent and comfortable, so unlike the standoffish moments you two shared just a few weeks earlier. The thought of how quickly things between you two changed startles you; you realize that you no longer think twice about all the intimate moments and touches you share with Jake, much less feel guilty for any of them.

The voice at the back of your head is no longer there to whisper incessant reminders of the past, reminders of things you should have never taken with you in your baggage to Melbourne.

“You hungry?” Jake’s question startles you back into the present, and without thinking, you nod eagerly once more. His answering laugh makes the tips of your ears burn red, but you’re far too focused on his proposition of food to care. “There’s a really nice diner in the next town over, and I’d love to take you there.”

“Okay, it’s a date,” you grin.

Jake grins back, and you decide there’s no use holding yourself back anymore. You love him.

☀

Jake’s last competition for the season is scheduled the week before you’re set to leave for Melbourne. It’s a big one– his biggest yet– and in the days leading up to it, you’re not able to catch much of him outside of your shop.

He visits twice. Once to pick up an extra emergency repair kit in case something unpredictable happens during his practice sessions, and once to buy his usual Crunchy Peanut Butter Clif Bar. He tells you he’ll save it for the morning of the competition, kissing you on the cheek and sprinting out the door before you can “distract him further”. Whatever that means.

In a way, you don’t look forward to the competition. It serves as a constant reminder that you’re bound to leave at any moment, and of everything wrong that can happen with Jake out on the ocean. Though every competition carries that same latter risk, this particular one required its attendees to take on some of the highest waves your region had seen in years.

You worried for Jake, and as selfish as it was, for what would come of you two after.

“Stop moping, Jake will still be able to give you dick over in Melbourne,” Sunoo had chastised you one night over dinner, flicking a pickle at you.

You’d dodged it, crumpling up a tissue and tossing it right back at him. “Yeah, but it won’t be the same!”

Sticking to tradition, your friend group had decided to gather one last time for dinner before the tournament day. Jake couldn’t make it– that much was customary, too– and you found yourself glancing at the empty spot in the booth one too many times while eating.

It seemed like you couldn’t avoid talking about your fickle future with Jake, much less thinking about it. You knew that there was another conversation due soon, one which you refused to bother Jake with until he was finished with the season. But it was beginning to eat at you from the inside, slowly gnawing through your defense built on friends’ reassurances.

You’d just finally gotten ahold of Jake again, you weren’t ready to give him up so easily.

The shore is more crowded than you’ve ever seen it. Despite arriving relatively early to the tournament grounds, you and your friends had found the sand chaotically packed, with the only remaining spots to spread out a blanket being near the very back. Stopping by the slanted wooden walkway that leads down to the beach, you survey the entire length of the shore, hoping to find a spot with open space.

“Are you sure we’ve got the right place?” Heeseung frowns at the crowd, scrunching his nose up when a kid screams. Sunghoon shrugs, moving to check his phone.

“Surfing’s a big deal guys,” Sunoo chastises, “what? You don’t believe all these people are here for Jake?”

“I don’t think it’s that,” Jay sets down the cooler he’s holding, stretching his arms out with a groan. “I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never seen any beach this packed ever. Even when they had that free-entry hippie festival last summer.”

“There’s literally a poster,” you deadpan, pointing to the information bulletin board off to the side. Half of the board is taken up by a familiar, colorful poster, the same one your entire friend group had adamantly reposted onto your Instagram stories for days, plastered onto its surface. You resist the urge to laugh when a collective ohhh follows at your revelation.

Slowly but surely, your group makes it down to the beach with all of your belongings and elaborate signs, all donning Jake’s signature blue. The competitors are nowhere to be seen, so any plans of seeing Jake before everything begins are thrown out the window. You manage to squeeze yourselves further inward, not quite toward the front, but it’s better than the view you’d have to settle for in the very back.

As all of you busy yourselves with setting up the umbrella and blankets, Sunghoon slips away with the promise of returning with cold drinks. But by the time he makes it back, the audience has gotten impossibly larger, and the cardboard trays in both of his hands begin to teeter as he tries to nudge past the thickening crowd. Sunoo laughs at him, but is quick to rush over and take one of the trays into his own hold.

“This tournament’s for the entire Sunshine Coast,” Sunghoon says in a huff, passing around a plastic cup to everyone. “It’s the biggest event for surfing held in this region in decades. No wonder it’s so crowded.”

“Thanks Hoonie,” you smile. The drink is some odd concoction of fruit punch and other sweet juices you can’t recognize, but it’s refreshing and cold so it’s the most delicious thing to you.

Sunghoon nods, finding purchase on the blanket next to you. He takes a swig of his own drink and pulls back to watch the ice clink around in the cup. “The finalists from today are going to attend Nationals in Sydney. South Bondi, or something like that. That’s what the barista told me.”

Your eyes go impossibly wide, and you almost choke on the liquid in your mouth. Sunghoon pats you on the back while you cough it out, and you put your drink down lest you spill it over yourself. “Nationals? Fuck, I feel like I should know if my boyfriend is trying to qualify for Nationals…”

Jake had mentioned that the gravity of the tournament was greater than any of the previous ones he’d been part of, but you had absolutely no recollection of him mentioning the word nationals. You’re certain you know why he didn’t– the worry swelling in your gut is telling enough. But it’s followed with a burst of pride in your chest that makes you feel so giddy you’re sure the grin on your face looks stupid.

Once your coughing fit’s over, you reach down to pick up your cup and take another sip. But it’s then that you sense four pairs of eyes on you, and you look over to find your friends gawking at you. You curl in on yourself subconsciously, grin slowly melting at their expressions. “…What?”

“Boyfriend?” Sunoo all but yells, breaking the silence. The people around you throw weird looks in your direction, but you don’t pay them any mind.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” You surmise that the dramatics aren’t unprompted in this situation because you truly hadn’t found a way to break your friends the news yet either, but could anyone blame you? In your eyes, there was no subtle way of announcing it.

“Ha! Heeseung, you owe me 100 bucks,” Jay claps, reaching to high five you. You return the gesture with an exasperated face, not too keen on being stuck between their childish feuds.

Heeseung dishes out the money from his wallet with a sour expression, handing it to Jay and shoving a middle finger in his face.

“No one’s going to congratulate her?” Sunghoon finally speaks up, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Shame on all of you.” Turning to you, he whispers, “Congrats, by the way.”

The other’s enthusiastic good wishes follow suit, and you can’t help the jaw-aching smile that splits your face. You pick up your cup and chase the last of the liquid in there, both to hide your grin and to quench your growing thirst.

By now, you’d gotten more than used to the routine of surf tournaments. You knew when to expect different sections, how long you’d be able to watch Jake out in the waves, and when to anticipate the final minutes. As the music from the judge’s panel diminishes and is replaced by a cheery, high-pitched voice, you sit back against the blanket and get comfortable.

The participants are all introduced with grandiose speeches that make the speakers crackle from the deafening volume. You make sure to whoop and holler extra loud when Jake Sim is announced, squinting against the beaming sun to try and spot his face among the line of surfers.

Jake clears all of his heats with an astounding performance and form. The audience oohs in tandem with each of his moves, and you have to prop yourself up on your knees halfway through to be able to properly see your boyfriend. You cheer and clap animatedly after he completes each series, heart beating faster with each swelling wave that he meets.

The judging panel also seems to love him. From the way they refuse to break their staring while he’s out on the waves to write anything, to the way they mumble amongst each other with dazed looks on their faces after every particularly difficult trick, you can’t help but feel proud. It’s almost disappointing watching him paddle toward shore and give way to the competitor after him.

Despite the intimidating waves, Jake handles himself well and is able to clear through his routine with ease. He doesn’t lose control of his board even for a moment, braving into the highest waves you’d ever seen him take on. The other participants also seemed to be doing well– though not quite as well as Jake– and you find yourself applauding and cheering after some particularly hard routines.

You think it should come as no surprise to anyone on that packed shore that Jake scores a remarkable lead in first place. He carries the highest wave scores throughout most of the tournament, only bettering them further as the heats pass. You get to watch him perform moves you’d never seen before, moves you’d only seen on the news performed by Australia’s best. He’s truly breathtaking in the water– you know you’d think this no matter who he was to you.

The awards ceremony almost makes you burst into tears. Jake’s gold medal is handed over by the main judge, who shakes his hand and pats him on the back as Jake accepts it with a deep bow. He reaches over to wrap his arms around the shoulders of the competitors who’d won second and third place, congratulating them with an earnest smile. When the flashes from the photographers become impossible to ignore, Jake turns to the cameras and brings his medal up to his mouth, biting down on it cheekily.

The crowd doesn’t begin to thin out for a long while. You’re not able to reach Jake until half an hour after the ceremony’s ended, your boyfriend occupied with on-the-spot interviews and eager fans waiting for a photo together. Meanwhile, Sunoo and Jay race back to the car to bring out the bouquet and balloons that you’d brought to surprise Jake.

When Jake is finally able to attend to his personal matters, he all but runs barefoot on the sand towards you, opening his arms in warning once he’s close enough. You yelp at the tight hug you’re all but swept up into, feet kicking out in the air under you when Jake lifts you and begins spinning you. 

“I’m so happy right now!” He shouts toward the sky, voice breathy from exhilaration.

“I’m so proud of you!” You shout back, ruffling his damp hair. The fringe falls into his face and you push it back so you can lean down and kiss him.

“I take back my congratulations,” Heeseung speaks up from behind you, and Jake sticks his tongue out at him before putting you down carefully. He moves to pat your boyfriend on the back, grin so wide it takes up half his face. “Just kidding. That was sick Jake, you killed it out there.”

Sunghoon and Jay echo the statement and barrel into Jake’s sides to hug him, wrangling him into their holds so they can hold him up in the air. Jake doesn’t even bother fighting against them, accepting the inevitable with a fond grin and rolling his eyes once they let up and put him back on the sand.

“And obviously he’s going to kill it in Sydney too,” Sunoo brandishes the bouquet from behind his back, holding it out for Jake to take.

Jake’s face flushes cutely as he accepts the flowers and balloons, posing for photos as you whip out your phone. The thin gold metal sits like a sun against his chest, illuminated with beams as you instruct Jake to turn toward the horizon. You decide that you’re going to set this one as your homescreen later.

As a few more of Jake’s friends from the academy come up to him to personally congratulate him, you hang back and watch him with a smile. Despite growing up, learning more tricks, and climbing his way to your region’s top spots, Jake’s humble attitude hadn’t changed. He still met the hand of fellow surfers and treated them like equals despite any rankings, refusing to let anyone put him up on an invisible pedestal.

The shore has somewhat cleared out by now, most of the people remaining being the competitors themselves and their friends and families. It’s no longer hot enough to make you feel like bursting, and you decide to jog down to the water to dip your feet into the ocean. The water’s cool against your warm skin, the tiny waves lapping at your ankles in rhythmic motions as you stand there and soak in the last of the afternoon sun.

Jake joins you along with the rest of your friends sometime later. You all stand ankle-deep in the water quietly, and when you look over at them, you can’t help the fond grin that blooms on your face.

“Are we celebrating at Auntie Lee’s?” Heeseung suddenly breaks the silence, and you can’t help but burst into laughter.

“We could,” Sunghoon shrugs. “Or we could just hang out here for a while.”

“Jake and I will join you guys later,” you say shyly, reaching for Jake’s hand. “I have to steal him away for a bit right now.”

“Thanks, I just threw up a little bit in my mouth,” Jay faux-gags, pretending to vomit. You pay him no mind.

You and Jake bid your friends goodbye with the premise that they’ll join you later and load his surfboard onto his car. When you finally set off toward your aunt’s shop, you heave a sigh of relief and lean back in the seat. The air conditioner’s broken now, meaning you have to rely on a crammed open window for pockets of fresh air, but even amidst the sweltering heat of the late afternoon, you’ve never felt better.

“I’m hoping that’s a good sigh,” Jake speaks up from the driver’s seat, “I’m driving as fast as the law allows me to, we’re almost there.”

Snorting, you lean against the door in an attempt to catch as much of the breeze filtering in. It’s a bit tricky, given that most of the surface is hot from sitting in the sun. “It’s good, I promise. Just really happy that everything went well with your tournament. And that I have you all to myself now.”

The food you’d prepared for him earlier in the day is sitting in the kitchen, lidded and ready to be portioned out. You and Sunghoon had dug out your aunt’s fancy dinner plates from the basement and cleaned them off for the occasion, setting the table with them in a manner decidedly too formal now that you’re looking at it again. There’s even a candle in the middle, awfully regal in its glass holder and waiting to be lit.

Jake snorts, but it’s fond. He loops an arm around your shoulder and kisses your cheek. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I felt like cooking something nice for myself,” you tease. Kissing his cheek back, you move to shrug him off of you so you can sit down. “It just happened that your tournament was also today. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“How can I not when my girlfriend prepared a feast for me,” Jake exclaims, sitting down next to you and rubbing his hands. He peers closer at the dishes, eyes going wide at the contents of a particular pot. “Dude, galbitang? Just say you want to marry me and go.”

Your ears feel impossibly hot as you reach for the ladle and begin pouring some of the soup into your bowl. “Hey, less talking, more eating.”

If Jake notices your flushed face, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he silently reaches out with his chopsticks to begin filling your plate with the dumplings you’d made.

As much as you’d like to, the meal is too hefty for you to jump Jake straight after. Once the both of you finish eating and put away the remaining food, you wound up in your aunt’s living room, on her vintage floral couch that’s draped with a nostalgic white sheet.

Jake laughs when he sees it, carefully sitting in the middle so as not to get onto the actual couch. “God, I remember sitting here when we were kids, and your aunt wouldn’t let us watch TV unless we kept the couch covered.”

“I swear no one’s actually touched the real surface of the couch since she bought it in the 90s,” you groan as you settle into the cushions next to Jake. You feel pleasantly groggy, like you could fall asleep at any minute, and it doesn’t help that Jake is so warm and comfortable. “Remember that one time we tried sneaking in TimTams to eat here? I’ve never seen her angrier.”

“That was your idea, by the way, and second, I think she was angrier when we tried to hose down her roses in the backyard. Why were we so evil as kids?” Jake’s head finds its way onto your shoulder, and you try not to shake as you giggle.

Looking at the black TV screen across from you, you make out the matching smiles on both of your faces. It makes your stomach swoop, but you don’t think it’s from the good food you just had. Closing your eyes, you breathe in Jake’s shampoo and sigh. “I miss her a lot, I can’t wait for her to be back.”

You don’t notice you’ve begun dozing off until Jake startles next to you from a buzz in his pocket. Confused, you straighten up and watch as he looks down at his phone with a frown, rubbing at his eyes.

“Shit, Sunghoon texted me that they’re going to be back soon,” he mumbles.

“That sucks,” you say.

The two of you stare at each other for five still seconds, before Jake tosses his phone behind him on the couch and you practically pounce on him. You stagger onto your feet and pull Jake up with you, laughing as you all but race to your room down the hallway. Pushing open the door, you loop your arms around his neck and bring him in for a needy kiss, one you’ve been holding back all afternoon.

Jake shuts the door behind both of you, giggling against your lips when you huff impatiently. Your fingers sidle up under the hem of his shirt, brushing urgently against the heated skin you find. It was getting harder and harder to reel your self control back in around him, and now that you two were alone, you could barely resist jumping him like a predator. But who could blame you?

You also barely resist the triumphant noise that teeters behind your lips once Jake finally relents and takes his shirt off. It’s discarded somewhere in a corner of your room, forgotten as soon as it’s out of your sight. Your hands are back on him quicker than he can turn around, and when he leans down to press his lips against yours again, you feel him smile into the kiss.

“Jake,” you pant, palms drifting up his back with newfound desperation, “Jake, please.”

“Please what?” He teases, breaking off into a surprised groan when you lean down to bite his neck, suckling on the skin and running your tongue over the purpling bruise you leave behind.

Neglecting him of an answer, you continue your venture down his neck until you reach his collarbones. His hands are purposeful where they dip under your shirt to paw at the skin of your tummy and lower back, nudging the material higher and higher until you break off from his neck to take it off altogether.

Jake doesn’t let you continue marking him– instead, he’s the one that incessantly attaches his lips to your chest, tongue lathing over your nipple leisurely. His hand envelopes your other breast and kneads it while your breathing grows laborious, your head falling back as you weave your fingers through his hair. When he switches his attention to your other nipple, you decide you’ve waited long enough.

“If you don’t do something more I’m seriously going to explode,” you warn him, pulling him away from your chest. Jake barks a laugh, wiping at the spit on his chin with the back of his hand before letting you lead him toward your bed.

You fall backwards on the mattress easily, Jake towering over you with heady eyes. He picks up where he left off, plush lips dipping between your breasts and traveling further down with fervent motions.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against the skin of your hip. The warmth fanning from his breath makes you go lax in his hold, and you hazily blink up at the ceiling in an effort to ground yourself.

His nimble fingers slip under the edges of your shorts, and with one quick look at your desperate nods, he begins tugging the material, along with your underwear, down your legs. Discarding the garment somewhere behind him, he hooks one of your knees over his shoulder, angling your other thigh outwards until you’re comfortably spread out for him. You inhale sharply at the cold air that meets your sensitive area, but the feeling is short-lived.

Jake leans in with an eagerness that has your breath catching in your throat. His lips suction right on your clit, and it takes every effort within you not to buck your hips wantonly into the feeling. His free hand settles warmly on your hip bone like a promise, holding you down against the sheets with a strength that only makes you squirm more.

Whining, you try to slow your breathing as his calloused fingers travel up your inner thigh and brush against your sopping entrance teasingly, where they catch strings of your growing arousal. You’re not normally this sensitive, already wriggling and gasping at the mere brush of his touch, but you reason that it’s because it’s him touching you.

You tense as one of his forefingers prods into you, slowly at first, then with a cocky certainty that makes you see stars. He sinks it into you until his last knuckle, curling it against your walls with growing fervor as you relax in his hold. As Jake adds a second finger, you reach out to weave your fingers through his locks, mewling when his grip on your hips tightens.

“I missed you so much,” he hums into your cunt between rolls of his tongue, groaning when you tug on his hair. “Fuck, you’ve been driving me crazy for such a long time. Can’t believe you’re finally mine again.”

Something in your chest squeezes, and you look down at him with glassy eyes.

It’s a sight that knocks the breath out of you. Jake’s eyes meet yours over the curve of your abdomen, and he takes the moment to lewdly spit directly onto your clit. He massages the saliva with tight figure eight motions, and combined with the rhythmic pumping from his other hand, it makes you feel like you’ll burst.

“I’m close,” you whisper, voice raw and spent. You feel strung out, like you’ve been stuck on the verge of an orgasm for an hour, when it probably has been five minutes at most.

Jake’s fingers squelch when he speeds up his motions, lapping incessantly at your clit as you continue to writhe helplessly. He looks up at you with dark eyes, fingers curling at just the right angle, and it’s enough to send you over the edge.

You come with a drawn-out whine, fingers clutching at his hair with desperation. You feel your thighs quiver before they settle on the mattress around Jake, exhaling deeply as you lean back into the sheets to calm down.

“Holy shit,” you laugh, covering your face as Jake crawls up next to you. He kisses the back of your hands, peppering more kisses along your arms, chest, neck, and whatever parts of your face he can reach. It only makes you giggle more, shying away from his affection with a racing heart.

“So good to me,” he mumbles, finally pressing his lips to yours. You sigh, looping your arms around his neck and leaning into his adoring touch with uncharacteristic bashfulness. Jake holds you like you’re made out of china, like you’re something precious, and the implications of that make your own heart throb with fondness.

Pulling away from the kiss, you push back on his chest gently, shuffling around so that you can sit up. “Lay down, I wanna ride you.”

You crawl over to one of your bedside drawers, tugging the top compartment open and feeling around until you can find what you’re looking for. As Jake leans back against the headboard and makes quick work of discarding his pants and boxers, you fish out the condom and join him so you can perch yourself on his lap. You tear open the foil, discarding it somewhere off to the side, and hold it up between you two like a gem.

“You’ve been planning for this, huh?” He teases, but you ignore him in favor of rolling the condom down his length. He watches you all the while, sucking in air through his teeth when you touch a particularly sensitive part of him.

“It’s hard not to when my boyfriend is so hot,” you answer, leaning down to kiss him again. His hands settle on your hips, and when you grind down on him experimentally, he practically moans into your mouth.

Leaning back on his lap, you reach down to align him with your entrance, pouting when your first two attempts to press him in fail. He’s awfully slippery with the lubricated condom, and you’re awfully nervous about the whole situation, so it’s no wonder your hands shake as you attempt to do it again. You let out a frustrated laugh, frowning when his cock flops back onto his stomach and you’re left hovering above his lap.

“Let me,” he whispers, gripping his length and holding your hip attentively. He pushes his tip in slowly, eyes trained on your face for any signs of discomfort, and biting his lip as he sinks further. About halfway in, you feel him pause reluctantly, and you hiss as you clench around him.

“Love, you’ve got to relax. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away from him when you feel your face begin to burn from embarrassment. Jake’s hands envelop your sides to bring you close to him, and you bury yourself in his shoulder as he slips out from underneath you. “I’m just really nervous. Don’t want to mess this up.”

His hand begins to draw patient, comforting circles on your lower back. You feel your breaths begin to even out, along with your racing heart, and you turn your head to leave grateful kisses along Jake’s neck. He shudders and hugs you tighter. “You’re okay. Let me know when you’re ready.”

And that’s the thing– because despite running from your feelings, running from him, Jake has never once let his patience run thin with you. He’s always been right there, waiting for you to come back, waiting for you to love him back with the same certainty that he always has.

It feels entirely unfair. But as you look back at his glittering eyes, at the handfuls of adoration in each of them, you feel your jitteriness slip away and become replaced with wholehearted sureness.

“I’m ready,” you say with conviction, pulling back to rest your hands on his toned chest. “Jake Sim, I’m about to rock your fucking world.”

Jake’s laughter sounds like bells in the springtime. He leans back to watch you push him back in, letting out a drawn-out sigh when he bottoms out and the backs of your thighs meet his hips. The shaky moan that slips from you feels too loud in the quietness of your bedroom, but you can't find it in you to feel shy as Jake’s cock drags leisurely against your walls.

Despite how weak you feel, you’re able to build up a steady rhythm with your hips. With each downward thrust, you revel in the way Jake’s eyes follow you, and in the soft sounds that are coaxed out of his mouth. You reach out to push away the fringe that has fallen into his face, cupping his face for a brief moment before your hand snakes down between your bodies to rub at your clit.

You keen at the feeling, but your fingers are quickly replaced by Jake’s own, which nudge at the bundle of nerves with growing urgency. His hips are rocking back up in tandem with your thrusts, eyebrows furrowed and lips wrapped around a breathy moan that reverberates around the room and makes the heat in your stomach triple.

You feel like a mess; you’re breathing heavy and your skin’s all sweaty and your thighs are burning with the effort to make both of you feel good. But Jake looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and it makes you forget about everything else.

“I’m really close,” you breathily laugh. Your hips begin to stutter as you feel the growing wave in your abdomen swell higher and higher with each of your motions, slowly losing all sense of coordination. Jake doesn’t seem to mind all too much though.

“Me too,” he mumbles the sentiment. The flush on his face has spread to his neck and chest, a pleasant rhubarb shade that you can make out even in the darkness. He’s so lovely, and all yours.

Jake’s thumb on your clit hastily adds more pressure as your breath quickens. Your vision grows blurry at the edges but you can’t look away from Jake, whose eyes are boring into yours.

“Jake, I’m so close, m’cumming, God, please, Jake–” your babbling is cut off when your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, pulling you under and rendering you breathless. You distantly feel your thighs shake around Jake’s hips as you ride it out, followed by a drawn out groan from his side when he hits his own high.

Your heart is pounding in your ears when you slip Jake out of you, and you barely have enough energy to roll off of him before flopping down on the bed. You still don’t quite feel like you’re on the ground, brain all mushy and struggling to piece the night’s events together. A part of you is convinced you’re dreaming, if the hazy ringing in your ears is anything to go by.

“Sweet girl,” Jake coos, brushing the hair that’s gotten in your face. He reaches over the side of the bed to fish his underwear out from the messy pile, tugging the briefs on and standing up. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

The ceiling of your room is bleached a moon white from the light streaming in outside. You listen with a racing heart and heaving chest as Jake rummages around in your bathroom, returning seconds later with a damp rag in hand. He maneuvers your legs around so he can wipe up the worst of your mess, gently hushing you when you whine from the drag of it against your sensitive skin.

“I really hope Sunghoon and the others aren’t back yet,” he quietly giggles, discarding the rag off to the side once he’s cleaned himself up.

“We warned them earlier,” you mumble sleepily. You can already feel an ache settling into your knees and lower back, but decide that it’s a problem for tomorrow’s you to worry about.

Jake lays down next to you and props himself up on his elbow to look at you. Even in the bleak darkness, you can make out the way his eyes won’t drift away from you, the way their edges crinkle when you giggle. Feeling shy, you pull the blanket up to your chin and try to hide behind it.

Jake doesn’t take any of it though. He slips right under the blanket with you, fingers immediately reaching for your sides to try and tickle you. You give up almost immediately, shrieking with laughter and begging him to stop while your feet thrash around.

“You can’t hog the whole thing,” he laughs, “I’m getting cold out here!”

Instead of answering, you drop the blanket on top of both of you and use your free arm to loop around his neck, bringing him in for a tight hug. You nudge your face into his bare chest and kiss him on one of his older scars, whose outline is so faint you can barely make it out anymore.

“How are you feeling?” Jake whispers.

He moves to wrap an arm around your waist and you throw one of your legs over his hips. He’s warm, and you can faintly hear his thrumming heart and each breath he takes. His hand is pleasant against your lower back where he traces meaningless shapes into the curve of your spine.

“I love you so much,” you answer. And you mean it.

Jake’s hand continues without pause, and you think you feel him smile against the top of your head. His lips are soft where they press a kiss to your hair.

“I love you too,” he says. And you know he means it.

☀

Melbourne Central has always felt like hell, but today it seems exceptionally so.

You’d think the entire city has spilled into the railway station at once with how crowded the platforms are, each person practically shoulder to shoulder with the next. After an entire day of traveling, you’re beyond spent and in desperate need to be back home, so it’s with tired feet that you attempt to trudge through the chaos.

“Don’t get lost on me now,” you hear Jake’s familiar voice from next to you, and the weight from your luggage on your hand disappears. “Hold onto me, I need to make sure I deliver you in one piece or Sunghoon’s going to kill me.”

You loop your arm around Jake’s bicep and wince as he maneuvers the both of you through the crowd. Both of you begin to sound like broken records with how often you’re mumbling pardon us and different variations of sorry as you squeeze yourselves past different groups of people. Overhead, the announcer’s monotone voice about a delayed train arrival blends into the amalgamated mess of noise in the station, and you swear you’re going to go insane if you don’t get out of there fast.

Outside, the pleasant autumn sun has you squinting up at the sky and reveling in the fresh air that greets you. Jake tells you that the taxi he ordered is here, and you have only a few seconds to take in the world around you before you’re being whisked away again. As you haul your luggage into the back of the car and cram into the back with your boyfriend, you lean over to watch the city pass you by through the window and tune everything else out.

It’s weird, being in the same position you were in just a few months ago. Familiar buildings fly you by but you’re no longer stricken by grief or holding back tears as you watch them disappear. The feeling in your chest is bittersweet– you’re looking back on this summer with a smile and a warm heart. You’d reconciled with everything you’d been avoiding, and came back with more than you could’ve ever hoped for.

“We’re here,” Jake says, and you blink your hazy thoughts away. Looking over, you find that he has one of your hands in his own, thumb smoothing over your skin gently as if he can read your mind. You smile, squeeze his hand, and step out of the taxi.

Against your complaints, Jake takes on doing most of the work of taking your luggage up to your apartment. He doesn’t let you carry any of the heavier bags, rushing to grab them once he’s hauled them out of the taxi before you can even reach for them. You’re left trailing behind him, trying not to make your leering too obvious as his arms bulge under the weight of your luggage.

The door to your apartment opens with a high-pitched squeak. You trudge in slowly, taking in the sun-lit hall with wide eyes. It’s exactly like you remember leaving it, but now Jake’s standing in the middle of the tiny space, looking around with a grin so earnest it makes your heart swell. You know that it’s only a matter of time before everything here reminds you of him too.

“We’ve got some cleaning to do,” Jake notes as he passes by the dusty shelf in your living room. Looking out the floor-length window that takes up the entirety of one of the walls, he whistles and turns to you with his face lit up. You distantly think it reminds you of a smiling dog, only that his tongue isn’t out. “Yo, this view’s crazy! You can see so much of the center from here. I’d kill to be waking up to this every morning.”

“We do have some nice surfing spots a short drive away,” the implications of your words are clear as day, and Jake’s eyes narrow at you playfully. “What? I’m just saying.”

Jake looks out the window again, humming as his eyes trace the edges of the buildings that stand out against the horizon. You feel a bit nervous being so brazen with your future intentions, but everything Jake’s said and done so far has led you to believe he’s on the same page. “I’ll think about it when I finish this term. I’m serious about getting my degree, but I’m not against seeing your pretty face when I come home every day.”

Nodding, you try not to let the excitement bleed out onto your face, but it’s impossible when Jake’s words sound like a promise. “Hey, when do you need to go back for uni, anyway?”

“My term doesn’t start for another week,” he glances back at you and pouts. “Why are you trying to get rid of me so soon?”

You can feel the tips of your ears reddening and you quickly shake your head. “No no, I just wanted to make sure you don’t end up missing your own important stuff. I’d want you to stay here forever if it were up to me.”

“Right,” Jake drawls, and he rounds the couch to attach himself to your back. You feel every curve of him pressed up against you, and with the way his arms snake around your waist and his hands inch under your shirt, you know exactly where this is headed. “Just so you know, you couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to.”

“And just so you know, the building in front of us can see everything through these windows,” you say, but Jake’s hands remain incriminatingly low on your hips.

You feel the sigh of his laughter fan out against your neck and your breath hitches. “That’s fine, you’ve still gotta show me your bedroom anyway. So I know where to put our bags.”

“Mhm,” you agree, and the disappointed noise you make when he lets go of you is embarrassingly loud. Jake giggles, and you waste no time in dragging him by the wrist through your apartment.

“My bed’s big enough for the both of us, so you can just sleep with me while you’re here,” you open your bedroom door and usher Jake in after you. It’s cute how nervous he looks standing around, unsure of where to sit or what to look at first. “And stop making that face! You’d think I kidnapped you and I’m holding you hostage.”

After enough coaxing and changing into clean clothes, you and Jake both end up sitting on the edge of your bed, but his mannerisms are still telling of how anxious he feels. His movements are all jittery and his hands run repeatedly over his knees, almost like he’s wiping the sweat off his palms. “It’s just crazy to think about the fact that you have a whole different life here. I don’t know where I’m supposed to fit in, and it’s really hitting me now that I’m actually here, y’know?”

“Jake,” you softly prompt him to look at you, frowning when his eyes meet yours and you see the same uncertainty that you were struggling with in them. You cup his face gently and thumb at the skin of his cheek, whispering, “I can promise you that you’ve got nothing to worry about. There’s more than enough space for you in my life. There always has been.”

With the way he leans into your touch, you can tell that he believes you.

You both lay back against the mattress, if only to rest for a second before you know you’ll have to inevitably get up again. But before you can move to sit up, Jake’s hovering above you with a knowing grin, and you can’t complain much as he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s soft at first, nothing more, but then he’s cupping your jaw and slipping his tongue in between your lips and you know where this is headed.

“We should unpack first,” you half-heartedly mumble between kisses. Jake begins kissing down your neck, and you groan, head falling backwards. Your words come out increasingly less convincing with each vowel, until there’s absolutely zero conviction in everything you’re saying. “We should really… we’ll be too lazy later…”

“That’s no way to welcome your guest,” Jake pouts against your skin. 

You let him continue venturing down your neck until he’s slipping the shoulder of your t-shirt off, eager to get his mouth on your chest, when you startle in his hold and make him pause. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just have something to show you,” you laugh, sitting up and scooting to the edge of your bed. You clamber down onto the ground and look under your bed, reaching out to unearth the box you’d suddenly remembered.

“The box of seashells you gave me,” you tell Jake. You place the box carefully on your bed and begin to rummage through your backpack for the ones he’d given you right before kissing you.

The box is a tiny wooden thing with a metal clasp in the front that opens with a bit of force. You open it and let Jake peek inside, placing your newest additions inside with careful hands. Jake’s jaw is slack as his fingers poke at the different seashells you’d accumulated over the years of knowing him, bottom lip jutting out as he turns to look at you.

“You really kept all of them,” he mumbles in awe.

“Well I wasn’t going to throw them away.” You joke, closing the box and placing it on your nightstand. “Besides, they meant a lot to me. Still do.”

Wordlessly, Jake leans down to kiss your exposed shoulder. He rests his cheek against the skin there, and you reach out to card one of your hands through his unruly hair. It’s not damp from the ocean or sandy after one of his surfing sessions. It’s soft under your fingers, tousled after a long day of traveling, and it smells faintly of mint. 

“You know what I think?”

Jake hums questioningly, peering up at you through his lashes.

“I think we should shower. Then continue where we left off, if you still want, and then nap. Like for a while. And then we can go to that diner down the street I kept telling you about.”

Jake smiles against your shoulder and leans up to kiss you on the nose. You cup one of his cheeks and thumb at the faint freckle near his temple. He looks beautiful, like all of the sunsets you’d seen in your hometown, all of the seashells you’d collected, and all of the roses in your aunt’s backyard.

The edge of Jake’s lips quirks up at your offer. You kiss him before you can respond, and revel in the dazed look and breathy response you draw from him. He’s beautiful, and all yours. “Yeah, I think that sounds like a great idea.”

author's note: if you've read all the way down to here i hope your pillow is cold on both sides, always. i worked very hard on this baby and i hope that whoever reads it enjoys it at least a fraction of the amount that i enjoyed writing it 🤍 if you did enjoy, leave a comment and reblog, it means the world to me!!! support your writers!

taglist: @enhastolemyheart, @fakeuwus, @jakesimsgf, @hannivrse, @jayk2025, @bluesoobinnie, @luvvsjungwonn, @cha0thicpisces, @thejjrl, @sweetjaemss, @ohmykwonsoonyoung, @yaatrickyaaa, @albono-bueno, @itstessasblog, @emiliasstuffs-blog, @ddeonugu, @bloobworld, @loveleejn, @flower-lise, @jayfrvr

©nightdiary 2024. do not repost.

[soylent-crocodile]

Chiropterex (Monster)

(artist unknown)

(Back in the distant era of the early 10s, my family got Netflix as a novelty. Nowadays streaming has consumed film and television like a rabid beast, but back then, my brother and I found a little British show called Primeval. Weaned on BBC nature documentaries from a young age, this was an exciting new spin on Walking with Dinosaurs, and we loved it.

The future predator is no question the most iconic creature of the series, a future bat that is both inspired by earlier spec evo and has gone on to inspire many other monster designs, including the earlier moorkutlot. It seems only fitting it be translated to Pathfinder.

By the way, I'm abandoning the proposed evolutionary history the later seasons provide- that these actually evolved to eat humans in a post-apocalyptic cityscape- and make them what I think is most obvious to me.)

CR3 TN Medium Animal HD5

Chiropterex are an aberrant species of roughly wolf-sized terrestrial bat, an arboreal, nocturnal apex predator of the islands it calls home, where no other land mammals have reached. They live in small family groups of about four to six members, typically consisting of a mated pair, a nest of about six children, a few children of previous years who stay around to help, and maybe one or two aunts or uncles. Typically, however, they hunt alone, feeding on seabirds and large moa-like ratites who evolved alongside them. These family groups keep in contact with each other using echolocation, and if a lone hunter runs into a struggle, it will call on the dissembled family to help.

Chiropterex are notorious man-eaters, and many a shipwrecked crew has met its end at a family of ravenous land bats. Many peoples of island cultures consider chiropterex to be evil spirits, and indeed there is at least one island where the magic of The Abyss has infected the local population of these predatory beasts.

Some outsiders have tried to domesticate chiropterex, or at the very least use them as weapons. They are a tempting subject of domestication; they are mobile, intelligent, fast-growing and have large clutch sizes, but all attempts so far have ended disastrously.

Chiropterex Companions

Starting Statistics: AC: +4 Size: Small Speed: 30ft, Climb 30ft Attacks: Bite (1d3), 2 Claw (1d4) Ability Scores: Str:10 Dex:22 Con:8 Int:2 Wis:12 Cha:7 Special Qualities: Blind, Blindsight 90ft, Scent Lv 4 Advancement: Size: Medium Attacks: Bite (1d4), 2 Claw (1d6) Ability Scores: Str +4 Dex -2 Con +2 Special Qualities: Flurry of Strikes

This hunched over creature has long, clawed arms and a bulbous head that ends in a short, needle-toothed mouth.

Misc- CR3 TN Medium Animal HD5 Init:+5 Senses: Perception:+6 Blind, Blindsight 90ft, Scent Stats- Str:14(+2) Dex:20(+5) Con:10(+0) Int:2(-4) Wis:12(+2) Cha:7(-2) BAB:+3 Space:5ft Reach:5ft Defense- HP:25(5d8) AC:19(+5 Dex, +4 Natural) Fort:+4 Ref:+9 Will:+3 CMD:21 Immunity: Gaze and other visual effects Weakness: Vulnerability to Sonic  Offense- Bite +5(1d4+2, 18-20/x2), 2 Claw +5(1d6+2) CMB:+6 Speed:30ft, Climb 30ft Special Attacks: Pounce, Flurry of Strikes +3/+3/+3/+3(1d6+2) Feats- Dodge, Mobility Skills- +11 Climb, +10 Stealth, +6 Perception(+8 Racial to Climb) Special Qualities- Flurry of Strikes Ecology- Environment- Forest, Urban (Warm) Languages- None Organization- Solitary, Family (2-4 Chiropterex, 6-8 Young Chiropterex) Treasure- None Special Abilities- Blindsight (Ex)- A chiropterex’s blindsight is echolocation-based; it cannot sense within areas of Silence or similar spells. Flurry of Strikes (Ex)- A chiropterex may, as a full-round action, give a flurry of stabbing strikes from its claws. It makes four Claw attacks at a -2 penalty each. 

[maaarine]

DNA Tests Are Uncovering the True Prevalence of Incest (Sarah Zhang, The Atlantic, March 18 2024)

"In 1975, around the time of Steve’s birth, a psychiatric textbook put the frequency of incest at one in a million.

But this number is almost certainly a dramatic underestimate.

The stigma around openly discussing incest, which often involves child sexual abuse, has long made the subject difficult to study.

In the 1980s, feminist scholars argued, based on the testimonies of victims, that incest was far more common than recognized, and in recent years, DNA has offered a new kind of biological proof.

Widespread genetic testing is uncovering case after secret case of children born to close biological relatives—providing an unprecedented accounting of incest in modern society.

The geneticist Jim Wilson, at the University of Edinburgh, was shocked by the frequency he found in the U.K. Biobank, an anonymized research database:

One in 7,000 people, according to his unpublished analysis, was born to parents who were first-degree relatives—a brother and a sister or a parent and a child.

“That’s way, way more than I think many people would ever imagine,” he told me.

And this number is just a floor: It reflects only the cases that resulted in pregnancy, that did not end in miscarriage or abortion, and that led to the birth of a child who grew into an adult who volunteered for a research study.

Most of the people affected may never know about their parentage, but these days, many are stumbling into the truth after AncestryDNA and 23andMe tests.

Steve’s case was one of the first Moore worked on involving closely related parents.

She now knows of well over 1,000 additional cases of people born from incest, the significant majority between first-degree relatives, with the rest between second-degree relatives (half-siblings, uncle-niece, aunt-nephew, grandparent-grandchild).

The cases show up in every part of society, every strata of income, she told me. (…)

In the overwhelming majority of cases, Moore told me, the parents are a father and a daughter or an older brother and a younger sister, meaning a child’s existence was likely evidence of sexual abuse. (…)

In the end, Steve was able to identify his biological father, though not through any particular feat of genetic sleuthing.

One day, two and a half years after his DNA test, he logged in to AncestryDNA and saw a parent match.

It was his mother’s older brother.

From the site, he could see that his father-uncle had logged in once, presumably seen that Steve was his son, and—even after Steve sent him a message—never logged back on again."

[gooseyganderer]

Azutara story I have in my head

Azula has been living peacefully in the rural fire nation for years. After overcoming mental health issues and relationship problems, she dedicated herself and her life to mastering fire bending in a way that few ever had. She has developed relationships with villages close to where she has settled, and they provide her with food and drink in exchange for her protection. She agrees. She spends most of her time meditating, trying to reach the same level of spirituality as her uncle, and she has made her way into the spirit world.

One day a young boy from the village asks her to teach him fire bending. This is not something that Azula is interested in doing. She tells the boy that if he is able to replicate 1 of her 3 biggest feats she will teach him. 1. Conquer Ba Sing Se with no casualties, 2. best the Avatar in a fight 3. Become an aunt. The boy is determined and sets off on his journey.

About a year later Azula is in the spirit world, and feels a great disturbance. The avatars physical body has been killed, and the avatar spirit seeks its next iteration. Azula is confused, Aang is only in his early 30s, and should not be dead.

Chaos ensues, with a group similar to among/the red lotus seeking to overthrow the new bender supremacy they see being imposed on the world by Aang and his generation, they are seeking out the strongest benders from each element.

Katara arrives to rescue Azula, as the boy has sold out her location on his travels. Azula and Katie are forced to work with one another, and although Azula has changed Katara finds it hard to trust her. Katara is also struggling with the loss of Aang and the potential harm that Toph may fall into. Her 3 children are safe with Zuko in the fire nation capital, but most of the Earth Kingdom had fallen to the other ideology once the avatar was beaten.

Katara and Azula fall in love etc etc the end

This is my first one and I got tired but this is the kinda story I’m thinking at the moment/ non comic compliant

[dielitttt]

Astro observations pt. 3🚨

__________________________________

People with Venus conjucting their ascendant tend to age really good but have a baby face when their younger ☠️☠️mfs be looking like so faygo with they baby face like people be coming up to them and asking them what they do w they face like they face is so clear somehow 2…

While saturn-ascendant people may be “responsible” and “hard work” they also like to have fun

Virgo in Lilith people tend to “work hard” but in a manipulative way like they would just use people for their money sometimes and these type of people know how to act like they can cry without even feeling sad or nun they could be actors instead of freeloading nd shit like that.

Sagittarius placements are the type of people who don’t talk to you for like weeks or years and then come outta knowhere in your life and be like “hiiiiii” 😭😭

Cancer suns are so confusing to spot cause I usually think their an air sign or a fire sign..

You tend to love artist that have the same rising sign or moon sign as u for example I love Rihanna’s music and her in general, she’s a aries rising and I’m an Aries rising. I also love shakira and her rising sign is Aries!!!

People develop a crush on me when I meet them at first sometimes , but I’ve only liked them platonically and I’ve always wondered why and I still ain’t know so please someone tell me I’ll show my chart n everything🙏🙏

People with Leo placements tend to have people who use them without them even knowing for example: they could have a friend that acts all nice to them but in reality their “friend” is using them for a certain thing they have.

People with their mercury conjucting Pluto tend to keep their real interest or things abt them privately like for example rn nobody I know knows that I’m running an astrology account or even do astrology in general

People with Jupiter and placements tend to be fascinated towards drugs and stuff like that including people with gemini placements sometimes

Water placements tend to have daddy issues sometimes:(

Cancer and Taurus couples tend to conceive fire or air sign children

Aries risings either want kids or don’t either or

I was just looking at me and my boy bestfriends synastry chart and god damn I am glad we never got together 😭😭

People with Medusa-ascendant tend to be sexualised sometimes without even knowing it or trying to be or even being used without knowing😕

Sagittarius venuses or Gemini mars dudes are the type of guys who would go into astrology just to know abt sex or they dick it’s so funny 💀 but embarrassing at the same time

Your Draconic chart tends to be more accurate if you don’t feel like your actual chart is right for you

Gemini suns Libra risings with Capricorn moons tend to be the aunts who have no kids while their siblings tend to have kids instead and treat their siblings kids as their own

__________________________________

I miss cash carti bro 😕😕

[halfagone]

Is it weird that I’m not a big fan of the whole this hero from this fandom gets adopted by the batfam trope? Like, it’s repetitive, but my main issue is that I feel like it devalues the hero in the process? Like, I’ve read fics about Danny and Spidey being adopted by them , and it’s just weird because they’re both solo heroes who’ve accomplished amazing things by themselves, and I feel them getting adopted and following Batman’s order just makes them another sidekick? Like, Spider man in particular was one of the first teen heroes that wasn’t a sidekick, and Danny falls into that category too. Sorry, does that make sense?

I think I get what you're trying to say here! That part of the reason why teenage heroes like Spider-Man and Danny Phantom are so impressive is because they did the hero thing alone, right? That they were capable of all these feats without a mentor and through their own wits and talents? I believe I'm getting that correctly?

I wouldn't call that weird at all. Everyone has the right to their own opinion, and should be respectful enough not to bash anyone else for theirs.

I will say that half the reason why I adore Danny so much is how passionate his character is. We have evidence that Danny isn't the most fond of the hero gig, but the fact that he keeps at it, keeps putting himself in danger to protect people, proves that for all that he's a little shit that gets on people's nerves, he is genuinely a good kid. He didn't have to do the hero thing, but he did, because someone had to, and he decided it had to be him. And he did it alone, or- mostly alone. Sam and Tucker's help should never be underestimated, but it's no secret that they don't have all the firepower he does.

I do understand why people like the trope where Danny or Peter get adopted, and part of it is for the same reasons I like it too.

When you think about it, teen heroes are targeted for teen audiences. They're fictional characters meant to instill confidence in kids, teach them that they can do good too, help them grow and reflect when they see their favorite heroes going through the same things they do. All sorts of things like that. And when you're a kid, you feel like the world is stacked against you. Hopefully you'll have people in your corner, but not every kid out there does. So these kinds of heroes help them build confidence in their independence, that they can stand up for themselves too, even when no one else will.

But then you grow up, and then you realize you shouldn't have had to do that all by yourself. You should have had a trusting adult to look out for you, you should have had someone to watch your back. I was an anxious 14-15 year old, because I was stupid enough to try to finish high school in 3 years instead of the standard 4.

And that's nothing in comparison to these teen heroes who have people's lives in their hands, fighting every day knowing that one day they might not come back home, getting injuries they can't always hide well. On top of all that, they have to make excuses at school, make excuses at home, try to keep up with their grades so that they can have a future, they have to think about college/university plans.

Sometimes they get grounded or punished, because they're lying to their family's faces, but it's all for a good cause. But they can't explain that either, because they want to protect the people they love. Peter Parker is usually very poor, in some cases he works one or multiple jobs to help Aunt May pay the bills.

The teenage experience is overwhelming enough, they shouldn't have to worry about the hero thing. But they want to help people. And they deserve to get some help of their own.

I know there are probably some people out there that give Danny or Peter a loving family because they see a lot of themselves in these two. They couldn't get that supportive family, so they go in and they give these teen heroes the family they never had, because they know how much good it would have done for them too. And sometimes that blood/biological family isn't the answer, might even be the root problem of it all, so they give them an adopted one.

Obviously it's still not for everyone, especially if you do want to keep that independent aspect that kinda makes the whole teenage hero trope. So the concept might not be for you, and that's okay too! Unfortunately sometimes that means you have to ignore a lot of fics, but hopefully there are plenty other fics that are out there for you.

[pool-spidey]

In which Wade has created a monster and Aunt May just wants one normal fucking dinner. 

[idontknowreallywhy]

Tried but failed to reach a conclusion on what I’m loosely calling the paint mystery but the majority of the chapters have deviated so wildly from any kind of plot that I may have to rethink whether it’s a story or just a collection of scenes.

Unrefined, unedited previous bits for reference:

Bit the first

Bit the second

Bit the third

The interlude after the third where I lost control of the characters and everyone went a bit nuts

Now, Bit the fourth which was supposed to be the end but that still eludes me… ALL the thanks to @astranite @womble1 and @sofasurf for the beta reading and suggestions and encouragement and to the Thunderfam generally for being a friendly safe community to practice a new thing within.

Light

A rush of harmonics drowned out Two’s steady hum as her sister raced up beneath her and barrel-rolled overhead before shooting off into the Californian twilight. Virgil watched as her vapour trail angled up, up, up and over backwards before taking a steep dive and spiralling back towards where he and Gordon watched in various shades of amusement and baffled awe.

“How is he still conscious?” Gordon murmured. “I’d be either sick… or dead. Ugh… nope, definitely dead.”

Virgil watched as his elder brother steered the rocket plane into the vertical zigzag he recognised as the signature move of the ‘Vomit Comet’ Scott had piloted for the trainee astronauts during his 6 month NASA secondment from the Air Force.

“He doesn’t have a… normal relationship with G force, Fish, you know that.”

As if to prove the point, One screamed past them, spinning, and doubled back to overtake at a distance which set Two’s proximity sensors blaring.

Again.

Virgil cringed and covered his ears.

John’s wry smile materialised in front of them. 

“Aunt Val is going to be inundated with emails from the alien spotters again isn’t she?”

Virgil snorted. Then sighed.

“Should we… you know, rein our dear flyboy in a little?”

There was a delighted snicker in the background as John coughed uncomfortably.

“He couldn’t doooo it” came the familiar singsong voice of Virgil’s digital niece. John, who now appeared to be heavily focused on brushing non-existent dust from his baldric, frowned slightly.

“I did open a comm with him, yes.”

“And?”

“He was… whooping, Virgil.”

It was Gordon’s turn to snort. He looked up from his tablet where he’d already accessed the usual conspiracy theory websites to check for new flying saucer sightings over Arizona.

“What, Scott? Pfft, seems unlikely”

John raised an eyebrow and patched in the audio from One’s cockpit.

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat as he was accosted by a sound he hadn’t heard since his brother was a teenager. Warm, hearty, unfettered laughter punctuated by… yes, that could only be described as a whoop… and then an elated giggle. 

Virgil was aware that to most people sound didn’t have colour but it was second nature to him. Scott’s usual speaking voice was a familiar steely blue, rich and dependable. It could deepen to almost navy if he was angered or concerned, or gain highlights of cerulean when he was amused or speaking affectionately. Now it was as if an arc of blazing summer sky was overlaid on the late evening clouds ahead of them, marred only by the static effect of the comm. Virgil was overwhelmed by a sudden longing to hear his brother laughing properly, truly, untainted by digital interference and simultaneously afraid the opportunity to do so would never arise.

Nobody moved, not waiting to break the spell. Then One did it for them, as her pilot pushed her into yet another feat of aerobatic madness and her own burning white squeals of delight muffled those of the man at the controls.

John muted the feed. Virgil releases the breath he was holding and swallowed, glancing at Gordon whose jaw had almost parted company with his face, his tablet hanging from a limp hand, his mission of winding up the ufologists forgotten. 

It was sobering to realise how infrequently a website tracking the rare and precious phenomena of happy-carefree-Scott would be updated. He met John’s eye and inclined his head. He couldn’t intervene either. Drop kicking a puppy would be less morally questionable.

“How’s his fuel?”

John’s gaze shifted upwards as a graceful sweep of his left hand obviously brought up some kind of display and a swift flick of the right closed something else down. Virgil was momentarily distracted by the image of his elegant brother conducting a symphony orchestra from space, his attention snapping back as he noticed the slight furrow in John’s brow.

“Low, I take it?”

“At this rate he’ll drop into F tank in about 10 minutes. Which will get him home if he flies in a straight line…”

“If.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s F tank when it’s at home?” Gordon had abandoned his tablet and was observing his elder brothers’ with overt curiosity.

John rolled his eyes. Virgil bit his lip and radiated guilt. Scott had never been told about that particular upgrade to his ship and it always made him uneasy to keep such a secret but the secrecy was necessary for it to work as intended.

“Gordon you have to swear to keep this to yourself… but you remember all those times when the paragon of caution that is our big brother has reassured us his fuel supply was “Fine” when One was actually running on fumes?” 

More like the distant memory of fumes in some cases. His little brother of course knew all too well because he’d flown enough missions himself to take fuel to whatever godforsaken location Scott had stranded himself in.

“Well… Brains and I installed a little extra tank about which the fuel gauge is ignorant and so is One’s primary pilot.”

Gordon appeared to ponder this for a minute.

“Won’t that just make him believe he really can fly on fumes?”

“Precisely what I said” John threw a hand in the air. “I had suggested a flow rate limiter instead, so she can’t do more than Mach 6 once the gauge gets below a certain level”

“But that’s slower than the Big Green Mom Bag!”

“Oi!” the Mom Bag’s pilot objected “But, yes. Can you imagine what his reaction would have been if…” Another screech of scram jets announced One’s return from who knew where and she decelerated with a shudder to match Thunderbird Two’s more sedate pace, flying above and just a nose ahead with her pilot looking down at them and flipping a cheeky salute. Virgil nudged the comms open again:

“Having fun, you big show-off?”

Scott’s hologram appeared, all shark-like grin and wildly dilated pupils. Virgil found himself leaning back into his chair, slightly intimidated by the intensity of his sibling’s manic expression.

“Well?! What are you going to PLAY?!”

Three younger brothers performed a perfectly synchronised double-take.

“P-play?”

“The concert, short stuff! What are you going to play in the concert? You should play that one that that goes ba-da-da-da da da ba-da-da-da da da da dum…” and then One was spiralling off again in a roar of jet engines, her pilot’s hologram blurring into incomprehensibility from the vibrations and leaving his younger brother blinking in confusion.

He shut off the comm before it gave them all a headache. At some point prior to the spontaneous post-tornado-rescue singalong in the school hall, their old teacher Ms Knighton had accosted Virgil and persuaded him to be the guest soloist at a benefit concert she was already planning to fundraise for disaster relief in their hometown. ‘Persuaded’ wasn’t quite the right word. He wasn’t aware that he’d actually been given any kind of an option. The woman was a tidal wave of organisation and he’d been well and truly swept along.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it anyway. He’d not played in front of anybody but family since their Mom had passed and he hadn’t planned to either, for all that the idea gave him a tiny flutter of anticipation. He’d been meaning to send an apology citing work commitments later that week.

THIS was what had got Scott so excited?

He squirmed guiltily as he’d begun to theorise that his renowned flirt of a brother had encountered an old flame during the course of the evening and that was what had caused the adrenaline spike. But, it seemed Scott wasn’t celebrating for himself at all. This vanishingly rare level of joy from his big brother, was on HIS behalf?

He suddenly pictured Scott sat in the front row of every little school performance, even the ones Mom couldn’t get to. He’d always put the constantly jiggling denim-clad legs down to frustration at having to sit still and listen rather than climb and run but then… maybe that wasn’t it at all?

There was the gift of the electronic piano… and that time his brother flew back from college to talk round his father who’d objected to Virgil’s nervous suggestion that maybe he could do joint honours music alongside his engineering degree. Granted, when he realised IR on the horizon, Virgil had changed his mind and decided to keep music just as a hobby but thanks to his brother, it had been HIS decision to make. 

Now he thought about it, he couldn’t think of a single occasion when he’d sat and played the lounge piano where Scott wasn’t either at dad’s desk, on the sofa, or leaning against the body of the instrument chatting or just watching with a fond smile.

Scott had been his cheerleader at every step.

“Earth to Viiiirg!” Gordon leaned over and poked him in the side of the head. “So what are you going to play then?” Virgil smiled awkwardly and rubbed away the sudden excess of water in his eyes.

“Guess I’d better figure out what “ba-da-da-da da da” is.”

[visions--of--collisions]

For @anjimimimoo who requested 5 (E):

Nothing E-rated going on in this snippet, but cut for length! Please enjoy this ABO universe silliness feat. Beta!Hobie and Only Kind Of Omega!Miles, and a very concerned Pavitr and Gwen.

EXCERPT: let me ease your mind (Spiderverse, Hobie/Miles, Rated E, Post-Canon, ABO Dynamics)

‘Alright, then. What was the original plan, hole up in G’s dimension for a bit?’

‘Mm-hm.’ Miles took a shuddering breath; on his other side, Gwen had reached out to touch his arm gently. He lifted his head again and gave them a tight-lipped smile. ‘I was there - last time it happened. I didn’t know what was going on, but Miles did, only it kind of freaked him out, because it didn’t seem normal. After, he said he assumed it just worked different in my universe, so, I mean …’ Miles cleared his throat. ‘If he wasn’t confused already, he was when I had to ask what worked different.’

Hobie hummed, amused. ‘Makes sense. I’m guessin’ he was a bit preoccupied on his last visit to notice ‘1610 ain’t got … what was it Miguel was callin’ it, again?’

‘Um.’ Gwen glanced down at her newer, HQ-issued watch like she did sometimes, like she wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, sitting on the wrist opposite her bootlegged version. ‘Uhh. It’s … Alternate Dynamics, is what he called it.’

Hobie scoffed. ‘Alternate for who?’

Miles made a face. ‘For me, maybe,’ he allowed, grudgingly. ‘All I know for sure is if I hadn’t got bit by a spider from ‘42, I wouldn’t be dealing with this shit right now.’

‘Hmm. Reckon you wouldn’t, nah,’ Hobie conceded. He gave Miles a searching look. ‘But that can’t … You got bit years ago, man, so how come - when was it that it happened in ‘42; last year?’

‘Yeah, but … that was the first time it got, uh, real bad.’ Miles fidgeted with his fingers. ‘’Cause it happened every year after I got bit, around the same time, I don't know, I just figured it was a side effect of that, or maybe - maybe from the Collider? It wasn’t even until the year you guys showed up that I knew for sure it was happening - kept happening.’

Hobie rubbed at his chin. ‘Let me guess, ‘cause that was a bad year, too?’

‘Pretty much. And Aunt May had just moved so I - I didn’t, really …’ He looked even more uncomfortable, somehow, for a second.

‘ … There wasn’t anyone else around who you could’ve asked about it?’ Pavitr offered.

Miles nodded, carefully not looking directly at anyone. Gwen shifted and lowered her hand.

‘But … But when you say bad, here,’ she ventured, bravely. ‘Does that mean - did it hurt?’

Miles floundered, a little. ‘Well - yeah,’ he managed. ‘More than before.’

Hobie nodded, examining his untied shoes. ‘D’you bleed much?’

Miles stilled under Pavitr’s hand. ‘Like … two days,’ he mumbled. He sounded embarrassed, of all things.

Pavitr was still trying to close his open mouth when Gwen knelt abruptly, like it wasn’t entirely a conscious decision on her part. ‘Whuh-’ she stuttered. ‘W-what do you mean, you were bleeding?’

Miles cringed; Hobie waved her off. ‘Well, what’d you expect’s gonna happen, when bro’s body’s literally rearrangin’ itself? Growin’ whole new organs and shit.’

Pavitr and Gwen were still staring at each other in blind horror when Hobie inhaled and rocked back on his heels. ‘Alright, do me a massive favour, will you? Open up the front of your Suit.’

Miles’ eyebrows arched so high they almost touched his hairline. ‘Wha- huh?’

‘’Round your Gregory*,’ Hobie directed - which apparently meant around his neck, if the illustrative gesture was any indication. ‘I don’t … I dunno how much G told you, but I reckon I can help you fill in a couple blanks. If I told you I was a Beta, like, would you know what I was on about or would you need me to clarify?’

‘I don’t - think so? Uhh,’ Miles groped weakly for his zipper when Hobie waved him on. Jerkily, Pavitr removed his hand. ‘Betas are the folks that fall in the center of the spectrum, right? If you look at it like, say, Omegas are on one end and Alphas are on the opposite one.’

‘You mean like on a scale?’ Hobie pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Alright, okay! S’not a bad way to look at it. Right, so, if you can picture that, you got yours truly sitting somewhere in the middle of two extremes, meanin’ I share traits in common with both, but like …’ He trailed off as he pulled his guitar strap over his head, searching for words. ‘In a more balanced way, innit? Less specialised.’

Gwen stared. ‘This is sounding a little like some gender binary stuff,’ she observed.

‘Pssh!’ Hobie shot her a dark look as he got his knees under him to better lean into Miles’ space. ‘I don’t know no bloody binary. ’

‘Wait, so -’ Miles groped at the loosened collar of his Suit; Pavitr thought he might be sweating harder despite the improved ventilation. ‘When you say “less specialised,” you mean, uh … ?’

‘What, you mean like - for me personally?’ Miles nodded, and Hobie tilted his head at him, considering. ‘I mean that I do alright, I suppose. I’ve got some vestigial stuff, physically … a bit of the vocal complement. Like - here, yeah, gimme your hand.’ He gestured for Miles’ free hand, and when he let him have it, Hobie splayed Miles’ gloved palm against his own chest and held it there. Miles looked confused for a moment, his gaze flitting between Hobie’s features and their hands before his eyes widened, suddenly. A minute later, Pavitr became aware of a low rumbling - not quite like a hum, but more …

Hobie laughed, sleepily, and it stopped. ‘S’a bit shit, really,’ he drawled, smiling at Miles’ thwarted expression; Pavitr hadn’t noticed him moving, but both of his hands were on Hobie’s chest now, trying to chase the vibrations. ‘I can growl like that, too, but it don’t exactly come natural, either one.’ Hobie hummed, thoughtfully. ‘An’ well, besides that, I reckon my nose ain’t as sharp as your average Hold ‘n’ Beg Ya’s* -’ He gave Miles a significant look. ‘- But it should be sharp enough to work out where you’re at, if you let me try. Plus, me bein’ a Seeya Later* - added bonus of it not bein’ wired directly to my cock!’

Miles pulled his hands away; the ‘Wow,’ that burst out of him made Hobie crow with laughter. Pavitr screened his eyes  and pointedly refrained from intervening when Gwen started swinging. Hobie fended her off with his guitar, still wheezing. ‘Nah, I’m serious, though - ow!’ he insisted, shoving the other Spider away with his foot only to get his ankle twisted in retaliation. Hobie grunted and rolled out of her grip, ducking out of arm's reach where he popped up again in the space between Miles and Pavitr. He crouched and got an arm around Miles’ waist, pointing his guitar at Gwen with the other. ‘D’you mind? I’m tryin’ to help your boy, here!’

‘Helping him how, by being a pain in the ass?’

‘Did you miss the part where I said I ain’t no knothead? Tsk!’ He turned back to Miles, leaning back on his heels. ‘G told you about scent glands and shit, right?’

‘I guess … ? Kinda.’ Miles scrubbed at his face, like thinking was taking him some effort. ‘Like pheromones and bonding and stuff.’

‘Sure,’ Hobie agreed, eyeing him carefully. ‘Obviously, there’s more to it than that. Like - look.’ He reached around Miles’ legs to set his guitar down, grunting in thanks when he caught the fretboard and steadied it against his thigh. ‘Cheers. Alright, see, the glands you’ve got around here, yeah?’ Hobie made a gesture that seemed to encompass not just his neck and his collar, but his nape and shoulders, too. ‘Some of ‘em are minor. Most of ‘em are major. It’s the biggest concentration of scent glands on you, above the waist, like. And it’s generally the bit that gets you clocked out in public, unless you’re walking around in the nip.’ He glanced down and flashed his palms with a rueful smile. ‘These’ll catch you out, too, ‘specially if there’s little kids runnin’ ‘round. But if you’re grown it’s that decolletage that’s gonna be in closer range to other people’s noses, you get me?’ 

Miles fiddled with his collar. ‘I guess that makes sense.’

‘I’m not just talkin’ about heats and ruts and shit, obviously, yeah? Like, picture when you were small, and you weren’t feelin’ so hot - what’d you do? Prolly run to your Mum or Dad, ask to be picked up - then they’d get one whiff and know straight off somethin’ weren’t right. And, like, growin’ up, you’d always know your siblings or your friends were presentin’ practically before they did, if you was horsin’ around and that.’ He fisted his hand in Miles’ neckline and shook him gently to illustrate, grinning shamelessly at the answering splutter.

Pavitr held up a finger to get their attention, feeling weirdly awkward about the interruption. ‘I’m - I’m sorry, but, I’m not sure I understood that last part?’

‘How’d you mean, bro?’ Hobie questioned, casually trying to disengage Miles’ fingers from where they were attempting to make a corkscrew of his helix piercing.

Miles spoke up before he could answer: ‘Puberty, Pav. He’s talking about puberty,’ he said, flatly. He twisted awkwardly as Hobie aimed his fingers at his ribs. ‘Ugh. Or, like, coming of age or whatever. Miles told me kids start showing signs of their, uh, Alternate Dynamics or whatever, when they’re about twelve or thirteen. Usually.’

Pavitr blinked. ‘ … Huh.’

Gwen looked genuinely pained. ‘God. Like puberty isn’t rough enough without all of … this?’

[TO BE CONTINUED]

GLOSSARY:

*Gregory (Gregory Peck): Cockney Rhyming Slang term for neck

*Hold 'N' Beg Ya: Earth 138-native Rhyming Slang term for Omega, cribbed from the wonderful like facing the sun with closed eyes, red by 2by4, which partially inspired this fic - in particular, the concept of Miles developing A/B/O traits because they exist in the dimension where his spider came from

*Seeya Later: Earth 138-native Rhyming Slang term for for Beta

[deathbecomesthem]

This is How the World Ends

Part 1 - Eddie Lives

Warnings - this story will contain horror elements, including blood and gore. Violence. Disturbing thoughts and actions. This story will contain sex. This story will contain all of the elements of life and death. Proceed at your own risk.

A/N: Is this fanfiction? Sure. @jo-harrington

This is a story. Some of the characters within this story may resemble real life people, but they are not those people. Entering this story requires the suspension of disbelief. It requires an imagination. It requires an ability to accept the things within as the reality of the world built in this particular story. If you can’t do that, then I’m sorry. This story is not for you.

This is a story about universes, old and ancient beings, characters that exist because of the power of our minds, the unending possibilities that exist in everything, and Jo - the center of it all.

---

Frodo, Beowulf, Jesus, and Casper the Friendly Ghost all have one thing in common. They are real, and not in the “they live in our hearts and minds” way. They literally exist. Creation in this universe is a never ending thing, every thought is a possibility of life somewhere. Realities connect through spirit, imagination, and of course - love, the most powerful of all the magics in all of the universes. Love, the thing that creates life, the thing that destroys life. 

—

Jo wakes up every morning to an alarm clock like a good and normal human being. She lights up the screen of her phone to check her messages. She scrolls through her emails first, ignoring the notifications at the top of the screen. Well, pretending to ignore them. She does not allow herself to look at them until after she checks her work emails, after she brushes her teeth and dresses, after she starts a mental rundown of her day. 

Jo always knew she was different, which in and of itself is a remarkable thing. Most people might think that no one else understands them, but for Jo it went much deeper than that. And that’s really because she is not human. Yes, she has the “normal” allotment of limbs, ears, eyes, fingers, and toes. She even has a nose, on which a pair of glasses often sits, but in the center of her very self sits something else.

Lately, she spends too much of her time thinking of that other thing, that truer thing deep inside her. It’s hungry. 

Last week was Jo’s birthday, and she spent it in her mother’s home, which is where she spends all of her days. Would that she could escape it. There she sat, in the chair in the corner of the room while her mother stood at its center. Because everyone knew that Jo’s birthday doesn’t belong to her, it belongs to the person that held her in her womb for all of those agonizing months. A feat that ought to be celebrated when the anniversary of the end of that horrific ordeal finally came to an end.

“I remember the day you were born,” her mother loved to regale everyone with this story. She never missed an opportunity, because she got to be the absolute star of the show for the length of it, “I thought it would never happen, ya know?”

Mutters of acknowledgement, because everyone already knew this story. Not a single holiday went by without her telling it while Jo sat quietly and let it happen. A train wreck in slow motion. 

“Josephine, my lovely and talented daughter,” a smile - the one she gives during a performance - is directed to the girl in glasses, “was born after an excruciating 72 hours of labor. Did you know that I died not once, but twice during that ordeal?”

More murmurs of faux surprise. Oh, wow, and how is that even possible? Aunt Linda, god bless her soul, even managed to eke out an excited gasp. So it goes.

Jo sits and pretends to listen. She doesn’t need to hear the words to know at what point of the story she needs to nod her head, frown, chuckle a little, or give a bright smile. So, she wanders away from her body for the 5 minutes it will take to get through this ordeal of a story. In her mind, she is somewhere else. It is a place that she remembers so vividly, she can smell it. If she were asked to describe the smell, she would say, it smells of sulfur and lavender. She would tell you that there is a sweet stench that hangs in the air, rotting meat and flowers unlike she’s ever found in her daily life. She would tell you, it is her home. But she would never do that, because it’s obviously never been a real place, how could it be? 

—

It’s dark wherever he is. It was dark before the breath of life was given to the idea of him. In the minds of men, they thought him into being. They gave him a story. They wrote words. They talked about him. They formed an idea of him, and got to work. It wasn’t until later, when they brought in actors, did they finally meet him. In the face of this British man was Eddie Munson, and they knew he would carve his persona out of his own. A piece of him, a piece of the script, a piece of the tattoos placed on his skin, the ripped jeans and rings, the jacket and vest, the white sneakers, and the hair. 

Joe wouldn’t admit it, but he never acted during his time on that set. When his co stars would mention a bit of improv he added to a scene, he would smile and nod his head. He couldn’t tell them that his sense of self disappeared as soon as the camera began filming. That his body existed, but his mind drifted away. That Eddie Munson wasn’t a character he helped to create - Eddie Munson was a separate person that used his muscle and skin. Eddie Munson wore his smile, and spoke with his voice - Joe was the vessel. 

And now, Eddie is returned to that darkness, to the place before he took the form of a tall, skinny metalhead. He is waiting for his story to be resumed. There is no pain in this place, only the absence of everything. The only thing he knows is this - there is someone that knows him in that warmer place, and she will bring him to her. She will tell him what the rest of the story will be - his story.

—

~ One year ago ~

She didn’t know, each day when she wrote her words and fostered her ideas that they were a prayer. A casting. Every moment. That she could call to him through the fabric of the world, and bring him into being. If she had known, she might have been able to see where it would end. All of it. And it started with the blood on the screen. The cries. The wings beating down on him. The face of an angel, wings of crimson formed on the dirt under his cold body. 

“I cannot FUCKING believe this.” The hard plastic of the remote crashing against the wall behind the television is enough to rouse the neighbor. Jo doesn’t even register the sound of the thumping from the other side of her apartment wall. Angry tears stream down her face while she watches the younger boy cry over the body of his mentor, his leader, his brother, his friend. She can almost smell the iron of Eddie’s blood in the air, the experience is too real. 

I can’t believe this.

That can’t be real, right? 

No, no, no. No. They better fix it.

Eddie is not fucking dead. No.

With one voice, the viewers with unfathomable love in their hearts screamed “No.”

It was the voice of Josephine that tore Eddie from Joe that day, and put him in that dark and quiet place outside of time and space. Where he waits for her.

—

The fandom pulled him through in their grief. Jo’s words and love calls to him. It’s magic that she doesn’t understand. Under her human visage, that truer being weaves and casts. It unfurls its spine and wiggles its fingers. It clings to the pain of the human woman it wears, and it is satisfied. Finally, something that can be worked with. The rage can be harnessed - through it, the ancient thing can push its way to the front of Jo’s mind and be heard. It can be free. 

Through her pain, love, and life it feeds and grows. It never rests, only pulls her deeper. Will her love for Eddie, now present and real in this world be enough to put the beast to rest, or will he unintentionally bring out the power within her.

[miaclemeverett]

Mourning Technoblade: Fans Grieve a Minecraft Star They Never Met

The expert gamer built a following of millions of mostly young players on YouTube, without revealing his name or face.

Late last month, more than 10.4 million subscribers to a YouTube channel received a notification that usually brought good news: Technoblade, an expert Minecraft player, had posted a new video.

For fans, each new video held the promise of Technoblade’s warm humor, whether he was winning a tournament or going on an inexplicable quest to produce more potatoes than anyone else in a Minecraft minigame.

But when fans clicked play on this latest video, called “so long nerds,” it was immediately obvious something was wrong. Instead of showing Minecraft gameplay, a man identifying himself as Technoblade’s father appeared. He announced that his son, whose first name was Alex, had died after being diagnosed with cancer.

The video has been viewed more than 72.9 million times since it was published on June 30 as the fans who used to look forward to Technoblade’s notifications try to process the death of someone they have known only through a screen.

Social media is flooded with fan art, tributes and links to grief resources. Memorials have been erected within Minecraft, including a digital book that had been signed by more than 377,000 people.

The grief has ricocheted offline, including into the home of Noelle, 13, and her sister Ilana, 11, who had recently told their aunt to name her baby Technoblade.

In a video call from their home near Toronto, Noelle said she learned that Alex had died on her last day of school.

“I was just a mess,” she said. “I was just sitting in my room crying. I didn’t know what to do.”

Ilana, who dressed up as Technoblade’s avatar, a pig in a crown, for Halloween, said, “I don’t like to bring up the topic when I am just sitting with others.”

They both started watching Alex’s videos in late 2020. They liked his lighthearted banter with other Minecraft players and how he would monologue about the absurdity of routine parts of life, like using, and losing, a box to carry soap to a communal shower in college.

Coping With Grief and Loss

Living through the loss of a loved one is a universal experience. But the ways in which we experience and deal with the pain can largely differ.

What Experts Say: Psychotherapists say that grief is not a problem to be solved, but a process to be lived through, in whatever form it may take.

How to Help: Experiencing a sudden loss can be particularly traumatic. Here are some ways to offer your support to someone grieving.

A New Diagnosis: Prolonged grief disorder, a new entry in the American Psychiatric Association’s diagnostic manual, applies to those who continue to struggle long after a loss.

The Biology of Grief: Grief isn’t only a psychological experience. It can affect the body too, but much about the effects remains a mystery.

Alex spoke over screen recordings of himself playing Minecraft, the immensely popular video game developed by Mojang Studios in which players can create their own world piece by piece and compete against others online. The game developer was later bought by Microsoft.

The guided gameplay had garnered such a following that the company made a tribute to Technoblade on its launch page after he died. Mojang Studios said Technoblade “became synonymous with a source of good” in an emailed statement.

Among Technoblade’s most beloved game adventures was his whimsical quest to make more potatoes than anyone else in Minecraft, a feat first documented in The Great Potato War video, which had 35.8 million views.

In the video, Alex makes several references to Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War,” as he tries to topple the top potato producer at the time, a player who uses the moniker im_a_squid_kid. After Technoblade sees that his competition has created a rendering of the Mona Lisa in his Minecraft lair, he declares that im_a_squid_kid is not just “a potato madman, but a potato supervillain.”

Shielding an offline identity

In Alex’s videos, he talked about going to college (and dropping out to play Minecraft full time) and made occasional references to his family, but there was a clear boundary between Alex, the son and brother, and Technoblade. His family has sought to maintain that privacy since his death and declined to be interviewed.

Alex announced that he had been diagnosed with cancer in an August 2021 video threaded with jokes in which he also mentioned that he was 22 at the time. He did not specify what type of cancer he had, but his followers assumed that he had sarcoma, a rare form of cancer that is found in bone and soft tissues, because he created a fund-raiser for the Sarcoma Foundation of America on his YouTube page. He had raised more than $500,000 for the organization before the “so long nerds” video was published.

The foundation, which created a special donation page for Technoblade, said that an estimated 17,000 people in the United States will be diagnosed with sarcoma in 2022, and more than 7,200 people will die from the disease.

After Alex died, his fans encouraged eligible people to donate blood to help cancer patients.

Riley, a 21-year-old in Connecticut, routinely donates blood in honor of a friend who died of sarcoma, and she made her most recent donation in Technoblade’s honor. She said his death was all the more difficult because of her earlier loss. “I was bawling like a baby for a couple hours,” she said. (Riley spoke on the condition that her last name not be used because she has faced online harassment.)

She has played Minecraft for about 10 years, but she did not discover Technoblade until the early days of the pandemic when she was working grueling shifts at a grocery store. “There was not a lot of joy in my life being an essential worker,” she said.

She liked Technoblade’s humor and introduced his videos to some of her co-workers, who were reminded of his famous potato war at work. “We were stocking potatoes one night and we just started laughing,” she said.

Technoblade inspired Riley to start broadcasting videos of herself playing video games, or streaming, under the name Notable_Crayon. It has been a great way to unwind, she said, but it has also shown her why someone as popular as Technoblade would protect his offline identity.

Occasionally people will figure out Riley’s full name and send her “creepy” messages, she said. She also has a friend who was the victim of swatting, false reports of crimes in progress intended to draw armed police to the victim’s home. Her friend was not hurt, but others have been harmed, with one man killed by the police and another dying of a heart attack.

In the “so long nerds” video, Alex’s father read a letter that he said his son wrote about eight hours before he died. In the letter, Alex acknowledged the consequences of sharing personal information online and revealed that he and a sibling had successfully convinced online fans that his first name was Dave by using the name in a 2016 video, which was later deleted.

Alex said the prank resulted in “thousands of creepy online dudes trying to get overly personal, going, ‘Oh hey, Dave, how’s it going?’”

Navigating the loss of an online friend

For some fans, the mystery of Alex’s identity has added a confusing layer to the muddle of grief.

Richard England, a vicar at Crofton Parish on the south coast of Britain, said that his teenagers were both devastated by Alex’s death and that they had a few conversations about how not knowing Technoblade’s offline identity affected their grieving.

“Through this new online, offline world we have, many of them will feel like they will know Technoblade and other members of those online communities better than they know kids in their own school,” Mr. England, 47, said. “They will have spent just as much time with them.”

In Canada, Noelle and Ilana’s mother, Janice, admitted she was skeptical at first about the idea that you could have fun watching videos of someone else playing video games. But she said the girls had educated her about the Minecraft world and its personalities, which she now appreciates.

Janice, 52, was well suited to handle her children’s grief about Technoblade because she said she previously worked with children in grief as a child life specialist, a role that helps children and families cope with stress they experience because of health problems, hospitalization and bereavement.

She said that adults tend to want to protect children from uncomfortable feelings, but that it was important to give them space to express, or not express, how they were feeling about Technoblade.

“If we help our children through grief when they experience it,” she said, “then they will be better able to cope with it when they are older and have other situations in their lives that would cause them to be grieving.”

In the video call with her daughters, Janice said her sister in Maryland had called after Technoblade died, because her son was also a big fan. The boy had decided to raise money for the sarcoma foundation, Janice said, prompting Ilana to turn toward her mother and ask: “Is there a way I can help him with that?”

[streets-in-paradise]

Troy (2004) preference: Reactions to your singing.��

Achilles

- Finding out about your secret talent was a sweet surprise. He catched you off guard at some point you thought to be all alone, acting like if he wasn't even there. It happened by accident, he was looking for you under some other reason and when he found you the sound made him stop before revealing himself. 

- Then, when your song finished, you got to hear some soft clapping coming from behind you and when you turned back he was right there. It may have looked like he was mocking you, but it was completely loveful. Achilles’ favorite way to compliment is teasing, especially when he insists on pulling the tough guy act after someone pulls down his defenses. 

- Your voice makes him a bit nostalgic for the songs of the nereids he used to listen to as a kid. He wouldn’t commit the terrible mistake of doing the comparison out loud because that could possibly make his divine aunts very angry, but sometimes he thinks about it when he listens to you. 

- Although he wouldn’t be open to asking you to sing for him right away, he would subtly seek for situations where you would have to. Sometimes those excuses would be truly subtle, but on some occasions would tend to feel quite childish. 

- For example, you would be spending time together and he would suddenly be feeling like playing his lyre. Absolute bait for you to join him with your singing because he wants to hear you. The thing is that you can tell he likes it and never hesitate on indulging him. What else could you do when he is looking at you with so much love in his eyes? 

- If you ever sing a song telling the story of a war feat of his he would be extremely happy, big smile on his face impossible to dissimulate because he is so weak for you being proud of him. He may be used to the ovations of crowds, but praise hits totally different when it comes from you and he can’t resist finding you honoring him with your beautiful voice. 

- You are one of the very few persons whose opinion he really cares about because he loves you. 

Hector 

- He discovered it before you got together. Paris made you sing around the campfire on the resting time of some trip knowing he would be fascinated. It was part of his matchmaker strategy, since he was the only one who knew it prior to that and he wanted to give you two the ríght push to get you close. 

- Actually, the city started to get suspicious about the heir prince being infatuated when he would get catched happily humming the songs he heard from you. 

- To Hector your voice is calm and comforting in a chaotic world that constantly demands too much of him. He wouldn't shy away from asking you to sing for him if he feels that he really needs it. 

- You playing with his hair as you softly sing whatever your heart feels at the time is one of the domestic scenes most frequently evoked in his mind when the fight gets too heavy. If he needs a reminder of why he is fighting for that always makes it for him. 

- His secret dream is being able to quit fighting to be a family man. Hector daydreams with you singing lullabies to your future children. 

- Once he witnessed as you would do it for one of your little nephews and felt in awe the whole time your singing lasted. He never stopped feeling fascinated by it, but at that particular time It hitted differently for a specific reason. 

- It was like a glimpse of that peaceful dream coming at him, a confirmation of how badly he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.  

Paris 

- This over the top romantic boy is convinced that you are the most graceful living creature that ever walked the mortal world. He worships the floor you step and that includes all your virtues. 

- He is your biggest fan and very vocal about it. Never shuts up about you, actually, because he attempts to share his love with the entire city. Paris wants you to be admired as he considers that you deserve and would definitely make a big deal about your singing. 

- Simply because he adores you, he would always try to find a gap in any celebration to be filled with some of your singing. If you feel self conscious about it, he would be there for you in practice filling you with the most romantic words of praise so you would feel more confident. 

- He can't help himself, he wants you to get all the attention because he himself loves attention. In his love language, loving you is also about making you be loved by as many people as possible. 

- Remember what I said about Achilles being cautious with comparisons to divine figures? Paris is the exact opposite. He has to be stopped before he could be comparing you to the Muses and end up unleashing a curse upon you all. 

- He is more of a dancer than a singer, but he would shamelessly join you anytime and especially when it is all about spontaneous fun. He never wants to private Troy from enjoying you, but loves when he can have you all for himself.

- Makes you sing lullabies to him, then brags about how well he slept because of that. 

- He spoke so much of you to the greeks during his brief time in their country that by the time the war started you were already a celebrity. ( let's pretend he didn't start it.) After the first greek victory Agamemnon would brag to the other kings saying that they would take over the city in a day and he was going to make you sing his victory during a banquet on the gardens of Troy. 

- Either among friends or enemies, Paris will always make sure everyone would acknowledge and celebrate your talent.

Patroclus 

- He is absolutely smitten. Head empty, no thoughts other than how good you sound and how beautiful it makes you look. The cutest aspect of the discovery was that it developed mutually. You surprisingly joined his own singing, equally impressed by his voice. 

- At risk of losing the ancient vibe, I am going to say that you were a bit like Troy and Gabriella in the karaoke scene on High School Musical. It was a spontaneous moment that felt magical. 

- Patroclus is great at singing ( seriously, listen to Garrett Hedlund singing clips) and he is also into poetry, so he often incursionates on writing his own verses with hopes of turning his poems into songs. Even since that moment he constantly asks for your help when he is working on his music. 

- Whenever you sing together he can still feel that magic and it makes wonders for his inspiration. 

- Achilles noticed something odd when his young cousin began to abandon the epic topics in favor of writing love songs. He just had to witness one of your duets to properly understand his reasons. 

- in the spirit of his first hand knowledge on the cause, he was happy to see the lad occupying his mind and heart with something more than the wish of acquiring glory. 

Eudorus 

- You were singing to calm yourself down from your own fear and pain after being captured by the greeks. It was a song that your mother used to sing to you when you were little, typical of the trojan popular culture. Tied to a post of a tent in the opposite direction of the entrance, you couldn't see who approached and it wouldn't make you stop knowing it either. If you wouldn't be singing, your internal anguish would have made you collapse. That song, reminder of your family and your homeland, was all you had left to stay strong. 

- Eudorus was a formidable warrior, but never cruel without reason. The sorrow of your singing touched him. The sad beauty of it reflected exactly how you were feeling and his empathy kicked. Facing you to introduce himself didn't help, because he found you beautiful.

- Aware of how dangerous that was for someone in your unfortunate position, he seeked ríght away to protect you from the risks of the camp. For so, using for once the advantage of his closeness to Achilles in those sort of decisions, he opted for keeping you for himself. Promising that he would never harm you, he demanded of you just one thing. 

- Your voice, the contrasting form of entertainment he felt able to ask from you. It was harmless and dignifying, a form of art that was on point with greek uses. Treating you more like a guest under xenia than as a captive, he would make you give a small payment for his protection that was practically the same price guests would pay in his country for shelter. 

- And he would fall a little bit more after each song. At first you showed him the trojan ones you knew, but over time he began to teach you greek songs for the sake of his own homesickness. 

- It was way easier since you stopped acting as if you were obeying out of fear. Once you realized there was nothing to be afraid of in his company things got better for both of you. 

- He was a kind man giving you a soft treatment above the expected possibilities for your social status in and out of the camp. You were born in a family of trojan farmers, not in the royal family like the captive of the myrmidon leader. However, in the rustic life that his shelter for the war provided, Eudorus would make you feel somewhat special. As if you were one of those foreign artists invited to cheer the feasts of King Priam on peaceful times, people expected to perform according with the refined tastes of the court and be paid with hospitality. 

- You would never lose your hope of returning with your family, but you began to wish you would have met the myrmidon captain under different circumstances. If a war wouldn't be making him their enemy your parents would have loved him. 

- If he wouldn't be your circumstantial captor, you wouldn't feel strange whenever looking into his deep blue eyes for too long while singing would distract you and embarrass you. 

Odysseus 

- He pulls out the sort of tactic Achilles would fail trying. Odysseus is perfectly able to deceive you into singing just because he likes your voice and he does it mostly for his personal amusement. 

- Don't get me wrong. This man loves you and would do anything for you, but he is a trickster by nature. 

- However, that Implies he also knows how to make his praise for you sound like the most amazing thing you have ever heard. He loves you and never hesitates in complimenting you like no other would.

 - On the first time you were in Ithaca, when you both were very young and his people weren't used to hearing you sing, he pulled a prank on some fishermen that were hearing your voice from afar. 

- Many years have passed and you still have no idea of how he managed to convince them that a siren was reaching the shore. 

- He even intended to twist it later into an elaborated compliment for you, but you stopped him claiming that it was impossible. No one knows how sirens sound since no one has survived them.

 - The quick comeback impressed him because it showed how your mind didn't get numbed by the sweet words. You could have accepted the strange compliment, but you actively seeked to discuss instead and he loved that even more.

- Alone in his tent on the distant beach of Troy, Odysseus craves to hear your voice once more and wonders if the sirens do sound like you.

Tags: @yerevasunclair @mysticaldeanvoidhorse​ @helie-brain​

[clockwrkcabaret]

Countdown to the Future

WARNING! This show is for adults. We drink cocktails, have potty mouths and, at least, one of us was raised by wolves.

The Clockwork Cabaret is a production of Agony Aunt Studios. Featuring that darling DJ Duo, Lady Attercop and Emmett Davenport. Our theme music is made especially for us by Kyle O’Door.

This episode aired on Mad Wasp Radio, 12.31.23.

New episodes air on Mad Wasp Radio on Sundays @ 12pm GMT! Listen at www.madwaspradio.com or via TuneIn radio app!

Playlist:

Mindy Gledhill – Anchor

Tin Hat Trio & Tom Waits – Helium Reprise

The Puppini Sisters – Wuthering Heights

The Careless Lovers – Black Coffee

The Two Man Gentlemen Band – Chocolate Milk

The Tiger Lillies & Kronos Quartet – Gin

Beirut – Elephant Gun

The Lost Fingers – Tainted Love

Squirrel Nut Zippers – Put A Lid On It

Dandy Wellington – Harlem Rhythm

The Harlem James Gang – Huff With Us

Max Raabe & Palast Orchester – Let’s Talk About Sex

Caravan Palace – L’Envol

Caro Emerald – You Don’t Love Me

Tape Five – A Cool Cat In Town (feat. Brenda Boykin)

The Hillbilly Moon Explosion – Enola Gay

Nekromantix – Dead Girls Don’t Cry

Imelda May – Mayhem

Murder By Death – Dead Man’s Party

Man Man – Dig Deep

DADDY LONG LEGS – Rockin’ My Boogie

Black Pumas – Colors

Blackstreet – No Diggity

Boyz II Men – Motownphilly

TLC – Creep

Janelle Monáe – Dance Apocalyptic

Wet Leg – Chaise Longue

PRIZM – Dreams

System Exclusive – Party All The Time

Nina Hagen – Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off

Check out this episode!

[dielitttt]

Astro observations pt.7♠️

Aquarius rising in composite charts are the type of friendships/relationships that last really long and Can stop talking for a couple of months and talk again like they didn’t ghost each other😭😭 (me and my friend have this and we’ve been bestfriends for 6 years)

Libra moons have such warm hugs like 🤭🤭

Ppl w cardinal rising signs can be attached to food when they first eat it for a longgg time since their 2nd house is fixed (I have this and I’m like that w every restraurant I go 2💀)

Pisces placements (especially moon) May have been influenced around drugs through father figure and May be more prone to taking drugs in General

why do pisces placements that are men or Taurus placements always gotta make fun of the fact that your something for example : my friend be saying “ur so short😦” LIKE SHUT YO BITCH ASS UP

Air sign chirons are most likely to forget their trauma since they have so many things going around in their head (unless they have major earth sign placements tho)

Pluto in 10h people should be careful when it comes to cultural things or saying certain things because they usually have a bad reputation from what I’ve seen

(Ik this is unusual) My aunt has the same rising as me and she has her moon sign in cancer while I have my moon sign in 4h , my uncle and her treat me as their own and have since I was little and people used to think they were my mom and dad sometimes 😭

Pisces mercury men are so dry in text and don’t understand humor sometimes when it comes to tha media but irl they r rlly funny

My cousin has a Scorpio stellium and god damn he is dramatic dramatic

Cancer moons with a cardinal rising sign Can sometimes take the role of mothering for their younger siblings or just take the role for mothering for kids that aren’t even theirs sometimes

Having ur moon in 4h Can indicate your mother having u at a young age sometimes

Aquarius or 11h placements are willing to make sacrifices for people but the people wouldn’t for them sometimes:(

Ive rarely met any Virgo placements a lot of the time

In Astro observations i never see people talking about virgos or Gemini’s alot

Sun-ascendant, Leo rising, major 5h placements in personal planets usually have a golden tone to their hair

My other cousin has an Aquarius stellium and he acts js like me when I was little so I really can understand him and I feel rlly bad for him because he always gets left out for things 😕

Cancer risings look more identical to their mother a lot of the time

Virgo risings usually have this asymmetrical nose sometimes or a petit nose

Leo placements always give me vibes from that one song that’s called “loyalty” by Kendrick Lamar and Rihanna

Sagittarius venuses like having quickies when it comes to $ex