#if i want any hope to listen to music and daydream in the morning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 1 year

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you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name.

i knew from the first note played i’d be breaking all my rules to see you. you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name. so dim that spotlight, tell me things like “i can’t take my eyes off of you.” i’m no one special, just another wide-eyed girl who’s desperately in love with you. give me a photograph to hang on my wall, superstar.

Eddie has three major rules when it comes to working with celebrities: 1. don’t flirt with the talent; 2. don’t hang out with the talent; 3. don’t, under any circumstances, fuck the talent.

He’s had enough rockstars’ managers kick him out of hotel rooms after waking up to an empty bed with cold sheets to have learned his lesson ten times over by now.

He doesn’t even think of adding a fourth rule: don’t fall in love with the talent. Has never even come close to needing a rule like that. Not until he meets Steve Harrington.

~*~

“Ed, I got a new one for ya, he’ll be here at two,” Eddie’s boss Murray says from the open doorway of Eddie’s office.

“Huh?” Eddie eloquently responds, mouth full of the banana he’d found in the office kitchen for lunch. “What?”

Murray rolls his eyes. He gets endlessly annoyed when it turns out no one can read his mind.

“New singer-songwriter coming in at two, asked for you specifically. Working on his second album, so look alive.” Murray tosses a demo in Eddie’s direction before departing the office and moving down the hallway towards his own. Eddie barely catches it just before the plastic corner gets him right in the eye.

This is the problem with Murray. He gives no details and leaves absolutely no room for follow-up questions. The other problem with Murray is that he waits until the last minute to spring shit on Eddie that he knows Eddie’s not going to like.

Eddie flips the plastic CD case around in his hand so he can read the words written in Sharpie on the front. ‘S. H. - 2’ is all it says, giving him absolutely no information. It’s already ten to two, so Eddie doesn’t even have time to listen to a single song if he wants to make it up the two floors to the conference room where he usually meets with the talent for the first time. Eddie scowls in annoyance; he hates being unprepared and he just knows Murray is conspiring against him somehow.

Eddie pushes up from his desk and leaves his office, heading for the elevator. He pressed the button for the 42nd floor. He likes to play this game where he tries to hold his breath for the duration of the elevator ride. Two floors is easy. The ride up to the 40th floor is a lot harder.

By the time Eddie makes it to the conference room, his appointment’s already in there. As he walks through the glass doors, he realizes that when Murray said “new,” he didn’t actually mean new. He meant, like, new to them.

Because sitting in the conference room at the head of the table is former boy band heartthrob Steve Harrington.

~*~

Eddie had never had Steve’s poster on his wall in high school or anything embarrassing like that, thank god. But he had kept one of the pages he’d ripped out of the library’s copy of Tiger Beat folded under his mattress for early morning daydreaming. And Eddie had certainly never listened to his music when he’d been in Teeny Boppers United or whatever the hell his band of cookie cutter boy-next-door types was called (he definitely knew).

Now, here Harrington is, sitting across the table from him, hair full of blond highlights and cherry lipgloss (Eddie thinks, imagines, hopes) on his lips.

“Um, hi. I’m, uh, Eddie. Munson. Eddie Munson,” Eddie holds out his hand for Steve to shake and Steve does. Eddie tells himself he’s imagining the way Steve’s eyes linger on him and how he takes just a second too long to pull his hand away.

Steve smiles, blinding and perfectly white. “Yeah, man, I know. My friend Robin has worked with you before? She had real great things to say,” Steve tells him and he sounds more sincere than a former-pop star asshole has any right to be.

“Buckley?” Eddie asks surprised, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, she’s been a huge help with my solo stuff. She co-wrote a few of the songs on my first album.” Steve drums his fingertips on the thick wood of the table.

“Huh.” The sound leaves Eddie against his will, as he’s trying to mask his surprise. Robin Buckley was talented and she had a sound that Eddie would never guess Steve Harrington would be into. She was indie, for sure, almost folk, bordering on a breathy country sound that Eddie thinks she’d deny if she heard him describe her like that. “I’m not entirely sure I’m what you’re looking for, to be honest with you.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He has no idea what Harrington’s sound is now that he’s broken free of the teenage bubblegum scene. But he’s always had a self-sabotaging streak a mile wide and he feels both relieved and disappointed to potentially have this out.

Steve frowns slightly, the crease between his eyes deepening. “Did you listen to the demo? I actually have this one song and I’m struggling with the bridge and, you know, not to, like, geek out or fan girl or whatever, but I’m, like, so into your sound and your lyrics and just the way you can construct a metaphor that seems so obvious when you hear it but is still so surprising in the context of the song it’s in and I think it would really complement what I’ve already started and…” Steve’s been gesturing wildly with his hands and must realize he’s rambling, because he trails off, blushing. “I mean. Did you listen?” He asks again.

“Honestly, Murray only just told me about this meeting about ten minutes before it started,” Eddie shrugs, but he feels bad about the way Steve’s shoulders fall.

“Ah, okay,” Steve pushes back from the table. “Yeah, okay. No worries.”

And Eddie feels, like, not great about this. He doesn’t like the disappointment he can see etched across Steve’s handsome features. So he reaches a hand across the vast wooden table, gesturing for Steve to stop.

“Wait,” he says, hand raised between them. “Listen, I’m… skeptical, to say the least. But. I’ll listen to your demo tonight, okay? And I’ll let you know what I think tomorrow. Is that… does that work?”

Steve nods quickly. “Yeah, dude. Yeah, that’s awesome. Thank you. Um. Do you… did Murray give you my number?”

“Here,” Eddie slides his notebook and pen across the table.

Steve picks up the pen, scrawling across the entire notebook page, before sliding it back toward Eddie. “My, uh, personal number.” Steve runs as hand through his highlighted hair. “I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts. Thanks, Eddie.” He reaches out again to shake Eddie’s hand and this time, Eddie knows he doesn’t imagine the way Steve’s fingers linger on his palm.

Eddie clears his throat. “Talk soon,” he says, smiling, before Steve is turning and leaving the room.

~*~

Eddie had gone to LA with stars in his eyes and big dreams circling his head. He’d had hopes of making it big, of thousands of people screaming his name. It had sounded so good back then, when he'd been trailer trash in the smallest, most close-minded town in the American Midwest. And it had kind of happened. He’d recorded an entire album, had even had a national tour. But he’d realized fairly quickly that it wasn’t what he’d really wanted. Performing was fun, but what he really cared about was the song-writing. The way a perfectly constructed verse could speak to someone, on a deep, intimate, important level. That’s why he cared about music, that’s why it had always been so important to him. It wasn't the performing or the flashing bulbs of cameras or the after parties filled with people who wanted to get close to fame. It was the songs. It was the words and the meanings behind them. It was what it all meant, down to the end of it all.

So Eddie had changed course. He’d begun song-writing instead, freelancing at first, selling a song here and a collab there. Until he’d been approached by Murray Bauman, who’d heard what he’d done on a Taylor Swift track and was impressed. Murray had offered him a job in New York, writing and producing, an office and a salary for the first time in his life. And Eddie loved what he got to do now, loved the tracks he produced for other people to sing. He’d thought it would feel strange, like he was missing out on something, but it didn’t. It just felt good.

That had been five years ago and now here he is, sliding Steve Harrington’s demo into the CD player in his living room. He presses play and crosses the room to grab a beer from his kitchen. Just as he's crossing the threshold between rooms, he hears the first three notes of the song and it stops him in his tracks. He tilts his head back toward the stereo.

Because the song isn't the sound of a boy band lead gone solo, belting out pop lyrics that would guarantee major radio play. This song is soft and melancholy, the poetic lyrics of a chorus crafted with vulnerability, a complicated bridge that ties it all together. The song ends and shifts, the guitar twang taking on a pop rock tempo, more upbeat than the last song. Steve's voice comes out, deep and honey-sweet, different than his boy band days. The lyrics are still sadder than Eddie would have thought and Eddie's impressed by the words juxtaposed with the upbeat instrumentals and the tone of Steve's vocals.

Eddie listens to all four songs standing there in the doorway between his living room and kitchen. Can't bear to tear himself away. And when the fourth and final song is over, Eddie crosses the room to click 'play' all over again.

~*~

Eddie waits to call Steve. He wants to call him immediately after his third listen, but he figures that it would be a bad idea to interrupt a client’s dinner or date or whatever former pop stars do on Thursday nights.

He spends all day at the office the next day listening to Steve’s first album on repeat. He thinks he can tell where Robin had helped with the lyrics, can see the ways the two of them have come together, and he can hear how their voices complement each other on the track she’s featured on. He listens to it on repeat for hours, before swapping it out for the new demo all over again. He thinks he can trace the way Steve’s voice has evolved since the first album, can see the places where his song-writing has matured. He spends the weekend deconstructing each song, finding the spots of vulnerability and the developed self-confidence that allows that vulnerability to take center stage. He feels a little guilty for not calling Steve, but he can’t imagine Steve’s sitting by the phone or anything anyway.

But the end of the weekend, Eddie knows he can’t say no to Steve Harrington. He knows that he has to be a part of this album, no matter what. That this project is going to be something magical, something unimaginable.

First thing Monday morning, Eddie calls Steve and makes a deal.

~*~

“Fuck, you have no idea how happy I am to hear from you,” Eddie hears Steve breathe down the phone line. “I’m such a huge fan and hearing what you did with Robin… I was worried you were gonna say no, y’know? When I didn’t hear from you?”

Eddie smiles to himself, small and involuntary. He’d never thought he’d hear Steve Harrington sounding so earnest.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I was just about ready to say no.” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and then shifts his phone from one ear to the other. “But I gave your demo a listen and I revisited your first album and I gotta tell you, I think there’s something really special there. I’m excited to see what we come up with.” He’s downplaying this, he knows it, but he doesn’t want to seem too eager. He doesn’t want Steve to know that he’ll probably die if he doesn’t get to work on this album. That’s probably a little too over dramatic, even for Eddie.

He hears Steve suck in a breath, can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “Dude, thank you. I’m so excited. This means a lot to me. Thanks, man.”

“Alright, well, I’m gonna have my assistant call you in a few days to set up some meetings and get everything worked out, timeline-wise. I’ll be in touch soon.” Eddie has to get off the phone now, before he says something dumb as fuck.

“Awesome. Thanks again, Eddie,” Steve replies, before there’s nothing but a dial tone.

~*~

Eddie has Chrissy set up all the meetings, scheduling studio time and booking out the conference room.

For months, Eddie’s life revolves around Steve Harrington. All he can think about are what chord progressions will have Steve’s voice sounding its best, all heavy and sweet, or what rhyme scheme the chorus should have to enhance its emotional tenor in the way Steve wants.

They record together, Steve in the booth and Eddie at the console. Sometimes Robin joins them, happy to take on second guitar and suggest a new phrasing for a line that’s giving them trouble.

Steve enlists the same band he’d used on his first album and Eddie’s kind of impressed by how well they all seem to get along. How committed they are to helping Steve figure out the vision for this album.

Towards the end of recording—long months spent trying new things, taking out second guitar here, adding a keyboard track in there—Steve convinces Eddie to play lead guitar on one of the tracks they wrote together. It’s one of the unfinished ones from the demo Eddie had been so enchanted by, the one that Steve had said was giving him trouble on the bridge. They’d spent long nights in Eddie’s office ordering late-night pizzas and trying to figure out how to make the song work. Eddie was so frustrated he was about to suggest they just scrap the whole thing until Steve started drumming on one of the discarded pizza boxes, humming along with a switched-up melody, a reversal of what they already had, a dramatic shift from chorus to bridge and back again. Eddie couldn’t do anything but stare and then the words were coming, Steve finishing his sentences when Eddie stumbled searching for the right word. By morning, the song was finished.

Eddie agrees to play, if only because he loves the song so much, so proud of the work they’d put into it. It has nothing to do with the way Steve’s sweet smile spreads over his face or the faint pinkness Eddie can see rising in his cheeks. In the end, Eddie’s even convinced to lend his vocals to the song. He doesn’t let himself think about how good they sound together, Steve’s deep voice belting out the lyrics with Eddie’s softer cadence just underneath.

~*~

Steve goes out on tour almost immediately after they finish recording. The record label says there’s so much buzz around the album, so much anticipation, that they should strike while the iron is hot.

“Don’t forget about me out there on the road,” Eddie jokes, voice light and airy. He and Steve are at his favorite coffee shop, just down the street from his offices.

“Could never,” Steve tells him, smiling, tone just on the wrong side of serious. He takes a sip of his coffee.

They’ve been dancing around each other for months, probably since they’d started recording if Eddie’s really honest with himself. But Eddie has rules and he’s been burned before. So when they’ve finished their coffee, they part ways. Eddie wishes Steve luck on his tour and Steve says he’ll be in touch.

Eddie’s life goes back to normal.

~*~

They text sporadically. Eddie doesn’t mind. He remembers how chaotic and stressful tour had been when he’d done it and he hadn’t been nearly as huge as Steve is now. Eddie knows it’s an endless parade of meet-and-greets and sound checks and dress rehearsals, one day blending into another. He’s surprised Steve even reaches out to him at all.

Steve is set to perform the last show of his tour at Madison Square Garden. Eddie thinks about showing up, grabbing the free tickets he gets as part of the job and surprising Steve. He thinks about it a lot actually, all five months Steve’s gone, fantasizes about how Steve might greet him, how he’d pull him into the green room backstage and…

A week before the show, Steve calls him.

“Hey, man!” Steve sounds winded and breathy. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, y’know, same old same old.” Eddie tries to sound as casual as possible, but he can’t control the grin that spreads across his lips.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, listen, I only have a minute, but I was wondering if you’d be open to, uh. Coming to my show at the Garden?” Eddie thinks he might be imagining the nervous lilt to Steve’s voice, the unsure way he poses the question.

“Yeah, man, of course. I’d love to be there.”

“Great! I’ll text you the details.” Eddie doesn’t even have time to say goodbye before Steve has hung up on him.

~*~

The night of the concert, Eddie shows up backstage, feeling just a little out of place. He’d bypassed the front of house, but he hadn’t missed the line of young women and girls snaking out of the venue doors and onto the streets of Manhattan. He had known Steve was big, but he hadn’t imagined it would be like this.

A woman with short blonde hair leads Eddie into the green room. Steve’s getting his makeup done, but when he sees Eddie in the reflection of the mirror, his eyes light up and he smiles, wide and goofy. He pushes up from his chair and crosses the room, moving to pull Eddie into a hug before Eddie can even say anything, arms looped around Eddie’s neck. Steve is warm against him, his muscles firm and soft—a strange juxtaposition—as Eddie wraps his own arms around Steve’s waist.

“So happy you’re here,” Steve whispers against his ear, breath hot. Eddie can’t even react before Steve’s pulling away, crossing back over to his chair and dropping himself into it. Steve looks at Eddie in the reflection, their eyes meeting. “I have a favor to ask.” Steve suddenly sounds hesitant, fingers fidgeting in his lap.

“Oh, no,” Eddie jokes, winking at Steve in the mirror. “What is it this time?”

Steve blushes. “I know you don’t really perform anymore, but I was hoping you’d help me out with our song? It’s the last song of the show.”

The words our song echo in Eddie’s ears and he can’t help his smile. Sure, he doesn’t really perform anymore, but, he realizes in this moment, he’d do pretty much anything for Steve. The thought should be terrifying, but somehow it isn’t.

“Dude, that’s awesome.” Eddie watches Steve practically sag in relief. “I’d love to.”

Before long, Steve is being rushed around, manhandled on his way to the stage, and Eddie is left to follow behind so he can watch from the wings.

Eddie had thought he’d known Steve. They’d written and recorded together for months, felt every emotion possible in the time it had taken them to complete the album. But watching Steve perform is something else entirely. Steve glows under the harsh stage lights, smiling and charismatic as he jokes with the girls in the front row vying for his attention. It’s magical to watch Steve perform the songs they’d made together, to sing words from Eddie’s own brain. Eddie is transfixed by the way Steve’s lips wrap around each note, like each word that comes out of his mouth is the most important word that’s ever been spoken. Steve is otherworldly on stage.

“For the last song, I have a surprise,” Steve stops in front of the mic stand as someone rushes to bring him his favorite guitar. He pulls the strap over his head. Someone on the side of the stage nudges Eddie, holding out a guitar that Eddie’s never seen before. If he’d known about this, he would have brought his own beloved sweetheart, but he’ll have to make do with what he has. No backing out now. “You’ve probably heard of Eddie Munson.” Steve smiles as the crowd cheers. “Yeah, he’s a huge deal. He’s worked with everyone from Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers to Bruce Springsteen and Metallica.” The crowd cheers again. “I worked really closely with him on this album,” Steve smiles. “And he took something raw and messy and made it so fucking great.” The crowd screams. “I always close the show with my favorite song off the album. It’s the one that took us the longest to write. We were so frustrated, I thought Eddie was gonna tell me to just forget it. We spent so many all-nighters stuffing our faces with pizza and cursing ourselves for ever even thinking we should write this stupid fucking song.” Steve laughs with the crowd. “But then, one night it all clicked. It all came together. It was like magic, sitting there with Eddie on some ugly couch in his office, just about ready to give up. We made magic together.” Steve looks out at the crowd. “So. Eddie’s here to help me share this song with you.” The crowd goes wild as someone pushes Eddie out onto the stage, but Eddie’s eyes are fixed on Steve, who’s smiling at him from under the lights, eyes crinkling in the corners.

Playing the song is easier than Eddie had thought it would be. The notes come to him like muscle memory, like he could play this song in his sleep. He can’t take his attention away from Steve where he sings into the microphone. It’s all too much for his heart to handle. He feels like he might die here, right on the spot.

Just as suddenly as it had started, it’s all over. The crowd is deafening and Eddie’s got a smile on his face so wide his cheeks ache. Steve waves to the crowd before taking Eddie’s hand and leading him off stage.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, pulling Eddie along down the backstage hallways back towards the green room. “That was un-fucking-real.” Steve’s smiling, cheeks red.

Eddie can’t say anything at all. All he can do is follow helplessly behind Steve, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His heartbeat so loud he’s sure Steve can hear it.

They’re back in the green room before Eddie can even blink. Suddenly, his back is pressed up against the closed door, Steve practically plastered to his front. He can barely breathe as Steve’s lips crash into his.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, pulling back slightly. His breath is hot against Eddie’s lips. “Been thinking about you for months.” His voice is soft, barely there.

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie groans, running a hand through Steve’s hair, trying to pull him back in. “It’s so okay, Stevie.”

Steve lets out a groan of his own and then he’s kissing Eddie again, lips parting and tongue curling against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s not sure how long they stand there pressed up against the wall, hands tangled in hair, kissing each other breathless. All too soon a knock comes from the other side of the door and they jump apart.

“Steve?” A muffled voice calls out from the hallway. “You have a meet-and-greet in five.”

Steve looks at Eddie, laughing a little. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot,” he whispers, before raising his voice to respond to whoever’s outside, “Okay, just a minute!” He kisses Eddie one last time, soft and so sweet. “Come with me?” He asks.

Eddie nods and follows after Steve.

~*~

Eddie watches from the sidelines as Steve takes picture after picture. It’s kind of uncanny, the way Steve’s smile seems genuine in every photo he takes, the interest he seems to take in every person who comes to meet him.

The line has dwindled down when the next group of fans catch sight of Eddie in the shadows. “Oh my god!” One of the girls squeals, before turning toward Steve. “Can we get a picture with you and Eddie?”

Steve laughs, already nodding, before turning towards Eddie. “You mind?” He asks, holding his hand out for Eddie. Eddie slides his hand into Steve’s and has his picture taken.

~*~

After, Steve invites Eddie back to his fancy hotel room, but Eddie counters by inviting Steve to his apartment. Steve’s face brightens, clearly excited to see where Eddie lives. Eddie tries to mentally envision how he’d left his apartment, thinks it’s probably safe for world-famous superstars to visit.

They take Steve’s car, his driver dutifully ignoring whatever’s going on in the back seat, and by the time they make it up the six floors to Eddie’s door, they can’t keep their hands off each other. They crash through the front door, attached at the lips. They stumble down the hallway to Eddie’s bedroom and Eddie all but tackles Steve down into the sheets.

The next morning, Steve insists on making a homemade breakfast. Eddie rarely cooks, but by some miracle, he’s got eggs and bacon in his fridge. Eddie knows he’s got a dopey look on his face as he sits at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, watching Steve move around his space.

Later, when they’re curled up together on the couch and Steve is dozing against his chest, Eddie scrolls through his Instagram feed. He’s tagged in a ton of photos from the night before, up on stage with Steve, eyes fixed on each other as they play their guitars, crisscrossing beams of light all around them. He scrolls for a few more moments, before he sees the picture they’d taken together at the meet-and-greet, with the three girls who’d asked for a picture with Steve and Eddie. Steve’s blushing, his hand still holding Eddie’s, a wide smile on his face. Eddie’s just as flushed, eyes glassy, but he’s not even looking at the camera, face turned toward Steve instead. He looks lovestruck. It would be embarrassing, but Steve shifts in his arms, letting out a tiny little sound from the back of his throat.

Eddie screenshots the photo and saves it to his camera roll.

~*~

@thecaptainsgingersnap gave me “dealer's choice lyrics from Superstar” :)

This turned out waaaaayyyyyyy longer than I originally planned, so I probably should’ve split it into two posts, but here we are. Hope you enjoy it!!

#in this universe eddie munson co-wrote tolerate it #i know what song they wrote together but I’m keeping it to myself lol #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fluff #steddie fic rec #steve harrington x eddie munson

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jayflrt · 6 months

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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 15. ugly truths

YOUR CHILDHOOD DREAM WAS TO MARRY PARK SUNGHOON.

Even before you developed a genuine crush on him, you fantasized about marrying Sunghoon at a young age. Your parents always fawned over the young boy's appearance, and they would constantly pester you about how they wanted a handsome son-in-law like Sunghoon. You would brush their comments off back then, but a small stir in your chest dared to daydream about how wonderful of a boyfriend your best friend would be.

When he asked you out, you thought you were in the clouds. It must have been one of the best things that happened to you because you were certain that Sunghoon would meet some drop-dead gorgeous model after he was signed under Prada. You hardly entertained any talks of dating him before because you were so scared that something would burst the swell of hope in your chest.

Now that you tasted the reality of being Sunghoon's girlfriend, it was awfully bitter.

You knew that there were several consequences going into this decision; not only were your parents going to be upset, but you were possibly ruining years of friendship with both Sunghoon and Heeseung with this decision. Although you cared about the two boys deeply, you were so tired of feeling drained by your own relationship.

Plus, Heeseung had been acting weird, too. You weren't convinced as of late that he had purely platonic intentions, but it made your stomach turn every time you pondered on it for longer than a few seconds.

You knew what you were getting into. Sunghoon was so entangled and twisted up in your life that you couldn't see any comfortable way out of this relationship. You would no longer be able to listen to a Bruno Mars song without thinking about how he'd blast the music in his car and sing along with you; you would no longer be able to wake up in the morning and shake off the ceaseless anticipation of a good morning text from him; you would no longer be able to even reach for his hand under the table to give it a comforting squeeze.

After this, you wouldn't have to worry about checking menus to make sure your boyfriend liked the food at the restaurant you wanted to go to, or wait for him to show up to every date you planned, or sulk around after he shot down any couple activities you proposed.

You'd be free.

You wondered if this was going to be the last time you'd spend in Sunghoon's apartment. As your finger ran over the embroidery on one of his throw pillows, you noticed that your boyfriend was tapping his foot nervously.

He was the first to speak. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"

His words were like a jab to your gut, making tears pool at the corners of your eyes before you turned to blink them away. You dated him for three years just for everything to end like this. Yet, you weren't sure he could say anything to salvage your relationship; you were tired of trying to reach out to someone who wouldn't even hold out his arm.

"Yeah," you answered quietly. "I don't think I can do this anymore, Hoon. It's been so hard."

His foot started tapping faster. You felt the knot in your chest tighten.

"Okay," he mumbled. "Then... that's that, I guess."

"Seriously? That's all you can say?"

"I can't stop you from doing what you want."

"No, but you could ask," you replied, incredulity thick in your voice. "You seriously don't even wanna know why I'm trying to end things?"

"I know why you're breaking up with me," he said, raising his voice over yours. "I haven't been putting aside time for y—"

"It's not just that!"

Sunghoon immediately fell silent, and, for a few moments, the only sounds in his living room were your shallow breaths. As much as you wanted to stand up and start yelling at him, you couldn't bring yourself to be too harsh when you noticed his repetitive tapping and fidgeting.

"The night you came over after Yuna went crazy on live," you started. "I want you to be transparent with me. Was all of that just so you could tell me to stop hanging out with her?"

His lips pressed into a thin line before he answered, "Not completely."

"But you still came over because of that?"

"Yeah."

Of course, that was the answer you expected.

Still, you didn't know the full weight of the truth would shatter you into pieces all over again.

Sort of lost and disconnected, you nodded. "Okay."

Sunghoon let his head hang. You weren't sure how many minutes had passed, but he just stared straight down at the floor while his knee bounced over and over again.

Your boyfriend, whom you had trusted and given all your love to, had just admitted to using your body for his own personal gain.

And all you could say was okay.

"Sungjin found out about Yuna's video," he tried. "I left early that morning because he wanted me to defend you and Heeseung to the Order, or he'd tell Dad. I thought I was doing the right thing."

You could only stare back at him wordlessly.

"I'm sorry," Sunghoon mumbled, and it sounded distorted in your ears, like he had been a broken record droning on and you had just now realized it, but he didn't dare make eye contact with you. "I'm so sorry, Y/N."

He finally raised his head to look at you. The maddened, agonized look in his eyes made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

"Please say something," he begged.

"I just don't really know what to say."

His voice was more fragile, more broken when he said, "I don't wanna—I can't lose you."

"I think you already have."

Although there was little venom behind your words, it appeared to sting Sunghoon all the same.

"I'll tell you everything," he continued with sickening sincerity that made your ears hurt and your head spin.

Why now? Why couldn't he say all of this before? You weren't sure if it was meant to sway you in his favor, but it only made you feel more and more dreadful. You had been begging to listen to him this whole time, but he shut you out until he was about to lose you.

But this was what you came here to do—to talk to him. It wouldn't have been fair if you got your two cents out and left him in the dust. Either way, you wanted everything to come to light, anyway, so you were going to have to let him speak eventually.

"Okay," you agreed, "but I want everything you didn't tell me."

He swallowed thickly and began, "You know how my dad and brother are... all the back-and-forth over who gets Park Pharmaceuticals. Well, now that Sunjin's cleaned up his act, apparently Dad promised it to him, even though I've been preparing to inherit the company my whole life. Everything he's made me do has been for Park Pharmaceuticals, and he just took it all away from me like it's nothing.

"I mean, I've volunteered and done countless internships to prove that I have what it takes; I golf every weekend with company executives or people from the Order; I'm signed under Prada and Chopard; I attend those stupid socials every other day on top of keeping up with coursework for two majors; I know Park Pharmaceuticals like it's on the back of my hand because I've studied the organization inside-and-out and spent months shadowing at the company; I've been slogging day and night to become the man my brother failed to be—the man my father wants me to be—and I still lost to Sungjin. Nothing I do is enough, Y/N—nothing.

"My family keeps expecting me to become someone important, but they're also the ones holding me back. You're the only one who makes me feel like there's a meaning to all of this."

You sucked in a sharp breath, letting his words sink in deep until your bones felt cold and hollow. "You can't say I'm all you have after you pushed me away countless times, Sunghoon," you started. "I really wish you told me all this when I'd beg you to let me help."

"I know," he said in a soft voice, head dipped low again. "I'm sorry. I thought I was protecting you from my dad."

"Your dad? Why would I need protection from your dad?"

Sunghoon hesitated before he spoke, "He... didn't interfere with our relationship because he was banking on us getting married."

"So?" Noticing the guilty look drawn across his features, you prepared yourself for an incoming blow. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

A mumble. Eyes that refused to meet yours. It was clear as day that he was hiding something.

"What is it?" you repeated sharply.

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"If it concerns me, then I'd like to hear it."

His chest swelled from the deep breath he took. "He wanted us to get married... so that Park Pharmaceuticals could acquire your father's hospital chain."

You let it echo in your head once more, and the words swam.

If you thought this conversation was nauseating before, now it was so gut-churning that you could hardly tell if the Earth was spinning at its regular speed. You felt like you had been tugged from right behind your navel and dunked into icy water.

Someone like you, with your family's background, should have expected an outcome like this.

But you never thought Park Sunghoon would be the one to drive the knife into your back.

There was a loud ringing in your head, and you weren't exactly certain if the world was supposed to be swaying around you, but you screwed your eyes shut and asked, "Why Mercy Health? Why would a pharmaceutical company want to acquire a hospital?"

"It's 'cause medical manufacturers pay hospitals a lot of money," he explained, although he was mumbling again and it was getting on your nerves. "I guess Dad's plan is that a joint operation would make more money for both of us."

"A merger between two pharmaceutical corporations would make more sense."

"Dad's always wanted to be a revolutionary. Sales have been flatlining for pharmaceutical giants these days, so that's why he planned for something bigger. Theoretically, it's a smart plan, it's just..."

You scoffed. "You're defending him."

"I'm not—"

"You're sitting there and justifying your dad's actions as if this whole plan doesn't depend on you manipulating me!" You stood up and wedged your Dior clutch under your arm. "You didn't even think to tell me any of this before we started dating, and"—your eyes started watering and your voice was thick with emotion—"you were gonna marry me just for my family's hospital?"

"I never agreed with what my dad was doing, Y/N," he said firmly. "I never wanted you to get involved with him, so I kept it hidden from you, but my feelings for you had nothing to do with the acquisition. I'd never take Mercy Health from you."

"You should've told me before you asked me out!"

"I... thought I was doing the right thing," he replied wearily. "I didn't think it would come to this. I'm sorry."

Anger was rising in your chest. At this point, you didn't even care what you were spitting out at him because you were so infuriated.

"This is exactly your problem," you said, cold as ice, "you think you have a handle on everything, but if you were anyone but Park Sunghoon, everyone would be sick of you by now. You constantly put your company over everyone who actually cares about you. I get that you've worked your whole life for this, but there are people out there who've worked harder than you ever have, and they'll never get the opportunities that you get handed to you."

Judging by the way Sunghoon stiffened and his jaw clenched, you were sure your words had gotten to him—struck him right in his heart.

"I never once said I wasn't privileged," he muttered darkly, standing up to tower over you, "and I wouldn't mention privilege either, if I were you. We're birds of the same feather in that sense."

"I can talk about privilege all I want. You're sitting here complaining about being entitled to inherit an entire company while there are people who can only dream of that opportunity. Heeseung—"

"Don't lash out at me just because you're not motivated enough to inherit Mercy Health," he fired back. "I'm privileged, yes, but I did everything that's been expected of me since I was born. This is what I've been brought up my whole life for. Just because you're terrified of what's expected of you doesn't mean I don't deserve what I've worked for."

Motivated enough. You felt your whole body on edge at his words. How could he bring up your insecurities and anxieties over your future just to argue his point? You remembered the countless nights of you laying in Sunghoon's arms and telling him you were worried that owning Mercy Health wasn't what you wanted for your life. Worried that you could've been doing something you actually loved if you weren't pushed into a career path because of your status.

"This is the real world, Y/N," Sunghoon continued. "Maybe it's not fair that we were set for the rest of our lives as soon as we were born, but this is who we are, and you need to accept that. Face it: I'm probably the only person you're gonna fall in love with that won't have an inferiority complex around you. You're not innocent either, so don't look down on me for my father's actions as if you don't form transactional friendships yourself."

"What? I don't—"

"I remember your notebook very well," he cut you off.

Your blood ran cold.

He continued, "You can talk about our power and privilege, but don't you dare use Heeseung against me when you were the one writing about how 'expendable' he was."

You stiffened. "That—that was a really long time ago. I didn't even believe what I was writing."

"Yeah? Is it 'cause he's rich now? Now he has some worth that makes him good enough for your little circle?"

"You know that I don't think that way anymore!"

"Is that so?" But it didn't sound like a question; Sunghoon wore an impassive look on his face as his eyes bored into yours. "So you're telling me you don't constantly update that little notebook about whose family did what and who you need to get closer to?"

Years ago, back when you were a child, your father handed you a notebook with several pages of information on the children of his business partners and other wealthy families. You were instructed to either get close to certain people or stay away from others. He would draw diagrams for you, essentially ranking who was of importance and who wasn't. Naturally, as you kept having to use and update it, you created your own notes and decided for yourself who you would keep in your circle.

It was maybe a few years ago when the sight of that notebook made you feel sick. You had been categorizing everyone in your life unknowingly without realizing how messed up it was.

Sunghoon naturally was ranked high, but you were already close with him, so your father wasn't too strict about who else you got close to. That was why Heeseung was able to wriggle his way into your friend group, and although you truly valued him, you never said anything when your father had you put him down as expendable in your notebook.

And, although you deeply regretted it, the mindset of collecting information on the people around you had already been engrained into your mentality. Keeping tabs on everyone around you came far too naturally to you.

You supposed that was why you had so many barriers up in your friendships. You always held your friend group at arm's length because of the reputations you all had to uphold. Sunghoon and Heeseung were the only ones you could be yourself around, but that was before your love lives got so complicated.

But the matter at hand was breaking up with Sunghoon. After everything, you were just too exhausted and drained for more fighting.

"Heeseung may have forgiven you for that notebook," Sunghoon pressed on, "but I won't forget how anxious you made me feel back then." All I could think about was if you "

"I know it was fucked up and I'm sorry," you said, "but I seriously don't think of Heeseung—or anyone—like that. He's always been one of my best friends."

Sunghoon's anger seemed to subside, settling back under the sand. He sat back down on the couch with thinly-veiled sadness weighing him down, and he placed his elbows on his knees.

"I'm gonna leave now," you said, "unless you have anything else you wanna say."

"Don't leave yet." He was looking at the floor again. "I'll call you an Uber."

"It's a five minute walk."

"It's late; I don't care."

You sighed and went along with his request, watching as he booked the ride on his app in silence. After momentary confusion dawned on his face, Sunghoon stood up again and walked back over to pull you into a tight embrace.

After everything that he said, you were so certain that you didn't even want to look him in the eye. After feeling his arms around you, though, for what could be the last time as a couple, you ended up wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into his chest. A couple tears fell from your eyes and lingered on the fabric of his sweater.

"I'm sorry I wasn't a better boyfriend," he murmured into your hair. "I don't think our parents are gonna take this well."

You sniffled. "They won't. I don't think I'm gonna tell them yet."

"Do you think we can still be friends?"

You chewed on the idea for a moment. It was the rising hope in Sunghoon's voice that made you feel almost sorry for him.

"Not right now," you ended up saying. "We'll have to once we're in the Order, but I need some time for myself now."

"Okay."

More tears slipped down your cheeks. It was strange but you already missed him, even though you were still holding onto him. Maybe it was because once your ride was here, you knew that would be the last time you would be holding onto Park Sunghoon like this.

Neither of you said anything and just held each other tightly, hands nearly trembling in fear of letting go for the last time. When Sunghoon's phone buzzed, the both of you reluctantly separated and peered at his screen.

The Uber (which he paid a ridiculous amount for) was parked outside.

"So this is it," he said.

"This is it."

Without even thinking, you two gravitated toward each other with ease. Sunghoon held your face as if it were glass while you drew him in for a kiss with your arms wrapped around his neck. You pulled away before either of you could get carried away and gave him a sad smile.

"I'll see you later, Hoon," you said.

With longing etched deep in his eyes, Sunghoon murmured, "See you."

You felt numb during your short ride home, hardly keeping conversation with the driver. Everything that happened only sank in hours later, so you drew a hot bath and cried until you couldn't cry anymore.

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon

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dirtfullofwork · 4 months

Text

🌸 picnic hangout. 🌸

Pairing: soap x ruz oc x Canon

Summery: ruz and soap have a picnic together! After ruz gives him an invite, but little did soap know that’s not the only place they’re going to visit.

Note: warning, this has some angst and fluff and crap art (click for higher quality)

“Good morning soap, are you up?”

“Yeah. Woke up 12 minutes ago.”

“Do you want to go out 4 pm today?”

“For what?”

“For brunch.”

“Sure, I’m not busy today.”

————

"So this is the place?" Soap asked?

"Yeah,I was told it's a good spot to have a picnic,especially in this weather, so thats why i decided to invite you, and also because I have no friends " ruz smiles akwardly , the environment was beautiful, it was bright day, the breeze hits both of them.

Ruz goes to a stop and points to a spot, it had trimmed grass so I wouldn't get in the way.

"Look, let's go over there, it seems like a good spot."

"Alright sounda good , lead the way then." Soap responded while nodding.

The two of them sat down in unison. Ruz had a sunflower bag and she placed it down with her, she opens it and pulls out a lunch box, when she opens it, it had four sandwiches.

"Me and my aunt made these together, she made the other two for you since I told her were going out."

"How nice of her...tell her i said thanks." he let's out a soft smile.

"Oh you will..

Soap looks at her silently confused wondering what she meant by that but doesn’t question it.

~~~~~~

Ruz was eating one of sandwiches while looking at the pretty view and daydreaming. Soap was silently wondering how he can break the silence, before he looked to the left and saw a pink flower and he turns to ruz. He turns back and rips the flower off the ground, he takes a look at it before tucking it beneath ruz hair. She turns to soap and looks at him with slight confusion.

Soaps eyes slightly widen thinking he messed up by the reaction of her face and he tries to explain

“I think it looks nice..like you…” his Scottish accent strong.

Ruz swallows her food and smiles before finally saying

“Thank you!”

Soap thinks to himself “thank god.”

~~~~~~~

She finished her sandwiches and gets up and ask

“So, your ready”

“For what?”

“To meet my aunt” she smiles

“Wait we’re meeting her aunt? You haven’t told me.”

“Don’t worry, she’s a good person!”

She chuckles before saying

“come on, she’s expecting us soon”

The two of them head towards the car with ruz taking the drivers seat and starts to drive. And starts to see the sun start to set and she sees the view she then breaks the few minutes of silence by saying

“I grew up here. I know every building in this area by memory, it’s nostalgic.”

She sighs

Soap nods and replies while also looking at they view

“I see.”

She changes the topic by saying

“want to listen to music? What’s your taste?”

“Any song is fine.”

He responded.

Ruz nods and plays pumped up kicks in the radio

Soap turns to see her long hair down..it was pretty..really pretty..it reached her shoulders her brown eyes shined in the sun but she didn’t notice his back to fourth glare due to her being focused on the road, the wind was slightly open letting out breeze in the car.

****

“I lived with my aunt and her boyfriend for years. Wasn’t very fun when I was alone with him.”

She weakly chuckled awkwardly

“What do you mean?” The Scottish male questioned.

She turned to him for a moment, before looking back at the road, reluctantly she responded to his question with a soft sigh.

“He was a really rude man verbally snd sometimes even physically, I didn’t feel safe when I was with him but my nana always defended me and loved and cared for me but years ago he died from skin cancer.”

Soap nods, listening to what she got to say before responding while looking at the road

“Must’ve been really unfortunate, I hope you are okay now,”

Ruz slightly smiles before responding with

“Thank you Johnny for understanding, it’s refreshing to let out my feelings to someone finally.”

Before adding either a completely different tone..a cold one.

“It was just the beginning anyways.”

———

She then took a left turn before finally heading to a small yellow house with flowers planted in the front of the house

She turns to soap

“Here we are? Ready soap?”

“Soap” he questions

“We don’t need to be formal, you can call me Johnny…Sal.”

Sal’s eyes light up and her hair flows with the hair and she smiles

“If you say so Johnny.”

~~~~

Sal walks to the stair and rings the doorbell, she looked a bit stressed as her eyebrows were furrowed a bit. But enough to notice. The door opens and a woman in her 40’s open, she had the same eyes as Sal but she had black long curly hair, she looked flabbergasted.

“Sal,is it really you?! it’s been so long” she hugs her tightly while resting her head on her shoulders

Johnny stood there behind them

Wait a fucking minute…is this her aunt?!

Fuck..it is..

Sal pulls away from the hug, and that’s when the woman finally notices soap and she looks at ruz

“Sweetie, is this your boyfriend?” She asked

Sal was flabbergasted and she exclaimed

“No! Hes..a friend from work.”

Johnny thinks to himself

“Not yet..at least…”

Johnny extends his hand for a handshake

“the names..Johnny..Johnny mactavish, ma’am..”

The woman in the late 40’s chuckles softly, and she excepts his handshake while saying “just call me Martinez”

“Let’s go inside guys” Sal suggested

The three of them head inside in unison and as they walk in Sal says

“I’ll make some tea guys, how about you two talk about each other and know each other” she smiles and walks to the kitchen leaving the two alone

“May I sit here…Mrs. Martinez?.” Soap asked as he points to the red couch.

“Of course, make yourself comfortable young man.”

As Johnny sits down he turns to look at Mrs. Martinez with a gentle face..she looked delicate and a nice woman it was quiet for a minute or two before he broke it by thanking her

“Thank you for the sandwich..your..neice told me that you and her made two for me..I..really appreciate it.”

“Of course, when I heard she was going to hang out with you I decided it be nice to make sandwiches for the two of you, she really deserves some friends. She never got to live the childhood she really wanted..and I feel bad for her..”

Johnny looks down for a moment before looking back at her with a sympathetic face “may I ask what happened?, if your comfortable” he asked with a gruff tone..

Martinez looks down with a sad face and she explains

“she grew up without parents..her mother died from an overdose and her father was never there in her life..and school was tough for her…honestly I never wanted her to join the army. I’m scared of the danger and risk of it or Mabee the risk of death. But she always wanted to be like her mother.. I’m glad she finally have a friend to speak to” her lips tug to a small smile and she turns to Johnny who listens intently.

Johnny lets out a nod

“You must’ve been a good parental figure..she is a..very nice woman and a strong healthy one too…”

Johnny reassured as Sal came back with hot green tea.

As she sat down and joined the two Martinez ask the two “so..how did you two yahoo’s meet?”

Ruz smiles awkwardly and chuckles “it’s a long story nana..”

~~~~~

Martinez was showing soap memory books of sal when she was younger while Sal was on the other side blushing in embarrassment, Martinez points to one photo that took place in 2007 where Sal lost her first teeth and her eyes were puffy from crying.

“This was her when she was seven years old, she cried alot…” she chuckles softly and she shows more pictures of Sal during her childhood and high school years Sal was really embarrassed “nana..stop..” she mutters as she sinks down the couch.

“I refuse” she teased in response

“Yahoo use to watch a lot of horror when she was younger so she use to cry to me when she thought monsters where under her bed.”

Johnny chuckles “oh really now? That’s silly”

“You know Johnny, Sal likes to talk about you.”

“Oh really now?”

The lady nods

“Yes, she likes to talk about you a lot young man, you know she never was the type to want friends at all, especially a boy, she very committed to you, you two deserve eachother you know..”

she said as she blows on her tea and takes a sip. “You should drink this now, it’s getting cool.”

Sal speaks

“ we had our ups and downs with our friendships it is us versus death itself..despite the harsh reality of this hell of a war..he shows empathy and compassion to his teammates..and me..he really is special.”

Soap looks at Sal, his face softening, finding himself vulnerable. But soap thought that he wasn’t enough for her, he was reluctant. He was worried that he would get in the way of her life, and if they do go together he knows how serious she is with relationships and is worried it might not last by their dynamics. But yet there hope. Despite them being opposite..they still fit together like a puzzle peace. There was a warm flutter feeling in his heart.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Have you two ate today besides the sandwiches?” The old lady asked

Soap and Sal look at each other

“Well I ate some fruits”

“We ate some fruits..” soap corrected.

“Do you want dinner?” She asked?

Sal responded with “can we have oven chicken with rice!” She exclaimed, she was a fan of her chicken and rice

~~~~~

“So tell me about yourself young man, what’s your favorite color, hobby, holiday, all the good stuff”

Soap responded with a low voice, he was shy but did not want to admit it, he grew sweat behind his neck

“Hm me?”

“Well I can’t really think of a favorite color I never really thought of that…hmmmmmm….. Mabee the same color as the blue shirt I’m wearing, and for hobbies, I like to journal and draw in my free time and for holidays..I’ll go for Christmas because I like the atmosphere, I enjoy the decoration, lights, and the jolly atmosphere and the generosity and giving. I also like winter activities like Christmas marketing and ice skating…and also just because I like winter.” He responded while taking a bite of the white rice.

Sal spoke aswell

“I also like winter better…I don’t prefer summer unlike most people I know in my social circle, it’s just the humidity brings me discomfort and same goes for the heat brings me heat exhaustion and thirst, and the insects. I’m not scared of them there just bothersome and when I was younger it was hard to sleep in my bedroom from the irritating heat. But I had fans.” She bites into the last meat of the chicken.

“Thanks for the chicken” both Sal and soap says

“It’s no problem, I’m great full you ate good. When u was younger I was poor and sometimes skipped dinner, I don’t want you two to suffer the same as I did when I was a kid”

Sal checks the time and it was 10 PM

“Oh my it’s getting late.” She points out.

Soap sat there in the chair.

It’s been a while since he ate dinner with someone and end up with a full stomach…he’s..great-full..? It was a warm scene.. despite it only being the two of them he felt welcomed.

—————

Soap and Sal where on top of a balcony. The view was pretty as the lights shined against the night sky the moon was also crystal bright. As the wind gently breezed Sal grabs a hair tie about to put on her iconic bun before soap said “your hair is beautiful down..in my opinion.” He mummers as his blue eyes gazing at hers with a small spark. Sal smiles ear to ear “if you say so” she responds, changing her mind as she lets her hair flow, she wraps her arms around her legs and a few minutes later of silent pass. The woman glances up at the moon high in the dark sky in front of her. “Thanks for everything today..it’s been forever since I had a day like this…so thank you for today..Sal.”

“It’s no problem at all…I should thank you for expecting my text message.”

He nods

Sal ask “what would you do if you weren’t in the military?”

“Sleep all day.”

“Understandable” she agreed.

“How about you? What would you do if you weren’t in the military?”

“I’d like to be a florist..or Mabee a barber..oooh, Mabee a vet..animals are better than people, or Mabee a librarian”

Soap glares at her and nods

Ruz confesses “soap your a nice..man….your loyal…brave..your courage is inspiring and you’d be willing to take on a dangerous mission..and your resourceful..and just your sense of humor too, despite the intense scenarios of what’s going on right now you maintain humor in you. And that’s what I like about you.”

“I really appreciate these words..”

“It’s no problem at all…” sal cheeks starts to blush.

“Your pretty when you blush”

Her face starts to burn up

“You think I’m pretty?..”

——

Yayyyy! I’m finally done! It’s been eight days working on this so it be appreciated if you reblog I can’t bare watching this flop 🥲

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lilioopdf · 4 months

Text

success story!!

i never ever post success stories but this one’s for me to remember because ive manifested lots and lots of stuff before but this one actually makes me the happiest

okay so my earbuds (right one, specifically) stopped working randomly one night and i was so miserable about it like ive changed so many earbuds and headphones before but these ones were my actual favourites and i didn’t even notice until one side stopped working. basically it would still charge in and out of the case and stuff but when i took it out it wouldn’t turn on or anything and none of my devices could find or connect to it at all.

the night they broke i quickly read a success story about someone manifesting their earbuds to start working again after they got put in the washing machine to motivate myself before i went to bed and i just kept repeating things like how grateful i was that they started working again, that they sound better than they ever have, that im so grateful these earbuds lasted so long and how much i love them. to be fair i was committed to repeating them but when i was falling asleep i still had random little thoughts like “please please please if this doesn’t work i hope i don’t wake up tomorrow” because i really didn’t want to travel with one-sided (?? 😭😭) music.

spoiler alert: they were, unfortunately, still not working in the morning, and i woke up and was forced to live through that

and i was MISERABLE because i listen to music like all the time and i physically do not know what to do if i’m not listening to music and daydreaming so i was miserable on the way to school and i took the longer route home to get new earbuds.

and these new earbuds are really good, a really popular and well known brand, more modes to try, longer battery life and everything— but they were not my earbuds. my old earbuds were from a swedish brand and they were literally perfect to me okay the audio was perfect, the size is smaller than most earbuds ive used which was perfect for me, and like idk the design and everything was matte and not shiny, which i preferred. and i was also so used to the controls and everything.

but okay anyway

i even emailed the support centre for my warranty even though i’m terrified of stuff like this and they replied and i was already in the process of claiming my warranty when i took them out of their case and they randomly started working again. it was a little weird because they were out of sync which was unexpected but i just did a quick factory reset and they were perfect again (although i do have to email the person and tell them im sorry they started working again which is UGSHSHSHSHS im so scared 😓😓 but ill take this over broken earbuds any day)

things to note:

ive been intentionally manifesting a lot of things for really long, but even i had some doubts when manifesting. but ive always been really optimistic and hopeful too— i used to be really pessimistic and depressed about a lot of things in life but i realised that i still have to get through certain things regardless of what i feel so i thought i might as well try to be happy about it. so i would check the earbuds frequently and randomly be like omg what if they start working again, and they eventually did.

#success story #law of assumption #manifestation #manifestation success story

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starhvney · 5 months

Note

any tips for us beginner writers? :3

honestly this sounds super cliche, but practice! i’ve improved in my writing skills just from a few weeks ago because i’ve been posting so much. writing is a skill kind of like art.

although that’s cliche, here’s a few resources i use to improve my writing:

☆ pinterest | i have a board full of character descriptions, prompts, word substitutions, world building tips for realism, etc. that i reference all. the. time. look up writing tips on pinterest and you’ll find millions of suggestions. i’ve scrolled for hours on there.

☆ plan | have a general idea of where you want the story to go, even if it’s for a short story. if you don’t know that you want your character to end up from point A to point B by the end of the story (because you don’t even know what point B is), then you’re writing can become drawn out and pointless.

☆ online dictionary/thesaurus | sometimes i end up reusing a word too many times, but still want to convey the same idea. look up that same word and find a synonym for it that works!

☆ grammarly | sometimes checking my own spelling is too time consuming and i don’t want to do it. gradually it’s useful for pointing out places with spell checks (but don’t always take its advice if it wants to shorten or reword a sentence, it’s not always right for creative writing)

☆ walk away | if you feel like you’re just not in the creative headspace and you’re getting frustrated, or you’re not sure of what you wrote is good, get up and do something else for a bit! once you’ve cleared your mind, come back to it and look at your work with fresh eyes to correct any mistakes or think of new ideas.

☆ listen to music, ambience, or even asmr | i do this a lot! i find a playlist of mine that fits the vibe of what i’m trying to write, and it helps me focus on the story. for instance, if i want to write a scary scene i listen to film soundtracks that are intense and eery, or listen to an ambience from a horror game. if i want to write something peaceful, i listen to soft music or a spring morning ambience. this really helps if you struggle to get in the writing zone like i do.

☆ shut off your left brain | sometimes when we write or draw, our focus and thoughts become too critical of our work, and we stunt ourselves or get frustrated and completely give up. you have to switch over into the creative side of your brain, and not care if you make mistakes as you write! you can edit it later, but just focus on getting the story and thought out of your head. i do this by daydreaming the situation first, and then writing it out while listening to music.

☆ study other artists! | similar to art, you need to study others works to develop your own style. look at the works of a fan fiction writer who’s really good, or a popular book that made it big. when do they break off their paragraphs? how do they change scenes? how do they form their sentences and describe the scenery and characters?

i’ll also say that i did grow up with an english teacher mom and much older sisters who also became teachers and had an extensive vocabulary, so writing came easier to me than others because of that. BUT! even still my writing was awful a couple of years ago. it took a lot of practice and trashing my old work to get to this point.

i’m not that great of a teacher myself, but i hope this advice helps! best of luck to anyone who wants to try writing, don’t be scared to start!!! i believe in you :)

#☆ star's inbox!

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onyxheartbeat · 4 months

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I wish I could go back to being excited in the morning, heading to work in a pretty dress, wearing my perfume and lipstick, hoping so badly you would be there as early and open the shop with me. I miss the rush I’d get from hearing your key clanking in the lock. For 20 minutes, it would be just you and I. Nobody else existed in my mind. I’d watch you make an americano, unable to keep my eyes off you when you were turned toward the espresso machine. Some of those mornings with you were the most pure moments of joy and love. You’d be so talkative some mornings, and we could always talk about anything; serious, personal, or silly. We’d make our flirtations, and innuendos, our sarcastic comments. Some of those days were the happiest I ever saw you. You’d have genuine smiles.

I miss the nights Chris would call me to tell me all the things you said about me after I left. I’d laugh like a schoolgirl hearing about her crush. Everyone at work knew how you and I felt about each other. Our chemistry was felt.

I wish I could go back to those days, falling in love with you in that shop. I was the only person you’d talk to for an hour without stopping, about music, bands, and movies. We really looked at each other’s eyes. I miss how clear and blue your eyes were then. I wish I could go back to the Saturdays when you’d tell me you’d be at your neighborhood bar. I knew I’d be getting texts from you all night until morning.

I miss waiting with excitement for the double buzz from my phone, hoping so badly it would be a funny line or a flirtatious joke. Sometimes it was a link to a song. I loved reading your texts about concert experiences you had, or about your family, or what you had to do that weekend. You’d be drinking Coors and Jameson. You were always nice in those days, and calm. You always felt composed and fun. It would be almost sunrise by the time you’d text me you were walking home.

I miss how it felt to walk around my neighborhood at night and look at the stars while texting you. I’d have my earphones and iPod, listening to Psychedelic Furs or Echo and the Bunnymen or The Church. I’d think about our conversations about those songs, and I’d think of how cute you must’ve been in the 80s listening to them.

There was a magic to falling in love and imagining you at the other side of this city, in another era, by the beach. It felt so romantic, knowing you were by the ocean. And I’d fantasize about being there with you. I remember wanting to go to that bar with you, and setting up the plan to go with Chris to meet you that night. I’d give almost any of my possessions to go back to that night at the bar. The way your hand touched my knee, and the rush that gave me. I watched you play pool with hearts in my eyes, sitting on the stool with my high heels, hoping you loved the lace bustier I wore. I miss being that excited, hopeful girl. I didn’t see anything scary about you. I didn’t see any anger in you. I was just purely and innocently in love with you. And it happened slowly, like it should.

I’d go to the beach so much in those days. I was so happy just knowing your house was nearby, and I’d feel close to you in some way that wasn’t physical that I still cannot explain. Somehow, I felt I was home on that beach, because it was your home. I just knew, soulfully, how attached you were to that place, even years before you showed me just how much. I knew. I’d listen to my music as the freezing water washed over my bare feet, and I would daydream about kissing you, and you touching me, but mostly wondering how you felt about me. I knew you didn’t love me, but I knew you were almost there, and if I could just have some time, I could make you love me. What you told me years later let me know I was right. Though I don’t know what it is you feel anymore.

I used to smile so much, just walking on that beach. I desperately miss being so happily in love with you, it’s painful. I can’t walk on that beach anymore.

I just want to go back.

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hopewritcs · 2 years

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Hopper x reader #4 my favourite number thank you 🥰

“LIKE IT’S JULY.”

pairing: jim hopper x f!reader

song: norway.

notes: me tryin not to make this a sad hopp fic despite the song bein somewhat sad bc all these songs for hopp requests wind up being sad ( sorry i listen to a lot of sad music friends lol ). anway i hope u liked it !! set pre & throughout canon !! though it’s explained in canon reader and jim have quite a bit of history, and the effects of canon events play into everything !

word count: 1.8k

part of spotify wrapped drabble night : accepting !

You were a fan of the summer months. Summer always meant something was going to happen--while for some people it meant peace and time away from work or school, for you it had always been a time of change in your life even on top of all the normal “summer” things.

Post graduation from college you had moved to a new town in the middle of the summer.

At the age of twenty-three you had met someone in that town who changed your life, his name was Jim Hopper.

But life wasn’t kind to you and Jim.

After dancing around each other for long enough, eventually he got married and you moved away from that place ( in summer, once again ).

You thought of him, of your time spent with him. Those summer nights that felt like they were the beginning of the rest of your life but you couldn’t bring yourself to say so to him. But he’d moved on, and you could only stare at the phone number still etched in his handwriting in your notebook, as if a memory of it all.

Losing touch with him, and trying to move on with your life, you didn’t realize you’d accepted a job in his hometown of Hawkins until you met someone who mentioned him -- and at that point you just did your best to hide the fact you knew the man they were talking about.

They say it’s a small world, but how small did it have to be for Jim to show up back in his own hometown for good right when you felt like the place was finally your own. You’d wished for him to be right there so many times, that seeing him show up was almost like one of those daydreams.

It was summer when you saw him again, of course.

He was just settling back into town, and Joyce was telling you that he had lost everything -- he was just close enough to daydream about, but still out of reach.

He didn’t see you, really see you, until July of that year. You’d been involved in a small fender bender and the police had been called to the scene and Jim, despite being the Chief of Police, had been the one to show up. He nearly dropped the notebook that was held in his hands when he realized who was standing leaning against the car that had been hit.

He thought he’d left you behind all those summers ago.

“Y/N?” Jim asked, blinking as he flipped through the notebook to look at something other than you.

“Hey Jim.” He realized then, with the ease of how you spoke to him, that you knew he was in town. That you weren’t surprised to see him there. That your guard wasn’t thrown like his was.

He was fucked. But damned if he was going to show any sign of it.

It was easy to fall back into a friendship with Jim Hopper, because despite it all -- the time, and the years, and everything else -- both of you felt as though you were still friends. It was everything else that was going to be harder to get back. Figuring out if it was even something to get back, that was another question.

Of course, you wanted to. The summers you had spent with him all those years ago weren’t for nothing -- but you had both changed and weathered with the years and time you had spent on your own, you had to know what was going on.

It was July of 1983, nearly four whole years after Jim moved back to Hawkins and the two of you had begun a friendship again before you kissed again.

It had been a simple morning, you spent a lot of time with Jim. Dancing around your feelings once again, both of you. Despite both of you at separate times confiding in Joyce--

“I don’t want to fuck it up this time, Joyce.” Hopper had said days before the kiss.

“What if I’m wrong and I wind up looking like a fool if I say how I feel?” You had said the night before

--and while she was a good friend to both of you, she was a little sick of listening to your complaining instead of doing something about it.

The morning was spent at the Hopper cabin, because you’d brought over food and welcomed yourself in like you did every so often to make sure he was taking care of himself.

What Jim had originally meant to be a kiss on the cheek, as your head was turned to make the coffee for the two of you, had turned into a kiss on the lips as you’d turned your head to ask him a question.

The first I love you was said in August of that same year, at the Byers’ house during a small get together that you had forced Jim to go to.

He was clearly uncomfortable in the setting, a mixture of teens as well as their parents, but he was going for you, which was nice.

It was, in fact, the exact phrasing that he had used. He handed you the drink he’d gone to get for you and when he came back to the corner you’d been waiting in he shook his head, taking a sip of his own beer, “Can’t believe the things I do for love.”

You nearly choked on the sip you were taking and turned to look at him. His own eyes were wide, like he couldn’t believe he’d just said that out loud, but he knew he couldn’t just shrug it off.

You leaned in and kissed him. “We can leave early, grumpy, cause I love you too.”

The summer of 1984 was spent with you, Jim, and El as you helped him hide her in the cabin--the two of you were living together at that point. You didn’t know what to do with the cabin, but you had El help you in attempts to redecorate it...as best you could.

“Are you really this attached to the cabin?” you asked one July night, sitting on the porch with Hopper and El. “I’m just saying we could look at houses just a bit bigger and still this far out in the woods if you want to be far away from the rest of the world.”

“Are you saying there’s not enough space?” Hopper asked, looking at you over his cup of coffee.

You and El shared a glance from under the blanket you were sharing and then both turned to look at him.

“Okay it’s...” Hopper trailed off.

“Small.” You suggested.

“Tiny.” Eleven added.

“Cozy.” Hopper finished his thought, rolling his eyes at the both of you.

You sighed and unwrapped the blanket from your shoulders before turning to El with a smile, “I think we’ll tackle this another night, let’s get to bed.” You stood up, and held a hand for her to take before walking to the door and then turning back to look at Hopper who still sat on the porch steps, “You coming to bed, grumpy?”

Hopper grumbled, standing up and turning to look at the two of you. “The cabin is just fine.”

You nodded, “Of course it is.” When he was close enough you leaned up and gave him a kiss before walking into the cabin with El and pushing Jim toward the kitchen.

“This conversation isn’t over!” He called after you as you walked with El to her bedroom.

July of 1985, you stood in Starcourt Mall with everyone but Jim was pushing you away from it all--he wanted you with El, away from everything where it was safe.

Promises made in the food court of that mall before the rest of that night raged on that you never thought would be kept--promises of a future you didn’t expect to come true when the only people you saw come out of the mall were Joyce and Murray.

July of 1985 he’d promised to spend the rest of his life with you.

Summer of 1986 was something you were not looking forward to. You were no longer counting down the days to summers like you used to. It seemed as dreary as any rainy day to you, and you hated it.

Hawkins was no longe the place you wanted it to be, and you’d moved last summer to California when Joyce had. You’d been with the kids--with El-- more, but work consumed a lot of your time--you tried not to think about everything.

Summer was coming, it was already the March break for school, and you’d planned to spend it with El, but you’d instead been contacted by Owens. You didn’t know how, exactly--he wasn’t exactly someone you would call a friend or a foe entirely. But that’s how you wound up going with him and El.

Which is how you wound up in the midst of everything, yet again, with no idea what to do or how to get yourself and El out of this.

God, all you wanted was Jim and to be counting down the days to summer. Not to be in some van speeding down the highway trying to get to Hawkins and worrying about everything else.

When it was all over, and you had somehow wound up back at the cabin, you looked over at El with tears in your eyes but a smile on your face.

The damned cabin.

You couldn’t escape it. Back where you started, and everything just reminded you of him.

El had gone off into her room, and you were moving things around in the living room. When the door opened, you assumed it was one of the other kids, so you turned to ask them for some help.

There he stood, in the doorway of the cabin. You’d barely held back your tears earlier and now, looking at him, you knew you were going to cry. “Jim?”

“Hey, Y/N.” He spoke quietly, moving toward you. When he got to you, you pulled him into your arms and held him close.

“Not fair,” you mumbled, muffled by his chest and the tears you were attempting to keep at bay. “You totally had the upper hand on me and knew I’d be in here didn’t you?”

You could hear the smile on his face, “Had to get you back for all those years ago.”

When you pulled back and looked at him, really looked at him, you saw that there were tears in his eyes too. “I so hoped you would come back, I didn’t want to believe you were gone.” You leaned into him and kissed him. Like it was the first time, like you were twenty-three again and it was the first summer you’d met.

Maybe the summer of 1986 could be something good if you had Jim back by your side.

#jim hopper x reader #hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #stranger things fic

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heroinejinx · 1 year

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‘One Fine Day’ - Songbird, part 1 of 6 (Seraphine x Jinx AU)

So, um... I have a new rarepair hyperfixation. Definitely didn’t write this when I should’ve been focusing on uni work due in less than 2 weeks, what’re you talking about?

Anyway, Seraphine is an aspiring popstar working full time in her father’s music store, Songbird. Life is good but kinda lonely, and then Jinx comes along...

Chapter title, ‘One Fine Day,’ is based on the song by The Carpenters.

Also, big shout out, love and kisses to my handsome wife Babs (@lesbian-batman)who beta’d for me <3 love youuuuu

TW: extreme cuteness and fluff. That is all.

(1,181 words)

AO3 link

Enjoy!

Dreamy vintage pop drifted through the music store’s speakers, bringing life to the rainy Zaun afternoon outside. The takings from the morning were low, especially for a Friday, and the bout of bad weather had driven away any hope of more sales. Might as well have closed up for the day, there and then.

Seraphine idled behind the counter, passing the time by singing along to each song, adding her own trills and high notes where she felt like it. While she belted out tune after tune, she doodled flowers and love hearts on the notepad allocated for ‘work purposes only.’

Her father would’ve flipped his lid if he found out how Seraphine spent her downtime at the store. Songbird was his pride and joy, in part because he’d named it in honour of his daughter, his only child. He’d called her Songbird ever since she was born; said even her crying sounded like an aria.

She took great care of the store for him, of course, but he wouldn’t have approved of her methods. There’s always something to do around here, he’d say. Make yourself useful instead of daydreaming. As a former rockstar and current sound technician for one of Runeterra’s most famous bands, he was hardly one to talk; he dreamed of success back then, just like she did now. Whilst he had the freedom to make his dreams come true, he’d also seen how the music industry corrupted people. He didn’t want the same for her, no matter how much she protested. Since he’d left to join K/DA on tour, she found herself shackled to the store with almost no time to pursue what she loved most.

Music...

Seraphine strived for the spotlight. Over the past couple of years, she had played dozens of open mic nights and gigs at small venues and clubs. Her reach and popularity grew every day. In the last month alone, she’d gained over five thousand new followers on social media and music streaming platforms. It was only a matter of time before a scout from a record company realised her potential and scooped her up.

Until then, life ticked by. Eight ‘til late at Songbird six days a week; studio recordings in the evenings, or at the weekend if she could find someone to mind the store; writing sessions crammed in wherever and whenever she found the time and inspiration. It was hard work, but anything regarding music barely felt like work at all. Music occupied all of her time, mind, and heart. It informed every aspect of her life, even her relationships.

To Seraphine, people were like songs. She’d never tried to explain it to anyone else – had met no one who would’ve understood – but everyone had a melody to them. Strangers gave off waves, impressions. At first, most people sounded like white noise or a continuous low-fi beat. She had to know someone on a deeper level to really hear them; for them to feel open enough to let her listen. It was a long time since she’d gotten close like that.

Between running the store and cultivating her fledgling pop career, she had no social life. Most of the people she’d met through music were acquaintances, transactional connections. In a crowd of fair-weather friends, voices blurred and distorted in the din. Everyone sounded the same.

Seraphine gazed out upon the shop floor filled with CDs, vinyls, and cassette tapes, with no one around to take them home and play them loud like they deserved. A cold loneliness seeped into her soul. She hated days like those, nothing to do but entertain herself and ignore the boredom itching beneath her skin. Music was a lovely companion, but sometimes she needed more than it could give.

With a wistful sigh, she tore off the decorated page of the notepad. Tacked it onto her father’s cork board of concert leaflets, old photographs, music lesson advertisements, and Janna knew what else. The cheerful rumblings of a new song played overhead, as she picked up her favourite bubble-gum pink gel pen, the same colour as her hair, and started on a new page. She drew a dainty love heart so cute she couldn’t help but beam with joy.

Admiring her creation, she didn’t look up when the bell chimed for a new customer. No one had come in for at least two hours; she was out of work mode, in her own little world. Chances were, they wouldn’t need her help, anyway. They were probably stepping out of the downpour, grabbing shelter where they could. It happened a lot around that time of year, heading into fall. So, she ignored the customer’s presence. Even kept singing, albeit under her breath.

‘Hey, do you have any other Bikini Kill records in store?’

Wow, that voice...

Seraphine met the customer’s eye immediately, desperate to find the owner of such an instrument. A petite young woman glared back at her with quizzical impatience, waving a copy of the band’s 1993 album, Pussy Whipped. A navy boiler suit dwarfed her frame, while ocean blue braids swung around her booted feet, frayed and scruffy like they’d been under a hat all day. She had the most distinctive eye colour Seraphine had ever seen. They weren’t quite purple or pink, but some inscrutable shade between the two. Under the store’s artificial light, the colours seemed to switch and swirl.

The music of Bikini Kill seemed to suit her aesthetic, raw and full of rage at the world in that feminist punk rock way, but there was more to her than that. Something unreadable lurked behind those ever-changing irises. Rather than the white noise of a typical stranger, she was a mess of pitch and frequency; a cluster of songs overlapping and battling each other.

What an enchanting cacophony of a person...

Seraphine yearned to hear more, to know everything about this captivating woman. What was her name, her story, her purpose? What were her fears and dreams and fondest memories? Did she have family in Zaun, or was she from out of town? What did she do for work and in her spare time? Did she have a lover? What was her type? Did she like girls...?

‘Well? Do you?’ She spoke again, raspy and sweet. A smoker’s rasp, no doubt.

The image of her posed with a cigarette between her plump, open lips, danced across Seraphine’s mind before she could stop it.

Blushing and hot all over, Seraphine shyly shook her head in reply and returned to the comfort of the notepad.

Janna, it was all so surreal. She had never felt so compelled by a person, and from such a tiny interaction, no less. She couldn’t follow this woman’s song at all, and she... well, she loved it.

‘Okay... I’ll be back.’

With that, the new object of Seraphine’s fascination turned heel and left.

She thumped her head onto the counter and groaned. All she could do was hope that she wouldn’t miss the next visit. And, if the woman bought something, maybe Seraphine might catch her name?

#hehehe #i love them so much #serajinx #seraphine x jinx #cherrybomb #serajinx au #seraphine #jinx #fluff #music #fanfic #lol fanfic #arcane fanfic #songbird #one fine day #songcannon

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janelley-fish · 1 year

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Im starting a fic 😬 I’ve never done anything like this so please be gentle. Writers, I would love any tips and feedback. Please please please. The first 2 chapters are short; but chapters will get longer as I become more comfortable. Be kind please. I’m not a writer, but this story has been in my heart and I just want to share it in hopes that at least one person enjoys it. 💜

Story warnings: angst, very slow burn (mostly Eddie has feelings), friends to lovers, eventual smut, eventual violence and gore, language, some fluff eventually. Think that’s it but overall 18+ so get outta here babies

Unspoken

-Eddie!andoriginalcharacterreader.-

Eddie was your person, in that stereotype kind of way that everyone talks about. You were pretty sure that even if you and Eddie never met in this life, never knew each other, that your soul would search for him, ache for him. You loved him, more than any person could love someone else. More than anyone should. Beyond the meaning of the word, you loved Eddie. And it took one of the most terrible things to happen to make you realize it.

Part 1

Dee, come on. How long does it take to put on lip gloss?” Eddie was standing in the doorway of your bedroom with this arms crossed, leaned against the frame. Honestly, he was being dramatic. He had already made a point of looking at his empty wrist, counting down the minutes out loud until the time you had agreed to leave. He blew his bangs from his eyes and gave you a his most condescending smile, which was still so beautiful. His brows raised high as you scoffed at him.

“It’s called lip stick, and would you calm down? I’m almost done.” You paused to turn around and glare at him. “And if you make one more comment I’m going to make sure you’re wearing some too.” You turned back around to finish with a playful smile and a wink in his direction. Eddie sighed dramatically and walked over to your bed, slumping down into it with a loud huff. You didn’t notice, but his eyes watched your every move as you finished applying your lipstick, his mind wondering what it would be like if you used your painted lips on him, which he was sure was not what you meant, but it was nice to daydream for just a second.

“What are you smirking about?” You had finished your make up and were walking across the room to grab your bag and pull your boots on. Eddie wasn’t aware that he had been smiling to himself at the thought of your lips on his. His cheeks burned red for a moment before he quickly recovered, clearing his throat loudly.

“Just the fact that you’re getting all dolled up for the guys. You know Gareth is going to be flirting with you the whole time, right?” Eddie quirked one brow at you as he stood from your bed, walking over to you so he could lace your boots up. It was probably a weird thing for friends to do, but this kind of stuff was just normal with Eddie. Mundane things that he made special.

He motioned for you to rest your foot on his knee as he bent down. You decided to kick him in the shin instead and he hissed at the sudden contact.

“Jesus Dee; what the hell was that for!?” He scowled at you, but still moved his hands away from rubbing at his black denim covered leg soothingly to tie up your laces.

“Don’t make jokes, Edward Munson, you’re the one who begged me to come to band practice. Claimed you needed my ‘expertise in words’ remember?” The band had been experimenting with new music and Eddie wanted your opinion on his lyrics. He had practically begged on his knees for you to come listen. You almost smacked him for it, because it reminded you of the time he snuck a peak of your journal when you had accidentally left it on your bed.

September 10th, 1981

You and Eddie were heading to meet Steve and Robin to check out the new arcade, but you had demanded that Eddie drive you home first so you could change into shorts, the cool morning air had disappeared and the afternoon had turned hot and sticky. Begrudgingly he drove you home but insisted he come in, because however short you would be, he would not wait in his van. While you rushed to your dresser, you hadn’t noticed the notebook flipped open on top of your smooth purple comforter, and Eddie took it upon himself to snoop. He was looking for something juicy. Maybe embarrassing words about a crush, secretly hoping it was him, but instead found something unexpected and utterly breathtaking. He knew you were into books and poetry, but never knew you wrote your own. And you had planned to keep it that way. Your words were vulnerable, but that’s not what scared you. You couldn’t stand the thought that you could be terrible at something you loved to do so much. It was too terrifying to possibly face a reality where the things you wrote flat out sucked. So you planned to keep all of that part of yourself locked away until someone worth it had discovered that part of you. You weren’t expecting it to be so soon, and you definitely weren’t expecting it to be Eddie fucking Munson.

He was completely lost in your words. Drowning in the beauty of the deep dive into your mind that no one had seen before. The details in the way you explained normal, every day feelings. The way your words made the white paper and black ink ignite into an array of colors in Eddie’s mind as he continued reading. It was like your words had opened an entirely new universe. You stood there frozen; fuming, and he hadn’t noticed. It took you stomping over to him with your hands balled into fists, snatching your notebook from his hands, and shoving him onto the bed before he came back to earth. He saw the heat in your face, but didn’t take it as the anger it was until your eyes burned holes into his and tears started streaming down your cheeks.

“Dee, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting it to be—I just thought… but it’s beautiful and, wow I-“

“Stop.” You were shaking with embarrassment and anger, maybe slightly at the compliment he gave but you wouldn’t admit that. He could see how much it upset you, he could sense that he went too far. He took your hand in his and stood up, but crouched his head down so he was eye level with you.

“I’m so sorry. Truly. I fucked up and crossed a line. It’ll never happen again.” He blurted the words out, and you could see the look in his eyes. He was meant it.

You stood there holding his hand in one of yours while the other clung your journal to your chest. You let out a sigh and looked up to the ceiling.

“Just promise me you won’t tell anyone. And please, for the love of all that is holy, DO NOT bring this up again or so help me Munson I will drive that precious van of yours straight into Lovers Lake without a second thought.” Eddie winced but let out a small huff of a laugh at the way you joked, relieved at the small sign that you didn’t hate him. He let your hand go and made a dramatic show of drawing a very crooked plus sign over his chest.

“Cross my heart. I would never. And even if I would, that threat would stop me. I could never let anything happen to my girl. We’ve been through too much together.” You let out a chuckle at the thought of him referring to his van as his girl, knowing full well his girl was that guitar hanging so neatly on his bedroom wall. He slumped back down into your bed while you rushed to the bathroom to change, desperate to read more of your words but not wanting to ever risk hurting you again. So he mentally reminded himself of his promise to never bring it up.

February 16, 1983

Until 3 days ago when he begged you to come with him to practice to listen to his new song, babbling about how there was no one better at words than you and how he needed your expert opinion. He was about to keep going when he realized his mistake and snapped his mouth shut, giving you a pleading look that was begging for forgiveness the moment the words slipped out. If it hadn’t been for his big beautiful chocolate eyes, you would have kept on your promise. But you knew he didn’t mean it, and you actually really liked tagging along for practice, so you agreed.

Eddie smirked at your words while he finished lacing your boots up.

“Oh please, sweetheart. I know you just have a thing for rockstars.” He stood up straight and pretended to play his guitar while whipping his long curls around and winking at you. You in turn pretended to fan yourself at his show, and both of you burst into giggles and you stepped out of the room. One of your favorite things about your friendship with Eddie is that it always came natural, every part of it. Nothing was ever weird for you, even after the journal incident, it was just so easy being his friend. Joking and teasing, but also sharing in the dark moments, like when Jason beat the shit out of Eddie just for looking at him wrong, and Eddie got into his feelings too deep about being an outcast. Or when you found your now ex-boyfriend Scott making out with a cheerleader in the woods, and Eddie let you camp at his trailer and made you nachos while you cried into his chest. It was just unspoken, how much you cared for each other. Best friends didn’t cover it, it was more than that.

To Eddie it was much, much more than that.

End of chapter 1

*thanks for reading! Chapter 2 will be up soon.😉

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fic #writers of tumblr #new fic #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x female original character

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yesjojobirdflyhigh · 1 year

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i cling to hope like an animal.

when i wake up, i open my blinds to see how the sun is rising. i listen to my favourite songs and do my makeup in the mirror. i think about people i used to know and the versions of myself they knew. i think about how we were girls together and i will always care for them. i plan the day and daydream out the train window. i sit on a bench in the park and greet people with a good morning. i get lost in the books i read and smile at everyone i see. i smell the freshly cut grass and sweet pastries. i flick through the notebook where i sometimes sketch landscapes to capture the scenes i want to remember every detail of. i see children that remind me of a younger version of myself. i try to find heart shapes everywhere. i want to share my dreams with someone who wants to listen. i want to stop and smell the roses. i want to be sentimental and unashamed of it. i think about community and public libraries. i think about how our hands contain our humanness and how holding hands connects us. i sit by bodies of water when i don’t want to talk to anyone. i like to scribble lines of bad poetry and i try to be kind to myself. i wonder if the road ever ends. i look up at the trees and wonder if there are any that are the same age as me and have been growing with me. i think about how much history they have witnessed, the endless stories engraved into their bodies. i touch the flowers and hug my friends. i listen to birdsong and stare at art. i want to dive into the water even if it’s cold. i get into moods where i feel so much love for everyone in my life.

i try to listen to my body and work with it rather than against it. i listen to podcasts about poetry and joy and healing. i think that sharing an orange is the peak of love. i dream about all the places i can go and all the people i could be and of you. i feel grateful for bright colours and for being able to try again. i wonder if i can ever leave. i remind myself to pay attention, to listen, to stop being so sure i know anything. i think about how small flowers look like constellations. i cry about the same things. i email my friend who lives across the world every few months and wonder what it’s like to be someone else. i keep everything that people give me, especially handwritten letters and their love in my heart. i think about childhood summers and the last sunset. i think about how we can miss so much but we will never get any of it back. i bake with my friend and things feel easier. i want to be one of those old couples who hobble along the streets of foreign cities holding hands and chatting away, or sitting by the river under the shade of trees reading. i love road trips with the windows down and the soft sounds of music flowing. i think about warm light and sitting in silence by the lake. i think about basking in the comforting smells of laundry and campfire and cooking. i think about handprints in caves and the tenderness of kissing a bruise. i think about how old my grandma’s house is. i hope our kitchen tables are always full of food, people, and laughter. i find myself returning to the view from my attic bedroom window: the clouds, the hills and trees in the horizon, the occasional train passing, and all the people in their little houses living their little lives. i mostly spend my days alone. i watch comforting films and journal every so often. i write about what tugs at my heart and what i dare to wish for. memory feels like sunlight on water. i wish i can be everything like my parents and nothing like them. i want to live inside a melody. i want to be soft without turning into a beaten pulp. i light candles in the evening after showering and settle down to read. i look forward to moments in the morning when the light streaks into every crack and crevice, and the world feels quiet and bearable. i pray no one lets the loneliness consume them. i listen to the rain pat gently on the roof at night when i can’t sleep and stare at the moon in all its glory. i think about how anger unravels us and regret eats away at us and how we need tragedy. i keep my window open to hear all the soft sounds of the earth.

i cling to hope like an animal.

- Tiya

#tiya #newsletter

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euclydya · 2 years

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i'm doing alright, we just got lost a nail at work and dr. crane is a madman who just wanted us to?? continue work as usual? so i dipped. i do not have his level of pain tolerance. y'all's last song recommendations were really good; i ended up downloading every single one.

today i am recommending a bunch of shauna dean cokeland's music bc she is releasing a new song on spotify at midnight!

my recommendations are: this song saved my life by sdc for billy, moving in place (the song she is releasing this song tonight!) by sdc for eddie, electric blue by sdc for steve, reflections on the screen by superorganism for your jonathan, and "listen to your heart" "no." by cheekface for will. i hope he is doing alright over there.

dr. crane also wants poe to listen to truth is in the dirt by karen elson

Jesus christ that sounds painful what the fuck ausixiaks

We're glad y'all are okay though!! Those are all super great songs too, we don't fuck with TikTok but DAMN are there a lotta good musicians on there apparently omg

Our recs!:

Howard - Cake Bake Betty

Very,,, Haunting, I guess is the right word? We don't listen to her much at all but I Love the sounds and vibes of her music so far!! -Steve

The Mind Electric - Miracle Musical

ok now we're diving into the Important Songs™ JDJDIDKDKF

I suggest listening to this on YouTube cuz the first like 2 minutes is in reverse and it is. Cool but annoying to listen to. But anyways!! This song is. Super important to me! For some fucking reason! Cannot explain How Or Why but I. Love It. Especially this mashup that has like Every existing version of the song in it HFJFKF -Eddie

Tumbleweed - Puscifer

When we need to ground ourselves, this is one of our go-to songs,, It's also one of Those Songs™ in our library that has a lot of meaning/symbolism to a lot of people in our system, but for Billy and I specifically it's just... a good reminder to keep fuckin going tbh. -Groves (Billy's asleep rn lmao. She's fine just tired)

Good Morning, Captain - Slint

I don't,, know how this ended up on my playlist? I don't remember Listening to it before today actually lmao but looking through collective memories I can see Why it's on there, the ending lyrics are a punch to the gut honestly they're just so. Raw And Emotional. As are the rest of the lyrics, but those last few at the end of the song,,,, damn. -Jonathan

Daydreaming - Radiohead

I am doing just good I tthink! I'm getting used to. Being a person again and! talking! and! being! a person! :D /genuine

and ummm our Jonathan isn't letting me suggest the song I had in mind because it's "disturbing sounding" and "fucking unsettling" and he's like "what the fuck?? are you ok????" and i Am I just like songs that sound horrifying apparently! HDHDDHD

This is a good alternative though !! very very soft and quiet and feels like a soft blanket, when I make my playlist I'm putting this one on it ASAP (along with the song you recommended for me too!! I love it thank you!!) -Will

(His original choice was fucking. It's In My Blood by Coil, if you're curious. It's just,, 4 minutes of ambient noise and weird screeching with barely any lyrics it is So Goddamn Unsettling to like Everyone in the system, god fhfjdjd

Poe really likes the song Dr. Crane suggested for her too btw!! Her suggestion is Grace For Sale by Terrance Zdunich! -Jonathan)

#anon friend #music recs anon

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attackontitanff · 8 months

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All I Want For Christmas Is You: A Levi x Y/N Story

For as long as she could remember, Y/N has been in love with Levi Ackerman. So with the help of her friends, she decided to take matters into her own hands & make Levi’s Christmas & Birthday the most memorable one.

Y/N was currently daydreaming about Levi. She was head over heels in love with him and she wanted to make his birthday & Christmas the most special one ever. So she walked over to Eren & Mikasa who were currently sitting at the table eating breakfast.

Y/N: Eren, Mikasa, I need to talk with you.

Mikasa: Sure Y/n, what’s up?

Y/N: so you know Christmas is coming up in a few weeks and I don’t want a lot this year, but there’s only one thing I really need. The thing is, I’m in love with Levi & I really want him to be my boyfriend. Can you help me in any way?

Eren: *looks to Mikasa with a smile on his face* I’m pretty sure we can do something.

Y/N: *Hugs Mikasa & Eren* Thank You!!! I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do!! *Skips away happily*

Meanwhile in Levi’s room, he’s listening to the song All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey on constant repeat. Then he got a knock on his door.

Levi: come on in.

*Eren & Mikasa walk through the door, followed along with Hange, Conny, Jean, Sasha, Historia, & Ymir.*

Mikasa: Listening to Christmas music, are you?

Levi: Hey, don’t make fun, I for one, really love this song.

Eren: That’s awesome, there’s another person who loves that song just as much as you do.

Levi: Really, who is that?

Eren: Y/N, she is also head over heels in love with you and she only wants you for Christmas.

Levi: *Shocked* Really?

*All nodded*

Levi: I have a confession to make, I’m in love with her too.

Everyone: *Shocked Pikachu face*

Mikasa: Really? I never would’ve have guessed.

Levi: Well, it’s the truth. There’s just something about her that’s special. I guess it’s the fact that she’s always so kind, also the fact that I think she is the most beautiful woman on the planet. Those are some of the reasons why I fell for her.

Eren: what do you suggest we do? Any ideas?

Jean: *Raises hand* I have an idea. On Christmas Day, Levi becomes a gift for Y/N.

Hange: That’s a great idea, Jean!!

Conny: Not only that, have the song All I Want for Christmas is You playing.

Mikasa: That’s perfect, since the 2 of you love that Song so much, it will be a Christmas to remember.

*then they all went their separate ways, understanding of what they had to do.*

Meanwhile in Y/N’s room, she was decorating her room for Christmas and Belting All I Want For Christmas is You at the top of her lungs, unbeknownst to her, Levi walked past her room with a huge smile on his face and giggling silently at how happy she sounded.

*Time Skip to Christmas Eve Night*

Y/N came down the stairs in adorable Christmas Pajama’s because the girls were having a Christmas Movie night. How The Grinch Stole Christmas starring Jim Carrey was currently playing on the big screen and on the coffee table were plates of Christmas cookies and hot chocolate for them to snack on.

Hange: Oh Em Gee, Y/N, your’s pajamas are so adorable!!!

Y/N: Thank you Hange, this place looks incredible, I just hope that my Christmas wishes come true this year.

Mikasa: I hope so too!!!

Y/N: You and Eren are such a cute couple!! I wish I had someone to spend Christmas with.

Mikasa: *Blushing* Well I am lucky aren’t I? And don’t worry, Y/N, I’m sure everything will work out for you!!!

*We ended up watching 3 Christmas Movies after that: The Santa Clause, Arthur Christmas, & Home Alone.*

~Time Skip~

Mikasa: *Yawning* Man you guys, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.

Ymir: I agree. I think it’s probably best if we get to bed. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Good night everyone!!

*We all got up & stretched and we made our way upstairs with each of us going our separate ways.*

Mikasa: Good Night Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.

Y/N: Good Night, Mikasa.

~ TIME SKIP TO THE MORNING ~

Jean & Hange: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!!

Levi: Tch, Too much noise so early in the morning!!

Hange: Well, it is now Christmas Day, and your birthday, so It’s something to celebrate!!!

Levi: I’ll be more in the Christmas spirit after I’ve had my tea.

Hange: *Walking over to Levi as he was making his tea*. So, do you have everything ready to go?

Levi: *Looked over at Hange after taking a sip of his tea* “Yes, I do.

He then gestured over to the bag with a bunch of ribbon &!bows and a large tag that had ‘To: Y/N From: Levi’ in it.

Hange: Awesome. Be sure to keep that hidden from Y/N so you don’t spoil the surprise.

Levi: Will do, By the way, who is in charge of the song when I walk out and surprise Y/N?

Hange: Mikasa is in charge of the music. Don’t you worry, it will all work out.

Then Hange walked out of the kitchen leaving Levi alone with his thoughts, which were currently on Y/N.

~ TIME SKIP: to the Christmas Party ~

Everyone was gathered around the Christmas tree and passing around presents but Y/N was looking around the room at everyone and then seeing Eren & Mikasa looking adorable with their matching Christmas outfits. Of course you thought they were a cute couple, but you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous for not having that special someone to do stuff with.

Levi: *Get’s up* I’ll be right back.

Y/N looked after him as he walked away & heaved a deep sigh not knowing that he was going to surprise you in the end.

Then the song All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey started to play. Y/N started to smile and sing along. She then felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around to see Levi decorated in Christmas ribbons & bows and the large gift tag hanging around his neck like a necklace.

Levi: Merry Christmas, Y/N. I’m your Christmas present!! I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. It was always you. Will you be my boyfriend?

Y/N: *With tears of happiness in her eyes and her hand covering her mouth, nodded her head* Yes, a million times yes.

*Everyone Started cheering and jumping up & down.*

Levi: Look Up.

*Y/N looked up to see Mistletoe hanging above them.*

Levi: You know what that means :)

*Levi & Y/N shared a sweet kiss*

Y/N: I can honestly say you are the best present I’ve ever gotten. Happy Birthday, Levi!!!

Levi: *Smiled & hugged Y/N*

Eren: Congratulations you guys!! I can honestly say that you look so cute together!!

Mikasa: Sweeter than sugar plums, in my opinion.

Y/N: Thank you Mikasa, Eren. It really means a lot to us :)

And from that moment on, Levi & Y/N were inseparable. They lived happily ever after :)

The End :)

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bloodorangesoup · 3 years

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Ice Cream and Bad TV | B.B.

Request: Late night thoughts : The only porn bucky watches are the ones that come on tv at like 2 or 3 in the mornings. Imagine cuddling up with him on his living room floor, aimlessly clicking around until you stumble upon the channel & he gets flustered & shy about it & you fuck him while porn plays in the background. Like I think it’s so romantic🥺🥺 riding him while the soft glow of the tv illuminates his face. His moans & grunting blending in with the actors 😫😫

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble but I cannot for the life of me control myself)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ | cuddle fucking, unprotected sex(pretend ur on birth control for a sec)(still wrap it b4 your tap it), flustered Bucky, porn talk, the tiniest bit of sub!Bucky for like half a second, fluffy smut, you get the gist

My Masterlist

Notes: I did this in one sitting so sorry if it’s repetitive or has any mistakes. I think I have a major soft sport for flustered Bucky. I also had to think of a realistic name for a TV porn channel so bear with me. This is my first time writing smut in non-headcanon form so let me know how I did! Happy reading!

It was 2am on a Thursday night when your phone rang with your boyfriend's caller I.D. This wasn't the first time that Bucky had called you for this instance, it became a routine for you to talk him down after a nightmare and you prepared to do so when you picked up. Usually the first thing you would hear was his heavy breaths, the anxious buzz in his body making him fumble his words as he tried to focus on talking to you, so you were surprised to be met with still breathing and his typical deep, steady voice.

"Doll? You there?"

"Yeah, Buck, I'm here," you replied with a yawn, trying to sound as awake as possible. Bucky could hear the airiness of your voice and let out a sigh.

"Sorry, baby, I woke you up."

"You say that every time, I don't mind waking up for you. Besides, I don't have work tomorrow so I don't exactly need my beauty rest."

There was a pause. You could still hear static from the other side of the call but Bucky didn't say a word.

"Buck? You okay?" As if you snapped him out of a daydream, his hurried words rushed through the phone.

"Yeah yeah, sorry. I'm kind of out of it right now, I had another bad dream."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" You had expected his usual answer of yes, then you would listen to his thoughts and comfort him through the horrific reality that were his nightmares.

"You said you don't have work tomorrow? Do you think you could come over right now? Actually never mind, I don't know what I'm saying, it's 2am." You could practically see Bucky shaking his head as he took back his question.

"I'll be there in twenty, James. You better have some blankets and pillows ready for me because we're taking over your couch."

Bucky let out a breath over the line, "See you soon, y/n, love you."

"Love you more," you said quickly before hanging up, not letting him get in the last 'I love you.'

Forty minutes later you found yourself on Bucky's lap on his living room floor. You two had abandoned the idea of the couch and chose to make a small fort with the couch as your scaffolding. There was a surprising amount of pillows and blankets surrounding the two of you, you had no idea Bucky even owned them all.

He sat with his back against the couch, your legs laid over his and your arms were around his neck, bringing his head down to your chest. He talked about his nightmare, sparing you the gruesome details, and once he was done he closed his eyes and leaned further into your chest, breathing in your scent. You gave the crown of his head a kiss and rested your head atop his. Comfortable silence washed over the two of you before you spoke up.

“You know what always makes me feel better?” you asked, lifting your head just enough to look down at him.

“What?” he mumbled into your chest. A soft smile graced your face at his cuteness.

“Ice cream and bad TV!” you announced excitedly before wiggling out of his grasp.

You did a little jog to his kitchen and reached down into the freezer to grab a small pint of ice cream you knew Bucky always kept stashed for you whenever you came around. Picking up two spoons and turning off all the lights in the apartment on your way, you quickly made your way back into the living room, lifting Bucky’s arms to situate yourself back into your position on his lap. You popped the lid of the small tub and handed it to Bucky along with a spoon. With your hands now free, you felt around in the dark for the remote and turned on the TV.

Waiting for the TV to completely turn on, you ate a spoonful of ice cream. You hummed at the taste of the cold sweetness coating your tongue. You gasped as you opened your eyes, finding Bucky scooping out some ice cream and lowering it to your mouth.

“Oh wait, let me make this cuter!” you squealed with your eyes wide.

Copying Bucky’s actions, you took a spoonful and lifted it to his lips, the both of you opening wide and feeding each other. You giggled at the cliché moment and Bucky couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at how adorable you were.

You turned back to the TV, lifting the remote in your hands to change the channel to anything but the news that was already playing on the screen. As you flipped through sports recaps, music channels, infomercials, and movies that were already almost over, you sighed.

“Ugh, there’s nothing good on. Maybe if I start from the end of the list there’ll be better stuff,” you huffed.

Before Bucky could register what you said you had already typed in the biggest number you could enter and began flipping down through channels. Surfing through the empty screens, you landed on one called HotNet and suddenly the screen was completely taken over by a pair of boobs which then cut to a woman on her back and a man on top of her, rutting into her at a slow pace, while her moans echoed throughout the apartment. You quickly shuffled with the remote, trying to turn the volume down from it’s loud setting, spooked at the loud, obscene noise coming from the speaker.

“Oh my gosh, I wasn’t expecting that,” you laughed into Bucky’s chest, “God, I hope your neighbors didn’t hear that.”

Bucky stared at the screen with wide eyes, hoping you would change the channel before noticing that the channel was in the On Demand section. You gasped through your laugh, collecting yourself before turning back to the TV and shaking your head.

“Jeez, I didn’t even know they still had porn like this on public television.” You looked back down at the remote, clicking the Guide button. Bucky’s heart stopped as the description took over the screen, the video still playing in the top right corner. In bold letters the words On Demand titled the card. Even worse, the bottom of the screen displayed a small box containing the information,

$19.99

purchased with debit card xxxx-9758

You furrowed your brows in confusion, realization slowly softening them, before a mischievous smirk took over your face. You lifted your head to look at Bucky, his face looked down at your lap, refusing to meet your eyes. You tapped the bottom of his chin with the remote, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“Did you order TV porn, Jamie?” He could hear the teasing tone in your voice, and you only ever used that nickname when joking around, yet Bucky still felt extremely embarrassed. He felt as if he just got walked in on while touching himself. It didn’t help that it was you that saw it, he wanted to crawl in a hole and never look back.

“Ah, you’re blushing,” you squealed as you took his cheeks in your hands, “oh come on, it’s not that embarrassing Bucky.”

“Ugh, can we please pretend you didn’t just see that,” Bucky groaned, closing his eyes to escape your stare. He set down the ice cream next to him and lifted his forearm over his eyes.

You let out a breathy laugh, grabbing his shoulders to stabilize yourself and pushing up to swing your leg under you to the other side of his lap, you straddled him.

“Hey, it’s really not that bad. I mean we’ve had sex before Buck, I think you’d rather have me find this than Sam or someone else.” He let out another groan and lowered his head to lean against your neck.

“Angel, please don’t talk about Sam while you’re on top of me and there’s porn playing on the TV.”

You laughed and ran your hands down his arms, letting one of your hands run up behind his neck and weaving your fingers into his hair. You gripped the back of his head and gently tugged him back up to face you.

“Why,” you sang, deciding to have some fun with him in his flustered state, “is this turning you on?” you whispered the last part.

Before he could respond you leaned down and kissed him. You didn’t bother to start off slow as you usually would, Bucky could taste the hunger from every parting of your lips. His hands gripped your waist, you rocked your weight forwards to rub against him. Bucky’s head clouded, his senses felt overloaded in the best way possible, your movements mixed with the sounds of the moaning coming from the TV were getting him hot. You pulled back before getting too carried away, a smile on your swollen lips.

“So, baby, tell me about it.” You said. It was Bucky’s turn to furrow his brows and he cocked his head to the side in question, mind still foggy from the feeling of you grinding on him.

“What kind of porn do you watch?” you clarified, looking at him like you just asked what his favorite color was.

“Uhm, you want to know about that stuff?” Bucky looked at you with caution, feeling out if he should listen to you or not.

“Well, yeah. I mean I don’t know how it was back then, but most people nowadays watch porn. It’s not super taboo to talk about it,” you explained. You weren’t going to force him to talk about it if he really didn’t want to, but your desire to hear what Bucky was into was strong.

He hesitated for a moment, looking in your eyes and seeing curiosity clouded with lust. He cleared his throat.

“Well, pretty much this stuff,” he gestured with his hand to the TV before putting it back on your waist, “there’s this girl on there, she kinda looks like you, so I buy the videos with her.” He closed his eyes and internally groaned at his words, he didn’t mean to come off so perverted. God, you had already found his porn, the last thing he needed was for you to be thinking he was a creep.

“Y’know that’s actually kinda sweet,” you giggled, “what do you like about those videos?”

Feeling a bit more comfortable knowing you weren’t grossed out, Bucky continued.

“I like the ones where it’s dark and slow. It’s usually quiet and there’s candles and stuff,” he explained shyly. Of all the surprises that came with dating Bucky, you had to admit finding out he was into romantic porn was one of the biggest ones.

Bucky cleared his throat again before questioning you, “Do you watch porn?” He felt almost wrong asking that. He knew that women in this age were more sexually liberated, but the words still felt sticky in his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, of course I do.” Bucky seemed surprised at how casually you answered. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking you to go on.

“Well specifically, I actually really like the videos that are like this,” you said, your head looking down at you straddling him, he followed your gaze, taking in how nice you felt on his lap. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest. Your faces were so close your noses were almost touching. You could feel his rapid heart beat under your palm and the quick rise and fall of his chest. “Do you ever watch the ones that look like this, Bucky?” He looked up at you and nodded with wide eyes, his pupils were blown and his mouth was open like he was searching for the words to respond.

You grasped his jaw in your hand, your thumb on his chin, and looked him in the eyes. You wanted nothing more than to jump his bones, but with the newfound knowledge you had, you took your time with your actions. Within the last five minutes, Bucky had revealed to you not only that he liked soft, romantic porn, but that he also watched a specific actress because she looks like you. The one goal in your head was to fulfill his fantasy the best you could at the moment.

With his head still in your hand, you held your eye contact as you let your knees move out, grinding yourself against his growing erection. He let out an involuntary whimper. That was the last straw. You pulled his face to yours, joining him in a hard, yet loving kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pushing your chest against his, trying to get as close as possible.

Bucky’s dick was painfully hard. He couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of you on top of him. His body felt like it was on fire, he was insatiably horny and couldn’t control the way his hips bucked up to grind with you. He felt like a horny teenager the way his mind was filled only with images of you naked, imagining you like that on top of him like you were now.

You slipped your tongue past his lips, keeping your pace slow as you glided it across and bit at his lower lip. A moan made its way out of your mouth and into his as you felt him buck up against you.

You slid your hands down his chest, fumbling with the hem of his shirt before his arms raised, giving you access to peel it off him, throwing it up on the couch. Bucky kissed down your neck, licking over the shell of your ear, and sucking at the center of your throat. He reached down and slipped his hands under your shirt, sliding up and down your waist before gliding up and lifting your shirt over your head, discarding it with his.

Bucky wasted no time reaching around you and unclipping your bra and dragging it down your shoulders. He cupped your breasts, squeezing them with his large hands before bringing you into another tender kiss. Despite your frantic movements, there was a spark of passion cracking through the air, the both of you desperate to feel each other closer.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavily and resting your forehead against his.

“I wanna make love to you, y/n, please, let me make love to you,” he groaned with a slight whine in his voice. He sounded like he was about to crack.

“Please, Bucky.”

You leaned back on your hands and lifted your hips, giving Bucky the room to pull down your shorts and panties in a few swift tugs. He quickly got up on his knees and pulled down his sweats and boxers, sitting back down and tugging them off his legs. You reached your arms forward, Bucky grabbing a hold of your wrists and pulling you back to straddle him again. You gasped at the feeling of his cock under your bare pussy, your wetness from all the grinding and kissing making you slide over him.

You leaned forwards, capturing his lips between yours and raising yourself up on your knees. Reaching under yourself, you gripped his cock, wet with your arousal, and lined him up with your cunt. Bucky gripped your hips as you sank down on him, using every ounce of self control to stop himself from rutting up into you. You stayed like that for a second, adjusting to the way he filled you. Seeing the remote lying on the floor, you grabbed it and slightly turned up the volume, only enough so that you and Bucky could hear the actress in the video being ravished by her co-star.

Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you began to slowly move up and down over him, riding him just as you had told him you liked to watch. His hands moved up from your waist, squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples in between his fingers. You let out a hiss as he rolled them between his fore finger and his thumb, tugging on and rubbing his thumbs over them. He reached around to grab your ass, squeezing and rubbing your cheeks and you used him to pleasure yourself.

You were a moaning mess over him and he wasn’t much different. The room was filled with the sounds of the porn playing on the TV mixed with the sounds of your own cries of pleasure. If the neighbors hadn’t been woken up by the TV, they sure were by you two.

Bucky sat back on his knees, his hands slid down to your thighs, moving your legs from under them and wrapping your legs around his back. His arms worked their way back up to wrap around your waist, bringing you ever so close. The new angle pushed him even deeper up into you. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, giving you access to all the sweet, desperate sounds falling from his lips.

You were now pushing up with your feet behind him, rolling your hips over his. The new technique made your clit rub over his pelvis, the sensation making you throw your head back and let out a deep moan. He took the opportunity to continue kissing your neck, going lower with every lick and bite. He sucked at your collarbone, leaving a deep purple mark in its place.

Suddenly, he was using his arms to lift you up, not pulling out of you, and laying you down on the blanket-covered floor. You instinctively locked your ankles together, pulling him closer as he thrusted into you. Bucky had his metal arm holding himself up while his flesh one squeezed your breasts, feeling them move with his thrusts. He lowered his head to your chest and licked one of your nipples, grazing his teeth over it before taking it in between his lips and sucking. Your hands flew to the back of his head, singing praises as you wove your fingers into his hair. He continued to alternate between your breasts, leaving love bites around them and sucking on their sensitive peaks.

You could feel your body buzz with anticipation, you were so close. The moans escaping your mouth were lewd and uncontrolled. Bucky wrapped his flesh hand around your waist, lifting your chest flush against his.

You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up to kiss him. Nothing felt better than making love with Bucky felt. This was definitely not the first time you two had been intimate, but none of those previous times had ever been like this. You could feel the passion flowing through his body into yours. You looked up at his form over you, how beautiful he looked with the light of the TV screen glistening against the beads of sweat on his forehead. There was absolutely nothing in the world compared to having him, in all his beauty, to yourself like this.

Bucky’s heart was exploding in his chest. What had started out as an embarrassing, nightmare-fueled night had turned into the most intimate experience he ever had in his life. Love was already established in your relationship, but Bucky had never truly made love to you. He looked down in awe at your disheveled state, at the way your hair was sticking to your forehead, at the way the only light in the room gave you an angelic glow. He wanted nothing more than to give himself completely to you, to make you come all over him.

He leaned his forehead against yours, pushing his face forward once every few seconds to kiss you. He was close, and he wanted you to come with him. He leaned into you even more, his cheek pressed against yours, his lips next to your ear.

“I love you so much, y/n, God, you feel so good. I love you, I love you,” Bucky’s voice was deep and strained, his words being emphasized by each push into your wet pussy. You let out another loud moan.

“I love you, James,” you whined as he hit your sweet spot, “I love you so much.”

Bucky’s hand wedged itself in between the two of you, his fingers finding your clit and gently rubbing it. You were completely overwhelmed, this is what it felt like to make love to someone. Your body began to shake and your breathing became erratic. Bucky thrusted harder, working to push you over the edge.

“I want you to come in me, Bucky,” you gasped as his thrusts got faster and lost their rhythm.

Your mouth turned open in a silent scream as you came. Bucky felt your walls clench around him, squeezing the life out of him. He let out a shaky groan as he fell over the edge. His eyes shut tight and his body tensed as he spilled into you.

Wrapping his metal arm around your back and securing your body to his, he rolled on his flesh shoulder onto his back. You went limp against him, laying your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat slow down. He was still buried within you, connected to you. Letting your eyelids fall shut, you savored the feeling of being full of him and his love.

You lifted your head to kiss his jaw.

“I’m glad you called me, Bucky. I love you.”

“I am too, doll. I love you more.”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluffy smut #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes

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wincore · 4 years

Text

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of.

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low.

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours.

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget.

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore.

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume.

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type.

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises. If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts.

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself.

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask.

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it.

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it.

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily.

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year.

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately.

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one.

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt.

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover.

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours.

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth.

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words.

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table.

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad.

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back.

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing.

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters.

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs.

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.”

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can.

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off.

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating.

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know.

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young.

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.”

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling.

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung.

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses.

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention.

Inviting him somewhere.

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure.

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more.

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter?

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him.

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.”

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.”

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.”

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts.

You’re disappointing.

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose.

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps.

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask.

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you.

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue.

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.”

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you.

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families.

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe.

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard.

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them.

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out.

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure.

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up.

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt.

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder.

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart.

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it.

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him.

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak.

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time.

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional.

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love.

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved.

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding.

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either.

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple.

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action.

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t.

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days.

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.”

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by.

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers.

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever.

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout.

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!”

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?”

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this.

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose.

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond.

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—”

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder.

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him.

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too.

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again.

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling.

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you.

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care.

“Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there.

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally.

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer.

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.

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