#go crazy bug machine go

[friedri-ce]

bug

[obligatory-name-change]

the setting itself can be the monster... but also... a lover? much to think about

[daggersdesktop]

hi chat. welcome to the first installment of: am i cooked or just paranoid

so im decently new to being actually silly and experimental with tech past just like. occasionally block coding on scratch or writing really simple python scripts or building a simple html and css website for a class. because i have recently graduated and now have a small window of actual free time and can be self indulgent in my hobbies for the first time in years.

anyway. now that ive explained why i may be acting nonsensically, i was playing with a vm of windows xp through virtualbox. vbox users may know that, from version 7 and on, they dont fully support older os's like xp and 95 anymore, so the drag n drop feature doesnt work and, at least i, cant figure out how to get that guest addition thing to work for it.

so because of this you may also know that, when trying to drag n drop, if it fails youll immediately get a pop-up saying the drag n drop failed. awhile after giving up trying to utilize this feature, i forgot to turn off the function and left it on bidirectional. and i got the pop up of the drag n drop, from guest to host, failing. but i was completely full screen in the vm and had been fullscreened into it just only using the vm for some time, and i hadnt been dragging any files at the time . am i stupid for using the web on windows xp vm ?(i was using mypal not explorer, and did have the firewall enabled n whatnot) i thought it wouldnt be a big deal cus vms are relatively secure and i didnt care if something happened to it cus i could just delete it and make a new one but. yea idk

tldr uhhh im paranoid or something malicious happened on my internet connected windows xp vm. idk

[shilokopia]

i think it’s so weird how some peoples reaction to insects are to enact brutal forms of violence and torture unto said insect…

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au, convenience store worker!reader || angst hehe, crack, eventual fluff

↳ ✎ᝰ 15.4k (gasp, she kept it under 20k????)

↳ contains ── so much bickering and banter, reader is kinda sassy and a lil crazy, heeseung is a lil weirdo at first, CRACK (this entire fic revolves around EXTRA HELL FIRE RAMEN PLS), angst, both heeseung & reader can't communicate their feelings & are stubborn as hell, tension tension tension! , deep conversations about life choices lol, cursing

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM ALIVE (barely) ! i survived a global expedition (one 12 hr flight) just to come back and face an apocalypse (i got a bug infection and a cold) but dragged myself out of my deathbed (my comfy bed) to finish editing this because i told yall i would and bc i felt bad ghosting everyone for a week LOL apologies (if anyone cares,,,pls tell me u do or i'll cry rn) anyways i hope yall enjoy this one,,,this one was fun to write, it felt very sitcom-y and was lowkey based off of backstreet rookie vibes (only bc it's set in a convenience store). i hope you all enjoy & pls let me know what you think :') thank u for the support & love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

Customer service voice on, a smile plastered on your face, greet the customer, scan the item, take their money, bag said item, throw in a half-hearted ‘Have a good night!’

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

Occasionally, there’s the fun of kicking out a few drunk teenagers looking for a bathroom that you definitely don’t have (yes you do). But otherwise, this graveyard shift at your local corner convenience store? 

Total dream job. 

You get paid—as in actual, legit money—to sit behind a counter, scan snacks, and feast on your personal holy trinity of microwavable cheesy ramen, peach juice, and potato chips. What could possibly go wrong? 

At least, that’s how the manager sold it during your interview. And by interview, you mean the three-minute conversation that went something like: 

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

No background check, no follow-up questions, not even a glance at your resume. A broke college student with insomnia and schedule flexibility? You were the perfect candidate. 

And it’s not like you’re picky. You needed cash, and this seemed like a pretty solid deal. What can you say? College is expensive, and someone’s gotta fund your caffeine addiction and deeply specific (and yet completely necessary, you would argue) habit of playing at every single claw machine game you stumble across. 

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

Because on the night of your first shift, exactly at 1:09AM, the doorbell gives its friendly little ding, and in walks...something.

Someone?

Whatever it is, it's a walking shadow. Oversized hoodie. Baggy pants. A baseball cap shoved under the hood. A black face mask covering whatever’s left of his identity. You think it’s either a ninja, a celebrity in disguise, or—more likely—a vampire who hasn’t seen sunlight since the Joseon era (you’re leaning more towards vampire).

But more than the wild theories running around in your head, something else piques your curiosity.

Because unlike the other weirdos that usually shuffle in at these ungodly hours, this one moves with true purpose. He beelines straight to the ramen aisle, snags something off the top shelf (most likely the ultra-spicy soup one because, of course, you already have the shelves memorized), and then grabs a bottle of coffee milk from the cold drinks section without even so much as glancing at it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Like he’s done this a thousand times before and is now on autopilot mode.

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal?

You’re barely recovering from your own appalled thoughts before he’s already at the counter, placing his borderline apocalyptic snack combination on the counter in front of you with the same eerie precision he has.

You fail to keep your poker face on when you scan his items, your face scrunching up in disgust.

“Uh,” you shake it off, forcing yourself back to reality, “That’ll be—”

But before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already fishing out the exact amount—three crisp bills—out his back pocket and holds it out for you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare down at the money in his hand for a second too long, suddenly convinced this guy practices his convenience store interactions in the mirror or something.

When you don’t show any further signs of moving, he eventually gives up, placing the money on the counter with a quiet sigh, grabbing his ramen and coffee milk, and striding off to the self-service corner like he personally owns the place.

All of this. Without. A single. Thank you.

Wow. Okay. So tonight’s customer is potentially a vampire with a side gig as a professional jerk. Good to know.

You internally scoff at the entire interaction, but—unfortunately for you—you can’t look away. Because this guy? This walking shadow?

You’re weirdly intrigued. Like when you accidentally click on a pimple-popping video and immediately regret it, but still end up watching five more.

It’s a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye (because obviously you’re not staring, you’re just…hyper-aware of your surroundings), you watch him execute his ramen-and-coffee-milk routine with the precision of a man possessed.

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

Step three: Wait for exactly one beep before yanking the microwave door open with alarming speed, as if he's scared to even give the second beep the chance to ring.

Step four: Peel the lid back in slowly—so painfully slow you're about to march over there and do it yourself.

Step five: Insert the straw into the coffee milk—of course, perfectly right in the center. Bullseye.

Honestly? It's all kind of impressive. Horrifying, but impressive.

And, of course, just when you think you might finally look away, because out of sight, out of mind—he slides onto one of the bar stools by the window, right in your direct line of vision. The perfect spot for you to get a pristine view of his back, which, spoiler alert, is completely unhelpful in your personal mission in trying to see even a glimpse of what this guy looks like.

Maybe if you squint hard enough, you can make out his face in the reflection of the store window. Maybe. Just maybe—

Nope.

All you catch is a brief glimpse of his eyes—barely visible beneath his excessive hoodie and hat combination. Even his mask stays glued to his face and you wonder how he even plans on eating his outrageous meal.

But even so, you still can’t look away. What even is that color? And why can’t you look away?

Whatever. It’s just eyes. Totally normal. Everyone has them. Not noteworthy at all.

Except it is.

Because you catch yourself still squinting, hoping the glare of the fluorescent lighting against the window hides your not so subtle mission from him. You’re probably risking retinal damage at this point with how hard you’re trying to decode this guy’s entire identity from literally just his eyes.

You catch another short glimpse of his eyes as he shuffles in his seat and just as you’re trying to piece together why his eyes look oddly familiar—

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours in the glaring reflection of the store's windows, and you freeze.

Abort mission. Now.

You cough—loudly, dramatically—and your eyes immediately dart elsewhere, your hands shuffling on the discounted candy bars displayed on the counter top, pretending to look busy and silently praying he didn't catch you looking for too long.

When enough time passes by, you risk another quick glance back at him, to see he’s now digging into his ramen, head tucked so low you can’t even see his eyes anymore. He’s gone full turtle mode.

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

A weirdo with an ego. Slurping and sipping away at his crime-against-humanity meal as if he owns the building.

Maybe he's mute. Or a people-hater. Or a cryptid who thrives on ramen and coffee milk instead of human interaction. Maybe I'm being pranked?

You shrug it off, because no matter how hard you try to figure him out, one thing is glaringly obvious: he does not want to be bothered.

And you're not sure if that makes him more intriguing or more annoying.

You’re in the clear. At least, you think you’re in the clear. 

After your first weird encounter with Mr. No-Name-No-Face—spicy ramen enthusiast and potential vampire—you’ve begrudgingly adjusted to his nightly visits. 

He shows up at 1:09AM like clockwork, grabs his neon red Extra Spicy Hellfire Ramen (yes, that’s the real brand name, and yes, your soul dies a little every time you even have to think about it), and parks himself in the window seat across from your counter like it’s a Michelin-star ramen bar—and not your humble convenience store with a health inspection rating of B+ (don’t ask). 

By night three, you’ve downgraded him from potential murderer to mildly annoying ramen connoisseur. 

By night four, you’ve decided he’s your own personal karma sent by the universe. 

It starts off with the door chime. You don’t even flinch. 1:09AM. Right on schedule. 

You don’t look up from the colorful juice pouches you’re restocking. You’re halfway through creating a perfectly symmetrical pyramid display—color-coded, of course—because, clearly, you’ve peaked as a human being. 

Behind you, footsteps head straight to the ramen aisle. And sure enough, you peek over your shoulder, and there he is: drowning in black hoodie layers, hood up, mask on, the patron saint of please don’t perceive me. Same old routine, same old—

Wait. 

He freezes, mid-reach for his usual ramen on the top shelf, his hand hovering in the air. And then, horrifyingly, he turns. 

And looks directly at you. 

Your face heats up—probably not as red as the hellfire ramen he was about to grab, but it’s close, you imagine. You find yourself clutching onto the random juice pouch in your hand as if it’s your lifeline before you clear your throat, “Uh—is something wrong?” 

He glances from you and back to the shelf in front of him, and for the first time in…ever, he speaks. 

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

“They’re out of my flavor,” he says. His voice is deep, which isn’t surprising to you, given he’s the literal human embodiment of the color black, but it’s also serious. So unnecessarily serious that you almost laugh. 

Almost. 

Because his tone isn’t just serious—it’s accusatory. As if you personally raided the ramen aisle and hid his favorite flavor for entertainment. 

Excuse me? 

Your mouth opens then closes, flopping like a fish that now deeply regrets every life choice. The fire rising in your chest is about two seconds away from erupting into a full-blown lecture on how supply chains work, but you keep it in, deciding getting fired on the fourth day probably doesn’t look good on your resume. 

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

“Uh..yeah, it looks like it,” you deadpan, inching closer to where he’s standing to investigate the shelf. 

Leaning up on your toes, you scan the shelf for any hidden Hellfire cups, hoping some miracle will save you from continuing this interaction. 

Nope. It’s empty alright. Emptier than your will to entertain his dramatics. 

“Tragic,” you glance back at him, strategically avoiding eye contact, and settle on offering a shrug. “There are plenty of other flavors. Maybe try…the regular spicy?” 

You grab the flavor below his usual one and hold it up as an olive branch, but he cuts you off with a tone that even convinces you that you’re deranged. 

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

You’re standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit ramen aisle, at your minimal wage night-shift job, at 1:12AM on a random Tuesday, and this guy is dead serious. 

And he’s staring at you like this is a life-or-death situation. And judging from the look in his eyes, it’s looking like you’re facing death. 

But then, you really notice his eyes. And for a split second—just a split second—you’re derailed from your rising anger. 

They’re brown. But not just any brown—the kind of brown that makes poets write bad metaphors. Cinnamon swirls. Autumn leaves. Possibly falling in love in a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

But then you blink again, hard, snapping yourself out of whatever ridiculous moment your sleep-deprived brain just conjured. This is not the time. You’re literally staring at, like, three inches of this guy’s face. 

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

“Uh, yeah,” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound professional through your disbelief. “Sorry. We probably put in our shipment request late. But I’m sure you won’t implode by going one night without it?” 

You tack on a small laugh and smile at the end of your sentence, hoping to lighten the mood. 

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

Instead, he continues to stare at you like you just suggested he eat plain, untoasted bread for the rest of his life. 

You want to bury yourself into a hole. Maybe getting fired on the fourth day won’t be so bad afterall. 

“I’m sure the regular spicy one is just as good. What’s the worst that could happen?” you offer weakly when he makes no sign of saying anything, and you really hope this guy doesn’t explode in front of you—mainly because you’re not confident in your own ability to explain that situation to your manager. 

“I’m not risking it,” he finally deadpans. 

Your jaw drops slightly. 

“You’re not ris—” you hesitate, debating whether you want to ruin your night further. But you’ve come this far. “You’re being…serious?” 

The question lined with your clear judgement hangs in the air between you two, and no amount of fake customer service can mask the expression of disapproval on your face. 

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand,” you tilt your head, your annoyance slowly reaching a boiling point, throwing all professionalism out the window. All you wanted was to enjoy your juice-sorting in peace, not babysit this walking ramen manifesto. “I understand that you’re just picky.” 

At that, his eyes flash—sharp, unreadable. “I’m not picky.” 

“You won’t eat a perfectly fine ramen just because it’s not named after the ninth circle of hell.” 

Silence. 

He stares at you with the intensity of someone about to write a strongly worded online review. 

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he finally mutters, “Fine. I’ll take the mild one.” 

You blink at the flavor in your hand—the one that’s clearly labeled in giant, blazing-red, font: Regular Spicy. Then you look back at him. 

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

He grabs the ramen cup from your hand and stalks off to grab his usual coffee milk, leaving you stranded in the middle of the ramen aisle, questioning every life choice that brought you here. 

Before you’re about to mentally spiral, his voice cuts through the store. 

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

You scramble back to behind the register, quickly moving your hands to ring him up and get him out of here as soon as possible. 

He hands you his three crisp bills, and before you hand him his glorified ramen and godforsaken coffee milk, you hesitate, pulling them back slightly. He freezes, his hands hanging in the air between you two. 

“You know,” you narrow your eyes as you look up at him, “some people would say thank you for the recommendation.” 

His brow arches—or at least, you think it does. It’s hard to completely tell under his stupid hat. Then he fires back—

“And some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen.” 

Your mouth falls open, your words failing you as he grabs his goods from your hands, heading to the self-serve station to continue his nightly noodle worship as if he didn’t just verbally body-slam you. 

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore? 

Between back-to-back choreo sessions, recording tracks at hours that shouldn’t legally exist, and navigating the emotional and physical minefield of constant shows, interviews, photoshoots—you name it—nothing about his life is consistent. 

However—

There are two things—two sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness. 

The first? 

Insomnia. 

Not by choice, of course. He doesn’t love being awake at 3AM, staring at his ceiling and waiting for sleep to take over. But it’s a loyal companion, like a stray cat that keeps showing up at your house no matter how hard you try to shoo it away. Heeeseung’s insomnia is always there for him, night after night, ensuring he gets exactly only four hours of sleep—with a side of existential dread. 

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

This unlikely pairing is Heeseung’s personal slice of heaven he can actually control and choose in a life otherwise ruled by the rest of the world. 

Every night, he drags himself to his favorite corner store, grabs his fiery ramen and sweet, creamy coffee milk, and plants himself in the window seat to enjoy his culinary masterpiece in peace. 

Then—and only then—can Heeseung catch a few hours of sleep, the spice-induced euphoria lulling himself into a temporary state of calm. 

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

Because in a world that demands he change at the drop of a hat, this little routine of his is the one thing that stays consistent. 

Well, except for last night. 

Because last night, someone dared to disrupt the cosmic balance of his existence. Someone failed to restock his precious Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen. 

He had stared at the empty spot on the shelf, the betrayal hitting him like a personal attack. He went home last night only a quarter satisfied from the mild spicy ramen he had settled with. 

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

Now here he is, stepping into the corner store at 1:09AM, ready to make up for last night’s disappointment of an outcome. 

Heeseung steps into the brightly lit store, the familiar ding ringing behind him as he enters right on time. He continues his familiar route to the ramen aisle, but not before shooting a quick glance from below his hat toward the counter. 

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

The new graveyard shift employee. The one who dared to challenge his sacred ramen ritual and stared at him like he was a walking poor life choice. 

You’re here again. This is five nights in a row. Heeseung wonders if you 1) are insane, 2) have no life, or 3) are purely here just to spite him. 

But tonight, he’s prepared. His focus is razor-sharp, his mission clear: Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk. Nothing will get in the way tonight. 

Heeseung looks up, exhaling in relief when he spots the fiery red packaging of the Extra Spicy Hellfire sitting innocently on the shelf. There you are. 

He grabs the cup (with too much excitement that it should honestly embarrass him), cradling it like a long-lost love, before he makes his way to snag his coffee milk. 

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

Except, of course, you’re watching him. Again. 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know it. He can feel your judging eyes burning into the back of his head like you did the other night—like you’re seconds away from filing a report against his own taste buds. 

He doesn’t get it—what’s so strange about ramen and coffee milk? It’s not like he’s dipping the noodles in it. Why you’ve made it your personal mission to antagonize him, he has no idea, but it’s really throwing him off his ramen zen. 

Heeseung sighs to himself as he steps up to the counter, making sure you hear the sheer misery in this voice—because, of course, fate has cursed him with yet another encounter with you.

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and that same unimpressed, judgmental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What's right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spicy and sugar.’” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help,” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

By night six, you don’t know whether to pity the guy or stage an intervention.

The ding of the automatic doors announces his arrival, as usual, at exactly 1:09AM. You know it’s him—Ramen Guy. The guy who you’re convinced single-handedly continues to keep the Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen business float. 

You lean against the counter and subtly watch him make his usual pilgrimage to the ramen aisle, internally scoffing to yourself at the weird moment he picks up his ramen like it’s his newborn child.

He’s so weird. 

You wonder what kind of person he is outside this convenience store. Does he always make such objectively strange choices? Like, does he wear socks with sandals? Does he mix his cereal with orange juice instead of milk? 

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his usual unholy pair of snacks hitting the counter in front of you with a soft thunk. You look down at the items before glancing back up at him with a skeptical look on your face, “You ever think about switching it up?”

Ramen Guy, clearly expecting the snark, doesn’t miss a beat, “You ever think about minding your business?” 

“Not really. Boredom makes me nosy,” you shrug. “And at this point, you’re the only thing keeping me entertained at this hour.” 

He rolls his eyes so dramatically you’re mildly concerned he might sprain something. 

“And I’m starting to think you like judging me a little too much.” 

“Wrong. I like judging everyone equally,” you scan his items, then tilt your head. “But maybe you’re a special case. With issues.” 

To your surprise, he snorts. Like, an actual, out-loud laugh. 

“Says the girl who voluntarily works the night shift.”

Your smirk falters for half a second. He catches it.

Ramen Guy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “What? Too close to home?”

You shift in your spot, “Bold of you to assume I have issues.”

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shift the attention back to him. “What about you, then? Why do you keep showing up here, huh?”

At that, something changes. The words in the air, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his demeanor—the slight awkwardness in the way he shifts his weight. 

Then, after a brief pause, he meets your gaze and throws the question right back at you.

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

You freeze, putting his items back down on the counter, caught off guard by the reversal. "Touché. But I asked first."

There's hesitation again for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter impatiently—nervously?

"I like the peace and quiet,” he finally says, and for the first time tonight, he meets your eyes.

For a split second, you’re startled by the sincerity in his gaze and sudden shift in tone—it’s almost distracting. But you shake yourself out of it just as quickly.

"Nothing about Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk sounds peaceful or quiet," your voice softer now but still teasing.

"Okay, Miss Graveyard Shift," he fires back, leaning a little closer over the counter. "Why are you here every night? Do you have a thing for fluorescent lighting and cleaning up after drunk customers or something?"

You don't miss the faint challenge in his voice as you narrow your eyes at him.

Then, you settle for a shrug and take a breath, answering honestly.

"It's flexible. Pays well enough," you start, before looking back at him, and add, almost as an afterthought, "...and I like the quiet too."

It’s an honest answer, one that seems to hang in the air between you two for a beat too long. His gaze softens ever so slightly, and you swear you see something shift underneath that stupid cap of his, but before you can dwell on it, he straightens up.

He places his three bills on the counter, grabs his items, and pauses.

“So,” he starts, his lighter tone breaking the silence, “do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Graveyard Shift Girl?”

You raise a brow, amused, as you start putting his bills away, “Do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Ramen Guy?”

For a split second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—something smug, something entertained. And you don’t know it, but under his mask, his lips twitch, fighting back a faint smile.

“Touché,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words before stepping back from the counter, items in hand, but lingers just a moment longer than necessary—like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the self-serve station, falling back into his regular routine.

And you should do the same.

You try to do the same. But as you go back to your usual tasks—wiping down the counter, restocking shelves, pretending to be productive—you find yourself sneaking glances out of the corner of your eye toward his window seat.

He just sits there, just like he always does, stirring his ramen absentmindedly as he stares out into the empty street. And yet, tonight, something feels…different.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just curiosity. Natural, given how he keeps showing up every night, breaking up the monotony of your shift with his weird food choices and even weirder personality.

And yet—

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him—the way he looked at you earlier, the way his demeanor shifted even slightly.

It’s nothing.

Still, your gaze flickers back at him, catching the way his fingers tap lightly against the table, lost in thought. You wonder what kind of things keep a guy like him up at night.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to find his weird little habits endearing, too.

The faint sound of the store’s music plays in the background, the clock ticks, and eventually, he finishes his ramen, tosses his trash, and makes his way toward the door.

And then—he hesitates.

Just for a second. A small pause, a barely-there moment where he stops, glances over his shoulder just slightly—just enough to look at you.

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

You blink, caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can manage is to stare at him. Then, as you fail to ignore the weird blooming feeling in your chest, your words slip out almost on instinct:

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

The next night, you do something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—you take your cheesy ramen, peace juice pouch, and bag of potato chips and plop yourself down right next to Ramen Guy and his usual window seat. 

He pauses mid-slurp. Keeping his head low, he turns to you slowly. Suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?” 

“Having dinner,” you say matter-of-factly, popping open your bag of chips. 

His gaze drops to your meal, and then back to you. “It’s almost 1:30AM.” 

“Okay? Dinner, early breakfast, midnight snack, call it whatever you want,” you shrug, unbothered as you continue unwrapping your meal. 

Ramen Guy exhales through his nose, shaking his head to himself like he’s just accepted his fate. Without another word, he turns back to his own meal and resumes eating. 

A surprisingly comfortable silence follows—the only sounds filling the empty store the quiet hum of the store’s playlist, the buzz of the lights above you, and the synchronized slurp of two insomniacs with poor diet choices. 

Then, without thinking, you tilt your bag of potato chips, holding it out between you two, “Want one?”

He stops mid-motion, as if he’d almost forgotten you were still here.

Almost.

A glance into your bag, a small shrug, and then, just like that, he grabs a chip and pops it into his mouth, moving so fast you barely catch a glimpse of his face without the mask.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a sip of his coffee milk, still keeping his head low.

You hum in response, your fingers drumming against the counter before your curiosity wins the best of you, “So…what kind of life leads you to seek peace and quiet in a convenience store?”

It’s a question that’s been on your mind since last night’s conversation. What can you say? You’re a creature of curiosity.

Ramen Guy shrugs next to you, “What do you mean?”

“Like…you’re here every night. Why at night? Why not during the day?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

You exhale sharply, your fingers now absentmindedly swirling the noodles in your bowl. “Look, I’m just saying—most people are asleep at this hour.”

He smirks. You can hear it in his voice without even looking. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“That’s different, this is my job,” you scoff, amused, before pointedly gesturing at this meal before him, “Unless you want to call your weird habits a job. Which, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was paying you to subject your tastebuds to that every night.”

And he laughs. It’s small, barely there, but you catch it. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally answers, “It’s like I told you before, I like the quiet at this hour…I don’t get a lot of that.”

You stop twirling your noodles, the air shifting into that same unspoken understanding from last night. Faint, but unmistakable.

Something unsaid hanging between the two of you, something that tells you this guy is more than just an insomniac with questionable food choices.

You tilt your head. “So, what, you got a bunch of loud roommates or something?”

A small, almost knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Something like that.”

You raise a brow at his vague answer but don’t press. Instead, you nod towards his food. “And your criminal meals? That part of the quiet too?”

He huffs, “Maybe I just have superior taste.”

“Right, totally,” you laugh, the tone in your voice almost testing him. 

Ramen Guy finishes up his meal, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin before putting his mask back on and finally turning to face you fully.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You think you have me all figured out?”

You mirror his actions, facing him fully for the first time tonight, folding your arms, “Oh, I do have you all figured out, Ramen Guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans forward slightly. “Alright, go on. Tell me who I am, Graveyard Psychic Girl.”

You roll your eyes but accept the challenge, leaning back in your seat.

“You’re a creature of habit, clearly. You like consistency. Probably because your life is very inconsistent otherwise.”

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

“You’re a night owl, but not by choice. You want to sleep, but your brain won’t let you.” Your eyes flick down to the coffee milk. “So, instead, you drink this, even though it probably makes it worse.”

Still no response.

“So now, you just keep showing up here because it’s predictable,” you finish with a small shrug. “And maybe…‘cause you’re kinda lonely.”

That makes him pause.

You immediately regret saying it. Because…what was that?

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or peer them at you the way he does a million times a night.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“…Not bad,” he says finally, reaching for another chip from the bag in your hands.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda harsh, but…mostly true.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.

A beat of silence passes before Ramen Guy speaks up again, “So basically, you’re saying we’re the same.”

You let out a snort, “Not even close.”

“We both work weird hours. We both like the quiet. We both eat the same convenience store junk food.” He holds up the bag of potato chips before eating another one.

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

“Yeah, but I’m still eating them, which means my taste is obviously elite.”

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

“Okay, you’re the one who made it weird.”

A mischievous smile starts forming on your face as you snatch your bag of chips back from him, “So you agree your food choices are weird?” 

His smirk falters as a small giggle rises out of you. 

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

The next night, Heeseung does something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—he’s late. It’s 1:30AM, well past his usual 1:09AM show-up time, and the store is Heeseung-less.

He blames late-night dance practice. He also blames Ni-ki for stealing his usual black hoodie—forcing him to spend an extra thirty minutes looking for another one. Not that the hoodie matters, he would argue (yes, it does).

When he finally steps through the door at 1:32AM, the familiar ding barely finishes echoing before—

“Wow,” you drawl from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Tragic. Unbelievable. I was starting to think you found a new place to bother.”

Heeseung snorts, making a beeline for the ramen aisle, “You wish. Wouldn’t want you to get bored without me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, “Wow. Thoughtful and self-aware. Who knew you had layers?”

Heeseung tries to ignore you, moving to grab his coffee milk. But his lips twitch under his mask, and he’s glad it’s hiding the way he’s failing to fight the smile growing on his face.

When he finally reaches the counter, you push off from where you were leaning against the counter, hands settling on your hips. “Okay, be honest. Outside of this, do you have anything else going on in your life?” 

Heeseung raises a brow, completely caught off guard. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few nights, it’s that you’re incredibly nosy. And for someone who claims to like working the night shift because of the quiet, you’re absolutely terrible at keeping things that way. 

“Excuse me?”

“You mentioned that you work weird hours yesterday,” you gesture vaguely at him. “So, spill.”

His stare remains blank, debating if he can distract you by handing you his three bills of cash (he can’t).

“I do…stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeat, “Quite riveting.”

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

You shrug, taking his cash and putting it away. “You must do something interesting. You’re too weirdly confident for a guy who just bums around convenience stores at night.”

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

"Yeah, like—" You wave around you. "You walk around like you have some big, mysterious purpose. But all I ever see you do is glare at instant noodles and sip milk like a sad Victorian child."

Heeseung shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Maybe that is my purpose."

Then, he simply shrugs. But there’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, like he’s deciding exactly how much he wants to say.

"It’s hard to explain,” he finally says. “I just…have a weird work schedule.”

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in, I don’t really get normal hours. Always moving, always working. Makes sleep kinda impossible."

You pause, taking in his words. Then, you shift slightly, crossing your arms. "Sounds exhausting."

Heeseung exhales a laugh, leaning against the counter. "You have no idea."

For a moment, a familiar and warm quiet fills the air as the two of you linger, as if waiting for the other to say something more.

And he doesn’t know why, but his chest feels a little too tight—like he’s let you stumble into a part of him you weren’t supposed to see yet.

“Well,” you say quietly, your lips curving into a soft smile that sends a weird jolt through his body that he chooses to ignore. “I’m honored you’ve chosen this fine establishment as your official sanctuary.”

He scoffs, reaching for his items. "Don’t let it go to your head, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

Heeseung pauses, turning back at you like an awkward child lost in the middle of a store.

“My name,” you clarify, casually returning to sorting the register’s bills. “A lot easier to say than Graveyard Shift Girl.”

Heeseung gives you a slow nod, something unfamiliar and unplaceable twisting in his stomach as he turns back around.

And when he finishes his meal and leaves that night, he calls out—

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And, this time, he doesn’t fight the smile under his mask when he hears your voice, a little softer, call back out:

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

Heeseung doesn’t even make it past the threshold before a familiar melody drifts through the weak convenience store speakers and to his ears.

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

Familiar because it’s literally his voice singing the line.

His stomach drops.

Instead of his usual beeline to the ramen aisle, Heeseung turns towards the counter where you’re idly tapping on your phone, oblivious.

The hum of the melody continues, and Heeseung is suddenly too hyper-aware of how loud his own voice sounds in the otherwise dead-silent store.

Panic creeps up his spine.

He moves fast, crossing the store in a few long strides, slamming his hands down onto the counter that divides the two of you.

You jump in your seat.

“Geez—” you clutch your chest, wide-eyed as you take in his very sudden, very urgent presence. “What the hell?”

Heeseung ignores you, pointing above him, “Did you put this on?”

Your brows furrow as you put your phone down, glance up at him, then at the speakers he’s pointing at. You barely register the song before recognition flickers across your face.

“Oh—this? Nah, it’s the store’s playlist,” you gesture towards the iPad behind the counter, currently playing a Current Hits playlist on shuffle. “It’s some group’s new song. Pretty catchy.”

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

The realization sends relief crashing over him, but he quickly snaps out of it with a brand-new problem—because now he has to decide what the hell to do with this information.

Does he tell you? Drop the act and lay it all out? Would you believe him? Would you even care?

“You okay?” Now you’re staring at him, suspicious. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Heeseung clears his throat, realizing his stance is way too conspicuous, and slowly removes his hands from the counter to stand up straight, attempting to sound normal, “No reason.” 

You squint at him.

Then—

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Wait.”

His heart stops. Oh, shit. She figured it out. This is it.

“Are you a fan?” you blurt, leaning forward in your seat eagerly.

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

“Oh, you totally are,” you continue, completely missing the way his soul is currently leaving his body. “You came straight to the counter like a man on a mission. Oh my god. Are they, like, your favorite group or something?”

Heeseung has never wanted to laugh and cry at the same time more than he does in this moment.

“Something like that,” he mutters, bringing a hand to rub this temple, because no way this is happening right now.

You beam brightly from your seat, “That’s cute. Who’s your bias?”

At that, Heeseung does laugh—because this is now officially the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

And then—after a deep breath, a long and heated internal debate, and one last glance at your innocent, completely oblivious face—he finally exhales, looking you straight in the eye.

“This guy,” he says as he hears his own voice ring out through the store. “Because that’s me. That’s my voice.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

Then you tilt your head. "I'm sorry—what?"

Heeseung watches as your expression cycles from confusion to skepticism to outright disbelief. He braces himself.

"My name is Lee Heeseung," he repeats slowly. "From Enhypen."

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

"Okay, Ramen Guy," you snort, crossing your arms. "Very funny.”

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, I’m sorry, but when in our thriving relationship have you ever given me a reason to believe that you’re actually a famous idol and not just some guy who has concerning dietary habits?"

Heeseung groans.

He regrets everything. He regrets this entire conversation. He could have lied. He could have said literally anything else. But no—he had to be honest. And look where that got him.

"I’m serious," he insists, leveling you with a look.

You stare back at him.

Then, something seems to click in your brain, because you suddenly lunge for your phone.

"Oh, we’re doing this," you mutter, fingers flying across the screen as you type in his name. "Let’s see if—"

You stop.

Heeseung watches as your eyes widen, scanning the images in front of you. Then you look up at him. Then back down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“Take the mask off,” you mutter quietly, slowly holding your phone up next to his face.

With an exhausted sigh, Heeseung does what he’s told and pulls it down for the first time in front of you.

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

You don’t know what shocks you more—the fact that a literal celebrity has been standing in front of you this whole time, or the realization that the once-random stranger you used to relentlessly tease has, somehow, always been this ridiculously good-looking all along. 

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?" You shove your phone toward him, your screen now displaying the group’s Instagram page. "You literally have fans. Like, millions of them."

Heeseung cringes, "Okay, you don’t have to say it like that."

"Like what? Like you’re a superstar and I’ve been treating you like a regular guy who can't cook for himself?"

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

“Unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking your head. “So you sing. You perform. You—commit crimes against humanity with your ramen choices each night.”

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo, standing up from your seat behind the counter. “So you’re telling me that every night, an actual, real-life idol has been showing up here, inhaling a week’s worth of sodium, and I—” You pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you even allowed to be eating this garbage?”

“And are you ever able to mind your own business?” Heeseung counters, now fully regretting this entire conversation.

“Absolutely not, Lee Heeseung, because this is literally the plot of a drama,” you wave your hands in disbelief. “Mystery insomniac convenience store guy turns out to be a world famous pop star—”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

“—and I, the unsuspecting cashier, unknowingly roast him every night like he’s just some sleep-deprived college student instead of a millionaire with talent. Wait—” you then pause again, placing your hands on your hips, staring at him with a newfound judgment. “—you’re loaded, aren’t you?”

Heeseung pinches the bridge of your nose, exasperated, “Why is that your takeaway from this?”

“You are!” you exclaim, your smile widening as you ignore his suffering. “You’re rich and you’re out here eating instant ramen every night!”

Heeseung groans again, dropping his head onto the counter in front of you, “Oh my god.”

Grinning, you bend down to this level. “So this whole time, you’ve been lying to me?”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you. "It’s not lying. It’s…selective honesty.”

You scoff, straightening up just as Heeseung does, meeting his gaze with an accusatory squint. “That’s literally the definition of lying.”

“Look, it’s not like I planned to make a habit out of this,” he gestures to the store around him. “I came in one night, and then I came back, and suddenly, I had a thing going. Then you showed up and started running your mouth, and—”

“And you kept coming back anyways,” you finish, crossing your arms, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips.

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

A silence stretches between you—charged, almost personal—until you decide to cut through the tension with a smirk.

“What if I play your group’s music over the speakers every night?”

The look on his face is deadly. “You wouldn’t.”

Your grin grows, “Wouldn’t I, though?”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Heeseung drags a hand down his face and turns towards the ramen aisle. “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, c’mon,” you tease, calling out after him and delighting in his suffering. “Also can we talk about how you literally just said you’re your own bias?”

“Shut up.”

You’re still laughing when he returns to the counter thirty seconds later—Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk in hand, cheeks tinged pink.

“Alright, serious question,” you say, leaning in slightly from your seat at the window barstools. “If you had to give up either Extra Spicy Hellfire or coffee milk for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

Heeseung immediately stops chewing, his chopsticks frozen midair as he turns to you with a look that says you just personally offended him.

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You can’t just throw life-altering hypotheticals at me like that.”

“Choose.”

He stares at his ramen. Then at this coffee milk. Then back at you.

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Aw,” you flash him your sweetest, most infuriating smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me. Like, ever.”

Heeseung shoots a glare at you, “I hope your regular spicy ramen tastes like disappointment.”

“Oh, it totally does,” you look down at your own ramen in front of you and take an exaggerated slurp, “It’s just so awful.”

Heeseung’s lips perk up into a smile at your weirdly endearing antics before shaking his head, “You’re a lost cause.”

You giggle to yourself, taking a sip of your own juice when you hear Heeseung, barely audible, suddenly mutter:

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

“I know, okay?” He rubs his temples as if the decision is actually hurting him. “It’s like choosing between two children. But at the end of the day, ramen is ramen.”

You nod along, pretending you understand the gravity of his heavy decision (you don’t). But still, you smile—because you were the one who got him to betray his beloved coffee milk.

Heeseung takes a sip of it anyway, groaning as he swirls the bottle in his hand. “I hate that you made me think about this.”

“You should be thanking me. Y’know, character growth and all that.”

“More like character damage.”

You grin, victorious, and he just rolls his eyes before pausing for a second to think, then—he nudges his ramen cup toward you.

“Here. Try some.”

You recoil immediately and look up at him with a look that tells him he’s absolutely psychotic.

“Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You scared?”

“No, Heeseung, I just have these things called taste buds.”

He scoffs, shoving the bowl between you two closer. “Just one bite. C’mon, Graveyard Shift Girl, live a little. For me.”

You hold his gaze, suspicious but faltering, because—damn it—he’s looking at you like that. All smug and teasing, head tilted slightly, and it affects you.

And then he moves. 

He picks up his chopsticks, twirls them in the bowl, and catches a perfect bundle of noodles before leaning forward, holding them up between you two. He waits.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker to the steam curling from the noodles, twisting in the air between your faces, fragile and fleeting.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, it’s ramen. But the way the space between you suddenly feels thin, the way his grip on the chopsticks stays steady, his fingers just inches from your lips, the way his dark eyes stay locked onto yours, watching you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual teasing glint—it feels like time slows down.

You blink rapidly, clearing your throat. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re overthinking.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and slowly lean in to take the bite.

Your lips brush the chopsticks as you close your mouth around the noodles, and for a split second—one charged, unspoken, split second—neither of you move.

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

You can see the soft curve of his mouth, the way his gaze flickers over your face, the way his breath catches slightly like he just realized something.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of the close proximity and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. Panicked, you pull back quickly and settle into your seat like nothing happened.

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

No, wait. Wait. That heat in your cheeks?

Oh.

Oh no.

Yeah. It’s definitely not because of Heeseung (well, maybe a part of it is). 

Because the second you swallow down the bundle of noodles—the embodiment of heat, pain, and suffering all slams into your mouth instantly.

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

“Oh my GOD—” you choke, slamming your hands onto the counter, your body shaking as the spice courses through your veins.

Your throat ignites, your sinuses clear, and you swear you can hear colors.

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

His laugh bursts out of him—loud, unguarded, and completely delightful. He clutches his stomach, nearly hiccuping from how hard he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples deep in his cheeks.

If you weren’t literally physically dying in this current moment, you’d probably be absolutely too flustered to function at the sight.

“No way—” he wheezes through his laughter,“—are you actually struggling right now?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, HEESEUNG?!” you glare at him through the tears forming in your eyes as you desperately flail your arms around, searching for your juice pouch. “You eat this voluntarily?!”

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Your hands finally find your drink and you gulp it down as if it’s your lifeline, eyes still watery, throat still burning, lungs barely breathing. But somewhere in the middle of your suffering, you catch yourself staring.

At Heeseung.

At the way he’s still smiling, like he just had the best meal of his life. At the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, his dimples peeking out like his own hidden secrets, the way his nose scrunches slightly when he’s amused—

Weird.

You blink the thoughts (and your tears) away, shaking it off, and blame the spice, the delirium, and sheer trauma of what just happened.

You clear your throat, sitting back with a desperate huff.

“I hope,” you catch your breath, gesturing to his bowl, “that when you come in tomorrow, we’re all out of this horrid flavor.”

Heeseung smirks, leaning back in his chair as he gives you a knowing look.

“You’d still restock it for me, though.”

Damn it.

Your shoulders slump, and both of you know you’re defeated.

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

Heeseung just grins, then, without a word, slides his coffee milk toward you in a silent truce.

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

It’s 1:20AM when you find yourself behind the counter, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of instant noodles and bottled drinks. The store hums with its usual white noise—lights buzzing above, soft music humming overhead, the low whirr of the coolers. 

And Heeseung? 

Heeseung is across the counter, perched on a barstool he dragged from across the store, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

For the nth time tonight, he flips a soda bottle into the air. 

And for the nth time tonight, he fails to land it upright, the bottle clattering onto the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me restock,” you remind him, tossing a pack of chips at him. 

“I am helping,” he argues, dodging the bag in time and letting it fall flat onto the ground. Great. 

You cross your arms, scoffing, “Oh yeah? What category does sitting there and flipping Diet Coke fall under?” 

Heeseung finally puts the bottle down on the counter and hums, tapping his fingers against the counter like he’s deep in thought. Then, he flashes you a meek smile, “Moral support?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to unbox another package from the pile stacked in front of you. 

Another silence falls between you and Heeseung watches as you go back to your job before he breaks it—

“How do you do this every night? Does it not get…I don’t know, tedious? Boring?” 

You freeze in your spot, caught by surprise at the question.

“Hm,” you turn to him, head tilted as you think.

Heeseung glances up at you, intrigued. The way your lips purse slightly, how your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the torn edge of a cardboard box. 

You exhale, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah, the hours suck, pay is…alright. And—” 

You hesitate. Your gaze drifts toward the floor, fixating on a dent near the register, “—and I think, at some point, I thought I felt stuck.” 

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

“I mean, I’m a college student, for god’s sake,” you continue, a small, humorless laugh escaping you. “And I spend my nights serving cigarettes to barely legal teens and cleaning up after ramen spills. It kind of felt like I was just…watching life pass me by, you know?”

Your voice quiets and it’s just the soft hum of the store again. You pick at the box without thinking, fingers grazing over the worn edges, and Heeseung watches you.

Because he gets it. 

He gets it in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Because despite the differences in your lives—despite how he’s constantly moving while you feel stuck—you both know the feeling of watching life slip between your fingers, of wondering if you’re ever going to feel like you belong in it.

Heeseung holds the soda bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, murmuring, “Yeah, I get that.” 

You glance up at him, making eye contact, but you don’t push. 

“But then,” you say quietly, “I started seeing this place differently. Instead of somewhere I was stuck, it became more of a…break. An escape from everything. A breath of fresh air from expectations and routine.” 

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

Because deep down, that’s exactly what all of this has become for him too. 

He doesn’t know when it happened—if maybe it was the first night he found the store, maybe whenever you showed up, maybe all the sarcastic exchanges, or somewhere in between all of that—but these late-night visits, these stolen moments in a world that demands from him, have become something steady. Something his. 

And he wonders if maybe…maybe you’re the reason for that. 

Maybe you’ve been keeping him grounded in a life that never stops moving. 

And maybe he’s been keeping you from feeling stuck. 

Just maybe.

It’s late. Way later than usual. And Heeseung is still here. 

And you don’t know how, but you’ve both abandoned your usual spots—his self-proclaimed window seat and your stool behind the register.

Instead, you’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register counter, backs pressed against the shelf of over-the-counter medications that you just re-organized, with a laptop and plenty of empty snack wrappers sitting between the two of you.

“See this is exactly my problem with this movie,” you point at your laptop screen, your voice slightly muffled by the gummy bears in your mouth. “One idiot makes one bad decision, and suddenly everyone’s dead! Like, be so for real.”

Heeseung scoffs, leaning back on his hands, “It’s a movie, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“And I don’t have to pretend this isn’t garbage,” you shoot back as the credits roll, unimpressed. “This is objectively the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“I think I just have an acquired superior taste,” Heeseung quips, his eyes teasing. “Just like with my food choices.” 

“Right,” your voice drags out. “Superior delusion, maybe.”

Heeseung shoves your shoulder with his own, and you laugh, the sound natural, unfiltered, and totally at his expense.

As you shut your laptop and start gathering the remains of your late-night snack feast, the conversation quiets for a moment into an easy, warm silence. It’s the kind of quiet that feels good, the kind that’s been happening more lately—something you never would’ve expected that first night you ever saw him enter the store. 

Then, Heeseung exhales, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back against the shelf, “You know, this might be the longest I’ve sat and relaxed in months.” 

You glance up at him, brows raised, “What, you don’t get to laze around on the floor surrounded by junk food with your favorite convenience store worker on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he huffs a laugh. “But I thought a lot about what you said the other night. And sometimes it’s like…”

He pauses and tilts his head back, his eyes following the way the light fixture above him flickers in and out, “Like I’m moving so fast I forget what it’s like to just…be.”

Something in his voice makes you pause in your actions, your hands putting down the miscellaneous wrappers between you.

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy chuckle from beside you, “It’s…a lot. You’re always being watched, always expected to be on. And even during breaks I’m already thinking about the next thing. The next schedule, next performance, next practice.”

You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against his knee, something you’ve started to notice over time whenever he’s lost in thought. 

“But there are moments that make it worth it,” he continues, a small smile playing on his lips. “The music, how fun it is to be on stage, the fans. The feeling of performing and knowing people are there because they love what you do. It’s unreal.”

Your own smile unconsciously appears as you listen to him reflect, taking in his words. You never stopped to really think about his life in-depth before—and it does sound like a lot. Like something people dream of but don’t realize the weight of until they’re carrying it themselves. 

You nudge his knee lightly with yours, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to just exist sometimes, too.” 

Heeseung turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, reaching into the closest bag of gummy bears to you and tossing one to him. He catches it easily, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“See, this is why I keep coming back,” he says, chewing. “Gourmet snacks and free therapy.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable. I take it back. Suffer.”

Heeseung laughs, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, before his fingers start tapping his knee again. Then, after a beat—

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

When you look up at him, he’s already looking at you with a new…something. A newfound sincerity, maybe. Or uncertainty. Or both.

Your eyes meet, and suddenly, he visibly hesitates—shifting almost awkwardly in his spot, as if he both rehearsed what he’s about to say and yet has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

“I—um,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry? For, y’know, being kind of a jerk when we first met. I think I was pretty…” He trails off awkwardly. “Jerk-ish.” 

You don’t move for a second. Slowly, one brow arches.

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

Then, a smile—slow and sweet—curls at your lips.

And suddenly, Heeseung realizes he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, nodding along dramatically. “You were a menace. Like, an insufferable, grumpy, little menace.”

Heeseung lets out a noise that lands somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, I get it.”

“But,” you continue, locking eyes with him again, “I guess I should apologize too.”

Heeseung perks up, now his brow lifting, “For what? Finally admitting I was right about—”

“For judging you and your still…very questionable choices.”

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

“But seriously…you’re, like…” you dramatically draw out the moment as if the words physically pain you to say.

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you scoff. “You’re still a ramen-addicted jerk.”

Heeseung hums, still smiling, “Might be too late.”

Then, he tacks on, without thinking twice, “You’re pretty cool, too, I guess.”

You laugh at the hesitancy in his voice, “Okay, that sounded almost sincere.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile softens, “No, but seriously, it’s…nice. Having someone I could talk to outside of…you know, my whole chaotic life.”

The sudden shift in the air quiets you for a moment as you look at Heeseung, noticing the slight drop in his shoulders, the way his fingers continue to drum against his leg. When you don’t say anything, he continues.

“I don’t…really talk to people like this,” he quietly says, as if admitting something to himself more so to you. Then, after a pause, he glances back up, eyes searching your own. “Now like how I do with you. Like…I could tell you anything and everything, really.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your expression neutral, “Oh?”

Heeseung shifts, looking down at his hands before exhaling a quiet laugh, “Sorry. Too serious?”

You find yourself quickly shaking your head. Because although, yes, most of your interactions with Heeseung are filled with jokes and teasing, the serious conversations or shared warm silences in between recently—have started to mean something more. They’ve become an outlet, a quiet escape from reality. It’s like the moment he steps through the store’s doors, the door rings, the outside world fades, and for a few hours, it’s just the two of you in this shared space.

A space that feels safe, untouched by expectations, where both of you can just be.

“No,” you say, softer this time. “Not at all.”

You hesitate for a beat before adding, “I…really like talking to you too. It’s—” you let out a small laugh, “almost unnaturally easy, actually.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. He just nods, and then looks up at you from the ground and his eyes are serious—no teasing, no usual smugness, just something…real. Vulnerable.

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You should say something. Something light, or something sarcastic, or something normal.

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, you’re close. He’s close. Too close. Close enough to hear his quiet inhale. To see the way his lashes flutter. To feel the space between you two thinning into something dangerously nonexistent.

You should move. You should break the moment before it turns into something neither of you can take back.

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt apart like a pair of teenagers caught guilty, and your heart is practically breaking out of your ribcage as you scramble to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, your face burning as you appear from behind the counter to greet the customer that was blissfully unaware of whatever was definitely not about to happen behind the counter. 

You clear your throat as you look down at Heeseung, who’s still frozen in his spot and trying his very best not to lose his mind, “I should—um. Go back to work.”

Then, suddenly, Heeseung stands too, nodding quickly as he runs a hand through his hair, his face slightly pink, very much not looking at you, “Right. Yeah. Work.”

Right when you turn back to the counter, the customer is there, waiting for you to ring them up. You plaster the most normal smile you can muster, scan their snack, take their cash, and hand them their change—all while pretending you don’t feel Heeseung’s presence still lingering behind you.

You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t move.

And despite the complete lack of physical contact, you still feel his warmth. The same amount of warmth as when he was only mere inches away from your own face.

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding your gaze before forcing out, in the most casual voice he can manage—

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

Then, finally, you let out a small laugh, “You’re so weird.”

The tension in the air cracks just enough, and Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, “And yet, you’d miss me if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t you?”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, except—nothing comes out.

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

So, naturally, instead of admitting defeat, you suddenly grab a rag from behind the counter and start aggressively scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface.

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets as steps out from behind the counter and backs away. “Night, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

When he’s finally gone, you’re left standing there, staring at where he just was before you.

And finally, when the reality of what just happened fully settles in—

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

The clock above you ticks, a sound that usually fades into the background and becomes a part of the store’s white noise. But tonight? 

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

You think if you have to hear it tick one more time, you’re taking the ladder from the backroom, climbing up there, yanking that thing off the wall, and tossing it right into the dumpster. 

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

2:21AM, and you’re alone. Stuck in this sad, empty convenience store with nothing but your own annoying thoughts and the snacks laid out in front of you with no one to share them with. 

Same time tomorrow, my ass, you think bitterly, aggressively straightening a stack of receipts near the register that don’t even need straightening. 

Heeseung’s voice from a few days ago still rings in your head—completely, and unfortunately, uninvited.

You don’t even know why they’re stuck in there, his words looping around, constantly taunting you.

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

Three full days since Heeseung has walked through those automatic doors, plopped down in his usual seat, and proceeded to either a) annoy you, b) argue with you over his food-related crimes, or c) make you laugh against your will.

And you don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

Frustrated? Yeah, you’re frustrated. But the real question is—at what, exactly?

Frustrated that he just disappeared without so much as a heads-up? No warning?

Or maybe you’re frustrated at the very fact that you’re even thinking about this at all.

It’s not like he owes you an explanation. It’s not like he belongs to this store…or to you.

So why does it feel like something’s missing every time you glance at the entrance, half-expecting to hear the ding of the doors and see him stroll in with his stupid hoodie and even stupider smirk?

You shake your head, trying your best to snap yourself out of it.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

You don’t care so much that, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain—your traitorous, overthinking, hardworking brain—itches with a thought.

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

And before you can fully even process what you’re doing, your fingers are already unlocking your phone, your thumbs moving on autopilot as you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You search up his name.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. Even you’re disappointed in yourself. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t associate Heeseung with his job, with the persona that everyone else sees. Because to you, Heeseung is just…Heeseung—the insomniac who bickers with you every night, who somehow turns every conversation into an argument he has to win, who sits cross-legged with you behind the register eating spicy noodles and giving objectively bad movie recommendations.

And to him? 

Well. You thought that to him, you were just you. Just some convenience store worker he happened to befriend. Someone outside of his world, outside of the blinding lights. Someone he didn’t have to be anyone around. 

His words echo in your mind as you think—just a person he could tell anything and everything to. 

You push the thought along with their feelings down as you continue scrolling—quick, desperate, your fingers flying over your screen, swiping through posts, comments, anything that could explain his sudden absence—

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

Tagging his group, followed by a message. It’s short. Sweet. Simple. 

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

“Can’t believe they’re leaving for tour already tomorrow! So excited to see them in a few days!!” 

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

Your stomach twists violently as you scan for more confirmation, your hands gripping your phone with a newfound frustration as you tap through articles, fan accounts—anything to tell you this isn’t real. That there’s some mistake. That you didn’t just foolishly spend three days waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

But there it is. Everywhere. Right in front of you.

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at your screen. The words all blur together, but the sinking feeling in your chest is sharp, clear, and undeniable.

And you hate it.

You hate that you feel like this. You hate that your first instinct wasn’t to be happy for him, or proud, or even remotely understanding.

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

And just as that realization settles in—just as the blur of your feelings finally sharpens into something unmistakable, something you can no longer ignore—the familiar ding of the automatic doors cuts through the quiet store and the screaming thoughts in your head.

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

You blink, because at first you think maybe you’ve been drowning in your thoughts for so long that you’ve started hallucinating him—manifesting his presence out of sheer frustration towards him.

But, no.

Heeseung stands there, at the entrance, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking at you like nothing’s changed.

Like he hasn’t been gone for days, like he hasn’t left you suffering with your own emotions—like he hasn’t been the only thing on your mind even when you really, really, didn’t want him to be.

“Hey,” Heeseung nods at you casually, walking over to his usual stupid aisle, grabbing his usual stupid Extra Spicy Hellfire, then reaching for his usual stupid coffee milk—all like clockwork, all like he never left.

You don’t respond.

Instead, you busy yourself—wiping the spotless corner of your counter, smoothing out a crumpled receipt, pretending you’re looking for something in the shelves beneath you.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

Because if you have to stand here and pretend like you’re fine, that these past few days haven’t felt like an eternity for you—you might actually lose it.

Heeseung finally walks up to the counter, places his things between you, then pauses before repeating, tilting his head, “Hey?” 

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

“You mad at me or something?” he asks, his head still tilted, his voice light, hesitant.

You inhale, your fingers subconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter.

Then, you let out a quiet laugh—an empty, humorless scoff.

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

You finally look at him. And you think it was a mistake. Because the second you meet his gaze—uncertain, searching, so annoyingly familiar—you feel your throat close up.

He looks the same. Same stupid hoodie. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes that you’ve somehow come to find comfort in.

And that makes you hate this even more.

“Is this because I haven’t been showing up?” Heeseung tries again, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Damn, I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much. Sorry, Graveyard Shift Gi—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Your voice is quiet, but he doesn��t miss it.

And he stills.

There it is.

He shifts in his spot again, his eyes now darting down to where his fingers are tapping against the counter.

“What?” he says again, but this time, it’s different. Careful.

You swallow, forcing down the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to look at him.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But lined with something raw, something vulnerable, something hurting.

And Heeseung hears all of it. He feels all of it.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, lips pressing into a thin line.

Somewhere in the background, the clock continues ticking, the lights overhead buzzing, a song from the speakers humming.

And Heeseung stays silent.

“You weren’t,” you murmur, the words caught in your throat. “Were you?”

Heeseung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, “I—” 

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

You cross your arms tightly, more so to ground yourself more than anything.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head.

“Look,” he gestures vaguely, between you, at the store, at the shelves, at the space you’ve unknowingly carved out for him here. “This—this is the only thing that’s felt normal for me in a long time.”

Your stomach twists.

“Everything else—my whole life, it’s all…chaos. But this?” He swallows, his eyes finally looking up to meet your gaze, his voice quieter now. “You?”

His eyes flash with something new, something softer, something that lingers in the way he looks at you. The same way he has over late-night snack feasts, whispered movie nights, conversations that blended into the early mornings. 

“You’re the closest thing to normal I’ve had.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because you get it. You know him, so you understand.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was going to leave without telling you.

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

“So what?” your voice is still quiet, but now edged with a new sharpness. “You thought if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t have to be real?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t have to lose this yet.”

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Heeseung didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to ruin this.

Whatever this is.

Whatever the two of you had built over the weeks between instant noodles and snacks, between arguments over food choices, between all the unspoken moments that made you feel like maybe, maybe, this was something more.

You let out a wavering breath, shaking your head, “That’s not fair, Heeseung.”

“I know,” his voice is rough now, like he’s tired of saying it. Like he’s already told himself a million times and accepted it. Like he wants you to just accept it and move on.

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know how!” His voice rises in frustration, an exasperated sigh slipping out. “Because you—this—whatever this is, it started feeling real. Too real. And I just didn’t want to fuck it up, alright?”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, every feeling you’ve been trying to convince yourself wasn’t there, is suddenly painfully undeniable.

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

“So you thought it’d be better to just disappear instead?” Your voice shakes, biting down on the thick emotion rising in your throat. “You didn’t even think to tell me.”

Heeseung steps closer, and for the first time tonight, you see it—his own frustration bubbling beneath his surface, the barely restrained emotion.

“What does it matter, Y/N?” his sharp voice cuts through the heavy air lingering between you. “What difference would it—would you—have made? It’s not like this was ever going to change anything.”

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

He sees the way your eyes move away from his. He sees the way your posture suddenly deflates, as if his words physically hurt you.

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

And no matter what, no matter the amount of realness, no matter what either of you feel—that was always going to be the reality.

“Right,” you finally say, your voice dangerously close to giving out. “Because it’s not like any of this really meant anything, right? At least not enough for you to acknowledge.”

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

You let in a sharp inhale, nodding once, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Got it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw, like he wants to take the words back, like he wants to fix whatever just broke between you.

Instead, he exhales, stepping back from the counter, “I should go.”

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

Heeseung hesitates for a half second, like maybe—just maybe—he’s waiting for you to say something.

But you don’t. 

Not when you feel so utterly lost in everything you’re feeling that you can’t even begin to put into words. 

So he nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, turning away.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

You’re left at the counter, staring at his abandoned cup of ramen, untouched coffee milk, and the ghost of something that never got the chance to be.

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

He wasn’t thinking four days ago, when the space between you two had grown impossibly small—when he was this close to you, when the air felt thick with something unspoken, yet undeniable, something that made his pulse race and his breath hitch. 

He wasn’t thinking when he let fear creep in, when the weight of him realizing his own feelings sent him running, keeping him from stepping foot into the store at all. For three days. 

He wasn’t thinking when he looked you in the eye last night and told you this didn’t matter. That none of it ever did. 

He wasn’t thinking when he walked out of the store, leaving you to think that you didn’t matter to him. That you never did. 

And he definitely isn’t thinking now, when he’s supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour, but instead—his feet pound against the pavement, tearing through the empty, quiet streets like a man possessed, like maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the regret clawing in his chest. 

The cold air stings against his face, streetlights flicker overhead, and the city hums all around him—but none of it matters. None of it even registers. 

Because all Heeseung knows, all he cares about, is getting to you.

Because Heeseung?

He can go months on tour without his Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

He can go months on tour without those, even if it means braving his insomnia.

But what he can’t go without?

Heeseung can’t—he won’t—go months on tour knowing you think you meant nothing to him. That you didn’t bring him relief after the longest days, laughter when he forgot how to find it, comfort in a world that never slowed down for him.

That you weren’t the one thing that felt real in a life that so often didn’t.

And if there’s even the smallest chance to fix this—to make sure you know—then nothing else matters.

The neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, and Heeseung’s heart lurches in his chest as he approaches, his staggered breathing visible in the cold air in front of him, his hands clammy.

He stumbles through the sliding doors, the familiar ding barely registering in his mind as his eyes dart around—only for his stomach to drop.

The counter is empty. The soft sound of your absentminded humming, the teasing lilt of your voice, the annoyed glare in your eyes—it’s all missing.

And all wrong. Too quiet, too empty, too…not you.

Instead, some guy he’s never seen before glances up from behind the register, staring at the way Heeseung just lingers frozen near the entrance.

“Uh,” Heeseung swallows thickly, his voice strained from his sprint. “The girl who usually works nights. Is she here?”

“Oh, Y/N?” the worker raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she called off tonight.”

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

Because last night, you were here—waiting, hoping, and he walked out on you.

“Oh,” is all Heeseung can manage before he feels the words getting caught in his throat.

His jaw clenches, his stomach twists. The weight of regret settles deep, heavy and unrelenting.

“Right. Okay. Thanks,” he mutters, nodding absently, then turns towards the door.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

Right there, walking towards the store, hands shoved into the pockets of your coat, face buried into your scarf.

You stop.

He stops.

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

The neon glow of the store’s sign reflects off your face, casting a shadow over your widened eyes. A car honks in the distance. A gust of wind blows past.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Heeseung says without thinking, almost breathless.

A small laugh escapes your lips, airy and uncertain, “Yeah, well…neither are you.”

You’re right.

He should be on his way to the airport. Bags packed, schedule set, moving on.

But instead? Instead, he’s here, standing in front of the only person who has ever made him hesitate.

Heeseung takes one step forward, “I was looking for you.”

You tilt your head, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something in your mind.

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out all at once and rushed, but utterly honest. Honest and heavy, the way it’s been aching in his chest—and he can’t hold it in anymore.

You blink, unmoving.

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung says again, stepping closer. His voice is steady, gentle, but nervous, scared you won’t believe him. “For everything. For not telling you. For leaving like that. For being a completely fucking idiot about—”

He stops. The look in his eyes is vulnerable, genuine. Longing.

“About this. Us.”

You don’t say anything right away, just watching him carefully.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh as he realizes he’s about to lay everything out bare.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “Of what it all meant. Of what you meant to me. I kept telling myself none of it was real, that it didn’t matter. But then I walked out yesterday and, I realized—”

He swallows hard, looking at you and the way your eyes soften with something unreadable.

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

Then, you let out a soft exhale, shaking your head, as if something’s finally clicking into place, “I’m sorry too.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

“For not—,” you sigh, your hands now fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. “For not saying something sooner. Because the truth is, I’ve been denying it too. I didn’t even realize how much I—how much you meant to me until I saw you last night and…”

You trail off, your cheeks warming. Then, with a deep inhale, you take another step closer, meeting his gaze from an arm’s length away.

“I was just so angry and upset, but I think…I realized it’s only because I like you, Heeseung. So much.”

Heeseung swears his heart stops. It feels like his whole world has just shifted, and all his thoughts are tangled up in the way you’re looking up at him now.

“And…I should’ve been more understanding,” you add softly. “I shouldn’t have held it against you like you owed me something. I was just hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, honestly.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, not when his thoughts are running wild and his heart is beating like it’s about to fully grow legs and escape.

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

“We’re both idiots,” he says finally, shaking his head softly. 

A small, knowing smile dances on your lips, your eyes locking onto his, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

The tension eases. Just a little.

Heeseung takes a small step closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of you, despite the cold air surrounding you both. 

“So now what?”

You tilt your head as you look up at him, eyes searching his, “Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight soon?”

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

That’s what’s been planned all along. That’s the reality.

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a playful glare sparking in them, "Maybe?"

Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The warmth in his chest spreads when he sees the way you bite back a smile, the way your weight shifts just the tiniest bit closer—like you're testing the space between you.

Then, you reach into the tote bag slung around your shoulder and pull something out. 

“Here.”

You press a small bottle of coffee milk into his hands.

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

And you’re looking at him with something gentle—something that makes his chest tighten in the best way possible, something that makes the world feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“Just in case you need a reminder,” you say, your voice light and grounding. “Of what’s normal.”

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and suddenly—everything makes sense. 

The missing piece clicks into place as the static in his mind all fades away, leaving only this—only you. 

You, standing here in front of him, looking at him with that small, steady smile, and Heeseung knows. 

He's never been more sure of anything in his life.

A laugh escapes him before he even realizes it, soft and breathless, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, where warmth curls all around it, wrapping around his own heart like a quiet, undeniable truth. His heart races and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands—slightly trembling, not from nerves, but from the realization of something so much bigger. Something so much realer. 

And then, without even thinking, he steps forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and closes the small space between you before wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you in, slow but certain, with a gentleness that catches you by surprise. 

You freeze, breath catching, but only for a second. Because then—like a reflex, you melt into him, your own arms tightening around him.

Holding onto him just as much as he’s holding onto you.

Neither of you say anything.

There’s a quiet calm between you two—no need for words, just the rhythm of your heart beating against his own. Steady, calming, like it’s syncing with his, like they’ve always known each other’s pace.

Like they’ve been moving in tandem all along, even when neither of you realized it. 

And in a way, maybe that’s just how it’s always been with you two—balancing on the fine line between pushing and pulling, between sharp words and lingering glances, between pretending you didn’t care, yet feeling everything all at once. 

So easy to cross, so easy to blur, so easy to mistake for something else. 

Maybe you spent all this time thinking you were standing on opposite sides, only to realize you were always moving toward the same place.

And now, as one of his arms moves across your back, the other threading gently through your hair, holding the back of your head against his chest like he never wants to let you go, his heartbeat still steady against yours, you know for certain—

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

However—

There are three things—three sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo. And no, he still doesn’t care.

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it to the end, i'll ship u some extra spicy hellfire ramen & coffee milk rn ! <3 luv u mwahmwahmwah !

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

(bolded didn't let me tag, sorry :( )

[lighting-and-shadow]

Post LADS Main Story: NonMC Reader x Sylus

So I had a thought again: you being reincarnated into the world of LADS, but after the story ends. Ever is no more. Wanderers have been cured and don't exist anymore. The world is relatively peaceful.

MC has found her happy ending with one of the boys, something you find out during a stroll in Linkon City. And it's not Sylus.

I was thinking it would be Xavier for the angst factor. Because, to Sylus, she chose the prince of the people that caused him so much pain over him. She chose the light Xavier represents over his darkness. She chose someone who, in Sylus' mind, was born with everything over him who worked to get everything he has for her sake.

Or maybe she chose Caleb. And that would hurt too because Sylus realizes that while they only had each other in the past, she overlooks that for her present. That their history isn't nearly as valuble as her history with Caleb.

Either way, it causes sad boy hours. The man is devasted. And while he and MC still have a friendship, it's a bit toxic. No longer do they play Kitty Cards or spend time at the claw machine. With the new love in her life, all that's left for Sylus is scraps.

She uses him. Calls him when she needs something or she wants to do something. But if it's him? She blows him off. She treats him like a joke.

Maybe not even truly realizing that she is (but part of me wants to go the bitch route because I've made her so nice in all my other current works and WIPs; I blame @rcvcgers for this (I say this with love, because I honest to god love Rotten Apples), and need to channel that anger).

Then it gets worse: he dies. She remembers her past with him, and gives back the other half of his soul. And then she turns her back on him for good, cutting ties because their morals are just incompatible. He's so devasted that he takes his own life, no longer immortal because his sorceress abandoned him (just like everyone else did).

But anyways, you figure this out, and basically come barging into his life. Not to make him love you. Not to get her to love him. But to give him something to latch onto.

Let's say Sylus was your favorite in the game (as he is for me, clearly), so you act like a total, batshit crazy, fan girl. And there's something about that crackhead energy that makes him drawn to you.

So you bug him. And bug him. And bug him endlessly. Because even annoyance and anger are better than emptiness and coldness he carries right now. Sure, he hides it well behind snark and flirting, but you know him better. You've watched him from behind a scene for quite some time.

I imagine the reason you're kept around is because of the chaotic nature of who you are and the knowledge you have. And because Sylus doesn't have it in him to give a shit. You're not a threat. If anything, it was the twins that convinced him of your use.

So you live at the base, occassionally witnessing the toxic nature of him and MC's dynamic. And you come up with a plan to help him get over her. Not by making him love you, you'd never be worthy of that, but of getting him to realize that his sorceress is dead. That even it's technically the same the person in soul, she's not the same at her (Aether) core.

Doing so makes you fall even further in love. You discover things about him a simple game could never. You see sights and experience parts of this world that could never captured by a screen or some code. And it hurts.

It hurts because he's more than just a character to you. He cares for you, is soft with you. He buys you things, helps braid your hair, takes you to fancy venues, stands up for you, protects you... You almost think that he loves you.

But that's silly. Who would love you? Who would love the real you, and not the one you present to the world? The one that cries at nothing? The one consumed by anxiety and insecurity? The one that hides under layers and layers of walls capped off by an impenetrable mask? The one that hid herself and changed herself for so many years? The one you're not even sure still exists?

You're such a fraud.

(This whole prompt was inspired by the Webtoon My Derelict Favorite, and I couldn't get it out of my head).

[illubean]

saiki k with a reader who’s like super sleepy and makes everyone around them sleepy too? may or may not be a physic up to you tho!

Saiki W/ a Sleepy!Psychic!Reader

Characters: Kusuo Saiki Type: mix of headcanons and sort of a oneshot??, Gn!Reader

saiki kusuOOOOOOO

Warnings: none

when you first transferred into his class he was confused as to why he couldn't read your thoughts

congrats, you're now categorized with bugs and nendo..

and he was even more confused that the minute you walked in, everyone started yawning and his eye's felt heavy

"We have a new transfer student today, class. Why don't you come on in and introduce yourself?" Saiki watched as you lazily trudged into the room, posture hunched with droopy, slow blinking eyelids. You let out a yawn and stretched as if you just got out of bed before stating your name.

Saiki's eyes narrowed at you while you walked towards your new seat, everyone else yawning as you passed them by. Lucky for him, you happened to sit directly behind him, and suddenly he finds it hard to keep his head upright.

after this he...stalks you pretty much

not because he's some weirdo pervert but because he needs to get to the bottom of what's going on! (doesn't make it any less creepy...)

he watches you from a safe distance, but you seem to be like every other average person at this school

For the past week you felt like you've been watched wherever you go. Around the halls at school, on your way to the vending machine, even during your walk home. No matter which way you looked, there was never anything out of the ordinary. You'd always heard of those weird stories about crazy stalkers, but you never thought it could happen to you of all people.

You were just an average student; doing nothing particularly interesting outside of academics or school clubs. Or so everyone thought. Save for Saiki. He knew there was something off about you, but he has yet to see you do anything odd. He was getting frustrated waiting for you to make any sort of move that would reveal you as a potential threat.

one day Saiki manages to corner you and lays the interrogation on thick

you're like super confused and that's when he realized he fucked up and revealed his powers to you

he makes you swear to not tell anyone and may or may not force you to meet his brother to get to the bottom of your weird sleepy powers

whether you just have a useless sleepy power or others you also don't know about is up to you

"Alright, spit it out. Who are you really and what are your intentions at this school?"

Your back was abruptly slammed into the wall as you rounded the corner, and you never expected to come face to face with your pink haired classmate this way. You've never heard him speak much, making him mysterious and even more intimidating in a situation like this.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, everywhere you go you make everyone around you tired. Besides, I can't read your thoughts and I never know your next move. Who sent you? Dark reunion!?"

You stared at him blankly for a moment, blinking slowly as you process everything he just said to you.

"...dark reunion? Forget that, you can read people's minds!?"

Oh. Crap.

[feverish-dove]

Hiihihi

I just wanted to say I really liked the way you wrote Senku!!! :3 and I was wondering if you had any more thoughts on the guy. Headcannons, or quite literally anything. Truthfully, I just wanna hear you yap about him. (Hes an Obsession 💔) Full liberty to write whatever that comes to your mind!!!

(and I completely understand if you don't. Just wanted to let you know how much I liked your thoughts on him :))

Senku Headcanons

Holy shit i'm sorry this took so long. It was not my intention to leave y'all hanging for so long. Especially for an ask when I said my inbox was open. Life's been crazy but that's no excuse. Also really weird question but I ended up making myself a Seto Kaiba (yes from Yu-gi-oh!) multipart fic as a birthday gift to me. lmk if anyone is interested in me publishing it lol. One more thing like two other people tagged me in a song trend and I swear I'll get to it too! I just don't know who to tag next haha. Senku Ishigami x Reader warnings: minor spoilers but they're not really important word count: 2,064 not cross posted on any other platform

Pre-Petrification

Y’all probably started out as classmates who argued about your specific hyperfixation interest lmao.

He noticed you because you challenged him—not emotionally, but intellectually. Most people couldn’t keep up, but you corrected him and were right. (You were NOT playing. It was more than likely something stupid like FNAF.)

He totally pretended he wasn’t interested at first. Played it cool, but Taiju saw the way Senku looked at you when you talked about your interests.

Homeboy wants to learn everything about everything. Hence his sudden bugging about your knowledge on a topic he isn’t fully educated on.

You both stayed after school often—him for his experiments, you for your own interests. Eventually, you started hanging out by accident more often than not.

He offered you coffee from a vending machine one day and casually said, “It’s statistically proven that shared caffeine intake boosts cognitive synergy.” You think that was his weird way of flirting.

The first time you called him out for overworking, he smirked and said, “Tch. Worrying about me already?” You replied, “Obviously.”

He confessed in a weirdly clinical way: “I’ve run the numbers. Being with you would significantly enhance my quality of life. Wanna test that theory together?” (Listen I know this sounds lame but go rewatch the first episode I promise you he talked like this T^T second hand embarrassment rewatch.)

You said yes in the most nonchalant way possible. By jumping up and down.

Taiju had no idea this was coming.

Yuzuriha knew this was coming.

He wasn’t very physically affectionate at first—he’d tap your hand when passing notes or adjust your collar like it was nothing, but it meant everything.

You helped him with a big experiment once, and he added your name to the credits. You argued that Taiju did way more work, so he should get the credit! Taiju just laughed you off.

Senku just wanted your name written next to his permanently. He published the document so you’ll be metaphorically stuck with him forever since nothing truly gets erased once it’s on the internet. Unless of course humanity was going to turn into stone but what's the likelihood of that?

Your first kiss wasn’t planned. You were mid-argument about the stupidest possible thing you could think of, and he just leaned in and kissed you to shut you up. “There. Now can we get back to the part where I’m right?” This just caused the fight to escalate because him, ‘right?’ Who does he think he is? You were totally winning!

He starts explaining things differently to you—not because he thinks you don’t get it, but because he enjoys seeing your reactions.

This is also how y’all became known as that couple who is always on facetime instead of just calling one another. (I get it, I too watch those gacha reaction videos at my grown age.)

When the petrification hit, he was thinking about you. Not in a romantic way like Taiju did with Yuzuriha, but instead in a, “it’s been about 1,245 years so far so they should be at ‘x’ coordinates because they were at ‘y’ when the beam hit.” “Clothing needs to take higher priority than initial calculations. They might not be comfortable being naked in the wild, extreme scenario or not.” Etc.

Stone World

Senku doesn’t realize he likes you right away. He’s hyper focused on survival, but you keep showing up to help—always curious, always sharp.

You challenge his ideas, not to be rude, but to push him further. That’s what gets his attention.

One day you show up with materials he didn’t ask for but desperately needed. He stares at you and says, “…You’re terrifyingly efficient. I like that.”

When you’re injured, he freaks out silently. He’s cold and efficient treating the wound, but he doesn’t sleep that night.

He builds you your own workstation so you can tinker with him. No one else gets one. Chrome whines because yuo don’t even use it half the time!

Gen teases him constantly. “Senku, your little lab assistant’s got you all flustered—should I schedule the wedding, or…?”

He confesses in the least romantic way possible: “I don’t believe in fate, but statistically, I’d rather build civilization with you than without you.” You had no idea it was a confession until he later refers to you as his girlfriend. It’s as much of a shock to you as it is the rest of the villagers.

You tried to kiss his cheek for sharing the cotton candy with Homura. Instead you ended up kissing his lips by accident. Your first kiss tastes like mineral water and burnt sugar from failed wire experiments.

Senku tries to pretend nothing changed after you get together, but he starts letting you touch his stuff. That’s a big deal. The village only has so much material to come by, after all.

You once called him “handsome” absentmindedly. He froze mid-step, dropped his charcoal pencil, and never brought it up again. But he remembers.

You’re the only one allowed to sit on his lap while he sketches blueprints. Sometimes he forgets you’re there until you shuffle. (Note: this does not work when he gets the invention idea at first. He gets too excited and wiggles too much. It’s only for refinement.)

Speaking of notes, congratulations, your new status as being around Senku 24/7 means you’re the official Note Taker of the new world! Title Pending.

“bUt FeVeR, dOn’T tHeY aLrEaDy HaVe A rEpOrTeR?” Shut up, I said what I said. You’re more recording data and experiments to make the first books and logs rather than make a record of history. Your beloved boyfriend is the one who gave you this task because he hates you. Jk. It’s because he doesn’t have enough hands to write everything down and conduct experiments at the same time so you have to do it for him.

Speaking of which, Senku is a certified yapper. Don’t let his nonchalant persona trick you, he’s anything but chill. If you also go off on tangents Gen is probably the one forced to break you both out of your excitement… again. (Listen they tried Chrome but he just joined in and Kohaku will not hesitate to beat both your asses so Gen it is. Poor guy lol.)

He’s not big on traditional affection, is what a liar will tell you. If anything you’re the one less prone to PDA. Now I say this but it comes with terms and conditions. Senku’s a busy guy, he likes to use his mouth–hold up–for giving instructions. So kisses are more rare. He also needs his hands for crafting, writing, just about anything really. So while he does like hand holding it’s a bit harder to get to. Which leaves y’all mostly just leaning against each other to show affection.

He does cuddle though. If it’s hot he’ll complain but that’s just because he likes to run his smart-ass mouth.

The villagers think you’re married already because you’re always beside him. And caveman laws. Senku won’t correct them.

Bonus: one day, he casually hands you something shiny and says, “This alloy’s rare. Only made it for one person.” That’s how you get your engagement ring—made from meteorite metal.

General

He’s incredibly observant, even when he seems distracted. If you so much as wince from a splinter, he’s already pulling out tweezers and homemade antiseptic.

Pet names are rare, but he sometimes calls you “Einstein,” “my lab partner,” or “miracle cure,” depending on his mood and what you’ve helped him with.

He won’t say “I love you” often, but he builds entire systems and tools just to make your life easier. That’s his way of saying it.

He builds you a custom gadget that only you can use. It’s completely unnecessary in the most loving way possible. Might even make it so on purpose just so you think of him, even if it is because of annoyance. Little shit.

Senku teaches you science constantly, even when you’re just trying to nap. He says knowledge is the ultimate gift. You say he is. He says you’re trying to distract him. You were.

When he works too hard and skips meals, you force-feed him ramen. He grumbles, but later admits you’re the only one who can make him willingly slow down.

You’re the only one allowed to mess with his hair. He pretends to complain but leans into your touch when you pull it back or wash it. Lives for your head scratches. Me too girl, me too.

He keeps small souvenirs of you in his lab coat—notes, dried flowers, a tiny bead you once gave him—and says it’s “just sentimental chemical bonding.”

Cuddles aren’t rare, but when he crashes from exhaustion, he clings like a koala and refuses to let go until morning.

He blushes like mad if you kiss him in public, but not because he’s shy—it’s because his brain short-circuits with affection.

If you get sick, he goes overboard researching herbal and chemical remedies, refuses to sleep until you’re better. Gets sick afterwards.

He gets quietly jealous when others impress you—then doubles down on his own projects to one-up them.

He lets you be the first to see every new invention, no matter how trivial. Your reaction matters more than the scientific community’s.

He absolutely remembers every important date (your birthday, anniversary, the first time you kissed). He’ll never make a big show of it, is the first lie he ever tells you.

If you’re sad, he gives you rocks that glow in the dark, handmade magnets, or funny contraptions to make you smile. Shiny rock theory anyone?

You once joked you wanted a robot. He built you one. It only says one phrase: “Senku says drink water.” Because he’s a petty asshole and you wouldn’t have passed out on the track field if you just listened to him! (Really trying to think of a Mecha Senku joke but I can’t. All I got is clang, bang, bang.)

He respects your boundaries like a contractual agreement. If you say “no,” he steps back 10 paces and documents your preferences for future reference.

You’re the only one allowed to tease him without being hit with a snarky comeback. He just smirks and says, “Tch. Fine. You win this one.”

Any inventions that might mildly convenience your life he will 100% make extra just for you. Like when he made a hair conditioner. (Shameless plug here, y’all should read my ‘Sun Kissed Science’ because it’s about him inventing sunscreen for you.)

If you cry, he freezes up, then offers you logical comfort “It’s a temporary emotional spike, we’ll regulate the cortisol levels.” Yes he does get better about this if it’s after petrification.

He teaches you math with rocks and sticks, and you somehow end up loving it because he makes it sound like magic. (That one Tumblr post that’s like “I told him to teach me about physics the same way he talks about poetry.” Or something idk I can’t remember.)

If anyone flirts with you, Senku swoops in with cold facts that thoroughly humiliate them. “You do know flirting with someone in a committed relationship is statistically foolish, right?”

When he’s working late, he lets you fall asleep in his lab, covering you with his jacket without waking you.

He grins like a devil when you match his sarcasm. He’s met his chaos equal and loves it.

He has a specific notebook labeled with your name. It contains sketches, formulas inspired by you, and a list of projects to make your life easier. It’s made of leather and crappy paper and love.

Gen called you “Senku’s moon” because he claims you’re the one constant that keeps his tides in check. He only said this to Senku but you’ll never know since he’s too embarrassed. He has absolutely threatened Genw ith manual labor if he spills.

You once called him “hot” during an argument, and he nearly walked into a tree. He denies it, but Kohaku saw.

When the two of you argue, it turns into a debate show. People bring snacks. You both win.

He secretly carved your initials into a spot behind the observatory, visible only when the sun sets just right.

He doesn’t believe in fate, but when you touch him, he swears his neurons fire in patterns he can’t explain—and that’s saying something.

@mylostleftfootsock im so sorry for the wait!

[sirobvious]

Finally watched Starship Troopers and I have a lot to say about it.

First of all, the idea that anyone could see this movie as not being a satirical parody of American militarism and fascism is baffling to me, then again there’s people that think Warhammer 40,000 is pro-militarism and fascism, and I guess if you watch this when you’re dumb and 15 it might go over your head.

It’s extremely dubious as to whether the bugs are actually aggressing against the Federation in the first place, and very likely that it’s something exaggerated or made up wholesale by the government to justify their own aggressive expansion.

It has the plot and all the trappings of a big dumb oorah go-America action movie, but reframed as a terrible tragedy.

Just about all the main characters join the military for reasons that to not involve “wanting to join the military,” but the society they live in has set it up so that for most of them it’s the only way forward in life, and in the military they’re worth less than the uniforms they’re wearing.

They’re sent to a training camp that abuses them violently, and then sent to the front lines to die. Not to fight, to die.

Analyzing this movie from a military tactics perspective, the mobile infantry isn’t meant to survive, their only job is to deliver death to the enemy’s homes by shooting those micronukes into the hives. The rifles and body armor they’re all equipped with are near useless and only exist to make them feel brave enough to go towards the enemy and shoot the micronukes.

Their squads don’t have medics, machine gunners, or anti-armor equipment. (The nuke launchers don’t count as anti-armor they’re too dangerous to shoot at anything within like 200 yards.) In the first mission, if they had had any of that, they could have held off the bug counterattack enough to get way more soldiers off-planet. It still would’ve been a losing battle but it wouldn’t have been such a massacre. Hell, it might have even spared more bug lives, because the rifles still kill bugs, but do so extremely slowly, enough that it just results in both sides dying more. But survival of the federation infantry was never an objective, they are just a delivery system for the nukes, they might as well be suicide-bombers.

In the second mission, the government knew it was a trap but sent them anyway, without telling them.

Rico is not a good commander, but keeps getting bumped up the ranks anyway because of the mass death. He doesn’t think for himself and the only order I think he actually gives in the whole movie is “kill them all,” which, yeah, great plan. If they had fallen back at that moment, more of them would’ve survived.

Once he actually starts climbing the ranks, he literally doesn’t even say anything original, he just repeats what he’s been told, quoting the Lieutenant word-for-word.

The Lieutenant, despite being a crazy fascist like everyone else, is legitimately a good leader and commander. No one would’ve made it out of that ambush if he didn’t make the calls he did when he did, but Rico, who replaces him, doesn’t have any of those command skills. He’s got all the macho bravado but none of the smarts. He’s going to be the kind of commander to lead a valiant doomed charge into enemy machine gun nests.

And then at the end when it shows all the surviving main characters in their higher-ranking positions that they only got because people ahead of them died, and it shows the subordinates even younger than the main characters were when they joined. It was sickening.

And also all the top brass are just straight up dressed like Nazis.

It was a great movie though, especially if you're an Imperial Guard player like myself.

[jillgirlfriends]

ethan landry like boyfriend

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnin: dark themes, mentions of murder, ethan is sweet and a good boy for you, smut

I think ethan just loves to gossip with you. he is the guy who knows everything that happens at the university or in your dorm with him. ethan loves to gossip with you, in the evenings lying on his bed. especially, you both love to make fun of chad and tara. laughing at the fact that chad can't kiss this bithc, or at the fact that tarantula got into trouble again.

- «tarantula got into some trouble again, she had a fight with some idiot from the fraternity» - you rolled your eyes. and ethan chuckled softly. you both even came up with nicknames for this two bitches.

this guy is very clingy. this guy always manages to hold your hand, keep his hand on your waist or on your thigh. as soon as he sees you, he already out of habit puts keeps his hand on your body.

ethan will save money for a long time for your date with him or for some gift for you. he will save money diligently and try not to spend much. on dates he is definitely a gentleman.

when you find out he's ghostface, you still love him and he's grateful to you for it. he told you a funny story about a richie's girlfriend. ethan immediately started to hate amber.. he's just irritated by her stupid pig-like face. she even tried to flirt with him, so he taught her a lesson. a bucket of bugs fell on amber, and eth also ruined her clothes. after that, he never saw that pig.

he also absolutely despises people who try to make fun of you or flirt with you. he just hates the blonde emily at your university with all his heart because she always manages to make fun of you. ethan somehow ended up changing the water in the water machine to dirty and also broke the machine itself, and all the water poured out on this slut and she was famous throughout the university. you still remember how the blonde ran feverishly, and even fell in the hallway. a week later, ethan killed her.

- «baby.. is this your doing?» - ethan pretended to be the stupidest person in the world and looked at you with his big puppy eyes.

ethan just loves any clothes you wear. but he prefers it when you wear dresses. he loves your elegance. but he just hates it when you wear something revealing in public. he prefers it when you wear it in front of him, because it will definitely lead to sex later.

he loves sharing his cheetos with you, and he also loves cooking with you. he's.. actually, he knows a little about cooking. at least he's good at peeling potatoes.. but he'll definitely cut himself with a knife and you, being a caring girlfriend, will put a bandage on his cut and kiss him to soothe him. he literally melts deep down.

you're that quiet, nerdy couple, but behind closed doors you have a very... special and passionate relationship.

he is just obsessed with your hair. literally. when you are together in the dorm and relaxing, he will gently comb your hair and massage your head. this guy has hands from God.. (i kissed those hands)

if he suddenly does something wrong, he will literally beg you for forgiveness on his knees. for him it is like a catastrophe, and he is already going crazy and thinks that you will leave him. and if you do... then, endure a rough night of love with him.

his heart melts when you protect him from mindy, or anika's insults, or chad's rage. he literally looks at you and thinks.. "how did i get a girlfriend like that"

you are pinned to the very first place in his phone, and notifications are turned on only for you. except for his father, sister and chad, there is no one else in his contacts. he does not care at all about tara, sam, anika or mindy.

during rough sex he often starts complaining about your friends. his mouth is so dirty.. and you are just shocked by his words. he literally curses chad and tara and you can hear him growling.

he doesn't actually use condoms, he likes to take risks.. (what a bad boy) and he also often lies to you that he ran out of condoms, although he just hid them

he probably asked his sister quinn for dating advice and he regretted it.. she was always teasing him and making fun of her poor brother.

ethan is actually good at drawing, he secretly draws in class and rarely in econ when he gets too bored. he can only draw girls and their faces, and you know what kind of girl he always draws.

so in murders he shows his creative personality as an artist and creates his own work of art. remember anika.

you talk about anything. he prefers to listen more, he is ready to listen to any nonsense that you say and just admire your voice. he looks only at you and literally remembers everything that you tell him.

in the second act, your boyfriend literally saved you from falling out of the window. it happened that sam accidentally pushed you and you almost fell, he literally almost went crazy and pushed you away from the window. during the second act, he paid attention to you and only left you alone. when you were climbing the ladder, he deliberately began to slow down to knock down the door so that you could climb over.

his father will definitely faint when he finds out about his future wedding plans.. ethan is actually planning on marrying you when he graduates from university or a little earlier.

ethan is literally a cat. he has excellent vision and can even see well at night, he can also climb on roofs as a ghostface. and he can also.. purr. after his kills, he snuggles up to you and purrs quietly because you're next to him. but he doesn't like fish and can't stand the smell of fish. he can only tolerate salmon.

- «baby, thank you, it's so delicious.. I'll wash the dishes now» - ethan is literally ready to thank you on his knees for your care and food.

this boy barely eats normal food before you came into his life. you started cooking him light and healthy food. he just loves your fruit salad.

basically, ethan landry is a great boyfriend. he's caring, shy, and a very loyal guy. plus, he's your number 1 serial killer. girl, you've fallen in love with a criminal.

[etanow]

MASTER POST

The Experimental Monster Laboratory, or Monster Labs, is a TADC AU where the cast is in the physical world! Sorta..

C&A Research Facilities is one of the cornerstones of the science and medical worlds! They do everything; funding research, manufacturing equipment, and research into the known and unknown in an effort to understand everything. To the public, that is.

They experiment heavily in everything, from hiring literal Gods on earth to manage the more ..sensitive divisions; mixing machine and magic, technology and the supernatural, genetic experimentation, you name it, they’ve probably done it! The world outside may not know anything of the advancements they’re researching but there is little C&A Labs won’t allow in the name of progress in understanding and cataloging everything in their universe. Our story takes place in one of the more private residencies deep in C&A, belonging to Caine; a minor God with mysterious origins, unknown limitations, and boundless enthusiasm for learning everything he can about his little science friends.

╰┈➤ Content

╚═ Unnamed fic (Coming soon...) ╚═ Bubble can cook?? .

╰┈➤ Asks

╚═ Does Pomni act like a zombie? ╚═ Is Zooble's Demon Snake Leg happy? ╚═ Gangle is in a Situation.png ╚═ Gangle's temperament ╚═ Has Ragatha ever shocked anyone? ╚═ Gangle love RAAAH ╚═ Do Caine and Ragatha fight over Pomni? ╚═ Why did Gangle summon a demon? ╚═ Why does Pomni wear a bell collar? ╚═ Kinger's eye ╚═ What if there was a baby crying? ╚═ Death trauma [Gangle and Pomni] ╚═ Kinger has ONE hobby outside of Bugs ╚═ Is Zooble protective of Gangle? ╚═ What happens when you touch Pomni's brain? ╚═ JAX DATED SOMEONE?? ╚═ What does Jax do? .

╰┈➤ References

╚═ Intro Cards ╚═ Height Chart Lineup ╚═ Zooble Demon Snake Leg Intro Card /j ╚═ Queenie ╚═ Gummigoo ╚═ The Sun Room ╚═ Logo .

╰┈➤ Arts

╚═ First ML AU Post ╚═ Second, exploring outfits ╚═ Design sketches part 2 ╚═ Pomni + flower language ╚═ Showtime + Ragapom doodles ╚═ Jax not practicing lab safety ╚═ Abstragedy cuddles ╚═ Raga doodle ╚═ Ragapom doodle ╚═ Jax and Meadowsweet ╚═ Pomni staring out a fake window.png ╚═ [Gives pomni flowers] ╚═ more doodles ig

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╰┈➤ Misc.

╚═ Caine Lemon Rant [Animatic] ╚═ Zodiac signs?? ╚═ Caine gets called a Tumblr Sexyman and cries ╚═ Bubble Looksmaxxing ╚═ Jax wants to take ketamine with you (Romantically) ╚═ Caine eats a lemon [Animatic] ╚═ BUNNYSUITSSS ╚═ Magma doodles ╚═ Magma doodles part 2

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╰┈➤ Pomniverse

╚═ Wonderland and Zombni are friends :D

.

╰┈➤ Boundaries / Q&A

╚═ Any story plans? I'm not sure yet, currently writing a fic and several comics on the way.

╚═ Any boundaries? None, so go crazy! I am OK with gore, NSFW, angst, violence, etc, just be sure it is tagged/TW'd appropriately as not everyone is OK with that content. I'd also like to see please LOL

╚═ Can we create fanart/fics/content? Can we dub or fancam? Yes of course!! Please tag me, I'd love to see all of it! I'm tracking the tag #TADC Monster Labs AU for other's content

╚═ Is NSFW allowed? Yes, both art and fic, so long as it's marked appropriately I'd very much love to see!

╚═ Can I ship the characters, self-ships, or OC x Canon? Yes, ship away! Just be aware the only au-canon ships are Caine/Pomni, Ragatha/Pomni, Gangle/Zooble, and PAST Ragatha/Jax.

╚═ Can we make OCs? Go on ahead! Here is a PSD file for the blank template and the PNG can be found here.

╚═ Who are you?

✦✧ Hi I'm Audi! 26, she/they. Full-time office worker, I do art in my free time. ✦ My current interests are TADC, RWBY, Looney Tunes, and Trolls. ✧ I draw using a custom PC, a Huion Kamvas 16 (2.5K), and Adobe Photoshop. Currently learning to use Procreate. ✦ I do not RP and this isn't an ask blog, asks interacting directly with characters will probably not be answered. ✧ Asks are not guaranteed to be answered, sorry if yours isn't but please don't spam/send multiple times! ✦ Commissions and requests are not open at this time, thank you. ✧ My main tumblr is Audi-art. My Twitter is Hammerspaced.

[foldingfittedsheets]

One of my earlier jobs in life was at a little pizza place. I worked there when it was first starting up. It’s the only job I’ve ever been fired from.

Anyway! For this story to make sense I’ve first got to set the stage. This pizza place started out as the Wild West of management but one of the original investors was super committed to work programs through the prison. We hired a ton of ex convicts and they were all, to a one, super hyped on Christianity. Like born again for the sole purpose of lauding Christ with their every breath.

I was raised without any religion which I liked very well. Throughout my life people have tried to inform me about their religion and I end up deeply resenting it. I’m good. I’m vibing. I’m staying in my lane. I’ve also had more than enough microaggressions for being queer that I get skittish around people who are especially devout.

I hadn’t been working there long but I’d definitely noticed the Jesus bug had gone around, I tried to steer clear of the topic for my own safety as much as possible.

The day our story takes place, I was folding boxes. Anyone whose ever worked pizza can attest, there’s so much box folding. It’s something that happens at every lull, the pizza machine demands box folding on a grand and epic scale.

On my right folding his stack of boxes was a guy wider than he was tall, made of pure muscle, Corey. He was newer on staff, and due to a stutter he didn’t talk much. All I knew about him was that he got hired through the rehabilitation program and had done time.

On my left folding was a tall middle-aged woman who loved to yell at me, Cindy. She and I rubbed each other the wrong way and had nothing in common, leading to a tense working relationship.

We folded boxes in silence. This was really my best case scenario as a quiet Cindy was a Cindy not riding my ass, and Corey intimidated me.

But the weight of the silence grew too much for Cindy, who finally said, “I really want to go to bible school.”

I folded a box. I had less than no idea what bible school even was and I didn’t want to get sucked into a religious topic.

On my right Corey said, “W-why, Cindy?”

“Well, cause I believe what’s in the Bible, but I just don’t know it all.”

He nodded sagely to this.

Cindy continued, “And every time I sit down to read the Bible I get real sleepy. And I know it’s the devil.”

It’s so hard to convey her tone in written format. It was delivered with the emphasis and exasperation of an inevitable inconvenience. Like, I just know it’s the squirrels eating the bird seed.

I froze in place at this pronouncement. My only exposure to Lucifer was Neil Gaiman’s Sandman comics and I was trying to mentally twist into a frame of mind where The Morningstar cared enough about this one middle aged lady expanding her knowledge of the Bible that he followed her around cursing her with sleepiness when she picked it up.

I think I expected Corey to say, “Well that’s silly,” or something to acknowledge what a bizarre thing Cindy had just said.

Instead he said, “Yeah!” In a tone of complete agreement.

I didn’t look up. I tried to keep my face neutral at this development.

But something must have shown. Corey said, “You don’t believe in God?”

I shrugged casually and said, “If I did I wouldn’t talk about it at work.”

“C-cause it’s t-true. If y-you t-ry to r-read the B-bible on unsanctif-fied gr-round the d-devil m-makes you s-sleepy!”

I made a noncommittal sound and fled into the back room.

Over the next week it drove me crazy though. The logic of it wouldn’t leave me alone so finally one day when it was just Corey and I in front, and the restaurant was empty, I said, “Hey man, I have a question.”

He shrugged and listened.

“I really don’t mean this with any disrespect, I just genuinely want to know about the logistics-“

“J-ust ask.”

“Okay, so if Cindy gets tired when she reads any book, is it only the devil making her tired when it’s the Bible?”

His face went purple with fury and he yelled, “F-fuck you!” at my retreating back as I fled once more into the back room.

It will forever remain a mystery.

[starlightkun]

➺ teaser word count: 1421 | full fic: 9.4k ➺ genre & warnings: sci-fi, near future, fluff, falling in love without seeing each other, minor hurt/comfort, coworkers au (but in space), space traffic controllers; brief blood/injury mention ➺ synopsis: in which you go to your job as a space traffic controller every day looking forward to your shifts with one specific coworker who you might be falling head over heels for. and sure, you don't know quebec's real name, nor what he looks like, but you two talk for hours a day between guiding landings and take-offs, and you know him better than anyone else. you’re perfectly happy, until his end of the comms falls silent one day and won’t reconnect ➺ extra info: i highly recommend being aware of the existence of the icao alphabet so ur not thrown for a complete loop by ppl’s nicknames in here lol. u don’t need it memorized but i swear i didn’t pull these words out of thin air ok. also, in american aviation, the number 9 is pronounced niner, ur not going crazy and neither am i ➺ estimated release: saturday, february 1, 2025 3:00 p.m. eastern time

The days all tended to blur together on the space station if you weren’t careful. Time was pretty meaningless in the middle of nowhere with no seasons or daylight to give your body cues. STCs mostly relied on shifts and tower cycles as units of time—the duration of a shift, and how long you were assigned to one tower before you moved to the opposite side of the station.

You were back on shift with Quebec, and so far, it had been a busy one. You’d barely had time to breathe between arrivals and departures, much less chitchat. Finally, during what seemed to be a lull, you pulled out your bag of food from your bag.

“Alright, that’s it,” you huffed. “I’m eating dinner.”

“What do you have tonight?” He asked.

“Didn’t have time to run to the convenience store today so it’s just some snacks and stuff I had in my room. Might have to make a vending machine run, sorry.”

“Look in the minifridge.”

“What? Did you rig it to explode?” You pushed your rolling chair back to grab the edge of the fridge, pulling the door open to peer inside.

“You’ll just have to find out.”

A plastic container greeted you, and you grabbed it, already spotting something green inside. Setting it and your mic back down on your desk, you took the lid off with a pop, eyes bugging out of your head as you looked at the green and white cubes. The color and shine alone told you that these weren’t grown in an ag-bubble, these were imported straight from Earth.

“Quebec…” You breathed out in awe. “You did not.”

“You can’t justify spending that much on something you’re going to digest, but I can,” he replied kindly. “Go ahead, eat. Happy one year at the station.”

“I didn’t even remember that was today,” you admitted.

You grabbed a cube between your fingers, not bothering to find utensils. The best part was licking your fingers after, in your opinion. The fruit was juicy and sweet, no bitterness from the rind at all, and so much more flavor than ag-bubble fruit could ever develop. You felt tears well up in your eyes, embarrassingly.

“God, it’s so good. Thank you,” you mumbled through your half-eaten honeydew. “I wish I could share it with you right now.”

“No, don’t worry about me,” he said, and you heard a faint pop of another plastic lid opening on his end of the line. “They were selling it by weight. I had them send some to your tower and some to mine.”

You smiled at the tower across the landing dock. “We are sharing it right now.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Have you ever been on a picnic, Bec? Like, a real one, outside on a blanket with a picnic basket on the grass with fresh air and food and your friends and family?”

“Once, when I was really little. I don’t remember much about it. My mom showed me a picture,” he mused. “Have you, Zu?”

“No, never. I was born on a mining colony. Never breathed fresh air in my life, or been to Earth. Always been in ships, stations like this, or firmaments.” Firmaments—man-made structures on the surface of planets whose conditions were not naturally habitable for humans. Within the firmaments, the air quality, pressure, temperature, and planet’s surface could be regulated in order to allow for human survival. The actual mining typically happening outside of the firmaments, however, and that was only one reason that it was so dangerous—and lucrative.

“What about your parents?”

“They weren’t born on Earth either, never saw the big deal about going to visit.” You shrugged, popping another piece of melon in your mouth. “What about you?”

“My parents were born on Earth. They wanted me to be born there too, but I came a little early while they were on a trip to a nearby resort planet. The closest hospital was on its moon…”

“Did you grow up on Earth then?”

“Visited after I was born, went back and forth for a good bit of my childhood, but my parents just liked traveling too much to stay in one place.”

“My family moved around a lot too. Mining pays good, but you have to move with the materials. There’s always some hot new mineral in vogue that’s paying more than the last thing everyone wanted. You never want to stick around until a mine dries up.”

“How long does that take? Like, how much did you move around?”

“Depends. Sometimes we were there for a few weeks or months, sometimes years.”

Quebec was quiet for a moment, and you took the opportunity to eat two more pieces of honeydew. Then, he said, “Zulu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you take this job? All the way out here?”

“I didn’t want to work in the mines with my parents my whole life. Saw the opening and figured I might as well give it a go,” you answered simply. “What about you?”

“Kind of similar. More desperate, I think,” he admitted. “I was in med school, actually, and I was absolutely miserable. Just at rock fucking bottom. I told my parents I was going to quit and they said I couldn’t unless I either enrolled in law school, or got a job. This was the first one I found.”

You blinked, watching the dark dot in the window across from you. “Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever told me that.”

“Haven’t talked to anybody about it since coming here.”

“Why’d you ask me that then? You had to have figured I would’ve turned the question back on you.”

“I… don’t think I knew I was going to tell you that until I said it.”

“You know you can always talk about whatever with me, Bec.”

“I know,” he replied warmly. “Same for you. I’m all ears.”

“So you quit med school, took the first job you could find and just happened to find something you liked doing?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I did not take to being an STC at all initially. I wanted to quit after my first week. I was on this stupid station in the middle of nowhere starting all over again at a job that paid considerably less than the surgeon I was supposed to be. I was miserable, and lost, and kept thinking that they were right and I should just put my head down and be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever. It felt like I could’ve disappeared from the universe and nobody would notice.” He sighed, and you felt your heart twist in your chest. “Then during my second week, another new STC started, and we ended up on a shift together. And you said—there’s no way you remember this, Zulu, it’s so… but—What do you remember about that shift?”

You rifled through your memories desperately for something, anything specific, but came up empty. “Not much, I mean, it was like my second one, I think. So I was still pretty nervous about doing everything right, and I remember meeting you, but I don’t think we even talked much outside of small talk, right?”

“That’s great. I mean it, I love that you’re just like this, that you weren’t trying to do it,” he laughed with his whole chest, and you smiled fondly, not feeling like he was laughing at you at all. “Anyway, it was pretty dead that shift, and in one of the quiet times, you got on the mic and you told me to look outside. I thought there was a ship or something going on. But then you said, ‘I’ve never seen these stars before.’ Which made me realize I hadn’t even looked at the stars since arriving at the station. At the end of the shift, you said, ‘Talk to you next time, Quebec.’ And I decided ‘sure, I’ll stick around until next time, see what else she’ll say.’” His words made you snicker softly, and he continued, “And then you just kept saying these little, interesting things, or things that made me smile for the first time in years, or you’d ask questions and let me talk about whatever I wanted… I kept putting off quitting until I wasn’t half-bad at being an STC and didn’t hate living at the station anymore.”

“Bec…” You murmured, fidgeting with the wire of your headset. “Do—”

A dot popped up on your monitor then, and Quebec said, “Ah, there’s the ambassador.”

⤷ masterlist

TEASER TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001 @snowyseungs @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

[callsign-dexter]

Babysitting Mishap

Summary: Nolan’s and Bailey's daughter is rushed to the hospital while her big brother, Henry, is watching her.

Pairings: John Nolan x Daughter!Reader, Bailey Nune x Daughter!Reader, John Nolan x Bailey Nune, Henry Nolan x Sister!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, hospitals

Masterlist

Accidents happen and everyone knows that. Some can be avoided and some can't. This accident couldn't have been avoided when your brother, Henry Nolan, had been watching you while he was in town, and your parents, Bailey Nune and John Nolan, were out at work. He didn't know how it happened or why but it did and he felt guilty about it but Bailey and Nolan told him not to because it could've happened to anyone. You should've listened to Henry but you being a stubborn 4-year-old didn't and now you were in the hospital as your parents were looking at the x-rays. It started out as a normal day but quickly turned south around late afternoon.

**********************************************

Both of your parents had to go in early that morning due to some high-profile case that the police and fire station had to work together on. Your big brother, Henry, was in for a few weeks visiting so he had gladly said that he would watch you for the day and however long they needed to be gone. You had days where you wanted to sleep in and other days where you were up bright and early ready to go. This day it had been the bright and early option.

You had just started to sleep in your big girl bed, as you liked to call it, throughout the night. You knew to stay and play in your room if you were up early because you either were ready to go or would go back to sleep after a few minutes. For some reason, you thought it would be a good idea to get out of your room and 'try' to start breakfast for yourself. Bailey, Nolan, and Henry were all sound asleep when a crash coming from the kitchen woke them up and they all went rushing into the kitchen, Nolan with his gun and Henry with a baseball bat. You looked up alarmed at them. "Y/N, what are you doing?" Your dad asked and you looked at him like he was crazy as he put his gun on safety and away.

"Hungry." You said in the most matter in fact tone you could muster up.

"Why didn't you come and get us, Sweetie?" Bailey asked.

"Do it on my own." You said and everyone chuckled.

"Alright, Sis." Henry said as he put the bat down and went over and picked you up "Let's get you fed and cleaned up while Mom and Dad get ready for work." He said and you beamed up at him.

"Ok!" You said enthusiastically and then he turned you to Bailey and Nolan.

"You sure you got it?" Your dad asked and he nodded.

"Yup. Now go get ready. We got this covered." He said and the two parents nodded.

"Thank you." They both said.

"You're welcome. Now go." Henry said and ushered them out of the kitchen. It wasn't much longer until Bailey and Nolan were coming out of their room dressed and ready for the day, they would be switching into uniforms at work. When they came out they saw that you were cleaned up and sitting at the table with Henry, the mess had been cleaned up.

"You didn't have to clean it up. We would've." Bailey said as she walked over to the table and smoothed down your hair. Henry looked at her and shook his head.

"It wasn't that hard. Luckily nothing was broken and I threw the towels into the washing machine and started it." He said and Bailey and Nolan smiled.

"Well thank you. We appreciate that." He said coming over with two thermos' filled with coffee.

"You're welcome. Now you need to go before you both are late." Henry said. During all this, you had been perfectly content with the food sitting in front of you. Sure you were listening to them talk but one you had food and two they were talking 'grown-up stuff', something you came up with when you didn't understand something. Your dad looked down at his watch and his eyes bugged and you giggled.

"You're right. We will see both of you later tonight. Y/N be good for your brother and listen to him. Henry don't be afraid to get on her if she's not." You did said and Henry chuckled and smiled.

"He's right." Bailey said agreeing "We love you both and are planning on seeing you tonight." She added and you both nodded.

"We love you." They both said at the same time taking turns hugging you both. Your dad picked you up and you protested at first but you loved being in his arms. Everyone walked to the door.

"We love you too." Henry said and you nodded already you were looking sleepy and they took notice of this as you laid your head on his shoulder.

"I don't think she's going to be awake too much longer." Bailey chuckled and smiled.

"I think you're right." Nolan said. "Alright we have to go." He said and handed you over to Henry who gladly took you. You snuggled into him as your eyes started to close.

"Go. Be safe. We love you. I'll call you if we need anything or if something happens." Henry said as he was ushering them out the door. When he finally got them out the door after they kissed her head you were asleep. Henry could tell by how even and slow your breathing was. "I knew you wouldn't last long." He chuckled and then headed to put you back into bed and once securely tucked in he went and picked up from breakfast. Around 10 AM you were awake and calling out for Henry who rushed to your room immediately. "Hey there, Sis." He said and you looked at him and made the motion that you wanted to be picked up and he gladly granted it.

"Nemo." You said and he chuckled.

"You want to watch Finding Nemo?" He asked and you nodded enthusiastically.

"Uh-huh. Nemo is my favorite." You said as he sat you on the couch and turned on the TV. He went to Disney+ and cued up Finding Nemo once you were settled he started to do some work around the house and on his computer, you were still in his line of sight and hearing distance. You had stayed put while the movie was on and when that went off you wanted The Lion King and he happily put it on while he started lunch. He could still see you so when you started jumping on the couch he was quick to let you know.

"Y/N no jumping on the couch." He said sternly and you looked at him and nodded and sat down. He continued making lunch and he just so happened to look up and saw you standing up and once again jumping and he sighed. "Y/N/N what did I say about jumping on the couch?" He asked sternly and you looked back at him.

"Not to." You said looking down and sitting down. He grabbed the now-finished sandwiches and brought them into the living room.

"I'm not trying to be mean. I just want you to stay safe. Ok?" He asked and you nodded.

"Ok. I'm sorry." You said and he smiled softly and he sat the food down.

"Come here." He said and opened his arms and you did so. "I love you. I just don't want anything happening to you." He added and you nodded.

"I love you too." You said and he kissed your head.

"Wanna watch the rest of the movie while we eat?" He asked and nodded.

"Please." You said and he chuckled.

"You got it, Sis." He said and then got the food and you both began to eat while you were seated in his lap and watched The Lion King. Jumping on the couch and the discipline long forgotten at least to you.

It was now 3 PM and you had been through at least 3 movies, several snacks, and lunch. Now the both of you were in the backyard playing on the swing set that you had gotten not too long ago. "Henry, swing." You said and he smiled.

"You want me to push you on the swing?" He asked

"Yea." You said and he nodded.

"Ok then, let's go." He said and you two headed to the swing. You buckled you in and started to push you. You giggled and laughed especially when he would go in front of you and then rush to get behind you, you just thought that was the funniest thing in the world. He pushed you for a few minutes until you wanted to slide. You slid down the slide a few times and then you decided to jump off the slide and he was not happy. "Absolutely not. That is not safe. We don't jump off the slide." He said and you looked at him and nodded.

"I sorry." You said and he nodded.

"It's ok just don't do it again. Do you want a snack?" He asked and you nodded.

"Goldfish." You said and he nodded and picked you up and headed back into the house. Henry sat you in front of the TV and turned on some kid's YouTube videos while he got your snack ready. He looked down for a second and that's when you decided to jump on the couch but you lost your footing and went tumbling down. He looked up right in time as he heard you shriek. It was like everything was in slow motion and he was running in slow motion. He dropped whatever he was doing he ran to you but you had already fallen, he had watched you hit your head and your arm bent at an odd angle. He and you looked at each other until you let out a cry and he was quick to pick you up and hold you, making sure to cradle your head.

"I told you no jumping on the couch." He said but you just continued to sob and cry out in pain. "Alright, we're going to the hospital." He said and off you both went. You were still sobbing and crying. He also decided to try and call Nolan and Bailey but no answer so he called Wade Grey.

"Henry? Everything ok?" Grey asked him.

"No. Is Bailey or my dad near you? I can't get ahold of them." Henry asked

"Uh yea they are. We're at a scene together." Grey said "Is everything ok?" He asked again.

"Can you tell them on the way to the hospital with Y/N? She was jumping on the couch and I told her not to. She hit her head and fell on her arm at an awkward angle, I think it's broken." He said keeping calm and then Grey heard you cry out in the background.

"Yes of course I'll tell them. You be safe getting to the hospital." He said

"We will be and thank you." Henry said and then hung up the phone.

Henry reached the hospital and pulled up and then quickly got out and carefully getting you and rushing in. He ran to the front desk "My name is Henry Nolan and this is my sister Y/N Nolan she fell off the couch and hit her head and I think she broke her arm." He quickly told the receptionist and she was quick to jump into action. She had him set you on a gurney and then you were being pushed into away and he was given paperwork to fill out. Now he had to wait for your guy's dad and Bailey.

**********************************************

Grey had just gotten off the phone and rushed to Bailey and Nolan. They were talking with Celina, Aaron, Lucy, and Tim. "Nolan and Bailey you need to get to the hospital." He said

"Is everything ok?" Nolan asked being confused as everyone else.

"No, Henry just called because he couldn't get ahold of the two of you. He said Y/N was jumping on the couch and he told her not to and she fell and his her head. He also said that she fell on arm at an awkward angle." He said. Bailey and Nolan's face drained of color.

"Oh my gosh." Lucy said

"You two go. Take the shop and use the sirens. Tim will be taking over as TO for Celina." Grey said and they nodded and Bailey and Nolan were rushing to the shop and rushing to the hospital.

The two of them arrived in record time and parked out of the way in the emergency lane. They rushed in and into the waiting room and that is where they found Henry sitting nervously bouncing his leg up and down. He had done the paperwork and given it to them and now he was just sitting and waiting. "Henry." Nolan said and he looked up and saw him and Bailey and sighed in relief.

"I'm so sorry." He said when they reached him and sat down in front of him "I told her not to and she didn't listen and now we are here." He added.

"It is ok. Accidents happen. You told her not to and she did it anyways. She's just like her mother." Nolan said trying to make it light and it had worked.

"Hey." Bailey said and they chuckled.

"Did they say anything?" Nolan asked and Henry shook his head.

"No." Henry answered and they nodded and just then the doctor came out.

"I'm Dr. Lench. You two must be the parents." He said and they nodded.

"I'm John Nolan and this is Bailey Nune." Nolan said and the doctor nodded.

"Well good news is that when she hit her head it didn't injure her or give her a concussion. However she did break her arm and will need surgery to get it fixed and casted." Dr. Lench said and they nodded.

"How bad is the break?" Bailey asked

"It is fractured bad enough that she will need surgery." Dr. Lench said and they nodded their head taking everything in. "You three are more than welcome to see her now. She's sleeping currently and we gave her some pain meds." He added and then started to lead the way. It was a quick trip to your room in the children's ward. "Call if anything happens or you need anything. We have a temporary cast on her until we can get her into surgery." He said.

"When do you think that will be?" Henry asked and the doctor smiled.

"Hopefully soon. We'll keep you informed." He said and then his pager went off and he smiled "I need to take this." He said everyone nodded and now it was just them three and you in the room. Nobody dared to say a word.

"I really did tell her to stop." Henry said

"We know. We know she is stubborn. It is not your fault." Bailey said and he nodded but he still felt guilty. Who wouldn't? They waited for what seemed like hours but it was just a few minutes and you were waking up.

"Mommy? Daddy?" You ask seeing them and they smile softly at you.

"Hi, Sweetie." Bailey says.

"You're ok." Nolan says.

"Hurts." You say in a whining tone.

"We know, Baby. It's going to be ok." Nolan said

"Henry?" You ask and he walked up to you.

"I'm right here, Sis." He said

"I'm sorry." You said eyes slipping closed tiredly and everyone smiled.

"It's ok, Sis. I promise." He said and then you nodded and were out like a light. Bailey, Nolan, and Henry all stayed close by. The room was silent besides your heart monitor beeping steadily. They were so focused on you that they jumped when there was a knock on the door. They looked up and saw it was Celina and Tim.

"Hey, how is she doing?" Tim asked holding Nolan's bag.

"She's sleeping. She doesn't have a concussion but will need surgery to fix her broken arm." Nolan said

"That must be so hard for her and you guys." Celina said and they nodded.

"I brought your bag for you to change. Grey and I agreed that you're taking the rest of the day off. Bailey your captain said to give you the rest of the day off too." Tim said and handed Nolan his bag.

"Thank you guys." Nolan said and Tim nodded.

"You focus on getting that little girl better." Tim said and they nodded and then they had to leave.

**********************************************

You slept most of the time while you were in the hospital. Your mom and dad took turns cuddling with you in the bed and Henry stayed close getting anything anybody needed. Nurses were in and out checking in on you and then the date for your surgery was set. Everyone was nervous but they treated you with such care that Bailey, Nolan, and Henry weren't so nervous. They waited for a total of 2 hours before Dr. Lench was coming out telling them it was a success and that everything was good to go.

The three family members walked into your room and your were up and talking with the nurses. "We put a temporary cast on her for now to let the swelling go down and to make sure nothing is wrong. We'll keep her for a few days until then. She can sleep whenever she wants. You can also lay in bed with her just be mindful of the wires and her arm." He said and everyone nodded and then he was letting the four of you be.

"Hi, Sweetie." Bailey said and you smiled.

"Hi momma." You said tiredly.

"How you feeling?" Nolan asked

"Tired." You said and yawned and they chuckled.

"You can sleep, Sis. We'll be right here when you wake up." Henry said and you nodded and got comfortable and cuddled a white stuffed animal that was a dog that they had given you. Nolan sent out a text to everyone letting them know you were ok and sent a picture of you sleeping. "I'm going to get some food anybody want any?" He asked and Bailey and Nolan nodded.

"Please." Bailey said and Henry was walking out of the room.

"Daddy cuddle." You said sleepily and he chuckled and agreed and got in bed with you. You cuddled into his side and fell asleep in no time. Bailey smiled and snapped a few pictures and sent them out.

"Everything is going to be ok." Nolan said startling her.

"It's just scary." She said

"I know but she's still here and all she got out of it was a bump on the head and broken arm. She'll be back to our spunky little girl in no time." He said and she nodded.

"I believe you." She said

"Nothing is going to take our little girl away from us anytime soon." He said and she nodded and scooted closer to the two of you. Henry came back with food and drinks. He gave them out and then took his seat next to Bailey. Small talk was made but it was in low voices to keep from waking you up.

You were ok and that was all that mattered to them. You may have a broken arm but if that is the only thing you had gotten out of this experience then everything was good to go. When you were awake everyone came by and visited and you got a lot of gifts.

When you finally got to go home you got a pretty blue and red cast. Everyone was more cautious of everything you did and you really didn't mind. You also got to have all the snacks in the world especially when you had to take your medicine. You did learn to listen to your brother and not to jump on the couch anymore.

Overall it was a learning experience for you. An experience you didn't want to happen again. Never again will you be jumping on the couch or your bed again. Well at least until you got older but you would know better then.... hopefully.

Tag list:

@callsigns-haze

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

@angenu01-blog

@talesofreading 

@callsign-revenge

[thewinter-eden]

Blood Sugar Virus (29)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense, slow burn Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst, heavy topics, suggestive content

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

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Namjoon sits next to Jimin on the couch, reaching out a hand to pat his arm companionably. “Still hanging on, Chim?”

The younger man sports an easy grin, and even you can see the color returning to his cheeks. “My leg feels like it’s been put through a wood chipper, but the burn in my chest is finally starting to fade.”

Namjoon looks at you. “How did you come up with hitting him with a defibrillator?” He glances to the very same AED machine, which you had left near the axes.

You frown, still too concerned about the pain you caused and the potential harm you caused Jimin to be overly comfortable with your idea yet. “I don’t know. I just saw the AED and all I could think about was the bug zapper in the hallway of my apartment. I thought maybe sending a shock through his body might kill the parasites in him.”

“And it worked, right? I mean that was like an hour ago.” Hongjoong is still sitting with his back against the couch, his head near Jimin’s shoulder.

“I’m not a zombie.” Jimin says brightly. “I’d say it worked.”

“Have you looked at your leg?” Namjoon asks. “To see if the parasites made it farther after the shock? I don’t want to suggest that maybe you knocked them unconscious or something, but what if?”

You’re too amused by the thought to be worried about it. “I don’t think you can knock a parasite unconscious.”

“Nonetheless, anybody who wants to take my pants off is welcome to check.” Jimin winks at Namjoon. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse?”

Your co-captain rolls his eyes and slaps the man’s good hip. “Shut the hell up and roll over.”

Jimin shrugs and rolls onto his good side, which puts his posterior on the side of the room where you’re all sitting.

“While I’m sure we’re all excited by the prospect of earning a peep show in the middle of the worst night of our lives, if every one of you assholes doesn’t turn around I’m serving fat lips for dinner.” Rosé proclaims, reaching over her head to grab Mingi’s face in both hands and turn it towards the wall.

“I’ve already seen it anyway.” You quip, but you scoot yourself around with the rest of Ateez to face the other direction while Namjoon pulls at the waistband of Jimin’s high school costume.

“Ooo, you’ve seen it already?” Of course it’s Wooyoung.

When you glance toward him, you see a comical contrast between his teasing expression and Yeosang’s disturbed frown. The latter shoots you a side eye that has you giggling with evil intensity.

“Hey Jimin, remember when that dog bit you in the ass that time we were on a lunch run?” You call over your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking remind me.” His voice is muffled by the couch cushions.

You turn your grin back to the guys. “This crazy little purse dog jumped down from someone’s table outside this sandwich shop that we were getting everyone’s lunch orders from and fully latched onto Jimin’s butt. Ya boy was freaking out, like, ants-in-his-pants freaking, and he dragged me into the men’s restroom and dropped his pants without warning so I could make sure he didn’t get rabies or some shit.”

San nearly falls over, laughing so hard. “Oh my god.”

“Dog bites are serious!” Jimin whines.

“Yeah so is sexual harassment.” You fire back. “I could have had you blacklisted.”

“He was crying too hard for it to be sexual harassment.” Namjoon argues simply. “Though we did make him buy Sugar’s lunches for the next two weeks.” There’s the sound of rustling fabric. “Alright, Jimin, happy to report that your annoyingly perfect ass is intact. Looks like the fuckers didn’t make it past your upper thigh, but your leg is pretty bad.”

“Yeah no shit.” Jimin grumbles. “And the bite hurt. You guys would have been crying too.”

“I don’t cry.” Jongho returns flatly.

“You guys can turn back around.” Namjoon says, and your group returns to sitting in the circle around the snacks.

For the next few minutes, the room continues to fill with chatter as Namjoon, Seonghwa, and Jongho rest and refuel after their trip up to the third floor.

“So now that we know the AED works, we at least have a defense against getting infested.” Namjoon nods to you, offering props for thinking to grab the device and bring it back with you. “We should have grabbed the ones from all three floors, but it’s better than nothing.”

Or maybe not props so much as a subtle jab that you should have brought it up when you first split off for the axes.

Dammit.

“I have a taser in my purse.” Rosé offers softly.

“Hell yeah.” San grins at her as Mingi’s eyes go wide with delight.

“Best damn thing I’ve heard all day.” He says, squeezing Rosé proudly. “Fuck yeah, you have a taser in your purse.”

Yunho turns to you. “Do you have a taser in your purse?”

You shake your head. “It didn’t fit with my gun in there.”

Wooyoung’s and San’s jaws both drop at the same time. “You have a gun in your purse?”

Yeosang has already identified the sarcasm in your voice by the time you level them both with a dry stare. “She’s kidding, you numb nuts.”

“It’s South Korea, of course I don’t have a fucking gun in my purse.”

While they groan in disappointment at the lost opportunity to turn this night into a zombie shooting video game, Yeosang turns to you. “But you have a taser, right?”

You give him a sheepish smile that’s more of an ugly grimace. “I kept meaning to get one. But I never had time, and they’re so expensive!”

“I offered to buy you one.” Jimin refutes. “You just kept pushing it off.”

You shrug. “I’ve never needed it.”

Yeosang’s eyes are saucers. “What do you mean you’ve never needed it?”

“The taser conversation didn’t happen until after that incident. And what am I supposed to do, just carry it everywhere? Stuff it under my costumes?”

“Ideally, yes.” He returns, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “After this, we’re getting you a taser.”

“Sure thing.” You bluff, not at all willing to fight the ‘after this’ statement right now. “But some of my costumes don’t have enough fabric to conceal it.”

He just stares at you.

“I’m kidding.”

“Damn, I was gonna re-up our contract.” Wooyoung mutters. When San slaps him upside the head, he backtracks immediately. “I was also kidding! Jesus, it was a joke.”

“It’s okay, they’re our more popular programs.” Rosé says, happily adding fuel to the fire. “And besides, your siren costume has that strappy leg thing, we could just make it cyberpunk or something.”

Yeosang looks physically pained. “Is that another joke?”

She just snickers at him, and you don’t say anything, just watching him struggle to get his face under control. You can’t tell if he’s trying not to imagine the costume or if he’s disturbed by your more racy program options, but you let him figure that out on his own.

You do have a number of more scant costumes for certain jobs, but they’re all paired with your scariest storylines to make up for the sensuality suggested by your wardrobe department.

“I don’t really know what to believe right now, but I just want to say that your job scares me.” San says seriously. “Like, before this zombie stuff actually started, our program was awesome. It was intense and frightening and really cool, but to hear about some of your experiences?” He shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “I would be scared to do what you do with some of the clients that you’ve had. And now, knowing you, knowing the risks, I’d be so worried about you guys every time you go to do a job.”

“That’s why we do the program prep with clients now.” You tell him reassuringly. “It helps you get to know us and immerse yourself better when the program starts, but it also gives us a chance to get a feel for you. We’ve been able to catch some odd vibes and cancel contracts with some clients because of it.”

He looks relieved, but still concerned. “I’m still gonna be worried. Some of us could come with you, you know? Hang out outside while you work, so we can be nearby if you need us.”

His care for your team after only a week and one hellish experience is endearing and incredibly heartwarming.

“That’s a good thought, San, but we won’t have programs after this.” Namjoon says carefully. He bears the weight of everyone’s saddened looks with quiet anguish. “Our team is gone. If we survive this, it’s done. It’s over.”

“Don’t say that.” Rosé pleads. “Honestly, Joon, why did you have to say that? Why couldn’t you just let us have a few good moments?”

He turns to her, eyes tracing the sorrow on her face before examining every inch of Mingi’s body pressed against hers. His jaw tightens. “Our friends are gone.” He says again. “My best friend took a chunk out of Sugar’s shoulder. I can’t just pretend this isn’t happening, and I can’t pretend things are just gonna go back to normal after this.”

Her eyes harden bitterly. “Nobody’s pretending anything.”

“Guys.” Jimin coughs weakly, a deep frown signaling his obvious discomfort with the argument. “We’re just talking.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to—” San starts, but you cut him off.

“You didn’t. It’s okay. We thought about hiring extra security, but our company didn’t have the budget for it.” And you couldn’t afford to cover it.

“They had the funds.” Namjoon mutters, backing off from Rosé. “They just didn’t have the fucks to give.”

Hongjoong pulls one foot up to rest his elbow on his knee. “Well, in the spirit of saying fuck you to your company, if you guys ever decide to go back into the business, in any capacity, I’ll get you some security.”

Rosé smiles at him. “We can’t let you do that, but it’s so sweet of you to offer.”

“Oh I wasn’t offering.” He informs her.

You’re smiling at the exchange. You don’t throw in your own two cents, because it doesn’t involve you, but you’re grateful to hear his protective support all the same.

“You don’t have to foot any bills for us just because we’re trying to get you out of this mess.” Namjoon adds, but he nods appreciatively.

“It’s not a thank you. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all indebted to you guys for risking your asses for us, especially Sugar—”

“Leave my ass out of this.” You quip, and Yeosang snorts into his own water bottle.

“—Alright, respective asses notwithstanding, I’ll be hiring a security company because we’re all friends now and I’ll be damned if I’m letting any of you worry about asshole clients anymore.” Hongjoong finishes, shooting you a playful sneer. “You guys should have had security from the start.”

“Hell yeah,” Seonghwa agrees. “We could start a company for security guards to get trained for stunts and acting and shit. We could make it so you don’t even have to leave them out in the parking lot, because our van crews weren’t exactly effective as oversight.”

“Hyung, that’s fucking brilliant.” Sam exclaims. “Dude, we’re so starting a company. Look at us—entrepreneurs.”

“And this is how Ateez takes over the world, by starting a private military of armed actors.” You remark, grinning when he points at you like you’ve inspired him.

“I’m so in.” Wooyoung agrees. “It’s gonna be badass.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” Jimin says. “We could take real fight training now.”

Namjoon lets them continue to brainstorm for a few minutes, and then crunches his soda can and throws it into the trash pile. “Alright, back to work.” He stands and unfolds the floor plan again. “We’re gonna hit the barricade at the southeast corner, in these two classrooms and the bottom of the corner stairwell. Everybody’s coming this time, so we need someone to help with Jimin. I’ve got one of the axes, who else wants the other two?”

“San and Yeo are the strongest, but Mingi and I can step in if we need to take turns.” Yunho says.

“Me too, I’ve got you, hyung.” Hongjoong says to your co-captain.

Namjoon is momentarily stunned by the honorific, biting his cheek to stop a flattered smile. “Alright, sounds good. I also want people with free hands to watch out for each of us with axes. Zombie watch and also keeping an eye out for signs of fatigue so someone else can step in and start chopping. Sugar, Seonghwa, Rosé, I like you for the job.”

You hook a thumb at Yeosang. “He’s mine.”

His head snaps to you, eyes wide, cheeks reddening as he gives a flustered chortle.

You hear your words then, also hearing the hoots of teasing laughter from the others as you drop your head to your chest and groan. “I meant I’ll take Yeo. Dammit, shut up Wooyoung, I meant I’ll keep an eye on Yeosang. God dammit. Shut up, Yunho.” You’ve sunk yourself. Damn your tired brain.

Yeosang is grinning. “Alright, I’m hers. Who’s my second?”

You and Namjoon facepalm simultaneously.

“Oh I’m definitely sticking around for this.” Yunho volunteers. “I’ll step in for you, Yeo.” He winks at you.

“Kill me now.” You grumble into your hands.

“Maybe later.” Yeosang quiets you with a satisfied little smirk that makes you want to throttle him.

“Okay, pivoting from that weirdness, I volunteer to watch San’s muscles for signs of fatigue. I’ll watch ‘em like a hawk.” Rosé promises.

“Oh hell no.” Mingi grumbles as Rosé cackles. “I’m San’s second.”

No room for argument, not like there were any other options.

Namjoon groans. “Oh my god, I’m surrounded by horny teenagers. Seonghwa, that leaves you with me. You fine with that or do you have a crush on one of the muscle boys too?”

“No, I’m good.” Seonghwa’s laughing, giggling with Hongjoong at the matching blushes on San, Mingi, and Yeosang’s faces.

“Wooyoung, can you be on Jimin duty?” Namjoon questions.

“Why am I a duty?”

“Because you’re a three legged dog and you’re gonna let Wooyoung carry you.”

Wooyoung, meanwhile, seems pleased by the appointment. He salutes Namjoon. “I’ve got him, hyung.”

Namjoon fights another tiny smile. “I want you guys with Sugar’s team. She’s stronger than Rosé, and she doesn’t complain about how much Jimin smells.”

“Hey!” Rosé.

“Fuck you, I smell like roses.” Jimin.

“Jongho, you’re our overwatch/backup. Our teams will be working in different rooms, so I want you moving between the three of us as a line of communication.”

“Happy to warm the bench, hyung.”

Honorary big brother Namjoon looks suddenly overwhelmed by the abrupt cohesion of the remainder of your team and the entirety of Ateez. “Alright. Good. Let’s get going.”

Jimin’s grunting, struggling to push himself up. “Fuck, I can’t get off this couch.”

Wooyoung instantly jumps to his feet, hurrying to assist. “I can get you off.”

“I’m sure you can, darling, but our friends are still here.” Jimin returns without a second’s hesitation.

The room erupts again and Namjoon rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “God help me.”

The troops are readying for battle. San lands a few practice swings into the big desk, making Rosé shriek with surprise as wood chips fly at her. Mingi shields her with the breadth of his body and glares at San, who keeps practicing.

Namjoon is consulting with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, softly going over plans that you can’t hear about facing the military on the other side of the barricade.

Wooyoung has Jimin braced against his hip, standing with you as you watch Yeosang shrug off his dirty white button down and stretch his arms in preparation.

When he’s just in a tight undershirt, you are not at all prepared to see the obvious evidence of Wooyoung’s earlier claim about him being a gym junkie. “I am no longer thinking professional thoughts.”

Wooyoung cackles and almost falls into you, laughing so hard as Yeosang gapes at you.

“Oh my god.” You just fucking said that out loud. “Oh fuck me.” If you could just go ahead and use Rosé’s taser on your own brain, you’d solve so many issues.

“Oo, me—I volunteer!” Wooyoung chortles at you, barely managing to hold Jimin up when Yeosang scowls at him.

“I think that’s a bad idea, bud.” Jimin grumbles, face already pale at the stress on his leg.

“Do not make me axe my own head off right now.” You mumble, turning away from your stupidly self-appointed team and hiding your face in the corner. You think you hear Yeosang’s soft laughter behind you, but it’s entirely drowned out by Wooyoung continuing to mock you for completely losing your brain to mouth filter.

You cannot get yourself eaten by a zombie soon enough.

Anything is better than this.

“Would you idiots keep it in your pants and strategize or something? There are fucking zombies out there.” Namjoon shouts over the din.

The noise lessens immediately, the members of your team finally settling back into the situation you’re about to face.

“Woo, can you help me adjust my weight? I feel like my leg is going to fall off.” Jimin mumbles, and you turn back to them in time to see Wooyoung’s expression shift into solemn focus, hurrying to lean Jimin against the splintered remains of the desk.

“Why don’t you get on the side of his bad leg,” you suggest, moving over to help.

Wooyoung follows your instructions perfectly, planting his hip right beneath Jimin’s.

You guide Jimin’s arm over the younger man’s shoulder, and help Wooyoung ease the entire weight of his bad side over onto himself.

Jimin settles on his good leg with a sigh of relief. “Much better. Thanks.”

“When we get to our classroom, you can sit down again.” You promise, ruffling his hair. “Are you okay right now?”

He smiles shakily at you. “I might throw up the four bags of Doritos that I ate, but I’ll try to give you a warning.”

“That would be appreciated, hyung, thanks.” Wooyoung utters smartly. “Seriously though, just let me know if you need to rest. We can borrow Jongho if you need a piggyback ride.”

“That’s definitely on your list of good ideas.” Jimin wheezes weakly. “I’ll let you know.”

You step back from them, satisfied that they’re ready to go, and bend down to collect four water bottles that had been passed over for the sodas. You shove them into your duffel bag, along with the defibrillator box, and sling it across your back, wincing at the sting of your cuts.

When you straighten, you find yourself next to Yunho. He’s also warming up his upper body in preparation to eventually take over swinging the axe for Yeosang, but he smiles down at you as you approach.

This could be it.

This could be your last quiet moment with him before it’s all over. You can’t keep seeing the traces of guilt in his eyes when he looks at you. “Hey.”

“What’s up?” He asks you. “Can I help with anything? Want me to take your bag?”

You shake your head with a smile. “No, I’ve got it. I just wanted to talk to you.”

He stops swinging his arms, halting the windmill movements you’ve done a million times to warm up for your programs. “Sugar, about earlier, when I—”

You put up a hand to silence him. “Yes, about that. We’re good, Yunho. I still owe you my regret for stopping you from helping Yeosang and Mingi with Jungkook, but on the count of the other thing, we’re good.”

He looks down, mouth tightening. “That wasn’t the same. You made a good call with Jungkook. I stand by that. But the other thing, what I did to you—Sugar, I abandoned you to die. After you swooped in like a fucking answered prayer and tackled those zombies, after they had you pinned, I left you to die. I pulled Yeosang away, and he was trying to help you.”

“You fucking what?” Namjoon.

This is the first he’s hearing of the incident, and pissed doesn’t even begin to describe him.

Yunho blanches, stumbling back a few steps as your co-captain is suddenly in his face, stammering in a struggle to figure out if he should explain himself or just take whatever abuse he’s about to get.

You’re not willing to let it get that far. Shoving yourself between them in a move that makes your entire body seize with pain at your hip, you grip one hand in Namjoon’s shirt and rest the other more comfortingly on Yunho’s arm. “Stop. Back up.” You’re talking to Namjoon, but he doesn’t even look at you.

“Is that true?” He’s seething, speaking to you without meeting your eyes. “Did he let you save his ass and leave you to die?”

“Namjoon, I said get back.”

The room goes quiet at your snarl, all eyes turning to the three of you.

“I sent you out with her. I sent you to get the axe and you didn’t think to fucking mention that you don’t care if she lives or dies?” Namjoon lunges forward, shoving you back into Yunho, and you just barely get your footing back in time to push him back again.

The others are tense, concerned, hesitant to jump in while you’re still managing to hold off a physical altercation. They can’t defend Yunho for his panicked choice against you, but none of them look pleased about your friend trying to jump down his throat.

“I do care. I fucked up and I’ll never forgive myself for it, but I do care.” Yunho argues, his voice brimming with anger. “Don’t talk to me like I wouldn’t do anything to make that right, and don’t fucking talk to me like I don’t care.”

You’re seconds away from kicking Namjoon in the balls just to make him look at you, but you need him to be able to swing an axe in a minute or two, so you just settle for digging your nails into the muscle of his chest and forcing him back with all of your strength. “Hey.” You snap, and his eyes finally flicker down to you. He’s fuming, beet-red with rage, shoulders trembling furiously. “You walked up in the middle of a conversation between me and him. You need to take a step back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I need to know when someone in my group is putting you in danger—don’t touch her, asshole, I’ll fucking break you.” Namjoon’s arm jumps up as Yunho puts a hand on your shoulder to protest you trying to defend him.

“Hey!” You punch the heels of your hands into his chest. “Joon, we’ve dealt with this. This is old news, it’s handled, it was a mistake. It doesn’t concern you.”

He’s wide-eyed, gawking at you. “Doesn’t concern me? You almost died—you were almost killed. You spend all of your time and energy trying to protect people and they turn around and throw you to the wolves? Goddammit, Sugar—”

“Hey, don’t turn this on her.” Yunho snaps, no longer apologetic. “She’s the reason we’re all here, she’s the reason you even had your acting team in the first place. Why don’t you try trusting her with the job that she obviously does better than you?”

This is no longer helpful.

“No, stop.” You’re holding them both back now. “Stop, none of this is valid, or constructive. Yunho has been locked in. He’s had our backs—he’s had my back. And this team would be nothing without Namjoon, so just take a minute, please.”

Namjoon hasn’t cooled off even a little bit. “No, this is bullshit. I’m not sending him out there with you again, he can fuck off and find the zombies for all I care.”

Before you can center yourself, he puts a hand to your shoulder and pushes you out from between them. Your weight lurches, body folding over on your hip, and you give an involuntary cry as the raw flesh pinches itself in the movement. Namjoon freezes, watching you stagger.

It’s Yunho who catches you, Yeosang suddenly close enough to take your arm as well, both of them glaring at your co-captain.

You don’t want this.

It was so wonderful, so beautiful the way you had all come together to decompress and joke and embarrass yourselves among friends, and you can’t stand to watch it all fall apart before your eyes.

You can’t leave them like this.

“Please stop.” Eyes brimming with tears at the sting still burning through your hip, you stumble in Yunho’s grasp and feel him brace you with an arm around your waist. “Please, Namjoon, please stop. I trust him, okay? We’re good.”

He’s still frozen, face splashed with horror at the pain he caused you, and he’s finally listening.

“When I came up with the AED idea for Jimin, he was the one who delivered the charge. He wouldn’t let me do it. We thought—” Your voice breaks, tears slipping. It’s such a miserable memory, such a viscerally terrifying moment that still has its claws in you, that you can barely say the words. “We thought it might kill Jimin, or hurt him irreparably, and he wouldn’t let me be the one to do it. He saved me from that, Joon. He cares. I trust him.”

Namjoon swallows, eyes flashing between you and the man who is stabilizing you after his own actions harmed caused you harm. “I don’t want him on your team. He can swap with Mingi.”

“No.” You sniffle and glare at him. “I want Yunho. Don’t touch my team.”

“Sugar, I need to know that you’re safe—”

“Don’t touch my team.” You pull yourself upright, letting Yunho’s arm release you, and approach Namjoon with as little limping as you can manage. You lower your voice until only he can hear you. “I get that you’re scared. I get that you’re worried about me and Rose and Jimin. But you haven’t been through what I’ve been through with these guys. And if you don’t get your head out of your ass and remember all of the things that they have done for us tonight, you’re going to make yourself the enemy. I trust them. Trust me.”

He’s quiet, jaw clenching, cheeks hollowing.

At long last, he nods. “You cleared things up with him? You feel safe?” He’s terrified. He’s fucking terrified that he’s going to lose you, or worse, lose all of you and walk out of here alone.

You can never even hint to him that your own safety is no longer your concern. “I feel safe.”

He glances over your head at Yunho. There are a few seconds of tortured silence before he closes his eyes and pulls you into a tight hug that sets your body on fire all over again. “I love you. I just want you to be safe.”

“I know.”

“Please be careful.”

“They’ve got me, Joon.”

“Okay.” He lets you go. Stepping around you, he extends his hand to Yunho and waits upon the grace of the man who is well within his rights to withhold every ounce of courtesy and respect. He doesn’t say anything—he won’t apologize for acting to defend you, and he won’t offer a blanket declaration of trust, but he’s willing to rebuild the bridge.

Yunho shakes his hand. “I am sorry. I always will be. But it will never happen that way again.”

You don’t let Namjoon answer. Instead, you turn back to Yunho, where he stands next to Yeosang, both of them watching you with hooded expressions. Bypassing Yeosang for the moment, but not ignoring the realization that he had stepped in for you, you prop yourself up on your tiptoes (and it still doesn’t make you tall enough) and throw your arms around Yunho’s neck. It’s a gesture of goodwill, a return to your conversation before Namjoon derailed it, and an act of friendship that you hadn’t thought you’d ever reach with him.

If it’s the last time you get to broach this subject with him, you want to take his burden with you. “We’re good, Yunho.”

He hugs you back, and you hear conversation start to pick up around the room again as tensions ease once more. “I’m so sorry, Sugar. I never realized how scared you must have been, so I’m…I’m just really sorry.”

You ease back on your heels, letting him go. “No more apologizing. I mean it.”

He nods, and manages a small smile. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

You roll your eyes. But you’re serious when you say, “I won’t forget what you did for Jimin. For me. Thank you, Yunho.”

He’s grinning now. “Scariest thing I’ve ever done, but there he is.”

You both turn to where Jimin is still leaning heavily against Wooyoung, laughing at something you can’t hear. “Yeah. There he is.”

Warmth has returned to the room; Hongjoong has found Namjoon’s side again, softly helping to ease his fears about the incident that had been sprung on him without warning.

In the other corner of the room, you hear San teasing Rose, still holding his axe. “Do you sit on everyone’s laps or are you just partial to Mingi’s?”

“Bite me, Choi San.”

“Is that an open invitation or just for him?”

“Shut up, Mingi.”

Yeosang draws your attention away from them, stepping in close to your side. “Are you okay?” His fingers reach for your hip, his eyes flicking up to search your face.

“He just needs a minute.” You smile shakily. “He’s not a bad guy, he just carries a lot on his shoulders.”

“Are you okay?” He asks again.

You meet his eyes, caught by the solemnity in his gaze. “I’m okay.”

He gives a nod, but he lingers. Eyes soft, lips parted, he’s looking at you like he wants to say something, his fingers lifting from your hip to brush the backs of yours with a feather-light touch before his hand drops to his side. Blinking at the floor for a second, an eternity passes before he looks up at you again with the slightest smirk. “So, you like what you see, huh?”

“God, just kill me now.”

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[lionb00bfan]

I headcanon Dolph snores loudly when he sleeps and that he is tried a lot so that makes me think he may have sleep apnea. How do you think the rest of the Shishigumi would deal with his sleep apnea / loud snoring. ❤️ Please and thank you, ps love your writing.

Lions' Dealing with Dolph’s Possible Sleep Apnea/Loud Snoring 

I love this idea! 

Sleep Apnea: A sleep disorder that causes people to stop breathing while sleeping repeatedly. Please seek professional advice if you believe you’re experiencing this, this is just a simplified answer from one of my classes!  

Ibuki

He’d be one of the few members that would take charge in addressing Dolph’s sleep, encouraging him to see a doctor or even get him a CPAP machine (device that delivers a steady stream of air through a mask to keep the airway open during sleep)

If Dolph one day fell asleep in the general headquarters couch and saw he stopped breathing he’d check his pulse or stare at him until he sees him move again. Imagine that one scene in Family Guy where Louis checks Peter’s pulse lol.

He’ll occasionally tease Dolph if it means that he’ll get help (so Ibuki stops bugging him). Also, he probably blames his excess use of cigarettes and alcohol.  

Free

Likely to yell at Dolph to ‘die quieter’ from across the rooms, even though his hypocritical ass snores just as loud as Dolph

He’ll put a sock in Dolph's mouth if he sleeps near him, then realizing that it’s not helping he takes it out and just opts to throw a blanket over his face. Which either Ibuki or Agata take off if they see. 

Even though he’s not showing his concern outright, he’d bring Dolph some over-the-counter medication from an animal they needed a favor from, and leave it by his nightstand.  

Agata

Just like Ibuki, only more worried and less experienced on how to help. His internet searches revolve around ‘Older lion stops breathing throughout the night’ and ‘calming things for older animals to sleep to’. He’d buy Dolph an air purifier for his room.

Although he’s a heavy sleeper, the process of going to bed is what’s hard for him. If Dolph sleeps before him, it will take hours since he can’t ignore the loud snores or the anxiety of Dolph's sudden silence. He’s going to invest in a pair of noise-cancelling headphones to sleep.

He won’t complain to Dolph since he sees how tired he is all the time, and he’ll lowkey be impressed on how soundly he sleeps given the circumstances. 

Miguel

Again, bro sleeps like a rock, he’s one of the members that does not notice Dolph’s snoring/sleep apnea unless he hears him while napping. If he’s able to wake up to Dolph’s snoring, everyone goes to the hospital or local clinic.

He’d get Dolph a weighted blanket to help him sleep more quietly with the extra pressure. Unfortunately, it crushes Dolph once Miguel drops it on him, clearly it wasn’t a ‘little’ weighted. 

He’d start experimenting with sleep smoothies or magnesium pills, thinking that deeper sleep and a better diet would help Dolph quit waking up the others. 

Sabu

Sabu would probably never say a word about the snoring, even if it drives him crazy. He’d quietly relocate to another room without mentioning why, just to escape the noise.

If he can’t leave, he might nudge Dolph onto his side while he’s sleeping, hoping it would reduce the snoring, it doesn’t sadly

Might suggest it could be something supernatural, he’s older and seen a thing or two in his day. Maybe they angered a spirit and that’s why almost everyone’s sleep is being affected. 

Jinma

Bro is tired! He does not want another spot forming from the amount of eye bags he’s getting from waking up in the middle of the night to either Ibuki or Agata going to check on Dolph.  

He starts suggesting that Dolph either has his own room or has it made sound-proof. He cares, but he needs his sleep if he wants to be on his top game in the black market.

Deep down, he’d worry about Dolph’s health and would gently suggest he gets checked out, wrapping it in humor to keep things light 

Dope

Another heavy sleeper but hears enough complaining from Jinma that they both start to investigate doctors or remedies to try and quiet him down

He’d stick up for Dolph (mostly towards Jinma) if anyone complains too harshly, reminding everyone that he’s not doing it on purpose and that there has to be answers or medicine somewhere 

He probably wouldn’t mind the snores if it were just him and Dolph, he finds the background noise helpful and he’s used to more chaotic sounds 

Hino 

Likely the most annoyed by the snoring, especially if it wakes him up, he starts getting passive-aggressive from the lack of sleep until Agata gets him a pair of noise-canceling headphones 

Will join Jinma and Dope on their hunt for an elixir or doctor, finding comfort with Jinma when they both complain about their interrupted/horrible sleep

He might observe Dolph while he sleeps (in a totally creepy way) to figure out exactly when the snoring starts and why. He’s already up, might as well start tracking him