#ill take my crumbs and eat them too

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[rouiyan]

𝘞𝘌’𝘙𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘌𝘙𝘚 [ 𝘭.𝘮𝘬 ]

⧏ back to teaser || redirect to playlist ⧐

marks manages to land himself in a forty-two hour drive across the country with his archaeology major ex-girlfriend in the passenger seat. but for the duration of the whole ride, the only thing he can think about is that one twitter meme that states that “a majority of archeologists are women due to their natural ability to dig up the past.”

✧ photographer!mark lee x (fem.) archaeology major!reader ✧ exes to lovers, road trip au, referenced college au ✧ genres — fluff/angst, hurt/comfort ✧ word count — 25.2k

✧ disclaimers — profanity, mentions of food, legal (u.s.) alcohol consumption, they make out like once, emotional insecurity and vulnerability (i.e. several panic attacks, social anxiety), possible terminal illness (not of mcs), generational conflict, y/n cries a lot, mark sucks at parking

✧ caveat — this fictional plot is set in present-day america and does not accurately reflect the locations referenced. furthermore, this publication is not an endorsement of the brand or the product featured. all credit is given where it is due. (sources linked upon conclusion)

✧ author’s note — happy 24th birthday to my dear mark! note that the first scene is the exact same as the teaser, so if you've read that already, feel free to skip over! also note i half-assed the proofread so please let me know of any typos, plotholes, and other stupid stuff that i forgot to adjust. as for myself, you can catch a little update on the past two years of my life at the end of this fic so for now, enjoy!

「 DAY 00, 01:42 PM 」 — CUPID DABBLES IN BURNT TOAST

"oh, come on. i thought you were nicer than that!"

it's at times like these where mark is led to think that haechan only considers him as his very best friend for three things. his toaster, his car, and then of course, how easy it is to torment him.

he’s experienced enough to know that the guilt he feels is really only a direct result of haechan's guilt-tripping antics. and so he responds sarcastically, "yeah, nice enough to save a girl from a week of being in close proximity to the person she hates most in the world."

the toaster dings and haechan catches the two pieces of toast in their flight. he sticks one in his mouth, breaking off a bite, whilst turning to toss the other onto his friend's plate. chewing roughly, he leans back onto the counter opposite of mark, watching in contempt as the latter spreads jam across the burnt slice of bread.

haechan points a finger and juts it in his direction, offhandedly commenting, "i'm starting to think that it's you who hates her," a fact that both friends know isn't true. and because of that, mark doesn't make a big deal of denying it. "i don't hate her. i'm just..." he trails off and haechan takes the opportunity to craftily stage his intervention.

"not trying to make her uncomfortable?"

"yeah, i guess."

"not wanting her to hate you more?"

"there's that too."

"not over her?"

"hey, not cool."

a passage of silence elapses as mark sets the butter knife aside in exchange for his orange juice. gulping it down, he gets through two thirds of the glass before haechan perks up again. "actually, i think she still has a thing for you."

mark sputters, barely swallowing his drink before it could hurl out his disbelieving mouth. trying to smooth over his show of defiance, mark recovers a nonchalant expression as he deadpans, "there's no way. you know better than i do that she fucking hates me."

haechan takes another bite, aware but indifferent at how the crumbs have been gathering at his feet. his eyes trail absentmindedly to the clock on the wall behind mark, but only briefly for the hands are far past where he'd expected them to be. shoving the last of the toast into his mouth, he rushes to gather his belongings whilst uttering to his bewildered company, "shit, i'm gonna be late. pack it up."

obediently downing the rest of his orange juice, mark grabs his half-eaten, jam-slathered, burnt-to-a-crisp toast in one hand as the other reaches for his car keys on the way out. the unbearably hot sun of an early summer afternoon only hurries mark further along to his car, his wishes that he had worn shorts instead of jeans already too late to come true. but once both car doors have been shut and seat belts have been strapped, haechan carries on with his agenda without missing a beat.

"just give her the ride, mark. she'll keep you company and, i don't know, make sure you're not falling asleep at the wheel. and plus, she said she'll split the toll and gas fees."

mark shoves the last bite of toast into his mouth, the charred-ness of it procuring a nice crunch. even after he swallows, it takes him a second to respond. and though his answer is still far from budging, it sounds more like a justification, as if he needs convincing of his own opinion. "tell her it's cheaper to just catch a flight. and faster too."

exasperated, haechan retorts under his breath, "that's the same thing i told you," to which mark gives a raised brow, not catching what he said. instead of repeating, haechan only says, "just take her. you guys need to make up anyways."

that renders mark quiet for the rest of the ride as he tosses the thought over in his head. it's a thought that he knows he's been pushing away for far too long, hoping one day it'll become redundant enough to simply forget about. unknowingly, mark begins to speed a little, his turns become a little tighter, and when the traffic light signals red, the nose of his car is pulled daringly close to the car in front.

mark parallel parks shoddily in front of the archeology department building four minutes earlier than google maps had estimated. his best friend looks over at him expectantly and that in itself is enough to squeeze the reluctant words right out of him. "fine, i'll think about it."

haechan's face lights with a satisfied glow as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, making his way out of the car as quickly as he can. and just before mark can think to wish him good luck on his last exam of the spring semester, haechan blurts out the one crucial detail he had neglected to bring up until now. 

"thank god, because i already told her you said yes."

「 DAY 01, 07:48 AM 」 — ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

the trunk of his beloved subaru crosstrek slams shut from behind. mark winces. the car door of the passenger seat slams shut shortly after. mark winces once again, but doesn't venture to comment on it. instead, he comments on something else entirely. "so why am i picking you up from the hospital?"

you roll your eyes, traces of hostility already to be found in your expression. "as if that's any of your business." you position the tote bag you brought up front by your feet and the contents inside clank against one another. mark gives you a questioning look, thus questioning, "what’s in there? rocks?"

instead of answering with what he would assume to be the same thing you said prior, you simply huff and lean back into the seat to fasten your seat belt. mark does the same, then hastens to shift the gears from park to drive. "you ready?"

lips set into a firm line, you're staring straight ahead when you say, "ready to get this over with." mark takes that as his cue to start the forty-two hour drive across the country, past barren lands and hilly roads, trading the smog of new york for the smog of los angeles.

the drive begins with a screeching hour of silence, all of which you’ve spent scrolling on your phone. and when you finally look up from your screen, the city view outside has already mellowed into sprawling countryside. mark takes this new development as a window of opportunity to spark up conversation, although you beat him to it nonetheless. “how many stops are we taking?”

he clears his throat for fear of a cracking voice and gathers his scattered thoughts to form a response. “about two or three times a day.”

“and how many days are we gonna be on the road?”

“three to four. i’m thinking we should take a few overnight stops as well. and also,” there’s a break in his sentence where he stops to scrunch his nose, “i might want to stop at random points to shoot some pictures. is that fine with you?”

you take your eyes off the road momentarily to get a good look at mark. he has a hand on the wheel and the other propped up by the window adjacent, eyes held forward all the while. looking back ahead yourself, you give in with a slight hitch of indignation in your otherwise colorless voice. “sure, why not.”

mark refers back to a time where the silent air between the two of you would sit comfortably and thinks of how he might have brought about conversation back then. he tries, as he might, to do the same with this scenario, catching the moment before the prolonged silence warrants it too late. “so what’s your business in LA?”

surprisingly, he spots less bite in your tone the more you speak. “my sister asked me to be maid of honor at her wedding next week.” mark’s automatic response comes out first as a laconic, “oh nice” but he follows up quickly after with an inquiring, “is it...is it still jaehyun? or is that a thing of the past?”

“it’s still him. they’ve been engaged for a while, remember?”

mark nods in agreement. he even remembers that exact phone call you received from your sister on the day your freshman year finals ended. sat across the couch, he can even recall the way you tried to motion the whole conversation with your hands to him while on the phone with her, your excitement on full display when you later hugged him tight since he was the only other person in the room.

he bites down on his bottom lip at the thought of the memory that’s still fresh in his mind. time seemed to pass more quickly for him now that it wasn’t divided into semesters and school years. taking a glance over at you, mark can’t help but think that while college life turned out to be unsuitable for him, it had done wonders for you in just the past year.

with little to no trace of the temper you initially harbored, your voice is about as neutral as it gets when you take your turn in questioning him. “what about you? what are you doing in LA?”

his answer is simple, really. his plan originally focused more on capturing the sights along the way to LA rather than the city itself. but seeing as how you’d expressed wanting to make the trip as curt and necessary as possible, he acquiesced for the lesser truth. “i’m just planning on taking some pictures and meeting some friends there. it’s a change of scenery too, i guess.”

the prospect of conversation eased in difficulty the more it steered in the direction of friendly small talk and catching up with one another. his career and his career-related decisions were always somewhat of a prickly topic, after all. his parents scorned him for it, calling it “easy money” that would just as easily come and go. his friends always said he just got lucky in the industry. and his old professors had shook their heads when he told them about his plans to drop out. 

to mark, you were the only one who had ever cared to really understand his relationship with the passion that was now his life’s work. and because of that, his answer comes most naturally when you ask him, “what’s still keeping you in new york, though? i mean, you’re not there for school anymore and you’re not exactly a street photographer either.”

and without a thought to spare, mark blurts out, “you.”

what a perfect way to kill a perfectly fine conversation, he thinks in the midst of the grand silence that follows. red creeps its way up from his next to his ears until he’s flushed clean with embarrassment and terrible terrible regret, the only consolation being that your eyes seemed to be glued up ahead and not at him.

although it seems you’ve since dropped the conversation — seeing as how you’ve checked your phone five times in the last five minutes — you still make it your job to clear the air for any future attempts at conversing. after all, you’re going to be stuck with him for the entirety of the next three days. and that’s at the very least.

“mark, i don’t even want to know what you meant by that, but can we just keep our distance as…” you pause when you realize there really isn’t an appropriate label to describe your relationship with him. what do you call someone that you know really well, but aren’t on talking terms with, and have a long history of romantic instances with?

at the three-second mark in your hesitation, he lends a hopeful suggestion, “as friends?” and it’s another three unsure seconds spent on your end — unease on his — until you finally give in with a sigh and a small, albeit resolute nod. “as friends.”

he’s going at almost a hundred miles per hour on the empty road when you noticeably look over at him in time to catch the quirk of his lips, before he reassesses with a nod of his own in confirmation. with the first of (what you’re sure will be) many awkward exchanges passed, you reach a hand into the backseat to draw forth a thin blanket. “alright, i’m going to continue sleeping then.”

“mhmm,” he hums, watching in the corner of his eye as you lower the seat back. the position you assume, curling into the blanket, is as familiar as it gets and mark is reminded of countless road trip memories that he has never bothered to unearth. he sighs. “go ahead, we got all the time in the world.”

and after making sure you’ve fallen fast asleep with your slowed breathing and occasional snores, mark slows the car to a cruising 70 miles per hour.

「 DAY 01, 10:33 AM 」 — MORE THAN I THOUGHT

“keep right to stay on the i-81 south.” you slit an eye open, wide enough to see that the road ahead is blanketed in a gleaming white. the sun must’ve parted from the clouds. you close your eye in an attempt to fall back asleep. but just before you do, the automated voice from mark’s phone perks up again. “keep right to stay on the i-81 south.”

annoyed and disgruntled, you shrug the blanket off of you and, this time, crack both eyes open. sitting up in your reclined seat, you rub at your eyes and realize two things. one, the car is no longer moving. and two, you’re in the car alone. suddenly alert, you jab your finger into the ‘cancel’ button on his phone just as it continues its mantra of “keep right to sta—” and grab your own phone as you make your way out of the car.

the car itself is parked haphazardly in front of what is labelled to be a colon and rectal surgery building, with half the whole vehicle outside of the designated lines. but just as you begin to question mark’s motives, you turn to see a vast expanse of water on the opposite side. there’s small islands and clumps of trees jutting out and just across you can see a rise of buildings in the distance. 

approaching the road that separates you and the riverbank, you bring a hand to shield your eyes from the light of the sun which you have yet to adjust to. and sure enough, through the blinding haze you make out a figure on the other side of the road, unruly black hair scuffed by the wind with a giant camera held at his hip. his other hand is held in the same shielding stance as you, and even his posture alone is enough to tell you that it’s mark.

both hands now cupping your mouth, you yell out a resounding, “mark!” just as a truck whizzes by but when the body of it passes, the man is revealed to be looking back at you with a silly smile plastered across his face. he holds the heavy film camera with both hands now, as he rushes up the slight grassy incline and jaywalks casually across the street.

you’re about to scold him for not even looking out for any incoming cars but up close, he only grins harder. mark is less than five feet away when he thinks to enlighten you, his beaming smile quickly growing sheepish, “google maps told me to keep right but i stayed on the right for so long, i ended up exiting the highway altogether.” his free arm gestures outwards in exclamation while he beams, “but look where we ended up!”

the sincerity of his bright eyes and bright smile puts a dampener on the tension, so much so that you even venture to joke, “the upmc pinnacle colon and rectal surgery center?” whilst pointing back to the sign. “you’ve no idea how confused i was when i woke up.”

“sorry about that. we’re in harrisburg now. so i’m guessing this is the susquehanna river.”

you shoot him a surprised look, “nice. almost halfway through pennsylvania.”

he ducks his head, a small smile adorning his nod in agreement, “yeah almost.” mark likes this new development of mood you seem to be in. chipper? not exactly. but much more pleasant than before? absolutely. he knows from personal experience that it’s the sleep. good sleep and good food do that to you. and thus he suggests, “should we get a quick brunch before getting back on the road?”

your eyes ignite a glow — rival to his — at the sound of brunch, though you have enough patience to consider, “did you get all the pictures you wanted already?”

mark nods once again, even though he isn’t even through a fourth of his first roll of film. he figures he’ll have plenty more opportunities to use it up down the line. plus, he likes the little smile on your face way too much to be the one to deny you what you want. and so he rushes to get his equipment back in their travel straps and he clambers back into the driver’s seat, all to careen his way about four blocks down to the mcdonald’s (but only after you’d shaken your head whilst he was pulling up at the wendy’s).

he orders drive through and you’re pleasantly surprised when he turns to ask, “same as usual?” and though you’re sure your usual order has changed at least once or twice in just the last year, you nod anyways. mark pays at the till and you’re handed a sausage burrito with large fries. as you’d supposed, it’s not your most up-to-date order but at this point, almost anything will get your mouth watering.

at your first bite, you sneak a glance over at mark. his head is bowed over the egg mcmuffin in his lap, hands clasped lightly together as he says grace. looking away, you give an unprompted chuckle under your breath in remembrance of his faith, new memories ringing up old habits in the back of your mind.

the next time you place a glance towards him, there’s crumbs littering the lap of his jeans and sauce smothered around the curves of his mouth. and when he looks over at you, an eyebrow raised in question at the sudden onset of attention you’re giving, you pay little mind to the fact that you have to stifle yet another chuckle in exchange for simply tossing a napkin his way. 

sitting here in the passenger seat of his car, you can’t help but think that there must be something inherently wrong about spending time with an ex. especially when the two of you parted on terms that seemed somewhat insignificant, though only at the surface of things.

for the most part, mark was a good boyfriend. and the mark that sat to your left doesn’t seem any different than the mark you knew back then. maybe he got around to shaving his stubble a little closer and cleaning up his car a bit more often, but he wears the same carhartt jeans, eats as clumsily as he always had, and still drives his car as if he had extra lives to spare.

from his nose scrunches to his dutiful faith, the mark you’re sat next to now is undeniably the same mark you fell in love with what seems like ages ago.

and as he backs out of the parking space, almost reversing straight into the car opposite, you catch the uttered “shit” that falls so casually from his lips. the same lips that you could never get enough of against yours. the song that’s blaring from the speakers is a favorite of his, you know that best, and it has him humming lightly with the same voice that once serenaded you to sleep. his fingers drum incessantly on the steering wheel as he waits for a red light to turn green, the same fingers that once struggled, but succeeded against all odds, in learning how to braid your hair.

you swallow thickly and think of how unfair this has come to be. it feels impossible to have to sit with the fact that you revoked his license as your boyfriend, but now have to regard him as just a friend. it’s the same as holding someone you once held close at arm’s distance. and it’s like trying to purposefully forget the name of your favorite show, or your beloved dog, or even your own name. 

all of a sudden, you feel like you’ve been caught in a fervid windstorm so strong that it threatens to uproot whatever reasonings had kept you grounded, amplifying whatever feelings lingered in his wake. except, the only thing you have left to hold onto is the realization that although the mark in the driver’s seat is the same mark you fell in love with way back when, he’s also the same mark that broke your heart without even a single word said.

「 DAY 02, 01:17 AM 」 — MARK LEE SMOKING?? (100% CLICKBAIT)

a bout of carsickness hits you at seven in the evening, right after sitting in at a roadside diner that served mashed potatoes that were suspiciously tinted green. but even after he pulled over so you could throw up on the side of the road, you’d implored mark to keep on driving until the two of you were at least at the outskirts of illinois. and that had happened on three separate occasions.

reluctantly, he’d kept his promise and poorly parked his car in front of relax inn, the closest and cheapest place that google maps could turn up. located in marshall, illinois with a striking two-star rating, it had everything you needed: free parking, shitty wifi, and even complimentary breakfast. or, it had everything you needed except two separate and unoccupied rooms.

you had been surprised, at first, when the man at the front counter had only charged mark $58. but that was after he had conveniently left out that the amazing deal was actually for only one room, not two. sighing, you drop your bag to the ground in resignation at the sight of the single queen-sized bed. despite the stiff sheets and musty smell, it still stands to look inviting after ten hours, give or take, of almost nonstop driving.

with only two stops taken for restroom breaks or gas fill-ups, you figure that either one of you has reason enough to claim the bed. there is a thought of mentioning how the two of you had slept side by side with no sexual implications many times before but it’s fleeting, dismissed, and gone within seconds.

instead, you begin drafting your argument, pulling out the persuasive points of your monologue about why you were more deserving of the bed. sure, he’d driven the car the whole while, his eyes must be strained and his ability to concentrate and energy have probably been rendered null. you, on the other hand, could pull the motion sickness, weak composition, nauseated passenger princess card. yeah, surely that’d do the trick.

your opening lines are right at the tip of your tongue, ready to win over a hefty opponent, when you turn to see that mark has already situated his belongings on the ground by the couch. wary of how you’d been standing there for a good two minutes completely unmoved, he looks your way and very plainly comments, “you take the bed. i’m fine with the couch.”

and suddenly you feel very supremely guilty for having even thought of going into a full-blown verbal altercation for a slightly more comfortable place to rest. you now think about thus commencing a full-blown verbal altercation over the slightly less comfortable place to rest, if not to ease your guilty conscience, then just out of politeness. but you digress because after all, mark is way too nice and you’re way too in need of a good night’s sleep. even if it’s just slightly better.

laying in bed, scrolling on your phone, you recall that this is how it’s always been with mark. that at one point, you became too tired of always trying to be the nicer person out of politeness when mark had the kind of genuineness you’d find in about one of a million persons. sometimes, a simple exchange of things like who should get the bed could blow itself out of proportion without either of you meaning for it to have gone that far. you came to the conclusion long ago that fights about who was the nicer person weren’t necessarily fights on character, but rather just fights like any other. and choosing to let mark carry through with his niceness — accepting the last french fry, taking his jacket when it was chilly, and now letting him have the couch — didn’t mean you were inconsiderate. in a way, it was a compromise of its own to allow him the opportunity to be of service to you.

you think of showering the following morning for it seems unlikely that you’d depart the comfort and looming sleep the bed provides. squirming around, you tuck yourself under the blankets but before you could fully relinquish your body to the confines of sleep, a soft rustling by the edge of the bed coaxes your eyes to open a sliver.

mark’s squatting so that you’re right at eye level with him. his hair is mussed more than the wind had done and wet at the tips, sticking up in several places that seem to defy the laws of gravity. with an elbow set on the bed, he peers at you over the screen of his phone, eyes wide and set in the frame of his black-rimmed glasses. he doesn’t whisper though his voice comes out so low, you wouldn’t be able to tell much of a difference anyways. “sorry, i know you’re tryna sleep. just wanted to ask when you’d want to wake up tomorrow.”

repositioning to face him, you smush the side of your cheek into the pillow and the unease in mark’s face ebbs away. half alseep and a good amount dehydrated, your throat is scratchy when you pass it back to him, “what do you think?”

mark scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, “i, uh well… maybe six...?” and he traces your eyes as they find the clock on the nightstand. it reads 2:02 AM and he seems to share the same thought as you. “...thirty? six-thirty?”

you close your eyes, already losing your grasp on what he just said as you mumble out the last of your thoughts, “okay, we’ll grab breakfast downstairs and leave at seven?”

whatever he responds with goes in one ear and out the other. and it isn’t until he wakes you up, bright and early at 6:20 AM, that you remember the conversation even happened. in reality, you roll around in bed, trying to find another sweet spot that will lull you back into sleep, for about ten whole minutes. by the time you’ve given up, gotten out of bed, and begun collecting your garments for the shower, it’s 6:30 on the dot. it doesn’t even register in your mind that mark had accounted for your scheduled morning bout of grogginess until you’re out of the shower with a clearer head.

you sit across from him at breakfast and he passes the black pepper when you spoon your scrambled eggs. he offers to go refill your orange juice at one point and at another he apologizes adamantly for accidentally nudging your foot under the table. it’s only after he takes your empty plate with his back to the clean-up counter that you really bother to take a good look at him.

he must’ve skipped his morning shave, for his stubble is visible though not much more than a mere shadow. there’s a silver chain at his neck, one with a dangling cross pendant, and it sits prettily atop his plain black pocket tee. mark leads the way towards the front desk to check out. you notice the way he swirls the both the room key and car key around his fingers, his straight posture when he walks depite the heavy backpack mounted on him, and even the worn-in outline of his wallet from the rear pocket of his jeans.

and when he mistakens the pristinely cleaned glass door for a wide opening, resulting in a blooming red splotch on his forehead, you take the time to consider his big endearing head, and his big boyish eyes, and his big sloppy smile. you laugh along with him, but perhaps for more of a different reason. mark may have a big head, but at least it’s filled with good and godly things. 

seconds later in the parking lot and you think to rescind those same regards. mark may be nice but there’s no way you’ll be the one to compromise on this one.

you’re fully in the seat and ready to get the car going, except mark is standing right where the door should be closing with his arms crossed and a foot hiked up on the frame of the car. his stance is a plain show of defiance, as are his firmly-stated comments. “i’m not letting you drive. you were vomiting everywhere just last night.”

“give me the keys, i need my redemption arc to happen right now.”

mark only tilts his head in disapproval, eyes boasting a look that emanates something along the lines of ‘are you kidding me?’ you press your lips thin in consideration, realizing that this has turned out to be harder than you’d bargained for. eyeing the keys hanging loosely from his left hand, you decide that your efforts were going to amount to nothing if not by way of force.

when you lunge for the keys, mark takes that you’re attacking him or something of the sort, throwing his hands out in front to block. in the three seconds the debacle had taken to unfold, the sharp end of the car key had scraped the length of your inner arm, nicking your skin clean apart. much to your chagrin and his relief, you end up in the passenger seat anyways.

mark wipes diligently at the long cut with an alcohol pad, whilst you use your unpunctured arm to search for where he’d claimed the first aid kit with the bandaids would be. you look away from the glove box to find his unimpressed disposition, and you hold the gaze until he meets it. but he only meets it for a split second before ducking his head back down to the red-stained alcohol pad, muttering low but loud enough for you to catch. “god you’re a mess, y/n.”

you return your attention to your search for bandaids, eyes rolling far into the back of your head. “i already admitted defeat. do you have to rub it in?” to which he responds with but a fleeting laugh. and by the time he can come up with a, “there we go, all clean,” you’ve conjured four bandaids for him to top it all off.

as mark busies himself with finding the most appropriate arrangement that would cover the length of the cut, you shove the first aid kit back to where you’d retrieved it in the far corner of the glove box. it’s then that the streak of red that was presumably tucked behind it catches your eye.

by the time mark returns from discarding the wipes and bandage packaging, it’s already too late for him to stop what’s to come. the red box — at first glance, what looks to be a sizable pack of cigarettes — had already found its way into your unsuspecting hands.

「 DAY 02, 07:09 AM 」 — BROCKHAMPTON SATURATION II, TRACK #16

when haechan first introduced his sophomore photography major best friend to you back in freshman year of college, he had described him as the guy with no emotional depth. and you had shaken his outstretched hand anyways, awkwardly laughing along even though you had no idea that it was an inside joke between the two of them.

you laughed again on christmas day, same year, same joke. however, you still had yet to figure out what it meant when haechan had gifted your new boyfriend the card game, cased in a brilliant red box. he had said something along the lines of “maybe this’ll get him to dig deeper” and your group of friends, most of whom had known mark since high school, seemed to find it funny and fitting.

the game itself, you knew; it was a popular drinking game among your college friends. you had played it several times yourself at more intimate gatherings, the reflective conversational prompts amounting to several instances of sob fests, tissue shortages, and long hugs. it was good for heartfelt conversations, and apparently mark wasn’t one for feelings. put two and two together and that made enough sense for you to laugh along and move on without much thought.

but well over two, almost three, years later, you wonder why it’d been shoved into the back of his glove box, the plastic wrap still intact and pristine. it’s as if mark had quite literally buried his feelings into the depths of this car, subsequently forgotten and later dug up by his girlfriend turned ex. life’s a funny thing, because only now as his ex-girlfriend do you understand what the gag gift meant in the first place.

looking out upon the barren gas station, you feel restless standing in the face of ten — bordering eleven — hours of driving beside mark of all people. but when he slips into the seat beside you, freshly washed hands wiping themselves down the length of his jeans, you begin to think of a better, or at least more interesting, way to pass the time. holding the box of cards out for him to see, your bouncing leg finally comes to a still as you suggest, “wanna play?”

mark regards the box with a joking manner, and while his casual, “yeah, why not” might prove his act of nonchalance convincing, you like to think you know him better than to look past the way his eyes had lingered, or the hesitance set in his brows, or even the readjusting of his position. he starts up the engine and moves the gear out of park as you fumble with the plastic wrapping. a small tear later and you’re peeling back the packaging, throwing small glances at mark’s way whilst he throws unsure glances at the box of cards.

two minutes back on the i-70 west, you’ve shuffled the cards until your fingers began to feel sliced through, and only then did you deem it time to begin. fanning the deck out to your left, you gesture for mark to select his first pick. he shakes his head and wordlessly gestures back at you to make the first move, a lick of his lips giving his uncertainty away.

shoving the rest of the deck into one of the cup holders on the middle console, you read along as your other hand sets forth in finding your phone. “wildcard. press shuffle on your music library. explain the first song that comes up!”

phone in hand, you look over at mark inquiringly, “me or you?” and if you had to guess his next words, there’d be no doubt that it’d be a stiff and uttered, “you.” almost taking glee in his squirmishness, you pull up spotify on your phone and click into your mess of a “liked songs” playlist. mark passes you the carplay cord and you plug it in, pressing the shuffle button apprehensively after the beep indicates it’s been connected.

heavy piano chords pan out from the speakers and a smile is slow to spread across your face as you come to a realization of what song it is. for better or for worse, mark seems to know as well, retracting his gaze from the road for less than a second to meet your eyes. there’s a sort of ‘ahh’ in them, an understanding, an underlying fondness.

in the heat of the summer…

“do i really have to explain?”

you know that you should be my boy.

“give it a go at least.”

in the heat of the summer…

“well…”

you’re so different from the rest.

you find yourself at a loss for words. amongst many other things that arise in this moment, your train of thought does its best to rationalize. why was this song still in the playlist? simple, you forgot to take it out. it’s only normal that things get buried with time. why can’t you just say that to him, then? simple, because then it’d be so easy for him to brush it off as a lame excuse, a cover-up, as to how plainly you still held onto your relationship. what the fuck are you feeling? panic. doubt. frustration. longing.

panic at the thought that he would read into it too much. doubt at the thought that there were other reasons for why you’d let this song gather dust in your playlist. frustration at the thought that there was only you to blame for this situation that you’d gotten yourself into. and longing. longing that had sat untouched for the same amount of time you’d decided to shove your feelings away instead of confronting them. longing that had since settled into your flesh and bones, going unnoticed. longing that, at the first chords of this song, had you casting your eyes downwards from the road ahead.

hastily, you grab for your water bottle, taking steady but large gulps. suddenly, your throat had become too dry. swallowing thickly, you wonder why the lump in your throat refuses to fall back. your breathing becomes noticeably haggard while the thing lodged in your throat remains. at the slightest indication of mark’s head turning your way, you snap your own in the direction of the window to avoid his questioning gaze.

biting down on your lip, your eyes fall closed even with the sprawling hills unfurling just outside. the sun is climbing to its height, as is your sudden onslaught of emotions that drowns out all noise except the sound of mark humming along to the song. you are numb, you are deaf, you are void of everything except his voice.

“do you remember?”

reverberating through you, it’s all you are able to feel.

“do you remember last summer at the lake?”

mind emptied, it’s all you know.

“it’s one of my favorite days, i’ll have you know.”

body capsized, it floods you. and it fills you to the brim until you can’t take it anymore.

“isn’t it funny that all my favorite days have been spent with you?”

and when it overflows, it comes in the form of tears.

your vision blurs and the wetness on your cheeks is quickly pulled into a pool at the edge of the seat. closing your eyes is a daunting task, even then, because you know just what you’ll see. you make the mistake of trying to blink away the tears, making them fall far faster than they had before. but for what it’s worth, it had been a favorite day of yours as well, albeit bittersweet.

the water was emerald green and the grass was knee-high. the sun rested overhead for almost fourteen hours a day and you had a tan comparable to that of a professional-grade spray. the wind was light though unrelenting, apparent in the way the clothes strewn across the clothesline were at the cusp of being carried away. everything under the sun was warm to the touch. the rocks, the grass, the water, his skin.

you snap your eyes open and only then do you notice that the car has come to a stop, pulled over to the side of the road. your hand is pressing into your forehead and the tears are still running free when you care to peer over in mark’s direction. both hands resting on the wheel, his eyes emanate in concern, lips pulled tight as if an apology was attempting to push past from within. it’s hard to pinpoint your finger directly to it, but there’s something about his expression that ticks you off so greatly that you regard him for less than a second before slipping out of the car.

the first inhale of fresh air makes the stuffiness inside the car feel like you had been breathing in water. the wind, just as it had been that day, is light though unrelenting, and it dries clean the tears in your eyes. your body sags and you give your weight into the side rails of the road, sitting against it and heaving thorough breaths to bring you some peace of mind. if you stared at your surroundings for long enough, the short grasses growing beside the road would grow long and the valleys in between the hills would carve out an emerald lake. the warmth would find its way back to you, but it’s far from pleasant and rather close to burning, scorching even. you fist and unfist your hands, recoiling from even the thought of it.

instead, you focus on the way the roughened wood of the rail nips at your skin through the thin spandex of your shorts. when you shift your position, the metal that accompanies it is hot to the touch and the uneven pavement beneath you is riddled with its fair share of pebbles and wood chips alike. taking your time, you come to pay more mind to your breathing, allowing the intakes to fill up your belly rather than your chest. the sky is a clear blue, the single cloud is pear-shaped, you can count up to seven peaks in the hills, and there are four dirt patches within your line of vision. it’s these little things that ground you.

seven minutes past. you hear a car door open you but you never hear it close. footsteps stop maybe three feet from your left but they never step any closer. he says, “whenever you’re ready,” but he never says anything more. 

and perhaps that’s what hurts the most.

「 DAY 02, 01:56 PM 」 — LITTLE CRAZY LOVE SONG, MARY OLIVER 2014

“what’d you say?”

“nothing much, really—”

“well, you obviously said something if she’s voluntarily passed out for the last six hours.”

static crinkles on the other end and mark looks around at the endless stretch of trees surrounding the lone gas station. the signal is clearly not having its best moment here in the thick of the forest, but he rejoins anyways. 

“i brought up last summer…” he trails off, hoping that just the season would provide enough context to tell of the situation without him explicitly having to name it as terrible, godawful, and no good whatsover. to be frank, mark wasn’t expecting understanding and empathy when he dialed haechan’s number. hell, he wasn’t even expecting to receive encouragement and good faith. perhaps all he wanted was recognition for the bad deed he’d committed and someone for him to bicker out his frustration with. and surely, haechan delivers just that.

“mark, you whole-hearted idiot. wh—”

“okay but in my defense, i thought we were having a momen—”

“i think only you were having a mo—”

“it just slipped out, i swear it wasn’t on purpo—”

“how the fuck did you think she’d react to your sappy bullshi—”

“—but it’s all cool now.”

the other end goes flat after mark’s statement and he thinks it’s owed to the faulty service, until haechan sputters in disbelief, breaking the quiet at an ear-splitting decible, “cool? you call that cool?!” mark furrows his brow at his friend’s overuse of emphasis whilst he busies himself with retrieving his credit card one-handedly. he knows that somewhere along the line, he fucked up. and he thinks he knows exactly where but at the same time, mark isn’t quite in the headspace to own up to it. so he retaliates.

“it’s like you set me up for failure.”

haechan justifies, “hey, it’s not like i did anything wrong. a friend needed a ride and i found someone who could give her just that.” but mark can hear the sarcasm in his voice and he decides he would rather confront his friend than question his ex. “i highly doubt she’d be down for a forty-two hour drive over a six-hour flight. what the fuck did you even say to convince her?”

the younger doesn’t waver when put in the spotlight. in fact, he gives it away as if it’s all just a fun prank on his end. and that’s not to say that isn’t at least partially the truth.

“i told her you already agreed to take her, same thing i said to you.” 

smart as ever, he hangs up before mark’s initial surprise gets translated into brute annoyance. the silence after the disconnect tone hits him almost immediately and thus, he finds himself standing in the middle of an empty gas station, in the middle of the eerily quiet city of winona, missouri, which is sat at the edge of a brimming forest where nothing but trees run on for miles and miles on end. there’s a town & county supermarket in the same plaza and a rundown dollar general down the street he’d passed to get here. 

it suddenly feels as if he’s the only person alive in this whole wide world, trapped inside his four-walled mind with no one to talk to except his regretful self. more than confronting his friends or even you, mark has known for a long time that he feels the most social anxiety whenever he’s left to confront himself. he tries to shake the thought, pocketing his wallet as he makes a beeline for the supermarket across the desolate parking lot. it’s far on foot and with each step, he descends down into the depths of despair, digging up all the times he must’ve made you uncomfortable with just his presence. for once, he doesn’t think it’s such a wonderful thing to be alone in the world with the person he loves most.

seven hours of almost straight driving is bound to make a person go at least a little insane, as mark wonders if he even remembers the last time he saw anyone other than you. he grabs a bag of popcorn, a charcuterie box, and a gallon of water at the supermarket and only at the cash register, manned by a live and tangible human, is he freed from the confines of his tortured mind. 

gas filled to the max and provisions restocked, he’s once again met with the struggle of having to close the car door as quietly and undistrubingly as humanly possible. you’re still very much asleep and the last thing he wants is to jolt you awake when your latest memory of him is how he’d insensitively instigated a panic attack at barely seven in the morning, albeit unintentionally.

after he closes the door with exemplary caution and barely a thud, mark lowers his guard with a sigh in relief in tow. though in this fleeting moment of mindlessness, the very next moment he’s dropped his keys on the center console. wincing, he watches as the clattering elicits a stir on your end, fluttering eyelids, and then — to his utter horror and dismay — you wake up.

mark plays it cool, or so he thinks, by letting out a low “oh shit” to make sure you know of his accidental mistake. rubbing your eyes, the first glance you place his way isn’t strictly a glare, but it might as well be with how you barely acknowledge his stilled presence. mark waits until you’ve had a couple sips of water in your system and a full routine of arm stretches before speaking up carefully. “how’d you sleep?”

you look his way and tiredly blink a few times before saying, “fine.”

back at square one, he thinks. mark hands you the bag of popcorn and charcuterie box and reaches over to drop the giant water jug into the back seats. you eye the bag and the box confusedly, then the blanket draped across your knees that you’re sure wasn’t there when you fell asleep, and then finally your surroundings.

“what time is it?”

“about 2:20.”

“where are we?”

“missouri. just outside the mark twain national forest.”

you eye the landscape beyond the windows where you’re met with the parking lot, a few commercial structures, and a shitload of trees. you turn back towards mark, “are we on schedule?”

he nods. “we’re actually ahead of schedule. we were supposed to be just out of illinois right now.”

you give him a tight-lipped smile that does little to ease the tension. removing the blanket, you make a move for the door and mark thinks that this must be it. you’ve had enough of him, you’re tired of tolerating his presence, and you’ve set your mind on walking the rest of the way to los angeles. it’s a rather immature thought but he entertains it for a split second regardless. the second half of the second is spent coming up with a hastened, “wait.”

you’re halfway out the door when you look back over your shoulder, a left eyebrow cocked in question. mark doesn’t have anything on hand to say, so he blurts out whatever question he had first in queue, “why… why did you agree to come?”

fully out of the car, you stand facing him with one hand resting on the car door and the other situated on your hip. in your freshly awakened state, you cock your head at the absurdity of his unprompted question. there’s a trace of thought pooling in your eyes before you answer rather nonchalantly, “i wanted to see how you’ve been.” the words hang in the air, waiting for mark to process them, and when he does it’s as if he’s had the wind knocked out of him. breathily, he recites a quiet, “oh i see,” and then you shut the door square in his face, leaving him with only an equally quiet, “i need to use the restroom, be right back.”

mark thinks back to why he himself had agreed in the first place and he’s not sure how much of a role haechan’s little ruse had played anyways. he appreciates the honesty with which you answered because it gives him the space to be honest with himself as well. he’d agreed to go because a part of him wanted to see how you’d been doing as well, but he’d also agreed to go because a part of him simply just wanted to see you. the little stunt that haechan had pulled was just the tip of the iceberg of reasons that led to this whole ordeal, and mark thinks — or at least hopes — that that had been the case for you too.

when you return, freshened up and looking more lively than you had in hours, mark’s more prepared than the last time he’d thrown a haphazard question your way. you’re fastening your seat belt when he asks, “since we’re ahead of schedule, do you wanna go for a drive around the forest?”

he sees where it starts, slow in the upturn. what looks like the beginnings of a frown blooms into an easy smile. it doesn’t reach your eyes, but it doesn’t need to for mark to know that you mean it. “around?”

he smiles too, quick with a flash of teeth and a breathy chuckle. “in, i mean. in the forest.”

you let your head retract to facing frontwards, leaning back into your seat as you nod, “sure, let’s go.” folding the maroon blanket into your lap, you follow mark’s pointed finger until your eyes set on his backpack shoved under your seat. “there should be a map in there. can you be my guide?”

for a second, he thinks he’s being too greedy with your patience but your easy smile flattens to show complacency. “i can do that,” and you salvage the map from the front pocket of the mess of his backpack. seeing about an inch-thick stack of maps in the same compartment, you look towards him with your smile now edging towards a knowing tease. “you planned for this, didn’t you?”

mark shakes his head fervently though he can’t find it in himself to audibly deny. after all, number two on his bucket list is to visit all the national parks and forests the country has to offer. how could you have expected him to resist when passing by a city that sat directly under 1.5 acres of forest land? and with the extra time to spare, it was a given.

you have the map crinkled open on your lap as you load up the top destinations with your phone in hand. mark’s excitement seems to be rubbing off on you; his giddy smile lends into your glittering eyes, his drumming fingers on the steering wheel translating to your bouncy leg. twenty-four minutes north — one right turn and one left turn — later, you’ve successfully navigated the both of you to alley spring and mill, a three-story red statement with a clear turquoise spring tucked behind.

the summer heat licks at the nape of your neck when you first open the door. you grab the blanket, the charcuterie box, the bag of popcorn and — with a thought spared in consideration — the stack of cards shoved into the cupholder after tucking your phone into the waistline of your shorts. the rush of water grows louder as you approach, the uneven pavement ebbing off into scuffed dirt and then brustling grass further down the stretch. pausing a good distance away from the decades-old structure, you hear a sigh in wonderment coming from behind.

mark’s mamiya rz67 weighs down one hand, the other raised to his brow to deflect the glare of the sun. he has a sort of satisfied look to his face, one that only grows as he makes his way to catch up to you. “good find,” he comments, tearing his gaze away from the sights to meet your eyes. pride snuggles into the corners of your smile and you duck away from his stare. 

“lemme go find somewhere for us to settle down for a bit,” you hold up the blanket in gesture and then wave him off with another smile, “you go do your thing, don’t mind me.”

there’s a few people here and there coming in and out of the mill and a few more along the skirts of the spring, but you manage to find a quiet spot along the water with some trees to offer a decent amount of shade. it’s much cooler down here, where the spray disperses itself fresh from the water and into the air, and you drape the blanket over the mildly damp grass. spreading the contents of the charcuterie box across a napkin and pouring a portion of the popcorn into the now empty box, the setting begins to look as if it were all planned and not, in fact, an impromptu day trip that fell in motion less than a half-hour ago.

slipping your shoes off, you ease into the spot, appreciating the clear air while you can. if you shield your eyes, you can see mark in the distance with his phone held up to the red building to check the light settings. he takes a shot there in that position, and you swear you can hear the ka-shink! of his shutter even from this far away. nibbling a corner of brie cheese, you watch him closely as he jogs in a zig zag across the plot to find another interesting shot to frame.

mark gets six or seven more in before he rounds upon where you’re sat, having finally found the alcove of shade you’d claimed. he’s still holding his camera with one hand, the size of his palm making the five pound camera seem small. in the back of your mind, you can still recall the weight of it from a year ago as mark demonstrated how to advance the film for your first try at a shot. you remember how difficult it was to get the hang of medium format photography, much less the bothersome large format that mark used to haul around wherever he went.

“may i join you?”

snapped out of your momentary reminiscence, you glance up at mark as if you hadn’t even seen him coming your way. at the nod of your head, he takes his spot across the blanket with his legs criss crossed. the seconds tick away while your eyes trace the lines of his hands, moving familiarly to load a new film stock into his camera. the delicacy of his movements, the steadfastness of his grip, the roughness of his knuckles, and the baby soft pads of his fingers.

there’s nothing to do with his hands when he’s done with his camera so he resorts to fiddling with the folds of the blanket and occasionally reaching for a grape. mark looks a little lost, if you are to be honest. or at least, it seems as if he’s unsure of his presence; too scared of breaching boundaries thus he shies away from interactions altogether. his patterns of behavior are nothing new to you. and though there was once a time where you’d despise having to always be the one to coax him out of his shell of insecurity, you aren’t nearly so distressed to do so when there’s no strings attached, no long withheld feelings that come with it.

“when should we get back on the road?”

mark looks up at you in surprise and relief floods his face when he realizes no sign of annoyance in your expression. as if he were taking a firm hold of the hand you’d extended, he responds kindly, “it’s best if we go before five, so we can take our time on the road.”

you check your phone and the time reads a quarter past four. scrolling down your notification screen to see if you missed any important messages, you find about four consecutive texts from haechan, sent just before you woke up from the six hour stress nap you inadvertently took. 

【 2:06 PM 】 bro u good? 【 2:06 PM 】 mark told me what happened 【 2:06 PM 】 should i beat him up for u? haha 【 2:08 PM 】 call me when u get a chance ;)

shutting off your phone, you retrace your attention back to mark. he’s the spitting image of a kid whose one and only friend didn’t show up to school today, hence he had to sit at his own table during lunch. you chuckle under your breath at the thought and he happens to hear, giving you a raise of his brow to which you only shake your head in dismissal.

so badly do you want to just clear the air — his newly uptight demeanor being a nightmare to get along with — but you know better than anyone how avidly mark avoids confrontation at all costs. to bring it right to his front steps is just asking for uncalled-for frustration. you zip your lips, and eye your surroundings, hoping for a topic of conversation to jump out at you.

sure enough, the red boldface catches your eye and it lingers. who says confrontation is the only way to subdue the tension? sometimes all you need is a little fun. and what’s better than a game to do just that? you place a hand atop the deck and wait for mark to recognize your intentions before softly suggesting, “your turn?”

the expression he dons is a bit squirmish as he reaches for the cards, but you can tell that he’s glad his careless words hadn’t ruined the game for you forever. his fingers make quick work in shuffling them neatly and, face down, he draws one from the pile at random.

“what do you think is the hardest part of what i do for a living?” 

mark glances up at you from the card expectantly and you’re thrown off guard for a moment. “i answer? i did the last one though.”

he only laughs, “yeah i know. but even if i wanted to answer, i couldn’t. you don’t have a job.”

“oh that’s right,” you smile, masking a tinge of embarrassment at your late realization,” okay, i’ll answer it then.”

you cross your legs like his and pluck a grape for your fingers to play around with. momentarily in thought, you realize that there’s not much to the question, not when pertaining to mark and not when asked to you.

“the thing is, i’ve seen a lot firsthand. and i think you know what i’m going to say.”

it’s his turn to be thrown off guard with wide eyes and a hand to his chest, “i do?”

nodding, you pop the grape into your mouth to give leeway for your thoughts to string into words. shortly after swallowing, the words follow in suit, “i mean, you love your job and from what i remember, it pays your bills. which is great, it’s really great.” careful with your next words, you approach them with caution, “but at the same time, i think — and correct me if i’m wrong — i think...it’s put a strain on some of your relationships.”

mark doesn’t look the least bit surprised. in fact, you’re sure he’d known the answer the second after he read the question. hardly disappointed, he smiles wide when your eyes brim with uncertainty. reassuring you, “you’re right on point,” and then nudging you along, “i still want you to elaborate on it though.”

“okay,” you smile back at him, mostly in relief, “i know this is pretty personal, but since you insist…”

and so you trailed on about what you knew. on how his job drove a wedge between him and his parents. on how they told him it was one thing to chase after your dreams, and a whole other to let your dreams crush you. but to him, dropping out of college didn’t make those two semesters a waste of time and money. rather, he thought that going to college in the first place made it easier for him to realize it wasn’t the path he wanted to walk. there were always going to be times where he wouldn’t be able to make ends meet but that was nothing to him if he could have the support of his friends and family to do what he loved most.

you knew very well that a “strain” was a light way to put it. his parents cut him off at nineteen when they realized he wouldn’t be returning to school. as most parents would be, they were worried but unwilling to financially support their son who they no longer believed in. his mom still brings stacks upon stacks of tupperware kimchi and side dishes each month and his dad still passes money under the table at family dinners. but for some reason, they could never look him straight in the eye.

“do you ever feel like they betrayed you?”

“no, never,” he declares almost immediately. “it’s easy to think that they did. it’s harder to really feel that way when i know how much they love me. it’s just that we value different things.” mark says it so convincingly that you nearly dismiss the suspicions behind your question. when you meet his eyes and they are dark and glossed over, you start to believe them a lot more than what he’d just said.

seeing his pain resurface as if it were there the whole time, you’re reminded of the guilt you carry for breaking up with him at perhaps the most vulnerable point in his life. knowing that mark could never blame you for it, you blame yourself in his place.

looking down from his gaze, you hold your left hand in your right, imagining it as his, and hope that just the thought of wanting to hold his hand offers him some comfort, in some sort of cosmically significant way.

「 DAY 02, 10:34 PM 」 — TOMAYTO TOMAHTO

mark drove past the ‘welcome to oklahoma’ sign at 7:30 PM. between cherokee and muscogee nation, he considered stopping at tulsa for the night instead of oklahoma city, the capital. it was around 9:00 by then and you were still fairly energized; he took from that to continue even though it was you who slept through the day, not him.

in your search, etrip.net claimed holiday inn to be $19 for a two person room, seemingly a ‘too good to be true’ deal for a four-star hotel with an indoor pool. you booked it anyways — though only after confirming that he was fine with sharing a room — and keyed in the address into google maps for mark to follow. 

when you look out the window less than a half hour to your destination, it’s near pitch black, save for the distant outlines of buildings behind large fields of what you assume to be grass. the two of you are just outside the city and when you roll down the window; the air is rather cool and crisp for a summer night. there’s a truck in front of your car with a shipment of fresh tomatoes and the scent of them wafts sweetly in the dawdling air.

basked in a comfortable silence for the first time during this whole trip, you feel that summer break has finally started. the days are long and long gone are your day-to-day worries about when this assignment is due and how much this exam will affect your grade. in hindsight, they were all passing worries, things that never irked you for long enough to be significant. and now that you had finally made peace with it all — moved on, and slowed down — the world seems much more pleasant, less frantic, and more at ease than you remembered. it’s quiet and you’re happy.

glimpsing to your left to check how mark’s holding up, the first thing you’re met with are his wide, frenzied eyes. you trace his line of sight whilst venturing to ask, “you good?” before noticing the oblong shape that’s been planted straight into the dead center of the windshield. upon further scrutiny, there’s a redish secretion that’s oozing down the glass. 

“y/n...what the fuck is that?”

the two of you are stunned in your seats, frozen at the thought of what it could possibly be. (a hockey puck! a donut! a scoop of ice cream! a bloodied body part?!) though soon enough, your conscience returns in time for you to register it as a tomato, straight from the truck ahead.

“holy shit,” mark mutters, and he begins to slow the car down and away from the alleged source. a second hits, (“fuck!”), right where your head would have been if not for the window. the third and fourth follow shortly, splatters sounding more like fist-sized rocks under the sheer force of impact. mark sees you ducking and dodging, this way and that, and his blood pressure sky rockets as a huge portion of his side becomes slathered in goop.

both of you are screaming at this point, mark has no way of knowing when the road will curve, and he’s still going seventy miles per hour, occasionally speeding faster whenever a jolt of adrenaline hits too hard and he loses fine control of his foot on the gas pedal. “roll up the damn window!” and your fingers fumble around for the button, almost opening up the whole door in the process.

you swerve your head right after the window’s safetly shut to see if anyone’s tailgating. “pull over, mark. there’s no one behind us.” and when the car comes to a stop, the two of you are panting uncontrollably, despite having barely moved for hours. there are no thoughts running through your mind — absolutely none, zero — when you turn your head to meet his eyes. and the second you do, the two of you burst into laughter, in utter disbelief at what just happened.

still breathless at the thought, your hand comes to your mouth in belated shock. the aftermath is disastrous. cautiously opening the door, you can spot remnant tomato juice dripping from the bottom edge. mark rounds the car twice in inspection, only to find that every last corner of his precious subaru crosstrek is coated in a sheen of red except for the back, bottom, and some of the top. the meager stack of napkins you saved from earlier in the day does the best they can, sweeping off most the meat but none of the juice. the scent doesn’t seem so sweet anymore when it’s all you can smell from a mile away.

you notice that mark has been standing in the same position for the last four minutes, unmoved with both hands on his hips, sweat gleaning from his brow, and a distant look in his eyes. you fear speaking up will spook him into tears. luckily, he speaks first. 

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

“can you find the nearest coin-op car wash on my phone?”

“okay.”

“i’ll…” he trails off into a breathy laugh, that kind of echoed laugh that makes you want to give him all your hopes and dreams, support and love. “...i’ll be here for a bit.”

you clamber back into the passenger seat, careful not to transfer any of the liquids indoors. his phone is mounted on a stand and you pry it off, wondering how you would get past his passcode. you key in his birthday, a reasonable first try, but the lockscreen doesn’t budge. pressing your lips thin, you try to recall what his password had been way back then. mark was never one for unnecessary changes; he held onto his possessions and habits stubbornly.

after an aha! moment comes a moment of doubt. to get the code right was one thing, but you weren’t sure how you’d feel if it was indeed unchanged. shrugging off the hesitation, you press in the four numbers anyways, and sure enough it unlocks.

dumbfounded, your hands drop into your lap and your vision stills, zoned out on the curve of the steering wheel. it’s hard to really understand what you’re feeling and it’s even harder to discern mark’s intentions behind keeping his passcode set as your birthday after all this time. the signs have been there—and you had kept to avoiding them—but now is the first time you’re facing the possibility that mark still has feelings for you. and even just the thought of how it doesn’t disturb you greatly warrants extra precaution on your end. 

mistakes are made so that they won’t be repeated.

you repeat the sentence to yourself perhaps five times over, and carry on with locating the nearest coin-operated car wash station as per his instruction. mark got in the car five minutes later with a small smile on his face. “it is what it is,” as he had put it. with only thirty minutes left, the car ride resumes in silence though this time around, there’s nothing comfortable about it. the man next to you is humming along to some john mayer song, oblivious to your disconterting mood that was induced solely by him (and partially by you, if we’re to be crystal clear).

deciding not to get too worked over it, you fixate, instead, on playing word games with haechan. time passes quickly as you win most of the rounds, half the time wondering why he’s even still awake when it’s already fairly late in his timezone. you make a mental note to call him when you get settled at the hotel, sooner the better if anything.

mark manages to hum along to every single song that comes up on the radio, sometimes even singing with a full voice and vibrato. you’re partially relieved that he’s no longer so on edge around you, also aware that now it’s you who’s way too in over your head. figuring that it wouldn’t be much of a problem once you call it a night, you move past your concerns and finally take a glance up from your phone.

marvelling at the ever-changing landscape on the other side of the window, your mouth falls agape at how the bare grasslands have since given away to streets among streets of buildings. you can peer even further down, where the city lights of oklahoma city make out a twinkling night sky, replacing the stars with their light pollution. devon tower stands the tallest and most discernable of the skyscrapers and for a second, your troubles melt away as you fall captive to The Big Friendly.

long past rush hour, the streets downtown are jam packed with both cars and pedestrians, forcing mark to brake every other second. the city night life in oklahoma feels warmer than the busy new york city had ever been. flourescent signs flash bright in invitation for you to enter, people flood the streets, swarmed with laughter and filled with good food. you keep a smile to yourself as this tedious road trip begins to feel a little more like a long-anticipated vacation.

marks pulls up at the coin wash station you’d found for him earlier. with it being a ten minute’s distance from the city’s main streets, the surrounding areas are quiet at this slow hour. when you reach over to unbuckle your seat belt, a hand comes to stop you and with a patient smile on his face, mark simply tells you, “wait here, i’ll clean it up real quick,” as he slips out of the car.

given no time to react much less disagree, he shuts the door behind him and you end up sitting in the car by yourself, watching mark as he busies around with his coins and then gets to hosing down the red streaks striping his car. presumably, they had dried in the wind. what a sight his car must have looked like, rolling through the city streets as if it’d been dunked in ketchup.

you get the idea then, while you’re idling around, to call up haechan quickly while you have the moment to yourself. if you could be curt with him, beat around the bush like the annoying little brat you are, you’ll have no problem with wrapping up the call within the next five to ten minutes it takes for mark to get the car scrubbed and shiny.

the phone rings a whopping total of seven times before he picks up. you put him on speaker and the groggy voice you’re met with is a telltale sign that you’ve freshly awoken him. “the fuck you want? i just fell asleep, you cow.” at least he went to bed, you think, whilst turning his loud ass voice off speaker and bringing your phone to your ear.

“woah, no need to be so vulgar. you’re the one who told me to call you.”

you hear a scoff coming from the other end. at his next quip, his voice is no longer groggy, now boasting a new tone of feisty. “yeah. i meant when i’m actually awake and willing to answer. bye, i’m hanging up now.”

“hey,” you whine, “you’re awake and i’m free right now so let’s just get it over with. what did you want to talk about?”

there’s a clear pause of deliberation on his end, only for less than three seconds though. “how’s it going with mark? i heard he made you cry.”

you sigh into the receiver, fingers having found the rim of your water bottle and decidedly tracing the cap around and around. “so he told you everything, i see. he just brought up some bad memories and i got overwhelmed in the moment. it’s all cool now.”

the line goes silent for while longer and the blasting hose outside just happens to shut off at the same time. you look up from your water bottle and through the shower of water, mark’s peering in with a sponge in hand, gleeful eyes greeting you hello. you give him an absentminded wave in return with your free hand.

usually, haechan had too much to say about everything but to your surprise, he only ponders with a lilt, “...it’s all cool?”

“it’s all cool,” you confirm. mark sweeps his sponge-equipped arm across the length of the windshield, the thick lather of bubbles building a wall between you and him. but just as his fingers dot two eyes and a big smile into the soap for you to see, haechan synchronizes, “so you guys are getting along?”

mark peeks into one of the holes to see you smiling as wide as the playful smiley face he’d drawn, the same one that was now at the mercy of the drooping liquids. contradicting your ear-splitting grin, you remark offhandedly, “we agreed to be friends.” and after a beat, you fill in the missing blanks, “for the sake of this trip, i mean.”

“friends…” haechan seems to have his panties in a twist today, for he’s pausing at all the weird moments, saying all the weirdest things. you can almost imagine the shake of his head as he cryptically states, “that won’t do.”

“what won’t do?”

the hose water is turned back on as mark directs it right at the windshield this time. you almost shriek in surpise, barely catching the click of his tongue that haechan gives. after dousing the windows clean, mark reaches for the snow broom to shimmy off the remaining water droplets. going row by row, he gives you a sore attempt at a wink when you meet his eyes. you supress your giggles as haechan’s dissatisfied voice soars past your ears without much thought.

“how can you be just friends with him when you still like him?”

you’re in no mood to be taking him seriously, so you end up saying the first thing that pops into your mind. “i’m pretty sure he’s the one that still likes me.”

“well you’re not wrong there.”

mark throws in another silly face — a really blown out toothed smile — and you decide then that you should probably end the call soon before haechan drags you into another discussion of who’s still hung up on who and who’s still in love with who. you decide then that, for tonight at least, you want to set aside the messy feelings and just have fun. because that’s what’s easiest when you’re with mark lee.

momentarily forgetting that you’re still on call, you hastily ramble out a quick, “hey i gotta go, something came up,” and the eye roll that haechan’s sure to give is predictable as it is true. “fine,” he deadpans, “talk to you later. or not, i don’t know maybe something will come up and i’ll forget about you for two weeks.” and with that, he hangs up right as mark reenters the car, eyes all shimmery and filled with glee.

“you have fun out there?”

he messes around with a few wet tips of his hair. “a lot of fun, actually. you should help me out next time.”

your heart races messily and mercilessly at the thought of ‘next time,’ so much so that you only have enough mindpower to muse absorbedly, “maybe i should.” he gets his seat belt buckled and you cap your water bottle after taking a long swig. 

“so…” mark starts whilst pressing the start engine button, “who was that on the phone?”

“haechan wanted to know if we were ripping each other’s hair out yet.”

mark chuckles, reversing the car out of the small lot. his eyes tell you he knows that a lot more than just that was discussed, but he resists prying to a certain extent. “so what’d you tell him?”

“well...” you take a moment to admire his side profile, his one hand resting casually on the wheel, and the gentle way his lips curve into a smile when you say, “i told him that i still have a full head of hair.”

「 DAY 03, 12:00 AM 」 — YOU ARE MY SOUVENIR, MY PROOF THAT I WAS HERE

what etrip.net forgot to mention was that the $19 you happily gave away was actually just a reservation fee, and not — as they had deceived you into thinking — the actual price of the room. you direct a sheepish smile towards mark as the bright-faced young man at the front counter charges $124 on your card. evidently, the internet is why you have trust issues.

the hotel sits right in the belly of downtown oklahoma city, with the touristy bricktown district only two blocks away. you’re given a card key to a spacious room with a queen sized bed draped in a crisp and plush duvet. from the updated appliances to the chic furniture and decor, every corner of the room smelled like fresh lemon verbena.

“i guess this is what you get when you pay top dollar.”

mark nods dazedly, but at the mention of money, he snaps out of his haze. “here,” he fishes out his phone from his back pocket, “i’ll transfer you the $62.”

you recline into the white lounge chair in the corner of the room. a ding! sounds from your bag that you’ve set on the floor besides you, signaling the transaction. eyes now closed in respite, you direct your “thanks” towards no one in particular.

there’s no couch this time, despite having paid a ridiculous amount, so mark sets himself atop the left side of the bed. he rummages through the front pocket of his backpack until he draws forth a thin booklet with a giant OKC in bolded yellow on the front. as he remembered, there’s a checklist list on the second page that covers all the must-do, must-see activities and locations that oklahoma city has to offer. 

mark looks up at you, then back down at the book, then back at you and back down at the book. he knows you well enough to see that you’ve yet to fall asleep. but give it another two or three minutes and the snores will catch up to you. but before those two or three minutes round upon him, mark decides that he has nothing to lose. if you want to come, you’ll come. if not, he still has a whole city to plow through in one night.

“hey.” there’s a hand on your shoulder and it’s shaking you lightly. distantly, you think that you’ve entered a state of lucid dreaming. a second after, the voice returns to say, “y/n, wake up,” and you’re conscious enough to recognize it as mark’s. willing your eyes to open, he’s hovering right above you with apprehensive eyes. “let’s go out.”

still not quite awake and still unsure of what you just heard, you blurt rather obtrusively, “what?”

“i mean...i mean like let’s go out out,” and he gestures to the window to make his point clearer. “we can get late dinner, or really early breakfast, or just walk around for a bit.”

not very convinced, you only frown at him. in turn, he’s prompted to ramble on further. “okay, but when’s the next time you’re visiting oklahoma?”

“like… never,” you drawl out slowly. mark nods fervidly as if there were a right answer and you were at the precipice of discovering it. impatient or in sudden fervor, he exasperates, “exactly! so you should make the most of tonight and see what it has to offer.”

he’s like an overly enthusiastic salesman and you decide that even if it’s just to please him, there’s no harm in playing tourist for a few hours; you could sleep as much as you want on the road anyways. you give in, “okay fine,” and watch as he pumps a fist not-so-covertly. “gimme like five minutes to change first though.”

by the time you meet him at the lobby, mark’s switched out his tour guide booklet for his phone, having loaded up all the destinations in preparation. the warm air outside is breezy to a fault and the wind picks up your hair and sloshes it this way and that. mark is quick to laugh but equally quick to tuck the wandering strands behind your ears. unknowingly, you blush and when you don’t break the stare, he breaks it for you. the tips of his ears are red when he looks away.

the first stop — a touristy jazz club — is closed for renovation, and the next one that you guys attempt had rebranded into a strip club. unease begins to nibble away at mark’s intial excitement, as his exhaustion and embarrassment collide to dampen his mood. the sidewalk crowd doesn’t care to part for two, so mark grabs hold of your wrist, leading you towards what he hopes is the final destination for the night.

mark finds his composure being built up and chipped away by your presence in the exact way he’d expected it to even before this whole ordeal of a trip. he can avoid your careful eyes and feign ignorance towards your attempts at civility, but he will never be one to deny to himself how much he still cares, how much he has always and will always care, about your opinion of him. it’s in the littlest ways that he hopes if not to impress you, then to make you smile at the least. mark doesn’t endeavor to lie to himself about that — that he wants you to smile and that he wants, even more so, to be the reason behind it.

he thinks he’s done a rather good job of accomplishing that tonight. from afar, “the flea” is but a green box with brick facing and a short line abutting the entrance. but upon entering, the ambiance of the bar feels rather like an old school arcade, with low ceilings and dimly colored lighting. it’s littered with games from pool to cornhole to connect four, and people are drunk and having fun. mark glances at you to gauge your liking, and supresses the urge to pump a lame and loser-ish fist at they way your eyes glisten in response to your lively surroundings.

he’s not sure if he’ll ever get the courage to apologize for the consequence of his thoughtless ramble from earlier in the day. and he knows that an apology is what you deserve. but in his own selfish and self-serving way, he hopes that this one night of drinking and games will at the very least make up for your soured impression of him.

you order two beers at the bar and amble over to mark, who’s found himself a spot at the darts corner. handing him the drink and taking a swig of your own, you query with a cocked eyebrow in the direction of the board, “wanna bet?”

taking the drink from your hands, mark deadpans, “you suck at darts.”

mouth full, you quickly swallow before laughing aloud, “maybe i got better, you never know.”

mark rolls his eyes in disbelief, but concedes nevertheless, “so what’s on the line?”

you take a quick scan around the room in consideration when a girl standing on the opposite side of the room by the pool table catches your eye. but not because she’s looking at you. feet crossed at the ankles and left hand swirling a half-emptied margarita, she has her sights set square on mark. a small smile dawns upon your face, and you turn back towards him. “you lose, you get her number.”

once glance around the room and he, too, knows who you’re talking about. maybe his heart sinks a little. and so he laughs. maybe he wishes you wouldn’t be so quick to write him off with another person other than you. mark takes a sip of his beer, and looks around the room once again. maybe he doesn’t mean what he’s about to say. “you lose, you get his number.” maybe he wants you to know that he still likes you, at least a lot more than the guy by the bar with the sleazy smile. 

you take a look at him yourself and decide that he wouldn’t be too bad of a punishment. some part of you felt the need to distinguish you and mark as two single friends who were just hanging out. the barrier needed to be defined after how it’d been ebbing between the extremes of exes and more than exes the whole day. it’s hard to say that you don’t like mark at this point. and that while any other guy could make you feel things, it would never amount close enough to what mark made you feel. 

but it’s even harder to say that you would want to get back together with him.

mark decides on a 200 point game and whilst you get off to a good start with two 20-pointers, mark beats you out by almost a hundred point margin to sum up the game. today, he feels up for admitting the truth to himself, for he knows well that he had tried his best to lose. but any further effort on that attempt would have made it obvious, as there was no conceivable way for him to out-lose your constant 1-pointers without suspicion. 

he watches as you down the rest of your beer before gesturing in the direction of the bar. he smiles back when you mouth, “i’ll be back,” over the blaring music. he knows why you’re being like this. he knows that it’s mostly his fault. he also knows that you’re doing this to protect yourself, that it’s not a means of punishing him. but mark accepts his punishment anyways, looking onwards as you approach the guy with a tap on his shoulder. he watches as the guy’s eyes rakes your figure in delight, sets a casual hand on your waist, smiles along to your cheesy pick up line.

but mark tears his eyes away before the guy can smash his greasy lips onto yours, or before you respond in kind. even seeing him lean in made mark sick to the stomach. he goes to retrieve the darts from the board and when he returns, you’ve returned too. “got it,” you show him the contact and number in your phone, “and i got a smooch on the cheek too.”

a small, “ew,” is all he can muster in his confusion of equal relief and disappointment. mark keeps you close for the rest of the night. you suggest many times that he go talk to this girl, or how that girl looks like his exact type. but you don’t seem to understand that mark only wants to talk to you and that you’re the only person in this room, or even in the world, he’d consider to be his exact type. you are nowhere near the understanding that mark has never felt this unlucky to be spending the night with a girl he wants but has lost the privilege to have.

you’re tipsy, with an arm linked with his and your head on his shoulder, as he walks the two of you back to the hotel. mark can’t tell you — at least not in this state — how he’s thought of trying again at least a million times. he’s come up with a million scenarios of how he’d somehow loop himself back into your life and slowly regain your trust for him. a million times over, he’d lost the confidence to follow through, always so sure that he would fall in the same patterns of negligence and immaturity. even so, he’s never wanted to try as much as he does right now.

he places your shoes by the bedside and slips off your dirty socks to add to the laundry. rummaging through your toiletries bag, he comes upon the micellar water and reusable cotton pads. he swipes it across your sleeping face to collect the makeup and extra debris, then washes the two pads and clips them on a hanger to dry. mark is dutiful in drawing the covers up to your chin, in pulling your hair back from your face, in everything a boyfriend would do.

mark is sober when he sets his lockscreen as the only thing he has to remember oklahoma city by: a photo of you, smiling at him.

「 DAY 03, 8:21 AM 」 —  HIS APOLOGY

“what is the hardest truth you had to face this year?”

you place the card to the back of the deck after reading the question aloud. mark takes his eyes off the road for a split second to glance at you. fiddling with a used toothpick with your fingers, mark wonders when you started flossing after years and years of ignoring your dentist’s nagging. yesterday, he noticed you were using a different chapstick brand than what he remembered as your go-to. you wear your hair up more often, and you frequent warm-toned clothing as opposed to your routine neutrals.

the more time he spends around you, the more mark realizes he’s never felt this distant from you. in barely two days time, he’s been surprised by how much you’ve changed in the relatively short duration the two of you spent apart compared to the time you had spent together. mark’s even more surprised by how little he’s changed in comparison.

the thirty seconds you’ve taken to formulate a response — to decide your terms of vulnerability in just how much to divulge — weren’t nearly enough for mark to be prepared for what you were about to share.

you don’t look at him when you speak. with your eyes set on the passing hills just outside, your voice breaches lowly into the air and across the car, right to mark’s utter confusion at the first of your words.

“i’ve learned that no amount of love goes wasted. i’ve learned that bad, unfortunate, terrible things happen to good people everyday, most of the time for no reason.” when you next blink, there’s a thin film of tears that gloss your eyes. “i’ve learned that the same bad, unfortunate, terrible things can happen to the very people that you love, and that sometimes there is nothing you can do about it.”

he thinks he can hear your breaths, or some similar rhythm pulsing in the thickened air, taut with tension and the fragility of your words. two beats pass, then four, before mark confirms it to be your now labored breathing. it stops shortly after, and you continue speaking to your best ability, which even then amounts to very little. “i’ve learned…”

mark turns to look at you for a little longer than he should, and the composure with which you held your head gives out, the weight of his gaze somehow heavier than that of your circumstances. he’s never seen you like this. he doesn’t know what’s your reality, and that this car, this trip, this moment, is your escape. 

“i’ve learned what it means to grieve for someone before they’ve even passed.”

he doesn’t know that you’re running on stolen time. he doesn’t know, wasn’t there, never saw how your mom had given your hand a squeeze, feeble but certain. how she faults her poorly-timed illness. how she struggled to sit up to give your grief-stricken, heartbroken body a hug and a kiss goodbye, regretful she might never be able to rejoice in her daughter’s marriage, and yet grateful that at least her other daughter can rejoice in her stead.

when you find it in yourself to lift your head upright, mark takes in another glance at the puffiness around your eyes and the streaks running down your cheek to your neck. he knows he should free a hand to locate the tissue box or offer that hand in support but he can hardly breathe, much less move, when you start speaking again.

“it’s my mom. her cancer, it’s relapsed.”

for a few seconds, all he can hear is the white noise of his car tires on an endless expanse of road. it’s like your words dissolve into the noise, refusing their impact on his own ears, richocheting between reality and his imagination. mark holds so still that he might as well have stopped breathing, or thinking, or being. 

it’s only when he hears a sob escape from you that his gravity returns to him out of a sense of realized necessity. a sort of certainty courses through his veins when he pulls over the car. there’s barely anyone on the road to witness him exit and circle around to your side. mark moves with conviction when he pulls your door open, unbuckles your seat belt, and embraces you whole. neither of you register the tears leaking from his eyes nor the way his hands shake ever so slightly, because his expression has been set straight, and his body sturdy for you to lean on.

forehead pressed to his chest, you’re gasping for air and making all sorts of incomprehensible sounds of anguish. you weren’t sure of where your strength had come from to confide in him like that, after you’d dutifully dedicated yourself to a trip detached fully of worries beyond your control at home. but you know it now. in the way he pats down your hair, rubs circles into your back, holds all the same grief-stricken, heartbroken pieces of your body together like glue, you know that it’s because it’s mark.

he doesn’t yet know what he’s saying but it’s coming out of him anyways. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he panics even more when you’re shaking your head in his arms, your hitched breaths unable to let forth any words of disagreement. but mark shakes his head too. you don’t know.

you don’t know how much it hurts him. from his heart, in his bones, through every fiber of his being he feels it. his apology.

“i’m sorry for not being there when you needed me most.”

you make up for your loss of words by looking up at him, finally. his mask of placidity folds, first at the seams with the furrow of his brow, but then in full as his face scrunches into what can only be described as indescribable heartache. his shirt is fisted in your hands as you sob, “how could you… how could you have known?”

mark shuts his eyes because he doesn’t think he has it in him to bear witness to the misery written across your face. his heart hammers inside his chest, unpromising of any relief any time soon. he holds you together, closely, closer, until there’s hardly a hardly a point of separation between the two of you.

your question rings in his head, because it makes no sense, because it only makes him feel worse about the last year he’s spent alone, because even without you by his side…

“i should have just known.”

only now do you realize that your trust in mark is the one thing that could possibly nullify your entire messy history. in hindsight, it was obvious. you knew that if you told him, he would make it his duty to make you feel better. you told him because maybe that’s precisely what you wanted to feel. and maybe you needed mark, more than anyone, to hug you like this and to convince you that everything was somehow going to work out. because maybe, just maybe, you would begin to believe it for yourself.

「  00:00  」 —  AMARANTH

it was something that you didn’t think was possible. to live with someone, to inhabit the same room, sleep in the same bed, and yet, to be so distanced to the point at which you were strangers.

sometimes he’d leave a mug on the kitchen counter, lukewarm coffee left idle. other times the tv would be left on when you got home from class, or the shower was wet when you stepped in. it was these small things, like traces of a ghost, that reminded you of your relationship with mark, or what was left of it.

on the off chance that the two of you would meet face-to-face, he was always reserved to himself. a few small apologies, maybe a peck to your lips, and always a search for reassurance — that you would’t leave him, that you wouldn’t understand where he was coming from, that you knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

the it was complicated. on the surface, the it was his absence in the physical sense. despite dropping out from college and having a suddenly abundant amount of free time, barely any of that time was spent with you. despite moving in to your apartment after being cut off financially from his parents and being forced to move out of the school dorms, the it was him rarely being at home. mark was always out on some unnamed errand, or to shoot at some far away location, hours away from anyone and anything. 

but under all that, the it was his inability to face himself and his future head on. the it was his latent realization that there were consequences to his impulsive and headstrong decisions, more than he had the foresight to think of, more than what he was capable of dealing with at the time. the it meant that he was incapable of putting any of these feelings to words, and even more so unwilling to say these words aloud to you.

mark didn’t know how to tell you he was lost without feeling like he had lost the one thing that was left of him — his dignity. he had held his head high when he’d passed word around that he would quit school, certain that it wasn’t the right path for him. he had held his head high when he had left his parents’ house, his childhood home, after his own father had gotten on his knees to beg him to just finish up his degree, to hold out for one last year. but he couldn’t even admit to himself, much less you, that he didn’t know what to do with himself after all his bravado had worn off.

it was an adulthood thing, he’d much later come to understand, his own version of a dramatic coming of age movie where he needed to lose himself in order to find himself. and it led him to the job of his dreams: somewhere between a full-time photographer and a part-time influencer, traveling the world, capturing it on film, documenting his process and growth journey for others to be inspired by. ever so passionate and devoted to his work, mark poured his whole into perfecting his craft. and only when he emerged atop the hill he had climbed all by his lone self — without a degree and without the support of his peers and parents — did mark realize that he had lost the one person that would have supported him through anything. you.

but the damage had been done. at that point, there was no such word in the english dictionary that could remediate the month and a half of unexplained absence. in response to his silence and refusal to confide in you, you had withdrawn from the relationship yourself, having given up on getting him to clue you in and having to deal with your own problems as well. 

it was too late for mark to say anything about it, far too late for any verbal apology to make up for it all. mark figured that his actions would speak louder than his words ever could.

at the height of summer, the sun couldn’t have shone brighter. it was that day where you had come to understand that mark’s place of refuge had never been the apartment you thought you’d both called home; it was the lake. the emerald lake would have a special feature in the photobook that mark would publish months after the two of you had broken up. in his captions, he’d write that it was there that he would turn to when his thoughts overwhelmed him, when he didn’t have it in himself to face the world.

and it was beautiful, in the most heartbreaking way, to see for yourself that in his most vulnerable state, he had turned to these waters and these winds. it was most beguiling, in the most earth-shattering way, to watch as he submerged himself bare in the water, to realize that he could never bare his heart to you, didn’t know how to, didn’t want to, didn’t care to.

he didn’t understand how badly you wanted to love him for everything that he was. he was too proud to let you see the worst parts of him, too proud to let you love the worst parts of him.

to him, the water was a symbol of renewal. to bring you here, where his heart lay, meant that he was opening back up to you, urging to you enter his waters. to you, it was a symbol of cleansing. to enter the water where you were beckoned meant washing off all the grief and bitterness that had accumulated towards the tail end of your relationship. you hadn’t yet figured out where you stood with him, if you still loved him, or if you even knew him well enough to say that you still loved him. 

it was ill-fated timing, really. your mom was diagnosed with hodgkin’s lymphoma, not even a week after what mark believed to be the turning point of your relationship. you had called him from the hospital, voice thick with affliction, rambling about chemotherapy and medical bills and breaking the news to your sister and everything else that had brought your world to a standstill. and yet in the midst of all your despair, mark could not for the life of him string together a single sentence.

later revealed, her cancer was at an early stage, so one round of chemotherapy was enough to quell it into remission. it wasn’t, however, easy on your family in terms of the financial burnden and emotional turmoil that steadily built over her four months of treatment.

all of this, mark would only hear of through haechan, for your relationship had ended the moment you had hung up that call.

blocking his phone number and social medias was the easy part. the hard part was convincing haechan to let mark move in with him. it was completely and utterly stupid and unreasonable, according to him, to end a fully committed relationship just because the guy couldn’t formulate a response to your trauma dump. “why?”

“because he’s emotionally constipated,” was the easy answer with an easy counter that haechan was sure to give, “but you knew that even before dating him.”

you sighed. however impossible, you could hear his impatience over the phone. it was enough to get you to be fully honest with your best friend. “he can’t talk to me. he can’t be honest with me. he can’t look me in the face and say ‘i’m sorry.’ tell me, hyuck,” your breath picks up and you’re mere seconds away from sobbing, “tell me, how am i supposed to come home from the hospital everyday and tell my sob story to a fucking wall?!”

later that day, haechan came over to your apartment to pick up all the belongings of your ex-boyfriend. you had dumped him because your life was in no state to house someone who didn’t know how to shoulder a burden. you had dumped him because, for the sake of your well being, you could no longer put up with his inability to communicate openly with you, to tell you what he was feeling, to tell you to ease your worries, or even just to tell you that he loved you.

but even now as you’re sat in the passenger seat of his car, if mark told you he didn’t love you anymore, you probably wouldn’t believe it.

you know it in the way he looks at you, with eyes so tender and attentive to your every motion, ears perked at every intonation, and heart worn bare at the foot of his sleeve. these were all made fact from the moment you first stepped in his car, when the simple idea of seeing him still made you apprehensive and guarded.

but with how low your defenses have since dropped, there’s no reason left to deny that mark wouldn’t believe you either if you told him you didn’t love him anymore.

and you can’t say it’s any sort of impulsive feeling, or an effect of loneliness that’s gotten the best of you. it’s evident to you now that the mark beside you is not the same mark you fell in love with. he is a result of your breakup, the one thing that he could not bury away with the rest of his feelings. the one thing that, if he ever turned to the lake for refuge, would only haunt him in the form of the memory of you that day. he could not run from the torment of losing you, because it had consumed him whole.

the mark beside you gave you your space when you needed it, and held you close even when you didn’t know you needed it. he still is awkward in responding to your questions, but he responds nonetheless. he apologized.

he’s not the same mark you foolishly fell in love with, overlooking his weakness until it ruined your relationship. the mark beside you is someone you have the choice of falling in love with, in full admiration for his growth and strengths, so much so that it begs the question:

what do you do when the reason you broke up with your ex no longer exists?

「 DAY 03, 12:47 PM 」 —  WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?

“thank you.”

mark jolts in his seat, though he keeps enough of his cool only to answer somewhat lamely, “uhh… for what?”

“for comforting me.”

mark doesn’t look over at you. he can’t. he’s afraid of what you have to say, of what’s to become of your fleeting friendship, of the boundaries he’d overstepped. so he merely brushes it off, hoping you don’t read too much into his actions to feel uncomfortable about it. “oh that? it was nothing, no need to thank me.”

but you look over at him, and continue to, for seconds or even minutes on end. the profile of his face is perfect to you, round eyes, the slope of his nose, an equally boyish and nervous smile playing at his lips. you could almost cry, again; this time at the irony of how your break up was so ill-fated by time, but your reunion so auspicious.

“it was not nothing to me. it was… everything.”

now he looks over at you with curious eyes, but you just shake your head slightly. “it just meant a lot to me. that’s all.”

mark returns his gaze up front. he’s still nervous, afraid, and ever so conscious of you, but at the very least, he’s glad that he seems to have successfully communicated his care for you. in silence, you’ve spent the last three hours switching between playing sudoku on your phone and annotating a red-covered book titled all about love by bell hooks with a pink pen. 

until a few seconds ago, mark hadn’t had any insight whatsoever as to how you were feeling, whether you wanted more space to yourself, or if you wanted to just put it behind you and move on to cheerier conversations. and with bated breath has mark awaited some sort of sign that you were doing okay. now, as if given the green light, he sighs in relief and begins to speak, almost a little too eager to be able to strike conversation with you again.

“we’re almost halfway through texas now. well, the tip of it.”

the view just outside is completely flat for as far as the eye can perceive. blocked with only two colors, the vivid blue sky is completely void of any cloud, just as the dirt ground is void of any plant. seeing the landscapes change restlessly before your eyes over the past few days has felt like putting your life on double the speed, and the constant and unchanging blue and brown just outside feels like a welcome contrast. in all the flurry of this trip, you yearn for a moment to reorient yourself. and so you ask, “where are we staying tonight?”

“not sure yet, but if you want to you can look up some hotels in new mexico.”

you ponder the suggestion to yourself before suggesting an idea of your own, “how about we go camping? i saw your gear in the trunk.”

it’s gradual and awfully subtle, but you watch intently as the corners of mark’s lips upturn into a small smile. you even take note of how the sunlight from outside catches in his eyes, a small glint that gives his whole countenance a boyish radiance. he chuckles under his breath, simultaneously spotting a sign on the right side of the road. there’s almost a singing undertone in the way he says, “wanna take a break somewhere, grab some food, and plan something?”

you notice that the smile is still on his face as he sits across from you at a wendy’s in the middle of amarillo, thirty minutes later. in the same plaza there happened to be a taco bell and a denny’s, with an ihop and mcdonald’s across the street, inciting a fifteen minute heated debate as to which would make you less likely to vomit all over his car. in reality, there was no right answer. they were all wrong, but mark lee isn’t usually one to win arguments.

he has a few travel brochures splayed on top of the table, though he spends more of his attention typing into his phone and scribbling down notes on a yellow post-it. while he put himself in charge of finding a suitable camping spot somewhere in eastern new mexico, mark put you in charge of something you couldn’t mess up, and something you thought was too easy for the high paygrade of your company.

you did it begrudgingly and anyways, opening up the notes app on your phone, not all that happy to be left with the comparatively more boring job of coming up with a list of things to buy. with some on-the-go food options and a blanket on the list, you contemplated what kind of alcohol would most appropriately suit the occasion, looking up from your phone in time to catch mark as he did the same. briefly, your eyes met across the table.

he knows you both thought of the same thing. you must have. 

he’s the only one who knows he didn’t actually need to study for any of his finals that semester, with most of them being projects and the only outlier being a general education psychology course. but mark was at the library every day and night with you, knowing you were scared shitless for your first week of finals as a college student. you were in two completely different majors, with no overlapping classes or even departments, and yet he was there, quizzing you on your human anatomy or art history notes. you’d get all in your head about the answers, rethinking and doubting yourself. and then you’d look up at him, eyes meeting across the table just the same as now, and you’d say the correct answer.

and there was that one time, in the complete silence of the top floor of the main library, where mark had slipped you a post-it note, eyes attentive and lips pulled into a line as he watched you read over his penned question. and as always, you had said the correct answer. i would love to go on a date with you.

just like back then, you smile at him brightly and fondly from across the table. mark looks taken aback for a second, either reeling or pleasantly surprised by thought of the memory. he takes a bite of his burger, chews a bit, then swallows roughly. you look back down at your screen and quickly type ‘soju’ before setting your phone down, figuring something stronger than beer would be able to get more truths out of you that wouldn’t escape so easily when sober. seeing as how this trip had you revealing more than you expected, even going as far as confiding your most vulnerable self to mark, you wish he would let go of some of his own thoughts as well.

mark sets his phone down too, as you rummage through your bag to find the red box you’d taken from the car. he watches as you set it on the table and after recognizing it, quips almost incredulously, “you still wanna play? after all that?”

“well i was thinking i could use a break from answering.”

“you want me to answer?” he quirks an eyebrow up, and you pass the set of cards over to him. barely shuffling, he draws a card at random and his eyebrows move again, this time to furrow as he skims the question. mark reads aloud, “how old do you feel, emotionally?”

it’s a question that you yourself can’t answer for him, even if you wished to. there’s no way for you to tell what kind of changes had occurred between then and now, but at the very least you know that he’s years wiser than the mark that once sat across from you at the library. and that thought alone pulls at your heart incessantly.

after giving the question some thought, mark answers in all the ways you least expect him to.

“i feel like i know nothing.”

and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further.

“what?”

mark laughs a bit. it’s evident that his thought was underdeveloped, and so he develops it some more, “i feel like a newborn baby, but like… really smart.” he continues to make no sense, so you laugh at him. and then you’re both laughing. it’s sweet, really.

he had spent so long in that library with you, dutifully studying for what would be the easiest final exam of his life. mark reread his psychology notes so many times that week that they would be forever ingrained in his mind. but to you, the next thoughts he shares are completely out of the blue.

“you know like crystallized and fluid intelligence?” he pauses to laugh some more at the quizzical look you’ve thrown him. “like crystallized is like accumulated knowledge and stuff like facts, while fluid intelligence is like problem-solving and reasoning or something.”

now he really needs you to stop laughing because it’s infectious. “and what does that have to do with anything?” your laughter is especially infectious to him, because he really can’t bring himself to stop laughing despite the point he so desperately wants to make.

“just let me finish my thought, okay? and then you can laugh all you want.”

at that, you stifle your laughter by pressing your lips together, and all mark can think of is how cute you are. he pushes past that thought and does his best to sound like he’s not stupid.

“i mean like, i feel like i have a bunch of crystallized intelligence from being in the world for so long, but at the same time i have zero fluid intelligence. like i’m a newborn baby with all the knowledge in the world, and no idea what to do with it.”

and you catch on immediately, “so basically like… adulting? like facing the real world after being coddled your entire life?”

mark isn’t laughing anymore nor was anything he said that stupid, but he has this stupid dopey smile on his face. because if there’s one person that can comprehend his thoughts so completely and so easily, even as he uses the most unorthodox methods to explain them, it’s you. always you. only you.

and just like that you understood it all. the months he spent in solitude after dropping out of college weren’t spent alone, they were spent facing the real world. you had always been so bitter that he would rather endure those rough moments by himself than shoulder his worries with you, but you understand it now. and he didn’t even need to say much at all. mark had needed space to figure out himself, for himself. he needed to unlearn everything that people and society had told him about who he was, what he was good at, bad at, should or shouldn’t do, and for once, spend time to get to know himself. after all, how was he supposed to be in a relationship with you if he didn’t even have an idea of who he was?

sitting across from him now, you can see in full how mark’s grown into himself, his passions, and his work. he’s facing the world still, and will always be, but he is confident instead of prideful. he isn’t ashamed of what he doesn’t know, for he will learn in due time. he isn’t afraid of failure, because he knows he’ll only grow from it.

it’s astonishing how these past few days have brought everything into a full circle. in hindsight, the messy break up was really just what the situation called for. and this impromptu reunion turned out to be a miracle of timing, to the degree at which the both of you can’t help but think…

right person, right time.

「 DAY 03, 10:12 PM 」 —  MY DREAMS COME TRUE (WHEN I’M WITH YOU)

you found it strange, but didn’t think too much of it.

it was like there was some foggy haze over everything, like a honeyed film that made your world a little sweeter, softer, and more precious. you had spent almost a full two years juggling your classes, extracurriculars, and family and relationship issues, flitting between school and home and the hospital and then repeating it all over and over until you couldn’t even trace when you’d gone a bit insane. to you, it was something between a secret orchestration of the universe and an answered prayer to find yourself out here, surrounded by cicadas and under the scorching sun.

to him, it was everything he could have asked for, and more.

sumner lake state park had his favorite hues of greens, blues, and browns. and you were grateful, for mark frequently paused your impromptu hiking trip to shoot on his camera, leaving you moments to catch a breath and take in the views along the lakeshore.

the sun had set at half past eight. that was almost two hours ago, and two hours after the two of you had luckily scored a spot at the eastside campground. whoever made the original reservation would forever have no clue as to what they helped achieve by simply not showing up.

it was like a dream, except you were awake. it was like a movie, except you were the star. it was like a book, except it wasn’t all about love. it was all about mark lee.

he has one hand holding his mug and the other on your thigh. again, there’s the glint in his eyes, this time sourced from the small campfire he’s made. the summer night is hot enough, but mark had insisted. “for the ambiance,” he’d said, “for the memories.”

this is how the memory will go. for whenever you think back to this moment, you will always remember the glow of the fire reflected in his eyes, the buzz of cicadas, the sound of the lapping lake, and his hand on your thigh.

you take a swig of your soju, face scrunching at the initially bitter taste. setting your mug down, you lean back on the palms of your hands and look up towards the sky. it reminds you of the color pencil set you used to use as a kid, the black you’d always confuse for a dark navy and the dark navy you’d always confuse for the black. and dotted with a white color pencil were the stars, shining one by one, all too similar to the light in his eyes.

the water of the lake reminds you of him. the leaves of trees he’d dedicated countless rolls of film to reminds you of him. the singing of birds, as soft as his mindless humming, reminds you of him. the sweetness left by the soju in your mouth reminds you of him.

maybe the world felt a little lighter on your shoulders when you were with him, and everything seemed a little brighter because of his bright eyes and carefree smile. he makes you feel like you’re a kid whose imaginative color pencil drawings of her dreams spin off the paper and turn into reality. like a kid who, in her heart, only has space for hope for the future.

and you think, that must be what it means to love someone. to see everything in a different light, to see only the best of situations, of people, of the world around you. and ultimately, to love the world, everybody in it, every thing ever created, because you love him. 

and so when he draws the next card, it’s the most ridiculous question ever.

“how did you get over your first love?”

you laugh a little, then gulp down the rest of the soju in your mug. wincing at the taste, you decide that it would do no harm whatsoever to be a little more honest with mark. compared to the first day you stepped in his car, back into his life, you now have a very good idea of how mark had changed, how he knew how to handle your feelings with care this time around. it’s a newfound trust, and you plan on exercising it.

looking him straight in the eye, you cock your head a bit to the left as if considering the thing you already knew you were to say. “i don’t think i’ve ever gotten over you.”

mark has no reaction. he just stares at you for longer and longer, until you tilt your head to the other side and he seems to remember that time hasn’t stopped for him. suddenly he’s also downing the rest of his soju, throwing his head back and gulping it down thickly.

truth be told, he used to be intimidated by the honesty with which you always spoke, but he thinks he gets it now. whether it be with other people or with himself, mark feared that the truth about his feelings, his pridefulness, or the nature of his insecurities weakened him. but at the end of the day, what good has avoiding the truth done for him? it was through losing the most sincere person in his life that he realized being forthright and overcoming the fear, the uncomfortableness, and sometimes the displeasure of being honest, made him all the stronger.

and it’s with these thoughts that mark is able to muster up the courage to regain your gaze with all the softness in the world. maybe it had a little to do with the alcohol in his system, but the words seem to slip right out of him. “i don’t think i’ve ever gotten over you either.”

you hold your gaze for only a few moments longer, for shortly after processing his words you break out into a grin so wide, mark can’t help but think the alcohol’s gotten to you too. and then you’re laughing a bit — whether out of relief or bewilderment, he can’t tell — but he’s glad. mark is glad to hear your honest answer, glad to give an honest answer back. he watches as you fully recline on the air mattress in the trunk of his car, looking onwards adoringly. there’s really no way to tell if he’s feeling this giddy because he’s drunk or because for the first time, there is no need to suppress his feelings for you. mark suspects it’s both, at the same time, in full effect. 

he grabs another card, reads it for all of two seconds. mark leans over to where you’re peering up at him and, smiling fondly, he tells you to, “close your eyes for a sec.” you think of the campfire, the cicadas, and the lake, but when you recall this night in memory, this exact moment is what you remember most vividly.

it was bound to happen. you just didn’t know it’d happen like this.

the air mattress isn’t uncomfortable, per se; it’s just that it feels hot against your skin. chills run down the length of your spine, but it isn’t the doing of the wind from the half-open windows. it’s mark lee and his lips on yours. his hand comes up to your arm feverishly, barely grazing it, and more chills ripple from wherever the rings on his fingers ghost your skin. 

mark stops for a moment. takes a breath. looks back up and peers into your eyes. he kisses you again.

you don’t know what to do except kiss him back. he has both hands on you now, the one on your arm and the other one on your neck. and he keeps kissing you, lips molding to yours with slips of his tongue here and there, gentle and prodding. he’s scared. for what exactly? he doesn’t know. maybe for his life.

his life, that you seem to be holding in your hands, the same hands that are now making their way around his waist. mark can’t breathe. the skin at the back of your neck is warm and soft to the touch, but he already knew that. he’s known it for so long. everything about you is familiar to him like a well-worn book or the lines of his favorite song. the sound of your voice is so low when the briefest of groans escapes you, but to mark it’s almost predictable. this is the you that he knows, the you that he couldn’t forget, the you that he lost.

mark can’t breathe, and so he stops kissing you. he mumbles an embarrassed, “i’m sorry.” he buries his head into your shoulder. he thinks he loves you. he knows he does.

but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

out of fear, he can’t tell you he loves you. it’s not the same fear that held him back from sharing any vulnerable side of himself with you, but instead the fear of losing you. even as you admit your lingering feelings and kiss him back like you’d never stopped, mark is filled with the fear of how overbearing he’d be if he fully leaned into his desire for you. he can imagine himself, in this same moment but in a million different universes, and in each one he messes up.

in one, he moves too fast by saying the words but he’s got the timing all wrong, and all of a sudden his feelings are a burden to you whose own feelings lack the depth of his. in another, he never says them at all, and this night marks the last of any intimacy he’ll receive for the rest of his life. in all of these universes, he knows why he kissed you, but he doesn’t know what you meant when you kissed him back. in all these universes, he wants, more than anything, to do right by you.

“sorry for what?”

mark lifts his head up to look you in the eye, and when he still fails to say a word, you tease him a bit to lighten the suddenly dour look on his face. “for kissing me? really?”

to your delight, he chuckles at that and shakes his head lightly. 

you can tell he has a lot on his mind, but his neck and ears are flushed red and you don’t mean to use his inebriation to pry the words out of him. you pat the empty side of the bed, “lay down, we should get some sleep.”

slowly and cautiously, he moves to the spot next to you. laying down flat on his back and staring at the darkened ceiling of his car, mark wonders if this is the universe where nothing happens at all and he misses his chance completely. he sinks into this feeling and almost lets it consume him whole when he realizes he’s the only person who has the ability to change that.

the blanket the you bought earlier in the day has been discarded by your feet, the summer heat imanent even in the dead of night. you don’t know how to process what just happened, and you don’t get a chance to. a warmth is felt along your side before you realize mark’s arms have found their way around your waist, bringing you closer to him. he nuzzles his face into the sleeve of your shirt, eyes closed and humming in satisfaction.

his voice is barely discernible when he mumbles, “i’m sorry if that caught you by surprise.”

the sound of cicadas chirping just outside fills the space between his apology and your forgiveness. “it’s okay. i didn’t mind it.”

mark shifts his position a little. he places a small kiss at the base of your neck. “do you mind this, then?”

though his eyelids remain heavy and all his words are slurred together, he’s more alert than he has been all day. he doesn’t hear your small laugh so much as he feels it pulse against him, and it fills him with much joy. perhaps this has been his superpower all along, changing his universe in small and big ways, however he desires. perhaps, as long as he is true to himself and honest with his feelings, he will always find a way to have you close by his side, feeling every rise and fall of your breath. 

that night, in the brief moments before sleep overcomes him mark decides that he will create a universe where you are his, happily, rightfully, and fatefully.

「 DAY 05, 1:44 AM 」 — JUST TELL ME YOU LOVE ME

number three on mark’s bucket list — the one he made in his sophomore year of college — is to one day visit the svalbard islands. located in the arctic circle, the northernmost town in the world, called longyearbyen, goes about half a year without sunlight during its dark season. it is there that mark wishes to undergo the challenge of photographing in almost complete darkness, something he’s never quite been able to catch the hang of.

number four on his bucket list is to start a company that produces camera gear for his own needs, and for the needs of the many people he’s inspired with his work. number five on his bucket list is to buy an old ass subaru manual transmission wrx and fix it up until it’s perfectly to his liking.

out of all these ambitions listed on his bucket list that mark had told you about way back then – the previously mentioned visiting of all the national parks and forests, shooting in svalbard, starting a camera gear company, and owning a wrx — he’d neglected to tell you what tops his list at number one.

after two years, his bucket list remains unchanged, even the mystery number one: to complete everything on his list with you.

when you had asked a few days prior why mark hadn’t bothered moving out of nyc as it no longer served his needs, he had said you were the one reason he couldn’t part with the city. it had made you frustrated as to why he kept you in the equation even after your relationship came to a close, but more so confused as to why he still held you to such importance. 

you had spent the many months after the break up working hard at keeping your life together, removing all emotions, situations, and people that stood in the way of your priorities at the time, which were school and family. while that still holds true for you, mark’s priorities hadn’t changed either; you have continued to be a priority of his to this very day. and only now, when he’s right in front of you, do you realize this.

maybe it had been your insistence on moving on from him that you believed all his actions were nothing more than displays of his latent guilt. he’d send boxes of protein drinks to your front door, salves and balms for cracked skin, and woven hats for your mom who was undergoing chemotherapy at the time. and for you, there’d be the occasional uber eats ramen or chicken noodle soup that would arrive at your doorfront unprompted, and especially right at the times when you were up studying all night.

under suspicion, you had stopped complaining to haechan whenever you were feeling particularly tired or hungry, and the late night meals that were sent to your house lowered in frequency, and weren’t as punctual to your needs. mark wasn’t outright with anything, never showed up himself, or contacted you personally, but he wasn’t exactly discreet either.

only you, haechan, and mark knew your door code, for you hadn’t bothered to changed it after he moved out as there was no apparent need to. after the lightbulb in your kitchen went out and you had asked haechan a favor to buy you one at the nearest hardware store, you came home later that day to find it already fixed. knowing haechan was also busy with school and wouldn’t go to such lengths without further bribing, you had surmised it was mark and decided to put it to the test. the next time when your shower faucet started leaking, you mentioned it in passing to haechan and before the end of the week, it was good as new.

could it have counted as breaking and entering? that’s debateable. but you were aware of it and yet did nothing about it, rendering it legal at the very least. back then, you had given the vitamin supplements he had sent to your house to your mom, eaten every meal he bought you, and accepted all his covert services without a second thought, because you were firm in your belief that any form apology sent your way was useless in repairing the relationship you had put to a stop. you might as well accept it, move on, and wait until the day mark was no longer ridden with guilt, and no longer felt the need to perform such acts out as a result. 

that day never came, and it’s evident to you in retrospect that he did nothing out of guilt, but everything out of care, for your health, your well-being, and safety. his care, simply, for you.

it’s evident to you in the way mark exceled in his role as the passenger princess the entire day. after he lost another argument to you, you finally found yourself behind the wheel which, somehow, felt like the safest seat in his car. he fed you snacks, kept you entertained, put on all your favorite songs, and navigated the both of you safely to the white sands national park in new mexico.

mark kept an extra pair of sunglasses in the central console of his car. mark also had facial oil blotting papers in the glove box. in the trunk, there was an extra pair of sandals in your size, and a set of two fold-out camping chairs. the way he never stopped caring, it was as if you never broke up with him.

there is no city in the world that mark would rather live in, if you are not there. there is no national park he would ever visit, if you are not with him. he would freeze to death in the northernmost city in the world, without your warmth beside him. he would run his company to the ground without your input, and his favorite wrx becomes just another car without you in the passenger seat. all his life goals lose their meaning in your absence. this is how it’s always been for mark. this is why you are a priority to him.

even with his sunglasses on, the white sands were exceptionally bright. for the duration of 45 minutes, mark had guided you along the dunes drive, a scenic eight mile drive through the famed gypsum dunefield. the road conditions were harsher the farther you went along, and so he instructed you into the nearest parking lot, and swapped seats with you before going on. mark held your hand while driving, and he also squeezed it whenever he inevitably hit a bump here and there, as if in apology, as if it was his fault.

mark had kissed you again, with nothing but the white sands and blue skies in the backdrop. he’d taken pictures of you, using up his most expensive film stock on your priceless smile. he’d paid for the motel too, knowing you hadn’t initially wished for the trip to be more than three days, but wanting you to stay for yet another.

all of this has you wondering if you have it in you to care for him the way he cares for you.

you wonder how much importance he holds to you, how much of your heart you’d be willing to give to him, where your love for him would take you if you set it free.

as it turns out, your unanswered questions would be answered in the wee hours of the following morning. this is after mark had driven another six hours to ensure you would be able to make it to los angeles by the day after that to help with last minute preparations for your sister’s wedding.

you are in miami, a city in which — up until the last hour of your life — you had no idea existed outside of florida. you are in arizona, a state in which you would never have had a reason for visiting, if not for mark lee.

you are in a room, at the two-star rated el rey motel. and now you are in the bathroom, dimly lit by the dispersed light of a plastic water bottle placed atop your phone flashlight. you are in the bathtub, and though the water’s no longer hot, the temperature maintains its warmth from the heat emanating off your body. alongside mark lee’s.

it’s a forced darkness; the single lightbulb was out, and the early hour meant the motel staff had already retired for the night. with only one weak light source, the darkness of the room sets a tension so high that both of you are afraid to speak, much less move. but you put it upon yourself to break the tension, as it was your idea in the first place. bathing together.

the silence and the darkness combined makes it so every movement and every breath is unmistakeable and pronounced. the same applies to the sound of your voice when you start to speak, “thank you.”

all of a sudden, mark repositions himself. you can barely see it, but you hear the water sloshing and you feel it move about you. he’s sat across the tub, and you find it fascinating that even without light, his eyes still manage to shine. looking into them, you resume, “thank for everything you did, after we broke up.”

you can hear him swallow. the more you talk, the more you feel the tears pricking at your eyes, your emotions rising as you continue to speak, “and thank you driving me across the country, and for always being considerate, and for apologizing, and for…” your voice lowers to a bare whisper, “...everything. for everything you have ever done for me.”

“you don’t… you don’t have to thank me for anything.”

whereas your tears are at the precipice of falling, you notice that mark has begun crying. they’re silent, the way his tears roll down his left cheek. the water around you shifts, ebbs and flows, as you move closer to him and reach a useless wet hand to wipe his tears. you keep your hand on his cheek. and again, mark finds that he can hardly breathe, “i did it all… i did all of it, because i…”

mark breathes a sharp inhale, the air struggling to squeeze past the three words that remain lodged in his throat. he’s twenty-four now, and he’s still scared of the dark. but by no means is he scared of the monsters under his bed. without light, a camera has to resort to longer exposure times to piece together a full picture. without light, the human eye has to dilate to capture more of what is right in front of it. if his exposure is set too low and if his eyes fail to dilate, all that will remain will be a blurry image, uncertainty as to what was, nothing when there was actually everything. 

here in this bathroom, where there is nothing but you and him and a million unsaid truths, mark finds that he is terrified of losing what’s right in front of him to the darkness. again, he is most fearful of losing you.

both of your hands now cup his cheeks, bringing his face in line with your own. he has his arms around you, and you can feel his fingers pruning on the skin of your waist. you think you have an idea of what he’s about to say, was about to say, but you’re scared he won’t say it. with nothing but a thin veil of air between your noses, you decided to help him overcome his fears.

“i think we feel the same way about each other.” please say it to me.

mark blinks, breaks the stare, looks away, upwards, to the side, “we can’t possibly feel the same…”

he sounds almost exasperated, in the most diminished sense, but you push again, “even then, i don’t mind,” just tell me you love me.

“we can’t possibly feel the same…” mark returns your gaze again, and you watch as his pupils dilate, “because there’s no way you love me as much as i love you.”

the veil of air between your two noses lifts as you lean in for a kiss. a small one. one that says, i will always love you.

of all the things water could symbolize, the water in this bathtub surrounding the two of you represents life, the life that was breathed back into your relationship. this is owed to truth, which is a funny thing for it often hides in plain sight. a year ago at the lake, where the sun had touched every surface on the face of the earth, it had not bothered to dig deeper than that. it is only in the darkness that the truth has nowhere to hide. and if mark had been fearful of the dark moments ago, it is for this reason that he isn’t anymore.

「 DAY 06, 1:18 PM 」 —  LIKE WE JUST MET

the trunk of his beloved subaru crosstrek slams shut from behind. mark winces. the car door of the passenger seat slams shut shortly after. mark winces once again, and complains rather brashly, “can you not do that every time you get in my car?”

“you’re late. we’re late. can we just get going already?”

mark huffs, turning his attention to the front because the both of you are at fault. you, for not treating his baby with love and care. and him, for picking you up almost twenty minutes after he was supposed to. the wedding venue was an hour away including traffic, and now mark had only forty minutes to not jeopardize the state of his new old relationship.

he’s all but broken your neck by the time you arrive — only five minutes late — after accelerating and braking as aggressively as was necessary to get you to your destination.

while you collect your belongings, mark exits the car, straightens out his tux, and makes his way over to your side of the car, pulling the door open for you. you meet him with a glare while clambering out the car, “you’re lucky nothing’s started yet.”

with you as the maid of honor and with him as just your plus one, he spends most of the time idling around and mingling with acquaintances he hasn’t seen in ages, whilst you headed to the suites of the beachside resort to help your sister get ready. mark is shocked, more than he has been in the past week, to find out that you hadn’t told a single relative that you’d broken up with him in the first place. still, he plays his role as “boyfriend for almost three years” quite well.

throughout the rest of the day, mark notices a few things. 

1) you like the venue, a lot. a summer wedding on the beach, with pastels and flowers and the wind in everyone’s hair. and since you’d commented on these things more than once, mark made sure to commit it to memory for future reference.

2) your sister made a face at you before turning around and throwing the bouquet, which you caught. did everyone think he was supposed to propose right then and there? he doesn’t know, but something about the way your sister had regarded him the whole night makes him nervous. as in the “meeting the in-laws” kind of nervous.

3) lastly, you were more beautiful that you were yesterday. but also, yesterday you were more beautiful than you were the day before. mark had recognized this ongoing phenomena ever since you’d stepped in his car, and it doesn’t seem like there’s a cap to his admiration for you. at this point, it’s like he’s just waiting for any day now where it gets out of hand and he does propose.

it’s on the dance floor where this last point becomes very apparent to him. you’re laughing at everything he’s saying, eyes beaming up at him as he sways you this way and that. when he leans down to plant a kiss to your forehead, mark swears the smile you give in return could save lives with just how radiant it is. he feels a bit silly, like he’s gone a little crazy, but mark knows that the next wedding he’s going to will be his.

and it’s as if your minds communicated on a frequency that only the other could hear, as just the next moment you whisper in his ear.

“us next?”

✧ [ FIN. ]  copyright © 2023 rouiyan all rights reserved.  

✧ author's life update — honestly who knew i would get back into writing ff... basically i graduated from high school, got into a few t20 colleges, lost a parent to cancer, gained a parent, lost two best friends, broke up with my long term boyfriend, got my license, turned legal, AND saw the dreamies in concert. so if anyone's wondering why i left.... i'm just glad to say i'm so bored that i'm back. and yes this fic is mostly a self-indulgent account of what i wish my relationship and family life turned out to be but the moral of this story really is: if you're emotionally unstable, seek professional help before relying too much on your s/o. unless they are, of course, mark lee.

sources wnrs card game wnrs free deck (shhh) upmc pinnacle colon and rectal surgery center brockhampton saturation ii track 16 one star relax inn review little crazy love song alley spring mill the flea holiday inn at ok my fav tea that got me thru this wendy’s in amarillo sumner lake state park svalbard wikipedia things to do at white sands national park new mexico el rey motel

[pure-oddity]

Gifts and Well Wishes

Content: very fluffy!! brief hint at nsfw, so MDNI(this is an 18+ blog anyway yall shouldn't be here regardless), Simon's Pov

He feels a weight settle on his chest and awareness hits him quickly. He keeps his breathing level while he listens to the weight mutter under her breath , something about him being built like a slab of concrete. He slits his eyes open to see her sat on his chest, a brownie in hand - little waxy candle in the middle.

Almost laughs as he watches her struggle to light the damn thing. Snorts when she swears at it. Her eyes flick up and she grins at him, "don't fuckin laugh at me! This thing won't light!"

Watches like a lazy cat as she flicks the lighter on over and over, moves a hand to take over when she finally gets it. She's humming a tune at him as he caresses the soft skin of her leg. He realizes it's happy birthday.

"Okay big guy, blow this thing out and make a wish - preferably before I drop it and burn down our home." And the candle lit brownie is lowered towards his face.

He pinches his tongue between his thumb and pointer finger, and snuffs the light out between spit slick fingers.

"You-! Ah whatever, I'm sure whoevers in charge of granting birthday wishes won't mind that you didn't blow it out." She waves a hand passively and removes the still smoking candle.

"Thought we celebrated already?" He watches as she places it in her cup of water on her side of the bed. Makes a mental note to replace it for her.

"Nope! Yoooouu said you didn't want a party or a surprise, so we didn't have one." She reminded.

"Hung out with the boys at the pub." He countered.

"That was just something fun to do, not a party. If it were a party we would have had cake and they woulda brought you gifts - maybe asked the staff to sing!" She insisted, tone musing as if she could picture it.

"Thank fuck that wasn't a party then." He snorts. He can imagine it too. The idea ends with himself getting up and walking out mid song.

"And because it's just me and I got you a brownie instead of cake - it's still not a party" she's clearly anticipated his responses. If it were anyone else he'd be more agitated at feeling predictable.

Her leg shits, subtlety for her, not so much for him. He sees a shape now partially hidden behind the same leg.

"Love." Making his dissaproval known with a single word is a skill he's honed.

"Shhhhhhh! Just eat your brownie, I made it myself!" She's undeterred by his dissaproval.

"Told you I didn't need anything" he grumbles, in hindsight he should have seen this coming.

"Less talking more eating!" She shoves the treat closer and with a deep exhale he sits up, one hand on the brownie the other to help stabilize her as she's sent off his chest into his lap.

It's a good mix of bitter and sweet, slightly more bitter. Still warm and gooey in the way he likes. Made with his preferences in mind he chews with an appreciative hum, places a peck on her forhead - "get chocolate on my face and ill bite your boob!"

His chest shakes in mirth as he spares a glance to make sure he hadn't gotten chocolate on her - knows she'll follow through on her threat, he's got the marks to prove it.

He eyes the shape - present- warily, as though it might bite them.

"Oh stop! You're gonna love it, just two things and they're small." She sounds hopeful, and excited. He supposes even if it were dog shit in a box he'd atleast TRY to sound happy, or at the very least sound not as angry as he could be to recieve dog shit.

He swallows the last bite of brownie, she plucks a crumb from his face and licks it off her finger. He contemplates asking for another kind of present for his birthday.

She seems to know where his mind has wandered and gives him an impish grin and a swat to his chest

"Down boy! We'll get to that later- open this first!"

She leans in his lap towards the gift and plucks it up with egar hands, practically shoving it into his own. Her fingers slide against his own rough and calloused palms and he shudders out a sigh. Her hands so much smaller but no less sure of what they're doing.

He takes a pause to settle his nerves, and pulls on the string holding the wrapping together. He's careful as he plucks open the paper, going slower at her insistence that 'you don't need to save the paper, just rip it!'.

Paper and ribbon no longer keeping the box closed he pops the lid open. Inside he finds what he recognizes as a sheathed knife, and a - bracelet?

He moves to pick it up but he's guided towards the knife."That one needs an explanation, focus on the knife first" she speaks softly, a hint of nerves.

Ever the dutiful soldier he follows her command. Grabbing the blade and carefully removing it from its case. It's got a good weight, balanced. It glistens in the lamplight. He recognizes the brand immediately

"how'd you get your hands on this? They only deal with custom shit - and only if you can prove you're armed services. Which you, love - unless you have something to tell me - are not" he says it like it's a joke. He hopes his eyes convey how deathly serious he is.

The idea of it - her in the field hurt or worse, lost and -

"I'm not in the military no. Buuutt your captain is!"

Ah, that. That makes more sense. But-

"He gave me his number the night you introduced us, in case I ever needed him or you"

Ah, so the old mans sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He gives her an unimpressed look before sighing "alright fine. 'S a good gift. Thank you love, I'll keep it close."

"You're welcome! Now the other one."

She reaches for it before he's even set the blade on the bedside table. It is indeed a bracelet, it's something woven. Three strands, black, gold and blue.

She prods at his hands and taps each wrist, he gives her his preferred hand as she ties it on.

"So it's. It's uh. Hm. So okay, I was thinking about jewelry recently and I ended up remembering a conversation with my nana - you haven't met- but it was something like uh. " He watches her flounder, and if he wasn't already giving her his undivided attention his is now.

"Jewelry can be kind of a shield between the wearer and bad things. That if a piece of your jewelry breaks it means that it stopped something bad from happening to you. Like it sucked up all the bad and broke itself so you wouldn't break."

She's finished tying it, and now runs her hand along the lines in his palm. There's a sadness in her eyes now. He despises it, especially because this is likely something he can't just kill.

"And we'll. I cant...I can't protect you when you leave. I'm, I'd be no good at what you do. And sometimes that really bothers me. But I can do this. I can make this so that - so that even if I can't protect you, this can."

She rolls her eyes, and he sees that they're shiny now.

"And yes, I KNOW this little thing can't stop a bullet or whatever and it's not exactly jewelry like my nana was saying but. You know, I feel like it counts. And I made it. I...I kinda wished on it? Sorta. I just - thought every good thought I could and poured all my hopes that you come home safe and that you know I lo- well you know. " she flaps her hands dismissively and his free hand cups her warm cheek. She leans into it instinctively but her eyes brighten a smidge.

"And I know its silly but...can't hurt? And, and! It has your two favorite colors , black and blue"

"And the gold?" He encourages. Has a feeling his assumption is correct.

She meets his eyes, she knows he knows the answer - he just wants to hear it from her.

"....it's me. You say I light up your life and well , golds like sunlight so...... it was either that or piss yellow."

He barks out a laugh "gold. Gold's fine..." a comment rests on his tongue. The one where he tells her that he isn't superstitious and that he doesn't believe in things like luck. But he remembers that neither does she and instead trails off.

She can't control what happens out there or what he does. She understands it, she struggles with it. It's the fear, loving a man made for war is hard. She won't leave him, won't let herself be chased off. Willingly haunted by a man mostly dead. But he knows she's scared.

So if wearing her little trinket will sooth her soul, even a little, even if it doesn't make logical sense. He'll wear it.

"Thank you love. I'll keep it with me yeah? I'll be bullet proof."

"Okay - now you're making fun of me!...you don't HAVE to-"

"Might have to ask you to make some for the boys..specially Johnny. Fucker keeps adding holes faster than the medics can patch em up."

She pauses and a teeny grin lights up her face. That's better he thinks.

"Yeah! I have some yarn left over fro-"

"Fuck no. These are my colors, give him piss yellow."

She laughs loud, he'd worry about bothering his neighbors if he gave a fuck. But the woman in his lap makes it hard to be worried about much else besides keeping her laughing.

------------

"New gear Lt.?"

He flicks his gaze towards Johnny at the question, and he almost tells him no - he doesn't have any new gear. Until he remembers.

He took it out subconsciously, her knife. Just to keep his hands idle on the flight over to the middle of danger again. He also spies the tricolor cord peeking out from under his sleeve, knows the Scotsman has seen both.

"Something like that yea."

"Hmmmm wager a guess its from the missus?"

He stares at Johnny and the man snorts.

"Sorry yea, shouldn't have asked when I know the answer - ain't that right cap?"

Ghost eyes the captain next to him, catching his whiskerd grin tells him all he needs to know. Meddling old man.

"Never took you for a jewelery kinda guy Lt. ,not gonna lie" it's Gaz this time, he looks at the braclet with warmth in his eyes - a pinch of longing. A good lad Gaz, if he doesn't already have someone to come home to - he'll find them easy enough.

"Man of mutitudes Sgt. What can i say?"

The knife is returned to its proper place and his sleeve is adjusted to hide the woven band from any more eyes as the helicopter makes its descent.

And when there's a moment of peace after the fighting, he checks to make sure both are still there - keeping him safe.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Based on the burger, Novelle going on a burger date with her s/o and the s/o doing the burger challenge from persona 5 and managing to do it!

(Genshin Impact) Noelle's S/O attempting the Big Bang Burger challenge

"Whopper, Whopper, Whopper, Whopper Junior, Double, Triple, Whopper You live at 108 East Columbia Street-"

(Noelle) "I'm not a fussy eater, but I really don't like banquets… The reason being, as the maid, I am expected to sample every single dish on the table to ensure its quality. Just one bite of each, of course, but it all adds up… Oh, the guilt…" (Direct Game Dialogue)

Noelle tries not to gorge herself on food. It's very unmaid-like to have crumbs covering your cheeks, munching away on a variety of food.

But when Good Hunter had a new challenge for a "Burger", S/O wanted to try it out during their date.

Noelle is ready to order a salad before seeing S/O saying they would like to attempt the challenge.

In thirty minutes, S/O had to eat a massive burger, the size of which could dwarf the stars!...Or so the advertising blurb went, anyway.

She wasn't entirely sure if this was a foreign food or not, but, it did look good at least!

As for the challenge...not so much. Noelle's belt felt tighter just looking at the picture.

(Noelle) "S/O? Are you sure you want to take the challenge?"

Well, then again the pictures tend to exaggerate how big food actually is-

By Barbatos's holy balls, that burger was MASSIVE.

It made everyone passing by do a double take, looking at the size of the burger on the plate.

(Noelle) "What in the world, where's the bread?! That's just meat and veggies!"

(S/O) "I can do this, Noelle! If I finish it, the meal is free!"

(Noelle) "Oh dear."

Noelle watched S/O tackle the burger as they picked it up somehow and dug in.

It honestly made her feel ill just looking at them.

That burger alone was more than she ate in an entire week.

As the minutes pass by, it feels like hours as she barely sees a dent made in the burger.

By the ten minute mark, S/O looked like they were ready to die, Noelle's heart was ready to burst, thinking they actually would.

She could feel the calorie pressure just radiating from the burger as S/O finally made decent progress.

Finally by the thirty minute mark, a crowd had gathered around S/O to watch, Noelle only realizing they were there when they finally finished.

Their face slammed onto the table, with Sara clapping her hands.

(Sara) "Congratulations! You've beaten the challenge! Your meal for Miss Noelle and yourself are free, and here's your prize!"

...It was a charm necklace in the shape of a burger.

That was just insult to injury.

(Noelle) "S/O?"

(S/O) "Ugh...I-I did it...Enjoy your meal, sweetie."

(Noelle) "How can I enjoy my meal when you're about to die from indigestion?!"

(S/O) "Do...you want a burger?"

(Noelle) "NO!...W-Well, not that one, but I still shouldn't put on any calories!"

(Lumine) "I feel like I've gained weight just watching you..."

(Noelle) "AGH! H-Honorary Knight? When did you get here?!"

(Lumine) "Paimon and I came to see what the fuss was about about fifteen minutes ago. Gotta say, I'm impressed!"

Noelle watched Paimon materialize next to Lumine.

(Paimon) "Paimon likes new food buuuuut, that might be a bit too far!...Also, is S/O going to be alright?"

Noelle sighed and gently picked up S/O into her arms effortlessly, cradling them to not further upset their stomach.

(S/O) "Probably not."

(Noelle) "Please, excuse me!"

Before departing, Noelle made sure to organize the plates, and steal a Fontaine Fry before heading to Barbara's.

[heelanat]

k so i was thinking about best friend!hao x u doing anatomy homework. imagine hin asking you for some random body part and if you got it right he WOULD KISS THAT PART hwheh

-💌

tiger stripes | zhang hao

pairing| bff!hao x chubbyfem!reader

cw| fluff!, slightly suggestive?, kissing body parts, mentions of abuse, common fem insecurities (you're beautiful and worthy, don't let anyone tell you any different ilysm <3)

wc| 1.1K words

prolouge| ever since the zhang family moved next door, little you and little hao have always been the best of friends, doing anything and everything together being only children and neighbors. your favorite game was pretend doctor where you would take turns being the patient. this ignited a spark, encouraging the both of you to take medical courses in the future. similar as you are, both of you grew up differently as he was raised in a loving an encouraging household, while you were being beaten up by your step father every day until you turned 16 when your mom finally caught him in the act and forced him to move out.

playlist| all of me by john legend "love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections"

ask from 💌 anon| "k so i was thinking about best friend! hao x u doing anatomy homework. imagine hin asking you for some random body part and if you got it right he WOULD KISS THAT PART hwheh"

a/n: the way this ask was so convenient because im a nursing major and were about to learn muscle anatomy next month? ilysm 💌 anon <3

one warm summer evening, as the sun dipped behind the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, you and hao found yourselves alone sitting on the floor of your bedroom. it was finals week and you decided to procrastinate the whole two months now you're stressing over how you're gonna do in the exam. you knew how careless you were and you knew you should've had that mindset months ago to scare yourself but we can't turn back time now can we? in complete utter desperation with no other choice, you decided to phone a friend and he arrived at your doorstep in a jiffy — literally, he was just next door.

fifteen minutes after you sent your text, the doorbell rang making you rush down the stairs but your mom got to it first. she opened the door to hao, grinning from ear to ear while holding out a container. even in a casual shirt and baggy pants, he still looked very presentable. "good afternoon, mrs ln! my mother baked these cupcakes earlier, they're still warm!" he handed it to her using both hands. "oh why thank you, hao. come, come in, ill get you something to drink" your mom gestured for him to come in as she made her way to the kitchen. upon entering, he noticed you from the flight of stairs and smiled wider.

and that's how you ended up gossiping and laughing on the floor while eating the cupcakes and drinking milk. you caught a glimpse of your beside clock while trying to catch your breath. "holy fuck it's 8:57 already?!" your eyes widened while wiping away the crumbs and icing from your lips. "guess we spilt too much tea" hao chuckled. you took out the cue cards you had prepared and gave it to him. "okay, no more mucking around. let's get some work done!" you dust the crumbs from your hands together before sitting down in a more comfortable position.

twenty minutes have passed and you made zero progress so far. hao even tried repeating the same question after every other one but you still couldn't get it through your thick skull. "it's hopeless, im never gonna be a nurse. guess you'll have to find someone else to be your assistant" you bent your knees up to your chest as you buried your face in them. "hey, hey, don't say that" hao scooted closer and hugged you while rubbing your back soothingly. "i wouldn't dream of having anyone else helping out dr. zhang, hm?" he lifted your cheeks to make you face him, smiling in reassurance.

"i'll tell you what, for every muscle you get right, i'll kiss you right there" he brushed a strand of hair from your face behind your ear. you felt your face heat up as his words echoed through your ears. "w-what?" he snickered. "well, maybe you're having trouble learning about the body because you're not giving enough love to this one. so, i will be doing it instead" he took her hand and kissed it. at that moment, you came to the realization that you started to see hao differently over the years since puberty so this was all coming to a surprise — but you liked it.

renered speechless, you gave a small nod as a response as he scooted backwards and took out the questionnaires once again. "let's start with an easy one, where are the biceps located?" you flexed your arm and pointed at it with a smug face, making both of you laugh right after. "that's right, good job yn" hao leaned forward and gently pulled your arm towards him before kissing your bicep, fulfilling his promise from earlier. you pouted and puffed your cheeks as you tried reverting the blood rushing to your face. "cutie" hao cooed at you and pinched your cheek before sitting back up.

"next, can you tell me where's the tendinous inscription?" you thought for a few seconds before finally pointing at it, poking your belly in the process. "good job, princess" hao liked giving you those nicknames since neither of you were dating anyone, no one was going to be jealous about it. he lifted your tank top ever so slightly and planted a soft kiss just above the belly button. "that tickles" you giggled in response. you should have kept that to yourself, tho. after saying that, hao kept on kissing, even moving around, painting your belly with his lips. "hao, stop!" you whined in between your laughter while trying to push his head away. hao finally declared defeat and stood back up, drinking some milk to rehydrate his palette.

"now, where were we?" he hummed as he was looking for a harder question. "ah, yes, the sternohyoid!" he gave a cheeky grin. you shifted your gaze to the side, trying your hardest to remember what it could be. giving up, you took the chances and pointed on your forehead. "hmm, are you sure?" hao asked in a teasing manner however he has been using thag to play mind games on you and thought you weren't gonna fall to his tricks again. "positive" you smirked to yourself, almost tasting the sweet victory. "aww, you're wrong, sorry" hao pouted while crossing his arms to form an x for incorrect. "oh, dang! i actually forgot that one, where is it again?" you innocently asked.

hao smirked and took this opportunity to lean towards you and kiss your neck. "here" he looked back at you, smiling feeling proud of himself as you froze in your position. "hey, you said you would only kiss me if i got the answers right" you smacked his arm playfully. "yeah but, i was really hoping you would get that one" he bit his bottom lip and winked at you. you rolled your eyes as he only snickered in response. he shuffled all the cards and pulled a random one from the deck.

"ooh, the gracilis!" hao widened his eyes while reading the question. "ah, i know this one because my step father used to always complain about it - its somewhere here" you encircled your inner thigh. "thats correct!" hao clapped and cheered making you also clap in response. hao carefully spread your legs apart and started lifting up one of the leg openings before you grabbed his fist, stopping him. "hm? what's wrong?" hao looked up at you in between your thighs. "y-you'll see my stretch marks..." you looked away while hiding half of your face with your hand. "so? if tigers can proudly flaunt their stripes in the wild then so can you" he continued exposing your thigh before kissing it. "that's where the gracilis is" you bit your lip as your face flushed pink, looking at where he just kissed you. not only that, that comparison made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. maybe hao is right, this body isn't so bad after all. you're just a fluffy cat in this world full of strays — with tiger stripes.

[fic--writer]

Butter cookies

A collection of notes and letters from Rolan to Tav, whith plot. No warnings, it's just cute fluff. SFW

Part 1/2, Part 2/2

№ 1

Tav, I know you're a legend and all. But I've agreed to give you a job in the shop and put you in the tower. And I expect you to follow a few rules. Please be careful with the books. Customers are complaining about greasy marks on the pages with a cookie smell. I investigated and found out that YOU are the only one in the whole tower who eats stupid butter cookies.

№ 3

On Thursday, don't forget to alphabetize the scrolls from the shelf by the west exit. In strict alphabetical order, Tav.

If you forget the alphabet, ask Tolna for a ABC-book.

№ 5

No, it's not another lecture. In fact, I wouldn't waste so much of my valuable time on you if you would at least pretend to be a responsible employee. So what did I want to say?

Oh yeah, it's an invitation to our family dinner at 8:00 p.m.

Lia says to tell you that attendance is mandatory.

№ 7

At the end of the month your salary will be paid. I warn you that if you take another one of these "sick days" next month, the same ones where you took Lia shopping and came back with happy faces and the signs of any illness disappeared without a trace, then the next month's "sick days" will not be paid.

№ 10

Crumbs. From. Cursed. Butter. Cookies. Right. On. The. Counter!!!

№ 15

Several customers have returned the books. Guess why? You're fined a day's pay.

№ 17

Tav, do you really think putting "loud laughing potion" in Tolna's coffee is funny?

It's not!

№ 21

Dinner is at 8:00 p.m.

№ 22

I found your thoughts at dinner about improving the tower's security to be very interesting and feasible, we'll have to discuss it more later. Request: could you dress more modestly for the table?

I'm worried about Cal's eyes.

№ 25

Tav, I've had your last month's pay for three days now. Pick it up when you're free.

№ 33

It seems we have a loyal customer base thanks to you. Those high-born ladies in tasteless pink hats praised you and your sense of humor.

I don’t understand this, but I gave you a bonus. And finally, please, take your money.

№ 38

Is it just me, or have you been staring at me from behind the bookshelves today? Tav, if you need something, say it, if you can't say it, write it. I'm not in the mood for a guessing game. I have no idea what you mean.

№ 43

Arabella will occasionally borrow a set of beginner's magic books. Don't charge her for them. She will read them, return them, and request the next list. Please take control of this.

But if you meet Mattis or Mol, then on the contrary, don’t give them anything! Don't trust their promises! Drive them away by any means necessary!

№ 56

Order black ink.

№ 62

Tav, what happened the day before is not permissible, unacceptable, and will not be allowed to happen again under any circumstances. Yes, we are increasing the number of customers and improving the security of the tower every day, by your efforts too. But! It's not okay for you to lounge around in MY book throne in front of strangers! I am still the Archmage and your boss!!!

At least not in front of strangers?!

№ 63

Am I grumpy?

I wouldn't be grumpy if you were a little more civilized.

№ 64

Thanks for the bottle of wine you slipped under my door as a, uh, apology?

Apology not accepted.

№ 67

I'm sorry I yelled at you. You'll find the two months' salary you never took in your dresser drawer.

The disgusting drawings I found there... Zurgan, Tav! I don't have to tell you how revolting they are, do I?! I burned them.

№ 69

I couldn't get those drawings out of my head. I mean... I mean, I couldn't get that horrible, distorted Tiefling anatomy out of my head. I left the scientific works on Tiefling physiology right under your door.

[zhindian]

I’m gonna rant about how the guys of Judgment Day have been treated under a cut. People who tell me I’m taking this too seriously (which seems to happen whenever I talk about this person) will be blocked. I don’t give a fuck.

Get it? Got it? Good.

It’s time shit or get off the pot when it comes to Rhea and the Judgment Day.

I have no ill will toward Rhea and her popularity. I’m happy she got it. If the powers that be want to make her face and book her like a face, be my guest.

HOWEVER…

The guys of Judgment Day have hindered and pushed to the side to the point they couldn’t even get to talk about their tag team title match at a press conference for PLE that they’re on…

…where said PLE has only three matches and an interview segment.

…where an announcement of a preshow women’s tag team title match got more attention.

…where the Judgment Day as it relates to the guys wasn’t even talked about.

If you want to keep Rhea as face, fine. But her association with the Judgment Day needs to end. It needs to start now.

Dominik, whose character is wrapped up with Rhea’s shouldn’t have to be separated from her with no reason just because you want Rhea to get cheered because Dom brings heat. That’s not fair to him that he gets cut off at the knees when he (and Rey, Finn, and Damian) all contributed to Rhea’s success. Why should he be put in a closet for getting that heat most other wrestlers would be killing himself for?

You can’t keep posting all the Dom and Rhea crumbs on social media and then not do anything on the shows. Then act amazed at why people are upset they’re not on TV anymore. Thats making your cake and eating it too. No one wants to live off the crumbs they occasionally throw on social media. Just today we got a tiny bit with Rhea’s VLOG and I couldn’t even get excited.

Damian and Finn as reigning tag team champs couldn’t even talk at a press conference for a PLE that only has three matches on the main card. Why even book them on the card? The way they were treated, I’d expect Finn and Damian to be the ones on the preshow, instead of the women’s tag team match. This also hurts Dunne and Tyler as any kind of attention was stripped from them as well.

Also, while the powers that be were making Rhea a star Finn, Damian, Dom, and JD were locked in with R-truth and were made to look like idiots. Instead of taking this period after losing at survivor series to build them back up to be ruthless but lovable heels, they have to constantly deal with R- Truth step n fetch it act (which is another rant). Instead of going with R-Truth helping them get wins, all it did was make Dom and especially JD lose all good chunk of the their matches. The only thing that may come from this Damian face turn.

But that still leaves Dom, JD, and Finn in a lurch. Dom’s spinning his wheels while JD and Finn barely have anything to latch onto.

But I digress. They need to shit or get off the pot with Rhea’s face turn. It’s to the point where I’m not caring about her as much anymore, I don’t want the Dom and Rhea pairing anymore, and i ust rather they just go ahead and rip the bandaid off.

I won’t be feeling sad about a break up, I’ll be breathing a sigh of relief. And that sucks.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

hostage | taken

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: panic attacks, implied/reference domestic abuse, sunah being creepy

Pairings: the canon levels of queer ambiguity surrounding our main two judges

Word Count: 5366

"I called him 'hyung,'" he mumbles and feels the noose around his neck tighten, "that's what happened."

"What?"

"That night. When you—when it was just him. He was trying to help me and I—I called him 'hyung.'"

"Yah," Elijah cries when Gaon's the one knocking on her door, "what are you doing? Yohan said you're supposed to stay in bed until you're better!"

"Since when do you listen to him?"

She glares at him. "You're an idiot and you're going to hurt yourself."

He laughs and she hates him a little bit for how much it makes her want to give in. She's stronger than that. He's the one hurt, she's the smart one. "Both of those things are probably true, but I was getting restless."

She allows herself one more glower before she's reluctantly letting him into her room. He bows his head like he always does and walks inside. "What do you want?"

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted breakfast, but if I'm too ill to be standing—"

"Oh, shut up," she grumbles, already wheeling out the door, listening to him laugh again behind her, "what are you making?"

"What would you like?"

"The toast you made a few days ago."

"Then that is what we'll eat. Do you want to help?"

"Can I?"

Gaon puts her to work chopping the cabbage and slicing the bread while he warms up a pan on the stove. He reaches for the butter dish and sighs when he sees what's underneath. "I shouldn't be surprised that neither of you eats butter, but you should try to."

"Why? Doesn't it just make you fat?"

"What's wrong with being fat?"

Elijah pauses, her knife still in the air, before she shrugs. "The doctors said I should try and stay the same weight. And isn't being fat bad for you?"

"No. In fact, most studies show that fat people are happier and live longer."

"Then why are we told not to get fat?"

Gaon shrugs. "Who knows? My point was that you can eat butter if you want to."

"Oh. Then you should put the butter dish closer to the edge of the counter so I can reach it."

He sets it back down, right near the other container with her cereal. A few moments later, he comes over to see where she is with the cabbage, smiling and taking the small bowl from her over to the stove. He cracks an egg and then another, and soon the kitchen fills with the sizzle of cooking food.

"Soohyun-unnie says you taught her how to cook."

"Simple things, nothing complicated." He rolls his eyes. "I learned my lesson about leaving her alone in the kitchen for complicated things."

"Why, what happened?"

"Oh, she almost set fire to my curtains."

Elijah bursts out laughing. "How clumsy was she?"

"It was more like she didn't understand how hot you could make a pan with oil in it before it explodes. Very dangerous." He points at her with his spatula. "You won't be doing anything like that, will you?"

"No, I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not."

She raises her head and nods to herself, going back to finish chopping the cabbage. When she's done and it's all in another bowl, she carries it over to the stove and sets it next to his elbow. He flips what's in the pan over a few more times before carefully using the spatula to cut it apart, laying it on the bread slices.

"Do you have the sugar?"

"Yes, it's right here."

The toast takes shape between them and when they've finished, there's a pile on the plate. Elijah sighs and reaches for one only for Gaon to lightly smack her hand.

"Yah! What are you doing?"

"Eat at the table," he scolds, picking up the plate and carrying it over, "then you won't get crumbs everywhere."

She grumbles but does as she's told, wheeling over and waiting for him to set the plate down between them. "Aren't you sitting down too?"

"I'm going to make coffee. You go ahead and eat, though."

She does, uncaring of the crumbs now that she's got a plate underneath her, watching him as he goes through the cabinets until he finds the coffee he wants. With the way he's turned, she can't stop her eyes traveling over the bandage on his neck, nor the rest of him. Her hands stutter momentarily when she thinks about the video.

"We should kill her."

Gaon startles, looking over. "Who?"

"Jung Sunah. The woman who cut you and sent me that video."

"She sent it to you?" He looks horrified at the mention of it. "I'm so sorry, Elijah, you shouldn't have seen that."

"What are you apologizing to me for? You're the one she hurt!" Her hands tighten on her wheels. "We should kill the others who hurt you too."

He lets out another laugh, but this one doesn't sound happy. Gaon should only laugh when he's happy. "You want to kill a lot of people."

"Don't you want to kill them too?"

His hands slow, then pause, as he leans on the counter. He's quiet for a long moment as something flickers across his expression.

A bird chirps outside.

"I don't know," he says finally, picking himself up and going back to making coffee, "by the way, have you seen my phone?"

"Why should I have seen it?"

"I lost it when they took me, I thought they kept it. If they found it when they found me, I figured Chief might have given it to you."

"He didn't. I don't know where it is. You should just get a new phone."

"I can't just afford a new phone—"

"Yohan will buy it." She looks up when Gaon splutters. "What?"

Before he can explain himself, K walks in and bows a good-morning to them both. Gaon seizes on the opportunity to talk to another person and quickly offers him breakfast too.

"I don't know—"

"Please," he interrupts, smiling that big smile he does when he wants you to do something, "sit? Have one at least, we made so many."

"'We?'"

"I helped," she says, "they taste good."

"Elijah is an excellent sous-chef."

K gives in and sits, taking one and biting into it. His eyes widen and he nods. "This is good. Thank you, Kim-pansa, Elijah-ssi."

"You're welcome."

"Have you seen my phone anywhere?" Gaon finally comes to join them at the table, carrying two cups of coffee. "I can't find it anywhere."

"It's plugged in behind the desk in the living room."

"Ah, thank you." He gives Elijah a look as he finally picks up his own food. "No need for me to get a new one."

"He would've bought it for you."

K raises an eyebrow and looks between them. "What's going on?"

"If Gaon needed a new phone, Yohan would've bought it for him."

"Elijah!"

"That is untrue—"

"Thank you."

"—because he's already bought one anyway. Your old one should be turned over for evidence."

"Really?"

She bursts out laughing again as K nods seriously. Gaon looks like he's resisting the urge to put his head in his hands as K reaches for his coffee.

"Besides, it's hardly the most expensive thing he's bought you."

"Tell me more!"

"Are you two going to eat your breakfast or not?"

* * *

Yohan stares out of his office window, fingers drumming on his desk. His computer sits open, some email chain he stopped paying attention to ages ago displayed, patiently awaiting his reply. He ignores it, watching one of the billboard screens play an advertisement for the Social Responsibility Foundation.

Why would Jung Sunah make such a big play so early? She's already kidnapped him and warned him off digging around the Foundation. And now she kidnaps his Left Associate Judge and warns him to only play with her? And to do it so blatantly, to put herself on camera, have herself wound Gaon, and to speak to him. Granted, she didn't use his name, but she didn't exactly keep it a secret as to whom she was speaking to.

What's stopping him from releasing that footage and letting the media eat her alive?

It wouldn't make Gaon very happy.

He holds back a scoff. Gaon would be safer without Jung Sunah roaming around, especially now that she apparently has a taste for his blood. And what, he's already thrown Gaon's past to the public and he seems to have been forgiven for that.

Has he forgiven you?

"I don't need his forgiveness," he mutters to himself as he turns back to these wretched emails.

A knock comes from his door.

"Enter."

A distraction walks in, taking the form of Lawyer Ko and Judge Oh, both carrying a large file as they bow and wish him good morning. He waves them to the larger desk by the window and walks over to join them.

"This is for the next trial, yes?"

"That's correct. We've been trying to anticipate the defense's trial strategy and prepare accordingly."

"I was able to find the majority of the evidence through their databases since they have to report their overall records to the public," Judge Oh explains, flipping open the file and running her finger down a large spreadsheet. "It looks as though they're trying to falsely declare the information protected and claim data theft, even though it's public information, by law."

He listens to their explanations. They're good. They're very good. If he hadn't already a plan for this trial, he would be using this one. As it stands, he nods and makes affirmative noises at the appropriate intervals, and continues turning the video over in his mind.

There must be something he's missing. Some piece of leverage, some piece of information, something more than Gaon's dignity she thinks will keep him from releasing it.

"Chief?"

He blinks, focusing on Judge Oh's face. "Yes?"

"You seem lost in thought," she says, "I asked you if you had any input."

"No, no, it seems fine." He waves his hand dismissively. "Send me the charts, I'd like to look them over myself."

"Of course."

He glances out of the window. The advertisement plays again.

Is she banking on his reluctance to play the card she's dealt him so quickly?

"Are you worried about Judge Kim?"

He turns to look at her, taken aback by her sudden question and even more by her perceptiveness. "Why would you ask that?"

"I'm worried about him too. He seems to get himself injured a lot."

Lawyer Ko disguises a snort behind a cough. "That's one way of putting it, sure."

"Is he healing alright?"

Yohan shifts. "How should I know?"

She frowns. "He's staying with you, isn't he?"

He doesn't say anything, inviting her to tell him how exactly she knows that yes, Gaon is currently in his house and will stay there until he heals if he knows what's good for him. Judge Oh closes one of the files and tucks it into her arm.

"His friend called the office earlier to ask if he'd left his phone here. I said he didn't, and she told me what happened."

Something tight closes around Yohan's chest. "She did?"

"Yes." Judge Oh shakes her head. "I can't believe Bamboo Spear are getting so aggressive to beat people up like that. And to take him out on the street like that too—I was half worried he'd be in the hospital."

"He should be."

Ignoring Lawyer Ko's pointed remark and even more pointed look, Yohan stands, signifying that he's quite ready for these people to be out of his office. "He's healing fine."

"Let him know I asked, would you?" He hums. "And tell him to let his friend know when he finds his phone."

"Or gets a new one."

Alright, that's enough out of you. "Didn't you have a meeting with the PD?"

Lawyer Ko just gives him a look that he's starting to see on Elijah's face too and the two of them leave. He makes sure they really are gone before he shakes his head and turns back to his desk. As he goes, he catches sight of his own phone on the desk.

Gaon hadn't asked about it, and he wasn't inclined to just give it back. It could have been tracked, after all, and the police would want it for evidence—Chief Jo especially. And that policewoman would want a way to contact him...

He wouldn't need it while he was still healing. It wasn't like he was going anywhere and K or Elijah could easily keep him updated.

With this in mind, he reaches for the phone to ask for said update when the screen flickers to life, a notification buzzing.

* * *

Judge Kim says please when he's clearing away the dishes and K flinches. He knows Judge Kim sees it because he pointedly does not look at K for the rest of the time spent washing up. He makes polite conversation until Elijah declares she has class and wheels away, leaving them alone.

"Kim-pansa—"

"You said my phone was behind the desk?"

"Yes, but—"

"Thank you." Judge Kim doesn't give him time to say anything else as he strides to the living room. Unfortunately for him, K has had at least one decade of putting up with Kang Yohan's dramatics and walking quickly from a room isn't going to cut it. He gets up and follows, even as Judge Kim startles at his footsteps. "I'm sure you've got things to do, you don't have to babysit me."

"Kim-pansa."

"Yes?"

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

Irritation flares at the base of his spine and he steps forward. "Don't play dumb about this. Whoever he is—"

"Is none of your business," Judge Kim snaps, moving purposefully toward his phone. K's arm darts forward and grabs his elbow. "Yah! Let me go!"

"It became my business when you called me 'hyung' while having a traumatic breakdown, so—"

"Keep your voice down," he hisses, glancing upward to make sure Elijah hasn't overheard them.

"So," K continues, even as he lets him go and does lower his voice, "if whoever he is, if he can hurt you that badly without being anywhere near you, I need to know about it."

Judge Kim glances up at the second floor one more time before he resigns himself to the fact that yes, K is going to make him talk about this and steps closer, his voice lowered to almost a whisper. "There's nothing to know. I haven't seen him in years."

"Does he know where you are?"

"Right now? I doubt it." Judge Kim huffs and gestures around. "I'm not exactly where most people would expect me to be right now."

Well, maybe not most people who've spent more than five minutes in the same room as you and Kang Yohan, but he doesn't say that bit out loud. "You're a judge on the Live Court Show, surely he's seen you. And your house isn't exactly the most secure."

"It's fine," comes the stubborn insistence, "besides, I'd just been abducted by Jung Sunah and beaten, I was out of it."

K opens his mouth to say that doesn't make me wrong when something buzzes and Judge Kim almost jumps out of his skin. He winces a moment later, probably having jarred a few of the still-healing wounds, and looks guiltily at the floor.

"Why do you care about this," he asks suddenly, "you've never cared that much about my safety before."

"Who do you think is going to be responsible for looking after you once you do get better?"

Judge Kim scoffs. "Between you and Soohyun-ah I'm not going to be able to go to the bathroom in peace. I'm an adult, K, I can look after myself."

"Like the way you did with this?"

Finally, something flickers behind his calm countenance, something like he's finally taking this seriously. "In case you missed it, I let myself get caught so they wouldn't get Elijah. And unless I'm mistaken about who exactly is important to Kang Yohan—"

"You are!"

The force of his sudden shout rings about the room and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

"You are mistaken," he says, watching Judge Kim's eyes widen in shock, "because you wouldn't be here if you didn't mean anything to Kang Yohan. I wouldn't be here with you right now if you weren't important. So you need to look after yourself."

Judge Kim just stares at him. He swallows heavily.

"They've lost too many," K says quietly, "don't make them lose you too."

"…'they?'"

It's K's turn to swallow heavily, drawing himself up a little more. Judge Kim stares at him for a moment longer before the slightest smile comes to his face.

"Don't worry," he whispers, "I won't tell anyone."

"You need to tell him."

His face twitches. "I know."

He looks over his shoulder to where the phone sits plugged in on the windowsill. Something flickers across his features again and for a moment, K sees the terrified man who looked up at him unseeing and called him hyung. The sight of it is almost enough to make him take the words back.

Almost.

* * *

Yohan frowns when he reads the text from K telling him that he needs to give Gaon the new phone tonight. He's about to send a message back asking why, when he hears his door open behind him.

There are only two people with the courage to walk into his office without explicit permission, and one of them is currently healing from wounds at the hands of the other.

He shutters the mask across his features and turns. Jung Sunah smiles sweetly at him, her purse hanging from one finger.

"Young Master," she simpers, walking closer, "you're still here."

"And so are you."

She giggles and stops a breath away. He looks down, absentmindedly recalling his urge to cut her hand off and savoring it as she reaches out to fix his tie. "I expected you to be next to your puppy's side. Or have you decided to put him down too?"

He ignores the cheap remark and tilts his head. "Risky move, sending me that video with yourself in it."

"Oh, that." She turns away and walks to the window. "You and I both know you won't do anything with it."

Oh, do we? He hums, walking over to join her, staring out at the white pavement and the people below. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the self-satisfied smirk curling across her face and inwardly sighs. If she says something about this feeling 'right' or 'belonging up here—'

"It feels good, doesn't it?" She trails a nail along the glass. "Being up here with all of them down there."

"You assaulted a judge of the Live Court Show," he says instead, "threatened to kill him. And you spoke to me as a servant. That doesn't sound like something you want people to know about you."

He sees her hand pause and twitch, clearly fighting the urge to curl into a fist.

"How would they react," he muses, "if they knew?"

Instead of ruffling her further, his remark oddly seems to soothe her. She smiles and turns to face him, wagging her finger like she's scolding a child. "Those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Young Master."

He scoffs. "What do I have to lose from people knowing you used to be my servant?"

The smile only widens. "Didn't your father ever teach you not to let the dogs outside when there are wolves around?"

What?

Without another word, she turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind her. He stares after her for a moment, before glancing back at his phone and K's warning.

What have you done, Kim Gaon, and what aren't you telling me?

* * *

Gaon looks down at his knees, rubbing his hands idly back and forth. The slight sting of his aching muscles keeps his mind here, in this room, instead of off wherever it wants to wander tonight.

It's probably for the best.

Don't make them lose you too.

Kim Gaon may be a lot of things, but he isn't stupid. He knows that he—and his face—have a place in the Kangs' lives now, if only because he's ruthlessly carved one out for himself. And K's right; the two of them have lost so much, it would be cruel to make them lose him too.

He looks at his hands, sees the scars that trace over almost every inch of visible skin. He's been lucky so far, able to hide them beneath the sleeves of his judge robes or beneath the bench where the cameras won't see. And yet there they are, silverly lines that mark him.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he envies Yohan, whose scars are on his back and easily hidden from view.

He hates himself for it before the thought even finishes forming.

How dare he compare himself, how dare he think something like that? How dare he be ungrateful for what live has afforded to spare him, and how dare he wish for something that he knows brings the man pain every time he walks? It's bad enough they sent that video to Elijah, made her watch the face of her father held at knifepoint and beaten unceremoniously, how can he look at what pain the two have them have suffered and resent them because he was spared it?

He shakes his head slightly to clear it.

That video. Why did they send it to Elijah? Sure, they needed some way to make their hostage claim known and Jung Sunah seemed to relish the power that being in front of a camera gave her, but it was her. And they sent it to Yohan. Surely that's even more of a risky move than just letting them know he'd been kidnapped? What was stopping Yohan from releasing the footage? Then everyone would know that—

He stops, breath catching in his throat.

The scars on his hands start to tingle.

Everyone would know he was captured. Everyone would know why he's absent from the Live Court Show. Everyone would know that despite all the glitz and prestige, despite the aura surrounding the three judges, despite all of that, Judge Kim Gaon is still vulnerable.

…he's never going to be able to go home again, is he?

The sound of the door flying open behind him makes him jump, whirling around to see Yohan himself standing there, still dressed for work.

I'm not there, it's not him.

"You really should knock," he tries, even though he knows it won't work.

"Still my house," Yohan remarks, walking over and tossing him something. He catches it, looking down. "Your number's been changed."

Gaon stares down at the new phone in his hands, then looks over at his old one, sitting on the nightstand. He swallows. "Why?"

"That one needs to be given to Chief Jo for evidence. And there could be a tracker in it."

He nods dumbly. Evidence. From the kidnapping. Just from the kidnapping.

"It can wait until you put the contacts you want in it," Yohan continues, noticing how quiet he's being, "they have a fair bit to go on at this point."

"Right." He forces himself to look up and smile. "Thank you for the new phone. How was work?"

Yohan stares at him for another moment, turning something over in his mind, before he turns and walks toward the window. "Jung Sunah came to see me today."

Alarm shoots him to his feet. "Are you alright?"

He glances over his shoulder, something that's almost fond amusement playing over his features. He nods and Gaon sags in relief, stumbling back a little onto the bed.

"What did she want?"

"To talk about the video."

Gaon hides his hands behind his back. "Did she ask you not to release it?"

Yohan hums noncommittally. "She seemed certain that I wasn't going to."

"What?"

"Mm."

"Why? There's nothing in it that would hurt you."

Why isn't he releasing the video? Why hasn't he released the video? What did Jung Sunah say to him?

What does she know?

"You've been keeping secrets from me."

His hands tense and freeze behind his back as Yohan turns toward him. "What?"

"Something happened with K the night we brought you back." He starts walking closer. "Something he still won't tell me about."

Shit.

"Do you know what Jung Sunah said to me when I asked why she could be sure I wouldn't release the video?" Gaon shakes his head. "That my father knew not to let the dogs outside when there was rumor of wolves."

A memory of a knife held to his throat and the soft croon of a voice calling him a dog.

The faint ringing noise is back. He's floating, only belatedly realizing that he can't feel his hands anymore.

She knows.

She knows.

Yohan is still waiting for an answer.

Don't let them lose you too.

But how dare he compare his pain to theirs?

He decides then and there that he will not be the reason Jung Sunah gets away with hurting them anymore.

"I called him 'hyung,'" he mumbles and feels the noose around his neck tighten, "that's what happened."

"What?"

"That night. When you—when it was just him. He was trying to help me and I—I called him 'hyung.'"

Yohan is too much a professional to let his confusion show plainly, but he can tell by the silence that it's not good enough. And why would it be? Gaon swallows, glancing around to find something, anything that could help, and his gaze lands on his old phone.

He picks it up and unlocks it, pushing it into Yohan's hands.

"Evidence," he manages, before turning his back and going into the bathroom. The tingle of nausea won't leave the back of his throat and he'd rather not vomit in front of him.

The room is silent save for the gentle tapping noise of Yohan scrolling through the messages and missed call notifications.

A bird chirps outside.

He tries not to flinch and fails miserably as loud footsteps suddenly make for the door and it shuts with a resounding slam. He can't help but sag against the bathroom sink, his hands buried in his hair, bile burning in the back of his throat. He feels cold and hot all over, his hands aching and his body screaming as he gags against the smooth tile.

So.

Yohan knows now.

He wonders if he got as far as at least a whore gives you your money's worth before storming out.

A strangled cry leaves his throat when hands suddenly come to rest on his shoulders and he flails, toppling over and landing hard on the floor.

"Easy," a voice says, "easy."

Yohan—Yohan's still here? He heard him leave, he heard the door close, what—

"Gaon. Gaon. Kim Gaon."

Oh, he realizes when Yohan's voice starts to get more and more urgent, I'm panicking again.

Of course, once he realizes it, he realizes how fast his breathing is, how much his chest feels like a rubber band that just won't give, how much his head is pounding. His hands are useless, lying limply at his sides and he can't move, he can't move, he can't move—

"Aish," he hears faintly before the colored blob in front of him shifts a little closer. "Gaon, calm down, you're going to hurt yourself."

The voice is softer now, speaking to him like he's a frightened animal. He splutters a little and shakes his head.

"Shh," the voice says again, "just—just calm down. You're not going to be hurt."

He's…not?

"You're safe. Nothing will hurt you right now. You're safe. Just calm down."

Easier said than done, he thinks as he curls in on himself, trying to do what the voice wants. The blob moves a little closer, blocking out the doorway and he should hate that, shouldn't he? His exit's being blocked, he can't get out that way anymore, but there's something he wants to lean into. He closes his eyes, curling up a bit more, breaths shuddering against his knees.

"That's it," the voice murmurs, "good job."

It takes an embarrassingly long time to collect himself, and an even longer time for him to summon up the courage to raise his head to confirm that yes, Kang Yohan is, in fact, crouched in front of him in the bathroom. He swallows in a pitiful attempt to get himself together and knows by the way his gaze follows it that he fails miserably.

"Up off the floor," Yohan bids quietly, "you'll make your injuries worse."

Gaon nods and tries, only for his legs to buckle as soon as he gets more of his weight on them. Yohan catches him, holds him steady until he can walk again.

"Go slow," he says, still speaking quietly, the smallest hint of a smile on his face, "we're not in a rush, baby deer."

"Yah." Gaon paws clumsily at his shoulder, "'m not a baby."

Yohan raises an eyebrow and slowly starts to pull back. Gaon lets out a noise he will deny forever and holds tighter. Yohan chuckles. "Come on, baby deer, back to the bed."

Despite the teasing, Yohan helps him steadily out of the bathroom until he's lowered carefully to sit on the bed again, wincing slightly as his muscles protest the movement. The hand on his shoulder stays, right over the remnant of the explosion wound. He takes another deep breath as it starts to move, slowly up to his chin, lifting his face.

"You didn't hurt yourself falling over," Yohan says, looking him over, "that's good."

Yohan's still touching him. He's still touching him. He can still bear to look at him—but he can look at all manner of horrors without flinching, perhaps Gaon is no different now.

"Are—when are you going to release the video?"

"I'm not."

"You—what?"

"I'm not," he says again, firmer this time, "I'm not going to release it."

"But Jung Sunah—"

"Will get what it coming to her." His hand moves to cup the back of his head. "She will pay for what she's done, but not like this."

Fingers twist into the hair near the nape of his neck and his chest feels weird. He looks up at Yohan, who…looks angry, but in the way he did when he stared at Gaon over the twitching body of Jukchang when Elijah was almost kidnapped. Like he's furious at someone, but not—maybe not Gaon.

"She will suffer," he promises in a low voice, "and so will he."

Oh.

Oh.

"Say it," Yohan continues, hand moving to cradle the base of his skull, "say it."

"S-say what?"

"No one hurts you. No one touches you. Say you understand."

A lump rises in his throat as it dawns on him that Yohan still wants to keep him. "No one hurts me. No one touches me. I understand."

"Good."

The hand starts to leave and the cold pit yawning in his stomach won't let that happen. He grabs Yohan's arm and the man pauses. "Stay."

"What?"

"Will you—will you stay? Just for a second?"

For a moment, it looks like he might say no, but then he's nodding and coming to sit next to him on the bed. He lets Gaon clutch his sleeve like a child until he realizes what he's doing and lets it go with a mumbled apology. But Yohan doesn't move away. He just sits, letting Gaon press against his side.

I'm here, it says, I see you.

Maybe that's good enough for now.

* * *

"I need you to find someone."

Elijah looks up, disinterested. "Why, what did they do?"

"They hurt Gaon."

She's up in an instant, wheeling over to her computer. "Tell me the name. Now."

He gives it to her with grim satisfaction, watching the same look form on her face as she starts to work. K comes in behind him and they stand there, predators lying in wait. Yohan feels Gaon's old phone in his pocket and hands it off to K without another word.

Kim Gaon is his now, and that means he's not letting go until Gaon pushes him away.

[ageless-soul-au]

i am desperate for some hyrule thoughts and content rn 🥺😭 might i have but a crumb?

Assorted lore of our favorite 'fey-blooded' hero!!

Hyrule was raised by fairies as a changeling exchange. They were stolen as a child from a couple in Calatia (taking only that idea from the Valiant comics and no other lore) and raised by the fae in Lesser Hyrule. Fairies flock to them and they always carry sugar water. The fairy spell is actually pretty euphoric for them now that they think about it, and though the fae knew that they were raised by fairies even without the spell (they can just tell bc that much magic exposure from a young age changes a person), actually becoming a fairy feels like a nice piece of home.

(They know that fairies can be fucked up little creatures and they were lucky to not be eaten as a baby hdgxgdhdn. Sorry Time, Navi probably wasn't as normal as you thought. Hyrule and Fae can probably handshake with having seen the aftermath of fairies eating meat (animals... etc), to which the fairies around them noted they shouldn't do this where they can stumble across it anymore bc they will then have a crying and violently ill child on their hands!!! Also the old man in Zelda 1 was probably fey, just saying.)

The fairies gave Hyrule a very high level of patience but a very low tolerance for like. Shenanigans. Hyrule is the Ruler of ‘If It Sucks, Hit Da Briks’. Hence why they’ll stick around for a teammate in obvious gay panic (despite how ridiculous it is) but crawl out of a window when people start shouting.

Even though they don't live with fairies anymore and have no real reason to do this, they likely have a habit of introducing themself in a specific way as to not 'give' their name to anyone. Like they'd say "You can call me Hyrule and use they/them for me," rather than "My name is Hyrule" etc etc.

Hyrule has some. Interesting notions about efficient use of materials (see tunic construction) and their taste in food is.... eclectic (they have tried to make tea out of most edible plants with varying success). They think freshly turned dirt and petrichor smells like home. They probably have some really interesting uses for fairy dust too, not just the tonics in botw.

Poppy (loz 1 Zelda) probably had a crush on them at some point but it faded when she realized they didn't really like people like that. They're friends now though, everything's good.

Post Zelda 2 (Adventure of Link), the Zelda that slept for 5ever (Marigold) was PISSED that no one even tried to help her and instead waited for the triforce to appear on Hyrule's hand, so she said fuck being a princess. She wanted to become a hermit, and Hyrule helped her get set up in a cottage a little ways away from a village and taught her some things so she'd be okay on her own (they had to talk her out of living in a cave since she knew Hyrule had done it). She and Poppy helped Hyrule with reading and writing so they could exchange letters and keep track of each other.

[xxxg0ryygurlll13xxx]

it is too damn loud everywhere rn

im in the dining hall of my school and this bitchy girl keeps fucking screaming and cackling for no damn reason. she also keeps slamming her textbooks down on the table oy vey. tho i know some shit is going down in her friend group so it could be that. idk nor do i care shes always complaining of smthn....another girl whos nicer is yelling at her friend and i can hear her from across the whole ass dining hall like can ppl just use their inside voices for once????? thats why i dont spend my lunches in here but rn im on a free and i didnt eat lunch so i went here and got a snack cause my blood sugar was low. chobani flip smores is hella good btw highly recommend i give it an 8/10 but im not a big fan of yogurt in general tbh. i just want it to be tonite so i can go to that party and see my best friends including one i havent seen irl in almost a whole ass year hes always so busy ugh i hate teenage boys lol excited to get ready for it tho and the fit is gonna eat and leave no crumbs i promise :) maybe this time ill actually take pics and post them here lol tho i doubt it :3

[itsalwayswellattheworldsend]

Chapter 11 - Now Must Ralph Ride For It 

Text Audio

Synopsis:

Ralph meets a new friend and actually continues on his journey finally. They encounter some trouble and are forced to hurry to the Burg.

Summary:

"This is my tale, and thine, I say, I ask not; but I deem that thou shalt do ill if thou go not to the Burg either with me or by thyself alone; either as a guest, or as a good knight to take service in their host."

When he awoke again the sun was shining through the hazel leaves, though it was still early. He got up and looked after his horse, then led him out of the hazels and stood, looking around. Then he saw a man coming slowly through the woods on the right, seemingly coming to the crossroads. He saw Ralph and stopped, drawing a bow he was carrying, and came forward carefully, an arrow ready. But Ralph went to meet him with his sword still sheathed, and leading Falcon by the rein, and the man stopped and took the arrow off the string: he had no armor, but there was a small axe and a wood-knife in his belt; he was dressed in quaint, simple clothes and looked like a man from the country-side. Now he greeted Ralph and Ralph greeted him abc, and saw that the new-comer was both tall and strong, dark of skin and black-haired, but with a cheerful face. Spoke frankly with Ralph and said, “Which way are you going, lord, out of your woodland hall and into the dwelling of deer and thieves? I wish that the deer would pick a captain for themselves and come together to get rid of the thieves—and some other people with them, too.”

Said Ralph: “I can’t tell you until I know, myself. Earlier I was planning to go to the Burg of the Four Friths, but now I think I’m going to Hampton under Scaur.”

“Really?” said the man. “Well, when the Devil has the reins, you’ve got to go to hell.”

“What do you mean by that, good fellow?” said Ralph, “is Hampton really such a bad place?” And indeed he thought that the situation of the captive lady had some evil to it.

Said the man: “If you were from around here, I wouldn’t have to answer that question; but I’ll answer it shortly, though not until we’ve eaten. I’m hungry, and I have some bread and cheese and you’re welcome to have some of it, if you are hungry, too. And I think that’s likely, given your youth.

“It is,” said Ralph, laughing, “and I can also provide some food for this wilderness picnic, since I still have some crumbs in my pack. Let’s sit and eat at once.”

“I think, Sir Gentleman, that we should go a little further on where there is a brook which we can drink from when my bottle runs out.”

“I can do better than that,” said Ralph, “since I’ve come prepared.”

“Nevertheless,” said the man, “let’s go a little further; it’s too open here for a group as small as ours, since this crossroads has a bad reputation. I’ll lead us where we’ll be out of sight of any murders that come along. So let’s go, if you trust me.”

Ralph agreed and they went a ways away from the crossroads, into a low place through which a stream ran between two alder trees. The man led Ralph to the edge of the water so that the bushes hid them. There they sat down and took out what food they had and started eating, as as they did the man said:

“Fair Knight—I guess you’re a knight—what reason do you have for going to Hampton?”

Said Ralph: “The reason is avoiding the Burg of the Four Friths, since I hear that those people are robbers and murderers.”

“You’d find out better if you went there, lord, but I will tell you that though the people there might kill and steal now and then, compared to Hampton under Scaur it is heaven, and the people there are angels. And I should know, I spent a long time living in Hell—that is, Hampton—and now I have escaped and am going to the Burg, if they think I’m worthy to join their group, so that I can get revenge on those who have hurt me: some of whom I think must have put those thoughts in your head against the Burg. Am I right?”

“Maybe,” said Ralph, “for you seem to be an honest man.” He said nothing else, but part of him wanted to tell the man all of what had happened, but something held him back when he thought of that lady and her beauty. And then again his heart feared what might happen to that other maiden at Hampton, and he was restless, thinking that it would be good to follow her there. The man looked at him curiously and somewhat anxiously, for Ralph’s eyes were looking at something that was not there, or maybe he had looked closely at the man as he spoke of revenge and thought that he did not seem sincere, since there was little anger in his voice.

Then the man said: “You have a story that you don’t want to tell me, and that’s fine. Well, you speak or don’t speak, whichever you want, but you’re a fair young knight and so nice to me that I think going with you would be beneficial. And I’ll tell you something true: first that the Burg is a good town ruled by a good lord who isn’t a tyrant or oppressor of peaceful people, and that one can live there as peacefully as the others who live there, who are good folk. Although, they are not cowards ot be let themselves be frightened by killers. And second, I will tell you that the folk of Hampton are really harmless and innocent as sheep, but that they are ruled by evil lords who are not their rightful leaders, who torment them and work them to the point of death. And lastly, I will tell you that I was one of those poor people, though not as sheepish as most of them. Because of that, the tyrants have robbed me of my land and put another man in my house, and they would have killed me if I had not run and hidden in the woods. And I’m lucky that I had neither a wife, nor chick, nor child, or else they would have killed them like they did when my brother. His wife was too pretty for him since he dwelt at Hampton; so they took her away to give her over to the men of the Dry Tree, who live in the Castle of the Scaur, and who will be your lords if you go there. That’s my story, but I won’t ask yours. But I think that it would go poorly if you were to not go to the Burg, either with me or by yourself, either to be their guest or be a knight and join their group.”

Ralph looked at the man warily and felt that he spoke very calmly for one with so much anger in his heart—and so Ralph doubted what he said. He also thought of what the lady he had rescued said, and how lovely she was, and the kisses she had given him, and he was hesitant to think she was a liar, and he did not like to think that the maiden of Bourton had gone to such an evil place. So he said:

“Friend, I do not think that I have to join in this feud between Hampton and the Burg, or go to either of these places. Is there no other way out of the wood? Or another place nearby where I could rest for a while and then get on with my errands?”

The man said: “There is a village that lies a little west of the Burg, called Apthorp, but it is open and unwalled, and its ownership is debated. Sometimes it is under the control of the Burg, sometimes the Dry Tree, and if you were to stay there and the men of the Dry Tree were to take you, that would be it for your errands. And if the men of the Burg were to take you, then you would go there in worse circumstances than if you were to go by your own free will. So what do you say? Who in the Burg—a good town with good, strong laws—would hurt you, if you’re a good person as you seem to be. And if you’re seeking adventure, which may be the case, you will soon find them there. I advise you to come with me to the Burg, and honestly I think it would be easier for me to get in if I were in your company, you being a knight and a lord.”

Ralph thought about it and decided that there really was not much danger in it if he went to the Burg, since the two men he had fought were not going to be telling anybody what happened. And no one else knew except for the lady, who seemed to be more endangered by the Burg than he was. He also thought that if something bad were to happen, he could rely on old Oliver. But on the other hand, he desired to go Hampton under Scaur, where in truth he thought he’d see the lady again.

Between one thing and another, he was taking a while to respond when suddenly the man said: “Hey, you left your horse outside the bushes and he’s whinnying. We’ve got to go; there are people nearby and they’re probably our enemies.”

Then they both got up and went to where Falcon stood outside the bushes and Ralph leapt into the saddle, and the man jumped up behind him without being told, and he pointed to a clearing that led back to the highway and cried out: “Ride, young lord! That way! The men of the Dry Tree are out this morning!”

Ralph shook the rein and Falcon leapt into motion without more urging, while the man looked over his shoulder and said “They’re coming from over there! There are three of them, and they always ride good horses. Wait, there are four of them,” he said as shouts rose up behind them. “Faster! Your horse is good, we can outrun them!”

Then Ralph heard the sound of horses galloping on the road and he heeled Falcon faster.

“Ah, watch out! THey know they can’t outride you and one of them is readying a composite bow—they like to shoot from horseback. Turn to the side!”

Ralph bent down and made Falcon Swerve, and he heard the twang of a bow and an arrow flew past his head. Falcon galloped on and the man cried out: “There’s the road to the Burg! Watch out again!”

A second arrow was fired from the bow and the sound of their pursuers was loud behind them. Another came, but this one fell short and the man turned back to look at them and shook his fist at them, crying out over the sound of galloping horses: “Hah, you thieves! I am Roger the ropemaker, and I’m going to make a noose for you!”

Then he said to Ralph: “They are turning back; we’ve beaten them and they don’t like the open road, but don’t let up, young knight, unless you love your horse more than your own life; they’ll be following alongside the road to see if we were born stupid and never learned anything afterwards.”

“Yeah,” said Ralph, “and now I guess you’re going to tell me that we’ve got to go to the Burg.”

“Yes, truly,” said the man, “nor will it take long, going as fast as we are going.”

“Or slower,” Ralph said, pulling back on the reins a little, “for I think the chase is done and I don’t want to ride Falcon to death. He is my friend, just as you might become.”

Then they went on at a canter until the woods thinned and there were farmlands on either side of the road. Roger said: “You can let your horse rest now—and ride single—we’re among friends now. Not even twenty of the Dry Tree would come this close to the Burg except under the cover of darkness.

So Ralph halted and he and Roger got down, and Ralph looked around and saw a stone tower built on a little hill in a wheat field, and below it some simple houses with straw roofs. There were people working, coming and going in the fields, who took little notice of the two of them standing quietly beside a horse. But all of these folk—at least that they could see—was carrying a weapon.

Then Ralph said: “My man, is this the Burg of the Four Friths?”

Roger laughed and said: “That’s an easy question, Sir Knight. That is a watchtower of the Burg, which farmers can live by because there are armed men inside. There are twenty seven towers like this all around the Burg. They say that that’s how old the Fair Lady who started building the Burg was when she married the Forest Lord, whose family had lived for generations in thatched houses made in clearings in the wood. But now, knight, we can go slowly to the Gate of the Burg, and if you want I will walk beside you, for as I said our companionship will be beneficial to me.

Ralph Said: “Please do come with me, good fellow, and show me what way is easiest to get in.” So, when Falcon was rested they went on, passing through acres of farmland and wide meadows, here and there dotted with houses. Then they came to a small gathering of houses on a low hill, from the other side of which they could see the walls and towers of the Burg. From there all the way to the walls there were no more houses or cornfields, only open ground with sheep and cows and little stream winding through.

Notes:

And here we meet Roger! I like him because he immediately makes a joke about wishing the deer would rise up and kill the thieves that share their lands (and some non-thieves, too). Also he’s just a dude. I like when there’s a character who’s just a guy. The text repeatedly refers to Roger as “the carle,” a term I explained in a previous note.

Roger says “when the Devil drives, to hell must we,” which I tried to translate in a non-confusing way, but may have failed. “Driving” here almost certainly refers to the guiding of animals to a place (like with a “cattle drive,” also driving horses that pull a cart/wagon). Basically, he’s saying that if the Devil’s in control (i.e. circumstances are bad), you don’t have much of a choice about where you’re going. It seems also that he assumes there’s something bad happening to Ralph, forcing him to go to Hampton.

Another local who’s set against Hampton! Just what’s going on there? Oh also I should have mentioned this before, but “scaur” is a term for a steep slope or cliff. So a modern translation would be “Hampton under [the] Cliff” (I believe “the” is sometimes included in the name, but not always).

Ralph and Roger go a furlong away from the crossroads to eat. A furlong is 1/8th of a mile, which has no convenient term in modern English.

The man of the Dry Tree is specified to have a “Turk bow” (a Turkish bow). This is an old term  for a composite bow, which the Turks popularized (at least, they brought them to the west). This is an important detail because English longbows are too large and unwieldy to fire from horseback, but composite bows provide much more power in a more compact form, making them perfect for mounted combat. The Japanese dealt with the issue of horseback archery by designing asymmetrical longbows, which were held low on the bow and had more length up above (giving the power of a longbow but keeping it out of the way of the horse). I like archery.

Roger calls himself “Roger of the Rope-walk”, which is a long path where the materials for rope are hung up before being twisted together. I don’t know if that title is intended to serve as his surname (which would make him Roger Roper, unfortunately), or even if rope-making was his profession; he may have just been taunting them. Also: someone said their own name! Following my established tradition of just saying whatever something reminds me of, this makes me think of The Divine Comedy, in which Dante’s name is only ever said once (his narrative refers to it being uncouth to talk about oneself like that, but he’s quoting Beatrice, who is addressing him).

It’s been alluded to a couple of times now, but horses really aren’t well-suited for going super fast. Galloping for any real length of time is hazardous and can overstrain them.

Technically after they slow down, they’re going at a hand gallop, which is slightly faster than a canter.

“Fair Lady” and “Forest Lord” are both capitalized in the original text. I mention this so that it won’t be mistaken as an explicit reference to the Lady. And of course, it couldn’t refer to the Lady because if she were around when they started building the Burg of the Four Friths, she’d be super old by now… right?

I’ve been translating “thorp” as “village” because I don’t think the word is well-known nowadays. Actually, though, a thorp is a gathering of houses, so I guess it’d be smaller than a village. Here I just described it because the text says it’s a really small thorp and I didn’t feel like dealing with trying to describe a village that small. Netherton and Bourton Abbas were both thorps.

Map:

[likesunsetorange]

just finished catching up DOL and i love it!! 😭💗 you're such a talented writer truly. i especially love mikasa and levi's dynamic, i will eat up any fic that has more of them as a duo. also the eruri crumbs made my heart melt, do you think you would ever write an eruri fic some time? i would love to read more of them in your writing style 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

omg this makes me so happy i can’t even explain! thank you so much for reading first of all! i really appreciate it so much truly! and thank you for taking the time to send this as well, messages like these literally make my day, so thank you so so much! hugs to you anon! 🥹🤍

levi and mikasa’s dynamic is actually one of my favorites because it reminds me a lot of mine and my brother’s! though he’s definitely a lot nicer LOL, so their relationship is really special to me because my brother is my best friend, i love him so much!!! i mentioned it on twitter, but dol is essentially like a love letter to the people in my life! i think my writing style has changed a lot while i’ve written it, so i def do wanna go back and fix a lot of it, but i think that’s something i love about dol too!! it’s kinda grown with me as a writer and as a person and my little journey in the fandom! it’s really just a testament of my love to a lot of things, even you guys!!! it’s just really a labor of love, and it’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not the best story ever LOL there’s some plot holes and grammar issue (so fucking many 💀) but it was my first time ever writing a fic and i’ve gotten so much better writing since i started so i kind of like frankenstein-ness of it that it is rn!! but i do plan on changing it a bit LOL

ANYWAYS I WAS RAMBLING LMAOO SORRY but one of my favorite scenes i’ve written for dol is a later scene about levi and mikasa and he talks about his relationship with erwin!! which i really fucking love eruri, i don’t talk about them much, but i was talking about it with mar one day, and we were going on about the eruri back story!! i actually have established lore for it so maybe one day ill expand on it? idk if i could do a full on eruri fic but maybe a small excerpt or something? bc the way i imagine their relationship developing is very sweet to me and i really do love them 😭🤍

also sorry for rambling i tell y’all all the time i don’t know how to stfu lol i’m so sorry 😭

[jade-parcels]

Taking them to meet your parents (pt. 2!)

With Childe, Diluc, Albedo, Venti and Baizhu

Meeting your partner’s parents is a huge step in your relationship!! First impressions are everything!!

—————————

Childe:

Childe is a family guy!! He loves his family and he loves yours too! Even if he’s never met them

He’ll show you photos of his family if you ask so he also wants to see yours too! So by the time he actually gets to meet them, he’ll know who’s who and who likes what :)

Unlike Kaeya and Venti, Childe has total control over his mouth lmao he doesn’t go telling inappropriate jokes or anything. If he wouldn’t say something to his own family, he won’t say it to yours

Childe is sure to help in the kitchen! He isn’t the best cook in the world but it’s the thought that counts!

If you have siblings get ready for Childe to go crazy over them lmao he can’t stop himself from spoiling kids! He’ll bring candy or toys with him when he visits just to make the kiddos like him!

He’ll be polite and kind throughout the whole dinner! And afterwards he’ll ask you a bajillion questions ‘they liked me right? Your dad smiled at me! That means he likes me?? Or maybe he smiled because he hated me! Aw man, I have no idea!’ ‘Relax, Ajax! They liked you!’

If your family uses chopsticks you better give him a lesson beforehand otherwise he will die from embarrassment at the dinner table lmao

Diluc:

‘Which do I wear? The black one or the grey one?’ ‘Whichever you want, sweetheart’ ‘Does black make me look too... unapproachable?’ ‘Diluc, please pick a tie already...’

He’s nervous. Visibly nervous. He’ll be flustered immediately when your parents open the door to let you in! Poor guy, he’s doing his best

Diluc can handle interrogations or strange drunken conversations with bar patrons. He grew up with his family throwing big parties! Now the attention is on him for the night and he’s the one being interrogated lmao

He wants to impress your parents! He really does! Diluc is a humble guy though. He’s one of the richest guys around but he doesn’t believe in waving his money around like a fool

He’ll try to relate to and impress your dad the most, he’s just a traditional guy. At the end of the night he’ll help clean the table and sweep and crumbs off the floor. Before he leaves he’ll give your parents coupons for drinks at his bar too

Any time your parents compliment him or bring up your relationship he’ll get flustered, it’s almost funny how often it happens. He’s so worried about saying something wrong that he ends up stumbling on his words...oh brother get a GRIP man lmao

The whole way home he groans about how embarrassed he is ‘I made a total fool of myself...I can’t believe it’

He’ll get comfortable around them eventually!

Albedo:

Help him

Albedo is not talkative at all. He also rarely shows emotion in his facial expressions so he’ll be sitting at the dinner table...staring...

Once you get him talking about science and his job, he’ll actually talk for awhile! As long as your family is interested in what he has to say. If not, he’ll kinda just drift off and stop talking, turning to look at you expectantly

He’s polite of course! He eats everything he’s given no matter what, he lets out soft, breathy chuckles when your family tells jokes, he’s active in the conversation but he just doesn’t talk much

‘Albedo, we heard you like to paint’ ‘Yes, that’s right’ ‘Whats your favorite thing to paint?’ ‘I tend to paint temporary scenes. Something I could only capture on my canvas once so I can preserve that moment in time forever’ ...Alrighty then

When the night is over and the two of you are heading home, he’ll turn to you and smile ‘I think that went very well’ pfftt-

Venti:

Watch out. He is a menace. The second he steps into your childhood home, he’ll want to see every embarrassing photo of you and hear every cute story about you as a kid

Why? For blackmail purposes of course!

He’ll eat anything your parents give him to eat and he’ll tell as many stories/jokes as they want! He’s an entertainer through and through

He keeps a hand on you pretty much all night, either he’s got a hand on your back or your fingers are intertwined. If you hadn’t felt his hand, you never would have known he was nervous at all but now you can feel how sweaty his hand is

Venti’s a performer! But meeting your parents is a scary thing to him, he doesn’t want them to hate him!! Venti has no relatives or family of his own so when he marries you (he sure as hell intends to!) this will be his family too! He can’t mess this up! So while he seems collected on the outside, he’s freaking out inside

‘Baaaaabe! Do you think I overdid it with the jokes??’ ‘Venti, I told you! They thought you were funny!’ ‘Or were they just laughing to make me feel better?’ ‘You’re overthinking this, honey...’

Baizhu:

If your parents are the ‘you better marry a doctor’ type, this man is for you

He’s super polite, he’ll bring a small gift over when he comes for dinner and he’ll totally shower your mom in compliments ‘You look even more lovely in person! I’ve seen countless photos of you as a family, you all look so kind and welcoming’

Baizhu is GREAT at keeping up conversation and being interesting! He’ll talk about medical stuff and the (nonsketchy) business side of owning a pharmacy/being a doctor

Because of his illness, he can’t eat large portions all at once or he’ll get severely nauseous so he’ll look like he’s just pushing food around on his plate... cause is is. Hopefully you’ll brief your parents on that before he comes over! He doesn’t want them to think he’s rude :( though it took a lot of convincing for him to even tell YOU about his illness, he surely won’t explain himself to your parents :/

If your parents and/or siblings need to be checked out for something he’ll happily do it lmao ‘Hey Baizhu? Could you look at this spot on my arm? Is this something bad?’ ‘Dad!! Stop it!’ ‘No worries at all dear, I’m a doctor, it’s my job to look at stuff like this! Here, sir, let me see’ now he’s just showing off a little bit :)

He’ll make a fantastic first impression on them for sure! He won’t even be nervous since he constantly works with people anyway so he isn’t afraid of a little socializing :) however he can come across as cocky sometimes so that’s something to watch out for 0-0

[ruki--mukami]

7, 16, 22

... 13 🏃‍♀️

TIDBITS HEADCANON PROMPT

7. Describe how your muse greets others.

“It’s simple: I usually don’t go out of my way to say a ‘hello’ or ‘good evening,’ but if I do, then it’s because there are matters I must settle with that person. Others may greet me, but I refuse to greet them unless they are beneficial to me in some way, shape, or form. Though I suppose with my brothers or my prey, I tend to skip the pleasantries and immediately address the matter at hand. Or if they’ve been ill-behaved, I’ll greet them with a snatch of the collar or wrist and teleport someplace more private where I can reprimand or perhaps even punish them. They most likely won’t see or sense me coming as I take advantage of my vampirism and approach them stealthily more often than not.”

16. Does your muse enjoy snacking? What do they snack on?

“Blood. What did you expect, Livestock? Out of all the meals I prepare on a daily basis, there is no need for mere snacks barring the sweet life essence coursing through your veins. Well, aside from the obvious, I do enjoy a cup of tea as I read every now and then. Tea isn’t a snack per se, but I prefer black over green or herbals ones. Coffee also serves as a pleasant beverage, although I tend to forgo the addition of sugar, cream, and the like. That way I can fully savor the flavor notes of purely black coffee in its pure and original state. Ultimately, however, I wouldn’t opt for solid snacks, simply because I’d loathe to see crumbs between the pages of my book or mixed in with my puzzle pieces.”

22. Is your muse a breakfast person? If yes, what do they normally eat for breakfast?

“Ah, yes. Earlier I spoke a bit about breakfast, but to elaborate on my proclivity towards porridge and oatmeal, they’re both nutritious yet delectable meals for the morning. Much like soup, you can customize these two dishes in a variety of ways, from fruits sprinkled atop to endless possibilities for recipes, whether it’s between cultural nuances or its complementary foods such as a fresh slice of bread on the side. The toppings range from roasted vegetable, eggs, sautéed mushrooms, and more. Quite savory if I do say so myself, yet nothing too overwhelming in flavor.”

13. Would the muse get along with the mun? Why/why not?

“What a foul question. Need you even ask? That maid constantly irritates me with her incessant displays of affection and nonsensical ramblings. I appreciate a livestock who devotes herself to her master, but this… this is another level entirely. Unprecedented and unsolicited to a troubling degree. I didn’t know how far one would go with the artwork, the stuffed toys, the tote bag, the badges, even the writing. It has gone beyond mere devotion and ventured into unhealthy obsession that must be treated posthaste. However, when she’s quiet—no, absolutely silent—then perhaps we may get along.”

[clairlycreature]

Day 1

chapter two of my little uhh fanfiction here, i applied for an account on AO3 so if i get an invite ill start posting this fic on there

this chapter is called "day 1" because its the first full day our boys are together and all next chapters will follow this scheme so enjoy

The whirring of fans and clinking of metal wakes Sai from his deep sleep. Looking up from his futon he sees Genos, awake, and slumped against the wall. It appears that little spider-esque bots are fixing his limbs. Hm... Where’d those come from?

“I sent out some drones to retrieve my supplies... In case you were wondering.” Genos spoke up. Ah, spider drones? A weird aesthetic choice.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Saitama sits up. “Were you up all night?”

“Yes.”

“Hm… Don’t you need sleep?”

“I can stay up as long as I need to.”

Looking at the borg's cracked face showed otherwise. His eyes show a tired expression, and the way he doesn’t even move to look at his host is enough to show Genos’ exhaustion. It doesn’t seem best to push that conversation any further. So, Saitama quickly changes the subject.

“How about some breakfast, or maybe coffee? I got some nice bread at the market the other day and I can make some good French toast.”

“You talk a lot.” Genos states abruptly. He takes a heavy breath, “But yes, I would like some coffee.”

Saitama nods. He stands and puts his futon up and walks to the kitchen with a yawn. He can see Genos from the kitchen window. His current state looks pretty bad, but it seems like he can handle it with those little… What’d Genos call them? Drones? Kinda icky looking, but Saitama never really liked bugs to begin with. He turns on the stove to heat up the frying pan as he preps the eggs and bread. As the toast begins to fry, he turns to the single-serve coffee machine to make Genos a cup.

“Want anything in your cup? I got sugar, milk, even some cinnamon if you’d like some of that.”

“Milk and sugar… Uhm. Please.” Genos says quietly, as if embarrassed by his taste in coffee.

The great chef Saitama makes his order of coffee and goes to bring it to his guest. It’s a warm, brown color from the milk. And steaming hot. Genos nods his head as if saying ‘thank you’. Saitama returns to the kitchen to flip the toast before it gets all burnt and yucky. It turns out a lot better than usual.

He sets up the table and sits down to eat. “Do you wanna come eat at the table? I don’t really want crumbs on my floor.”

Genos looks at him, and then at the table. Sliding across the floor, he joins Saitama at the small table for breakfast. This actually looks pretty good.

The two eat in silence. It’s only been half a day since Genos dropped by (literally) and it’s pretty awkward. Saitama isn’t used to anyone being in his home for so long, probably because literally no one ever came over. He really doesn’t have any friends. And Genos is so… weird. He’s part robot, looks like he could kill anyone with his bare hands and is very quiet. It’s kind of hard to talk to him. Attempting to slice the thick atmosphere, Saitama makes more and more small talk.

“So, what happened? To make you fall from the sky, I mean.”

…

“My boosters failed from too much internal damage.”

“Boosters?” Saitama leans in, that sounds cool! “Like, you can fly and stuff?”

Genos is taken aback by the sudden interest. “Yes. I can do many things with this metallic body of mine.”

“Are you like a fighting cyborg? I bet you can shoot fire from your hands too!”

“Uhm. Yes, actually. Fire, bullets, rockets. I am loaded with deadly ammunition.”

Saitama’s eyes light up more as he leans in further, very interested in this new discovery. “Are you a superhero? From the association?”

Genos’ face turns to frown. It seems that question really bothered him.

“No, I’m not associated with the Hero Association in any means. I’m a…” He pauses, thinking of how to explain his... situation. “I’m a loner, you could say.”

“A vigilante… Even cooler! Like those animes about the loner hero who goes against the grain- Awesome!” Saitama’s smile is bright, but maybe that’s just the lighting shining down on him. Ahem. Smooth head.

Genos never really took notice of that before.

“So, uhm.” He stammers, looking to change the topic of his occupation immediately, “How. About you? What’s your story?”

Saitama sits back, “Ah, nothing really. I’m just the nobody who lives in the ghost town.”

“Oh, so your… Head. Is it just like that?” Genos tries to make the incredibly rude question as un-rude as he can.

“What?”

The two stare at each other… And then Saitama suddenly understood,

“Oh, you mean because I’m bald? I just have alopecia.” He turns his head a bit to avoid eye contact. Unfortunately, it was actually pretty rude.

They finish breakfast with more awkward silence. Saitama stands, takes the dirty dishes to the kitchen and places them in the sink. Looks like he’s running low on dish soap, he’ll add that to the list for tomorrow’s grocery trip. In the other room Genos slinks back to his wall and continues to let his drones work on the wiring in his leg. The sun is still trying to rise as Saitama finishes washing the dishes. It’s looking like another great day, so he picks out some clean shorts from the closet and goes to the bathroom to do those morning duties. After changing he heads to the door and starts putting on his running shoes, then remembers he has a man in his house.

“Hey, Genos.” He calls out from the entryway, “I’m going out for a run so, uh. Make yourself comfortable.” He can see the cyborg give him another small nod, and with that Saitama starts his run.

The door shuts and Genos is all alone with his drones. As it should be. Why’s this random guy so nice? It’s best to keep his distance, after all, who knows what kind of connections he has. Some dude living in the middle of City Z’s infamous ghost town has to be of some importance, right?

Maybe he works for the city and takes intel on the monsters that sometimes parade around here. Then again, as Genos looks around the tiny apartment, he begins to think otherwise. This Saitama guy has lots of… How to call it, cutesy things? Genos can count at least 4 anime figurines on the TV stand, and the pink apron Saitama wore while making breakfast wasn’t hidden very well either. And on the balcony, there’s a children’s watering can.

As Genos looked out the giant window, he saw his host running down the street. Maybe he isn’t a government official. But still… There’s no information or anything of value to take from this guy, so there’s no use in getting close to a random person.

Saitama’s morning run has been good and uneventful for the last few days. Probably because he’s changed his run to go into the more populated side of town. Monsters don’t typically attack crowded places anymore. But today was an exception. He slowed to a walking pace by the shops to look for any sale signs when the ground started shaking. People started screaming and running as the shaking turned to a quake, and the earth cracked and broke to pieces.

Emerging from the splintered ground was a beast. A towering monster with giant quills like a porcupine and a face like a mole. It roars and uses a giant, flat paw to strike down a restaurant. Its scream was shrill and ear piercing, sending Saitama’s hands up to his head to try and protect his eardrums. A warning siren comes from the speakers all around the city,

“A monster is attacking City Z, threat level Tiger. A monster is attacking City Z… ” It repeats over and over again.

"What the... fuck?" He’s stuck, frozen by shock and fear alike. As heroes respond to the call and attempt to de-escalate the situation, the monster’s quills ready for attack. Saitama finally finds the means to start running when the pain begins. The quills shoot out in all directions, huge and fatal spikes make their marks all over the marketplace.

Saitama falls, clenching his shoulder. He looks up and behind him to see one of those deadly spikes just inches from where his head was. The tip is bloody. Saitama looks at his hand… Blood, lots of it. His shirt is torn, as well as the skin and muscle of his shoulder. He puts his hand back in place to hold the wound tightly and picks himself up. He can patch it up when he gets home, but he needs to make it out of here first.

The front door shuts gently, but it’s loud enough to catch Genos’ attention. He turns to the entryway, Saitama is drenched in sweat and breathing hard. That’s when he noticed the shirt. Saitama is still holding his shoulder, but the blood has soaked into the white top. It’s completely ruined. Saitama staggers to the bathroom to patch himself up. The first aid kit is lacking, should probably get a new one soon. But there’s just enough gauze to nicely cover the wound.

He comes back to the living room to rest. Saitama turns on the TV and tries to calm down from the horrifying event he just endured.

There is no talking. No sound but from the television and the continuing whirring of those spider drones working on Genos. His right leg has been repaired already.

Saitama stays inside for the rest of the day, too terrified to even go to the balcony. He sets up his futon early and turns in for the night, leaving Genos to stay up again.

Today’s events have gotten the cyborg thinking. As Saitama sleeps, Genos takes this opportunity to take a closer look around the apartment, and around the town.

It’s empty, quiet, and cut off from the world…

Maybe this roommate situation will be better for him than he originally thought.

[whumpzone]

(masterpost)

(I wrote a very nsfw flashback from Col’s past, which can be read here. Heed the warnings and have fun)

As the days went by, Pet quickly realised that Master’s cat was a little… imperfect. He could tell from the way she sometimes bumped her head into doorframes, or table legs, that her vision wasn’t the best. She was old, by the looks of it. Old and slow, and Master clearly loved her very much.

“Hello my little Jaffa,” he murmured, scooping her up, running his fingers through her thick fur. Her eyelids sank down until she looked like she was fast asleep.

It made Pet’s chest ache. Why was Master making him watch this? Did he enjoy being cruel? Pet already knew he wasn’t here to receive affection like that, and the reminders hurt. Especially knowing Master could love his pet even if it wasn’t in perfect shape.

He still hadn’t been given any clear orders, and Pet was starting to think Master was giving him time to heal. Getting him as robust as possible before breaking him down again. The waiting was tough, and not knowing what was to come was worse. But Pet couldn’t speculate, he just couldn’t, or else he’d skirt too close to the memories he kept shut out- the ones he kept hidden, even from himself.

Master’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “Hey, Col, want to come and sit up here with me? I have some biscuits here you might like.”

. . .

Col nodded in that quick, nervous-rabbit way of his, and stood up. He liked kneeling on the carpet, Linden had noticed. He kneaded his balled hands through it like a cat. Kneeling was fine, Linden told himself, as long as he didn’t crawl. And to the boy’s credit, he was doing very well with that.

He walked over now, at about to same speed Jaffa often walked at, trying to mitigate the impact of her frequent head bumps. Linden set her down and slowly grabbed his mug of herbal tea and the packet of biscuits, while Col watched him. Waiting for permission. Linden was starting to wonder if the boy was even able to speak, or if something in his past had rendered him mute. His past had clearly rendered him a lot of things- it was figuring out what could be healed that mattered.

“Come, you can sit here,” Linden patted the wooden chair. “If you want to. You can just get a biscuit and go back to the carpet, if you’d prefer.”

It was as if Col almost started to consider it, then thought better and forced himself into the chair, curling one foot underneath him.

“Comfortable?” Another quick nod. “Okay, good.”

Linden noticed how Col seemed to relax a little at that. Baby steps, he reminded himself. It’s okay to tell him he’s good, if that’s what he needs right now.

He sat along from him, close but hopefully not too close. He tore open the packet and handed it to Col. “Here. They taste nice. You can take one and eat it.”

He peered at it, like he expected it to bite. Then, constantly checking Linden’s face as he did so, he reached in and picked one up. Linden waited patiently, then took one for himself. As he bit into it, so did Col. Okay. This was going alright.

. . .

Master was eating one too, so they weren’t poisoned. Or maybe he had just built up a resistance. Or maybe they weren’t harmful to humans, only dogs?

None of that mattered, of course. Master had ordered him to eat. His orders were odd, they weren’t barked at him like Pet’s first owner, but that didn’t make them any less unavoidable.

It did taste good. It was sweet, nothing like the sour dog food that had sustained him for years.

Pet noticed he had dropped a small crumb onto the table and quickly licked it up gratefully. He wouldn’t dare waste food given to him. It was still weird, not eating from Master’s hand.

“You don’t- it’s okay, it’s just a crumb,” Master scolded him, and Pet ducked his head at the reprimand. Maybe it was funny watching him act like a human- Master was probably laughing at the way he wobbled on the chair, and held the biscuit in his disused hands, and fed himself. He was sure any moment now Master was going to smile and tell him how stupid he looked, what a dumb dog he was.

Pet drifted back to reality at the smell of something even sweeter than his treat. It was coming from the mug in Master’s hands, held securely between his fingers, each one with a painted black nail. Master noticed him staring before Pet could look away, and he cringed. Messing up as usual.

“You want a sip? It’s herbal tea. It’s hot, mind.”

Another order. Pet nodded obediently.

. . .

It was an easy mistake, and one Linden should’ve seen coming, given how out of practice Col was with his hands. Linden let go of the mug before Col had properly gripped it. Right over Linden’s lap.

Linden was aware of the burning against his thighs before he had even seen the mug drop. He jerked up, the chair clattering to the floor behind him, and Col gasped in pure horror.

“Shit, ow, ow, ow!” he cursed automatically.

Sounds beside him. Looking over, Col was already knelt with his face to the floor, trembling all over, and Linden’s thighs were burning and he really had to do something about that first-

“Woah, no, it’s okay, it’s just an accident, I have to get these trousers off, ow…” he muttered, quickly pulling his belt out and, suddenly realising he shouldn’t be getting undressed in front of Colton, scrambling upstairs.

. . .

Pet wasn’t sure if Master was still here- he had heard noises, he thought, going upstairs, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen, every instinct telling him to stay and take his punishment like a good dog.

He had hurt Master. He couldn’t stop trembling. His mouth quivered, his breaths coming out in whines. Fat heavy tears dribbled down his cheeks and onto the floorboards.

He was so bad, such a stupid insolent mutt, and bad dogs got punished, didn’t they, bad pets who can’t behave got belted and burned. Bad pets got taken upstairs to be restrained and, and-

Pet whimpered, a full-body sob that was so close to speaking he almost vomited from fear, and ground his face against the floor, trying to make the thoughts stop. That was his old life and he had a new Master now and this one might be different, he might be worse, but he couldn’t cry before it had even started and he had burned Master’s legs, burns hurt so badly and he was so, so useless that he just wanted the pain to start right now, so he could show he was sorry.

He could feel the cartilage in his nose jostling as he rolled his head. His heartbeat was pounding into his ears. He was in so much trouble, and he was so so sorry but it wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t be allowed to use his hands ever again.

A bump, at the top of the stairs. Footsteps. Coming towards him.

His thoughts went into overdrive. Master was coming and Pet had hurt him and now Master was angry. He had never seen him light up like that before, suddenly so quick and sharp and fierce. Pet’s hands skittered by his shoulders. He could feel every joint. Would they all be broken, perhaps? Burned? It would make sense to burn them. He deserved to have them burnt, even though that made him cry harder. Or maybe Master would concentrate on his thighs. Pour boiling water on them, then make him walk. Perhaps he’d peel the burning skin off and press knives to the raw flesh and make him scream. Or maybe he’d pin Pet’s hands down and bludgeon them until they didn’t even resemble hands anymore

You braindead animal. He’s not going to pick one or the other, you fucking idiot. He’s going to do them both and you’re going to thank him.

Master was stood over him, now. Looking at his unworthy dog, grovelling before him.

. . .

Linden couldn’t imagine how he would look threatening to anyone right now, in the only pair of shorts he could find, his thighs coated in cream. He’d had to roll the shorts up past his burns, and safety pinned them there.

But he knew, he knew, that didn’t matter. He knew Col wouldn’t look up from where he was cowering on his knees, sobbing audibly, and crack a smile.

The tall person in his care looked very, very small right now. He was knelt exactly where he’d dropped to the floor. No running, no backing away. Just like he’d been trained to. It made Linden feel ill. He had to take this slowly.

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” he started, keeping his voice slow and calm, knowing that his presence was Col’s worst nightmare right now. He had lost his cool earlier and he wished he could take it back, even though it was useless blaming himself. It was a shock, and a painful one. Anyone would’ve sworn. But he still felt a twist of guilt when he saw Col lock up, frozen in fear save for his persistent trembling. Linden could tell he was trying to stop himself from crying.

“Okay, you’re allowed to cry, crying is normal. Can you look up at me?”

Col did as he was told. His mouth was wobbling downwards, his nose red from being pressed against the floor. His hands were fully curled up.

Linden didn’t have a chance to say anything more before Col’s wild, terrified eyes found Linden’s belt on the table and he whimpered, holding his hands out eerily quickly, palms up, ready and unresisting.

Linden knew that if he took the belt and slashed Col’s hands with it, the boy wouldn’t fight back at all. He’d cry and moan, but he wouldn’t fight.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m not. I wouldn’t hurt you, ever.”

He thought about putting his hands in Col’s, gently lowering them and rubbing soft circles with his thumbs, but he shook the thought away. Who knows what he might interpret that as.

Instead, he picked up the belt, feeling Col’s eyes on him while his back was turned, and threw it upstairs.

“No belt,” he said, “I won’t belt you, I won’t hurt you at all. Your hands are safe. I’m not angry with you. It was an accident. Can you look at me?”

He complied, of course he did. His eyes were burning with regret and fear.

“See my thighs? I’ve put some cream on them, to help with the burns. It’ll make them better.”

After a few seconds, Col nodded.

“You will know that burns hurt a lot,” Col whimpered, but Linden tried not to rush his words out. “That’s why I snapped. I was surprised, but not angry. I’m not angry. You can see in my face and hear in my voice that I’m calm and I won’t hurt you. Just because you spilled some tea on me, doesn’t mean you have to hurt too. It was just an accident. And I can tell you’re sorry.”

This was the magic word, it seemed. Col nodded desperately, eyes wide, as he blinked fresh tears down his face.

“Thank you. Apology accepted. It’s okay, it’s all okay. You’re safe and I won’t hurt you. In fact-“

. . .

“…And I can tell you’re sorry.”

Pet could have fainted with relief. His body was still prickling with fear, waiting for the punishment, and Pet couldn’t yet believe Master when he said he wouldn’t hurt him. But he could definitely show he was sorry.

He nodded, trying to get it just right, trying to look eager but not careless, guilty but not too pitiful.

I am so sorry, Master. Your stupid lowly animal is so sorry, your pathetic dog is sorry and won’t ever do it again, thank you for showing your slave pet mercy.

He was definitely being prepped for something, but Pet pushed it from his mind. Master was giving him a chance and he had to show his gratitude.

“Thank you. Apology accepted. It’s okay, it’s all okay. You’re safe and I won’t hurt you. In fact-“

Master walked somewhere behind him, returning a few seconds later with Jaffa in his arms, setting her down beside him.

“Jaffa always makes me feel better,” he said. Pet had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded anyway, then leant down to kiss Master’s feet, thanking him with his body in the way that didn’t scare him. He only managed one kiss before Master stepped away, and Pet hoped it had been enough to show that he knew his place, and he was sorry, and he would do anything to please Master. It was a lot to show in a single gesture.

“I’ll be upstairs, if you need me. You’re safe, you’re okay, I’m not angry. If you want, you can cuddle Jaffa for a bit. Okay? Okay. See you in a bit, Col.”

Pet watched Master leave, his wiry legs climbing the stairs until they vanished entirely. Jaffa rubbed her cheek along Pet’s folded legs, and he nervously reached out a hand, sinking it into her fur. His hands, that he still had. Pet felt like he was starting to understand what Master was keeping him for, but he didn’t want to accept it. Instead, he stroked Jaffa and dried his eyes, the taste of biscuit still in his mouth.

(tagging: @newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @temporary-whump-sideblog @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow  @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @whumpwillow @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whumps @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @briars7)