#in which its the morning after and its heartache all the way and then some

[chocosvt]

HER | part five.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

posting a bit earlier tn since i've got work tmo morning! i can't believe there is only one part left after this one!! :o

last chapter was angst up to the eyeballs so hopefully this one mends some of that heartache <3 still, much has yet to happen! this chapter contains one of my fave scenes teehee.

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part four | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—AUGUST 3RD.

The last time Wonwoo had been at your apartment to help you write, it was around the evening, into supper. He remembered the scent from the three-wick candles lit up in the kitchen—bonfire and vanilla—which you insisted was a necessity because it was the perfect way to relax your tense mind. Deciding not to cook, you had ordered Chinese takeout instead, and the entirety of the evening was spent sitting criss-cross on the comfortable rug splayed across the living room floor, indulging in warm food, writing, and letting the TV flick through a random season of your favourite drama show.

It was perfect.

Even now, as he sat on the bench across the street from your apartment complex, Wonwoo could still recall all the infinitesimal details—the fried crunch to every vegetable-filled spring roll, how the candles softly crackled when you blew them out at the end of the night, your small and very sleepy voice bidding him goodbye as you walked Wonwoo downstairs into the lobby—each memory sprung alive with such vividness. Wonwoo wished he could be poised outside your apartment knowing everything was the same; undamaged and intact. But that was an outcome too blissful for reality to maintain.

You had a specific nightly routine, particularly on Thursdays, after work: showering, followed by having a quickly thrown together dinner, applying a face mask, and then a movie before bed. He found himself memorizing a lot of your patterns over the months.

Wonwoo hadn’t texted you—he was doing this completely unprompted, without an inkling of his arrival. Maybe that was a terrible idea which should be discarded for something gentler and less likely to explode in his face, but that would only lead to more ruminating and more ruminating meant less doing.

The thing was, it was nearing eight o’clock. Wonwoo had been sitting on the bench for almost a half hour while the sun gradually sank, watching the occasional green leaf flutter down from the chestnut oaks adorning and shading the parkway behind him. The longer he waited, the further the shadows of the trees stretched, until he was completely engulfed and framed alone underneath their dark, cool silhouettes. Light still spilled across the street, igniting the space where everyone else was strolling, each person steadfast in their pace to be somewhere that wasn’t a sunset orange city street.

Breathing out slowly, Wonwoo glanced down at his hands.

It was like the first time he met you.

Just suck it up. Go do it.

He walked between the trimmed hedges that led to the complex door. The lobby area was exactly as he remembered it, though Wonwoo had come to learn those little complimentary desserts and cucumber waters set out the first day he visited you were no longer a thing, which you had vehemently complained to him about during a brief promenade through the park—another one of your palate cleansing ideas.

“Oh! Those pastries, by the way—they stopped doing them! I heard about it from my neighbour when I went down to get the mail. I was pissed, pissed, pissed! Apparently, there’s a lady who made them specifically for our complex because her grandson lived there. Well, he’s moved out now, so we all got fucked! If I don’t get my cute little lemon square with the raspberry on top and the powdered confectionary sugar all placed in a decorative doily, I will legit kill myself. Something has to be done… hey—can you bake, at all?”

Hence your immeasurable disappointment when Wonwoo revealed to you that he wasn’t notably talented at baking. Still, the incident provoked him to spend at least an hour a night researching different recipes for lemon squares that he could manage to pull off if given enough time and a handful of supplemental trial and error.

Wonwoo pushed the button to the elevator.

The heartbeat heavied in his chest while waiting for the doors to pull apart, the anticipation and nervousness coming down hard like thick snow flurries. A commercial ding at last echoed throughout the vacant lobby. Wonwoo immediately stepped into the small, confined space, feeling his breaths begin to drag, becoming almost audible in his desire for more oxygen.

Without a doubt, this was probably the hardest thing Wonwoo had ever done in his life. Even moving away from the comfortability and closeness of his family in Changwon—no matter their disagreements or quarrels—couldn’t compare to the emotion so palpably tugging within him akin to an ocean tide under a full moon.

He felt every twinge, but he was still doing well to maintain his composure, though Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from fearing that the control might leave him in the cold wind of seeing you again.

To look into your eyes could feel quite dissecting and Wonwoo didn’t know if he was yet strong enough to stomach the scrutinization despite how warranted it was. The best he could do was to expect nothing—this wasn’t about gaining closure, or basking in the liberation from righting a wrong—it was about the effort of accepting a profoundly hurtful problem he caused. You were hit front and centre by the shrapnel and you deserved to hear acknowledgement.

At the moment of reaching your floor, he didn't knock straight away.

Wonwoo stood outside the unit for a moment, removing his glasses and pulling at the sleeve to his large black hoodie, massaging away a smudge from the lens. After fitting the frames back to his face, he knocked. Each breath was fluttery. He tried so damn hard to soothe himself because life was unfortunately not a loop of constant aid and permanent reassurance and sometimes there was no other option but to be discomforted. At least he had his own company.

There was no movement from behind the door.

Swallowing very dryly, Wonwoo knocked again.

Nerves twisted in his stomach and turned his complexion pallid, though it was just on the edge of manageable and Wonwoo would have otherwise been quite proud if not for the lock suddenly clicking and the gentle, slow twisting of the doorknob. His fist clenched, the blunt nail on his index finger picking at his scarred cuticle.

Even when he saw you—Her—for the first time in over a month, accompanying the liminal doorway, staring back at him with an expression that he could use an entire pencil detailing, Wonwoo was able to sustain his control. Still, his heart was fucking racing.

Your eyes were wide, glassy, though somewhat veiled by the dip in your brows that began to gradually furl deeper in their recognition of his presence. He felt his stomach drop faster than lightspeed when a frown twitched into your lips, distorting the surprise in your face to anger, while the fingers at your leg curled into a rigid fist. There was a dewiness to your bare cheeks and a sweetened aroma from your skin that suggested you had gotten out from the shower not too long ago.

Wonwoo relaxed his hands.

“Hey.”

Expectantly, you said nothing.

There was a rolling, emotional sea unabashed to your face, continuously morphing between every shade of wrath within the sticky silence. Wonwoo worried you might slam the door shut.

He needed to say something fast.

“I know what you want to do—you want to close me out. I get that. I can see it all over your body. And, believe me, I understand.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the door. That initial glassiness in your eyes only grew glimmerier; the frown tacked onto your mouth somehow threaded with even more fulgurant rage. He could see that you were going to snuff him into nothing, like grabbing onto a candle wick with your fingers despite the hot wax and flame.

But it couldn’t end so abruptly.

Wonwoo held up his hands, baring his palms in defense.

“Just—okay. Her, I hurt you. Hurt is even too weak of a word to use. I know that. I promise I do. I know what I did… and… and I know that I must have some fucking gal to come here unannounced after everything I said, but I've got an explanation. I swear.”

There was notable uplift in his chest, watching your grip loosen on the door, fall down to the handle, losing the hostility. Wonwoo paused to catch his breath, ensuring his eyes never wavered.

 “And… if you decide to listen to me… and you still really don’t want me in your life… I-I can respect that. If all you want is for me to disappear and never bother you again… I can respect that…” he felt sick just voicing it, like he could faint at the prospect. “It might be such a stupid fucking thing for me to say, considering how I treated you, but I genuinely want to do whatever will make you happiest.”

Was it good enough? Feasible, even marginally?

Wonwoo didn’t know. He could only stand in place and study the metamorphosis of your face—from deep-seeded anger, to something pained and unintelligible, and now, contemplation. The inner monologue in your head was probably running on overdrive.

Your fingernails carved into the door.

He kept quiet, waiting, until you quickly wiped something from your cheek and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“… Fine,” you uttered in a raspy, weak tone.

Relief struck him like a breeze during a heatwave.

“Thank yo—”

“But if I say I want you to leave, then you will leave, and you will not say one word on your way out my door or spare me one glance, even if it’s from the corner of your fucking eye.”

Wonwoo was staring straight into your gaze, then shifting to the pointed finger sticking in his face. You were deadly serious.

He nodded.

Finally, however, you stepped aside to let him in.

Wonwoo didn’t know if he should sit or stand. If he should grab a stool at the marbled kitchen island or come to fit himself at the edge of the cream sofa. The interior was pretty much identical to his previous visit, though he realized that a few potted plants you once kept by the elegant floor-length windows were missing—he’d assumed they’d died—it was probably somehow his fault.

“Um, where should we—where do you want to—”

“Kitchen.”

With your arms folded stiff, you walked behind the island.

He stood on the opposite side, knowing it was likely not a coincidence that you opted to put a barrier between yourselves.

It was a foolish idea and he would certainly not extrapolate, but Wonwoo wanted to ask about you. He wanted to know how your work was going at the beauty salon, if you had any more obnoxious dinner parties with your parents—were you still writing? To even look at you from across the hard countertop, captured in the quiet dimness of your kitchen, with your soft and bare face and those cute silk pyjamas, was enough to stop his heart if he allowed it.

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, sighing.

“Before I explain anything… I just want to say—”

“I don’t care about that,” you interrupted without hesitation, eyes scalding and sharp, “I know you’re sorry. It’s the least you could feel after everything you said to me. I don’t care.”

“R-Right…” he trailed off, sensing the heat from the overhead lights as though they were shining directly into his face. Wonwoo pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, gulping, “I guess you want to know—"

“Why. I want to know why you did what you did.”

“Why?” He echoed dumbly.

“Yes, why. Pull out an entire script and apologize—I don’t want that. Acknowledge what you did—good for you. I’m glad you can see how fucked up it was, all while I had to cope with your analysis on why I’m such a god-awful person. People say sorry all the time. I know it can be genuine. I just don’t care. Sorry doesn’t help me understand. Sorry doesn’t take away the weeks I lost, tearing myself apart. Sorry doesn’t mean fucking anything to me if all you’re apologizing for is something I already lived and breathed.”

“No, that—yeah, it makes sense...”

His fingers suddenly gripped the edge of the island, knuckles ivory white. Your intensity was more disorienting than a drug, but Wonwoo knew he needed to stay calm. Breathe. Listen.

“Okay, so?” You shrugged. “Tell me, then.”

“Why I did what I did…” Wonwoo exhaled, staring at his reflection in the marble while his mind twitched into complete blankness. “Well... I-I guess I was feeling… there was a lot I was feeling and... fuck.”

At the last second, he scraped everything he was going to say.

Wonwoo then looked up at you, who was so cold and reluctant.

“You know, um… before I met you, I had a girlfriend. I know I've never mentioned it. But her name was Jeanie. I met her at the university, actually. She worked in the Morrison library—like, the big stone building that looks like a castle, almost. Anyway. I met her because I needed to sign out a textbook for this elective I was taking and she helped me find it… Jeanie. Yeah. I don’t know if you ever saw her or—she was really shy. But I felt like she listened well, no matter what you were saying, or what you were talking about. She would give you her full attention. And… I just remember thinking… I could tell you anything, Jeanie. I could tell you I fucking pushed someone in front of a bus and you would wait and listen and hear me out until the end. She would make you feel… normal… human.

But—the thing is—I’m sort of laughing because I’m saying all this now, but… at the time, even despite my love for her, and how much I trusted her… I just… I kept her out. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. She knew I had anxiety, but never knew how bad. I never told her I stopped taking my pills. I never told her my actual feelings about anything… like, despite having this perfect person in my life, I still couldn’t open up. I didn’t think there was much harm to it, either. It would cause tension. Things would get… uncomfortable… but as long as she was there, I was like—I can get away with this. I don’t need to really discuss anything. She will always be here.

And then… one day… she just… wasn’t… uh—ahem—sorry, just—something in my throat, b-but, uh… yeah. She was gone. All her clothes, all her belongings: toothbrush, makeup, clothes, stuffed toys, notebooks, mugs, house decorations. It was all gone. I remember coming home to an apartment that was stripped bare. Like a skeleton. She took every part of herself from it. And all I could do was dumbly stand there and look at the bones.

Her number was disconnected, too. There was no one I could get a hold of that would tell me anything until I got this weird, vague email from her mom. ‘My daughter won’t be seeing you anymore. She’s safe. No need to worry.’  Those words picked themselves into my brain. I would go to sleep seeing them. I would repeat them in my head all night, and wake up with them still chiming. And I thought to myself, with all the weight in my heart… how could she do this? How could she leave and take everything and erase me without a word? It had to be her and it had to be the world just proving my point: being vulnerable, trusting, expressive—it isn’t worth it.

I really, truly believed it. I mean, I held onto it. I always looked at her as the one with the issue, but—fuck—it was me. I was the fucking issue. I… I must have made her feel so unimportant. I probably confused her, destroyed our trust, fucked up her concept of love. Like… I made her feel so trapped… that she felt the best thing to do was disappear, because there was no other way out… I made her feel that way. Me. It was me the entire time. And… I never really processed that until you were six feet away, screaming at me, cursing me up and down in the same living room I came home to that day, all emptied out. I had it out with you, the way I never had with Jeanie…

And the truth is, Her… I kind of… I always sort of knew I had that problem. I lived without ever wanting to acknowledge it. But I never really… I-I basically… I didn’t care about fixing it until I met you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head and stared at your quivering bottom lip, the shininess to your razor-sharp eyes, the manner in which your fingernails were sinching indents upon the skin of your biceps.

He paused, chuckling.

“I know I already told you… but you used to terrify me. I didn’t think we would ever mesh. Whenever I looked at you, I saw someone who knew herself, and I was so severely the opposite. But miraculously, I guess, you ended up being the person I feel the most comfortable with… when I see someone strong like you unravel, it makes me want to unravel, too. The trust I had for you was infinite.”

From across the island, Wonwoo noted how your eyes momentarily drifted down. A lump was sitting square at the base of your throat and it took a very dense swallow for you to even speak.

“… Had?” You whispered with a sniffle, hugging yourself.

Rolling out his shoulders, Wonwoo frowned.

“It was the party, Her. If you remember us talking in the guest bedroom… I told you that story about my brother and I, about my decision to move from Changwon… you’d nearly grappled Bells down to the ground an hour before. You apologized to me because you thought it ruined my night, but I promised you that it was fine, that I would always be here for you. And then we split ways. And you… you were… well, there’s really no clean way to say it but—”

“I had sex with Mingyu.”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

You shook your head. “He’s my boyfriend, Wonwoo.”

“I know, I know. It makes it sound stupid but—”

“No—wait. You’re pissed at me because I chose to have sex with my boyfriend? Are you—are you hearing yourself?”

“Her, please, listen—”

“I went through all of your bullshit because of that!”

“Can I just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It was because I liked you!”

Wonwoo’s heart was thumping almost audibly against his chest while his veins soared with adrenaline. Your fists were sitting, balled, on the kitchen island, though they began to unfurl as the weight cupping his confession—which was a mild version of what he truly meant to say—hung in the air like the plumes from a wildfire.

“I liked you, a lot," he admitted, watching your eyes slim with confusion, "and I’m sorry if that ruins us even more… but it’s true.”

“Wha—what—no. What do you mean you liked me? You liked me as in what? You liked me in a crushy silly way that’s just for fun, o-or you liked me in a serious way, that’s like, you want to… you want…”

Your mouth hung open, shoulders hunching.

His teeth gritted. “I thought I could… I wanted to…”

“Please just spit it out.”

“I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

Flares of heat melted slow across his face. Wonwoo could feel his temperature climatically rising. Still, it wasn’t the entire truth. His likeness wasn’t just that—it was a fully blossomed and unshakeable love. Though, he figured it might be too much, too suddenly.

“O-Oh…” you stuttered, “… and, you thought that…”

“Maybe you felt the way I did. Not that I’m going to ask if you did or didn’t. I mean, this was over a month ago. I’ve had lots of time to myself. I’ve been thinking plenty… the point is, I let those feelings affect my clarity and that’s why I felt so hurt. I felt like I was so open and candour just to kinda have it… thrown back in my face. But it just seems like every relationship I have, I sabotage it somehow… I didn’t go about us in the right way—not at all. It blew up into something terrible. I wish every day that I would have handled it differently. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut when I should have just talked to you.”

“Oh… god, Wonwoo.”

“I-I don’t know. It was late, and I was high—you were off a line of coke for fuck’s sake—I just—in that moment, didn’t it feel… like we were something? More than friends? Maybe you don’t remember everything. Some of it’s a blur, even to me. Like some fever dream.”

“No… I do remember some of it. I remember the spare bedroom. I remember how fucking comfortable that bed was. You were there… you were… helping me… and we... I know at some point we were lying down together but I don’t remember what I was thinking or everything I said… it’s just—it’s a lot… too much, almost.”

A groan reverberated from within your deepest cavity and he could only watch through the warm kitchen light as you leaned forward into your hands, your body slumped against the countertop and radiating with agony. Wonwoo didn’t know what to make of the spectacle, though he chose to let you swim in whatever sentiment was swallowing you whole, your head beginning to shake back and forth.

“Wonwoo… listen… I get that—I get what you’re saying, okay? I get that you have this fucking problem with vulnerability, and trust, and the—the, um—the self-sabotaging. I know. I have that, too. And I can understand that it was possible to misinterpret us…”

That word was like a decommissioning punch to his gut—misinterpret—as though it was merely wishful, ditzy thinking and it was him and him alone living inside the delusion despite the fact you were snuggling up against him. However, Wonwoo bit his tongue and simply listened. He didn’t need his bruised heart getting in the way.

“But that night was just—it was irresponsible, okay? On both our parts. I have a boyfriend who I very much l-like, and… and we’re just—you and I, I mean—we’re good at being friends. And you said it yourself that you’ve had time to think and get past it, so…”

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo didn’t need his love to be reciprocated nor did he want to know if you actually harboured any feelings toward him back then. All he desired was for you to get what you had plainly wanted—the why. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory, lacklustre, or maybe it was beyond ridiculous and too inconceivable for words.

He was grateful that he’d even made it this far.

With a heavy, laboured sigh, you managed to push yourself from the marbled counter. A hand then propped onto your hip.

Your nails clicked once against the island.

“So… that’s it, huh?” There was a nasally tone to your voice.

Biting his lip, Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Mmhm.”

Your head tilted straight back, like you were attempting to stop a runny trail of tears from escaping down your cheeks. You suckled in a breath, pressed your lips together firmly.

And then, abruptly, you laughed, pinching at your nose while your eyes squeezed shut. It was an exhausted, humourless laugh.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He didn’t exactly know what it was you were cursing, whether it be the realization of what the fight actually meant, or a reaction to his timid, but expired, confession. It could be that the information was too daunting and you were left with no instinct of how to manage it. Wonwoo chewed down on his tongue, keeping silent.

When your eyes opened again, they fell toward the fridge.

“Um… wasn’t it your birthday? Back in July?” You asked with a wet sniffle, brushing a wrist underneath your nose.

“Yeah… July seventeenth.”

Not bothering to speak, you walked over to the fridge and pulled the door open, pale light emanating from inside as you rifled around, moving containers and cartons and fresh produce. It was then that you revealed a cardboard box. Returning to the counter, you set the box in the very centre, and with trembling hands, you began unsticking the corners in order to reveal the surprise inside—a decent sized cupcake, frosted high with thick, white icing.

You sniffed again, turning to grab something from a utensil drawer, and then another item or two out the cupboard.

“It’s from Terra Cotta—it’s just a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing—which I ordered as a dessert when I ate out with Princess the other night. But I was too full to eat it after stuffing my face with pasta, unfortunately. So, I got it packaged up. Stuck it in the fridge. Forgot about its existence until now.”

A butter knife fell onto the island, followed by a lighter and a single pink candle. You sighed, eyes turning waterier by the minute, and Wonwoo felt a twinge in his chest that ached like hell.

“Do you like red velvet cake?”

Wonwoo huffed, shrugging. “Um, I’m not sure. Never had it.”

You picked up the candle. “Want to?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Rather than keeping the cupcake inside the box, you moved the dessert delicately onto a clean porcelain plate and proceeded to shut the lights off. The orange sunset that painted the streets had bled out all its lurid colour. Wonwoo was just beginning to realize how dark it was in the apartment. You propped the pink candle into the expertly piped cream cheese frosting and ignited the tiny wick. A shivering halo of fire reflected in the marble countertop as the flame wriggled and the wax burnt.

Honestly, he didn’t know what the moment signified—if it was a mere gesture of forgiveness, or just a simple means to release all the tension—Wonwoo had not a clue. He thought he should be looking at the cupcake but Wonwoo was looking at you and the lambent glow flickering across your very upset, still face.

Sniffling again, you picked up the butter knife.

“Okay… hurry up and make a wish, please.”

“Really?” Wonwoo chuckled. “You want me to make a wish?”

“Uh… yes. That’s what people do when it’s their birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Well—fuck—the spirit of your birthday, then.”

“You're asking a lot of me, you know. All this pressure.”

“Oh my god—it's just one ditsy little wish. I'm not asking you to write out your will, or solve world hunger. It's one stupid, tiny wish. For the sake of the moment. Hurry up before the wax drips on the icing.”

“I think you can just peel the wax off once it hardens—”

“Fuck! I don’t care, Wonwoo! God! Just—” he watched with a satisfactory smirk as you leaned forward and impatiently blew out the candle for him, “—there! Now, you don’t even get the opportunity to make a wish. Hope it was worth it.”

“So, you made a wish in my place, right?”

“Shut up. I’m cutting you the smaller half.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“Hey, I don’t sound like that.”

“No, I didn't make a wish in your place—here.”

“Thank you.”

“… How does it taste?”

“Uh, it’s good. A little firm. The icing is really rich, but I suppose that’s typical of cream cheese stuff. But overall, I like it.”

“I really love red velvet. Especially in cupcake form.”

“Hm. Didn’t know that.”

“I wonder if I could get a dozen ordered for my birthday...”

“We’re celebrating my birthday and you’re already thinking of your own? Can you at least wait until I’m out the fucking door?”

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, that’s not what I said.”

“Don't act like such a smart ass.”

Wonwoo knew he missed your quippy retorts, but he hadn’t realized he’d missed it this much. It was filling a pitted crater within his chest that had remained empty and stone cold ever since the argument.

As you turned the kitchen light back on, Wonwoo stuffed the rest of the frosted cupcake into his mouth and dusted his hands clean.

He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now.

Stubbornly, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave your apartment. It had been too long since he’d last seen your beautiful face, and half his summer was already wasted to lamenting the relationship he’d ungraciously snipped in half like a fresh garden rose. If you wanted him to leave, then he would oblige, because Wonwoo could never go back on his word to abide by the choices that might make you the happiest. That was what he cared about most, anyway.

From the opposite side of the island, you began to cross your arms again, fingers digging tight into your ribs. Wonwoo could see that the hues of grief and melancholy hadn’t really abandoned your face since his arrival, and the tears that had earlier welled up in your eyes were steadily returning, glinting along your bottom lashes as though they were dew droplets. Feeling his throat turn dry and sensing the air become dampened with your sadness, Wonwoo knew what you were going to ask—he braced himself quick.

“So… um…” you began pulling at the short sleeve of your silk-buttoned top, rolling the fabric between uneasy fingers, “it’s getting a little bit late and I just t-think you should go now, Wonwoo…”

He nodded, pushing at his glasses. “Yeah… of course.”

There was such an evident somberness about the way his feet dragged toward the door. You had walked him over, and now that the space between you was significantly less, Wonwoo had never battled so hard with his self-control to keep himself from touching you—even if it was just a slight, chaste brush of his fingers against yours—the simplicity and feel of your strawberry-scented skin would appease his constant aching. He glanced at you, saw that your arms were still crossed and your eyes trained to muse over the floorboards.

Wonwoo scraped against the cuticle of his thumb.

Does he just… leave?

It felt too abrupt.

He smiled at you, keeping it soft and mindful.

“Thank you for listening to me… I mean it… you didn’t have to but you did anyway and… uh, I don’t know. Just—thank you.”

“Mmhm…”

You were squeezing at your ribs even tighter now, pressing in your fingers so unnaturally deep. In fact, Wonwoo was beginning to feel worried, especially when he noticed the quivering in your frame and the hard bite you were sinking into your lower lip—how there were tears streaking one by one down the slope of your cheeks.

Wonwoo’s hand had been lingering on the doorknob, though it slipped off absentmindedly. He wanted to reach for your shoulder and give it a comfortable, warm massage, but he was still too fearful.

“Her… are you alright?”

After a cautious step closer, Wonwoo paused, attempting to peer at your face despite its pointed direction toward the floor. The question was worthless, he realized. You were crying and choking up.

“Do you… should I go?”

God—what an even more stupid question to ask—the thing he wanted to do least was leave when you were this hurt. But Wonwoo needed to know if it was his presence that was disturbing you.

You shook your head, sniffled up all the wet, runny congestion in your nose. He watched the teeth free from your lip as you gasped.

“I-I don’t know… I’m really, really sad, Wonwoo.”

He thought he might panic in the midst of your crumbling, however, there was too much guilt and heartache inside him.

“I know…” he murmured.

Somehow, it felt so criminal to just stand there and watch you weep, hearing every desperate attempt for a breath as you could only clutch onto yourself harder and let the tears helplessly fall.

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling his throat burn.

“Can I comfort you for a bit?”

You hiccupped, and your face pinched up in complete misery, the response struggling to escape through the large sob you cried out.

“Please.”

Immediately, his hands braced against the edges of your very warm, wet face. The heat was radiating like a summer blacktop, and the tears were quick to pool against his fingers as he did his darndest to softly clean and wipe them from your skin—though, Wonwoo came to accept that it might be futile—and he opted to cup your cheeks for just a brief moment, staring into your damp lashes and puffy eyes.

“Still such a gorgeous girl, even when you’re crying.”

You huffed at him, grasping onto his hoodie and tugging it.

“I need you closer, please.”

Waddling into his arms, your face smushed right against his shoulder. In the dim august dusk that meekly glowed through the windows of your downtown, sumptuous apartment, Wonwoo cradled you, coaxing a hand nice and gentle along your trembling head while his arm kept you secured firm into his body. As wonderful as it felt to hold you in the way he always dreamt of, Wonwoo knew that those tears wrinkling his clothes were mostly driven by him.

Your arms dug into his chest. It seemed like you wanted to burrow impossibly closer, into his ribs if you could, but the desire frustratingly couldn’t be fulfilled. To compensate, Wonwoo attempted to squeeze you even more, though he was somewhat afraid of cracking you in half. Maybe that’s what you were craving.

But he liked you very much alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, still damp from the shower and rife with the scent of fragrant blossoms, “I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I have to. Everything I said to you… it was just stupid, pent-up rage from my own shortcomings… so much was building inside me and I made such a dumb fucking mistake—taking our situation and using it as a target—it was all bullshit..." inhaling a breath, Wonwoo sighed. "I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door… but I don’t think you would have wanted to listen, anyway... you probably would have just told me again to go fuck myself… you know, that was actually the first time I’ve ever been told that?”

Your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder. The breath you proceeded to cough out made it sound like you were terribly ill.

“T-That’s hard to believe…”

Wonwoo smiled, smoothing a hand down your back. “You think so?”

Threading your fingers deeper into his hoodie, you nodded.

Stopping to contemplate, Wonwoo ended up agreeing, “hm… yeah... you’re right. There were probably a lot of times in my life where I deserved to hear that. But you’re the first, anyway.”

“Y-You… you deserve to hear it again… I mean, what were you thinking, Wonwoo?” Raising your head from his shoulder and sucking in a much-needed breath, you rubbed at the glisten iridescent to your face. “I didn’t know… I was just trying to t-tal-talk to you…”

Wonwoo unstuck some small, matted hairs from your forehead, guiding them away with the daintiest movements.

“I know you were...” he answered, keeping his voice quiet.

“And then, in the car… I-I just sat there and cried for so long that the sky got dark. I didn’t know what to do—like, I thought I might call Mingyu but he was at work a-and I had no idea what I would even say to him... and then, I called Princess. And she said I could come over and I legit couldn’t get one fucking word out to her.”

Meanwhile focusing on your choked, heavy sentiments, Wonwoo continued to clean the tears from your face. A warm hand had grabbed onto his wrist, not stopping him—just gently holding—as though you needed the contact to ground yourself, even a little bit.

“The shitty part was… even when I was at my angriest… I still couldn’t get myself to hate you. But I wanted it so bad, Wonwoo. I stayed up almost every night, trying to convince myself that you were the worst person I ever met, a-and that I would be better off without you—that you were a poison to me and everything about you is just a ruse to hurt people. No matter what I told myself, nothing would ever work… because I would—I-I don’t fucking know—I would think about how fucking good you make me feel inside. H-How happy I am when I’m with you. You listen to me, a-and you care about my thoughts and my interests and you’re just—you—you fucking live inside me somehow and I want you out so bad but there’s nothing I can do.”

Wonwoo had removed his hands from your face.

They slid down to your hips. He squeezed them tight, digging his thumbs into your flesh and bone over the silken shorts.

“You live inside me, too.”

Rubbing off your nose, you shook your head angrily.

“It can’t be like that.”

His throat twisted up.

“Why?”

“B-Because it—it can’t. You know I have Mingyu…”

“I only think about you. It’s always you. I don’t want it to change.” Wonwoo pleaded, hanging onto every word—trying to search for your eyes despite the adamant refusal to meet his gaze. 

“But I just—I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” You pushed at his broad chest, forcing him away as the anguished, grief-stricken shout reverberated between the high ceilings. Gripping at your head, you started to cry again. “I-I’m still so fucking angry at you, Wonwoo. I hate holding onto it and I hate that it’s been over a month and I’m still processing everything, but I can’t just move on from those feelings! I have to see it through. ”

The air was ice cold against him.

He just wanted your perfect body back in his arms.

“O-Okay… okay. I get it.”

“You do? Because I can’t keep reliving this. I just can’t.”

Wonwoo sighed, curling his fingers in and out.

“No, I—I hear you. I promise.”

You still needed time. You weren’t ready to forgive him. That was okay, and he wasn’t the least bit vexated by it. If he had to wait an entire year, then he would wait. Nothing would shake him from you.

Slapping a palm against your cheek, you shoved away the further tears which were seeming to become an annoyance. Wonwoo wanted desperately to be the one to wipe your pretty face and kiss away the salty taste of your sadness, but he knew not to push his luck.

Beyond the windowpanes, the sky was nearly pitch black, pinpricked by all the distant lights from the city buildings.

“I’ll go now, okay?” Wonwoo murmured.

Folding your arms, you sniffled a little, nodding.

“Okay...”

He wanted to say goodnight to you, but then he thought of that rule you had proclaimed during your late-night phone conversation many moons ago—you had to say it first as courtesy.

Except, you were silent.

Nonetheless, Wonwoo had liked to think it was sitting right on the tip of your tongue, just as it was sitting on his.

—SEPTEMBER 8TH.

When he thought back on his summer, Wonwoo couldn’t believe the quickness with which it had flown by, especially considering how nauseously slow some parts moved while he existed, trapped, inside them. Still, it was probably Wonwoo’s most eventful summer since his move from Korea, in more ways than one. Now, it was back to university for his final year as a maths student, and Wonwoo actually couldn’t be happier for the introduction of routine and the opportunity to test all the inner workings he’d accomplished.

Just last week, Vernon had thrown together a small party in the backyard of his friend’s rental home. He was housesitting, and though Wonwoo wasn’t sure why the friend in question would pick a promiscuous drug dealer for hospitality upkeep, the party was apparently approved and Wonwoo had made the effort to attend.

It gave him the chance to reunite with Seungcheol and Seokmin who he’d unintentionally given the cold shoulder. He was just thankful they were relaxed about everything. The night was spent swapping stories from their summer by the makeshift firepit, drinking cold beers, and watching the fireflies twinkle in the dry backyard brush. Vernon had spent all his time sweet-talking some new girl he’d invited from the club, and when they disappeared inside for about half an hour, Wonwoo prayed his bladder could hold out.

Wonwoo had also invited Sierra.

He figured she was just too warm and amicable and he knew she would get along seamlessly with everyone there.

Since they last spoke downstairs in the pottery shop during late July, Sierra had gotten herself a girlfriend—a patron of the Honeymoon who worked up the courage to ask Sierra out after admiring her bartending skills, as he’d heard it—and Wonwoo was more than happy to extend the invite. Seungcheol had predictably brought along Princess, though Wonwoo hadn’t been too worried. They seemed to be on good terms despite the chip in the relationship.

If you had been in town at the time, Wonwoo would have invited you, too. But you weren’t, instead accompanying your mother on a three-day venture outside the city for some publisher’s trip.

But he kept you in mind the entire night. He saw you in the wide, bright moon sitting squarely above the crackling fire, and he felt you in the colder breezes that whispered the beginnings of a soft, fresh autumn. You were everywhere inside him, just like his blood.

Wonwoo had liked to think he’d done it right. All those conversations he shared with you over the phone since the reunion at your apartment seemed promising—even when they flared and ached like a broken bone—Wonwoo had just wanted to hear your voice and know your heart. Though, the conclusion had dipped him in a strange, confusing predicament he still struggled to reason.

“I think we work best as friends… we’ll always be friends.”

The moment was followed by the most intense silence, and then Wonwoo had shifted the phone against his ear, spreading on an audible smile that couldn’t have looked any faker in person.

“Yeah… I see that, too.”

But he didn’t.

He was still in love with you.

And now Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

You had come to an agreement that he should no longer help you with the book as it had been a point of contention since the start. Plus, you were now confident enough in your skills to finish it.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo was okay with that.

Nonetheless, he did offer his help if you ever needed it.

In fact, as Wonwoo sat in the small auditorium for his newest elective—the continuation to last year’s creative writing—he was scrolling through an old document you had sent him months ago, containing a litany of the same messily written paragraph, just rehashed as you attempted to find the best wording for it. Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile against the palm squishing at his chin.

Your mind always did seem to work in twelve different ways.

Since he’d shown up early to the lecture, Wonwoo was able to pick a good seat in the middle. He recognized a few faces from last year as more students began to trickle in. Wonwoo kept his bookbag on the chair to his right because he liked the extra space, though he began fearing he might have to move it when the lecture hall filled to a degree past his expectations. Since when did all these people take the class last year? Was it because of the new professor? He spun a pen between his fingers, observing everyone rather judgementally.

“Hey—are you saving a seat for your non-existent friend, or are you leaving your bag here to make sure no one else would sit beside you? Not that anyone would want to with the way you’re begrudgingly staring down every single person who walks in here.”

Wonwoo grinned, the pen stilling into his hand.

He knew your attitude like the ducks on his aunt’s shower curtain.

“If it’s such a big deal to you, you can move it.”

“Oh, can I? Do I get the pleasure of moving your bookbag, Wonwoo? Are you really that kind as to save such a life-changing, personal, and intimate experience, just for me?”

Smirking up at you, Wonwoo dropped his bag onto the floor.

He was promptly greeted by a very shiny smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you said matter-of-factly, setting your iconic cream purse onto your lap after sliding into the chair.

“So,” Wonwoo huffed, leaning back and casting you a curious glance, “you didn’t tell me you were going to take creative writing.”

Pulling out some chapstick, you laughed. “Uh—you didn’t tell me, either,” the comment was wry and muttered through the obstacle of moisturizing your lips.

Scratching his temple, Wonwoo chuckled, “fair.”

“Gosh, there’s so many people in here. Way more than I was expecting. I mean, who even are these goddamn people? I hardly recognize any of them—oh my gosh, do you think it’s because of the new professor? I looked her up, you know. She’s published three books—they’ve all got crazy good accolades—and one of them was even made into a movie! That has to be why. Should I try to get face time with her after class? No—actually, I won’t. Then I look totally desperate. I’ll play it cool. I’ll wait until, like, three classes from now.”

“Well, you’re never short of making an impression.”

“Meaning what?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, “what the fuck do you think it means? It’s not like I’m talking in morse code. You make an impression.”

You smacked a hand down on his knee. “Well, how do I know if you mean good or bad! And don't curse at me like that.”

“Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he replied, softening his voice, “I am very extremely sorry.”

That little smile you gave him was enchanting.

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “And I meant good, obviously.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you say anything to her, she’ll love you.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“She’ll keep you reasonably in her thoughts?”

“Hm. Yes. I like that better,” you agreed.

While you busied yourself with removing the laptop from your purse and taking an extra minute to inspect your face with a small, compact mirror, Wonwoo glanced around the room again. A few people standing by the professor’s podium at the front were looking at you, their mouths moving in conversation, though Wonwoo could hear none of it from the general chatter. He supposed you were used to getting those dissecting, curious, maybe even sometimes hurtful stares. There was always a light shining on you, wanted or not.

As Wonwoo pulled open the class syllabus on his laptop, he felt a tap against his shoulder. Slightly turning his head, he spotted someone shuffling by in the cramped row behind him, waving.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” the stranger said quickly in passing.

Squinting at him through his glasses, Wonwoo nodded. “Uh, hey.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Someone from last year, I guess.”

“I see. Mr. Popular. Taking names and breaking hearts.”

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. “The opposite, actually.”

You giggled so lightly at his response, and for a very slow moment, Wonwoo saw and felt the heat of your eyes stilling in focus upon his face. He squirmed somewhat in his seat, fingers picking at the rough, dark blue material upholstered over the chair’s arm. But then you resumed staring back at yourself in the compact mirror while applying another layer of lip balm, and Wonwoo had to subtly breathe out all the butterflies that fluttered up from his stomach.

With a satisfying snap, you’d shut the mirror, stuffing it back into the purse that was sitting atop his bag on the floor. He wanted to ask you how the book was coming along, how much progress you had made since he last proofread anything, if you were still engaging in those messily long sentences or had you since learned to clean them up.

But it was hard for Wonwoo to ask.

He studied the nervous hands in his lap.

“So… are you free after class?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Uh, I think so? This is my only class today, actually. No more SSA. I’m beyond happy. No one else seemed to take it well but me. I don’t care, though.”

“No, you made the right choice.”

“So, why do you ask?” Angling your body toward him, you smiled, and Wonwoo felt this pool of warmth expand in his chest.

“Do you want to stop at the café on Sunnyside?”

“Maybe. Is it good? I’ve never actually ate there.”

“I think it’s good,” he said, bouncing his knee. “I used to sit in there all the time. I don’t as much anymore, but it’s a cute place to visit. About a ten-minute walk from here. Plus, it’s nice outside.”

You nodded. “I’ll think it over.”

Knowing that class was starting soon, Wonwoo moved the phone sitting on the edge of his tabletop into his back pocket.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

He stiffened in his seat, hardly managing a nod. That always seemed to be a weighted question, especially in your hands, and the fact that you were biting the skin of your bottom lip only stirred forth more worry. Wonwoo folded his arms and nodded, feeling his heart beat.

“Well, it’s just—there’s no exact date yet, okay? But sometime in very late September my family is having another dinner party.”

Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his arms.  “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, continuing to bite your lip, “and, I basically—I-I’ve kind of been blabbing to my mom and stuff. You’ve definitely come up in some conversations. She made a comment that I could invite you and even though I disagree with her on, like, millions of things, I thought it might be a good idea…” your eyes flashed at him doubtfully. “So, like, I’m not gonna force you or anything. I’ve ranted to you about these dinner parties before so I’m sure you know how awful they can be. But… I don’t know… I mean, you don’t even have to stay the entire time. You could just pop by, o-or, or something like that. I just… I think seeing you before will help calm me down.”

Out of everything you could have asked, Wonwoo was least expecting the dinner party question. It seemed to have a very routine structure and Wonwoo couldn’t help but think that his presence there might throw everything off-kilter and the last—the very fucking last—thing he wanted was for your parents to absolutely loathe him. You always complained about them. Even with Mingyu and Seokmin there to accompany you, it seemed never to be enough. However, Wonwoo would hate to leave you hanging so dryly out in the open.

Even if he dreaded it, you mattered more to him than any awkward or nervous sentiments he harboured about the situation.

“Uh… okay. Yeah. I can go.”

You straightened up like a hair standing on end. “Really?!”

He nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re the best!”

Leaning over the chair rest, you bracketed your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, squeezing him into a quick hug that left his heart racing. Your sweet smell lingered in his nose as you slipped away.

“That’s such a relief… and—yes—for as much as I complain about it, I promise I’ll do my absolute best to keep everything on the rails. I’ll get you out of anything awkward or uncomfortable. And if you feel like it’s too much, I’ll be right there. I promise.”

Wonwoo smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. I can manage a few shit conversations and uncomfortable silences. I’ve got my own problematic parents. I appreciate the thought, though. Means a lot.”

It would be another matter to anxiously dwell over until it actually happened, but Wonwoo was okay with it knowing how receptive you had become to his mood. More than anything, he didn’t know how to deal with Mingyu. The party had been decent. There were multiple people to bounce off and uplift the weight, substances to mellow the tension and distract the mind. But this felt very different. This would be more intimate. Less room for error in the form of lasting, arduous glances and short but gentle touches.

All he hoped for is that it might end better than the party.

—SEPTEMBER 29TH.

“So, I’ll come pick you up, okay? Just gotta text me.”

“… Yeah, that works. Okay.”

“Take a breath, Glasses. If anyone’s got this, it’s you, alright? No negative Nina shit. You’re lookin’ gorgeous, even more than me.”

“It’s Nancy.”

“What?”

“It’s—never mind.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“I said never mind.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez… make sure you drop the attitude when you get in there. It’s not very cute of you, yeah?”

Wonwoo felt Vernon’s hand grip onto his shoulder, bestowing him a confident shake that somehow only served to reveal how jellied and weak he’d become. But Wonwoo also knew he couldn’t sit inside the mint-scented interior of his friend’s vanilla Camry the entire night, waiting for some lightning bolt to strike him with the energy he blatantly needed. Consequently, his attitude had gotten a bit snappy.

Vernon was right, though. Wonwoo had to find it within himself to relax, take a breath, and realize the time would fly once he was past the initial haze. Besides, you were there. That was all he really cared about. It made the most impossible things possible.

Looking down at the sleek, unwrinkled material of his black suit jacket, Wonwoo gave it a final and deciding tug. He then reached for the gift bag sitting by his feet. Inhaling, his lungs filled deep with air and Wonwoo was clicking his fist against Vernon’s.

“You’ve got this, playboy.”

“See you on the other side, I guess.”

Exiting the vehicle, Wonwoo spared one last hopeful glance at his face-studded friend before slamming the door shut, now caught outside underneath the moon’s shimmer. Late nights in September always seemed to be somewhat dewy and cold, with golden, ruby, and amber leaves slicked against the streets like flowers pressed into paper. Wonwoo shivered, smelling the earthiness in the atmosphere.

After tightening his fingers around the straps of the gift bag, he began making his way up the smoothly paved driveway, toward the welcoming and aglow ambiance that beamed from your family house.

He grabbed the rung at the door, slamming it a few times.

The anxious breath slowly flowed from his mouth as Wonwoo’s mind raced with who would be the one to answer. Feeling his circled glasses slip, Wonwoo pushed them back up using his finger. At the same time, the front door swung open, and in the clarity, relief washed over him like the caress of that autumn wind.

“Fuck! You’re here!”

Before Wonwoo could get a word out, your arms were already thrown around his neck. The hug was fleeting. As quickly as your body was pressed flush against his, it was gone a second later.

“Uh, yeah. Just got dropped off.”

“Oh my gosh. Come in, come in,” you chirped like an excited bird, pulling at his elbow, “I’m legit so happy you’re here. Don’t worry about taking off your shoes. I know I’m barefoot at the moment but I’ve been so freaking scatterbrained that I haven’t even picked out a pair of heels yet. You look amazing. I’ve never seen you dressed up!”

His face began to burn at the compliment.

“I don’t attend many things that require fancy clothes.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Smiling, Wonwoo realized that he hadn’t really marvelled your dress, but there was something awfully familiar about it—the shiny olive-green colour, the elegant, revealing slit at the right thigh, the thin yet simple straps draped along the open, lowcut back—he then remembered it was the final dress you had tried on from that expensive boutique in the mall. Somehow, the material looked even more stunning on you now than it did before.

His face grew warmer, sizzling almost.

“That dress has always looked perfect on you.”

There was so much more he could spew in the moment, some cloying, sweet thoughts and some very impure ones, too. But Wonwoo wasn’t trying to cross boundaries and he had to respect your wishes of staying as friends, even if it tore him up inside beyond words.

Fiddling with your fingers, you gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you recognized it.”

The hallway suddenly got very quiet. You were both just standing there, staring at each other, biting lips and scratching skin.

“So, um, I guess I can show you arou—”

“Oh, there they are! Honey, they’re out here!”

Wonwoo’s tender gaze had suddenly snapped toward a woman barging out from an illuminated doorway, a wine glass poised in her hand while the largest, most bedazzled necklace he had ever seen weighed down to her chest. Weathered heels beat the floorboards, echoing between the walls as she stalked toward him.

“You must be Wonwoo!” 

Her hand was gripping onto his wrist and Wonwoo could only prompt a weak smile that was indicative of his racing, feeble heart.

“Yeah, correct. Pleased to finally meet you.”

 “Oh, charmer. Pleasure’s all mine, sunshine. Okay, but—let me get a good look at you. Don’t feel like you have to stand by the doorway, all polite-like. Come a bit more into the light, over here.”

“Mom, don’t pull him,” you warned between clenched teeth.

“Ah, it’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t fret so much. Sheesh.”

Standing beneath the warm and yellow glow from the hallway chandelier, there was notable heaviness in Wonwoo’s chest as your mother’s dilated, intensive gaze wracked along his every feature, as though she were the reading the fine print to one of her catalogues.

“You’re certainly gorgeous,” she complimented, “and that voice! So soothing. How do you not have a lovely lady on your arm?”

Wonwoo’s eyes skipped to you in complete and utter panic.

Grabbing onto her shoulder, you gently guided her away.

“Mom, come on. You’re smothering him, alright? Remember the thing with Mingyu? I told you not to do that anymore. He just got here and I want him to actually enjoy himself. Don’t be so… pouncey.”

“Okay. I got it,” the mom said, lifting her hand and wine glass in submission, seeming serious for no less a few seconds. “The princess of the house, FYI. She always gets what she wants.”

You knocked her touch away as she wriggled your chin, very poorly veiling your annoyance through a grumble, “it’s not like that.”

“Didn’t I call in your father? What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know. He’s probably hiding in his office.”

“Is that where he is? Really? When I asked him to set the table? Jeez. You spend all day cooking a meal, chopping and dicing and braising and frying, and the man just can’t be bothered to put out some knives and forks. This is why I opened the wine early, y’know.”

Your arms folded, and you appeared so much smaller.

“Seokmin set the table already.”

“Oh! What—he—he did? I didn't even notice!”

“Yes, like an hour ago.”

“Oh my gosh! That boy’s an angel. Raised so well, wasn’t he? You know Seokmin, right, Wonwoo? You’re all friends?”

Awkwardly shifting in his place, Wonwoo nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder where Seokmin or Mingyu were. There was dulled music echoing softly from a distant room in the house. Down the hallway corridor, it seemed to open up into a big living space.

Suddenly, your mom began to wiggle her finger at the bag he was holding limp in his hand, and for a moment, Wonwoo had even forgot it existed. She sipped from her gradually disappearing wine again, her words sounding muffled as they fogged up the glass.

“Is that a gift I spot in your hand, dear?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

Flattening a palm over the intricate jewel necklace glittering down her chest, your mother fawned adoringly, and Wonwoo’s stomach immediately dropped knowing it wasn’t her gift at all.

“Gosh! You shouldn’t’ve!”

“Uh, a-actually, it’s not—it was—I got this for your daughter.”

His gut twisted, watching the excitement and gleam drain from your mother’s face, her smile wiped away like an eraser to a penciled drawing. At least you had brightened up, though it wasn’t without caution, and Wonwoo wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Straightening her spine, a grin then twitched unnaturally to her mouth. She was directly back into the wine for another drink.

“Well, that’s certainly thoughtful.” Wiping off her lips, she unnervingly held Wonwoo’s gaze for a brief moment, her eyes harder than diamonds. She then turned toward you, proceeding to gesture in a swirling motion with her finger at your face. “Sweetheart, if you don’t mind, could you take a few minutes to just fix your makeup?”

Your expression faltered, shoulders sagging.

“My makeup? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, the lashes are lifting a bit. It’s not too noticeable in this dusky hallway but out in the proper light, everyone will be able to tell. And I wouldn’t use that shade of lipstick. Remember the tip I gave you? When we take photos that colour is not going to show well.”

“I do remember, yes. But I thought it could match with—”

“No but’s. These dinners are important for us, alright? Go fix.”

Wonwoo held his breath. In all his time spent getting to know you—your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves and oddly specific rules about the way things should work—the one cardinal sin was to never interrupt you. Even when he was fighting tooth and nail against you in his apartment, aching with hurt and bitterness, he didn’t cut you off once to get his word over yours. He doubted Mingyu had ever done it, and he was positive Seokmin hadn’t, either. To actually witness it felt somewhat like a crime requiring swift punishment.

Though, for all that Wonwoo was expecting in response to the rage that had just rippled across your face, there was nothing.

Because you’d choked it down like foul cough syrup.

He watched the fist unclench at your side.

“Okay,” you stated in surprising simplicity, “I’ll go fix it,” still with a sprinkle of attitude that your mother opted to ignore as she announced her trip into the kitchen to check the food.

The second she was obscured from view, a noticeable glisten of tears and exhaustion glimmered in your eyes, though you sucked all the emotions back with a deep, deep breath.

“Do you want to come with me, upstairs for a second?” You asked in a tight, shaky voice. “Unless you want to find Seokmin.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, I’ll see him later. Of course I’ll come with you,” he answered, smiling at you with all his tenderness.

He proceeded to follow you up a dimly lit staircase draped in a chocolate brown rug. The house looked quite small from the outside, hidden almost, by the inky night, but as Wonwoo accompanied you at the robust, wooden dresser kept against the corridor wall, he realized just how long the house actually was.

Your lower back pressed against the dresser, hands gripping the edges and fingers scraping the underside of the chestnut.

Wonwoo left the gift bag sitting next to an amorphous, black metallic sculpture that he couldn’t even begin to understand, then dusting off his palms and watching you shake your head.

“I mean, you’ve only been here for five minutes, and I’m already breaking out my seams,” you laughed, dabbing at a tear travelling too far down your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for it to be like this so soon and I’m not gonna force you to stay.”

“Stop saying that,” Wonwoo urged, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I told you I would come. I’m not going to abandon you.”

You paused, biting the swollen skin of your bottom lip.

“… Okay.” Looking down at the ground, you wiped your damp face again before hugging yourself. “She always does this… she always has something to point out. Nothing can ever be perfect for her. I’ve spent, like, all day, preparing myself, because that’s what she wants, and it’s still not enough. I don’t get it. I feel—” you sucked in a needy breath, pinching at your nose, “—I feel like I’m just some stupid doll she’s trying to perfect, but I never came perfect in the first place, so it’s all a big waste, and somehow, it’s my fault… I know I’m unloading and I’m sorry for that, too. This day has just been—I hate it. I hate these dinners. I fucking hate everything about them. I want to bang my head against the wall.”

Wonwoo smiled at you.

He untucked a hand from his pocket and reached for the clenched fist at your hip, spreading apart your fingers into his.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m listening, okay?”

Though your eyes were misty with tears and tiredness, you managed to return a frail little grin that was deeply sincere. Your hand tightened in his for a moment, and then you were stepping into him like he was a fresh blanket straight from the laundry. Fingers bunched up his suit jacket and your face was warm against his neck.

“I think it’ll be a little better tonight,” you whispered. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me feel like I’m going insane.”

Wonwoo passed up and down your bare back with his hand, admiring the softness to your pampered skin and the luscious scent of your hair, though he knew you had probably hated every moment trapped in the hot shower, exfoliating and shaving and scrubbing your body clean. He felt you squeeze onto him harder.

“Can I see what your gift is?”

“Oh, yeah…” he muttered, pulling apart from your heat, “it’s kind of a two-in-one thing. It’ll make sense once I explain.”

“That seems exciting,” you answered, returning to your lean against the chestnut dresser, folding your arms and smiling.

“So, um—if you remember the poker game—I owed you a pretty big lump of cash,” Wonwoo said, reaching inside the bag to grab a smooth, matte box, “and then there was the day at the museum, of course. Running home in the rain. You lost a shoe.”

“Oh my gosh, yeah…” you giggled fondly at the memory.

“I was at the mall—and, yes, I know. Why would I be at the mall when I hate the place?  But I was getting my laptop fixed at that tech store on the third floor, and I also needed wires for my—okay. Never mind the rambling. Fuck, I’m turning into you now. Anyway, I walked past that one store you love and get pretty much all your clothes from. They had these heels in the window. The white ones, which you said to me are actually not white, but a very specific shade of ivory that I couldn’t see and still fail to see, to be honest. And they had that little bit of gold in the straps… but the point is—I got them for you.”

You glitched for a second, and it wasn’t until Wonwoo was basically pushing the box into your chest that you seemed to realize.

“Wait… you actually went to Rosette?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Immediately, you flipped the box open and began flicking away the neatly trimmed cover of glittered tissue paper. “You got me the Gold Crystal Rope-Strapped and Ivory Ankle four-inch from Mirabella? Wonwoo! I-I was just talking when I saw them in the mall! I mean, you didn't have to actually get them!”

“I know,” Wonwoo answered, helping you pick the heels out from their imprints, “you’re always just talking, though.”

“Unnecessary.”

“To you.”

He was thankful you were too enraptured by the shoes to bother retaliating. Under regular circumstances, Wonwoo wouldn’t ever have been able to make such an expensive decision, but he still had some leftovers from winning the other poker matches at the party, in addition to a work bonus, and he knew that he still needed to repay you those favours even if they weren’t being held against him.

“They’re so freaking gorgeous,” you fawned, inspecting each heel like a jeweller would to their collection, “I can’t tell if I want to hit you or jump on you in happiness. I love them so much.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Oh my gosh, can you help me put them on? Pretty please?”

“Uh—yeah, ‘course.”

You gripped the edges of the dresser, slightly sitting on the surface as Wonwoo squatted down to your bare feet. He collected the first ivory heel and loosened the anklet buckle, proceeding to help slide the shoe on until it was fit perfectly. As he busied himself with loosening the buckle to the other heel, Wonwoo felt the ghost of your fingertips brush through his hair. In a spilt second, he froze, staring up at you, who was grinning back in utmost beauty.

“Just fixing your hair a little,” you stated innocently.

Wonwoo readjusted his glasses, nodding. “O-Okay.”

The action hadn’t felt that innocent, and as Wonwoo swallowed tight and continued sliding your ankle through the heel, he was overwhelmed with the most blaring, vivid, heart-hammering thoughts of smoothing his hands along each your soft thighs, pinning up the slippery silk to your olive-green dress, tugging aside your thin panties, burying his face and tongue so hot and heavy into your—

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lolling your head back while Wonwoo finished settling the heel onto your foot, “just in case you didn’t connect the dots, that means we need to get downstairs.”

He returned to height, straightening out the sleeves to his suit jacket. For some reason, there was such an intense disappointment burning in his chest, as though his carnal thoughts were not just thoughts but an actual intent to pleasure you—which was completely ludacris given your friendship and the fact your boyfriend was probably downstairs—that had now been ripped away from him by the shrill pitch of your mother’s beckoning voice.

“Should I take the box—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You grabbed onto his hand, tugging him toward the staircase.

“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.”

And Wonwoo followed, though he couldn’t help but note how you carefully dropped his hand upon rounding the corner into the kitchen, where Seokmin and Mingyu were standing about.

“Hey!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing toward him. “Wonwoo!”

Expectantly, Seokmin looked like he belonged in a suit. That dark cherry red colour was rather fitting and only served to amplify the glow of his indestructible enthusiasm. Wonwoo awkwardly sauntered over to them, playing with the threads in his pockets.

Mingyu’s suit was more charcoal in tone, with his hair expertly gelled and combed. He mirrored a suave movie star as he leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from his partly-filled wine glass.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You were hovering at the stove alongside your mother, talking in a hushed manner, while she stirred a large and bubbling pot of aromatic sauce, smelling like rosemary and perhaps cooked off vodka or some other alcohol. There was food everywhere—warm bread plates and fresh salad bowls and artistically painted casserole dishes covered by tinfoil. A window had been cracked open to help alleviate the heat swarming the kitchen, which Wonwoo could feel a little too uncomfortably in the air.

Seokmin grabbed at a couple crackers and cubed cheese organized onto a charcuterie board behind him.

“Don’t you clean up well?” He complimented with a big grin.

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not that well.”

“Hey—” Seokmin suddenly grabbed onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him, “—you’re here, alright? That’s an honour.”

Mingyu brushed the cracker crumbs off Seokmin’s suit.

“Don’t snack too much. She hates when you can’t eat.”

“Uh—I made this stupid board. I get to eat from it whenever I want. I’ll be fine, anyway. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Mingyu stopped tidying Seokmin’s suit, instead grabbing his wine glass off the countertop, sighing aloud, “that was a stupid idea…”

From the dreariness to his words and the slouch pulling down his shoulders, Mingyu didn’t seem to be all that excited or even half as chipper as Seokmin, though Wonwoo suspected that he knew the dinner parties to be a complete trainwreck. If Mingyu could hardly stomach a night with your parents despite all the stunning food and drink, then Wonwoo had no idea as to how he’d survive.

“So, um…” Seokmin lowered his voice, tipping his head close to Mingyu’s ear, “should we give him the rulebook?”

“Rulebook?” Wonwoo echoed.

“Uh,” Mingyu sipped quickly from his wine, “yeah, guess we can do that. Not in here, though. Let Her talk to her mom.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Seokmin smiled, flashing a sly wink at Mingyu. “Hey, we’re gonna give Wonwoo a quick tour, alright!” He then called, his hand wrapping around the boy’s bicep, already beginning to tug him toward the hallway. “It won’t take too long; we’ll just show the bottom floor! Be back in a few!”

“Oh, uh, I guess that’s fine,” your mother replied while grabbing onto the pot handles with two tea towels, moving the sauce from the element, “but please do be quick! And, Seokmin—do you mind fetching the hubby from his office after you’re done?”

“I can do that, for sure,” he answered, smiling bright.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate you so much.”

He was escorted out the muggy kitchen and down the corridor, flanked by Mingyu and Seokmin until they reached the living area where the piano music had been coming from.

Before he could issue even one question, Wonwoo was pressed down onto the red, very large-cushioned couch. Seokmin sat on the marble coffee table while Mingyu fixed himself onto the arm of a sturdy leather chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. Neither boy spoke for a moment and Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel a bit frightened as he listened to the elegant, soft piano tune fill the space.

“So… what’s the rulebook?”

“Well, it’s not an actual rulebook,” Seokmin corrected, “that was just for dramatics, allure, etcetera. But that’s what we call it.”

“We? You and Mingyu, you mean.”

Shifting in his place, Seokmin nodded, and his voice dropped an octave lower, "play the game long enough, you learn the rules.” 

Mingyu’s chuckle dampened into the wine glass. “And there a lot of fuckin’ rules, that’s for damn sure,” he said with a scary smirk.

“But—we’ll just give you the crash course for now, as to lessen the overwhelmingness of what it takes to endure a dinner party.”

“Um, does Her know—”

“There are three principal rules; I’ll give them to you quick, so listen good,” Seokmin interrupted, leaning further into Wonwoo’s space, speaking quietly. “Rule one: do whatever the mom says, even if she doesn’t say it directly, or scarcely alludes to it. Makes everything ten times smoother, and gets her to like you, which is very important. Rule two: there is a guaranteed argument between Her’s mom and Her every fucking time—you stay out of it—never pick sides.

If you do get roped into whatever petty, passive-aggressive shame-fest they rake up, insert a compliment. Example: this steak is so tender and perfectly cooked! FYI—we’re not eating steak, so think of your own thing—and rule three: Her is like a freshly shaken can of carbonated soda and she can explode at any given moment. As her dear friends, and boyfriend, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen or else you’ll want to axe yourself.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow heavily at Seokmin, noting a few crumbs left on his cherry suit from the cheese and crackers.

“How do we stop that?” He asked genuinely.

Mingyu proceeded to lower the nearly emptied wine glass against his knee, clearing his throat, “you don’t stop it.”

“But I thought—”

“It happens every time, without fail,” Seokmin answered, shaking his head, “but you can prolong it. You know, like cracking open the cap and letting out some air instead of the bottle fizzling into obliteration right away. The explosion’s not as big then. It’s easy. You just keep the conversation pushing. Don’t leave any space for bickering. Mingyu sometimes takes Her downstairs, or outside. To be fair, you don’t really have to worry about the last part.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu huffed, hardly amused, “lucky you, huh?”

“What happens if that fails?” Wonwoo asked.

Seokmin leaned back, tipping his head to the side. “Last year Her’s mom spent six hours braising these honey-garlic barbeque ribs with asparagus and stuffed potatoes. Guess where the food ended up by the end of the night? Because it wasn’t my starving mouth.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Wonwoo sighed.

Bobbing his head approvingly, Seokmin smiled. “Exactly.”

“If these dinners are always such a mess, why do they keep happening? I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody enjoys them.”

Fiddling with the thick folded cuff of his dress shirt, Seokmin shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. They used to a be a lot bigger in the past. Way more relatives and family friends. Just get-together's with a lot of food and drink and intoxicatedness. A way to maintain community and repore or something. But it’s shrunk down over the years. I still can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.”

Mingyu rubbed tiresomely down his neck, somewhat wincing as he massaged a sore spot. “It definitely makes it worse.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Seokmin agreed, “it puts more pressure on the rest of us… anyway, I should grab ‘the hubby’ as per request.”

Snickering, Mingyu flashed his pointed canine teeth and raised the wine back to his lips. “Makes your skin crawl, doesn’t it?”

With an uneased laugh, Seokmin smirked. “Every time.”

As the boy disappeared down a dark hallway to the right of the large living area, Wonwoo assumed he and Mingyu might return to the kitchen as it was probably not the best idea—leaving you alone for too long with your nitpicking mother—but when Wonwoo began lifting himself from the plump couch cushions he was sunken into, Mingyu’s hand touched at his shoulder to stop him.

In an instant, trepidation surged throughout his body.

Wonwoo’s face had most certainly gone white, though the lighting in the living room was too warm and orangey to tell.

“I just wanna talk to you about something real quick,” Mingyu said, stretching forward to leave his empty glass on the marbled table.

“Oh—um, okay.”

When he thought about the past few months, Wonwoo realized he hadn’t even spoke to Mingyu since the blowout party back in June. So much had happened since then, good and bad. Wonwoo could only suspect that he was about to hear the worst talking-to in his life, though he attempted to feign the terror for casualness.

Mingyu swooped a hand behind his ear, brushing back his perfectly styled hair, and looked to Wonwoo almost… forgivingly?

“I know you and I haven’t seen each other since the party at Seungcheol’s. I know some shit went down between you and Her and that it really blew up and you guys weren’t talking for a bit. She said, like, it was something to do with the book she’s writing and you were having differences about the direction and it kinda exploded.”

Wonwoo prayed it was imperceptible, the gigantic breath of relief he fought to exhale without too much giveaway, knowing that you hadn’t told Mingyu the truth to the argument. He was happy about your work-around, though he didn’t know if it was… morally right… that you opted not to tell your boyfriend—the person you supposedly trusted most—one of your biggest miseries.

“Oh… yeah,” Wonwoo exhaled, “it got pretty ugly.”

Mingyu nodded. “I honestly don’t even know if she’s still working on it. She doesn’t tell me about it. I don’t get why it’s so fuckin’ important to her but… I digress. Anyway, like Seokmin said, you’re here now, so you two obviously hashed it out. She seems to really appreciate you as a friend. And—hey—it helps takes some of the weight off my shoulders, y’know? Girl’s a fuckin’ handful sometimes.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and the alcohol he was beginning to smell from the boy’s clothes. He understood the situation was stressful for Mingyu, that he might be teetering between things absentmindedly, yet he nonetheless questioned what Mingyu’s intentions even were with you.

“Well, uh… I really enjoy spending time with her, too,” he murmured as Mingyu reclaimed his emptied wine glass.

There was a strong grip on his shoulder, shaking it.

“You’re a good person, man. Seriously.”

Using Wonwoo as a support crutch, Mingyu heaved onto his feet, then proceeded to straighten out his charcoal suit jacket.

“M’kay, I’m going back to the kitchen. We’re probably gonna eat soon so don’t spend too long losing your head out here.”

“Yeah, got it.”

He watched Mingyu amble down the long and subtly aglow corridor, carrying his wine glass low at the hip until reaching the threshold to the kitchen. You had suddenly popped out, stumbling into him with a smile and some hushed words that were impossible to comprehend as Wonwoo sat alone, listening to the jazzy piano tunes from the record player. After nipping a quick kiss against your boyfriend’s lips, you entered the living room with a crooked head.

“What’chya doing out here?” You inquired, pressing a hand against the grand, wooden frame adorning the entry way.

Wonwoo grabbed at his knees while pulling himself up.

“Just a quick pep talk. And a fly-by of some rules.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “Seokmin’s crash course, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I call him John Green just to piss him off.”

Wonwoo smiled, stepping around the marble coffee table. “I feel like that might serve to stroke Seokmin’s ego above all.”

“No, it starts to irritate him after a while. You should know at this point I can piss off just about anybody. Even Seokmin. It’s a talent. Though I don’t think it’s enough for me anymore. I want to start pushing people to rock bottom or I haven’t done enough.”

There was a teasing sparkle in your eye as Wonwoo approached you. He could smell all that deliciously cooked food from down the corridor and his stomach was certainly responding to it.

“I can get you there,” Wonwoo said. “Don’t stress.”

“Forgot to fix my makeup. Want to come with me?”

He agreed, and you began to guide him across the living room, swathed in all its expensive mahogany fabrics, obtuse looking vases, and jade-green lamp shades that reminded him of late-night study sessions at the campus library. You pulled him past a wide shelf that was organized with much smaller, glazed sculptures that caught his attention as they lowly glimmered in the mellow light.

“Woah,” he gripped at your wrist, stopping your swift walk, “someone in your family loves ceramics, I’m guessing?”

You ricocheted back into his side, then taking a few seconds to adjust some invisible flaws in your hair before responding.

“That’s just some pottery I did when I was younger.”

Wonwoo squinted at you. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You took classes?”

Shrugging, you muttered a simple, “yeah.”

“Is that why you were so interested in that vase back at my apartment?” When you continued to stare at him blankly, Wonwoo cleared his throat and reiterated, “the red one? It was really round at the bottom, but the stem was tall and skinny. You really liked it.”

“Oh—yeah—sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve last been to your apartment. I don’t know if that’s why I liked it. Probably.”

He smiled at you inquisitively. “I’m surprised you never mentioned that to me, considering my landlord is a ceramics teacher. I mean, as you know.”

Your eyes seemed reminiscent and adrift, glancing from sculpture to sculpture—lopsided teapots, poorly shaped toadstools, crooked little spoons—there were a plethora of your small creations laid across the shelf, gathering dust and appearing untended to.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, hands buried in his pockets. “I just didn’t peg you as someone who liked getting their hands dirty. I suppose it’s different when you’re younger, though.”

Pursing your lip, you nodded. “Things are always different when you’re young. My mom used to use the spoons I made to scoop sugar into her coffees. But she doesn’t drink coffee anymore. Just wine.”

“Well, it’s nice she appreciated your effort.”

There was a beat of silence. Your expression twitched.

“I had to beg to take those classes, y’know?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at you. “How come?”

Your arms folded, and you shrugged again. “My parents honestly saw it as a distraction. I mean, why let your daughter play with some clay when she can hardly pass her math tests. But there was this super artsy girl in our recreational class who always made the best teacups from the clay, and she would paint them so beautifully… I wanted to be able to do what she did. So I asked my parents again and again and again until they fucking gave up and found a pottery class to enroll me in. Although, I'm pretty sure they supposed I would drop it sooner or later. Like it was just an itch I had to scratch. It was in this little art shop that looked similar to your landlord's.”

He smiled at you. “Was your instructor a polish lady?”

“No, she was not polish,” your head shook as you swept some dust from the black shelf, rubbing your fingers together, “I remember that much, but I don’t remember her name. It was after a flower, though. Something too complicated for my eleven-year-old brain to retain.”

“Probably Chrysanthemum or some shit,” Wonwoo muttered.

You laughed at his comment, “probably.”

“… Well, you must have liked it. You made so much stuff.”

“Oh, I loved it. I mean, looking at some of this stuff now, it’s not that great. But I didn’t really care that much at the time.”

“Considering you were a child, it’s pretty damn good.”

Wonwoo felt your elbow dig shallowly into his ribs. “Don’t try to flatter eleven-year-old me,” you warned him. “If you would have seen the other girl’s creations, mine would turn from pretty damn good to: well, at least she tried something new!”

“No,” Wonwoo chuckled, “that’s dumb.”

“Honestly, there was so much stuff that I made. More than half of it’s not even on this shelf. There wouldn’t be enough space.”

“Shit. What happened to it?”

You pinched at the olive fabric of your dress, massaging the silk between your fingertips for a moment while examining each and every sculpture moulded and grooved by your tiny childhood hands.

“My favourite part was destroying it,” you answered.

Wonwoo narrowed his brow, “I don’t think I could do that to something I spent so much effort and time creating.”

“Yeah, and that’s all good and fine,” you reasoned, adjusting your shoulders, “but I just didn’t see it like that, I guess...”

Intrigued, Wonwoo smiled at you. “How did you see it, then?”

For a moment, you thought, staring off into space.

 “Well, I just don’t understand why people are so afraid of things being ephemeral. When you’re an artist, or a writer, or a musician, I feel like you want to make something that will last forever, transcend eras, touch people for a lifetime, or, I don’t know—you want it to stay preserved, like when they embalm things. But I feel like there’s just as much worth and importance to the things that hardly last at all. I feel like there’s so much freedom and self-assurance in building something up and then crushing it down.

That’s what I loved about it. When the clay would explode from between my fingers and stick into the lines of my palms because I was squeezing it so hard—it just felt good. Like it was supposed to happen. Like I was letting go. It doesn’t have to mean I… failed. It doesn’t have to mean I’m good at it either… I guess I just want to enjoy things without the burden of having to prove I deserve to enjoy them. Why can't I just do it? Why can't it just be between me and myself, you know? Why can't I decide what to take from it?"

Wonwoo nodded at you.

Contrarily, that was the opposite to his own beliefs surrounding his art, and maybe even his life. Wonwoo could never let things go, nor was he sure when that quality had permanently wedged its way into his human nature. For some reason, Wonwoo saw the past memory where his older brother had scampered away into the bushes surrounding the public pool during that game of Lifeguard all those hot summers ago, leaving an adolescent Wonwoo to get dragged from the water and thrown onto the sun-scorched concrete as everyone watched.

He saw the fuzzy, white glow that beamed from his laptop left open in the darkness, sitting still with all those pages he wrote, and yet to be filled with the words that he could never string together.

Unlike you, Wonwoo had never figured out the mechanism to letting things go. Instead, he held everything—between his fingers, across his shoulders, on his tongue, under his skin, deep inside his chest. Hence, for a split second, he was incredibly jealous that it seemed you could live without weight. You were just a breeze.

And just like everyone else, you were still discovering yourself.

“Anyway. That’s my take on it."

"Why'd you stop? This seemed like such a big part of you."

You flicked your eyes around, shrugging. "Things got in the way."

Wonwoo wondered what things, though he didn't ask.

"But we should hurry. Dinner will be ready soon and my mom will flip if we’re not at the table in time. She interprets it as ‘we don’t care’ and that will open a can of worms nobody wants to see.”

You sighed, then grabbing onto Wonwoo’s arm to pull him down another mysterious, long corridor in your maze of a house.

“Oh, Mingyu, that’s brilliant! I’m so glad the interview went well! I had him slip in a good word for you, too. But I’m sure you put the nail in the coffin. Walking straight into a promotion, you know, that’s something so hard to come by. You’ll settle just perfectly.”

“Yeah, thanks. To you as well. That word went a long way.”

“Making the right connections is certainly key.”

“It is. But I’m just lucky, is all. Your daughter is the real key. She’s given me so much—you all have—I just wanna let you know how grateful I am. Seriously. You’re some of the kindest people.”

“Shush! Before I give you a lash from this towel. It’s been sitting under the potato tray so it’s nice and hot… I’m so excited for your future together. A real power-couple! That’s for sure.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Wonwoo was pressed flush to the wall just outside the kitchen, simultaneously holding his breath while listening to the conversation between your mother and Mingyu as everyone was presumably sat around the dressed table. Your fingers were hurriedly ruffling out some wrinkles in his tie while you repeatedly cursed at both your tardiness, and he simply let you do what you pleased. After a half-second adjustment made to his collar, you wasted not an instant more—Wonwoo was suddenly thrust into the warm kitchen with you impatiently in tow.

As expected, everyone was sat and waiting. Even your father had been at last pulled from his study, and he was positioned at the head of the long dinner table while twiddling a fork around in his fingers.

Your mother had an elbow propped on Mingyu’s chair.

She was the only one standing.

“Quick,” you whispered into Wonwoo’s ear, practically shoving him down into the empty seat beside Seokmin, “sit there.”

Upon the nervous side-eye that his friend shot at Wonwoo, he suspected that he may have just wriggled his way into an unfortunate ticket straight to hell. You held up the flowy, billowing silk of your olive dress while making your way to the seat across from him and beside a very unenthused-looking Mingyu, who was evidently chewing on his inner cheek. Wonwoo caught Mingyu’s stare for no less than a second, and there was nearly enough electricity in the glance to make a crackle.

A few more dishes had been squeezed onto the table since he was last in the kitchen. Despite the fact there was only six people eating, nearly every corner and crevice of the table was occupied. Your mother had cooked enough to feed an entire party, unless she was planning on sending everyone home with tupperwares full of leftovers.

“Looks super delicious,” Seokmin complimented.

Mingyu nodded in agreement. “Smells even better.”

Wonwoo didn’t know if he was also supposed to throw out some off-the-tongue compliment and keep the train chugging. The atmosphere was just so heavy—everything felt like an extreme effort—he could hardly breathe without the sensation of his lungs itching, as though they were adorned in cobwebs. Unconsciously, he’d started picking at his thumb, his appetite disappearing by the second in place of dread.

“You boys are so lovely, thank you,” your mother commented, straightening out the orange tea towel in her hand while continuing to lean into the side of Mingyu’s chair. “This was all a labour of love.”

Seokmin flashed a picturesque smile that Wonwoo had seen many times before. “Well, I’m feeling the love. That’s for sure. Are we ready to dig in all?” Still, there was a bit of anxious haste in his actions. 

“One moment, first,” your mother stated, pausing Seokmin in his reach for a large casserole spoon. Wonwoo clasped his hands together even tighter as she said, “we’re going to wait a few minutes more.”

You had pulled out your chair, but you didn’t sit.

“Mom, I was just fixing my makeup. That’s what you asked me to do. There’s no reason to make everyone keep waiting.” You removed the towel from her hand and laced it through the oven handlebar. “Just take a seat, okay? I’ll start making everyone’s plates if they pass them.”

She smiled at you. “Well, that’s a very sweet gesture. But it doesn’t take long to fix an unstuck lash or change a lipstick. You’ve got yourself a makeup chair. You should know better than anyone, my love.”

Wonwoo hated this—he hated the way your mother’s criticizing was buttered up nice with a practiced, insincere smile and a crooning voice. He hated the way Mingyu was pushing fingers against the knot in his stiff eyebrow like something horrible was about to happen. He hated the way your father was uncomfortably mute, sitting only with a pursed lip and folded arms in complete disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He hated that Seokmin was continuing to beam his signature-watt smile even though the air was dense enough to crush everyone flat.

You picked up Mingyu’s plate, presumably because it was the closest to you, and started slopping some hot casserole onto it. Every movement was autopilot, thoughtless, as the steam from the breached casserole rolled up into the air and shrouded you.

“I was only trying to make it perfect,” you muttered.

“Make it what?” Your mother questioned, staring you down.

“Perfe—”

“Stop mumbling, my love. I can’t hear you.”

Mingyu’s messy plate was collapsed back onto its placemat with a very loud thud, and you looked to your mother with utmost annoyance.

“I was trying to make it per-fect.”

She quirked her head. “And you needed Wonwoo to do that?”

Just as he ruminated—the universe had a fearsome penchant for whirlpooling him into the centre of everything and anything horrible, like his name was written in the water. Though, Wonwoo couldn’t say he was expecting to survive the dinner party unscathed. He tried to remember the quick spiel of rules Seokmin had relayed to him—was it better to get involved or just shut the fuck up? Wasn’t Mingyu supposed to do something? Wasn’t Seokmin supposed to keep the conversation pushing?

“Mom, please, just—I was showing him around, okay? He’s the guest. He’s never been over before. Wonwoo has nothing to do with us being a few minutes late to dinner. So just leave him be.” You removed the tinfoil from another bowl. Grabbing a wooden spoon, you started slapping creamy mashed potatoes onto Mingyu’s plate. “Trying to make something out of nothing… why can’t we just eat for once?”

“Honey, we could be eating, but you’re choosing to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking! I’m trying to help!”

“No, no, no. Mingyu’s plate looks like an animal that got squashed by a car. If you can’t even properly fix your future husband a nice-looking plate of food without pooling all your anger into it, then there’s an issue, there.” She shook her head. “A very big issue.”

Wonwoo could see your eyes burning.

Mingyu had then sighed, removing the wooden spoon that was clenched up in your hand like a weapon and slipping it back into the mashed potato bowl. The boy tugged a few times at your wrist, keeping his tired voice as soft as possible while imploring you to sit down.

“It’s alright, everything’s fine,” he said, probably to soothe himself more than anything, “all the food goes straight into my mouth, anyway. Same goes for all of us. Sit down, Her, alright? Please?”

“No,” you snapped your wrist free, “I don’t want to sit.”

In a desperate hope to experience some sort of consolidation amongst the tension, Wonwoo angled a glance toward Seokmin. When his friend wouldn’t look back and merely opted to keep biting his blistering lip, Wonwoo quite literally felt a meteor sink into his stomach.

Slicking a hand along his shiny hair, Mingyu sighed even deeper. “Please just sit. You know what’ll happen. Please.”

Again stepping away from Mingyu’s attempted touch, you began to shout, and Wonwoo’s breath froze as your voice echoed around the kitchen in a hauntingly similar manner to the quarrel at his apartment.

“I already said no!”

From the head of the table, your father pushed out his chair. His voice was oddly gruff when he spoke, like he hadn’t said a word all day and his throat was hoarse by consequence.

“Don’t shout,” was all he warned.

Your mother shook her head. “She will raise her voice when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel the cut from her disappointed eyes even though she wasn’t even looking at him.

“I’m raising my voice because you’re not listening! You haven’t listened to me all fucking day! Oh my god! It’s eating me alive!”

In an instant, Mingyu was to his feet, almost trying to court you into the corner by the open window with his hands that you battered away. Wonwoo gripped onto his knees. He couldn’t choke out a damn word and Seokmin seemed to have become stiller than stone.

“Calm down,” Mingyu urged, “take some breaths.”

“You still won’t listen!”

“I’ll listen later, I promise.”

“Mingyu, do you even hear yourself?!”

“Just—you’re blowing this out of proportion again.”

“Stop trying to control me!”

“Calm down and—hey!”

With a frustrated groan, you squirmed away from Mingyu and rushed back to the dinner table where your mother continued to stare at you with such conflict in her expression, as though it was mentally taxing her to compute how such a seemingly perfect, established daughter could simultaneously appear so unraveled and incomplete before her. For a second, Wonwoo thought you might take the mashed potatoes or casserole and just completely drench the wall in their remnants.

But you didn’t do anything. Instead, you looked across the organized table—the vibrant food, sparkling drinking glasses, and expensive, unpopped bottles of alcohol—at Wonwoo, who had admittedly felt pretty useless and paralyzed throughout the ordeal. You looked straight into his eyes and he could see that you were almost physically begging him for an out. And, if he could see himself as an outsider, it was probably the same damn look he was giving you.

Wonwoo hadn’t even noticed the silence in the room.

Your father coughed, retrieving his utensils, ready to sweep the argument and very obvious hostility under the rug—put a small little bandage on a gigantic wound that had been festering for years.

“Same dance every time. Come sit, Mingyu. Let’s just eat.”

That would be nice, if Wonwoo had any appetite.

That would be nice if he wasn’t pushing out his chair, getting up from the table, keeping his gaze level and connected with yours, watching you swallow hard, hold back your tears, anxiously flex your fingers in a momentary contemplation and then—unprompted—run. Just run.

Wonwoo fled into the corridor with you right behind him, your hands kneading against his lower back as he threw open the door to the quiet, dimly lit front porch where that damp and black September night was ready to breathe him in and whisk you two away. He heard the very confused shouting from the kitchen, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Wonwoo flew down the wood steps and splashed through a shallow puddle reflecting the moonlight, running toward the long street drifted in thinly strewn mist. He continued to run, only stopping for a brief moment to turn around and observe you quickly fling off your heels before scooping them up while everyone crowded onto the porch, yelling.

In your bare feet and a smile so pearlescent, you sprinted straight into Wonwoo’s outstretched arms, giggling aloud while he gripped your body firm and spun you in a circle that saw your dress twirl like a ribbon and your legs brush through the alive air.

Mingyu began stalking down the driveway, visibly angry, his face twisted into a snarl that might see Wonwoo getting split in his nose.

“Fuck, fuck!” You cursed, squeezing your fingers into his. He was suddenly being tugged down the empty, dark street, as though there was some invisible curtain for you to magically disappear behind. “Let’s go!”

Wonwoo didn’t mind one bit. Indefinitely, he would let you tug him over a cliff if it meant you two could fall together. The street was long and wet but the air was so fresh. Every breath he took was pure.

He didn’t know where you were going.

But he didn’t need to.

“Be careful. I don’t want you to step on something sharp.”

“I think I already did.”

Wonwoo pulled tight on your warm hand, stopping you.

“Seriously? Let me look.”

You made a slight huffing noise while sitting down on a large boulder, not caring that the surface was sandy and damp, forming a dark imprint against your olive dress. Wonwoo squatted down, looking at the dirty underside to one bare foot, and then the other, realizing there weren’t any cuts. He then used the cuff to his suit jacket, brushing off the small pieces of grit stuck into the skin in case he missed anything.

In all honesty, Wonwoo had no idea where you two were. After running far down the fancy Hillcrest Street until your family house was completely obscured into mist and memory, you led Wonwoo off onto a separate footpath by the treeline. Your fingers were slotted into each other’s. This was the first time Wonwoo had let go of your hand since running away, and the chilled air felt like prickles on his palm.

Removing the phone from his pocket to shine a light, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the missed calls and texts that had collected minute by minute from Seokmin earlier. You didn’t even have your phone. The only thing you carried was the ivory heels that Wonwoo gifted you at the start of the evening, which were still clutched in your hand.

“No blood. No lacerations. Just dirt,” Wonwoo said. “If you did cut yourself, you might not even feel it with all that adrenaline.”

You smiled at him. “Your phone a graveyard of Seokmin texts?”

He smirked, flicking through them all. “Precisely, yeah.”

Leaning backward on the boulder, you at last let go of the heels and stretched your arms out behind you, staring up at the moonlight patterning between the forest trees, their branches more barren as the autumn leaves came loose in the breeze. They fell down one by one, rustling softly whenever they hit the ground. He heard you sigh.

“Everyone there can go fuck themselves.”

Putting his phone away, Wonwoo smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“That line’s a classic, coming from you.”

He attempted to sit beside you on the boulder, ignoring how uneven and rough it felt under his butt. Wherever you were along the footpath, it was perfectly hushed, almost felt hidden. The tree branches above him had framed the moon akin to a picture—except, he felt like he was the one painted, and that it was the moon who was watching him.

“I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo began to look at you rather than the night sky.

“Don’t apologize.”

You stared at him deeply, licking your lips and shaking your head. His eyes were now well adjusted to the scarce light. Just the silver through the trees was enough to read and inspect your pretty face.

“It went off the rails.”

He shrugged, staring back. “It seemed like it needed to.”

“I made you part of it.”

“I made myself part of it.”

“But, I mean—just—if you… if you never…”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow. “If I never what? Met you?”

Puffing out a long breath, you looked down, picking at something on the boulder with a manicured nail. “… Yeah.”

“No,” Wonwoo was firm to correct, continuing to stare at you intensely even if you couldn’t face him in the turmoil of processing all the emotion and chaos, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You lolled out your tongue, smiling and sheepish. “Blah.”

He laughed, “I mean it.”

Sighing again, you glanced back at Wonwoo, your eyes flickering along his every detail in the dewy night. Your hand reached out to his collar, making another brief, probably unnecessary adjustment to it before sliding the gentle fingers down his chest. Wonwoo’s mouth ran disgustingly dry in that moment, to the point that he was relieved when you removed your hand because you might have felt how fast his heart was beating and thought him to be quite pathetic.

Tightly swallowing, he brushed an itch off his nose and opened his mouth with a question, his gaze catching yours. Although, at the last second, he weened himself from speaking when the doubt found and froze him. A breeze tickled through his hair and Wonwoo shivered.

Your brow furrowed.

“What?” You urged him.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Fuck. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Please. What is it?”

You were leaning closer into him, enthralling him with those earnest, gleaming eyes. He swore the nighttime wind was pushing your sweet, blossomy scent against him—was pushing you against him—because now your thigh was squished right beside his and your shoulders were warm together. Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“Who are you?” He paused, but didn’t falter. “Actually?”

Your forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo examined every aspect of your face that he had come to know so well over the months—the face he gradually couldn’t stop thinking about, to the point you would appear in his dreams. The face he was once completely disinterested in, because you were not someone that should have any reason to be in his life, just as he had no reason to be in yours. He felt his body move closer into your inviting warmth.

In fact, you two were so close that if he moved even an inch or few forward, then his lips might find themselves pressing to yours and his hand might settle and smooth up along your thigh to your cheek. Then, it would be impossible to leave the footpath without digging into you right then and there, kissing and tasting from you everywhere.

“What’s your name?”

It sounded like an obvious, warranted question that just about anyone would ask given the opportunity. But Wonwoo had never found himself wondering it. The things he wondered about you were much different and more character-driven, yet Wonwoo had come to realize that your name was just as important and precious and intact with your identity as everything else. He almost felt like it was the very last piece of you that he hadn’t shifted into place—his last chapter in a very long, complicated, topsy-turvy, seemingly-never-ending book.

Wonwoo thought you might laugh at him.

Tell him, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” in that very smug tone of voice he’d hear from time to time while smiling hot with your secret.

Instead, however, you just stayed silent.

His hand touched with fragile softness at the edge of your face, a thumb then stroking along the space before your ear as you swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispered, hearing the leaves rustle above him, “it’s fine either—”

“No, one second.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue, opting to watch you lean back while digging fingers into the cleavage of your dress. From somewhere—he could only surmise—you had pulled out a thin tube with a cherry lid.

“Was that the lip stuff you put on?” He snorted.

“Lip liner. With a sticky patch on it right here. Figured I should keep it close. You know, in case a crumb managed to remove a single spec of it. Can't have my mother passing out from shame.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Give me your hand.”

Stretching out his fingers, he let his hand sit in your lap while you pulled the lid off with your teeth, then gripping his wrist and halfway leaning down to push the tip of the lip applicator against his palm. The sensation was cool and smooth. He felt each letter you traced, though he refused to let himself guess until you were done.

Under the moonlight, Wonwoo raised the calligraphed hand to his face, pushing up his glasses as he realized—at last—the complete gist of who you were. And with your name came the understanding of what you were, in fact, doing in his very meaningless life.

Wonwoo kept staring fondly at his hand. But, as he was staring, you suddenly reached forth and smeared your thumb across the neat letters until they were lost. A memory made, and then covered.

Only between you.

When Wonwoo looked to you again, he saw everything about you so clearly that it was almost shining. Every decision you made, every word you said, the way you walked and dressed and flourished so openly before crashing so hard—Wonwoo could snap all those pieces into place.

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

He blinked at you absentmindedly, too caught up in his daze.

“Wonwoo?”

“Sorry—yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Pressing your knees together, the wind fluttered the fabric of your silky olive dress, and he could tell you were getting cold.

“When you were at my apartment, apologizing to me about our fight, that was the first and only time I ever heard you mention your ex-girlfriend.” Clicking your nervous feet, you looked over his shadowy face and the moonlight dancing in his glasses, “was she your first love?”

Crushing his hands tight into each other, Wonwoo bit his lip. “Yeah.”

Keeping your eyeline steady, you nodded. “Was she… like… what did you love about her?”

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Everything.”

You frowned. “Even the bad stuff?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “even the bad stuff.”

It was very quiet for a moment, with you simply sitting in reflection and staring into the dark silhouettes of the trees. He was sure you already knew the answer to your initial question, although he understood that hearing him say it was different than infinitely assuming about a past that wasn’t yours. Wonwoo had been in love before, and then heartbroken down into little fragments of himself that he spent months soullessly dusting around. And somehow, he was in love again—a new love that felt so much different but still fit him so right.

“Hm…” you hummed.

Wonwoo placed his hand on your bare back, beginning to sweep his fingers up and down, sensing your skin quiver in response.

“It’s late,” he whispered, nudging his knee into yours and warming your ear with his breath, “I know you don’t want to go home, and that’s alright. I get it. But we should figure something out before my phone battery dies, yeah?” He proceeded to grab your hand and squeeze it. “I don’t wanna leave a pretty girl like you out in the cold and wet.”

When you looked at him, you were pouting, exhaustion shining on your face like the dew in the moonlit leaves. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” Your fingers gripped his impossibly tighter.

“Do you want to stay the night at my place?”

You snuggled your head into the crook between his jaw and shoulder, wrapping your arms around his elbow to hold him close. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got one call,” Wonwoo sighed, fishing out his phone and squinting against its lurid light, “better hope he fucking answers.”

Vernon was confused to say the least, beckoned down a random street at near midnight when he could be in bed with the girl he was happily feeling up just half an hour ago, until a certain phone call ruined it. Wonwoo could tell from the manner in which his friend’s heavily furrowed brow remained creased when he opened the vanilla Camry’s back door, allowing you to slide in first with your heels in hand while Wonwoo followed. Tugging the door shut, Wonwoo could then only smile at poor, disgruntled, face-studded Vernon who was continuing to inquisitively stare him down through the rear-view mirror as though there was something smeared across his cheek or stuck in his hair.

Perhaps it was the patches of dampness and dirt on Wonwoo’s suit and your once very elegant dress, but it didn’t matter anymore.

“So… uh… dinner went well, then?” Vernon asked in a big huff after no one offered to break the silence, slightly turning his head to analyze the backseat using his busted, buzzing ceiling light.

Wonwoo and you were pressed together. Both unreceptive.

“Woah. Stop talking over each other, guys,” he joked dryly.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” Wonwoo decided to say.

“… M’kay…” Vernon replied, still perplexed but probably sensing it was best to save all the questions for later. “Music?”

Wonwoo nodded and turned off the ceiling light. “Sure.”

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

Vernon pulled out from Hillcrest, keeping his elbow against the half-opened window during the drive, meanwhile you were allowing your heavy eyes to at last flutter shut. Leaning your head against Wonwoo’s broad shoulder, he noticed that your fingers were playing with his—you had gently grabbed his thumb and started rubbing his pigmented scar in absent circles, massaging into all the weathered years spent scratching himself until his anxiety would peddle away. The lip liner was still smudged against his palm in a cherry-tinted blur that he never wanted to wash off.

Smiling, Wonwoo let his cheek sit atop your hair, sensing the delightful breeze from Vernon's window flow into the backseat.

He was glad he went to the dinner party.

“Here are the keys. This copper one here is for the shop. This blue one is my apartment key. Go inside and get warmed up. I’ll join you in a few, alright? Promise… be careful on the steps,” Wonwoo instructed after opening the car door, proceeding to wrap his keychain in your fingers once you had emerged into the wind and sodden air.

With the white heels strung through your arm, you nodded at him sleepily and walked up the three little stairs to the pottery shop.

After you disappeared inside, Wonwoo turned around and opened the passenger seat door, climbing back into his friend’s Camry kept stalled but running at the curb. At first, there was silence between them. They both gazed down through the illumination of the headlights washing out the empty street. Vernon then slid his hand off the steering wheel, letting it cascade through his messy black hair instead.

“Do I even wanna know what fuckin’ happened?” His friend asked, his head clunking back against the upholstered seat.

Wonwoo blinked down at his lap. He started to smile, feeling it creep along his mouth even though he knew how suspect it looked.

Then, Wonwoo chuckled.

“We ran out.”

He finally looked to Vernon, who was staring back with highly quirked eyebrows and a dropped jaw. After exchanging an incredulous glance with each other, the two boys were laughing and ripping apart the silence. Vernon crossed his arms, sunk further down in his seat.

“Never would I picture you doin’ that…” he said through a lazy grin, “runnin’ out with another dude’s girl is insane, can’t lie.”

Wonwoo rubbed a palm along his cheek, still fucking smiling. “Think he’s gonna beat my ass?”

Vernon stared at him, deadpanned in his expression. “Is that even a question, Glasses? I’d beat your ass. I don’t even have a girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“If he beats your ass?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, a hand was pushing against Wonwoo’s shoulder. Vernon was smirking at him hard, teething over his bottom lip.

“Damn. She’s got you by the scruff, huh?”

Wonwoo shrugged, beginning to shake his head. “You should see the way he treats her… there’s some weird ties between him and her family. I think he’s playing the long game… getting what we can while he can and then parading her around as a trophy or something. But she's miserable with him.” Running a thumb along his knuckles, Wonwoo grinned. “He can beat my ass if he wants to.”

Vernon clicked his tongue. “Well, just to float the idea, I’m s—”

“No,” quickly laughing away his friend’s questionable response, Wonwoo merely rubbed under his glasses and refused. “I’m not trying to get locked away for first degree murder. And neither are you.”

“I’m just tryin’ to say I’ve got you is all,” Vernon said with his usual nonchalance, as laid back as an ironing board, “but—you’re right. Save that for when I’m an actual drug lord. He’s not gettin’ anything from me. Not even a Flintstone gummy.”

“Well, I appreciate the favour. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nah, I could tell it was somethin’ important,” Vernon excused, giving Wonwoo a comfortable smile, “s’not like I can’t ever get brain again. Your situation seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Looking back at the pottery shop and the single light within keeping everything aglow, Wonwoo wondered if you made it into his apartment okay. He was worried about leaving you on your own for too long, especially when taking into consideration the extremities of the dinner party (that hadn’t really been a dinner or a party when he thought about it). Rolling out his shoulders, he turned to Vernon again.

“She needs to eat something. I’ll order food. You want any?”

Vernon scrunched his face. “What—you’re askin’ me to come inside with you two? I’m not on real good terms with her, y’know that, right? Just ‘cause she’s fuckin’ with you doesn’t mean that for me."

“It won’t be like that.”

“How do y’know? You guys gossip about me?”

Wonwoo smiled, pushing up his glasses. “I just know.”

Vernon paused to think for a moment, his hand returned back to the steering wheel while sharp teeth pulled at the skin along his bottom lip. With just the edge to his face streaked in yellow light from the outside street lamp, it was difficult to interpret his mindset, although Wonwoo knew it was a done deal when Vernon removed the glittering keys from the ignition and the rumbling car at last went silent along the empty midnight street.

Besides, Wonwoo would pay for it all, anyway.

Vernon quietly trailed behind Wonwoo into the apartment, the front door left unlocked and the living area bathed by the warm-coloured light fixture but absent of your presence. His friend placed the car keys onto the coffee table with an uncharacteristic softness, and Wonwoo figured that Vernon was probably still feeling uncertain about spending time with you—which made sense—the last time Vernon had spoken to you (spoken probably wasn’t an accurate word) was the confrontation at the gas station where he feared you might light his hair on fire.

Though, when Wonwoo poked open his ajar bedroom door, he found you standing near his desk, peering across the walled corkboard and all its pinned photos from his life back in South Korea.

He flicked on the light, pulling out the deep blue darkness from the air, and smiled at you.

“Everything alright?”

With your arms folded, you seemed smaller than usual. “Yeah—sorry that I came in here without permission.”

He was quick to shake his head. “No big deal—you don’t need permission.”

You were silent for a few seconds, grinning to yourself, and then gestured to one of the glossy developed photos stuck to the cork.

“That’s Bohyuk?”

Wonwoo nodded, “yeah.”

He realized you hadn’t spent much time in his room over the months that you’d known each other. For the most part, Wonwoo would always be at your apartment, or some unique location necessary to your story-telling when he was still helping with the book. At one point it would have perturbed him to see you gazing along the finer details of his room so curiously. Now, however, he welcomed it.

Stuffing hands into his pockets, Wonwoo let you observe the corkboard, watching you with a very amorous, kind smile that he hadn’t even processed until his cheeks started flaring with a heated ache.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m hungry.”

Unable to flatten out his smile, Wonwoo walked over to you and smoothed his hand along the side of your face, then caressing his thumb underneath your twinkling eye and against your cheekbone.

“I know,” he murmured, “I’ll order food.”

“Chinese?”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll make it happen.”

Delighted to see your expression brighten, Wonwoo at last removed his hand from your skin. He knew he shouldn’t touch you or look so fucking pathetically in-love into your eyes, but he didn’t care.

“Do you think I can shower? I want to take all this makeup off.”

“Yeah, of course. Go for—”

Suddenly, from the living room, there was a loud bang that distinctly sounded like Vernon plowing straight into something heavy.

“What was that?” You asked, covering your mouth.

Wonwoo chuckled, “Vernon. Hey—you alright?!”

“All good!!” His friend shouted back. “Just—how ‘bout don’t keep your fuckin’ weights right beside the couch, yeah? Almost broke my fuckin’ foot!”

“Oops.” Wonwoo shrugged very unapologetically, staring into your amused eyes and giggling together. “He’s gonna eat with us… he did a big favour coming down to get us and everything, you know?”

“That’s okay,” you answered, “I just want to shower.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll give you the room. Wear whatever you want. I’ll just take the keys so I can lock up downstairs.” He was nearly on his way out, but stopped abruptly. “Should we… uh… should I at least text Seokmin and tell him you’re safe? I mean, just in case—”

“Sure,” the response was quick and muttered with little care, “I’m sure they can surmise where I am, but you can do that, too.”

“Yeah, okay… well, I’ll leave you be. Food will probably be here by the time you’re out and dried off. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get cold.”

Finally, Wonwoo clicked his bedroom door shut. Keys in hand, he re-entered the living room to find Vernon plumped down on the couch with a pillow in his lap, all spread out like he owned the damn place, texting away on his phone. Wonwoo laughed as he walked by.

“Writing out your apology letter?”

“Somethin’ like that…” his friend mumbled, clearly more focused on his pixeled screen, “I might not be gettin’ that head after all.”

“Life’s all about sacrifices,” Wonwoo sighed while opening the front door, pausing briefly to mention, “we’re getting Chinese food by the way. She didn’t care that you’re staying. Anything you want?”

Vernon smiled while keeping his eyes trained to the phone. “No way. That’s a relief… n’yeah—I like the chicken balls with the sweet and sour sauce. Pork-fried rice is good, too. I’m not picky.”

“Noted.”

“So—wait—I have to ask, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but how did you become a drug dealer? Like, at what point did you even realize that was your… I don’t know… calling?”

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a carton of noodles in hand and a napkin splayed upon your bare lap, pointed chopsticks were being angled at Vernon from across the coffee table. He took a sip from his can of bright red soda, placing it back onto the coaster with a thud.

“Uh, fuck,” Vernon coughed, smiling subtly while beginning to pick through his own personal container of pork-fried rice, “well, I can answer it, I guess… do I get to ask a question in return?”

You grabbed the napkin, wiping off the sauce from your mouth.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo had heard the story only once before during a smoke session on the apartment rooftop, though he doubted Vernon would trudge through all the details. Despite seeming like an open book who couldn't care less, there really were some sweet spots he didn’t like having prodded. Nonetheless, Wonwoo thought it was a good, earnest opening between the two of you, so he opted to stay silent while pulling the meat off his ribs with his teeth.

“Uh, I was a stubborn kid, let’s say that. Tried my hand at school but I could never get the hang of it. Could never keep a job long. My parents caught me usin’ once, weed and ecstasy, and they said if it happened again, I’m out.” Vernon fed himself another forkful of rice, taking a moment to swallow while you listened intently. “I thought I could keep it straight, but no luck. Yeah. They had no tolerance for it. I was out the next day. My mom was the most pissed, but she tries to reach out every now and then. I dunno... I feel done with ‘em, if I'm bein' honest. I’ve got somethin’ that works so I just run with it. The money speaks for itself so I can’t complain.”

As Wonwoo expected, it was the heavily watered-down version of everything that happened between Vernon and his family, however, it was enough to paint the picture. Taking a moment to slurp up some spicy noodles, you soon set the carton down and patted along your gradually swelling lips. The crumpled napkin was placed on the table.

“Yeah, I bet the money speaks for itself. You’ve got a bunch of stupidly rich university students on your roster. They go through just about everything they can get their hands on. It’s fucking insane.”

Vernon propped his elbows onto his knees, gathering more rice onto the plastic white fork while smirking at you knowingly.

“You’ve got that coke sniff, y’know?”

Wonwoo widened his eyes at Vernon, suspecting a wildfire.

But you merely shrugged, quite honest in your response.

“I know. I did it once with Mingyu, some friends, and I thought never again…” with a sigh, you massaged at your shoulder, staring off into a random spot that Wonwoo couldn’t pinpoint. “Mingyu was getting it for me at almost every party we went to. I don’t know. I thought, since he paid for it, since it’s right here, I might as well do it.”

Slipping the fork out from his mouth, Vernon grinned. “Coked-up sex is crazy. Especially when you've got the right cut. It hits.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo immediately chirped at him while setting down his emptied container of food, his voice sounding particularly stern, like he was scolding a child for making an ignorant comment.

“What?” His friend laughed, raking a tattooed hand through his loose and shiny black hair. “It is. Feels like you’re on another planet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just think a little before you speak, please.”

Again, Wonwoo was surprised to see your nonchalance.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. I think… like… Mingyu only wanted me to have it for that reason—I’m making it sound like some non-consensual, pressured shit—it’s not,” you muttered, waving around your hand in dismissal, “I just… the thing is I don’t like how I feel afterward. But it was never enough for me to say that I didn’t want it. I liked that it would take me out of my head for a bit. My mind would stop running on overdrive.” Then, you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “The last time I did anything like that was the party at Seungcheol’s, though.”

Whenever the party was mentioned, Wonwoo would always bite down on his lip and tightly curl his fingers. He had discussed it with you in the past, beyond the summer evening spent at your apartment with a red velvet cupcake in between you and a painful, aching hug he could still feel all the warmth and regret to.

There were long, long phone conversations. And somewhere, stuffed in his mind, was the memory of you and Mingyu behind the door as he listened to every little sound—skin hitting skin, the desperation in your voice, wood smacking the wall.

“Yeah, is what it is,” Vernon replied. He pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Do I get my question now?”

“Uh… sure.”

Wonwoo had almost missed you staring at him. There was a concernedness to it, but when he smiled back you seemed to breathe.

“Still think I’m a gigantic fuckin’ tool?”

Immediately, you started laughing. Wonwoo followed suit, on the brink of embarrassingly blowing out the soda he just sipped from in a big spray. He was actually quite relived that Vernon had picked a more light-hearted question rather than something intimate. His friend swirled the toothpick around with his tongue, continuing to smirk in confidence.

“Giggle away. I’m curious, is all.”

Kissing your teeth, you held Vernon’s coppery, honey eyes. “You are a tool, one-hundred percent… but, I think you know that about yourself. And, um, you’re a good friend to Wonwoo. So… I guess my opinions about you have shifted. Appearances are deceiving.”

Pleased with your candour, Vernon grabbed his drink, leaned against the recliner behind him, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That tickles my fancy well enough.”

"Don't you think you'll want to settle down eventually?" You asked.

Vernon scrunched his eyebrow. "What?"

"Like, what if you find a girl. A really nice girl who could change your perspective. Do you think you'd want to settle down?"

With a quick laugh, Vernon shook his head. "Nice girls don't use half their last pay check to buy drugs. It's business at the end of the day."

Seeming skeptical, your eyes narrowed. "Right..."

"Vernon has his mind set on very specific things," Wonwoo smiled.

Straightening out the large shirt that draped around your frame—another garment belonging to Wonwoo that you had pulled from his dresser—you glanced between each boy and smiled.

“So... now I'm curious. How did this unlikely pairing meet?”

As Vernon was busy with navigating his toothpick, Wonwoo decided to tell the story, prompting him to sit up straight and alleviate his spine from being crooked against the hard bottom of the couch.

“I was convinced into attending a little New Year’s Eve party thing by these guys I don’t talk to anymore. Spent about half an hour wandering the halls, doing aimless laps, hating every second of it, debating if I should just take off. Not like anyone would notice. Then I bump into this guy—” Wonwoo nodded at Vernon, “—who was all tattooed and pierced up with this girl all over him. She was on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping his bicep while she was laying hickies to his fucking neck from behind.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Who was that?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Vernon?”

“Uh—I don’t know if I remember, honestly. She used to buy poppers off me like every damn week so I called her Poppy. That’s not her real name, though. She’s long gone. Moved cities months ago.”

“Yeah, well, he told me I looked like a lost ghost. Asked if I wanted a swisher. I agreed for some reason, and we went out back.”

Brushing a hand down your neck, you giggled. “A lost ghost?”

Vernon nodded, folding his arms.

“Yeah. Glasses always used to have that look to him. Dead man walkin’ kinda thing. Just wanderin’ around with no purpose.”

Wonwoo hoarsely chuckled at his friend, “jeez—thanks.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I know. But to be fair, I was fucking going through something.”

“Mmhm, that’s why I took you under my wing,” Vernon sang, his eyes swimming with their usual gold-tinted mischief, “I could just tell you needed some guidance. Gave him the swisher of eternal friendship.”

“Is that what you call it?” Wonwoo huffed sarcastically.

“I call it many different things.”

You smiled sweetly at Wonwoo while your fingers played with the long cuff on the borrowed t-shirt. “Whatever it was, I guess it turned into something pretty good... and, Vernon, I am sorry for how I acted at the gas station. There was just a lot going through my mind.”

True to his casual, untroubled nature, Vernon swung his head dismissively while letting an arm collapse across his knee, the toothpick now in his hand and being spun between his ringed fingers. “No, you’re good. Don't worry 'bout it. It was just ‘cause you care n' shit. I get that.” Quirking his expression in an endearing manner, he proceeded to flash you a solid grin. “You didn’t singe my hair off so, I’ve got no grudge.”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t have actually done anything to you.”

“Eh, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Vernon answered in a smirk.

Reaching for your drink, you sipped from it and then snuggled the can between your criss-crossed legs. Wonwoo examined that very intriguing smile opening its way across your mouth like a spring blossom, wanting to know the exact moment that sparked it.

A quiet pause passed, and then you were sighing with bliss behind it—that relaxed kind of sigh when everything seemed to click.

“It’s nice hanging out with you guys…” you murmured, staring across the coffee table scattered with ripped-open sauce packets, empty cardboard containers, wood chopsticks, and unfurling napkins. “It just feels lighter… I don’t know… making friends has always been so tough for me. The right friends, I mean. Friends that actually feel like friends.”

Wonwoo pinched his lip in his teeth.

“It can take a while before you hit the right people.”

Vernon shrugged, concealing a burp that had him rubbing down his broad chest. “If we’re all friends, then we’ve gotta be the weirdest fuckin’ collaboration of people I’ve ever seen.”

You snickered into your hands while Wonwoo lounged an elbow onto the couch to help prop up his head, rolling his eyes toward Vernon.

Though, Wonwoo could easily understand what Vernon was getting at. You, a popular and high-fashion campus honorary who at first glance seemed to have very little patience for anyone but yourself, followed by the guttural and unbothered drug dealer without a care in the world, beside an anxiety-ridden hermit just trying to exist and somehow not turn to a puddle in the process. Vernon was right—it was a strange grouping of people suckled together despite their completely different paths and choices. Somewhere, somehow, though, there was a connection.

Like a fated string weaving everything into a knot.

Since Wonwoo had already ordered the Chinese food fairly late, it was quite difficult to find an ice cream place in the area that was open past midnight. Vernon and his sudden craving for cookie dough had offered the idea, and you easily caved, which led Wonwoo on a spiral of searching through his phone. Unfortunately, the only ice cream they could order was vanilla soft-serve cones from a twenty-four-hour fast-food chain which arrived to his apartment dripping. But no one really cared, and Wonwoo threw on the television for some background noise.

The conversations lasted until about two in the morning.

Vernon had not so gracefully taken up the entire couch, his face shoved into the embroidered pillow, an arm left dangling limp over the edge, and a smear of soft-serve dried to his cheek. You and Wonwoo were sitting side by side on the floor, a blanket spread around your shoulders with your knee spilled onto his lap, attempting to finish up the random movie that he couldn’t even remember playing. When the credits began rolling, it took him a moment to process that the drama flick was even over. Your head was tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut but still twitching against the dull, meek light flooding from the screen.

He placed his hand on your bare thigh, fingers stretching eager over the warm and soft skin to carefully grip it and give you a squeeze.

Then, with his lips feathering at your forehead, he mumbled your name to get you awake. Wonwoo did feel somewhat guilty about stirring you, but he’d rather you have a comfortable sleep on his bed than the living room floor. He continued to rub your thigh nice and slow, watching your eyelids flicker open and squint at him through the dark room. There was a shallow grin that you gave him, full of contentment.

“You’re all fuzzy…” you yawned, proceeding to rub at your eye.

“It’s late,” he answered quietly, almost whispering, “I think I should get you to bed. You’ll be much comfier in my room.”

“Is Vernon asleep?”

“Mmhm.”

Turning back to glance at the couch, you yawned again.

“… Oh… so, we’re going to your room?”

“Yeah… c’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Wonwoo didn’t turn on the light in his bedroom since there was already a small separation in the curtains, allowing just the right amount of moonlight through to outline everything around him in bluish-silver.

You sat down on his bed, letting your fingers travel along the sheets to feel all the slight rumples and divots, only to look up at Wonwoo with a tired smile and sincere, blinking, gorgeous eyes that felt akin to a gut punch. As much as he wanted it—needed it—Wonwoo knew that he couldn’t sleep next to you. He couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t fathom having you so fucking close in the intimate, cocooning darkness and not being able to squeeze his cold hands along every perfect part of you.

But you weren’t making it easy.

In fact, you were making it excruciatingly hard.

“Are you not going to lie down with me?”

Wonwoo felt the twig snap in his chest. You wouldn’t stop staring up at him through those wispy eyelashes and nibbling on your lip.

“I’ve got the recliner in the living room…” he could hardly choke it out. There was so much heat in his body that he could melt.

“Why sleep there? The bed is big enough.”

His deep voice twisted into a laugh he couldn’t avoid. “Yeah, the bed’s not the issue… uh, it’s fine, though. The recliner’s nice.”

He took a step back, but then you had grabbed his wrist.

“Wonwoo,” you said his name in a tender, breathy, desperate sort of way that sent his heart shattering to his feet, your eyes glistening through the sparse light like two comets, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Fuck—it was all he could think—fuck, fuck, fuck.

With your fingers still wrapped to his wrist, Wonwoo pushed his hand gently against the side of your face. He was closer to you now, applying a soft pressure to angle your head up at him. You were breathing thick per every second that passed, holding his eye contact without one fracture, smiling arch. Wonwoo wanted to drink you.

Leaning into his palm, you swallowed and squeaked, “please?”

His thumb was on your chin. Right under your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you can't look at me like that…” Wonwoo rasped in a low, hushed voice that was struggling not to crack.

Truly, he meant it.

Your hand slid further along his wrist, almost tickling him.

“Ple—”

Immediately, Wonwoo pressed his thumb past your bottom lip and onto the ridge of your lower teeth, stifling that dangerous little word before it could hit his ear the wrong way and render him spineless.

“No more, okay?” He murmured, slowly sliding the digit from your warm, damp mouth, feigning obliviousness to your thighs clamping together and the manner in which your fingernails dug at his skin.

There was another moment of intense, humid silence while he wiped the wetness against the edge of your jaw.

“Seriously,” Wonwoo firmed up his voice, “no more.”

When you at last seemed compliant, nodding, Wonwoo let his hand drift from your heated-up face. You stayed in place, quiet as ever, on the edge of his bed, watching him disappear through the doorway.

As he collapsed onto the recliner and pulled the blanket once pooled on the floor over his body, Wonwoo didn’t even bother shutting his eyes or removing his glasses. Instead, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting his heart thump, thump, thump and his mind wander until he naturally couldn’t fight the imminent feeling of sleep.

It certainly didn’t help that you had wandered into his dreams—dreams that he should probably keep to himself, warped fully by desire and longing.

—END OF PART FIVE.

[eyeheartboobiez]

-> 𝗃𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖽 𝗑 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

-> 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺 𝖺𝗎!

-> 𝖺/𝗇: 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 5 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾!! 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝖼. 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒🫶🏿

liked by cass.cain, rred_hood, and 4,105,018 others

@y/nforeal: GUESS WHO JUST WON A GRAMMY!!! fr tho i couldn't be more thankful for how far i've come as not only an artist, but an individual. now that award szn is over, imma take some time off from making music, because these next few months are gonna be busyyy.

again, thank you to all my friends and everyone who's stuck by my side through everything. i love yall🥹🫶 #grammys2023

View all 15,675 comments

user1: WE LOVE U TOO QUEEN

user2: what does she mean by busy tho??

⤷ user3: fr like is there a baby on the way or sumn💀

cass.cain: SO HAPPY FOR U BABES !!

⤷ y/nforeal: THX GIRLIE😘

⤷ user4: idc how delusional i look i still ship it🤷‍♀️

user5: been a fan since day one, couldn't be more proud🥹

user6: not jason liking her post...

⤷ y/nforeal: right like im confused too

⤷ user7: LMAOO she so real😭

Grammy winner Y/N Y/LN going to court?! From ruined careers to ruined relationships, here's the rundown that led to all this. (1/10/2023 11:54 AM PT)

Since August of last year, fans have been talking nonstop about the leaked track that's been trending all over the internet. With its romantic lyrics and suggestive imagery, the song — Fantasize — made its debut surprising not only the listeners, but the artist as well.

Renowned singer Y/N Y/LN was more shocked than anyone to find that one of her unreleased songs had been spread around online. Even moreso, when the culprit behind the act was none other than rival singer, Artemis Grace.

Which begs the question: Why would Artemis care to leak Y/N'S music?

Well last summer, her ex boyfriend Jason Todd was alleged to have been in an intimate relationship with the grammy winner. Ever since paparazzi caught the two kissing outside of Y/N's Malibu home, they’ve been rumored to have been seeing each other in private.

Supporters of the singer were more than ecstatic to see the two together, and were happy to see that both stars were getting their well deserved happy ending.

Especially Jason, who had spoken up in past interviews about his ex’s abusive behavior. Stating that the redhead was “more than controlling” throughout their relationship.

Unfortunately the so-called Fantasy was short lived, when the gothamite was seen outside of a nightclub with the toxic ex. Once the news broke headlines, while fans were more than devastated, they were just as quick to come to Y/N's defence.

Regardless of the heartache, many speculate that Y/N may have used Cassandra, Jason's sister, as a bit of a rebound! In fact, the tension between the two was more than noticeable in the interview they did together with Glamour.

As usual, fans jumped to the conclusion that their collaboration is what drove Jason to like Y/N's most recent post on instagram (an action that even she was skeptical about).

Back to the present, it seems that the redhead was also caught red handed. After TMZ investigators revealed Artemis as the culprit of the crime, Y/N made the smart decision to press charges.

On account of copyright infringement, as well as causing emotional distress, the offender had been served an official notice of the legal proceedings being taken against her.

However, because she failed to appear before the judge last week, Artemis was forcibly taken in by the authorities just this morning. The embarrassing encounter with law enforcement was seen by many in the area, and spectators did not hesitate to record the interaction and post it online.

Despite all the drama, fans are overjoyed to see the ex finally being held accountable for her behavior. And who knows, maybe the tragic story between star crossed lovers will get its happy ending after all!

end notes: so what do we think, yay or nay?

taglist: @din0o0o @cipheress-to-k-pop @bonnie-tz @phatnyash420

[nanaminsmoon]

Ngl that suburban eren & hood princess reader fic had me in SHAMBLESS #itwassooogood! If you have the time though it would be real cool to see how this duo became to be and how they met!

thank youu frenn!! this took a minute but i hope it's okay🤭

cw: pnv, unprotected sex, marking, eren being a dick, eren calls reader; 'princess', 'baby', 'good girl', n word usage,

wc: 3015

”but i can’t handle you, right?”, the irony in that statement came from the fact that both of eren’s hands sat on your hips, pulling you onto his dick to stop you running from it. you couldn't think of a single time you had been fucked this good. so, physically, you couldn’t take it. and that’s why your feet kept trying to save your sanity, and cervix, by shifting you from his grasp.

”n-no”, you shook your head at his question. eren’s frustration was palpable, because he had been hearing that he ‘couldn’t handle you’ for so long that it had grown into an obsession. partly due to its falsehood; eren knew he could handle you. if given the chance, he would handle you until your walls remembered every vein on his dick, and the hickies he had left on your body, made it uncomfortable for you to dress yourself in the morning. when those words had been said, in jest, by his friends, he was able to shrug them off. but that assumption had proved very difficult to evict from his shoulders once your lips were the ones it was exiting from.

a chance friendship between neighbouring grandparents, meant that you and eren found yourselves in the same friendship circle. levi was the one who introduced eren to everyone and, granted you mainly saw each other at functions, you had quickly caught eren’s attention. never one to go out, eren avoided parties at all costs. but, if alerted that you’d be attending, best believe he’d have his fit planned and laid out the night before. unfortunately for him, those adorations were not reciprocated, because you paid no attention to the boy. in your eyes, eren was a rich white kid hanging out with hood niggas as a way to pretend to be someone he’s not. when you’d brought that up to some of your other friends, they’d refuted it,

”nah, we cool wit’ eren”, ony had shaken his head at you. even after hearing that, your opinions concerning the brunette would remain unchanged, as you’d always see him as a spoiled white suburban boy who was using you and your friends to cosplay a lifestyle he didn't lead.

so, naturally, his liking towards you was never known to you, nor was it ever a concern. because, as mentioned, you did not care for the boy at all. it wasn’t necessarily disdain, just apathy. and a part of eren knew that, but no amount of awareness could stop his eyes from glossing over every time they landed on you. nor could it stop the corners of his mouth from rising when the sight of your laughing form graced his pupils. everyone around him could see it, and half of your friends thought it to be cute and laughed it off. but others decided to take it upon themselves to save him from the impending heartache sure to come when you inevitably rejected him. eren didn’t understand and whenever he did question their rationale, he’d always get the same answer,

”she just likes her niggas a little…rough around the edges”, ony had once answered, to which eren’s face screwed in outraged confusion.

”okay?”, eren questioned, not understanding why that preference meant you could never like him specifically.

”he’s saying you’re too soft”, levi clarified jokingly, and when eren looked to see ony nodding in confirmation, an indignated scoff would leave his mouth. eren kept to himself, so no one knew what he was like behind closed doors. not to say that the difference between those two versions of himself were vast, it’s just that everyone just took what they saw of him in public as who he was as a whole. because eren was impassive, if people caused him problems, he was the type of guy to just walk away. and that was simply because he didn’t like giving his energy to those who don’t deserve it.

but to you, he wanted to give his energy and so much more. anything you wanted, he was willing to provide for you in the highest quality. every dollar of his parent’s money would be gathered and used to fulfil your every desire, if that’s what you requested. a chunk of his heart shifted to sit in his throat every single time he saw you, and that’s something he couldn’t ignore. the feeling was far too premature to be called ‘love’, but it excited him to know that it could get there, should it be given a chance for it to blossom freely. that’s why he chose to ignore all the ‘warnings’, and just walk up to you and, at least, try to spark up a conversation.

you couldn’t remember where you had heard it first, but once the rumour was in the air, it festered. that rumour being the one that claimed that the green-eyed boy, who drove a tesla, was supposedly in love with you. once one person said it, it became people’s primary method of greeting you. and every single time, it’d be met with unbothered snickers, and eye rolls, from yourself,

”the fuck’s that gotta do with me?”, you had laughed out. it wasn’t just because you thought he was poser, but he just wasn’t your type. it was no secret that you an affinity for pretty boys, but eren was too pretty. he was disney prince pretty, and he had the manner to match it. now, there’s nothing wrong with a well-mannered man, but eren spoke with his chest concaved, and moved like he feared taking up space. meaning he was a terrible match for you, because you needed a nigga who could put you in your place, and wouldn’t just cower in front of you and let you bitch him around.

that being said, the only thing about eren that you didn’t take issue with was his princely good looks. because eren was fine, and you were able to admit that. not publicly, but you were able to acknowledge it, even if you’d never express it to anyone with working ears. you some may argue that the moment that you got close to saying it aloud was caused by people inflating your head with thoughts of him. that had been the moment you looked up to the door, leading to the kitchen you and your friends were sat at to get away from the rest of the party, to see eren stood, hands in his pockets, and eyes practically cutting you in half with how harsh they were looking. in the place of the compliment that you nearly blurted out, came a deep breath before you turned to look away from him. eren would take notice of your reaction, and that’s what would encourage him to walk over to you. you'd see him move, but his destination would be a mystery to you, until you felt a nudge to your side followed by a joke from your friend,

”your boyfriend’s here”, she nodded in his direction and, once you saw what she was nodding at, you rolled your eyes. the next time you’d look to eren, he’d be stood right in front of you with a friendly smile on his face,

”hey.”, he said, raising a hand. you’d manage to hear him over the music, but you wouldn’t give him much.

”hm”, was the only response he got from you, further cementing the notion that speaking to you wouldn’t be easy. but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

”i…uh…i’m eren”, he said, more nervously than he had intended. the fear of you thinking he was too soft made him nervous, inadvertently making him seem more cowardly than he was. everyone’s assumptions about his character were being confirmed in your mind, and seeing it on your face made his nerves rise.

”y/n.”, you said, and he nodded as if he wasn’t already aware.

”nice to meet you”, he replied. though not formally, the both of you had met before. meaning that you knew of each other, but had never really spoken. so you weren’t exactly comfortable with each other, nor were you keen on getting to that point.

”the fuck d’you want, my nigga?”, you asked and, having only ever known you to be a bubbly person, the austerity of your words surprised eren.

”just wanted to tell you that you’re really pretty”, he said, and your lips did threaten to form a flattered smile, and you’d let them get halfway before you decided to shut him down.

”thanks, but you’re not my type”, the signal that the conversation was over, came in the form of a smile toward the brunette before you turned to face your friend. but eren wouldn't let that discourage him, and he’d just speak to the side of your face.

”they said you’d say that. but…just give me a chance”, his words would make you smirk, because their nature seemed brash, yet they had no air of confidence about them. uneasy green eyes would see you lean to whisper something to your friend, who’d laugh once she heard what you said.

”you can’t handle me, babe”, you challenged, straightening your posture and crossing your arms. a laugh would resound from beside you, as your friend examined eren’s dumbfounded expression.

that interaction would lead to your hands on a bathroom sink, gripping on for dear life. once bored with the flesh around your hips, one of eren’s hands would wrap around your torso to press on the bulge his dick was making in your stomach. his bottom lip would be between his teeth, as he bit back all the pleasure your own was causing him. to you, eren was fucking you with this much vigour as a means of proving something. but eren knew that the reason for his pace, was the fact that his daydreams had come into manifestation. displays his brain had aroused, every time he looked at you, were pressed against his chest, and reflected off the mirror in front of him. in fact, none of it would feel real if it wasn't for his daydream tightening around him in a way that his subconscious could never conceive.

any preconceived notions you had held about eren, had been fucked out of your brain, to spill into the basin underneath you. the ferocity of his thrusts was allowing no time for you to even think, or question the way you once thought of him. and, if pleasure wasn't securing your eyes shut, you would see that the man behind you had been in front of you all this time and you had made the mistake of bypassing him. at first, eren had asked you to meet his eyes in the mirror in front of you, to test your resolve. but the sound of your exposed ass cheeks meeting his hip bone, invited his attention to its origin. his eyes would invite his hand to join them, and it'd accept and move to massage, and slap at, the skin there—admiring the way it recoiled upon meeting his hand.

one of his hands would be on your jaw, and the sight of your skin meeting, inadvertently made him fuck you harder than he had ever intended to. the sight of it made his hips move faster to chase the release the sight of the ring at the base of his dick teased him with. but, in your mind, this man was fucking all his resentment toward you into your womb. weakness encompassed your every limb to the point where even the fingers holding on to your only support were beginning to cramp and give out. the dick was so good, you had forgotten who was fucking you, until you looked at him in the mirror. prince charming had developed a villainous streak, and you could feel it in your stomach. at that moment, there’s nothing you wanted more than to turn around and leave a trail of lip gloss stains starting on his face, moving to his neck, and making a pit stop on his thighs as you moved down to take his length in your mouth. aided by eren, those thoughts would edge you closer and closer to your end,

”shit, you’re so fucking tight for me, baby”, he said, groaning at the feeling of your walls squeezing his length.

”’rrren, i’m gonna cumm”, your back arched off his chest, as you heard your own moans bouncing off the bathroom tiles to slap you on any exposed skin eren wasn’t already holding.

”be a good girl and beg me for it.”, eren’s lips grazed against your ear, before he kissed your lobe—moving to kiss down the side of your neck, and bite down on it. his eyes would flicker to your reflection, and you’d see his lips smile around the skin they were covering. you wanted to maintain your facade of immovability so bad, but eren’s actions were only making you moan more.

”fff-fuck you”, you’d chide, gripping onto the porcelain even harsher, and cursing under your breath. eren would organise his lips into a pout as he feigned offence.

”that’s not very nice”, his face looked hurt, but his hastening hips suggested otherwise. eren wasn't just doing this to spite you, but to also get you closer to your end, so you'd concede faster,

”you bein’ real mean for someone who’s crying for more dick”, he began kissing on your neck again, biting harder this time. there was no time to be in pain, because it all just felt so good. this man barely knew you, but he understood your body in a way only a lover should.

”i’m not c-crying”, you said, and a smug scoff would leave eren's shining lips, before they'd wobble dramatically in imitation of your own. hiding your bottom lip in between your teeth, you'd look down at your feet in embarrassment. the eren you were seeing, differed so much from the eren you had known, that the knot in your stomach couldn't help but tighten. the only word to describe him, was ‘mean’. and you had to question if this was just an act but, looking at how his expressions didn’t change at seeing your teary eyes, you knew that this is who he'd always been. with this epiphany, you knew you'd become the one to chase him, as opposed to your dynamic thus far.

”y-you’re n-n-not?”, he mocked, copying your fucked out stutter, ”then what’s this, baby?”, he wiped a falling tear from your face, its resting place soon being occupied by a gentle kiss. that iota of kindness would coerce a blissful sigh from your lips.

”just say please, princess, and i’ll give it to you”, eren said, quietly. he had expected more backtalk, but he’d be surprised to find that your mouth would open to adhere without hesitation.

”pleasee”, you whined, blinking out more tears, and eren tsked before grabbing your jaw and turning you to face him,

”please what, baby?”, he said, placing a sweet kiss on your lips that almost erased the actions of the man behind you from your memory. but once you felt his eyes pierce through you when he pulled back, it'd all come flooding back. you’d obey, and the place his tip reached caused a raise in the volume of your voice.

”let me cummmm, pleaseee”, you said. a small smile would be on eren's face as he moved to place one more kiss on your forehead. then your wishes would be granted when he wrapped a hand around you to rub your clit. overstimulation to that degree had always been a myth to you, but it was hard to deny it when you could feel it dripping down your leg to trickle onto the floor beneath your bodies. an army of goosebumps was raised to attention all over you, but eren would be seemingly unphased by it. or, at least, that's what you'd initially thought. but, looking at his reflection, you could see the concentration his face, and you could feel his fingertips digging deeper into your skin, telling you that he was close too.

”gonna let me nut in you?”, he asked, against the heated skin on your neck, and you'd pose no contention. even if you hadn't been nodding furiously, your want for his nut was evident in the way you were moving back on him, using yourself to get him off.

”i need it, eren, pleaseee”, you crooned, drawing a prideful smirk from eren. the sight of you using your body to get him off, did half of the work for you. in fact, if you didn't feel so fucking good, it could've made him nut on its own.

”look how good you’re being for me”, his smirk touched your temple as he kissed it. desperation to please would move your head in a nod and, soon, the reward for your good behaviour would spread warmly inside you as eren held your hips to a standstill. his head would be rested on your shoulder, commencing a few seconds of quiet filled only by muffled music and heavy breaths. when eren did lift his head to watch you in the mirror, he'd see you still trying to catch your breath,

”y’know you’re easier to handle than you think”, he chortled, before you'd both be wincing at him pulling out of you.

© Rights owned by nanaminsmooninc. Do not repost without permission.

[honeytama]

Make Your Move - Chapter 6

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Matt Dierkes

A/N: She’s back! A little thing; a minimal scene in this chapter may seem similar to a sound deck scene in Unveiled Hearts by @thefallennightmare. I noticed it after I read her story (which I love), but I chose not to rewrite my scene. No copying here, just great minds thinking alike <3

Fic Summary: Find in Fic Masterlist

Content and Warnings for Ch. 6: Lots of fluff and more dating! AHH, some suggestive content, some smut 18+, hands stuff (hand job/fingering etc), almost caught, semi-public

Word Count: 8k

Tag List:

@xxkittenkissesxx @exitwoundsx @jilliemiw86 @abiomens @lma1986

@flowery-mess @doomhands-jr @rain-down-on-me @justdamnpeachy @thatchickwiththecamera @narcissisticbehavior81

@xcllnt @somebodyels3

After Noah and you had your late-night tryst in the showers of the venue, the walk back to the bus felt desolate. You walked alone through the hallways and into the dark, humid night as you exited the venue into its back alleyway.

The grin on your face wanted to stay there; you wanted to be elated that both of the men that you were attracted to wanted you. However, your face falls when you realize that Matt was right: you’re not being fully truthful to him, or Noah.

You feel it’s hard to swallow when you think back to just ten minutes ago. Noah asked what you wanted to speak to him about and you dodged the question. Wanting to believe that your brain was foggy from the sight of Noah’s body, and that kiss, was half of your reasoning for lying, but the other half is that you really couldn’t bear telling Noah the truth.

Outside of the bus, you pace the side of it while listing the options available to you: don’t tell the two men that you kissed both of them the same night and risk their friendship and your relationship with them once they find out, or do tell them and risk it all anyway.

Everything about the situation made you feel gross and at a loss. If only you told Noah about Matt’s confession, then maybe you wouldn’t feel like you’re on track to manipulating them both in the process.

“Why?” You yell out into the night, holding your head in your hands.

You calm your senses and walk to hop onto the bus to head to Nashville, Tennessee. While in bed, you finally decide you should come clean to both of them as soon as possible to save you the heartache. In contrast to your decision, you thought, why not indulge yourself in the fantasy you had never thought possible?

—

A constant buzzing tone from your phone wakes you in the morning; you turn over in your bunk to grab it while noticing the bus isn’t moving. You must be outside of the Nashville venue already.

Without checking the caller ID, you hold the phone close to your ear and mumble, “Hello?”

“Good morning, loser, get out of bed,” Matt's voice is loud in your ear. You pull your phone away from your head and wipe the sleep from your eyes before responding.

“You’re such a bully, let me sleep,” you whine and check the time. Ten AM. It’s a bit later than when you would usually wake up. “Where are you?”

“I’m finishing a run with Noah. I’m on my way back to the venue, but he decided to go the extra mile,” he answers.

“Oh,” you’re lucky the fact that you just woke up can hide the lack of enthusiasm in your voice. You hope with everything in you that they didn't share the things they did with you the night before. They could have been laughing at you. They could’ve been plotting to “dump” you. They could be planning to fire you from the tour. Clenching your eyes closed to push back these intrusive thoughts you finally respond, “Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, it was,” he says, unfazed by your tone. “Anyway, I called because I was wondering if you had plans at, let’s say, noon?”

“Yes, I plan to rot in bed with my phone six inches from my face until they need us to work later,” you explain, matter-of-factly.

“So you’re saying you wouldn't want to go out on a date with me?”

This shocks you awake and you sit up on your bunk. The crown of your head bumps the top of the enclosed space, “Ouch, fuck!”

Matt laughs over the phone, but questions, “You good?”

“Yeah, I just banged my head on the top of my bunk.” You rub the throbbing spot on your head as you return to reality, “You’re asking me out?”

“Yup,” he pops the “P” in the word. Even though he isn’t there with you, you can just see the smug look on his face. “There’s a hot chicken place I’ve been wanting to try since we’re in Nashville and I thought I should finally take you out. You know, just you and me, like we said.”

You never thought that this day would come, but you remember your decision to be open and honest with the two boys. This would be the first time you addressed the elephant in the room, “Does it still bother you that I went out with Noah a few days ago?”

He hums softly. “I’m getting over it. I did give you two permission,” he says. “But, I figured, since I told you how I felt last night… and our kiss,” he pauses again, “you would want to start hanging out with me, too. Just not as friends.”

You bite your lip and sway in your bunk. “You want to date me,” you sing in his ear, teasingly.

“Don’t make me take it back, Y/N,” he grumbles.

“Okay, okay! Yes, I’ll go out with you,” you say quickly. “I’ll be ready at 11:45! Is it close by?”

“Sure is, we can walk there together. Wear something cute,” you can hear the smirk in his voice again.

“I will,” you sing. “Matt?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to let me hold your hand?” You ask, hopefully.

“Maybe, if you’re good,” he laughs before hanging up the phone.

—

You’re dressed up in your favorite casual date outfit. It’s only a few minutes until you need to meet Matt outside the bus.

Adjusting your hair and accessories, you look into the bus bathroom mirror. The jitters that have shaken your body since the moment he asked out over the phone have not stopped, and really, it’s getting worse. You have to keep your jaw clenched to keep your teeth from chattering. The only thing that can help you is seeing him.

You huff and head down the hallway to the front room. Jolly and Folio sit on the couch on their phones, relaxing.

“Hey, beautiful,” Jolly says. “Where are you going?”

Folio looks up from his phone too, “Yeah? Damn, you look good, I like that outfit.”

Your cheeks flush at their compliments, but you realize you don’t feel comfortable with them knowing that you have been on a date with Noah and are now going on one with his best friend. “I’m going for lunch with Matt,” you tell them a half-truth. Lying seems to be in your repertoire these days.

“Oh, cool. Where are y’all going?” They say in unison.

“It’s a hot chicken restaurant he knows about,” you tell the truth.

“Shit, that sounds good. Could we come with y’all?” Folio asks, excitedly.

Folio, please. “I would love that, but we're going to do some catching up as friends,” you give him a sorry smile and offer to take him there another day while you’re still in town.

“It’s all good,” he shrugs. ‘Y’all have fun.”

You wave them goodbye, “See you later for the show boys.”

“Bye, Y/N!” They sing as you exit the bus onto the concrete of the venue alley.

Matt leans on the brick wall of the venue looking at his sneakers.

“Hey, handsome,” you compliment him. His outfit is different than usual. It’s not that different, however, you could tell he had his idea of a casual date outfit, too. Your chest flutters at the thought of him getting ready for you.

Matt looks up at you at the sound of your voice. A smile slowly creeps on his lips and builds to a toothy, shit-eating grin.

“I see you wore a clean, oversized tee today,” you tease him while looking him up and down. “And, camo cargo pants? That’s so hot.”

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes. “I think that I look best without clothes, but I dont think Hattie B’s would allow that,” he jokes.

You tend to agree with that statement. He looks like a God when he is down to a pair of fitted boxer briefs. Besides the other features of his physique, below the belt, you’ve only ever taken a good look at his ass. You know that your life would be over if Matt were ever to catch you ogling his bulge, so even after countless sleepovers and pool days, you have no clue what he might be packing.

“Is that the restaurant we’re going to?” You ask as he comes to your side to start your walk.

“Mhm,” he hums. “By the way, you look,” you catch him sneaking a glance over to you, “amazing.”

“Thanks, babe,” you nudge his shoulder.

A ghost of a smile makes his lip curl upwards. He doesn't want you to notice, but you do. “I’m already regretting sharing my feelings with you,” he grunts before taking his hand in yours. His thumb rubs over the top of it softly and you smile to yourself as you walk down the city sidewalk, side by side.

—

“Can you order for me, Matt? I need to use the restroom,” you ask him.

“Yeah, I know what you like,” Matt agrees while staring up at the menu overhead at the ordering counter.

That was something that you loved about him and something you wouldn't get from Noah, not at this point. Matt remembers everything. The second you tell him you love something, your goals, even something you're just remotely interested in it’s like he has a notes app page open about it. Matt tends to order your food for you when you go out back at home, but if you order he’ll speak up for you if you’re too shy to ask for something specific.

“Could I have three chorizo breakfast tacos, please?” You would ask at your two’s favorite taco shop on Sunday mornings. Matt would give you a stare and a subtle head tilt to mention your customization, but when you don't.

“With salsa on the side. Not on top, please. She doesn't like it,” he would say for you before handing over his card.

You haven't realized it until now, looking into the bathroom mirror, but you have been comparing the two men you've been involved with and you don't like it. It’s not like you should have the privilege of comparing either of them anyway. Your choice to have one, for peace, is completely null. You could only hope to enjoy your time with the two of them until everything goes to hell.

Enough, you say to yourself roughly. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy your date. You wash your hands with warm water; the temperature change and the sweet scent from the soap soothes your senses.

You walk back out into the restaurant lobby and spot Matt sitting alone at a booth. His leg bounces up and down as he looks out the building window.

Walking up to sit across from him, he jokes, “You didn’t fall in did you?”

You giggle and get settled in your seat, “No, I was just nervous, I guess. I was taking a second to myself.”

“How do you feel now?” Matt reaches across the table from you and holds his hand in yours.

“Better,” you smile. He continues tracing circles with the pad of his thumb on your hand just like he did on your way here. Just on the soft skin of your palm, this time. “So, what did you order me?”

“I got you the mild spicy sandwich with fries. I think I got us a side of mac and cheese to share,” Matt purses his lips. “I got myself the hot sandwich with fries. You can try mine, but I know you’re not too into spicy stuff,” he shrugs.

You both speak at the same time.

“Thank you–” “Unless, it’s books–

“Matt,” you squeeze his hand in yours while making “What the fuck?” eyes to him. Ducking your head, you look around the restaurant to make sure no one overheard him. “Don't talk about my book.”

“You read it in public,” he says matter of factly. “I can talk about something that you do in public.”

“Reading on the bus isn't in public,” you defend. Heat travels up your neck to your cheeks like it usually did when Matt and you got on to the topic of sex. It happens often, and you hate that you don't mind it.

He shrugs and starts to laugh at himself. “I’ve Googled the title, by the way, I know what you've been reading about, Y/N.”

You decide to play his game. After over a year of dealing with him, you have found that the best way to combat his taunting is to do it right back. “Oh, really,” you tilt your head at him. “What is it about then? Describe it to me.”

Matt lets go of your hand and adjusts his hat. This is his common tell that he would rather change the subject, but in proper Matt fashion, he wants to play with you. “If I remember correctly,” he pauses while looking up at the ceiling, “It’s about a woman who moves into the house next door to this hot guy. Hot guy is a boudoir photographer? She does his marketing in exchange for him to teach her how to fuck. I stole your copy to check for myself and I remember the guy laying her out on top of a counter—”

“Uhm, I have the mild and hot sandwiches with a side of mac and cheese?” The woman delivering your food squeaks out.

“That’s us, thank you,” Matt coughs out.

“Thank you,” you say as they start to dart away from your table.

You and him stare into each other’s eyes with blank faces waiting for the employee to walk far enough away before you can react.

Once they have walked through the swinging door to the kitchen Matt is in hysterics laughing across from you. His keeling over the side of the table just so you can see the pleasure on his face a bit closer.

“Why did you just explain my sex book in front of the employee?” You cover your face with your hands.

“You asked me to! You did this to yourself,” he continues to chuckle while shoving a fry into his mouth.

“Also, I haven't got to the part you’re talking about, so thanks for the spoiler,” you huff before also taking a fry and shoving it in your mouth. “Shit, this is good,” you moan and relax your shoulders.

“Is that how you moan when—”

“Matt, I’m on my knees—,” you glare at him before he can interrupt you. “I’m begging you, could we please talk about something else?”

“Sure,” he calms and starts eating. “I wanted to thank you for saying “yes” to coming out with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was nervous that you might just want to see how things go with Noah,” he admits.

“Matt, I have had the biggest crush on you since, like, a month into knowing you? There’s no way I would pass up the opportunity for a date. I just—”

“What’s wrong?”

Here we go. “I just don't want everyone to know that I’ve been on a date with Noah and you. I feel sleazy.”

“It’s going out. It’s innocent,” he shrugs and bites into his sandwich. Talking with his mouth full, “You let me know if anyone tries giving you shit for it. I’ll beat their ass.” He swallows his bite. “If it will make you feel better, I don’t mind you saying that we’re doing stuff as friends. I’ll do the same. It’s pretty normal for us to be alone since people know we've known each other for a long time.”

Thank God. “I’m glad you feel that way,” you start. “Something happened with Noah. I need to—,”

“Tell me later?” He interrupts and then shakes his head, “Sorry, I don’t want to talk about him on our date. I just want to hear about you.”

“Okay,” you nod. Fuck, don’t take the out. You need to tell him, you think. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s ok,” he smiles. “Here, try this sauce. Shit’s good.”

You and Matt spend the next hour at the restaurant eating and chatting away. He feeds you fries and lets you try his sandwich. Which ultimately, as he predicted, would make you chug your drink down to get another refill.

He asks you to tell him about your aspirations again as your legs are intertwined with his underneath the table. He always listens to you so intently with a furrowed brow. It’s intimidating as all you want to do is impress him. However, Matt has never made you apologize for being yourself: for liking what you like, or for dreaming big dreams.

He reminds you of his goals in life and your chest has that familiar tingle by the way his face glows when he talks about them. He shows you his favorite pictures of his dogs that you have seen time and again. He gives you countless, soft-spoken affirmations and praise about how you look, the jokes you tell him, and your work ethic. He tells you how great you’ve been doing at your job. He’s proud of you and date Matt, romantic Matt… isn’t afraid to show it.

You feel loved. He’s in love with you.

—

Matt invited you to watch the show from the sound deck again tonight.

You agreed, excitedly, the butterflies in your stomach have yet to die down after your first date with him this afternoon. The smile on his face wouldn’t dissipate either.

The crew teased about how sweet he treated them when you two came in to check up on them after returning from getting lunch.

“What’s got you so excited, Dierkes?” Kooter, Bad Omen’s drum tech, teased from behind Matt while massaging his shoulders.

“Fuck off, go help Folio,” Matt said, brushing Kooter off. His tone showed itself to be negative, however, you love the way his lips turned up at the ends as he turned back to face you. His eyes smile too as they meet yours as if to say, “You’re what I’m excited about, Y/N.”

The crew set everything up as organized and as detailed as it would be if you two were there to manage the process, and the gig began as usual.

Later in the night, you stand at Matt’s side in the sound deck to prepare for Bad Omens to begin their set of the night. It would be two whole days since you would return to work after spending some time in Nashville before moving on to the next tour stop. Looking around the room, you take it all in, to save the excitement and fulfillment that your job brings to you every night. Fans line and lean over the railings of the balcony seats at both sides of the room; chatting and patiently waiting for the band’s introduction to the stage.

A group of women, around your age, stand in front of the sound deck barrier. They're laughing and taking pictures and you hear one of them dare another to ask Matt for a photo, too. He doesn't seem to notice, but the women catch your curious stare, they nod and motion for you to tap on his shoulder. You take a step closer to him, “Matt, do you want to take a picture?” You ask while lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention.

He turns to you, immediately. “Yeah,” He smiles and begins to pull his phone from his jogger’s pocket.

“Oh, sorry, not with me,” you giggle, patting his arm. “Them,” you nod your head the ladies waiting hopefully and excitedly across from you two.

“Oh, sure,” he smile falls a tad, but returns to assure you. “I’ll be right back, okay? Then there’s something I want to show you.” He steps off to the side closer to the metal barrier that separates the crowd and yourselves and you watch as the group’s faces light up at him. They cover their mouths in excitement and mouth to each to “be chill or be calm”. It’s hard to read their lips.

The way they feel right now is how you would be reacting to meeting him or Noah in an alternative universe where Matt and you had never met on that walk that one day. Every time you're invited back to the sound deck, you feel like a fan again.

Matt says, “Have fun!” to the group and returns to your side. “So, I was thinking about something cool you could do if you’re interested?”

“Sure,” you raise an eyebrow at him as he walks a couple of feet over to the lighting board on the table.

“Do you want to control the lights during the Concrete Jungle call and response thing?” He pats the console.

“What? Me?” You say, shocked, yet excited. “Hell yes, but what if I mess it up?”

“It’s super easy, not even you could mess it up,” he teases and you give him an eye roll. “I swear. All you have to do is control these two faders; up for brightening down for dimming, and you just lead the crowd to chant “Jun-gle” using the lights. You’ve seen it almost every night for the past week, you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll do it,” you nod slowly.

“Here, practice,” he grabs your hands to rest them on the correct sliders on the board. He’s soft when he guides your fingers to push the sliders upward, slowly, which gradually brightens the lights overhead the stage. Various groups of fans cheer in the crowd for the lighting, hopeful it’s a sign for their show to begin. Matt guides your fingers back down the board and the lights dim to black again. “Now, do it yourself, just faster,” he leans back on his foot and crosses his arms over his chest watching you experiment with the sliders.

“Ok,” you let out a quick breath. Your heart beats fast in your chest, but you would have time to settle your nerves as you wouldn’t have to do this until Dethrone, their final song of the night. “I think I have the hang of it.”

“Good, because that’s all you,” he says. “Sometimes I forget that you're a fan of all of this. I want you to have more of these experiences,” Matt leans in close to your ear, in hopes only you would hear him. “I know I can be an ass, but you deserve to have the time of your life on this tour. I want this to work out.”

“Yeah, I know,” you squish his cheeks with your fingers. He reels back and swats your hand away, but laughs with you before returning to his soundboard and set up. Once he’s out of earshot, you mumble, “I want all of this to work out too, believe me.”

—

You sang to yourself and danced at a volume that wouldn’t take Matt's or fans' attention from the stage as you stand with him tonight.

While you were still reeling from your day with Matt, you still missed Noah. Your heart yearned for them equally, although it is hard to forget the six words that came out of Matt’s mouth last night. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.” It has been on repeat all day.

The nights you weren’t invited into the sound deck you would stand sidestage and would get hyped up with Folio as he passed you funny looks from his drum throne. Noah would partake in the antics, too, when it wouldn’t take away from his performance. Like: Having dance-offs with you when the audience thinks he’s dancing alone, or giving you eyebrows and a smirk at certain parts of his lyrics, and when he undresses down to a tank top mid-set.

Tonight, you don’t have to hide your gaze on his hands as he lifts his overshirt above his head. The way the muscles in his back and biceps flex involuntarily by the motion makes you shutter.

It was the same feeling you felt the first time watching him live. The bass of his growls coming through the stage monitors vibrate in your chest and makes your thighs clench. Sometimes, you wonder how long he can hold his breath as he holds on to notes and screams. You imagine his tattooed hands spreading and gripping your thighs apart uneager to come up for air as he feasts on your aching cunt.

Matt can’t hear your thoughts even standing a few feet from you, but you feel like he can so you sneak cautious glances over at him when these delicious thoughts pass through your mind to he if he reacts in any way.

The show was coming up to ‘Dethrone’. Noah has nearly finished his first encore of the night and you take your place in front of the lighting board with your fingers touching lightly on the sliders Matt showed you earlier.

While waiting patiently for Noah’s cue to you, he finds your eyes in the sound deck. His dark eyes match yours directly. Surely, he can’t be looking at you? You wonder. You feel like a fan in the crowd who’s just made eye contact with their favorite band member for the first time. He nods at you, and then he begins.

“Concrete,” he growls into the mic before ticking his fore and middle fingers at you twice.

“Jungle!” You slide the light faders in tandem and they glow above the stage with each syllable the crowd screams.

Noah and you go back and forth. His eyes never leave yours, even as he paces back and forth on the stage, and he successfully directs you through his chant. The room is packed as it’s a sold-out show, but you feel as though it’s only you two present.

He tosses you a proud smile as he begins ‘Dethrone’ and it makes your legs melt.

Fuck, he’s so hot. Distracted by him, you hadn’t realized the number of times he had unintentionally made you blush and make the hairs on your neck rise. Let alone let you realize the growing need for him building up fast in your abdomen. You want any part of him, and preferably more than a kiss tonight.

You watch him perform their final song in awe; you can imagine your tongue rolling out of your mouth and drooling onto the pit floor.

—

After fans have fully exited the venue, you’re left with Matt in the sound deck with a couple of other guys from the crew.

You catch Matt yawning and he asks, “Are you sleepy yet?”

“I’ve found I have a lot of energy after each show. I’m gonna stay up for a bit,” you explain. Your lying streak made this fib too easy to tell. While you had a lot of energy, it wasn’t because of the music or the atmosphere, it was because of Noah. Impulsive thoughts appear like demonic ghouls floating around in your head whenever your sexual needs aren’t met. You wanted so badly to throw yourself at Noah the second you saw him next; to re-do your first kiss? To go even further? However, you can’t, if Matt is to be too close tonight. He was learning to be okay with you having gone on a date with Noah, but you’re unsure of his reaction if he were to find out about you doing anything more.

“I want to try to get to the showers first, but I should get all of this down so we don’t have to worry about it in the morning,” he stretches.

“Go and shower, get to bed,” you rub Matt’s shoulder with care. “I’m gonna stay here and help out.”

“M’Kay,” he yawns again. “Goodnight, Y/N. Make sure my stuff gets packed up real nicely. You’re the only one I trust.”

“Yes sir,” you give him a faux salute as he walks off toward the back of the venue. You smile at him, but your stomach lurches. He trusts you. He’s in love with you! I am being manipulative, you think guiltily.

You spend around forty-five minutes tearing down the sound deck making sure to pack Matt’s equipment, cords, wires, and laptops carefully away. You handled his things with care, even though you were half-distracted by the throbbing between your legs.

“Y/N,” a male voice calls from behind you.

It’s a crew member’s voice. Their usual lighting and production tech who helps Matt in the sound deck. “Hm?” You turn around to meet his face.

“Go ahead and wind down for the night. We’ll take care of the rest,” he nods toward the back of house. “Thanks for helping.”

“Of course, anytime. Goodnight everyone,” you set what you’re working on down and start walking toward Bad Omen’s green room with a sense of urgency.

Once inside, you grab your bag, your nighttime relaxation clothes, and the clean towel you pack in case you want to take a late-night shower. Tonight you do, but you doubt you’re going to be doing your wash routine.

Please be in here and alone. Please.

“Noah, are you in here?” You call out his name as you push open the door to the showers. The layout of the room is more like a locker room than the past showers you have used at other venues. One side of the room is lined with sizable shower stalls with floor-length curtains for privacy, while the other side of the room has a wall of lockers and benches. On them, you notice Noah’s backpack and nicely folded clothing. His boots sit together underneath the glossy, wooden bench.

“I’m in the second stall,” he talks over the sound of the steaming water raining down over him. A light mist rises over the top of his curtain and dissipates as it hits the ceiling. You can’t see him the way you could the night before.

You bite your lip anxiously. What are you doing? You ask yourself. Your body feels hot by how turned on you are and it keeps you warm as you strip yourself naked. Pulling your panties down your legs, you notice a prominent wet spot accumulated by the pool of your arousal. You stuff all of your belongings into an empty locker and softly click it closed.

His name falls from your lips before you can catch it, “Noah?”

It wasn’t in your plan for him to poke his head through the curtain, but he does. “Yeah?” His voice is innocent, but his eyes widen once he sees the sight of you. Your arms bravely stick to your sides to allow him to gain you in full. “Shit,” he hisses under his breath while making haste with the outline of your body. You watch his eyes roam you as you stand there in heavy silence before he opens the curtain a little more to invite you inside. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he says as you stand in front of him. Once you’re in the stall, you feel like his eyes will never leave yours. So, if you tried to sneak a peek anywhere but his face, he would most definitely know.

“Thank you,” your cheeks feel hot. “Is it okay if I shower with you?”

“Mhm,” he nods and hums. His low tone reverberates against the walls of the shower stall. “I was hoping you would. You have no idea the thoughts that have been running through my head since last night.”

His admission makes you feel tingly. “I hope I’m not moving too fast. This feels so out of character for me,” you shake your hands out.

“I want to move as slow or as fast as you do,” he confides to you in a low tone. His fingers reach to the crook of your neck and trace down your shoulder, to your bicep, to your forearm, and rest to intertwine with your fingers.

“You looked so good on stage tonight,” you admit as you look up at him with shining eyes. “Every night, I watch you perform, and it—,”

“And what?” Noah steps into your bubble. The tips of your breasts just barely graze his skin.

“I get so turned on,” you’re nearly talking into his clavicle. He slightly shutters as your breath hits his skin. “Noah, I’m so pent up, it hurts.”

“I can help,” he nods and his wet bangs sway. You watch the water from his hair drip onto your chest. The varying temperature makes you shiver. He notices this. “Get yourself wet first,” he instructs while switching places with you for you to stand under the running shower head.

You run your hands through your hair and close your eyes to enjoy the heat. You feel the same tickly feeling on your breasts that you always feel around him, so you open your eyes to catch his gaze from your tits when you admit, “Noah, I swear I’m already wet.”

His laugh and toothy smile make you warm inside, as much as the hot water warms your skin on the outside. He leans in close to press a kiss into your cheek, “I want to feel how wet you are, Y/N. But first, I want you to look at me. I give you permission,” his shoulders shake as he laughs at you trying your best to look at every shiny tile that lines the stall rather than his nude form.

When he backs away, your eyes trail his body. The freckles on his shoulders are the first of what you see. You reach out to touch them, but his hands come to your bare hips to push you slowly until you’re both underneath the warm, running water. The water moves in slow motion and you follow it with your eyes as it hits his chest and drips lower to his stomach. His waistline is spotted with water droplets. You take one last big breath before letting your gaze fall to his groin. He’s half hard and the tattoos around his lower stomper and thighs surround his member like he’s a work of art. Your shoulders shake a tiny bit when you chuckle at the sight of his wet leg hair and impatient toes that are dancing, waiting for you to look back up at his face.

You look up to meet Noah’s eyes, but you can’t help but sneak glances at his lips. “You’re so beautiful,” you whisper to him as you wrap your hands behind his neck and pull him down into your kiss.

He hums against your lips as if to thank you. Noah’s arms wrap around your body as you detach and reattach to his mouth in fervor. He scratches your back with his nails and grips the skin of your back. He tastes so good, so fresh. Your tongues fight each other for dominance and you win.

Noah groans when he feels your hand caress down his stomach and slowly makes its way to wrap around his half-hard cock. He feels so warm in your hand like he’s blushing down there. You open your eyes while making out with him and his cheeks are glowing pink. The sight of his dick on your small hand gives you raging confidence and makes your heart burst.

You begin to stroke him while kissing him. He grows harder in your hands and grows longer, and thicker. You move your lips and teeth and attach them to the side of his neck as he allows heavy breaths to fall from his lips. “I like the way your cock hardens in my hand,” you moan in his ear.

Noah grips your ass and it makes you pull away from his neck to whine. “I like that,” he moans. “So fucking much, you don’t even know. But, I want to help you. You can make me cum another time.”

You bite your lip and nod.

“Spread your legs, just a little bit,” he commands in a low tone. You spread your legs apart and he praises, “Yeah, just like that.”

He dips his head to your left breast and latches on, tongue first, to the nipple while kneading your other breast with his hand fingers. Water splashes off to the sides of the shower as he presses himself into you.

“Ah,” you whine when his dominant hand leaves your chest to snake between your bodies to your core. The pads of his fingers find your clit and give you a firm press before sliding through your folds, curiously.

Your dazed eyes meet Noah’s as he pulls his hand from your cunt to show you the clear, slimy juices that drool down his fingers. “I really do turn you on, huh?” He boasts before sticking his fore and middle fingers between his lips and lapping your arousal away.

“Mhm,” you moan at the sight of him licking his fingers clean.

Noah plays with your nipples with his empty hand while the right one is brought back to your pussy. “Do you remember when I heard you say my name?”

“Hm?” You’re dizzy and can’t fully think of what he’s referring to.

“The second night of the tour. The morning after, I asked you if you needed to ask me a question because I heard you say my name,” he explains while rubbing your clit in expert figure-eights. “Noah.”

Your eyes shoot open and meet his eyes, but they’re attached to your lips. “I was touching myself. Thinking about you,” you admit while whining on his fingers.

Suddenly, his fingers pinch your clit gently, but with enough force to make you cry out, “Noah.” The pain makes you shutter and collapse against his form.

“I’ve been waiting to hear my name come from your perfect lips again,” he chuckles while pinching your nipples at the same time. “Good girl. Now, tell me what you were thinking about.”

“I was thinking about, fuck,” you grind against his hand as he releases your clit to palm your cunt. “I brought my favorite sex toys with me. I was imagining you using them on me.”

“We can do whatever you want,” he speaks low into your ear before kissing your neck. His longest fingers prod your entrance and tease your pussy with quick, shallow pumps. The palm of his hand presses firmly into your clit and you grab his forearm for balance. You feel it flex under your fingers. “Do you want to cum on my fingers?”

“Yes, please, I need you—,” you squeak out.

The sound of the locker room door swinging open causes Noah to turn you around and press your back against his chest. His hard cock rests against your ass and you want to grind on him so badly, to make him feel good too.

“Noah, could I borrow your phone charger? I’ve lost mine already,” you hear Nick call out to Noah from the entrance of the room.

Noah covers your mouth with his hand and you breathe softly through your nose. His other hand cautiously rubs circles on your throbbing, aching clit as he responds, “Yeah, Nick, that’s fine. You can find it in the second pocket of my backpack.”

You start to grind up against Noah feeling his dick harden against your skin, again, and his hand pressing hard into your private region. You need relief.

Nick’s footsteps echo through the room, and you can feel your heartbeat matching the pace of his steps; so quick and to the point.

Noah continues his movements but goes a bit further to test the waters. He uses his weight to hike you up a bit further and you get the sign to stand on your tiptoes and bend your knees just a bit. Noah reaches his fingers between your thighs again and dips them in your slick cunt, slowly.

Your eyes roll back into your head, and you do your best to stay silent. You hope the running shower can hide how your breath hitches as Noah curls his fingers inside of you, stretching you out.

“Nick, when you find it,” Noah’s voice vibrates against you, “you can keep it. I have two others in my bunk.”

“Thanks, man. I got it now. Good night!” Nick says before you hear his steps towards the door and the door closing behind him.

With Nick gone, you moan against Noah’s palm on your mouth freely. His fingers are slim, but they’re so long and reach the best spots inside of you. His thumb rubs your clit as he fucks you with his fingers.

“Such a good girl for staying quiet,” he praises and removes his hand from fully covering your mouth only to prod your lips with his fingers to stuff them between your teeth. “Now, be loud for me.”

His name is broken as you try to say it, “No-ahhhhh, ple—please!” Your eagerness for full relief drives you to grind harder on his fingers, so much, you're bouncing on them and doing the work for him.

Noah supports your hips so you don’t slip on the wet tile. “I know, I know,” he says daringly while kissing the crown of your head. “Go ahead and cum, you deserve it.”

“Fuck, thank you—,” you hiss as you reach up and tangle your fingers up into the back of his hair. You release on his fingers and he hooks them to repeatedly hit your G-spot as you ride through your high.

“That was so hot,” he praises into your ear. “But, let’s try not to get caught again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you laugh as you stand while holding the wall for support.

“Let me clean you up. We still need to actually take our showers,” he holds your waist and pulls you back into the water.

—

“Are the showers going to start being our new meeting place?” He chuckles as wraps your fresh towel around your shoulders. The one you stuffed into the locker when you came in. You patted yourself on the back for remembering to do it or else Nick would have definitely known you two were hearing together.

“Maybe,” you shrug at him with a smile. While you enjoyed your private meetings, you also wished you could say and do everything you wanted to you with him in front of everyone else. You could feel that keeping things secret was starting to get harder on your mental health. Sex is the main thing you don't mind keeping behind closed doors.

Noah’s head pops up as if he has had an epiphany. “Do you want to go on another date before we go to sleep?”

“Of course!” you match his excitement with your arms loosely wrapped around his waist.

“Good, because I already have an idea of where can go,” Noah reaches into the front pocket of his backpack to retrieve his phone. You peak at his screen as he opens his Yelp account and searches for the best milkshakes nearby.

—

Noah sits across from you in a black hoodie covering his hair. His lips are wrapped around one of the white and red striped bendy straws in your shared cookies and cream milkshake. He giggles as you pull out your phone to take a picture of him and his hand comes to cover your phone camera.

You playfully fight his hand away while snapping a couple of shaky pictures. “I need more pictures of you!” You whine. “You took so many of me when we were in Boston.”

“We can take one together,” he pulls his phone out of his hoodie pocket and angles it towards your faces. You both take a sip from the shake and he takes a picture. He looks at it before showing you, “You’re so cute.”

“Mhm,” you hum, sipping through your straw. This milkshake was definitely in the top three of all you have ever had. Noah knows how to pick good places.

“So, tell me,” he sits up a little higher in his seat before leaning forward. “Everything. Everything about you that you didn't day on our first date.”

“Noah, it’s past midnight,” you chuckle, but he still looks at you with eager eyes. He wants to know you. Everything about you. You mentally note that one day you could reach the level of comfort that Matt and you have, and you want to try to get there with Noah. “We have the next two days to talk, too,” you kick your legs in excitement and he smiles when they brush him. It’s pretty easy to touch him; his long legs take up the majority of the space under the tiny table you’re sitting at. “What should we do with all of our free time?”

“I have one idea of how we can spend a lot of our time together,” he shrugs and gives you a knowing smile.

“What?” You giggle with your tongue on the straw.

“You could share a bed with me at the hotel we get to stay in for the next two nights,” he suggests.

Your eyebrows raise in intrigue, “Mmm.”

“We would have to have one other person to share our room with us for the room costs to be worth it, but I would get to sleep next to you for real, instead of across from you,” he plays with his hands over the table.

“We’ve slept next to each other every night on the bus,” you think out loud. “I would feel comfortable with that, I think.”

Noah moves his fidgeting to the strings of his hoodie. You love to watch how nervous he gets talking to you. It’s charming. “I really like the way we talk to each other across the short space between us when everyone else is asleep,” he admits and you pout your lip at him in awe. “I’ve never told you this, but sometimes I’ll stay up and watch you sleep when you forget to close your curtain.”

You lean forward and rest your hand on your cheek.

“Also, because I stay up,” he sips on his straw. “That’s how I knew about— you know?”

You gulp down the shake in your mouth so as not to choke on it. He’s referencing what he reminded you of earlier in the shower. Noah. “Oh, yeah, that.” Your face heats up.

One of his hands shoots towards your open hand resting on the table. “That didn’t bother me by the way,” he reassures. “I’m flattered, honestly. Feel free to think about me all the time.”

You giggle before watching his fingers interlace with yours.

“You make me really excited, Y/N. I haven’t thought about being in a relationship with anyone for a long time. I feel so preoccupied with so many other things, but when I think about that with you… it feels possible.”

“Noah, that feels so good to know,” you say softly, it’s almost a whisper. You feel vulnerable now. “You have no idea how much of a dream it is to get to know you that way I had when I was just a fan three months ago.”

“I love that you’re a fan, but you’re also my equal. I was pulled into you the second I saw you. I still think back to us sitting on the patio bench at the L.A. studio together,” he squeezes your hand.

“Me too,” you agree. You two sit in comfortable silence for a beat.

“You don’t have to tell me everything I need to know about you, yet,” he chuckles. But, before we go back, can I ask you two questions?”

You push the empty shake glass to the side and hold both of his hands in the center of the table. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I want,” he says. “First, do you say yes to at least rooming with me at the hotel the next two nights?”

“Yes,” you nod with an excited smile. Whether you’ll have to live with the consequences of your answer or not, you’ll see.

“Lucky me,” he smiles. “Second—,” he takes his time to continue, “what are you looking for with your time with me? Is it just fun, a relationship… I want to know.”

[coffeeandbatboys]

His New Religion (Wolffe x Fem!Reader)

for my friend @alegendoftomorrow in the @cloneficgiftexchange!

A/N: So this ended up summing up a lot of what happened before, during and after Right Here Waiting and its wedding sequel, part 2, which I know Legend had read, so my brain took the idea and ran with it.

Warnings: a little bit of angst, some awkward fluffies and a badly summed up slow burn with a happy ending

Prompt(s): “But somewhere there's a light//A sign that it's alright//I find it by your side” (New Religion, The Heydaze),

“Always thought those feelings, they were stories not made for me // It's terrifying, but I'm pretty certain it's worth it” || “I didn't know you were something I could need // Until you, until you loved my everything // The good, the bad, the in between, all of me” || “But all the hell we've been through had a purpose // Together we are chaos and it's perfect” (I Didn’t Know, Sofia Carson)

Wordcount: 856

If someone had sat cadet cc-3636 down and told him that he'd be living with the love of his life one day…

…He would have broken out laughing.

And yet Wolffe, the grumpy, no-nonsense commander of the 104th, had melted like a puddle the first night he spent in your embrace.

The two of you had met during a whirlwind campaign. You had needed him to sign some forms to accept supply restocks, and he’d obliged with a grumble, voicing his negative remarks about ‘redundant protocols’.

The next meeting happened in the mess hall. You’d been covering for a friend in the food line when you caught his sharp, analyzing gaze. With a blush and a smile, you served him his rations, a begrudgingly mumbled ‘thanks’ reaching your ears.

A few weeks later and it was in the medbay. You'd dropped a box on your foot, earning yourself a broken toe, while Wolffe had garnered a blaster graze to the bicep. He was reserved as usual, but engaged in some awkward, short-lived conversation about your odd jobs in the GAR while the medics patched the two of you up.

After that, you didn't see him for a long while.

And one night you found him at the door of your quarters, pacing; deciding whether he should knock or not. That was the night he had first asked you out on date.

Shore leave dates turned into nights curled in each others’ loving embrace and soft mornings filled with nothing but bliss. Harrowing weeks apart turned into joyful reunions and a growing love between you.

And one night, all of that became your beloved Wolffe falling to a knee and asking for the honor of your hand in marriage. You'd never given a second thought about saying yes.

You vividly remember after that weekend the way he kissed you goodbye and promised to return safely.

But as fate would have it, he was taken away from you. The Empire rose out of the Republic's ashes, throwing everyone's lives into pure chaos and cutting the ties between you and your love.

You didn't see your fiancé for a year. Instead, you'd joined a network of rogue clones that led you to Rex, and had began working with them.

Then there was Teth, where you saw him again, but not as an ally. You were glad to see Wolffe, despite the reunion being marred by grief and despair. But oh, how you wanted to reach out and bring him back into your arms, even knowing he wasn't the same.

Weeks passed, and he seemed to make his decision when Rex and Echo brought him back to the new base. He danced around the subject for a while, afraid to find out what you would say. But one look into your hopeful eyes was all it took for him to break down in your arms.

The two of you wed in a simple ceremony, surrounded by his brothers, who had become just as much family to you. In that moment, the trials of the past gave way to a hopeful future, with you and Wolffe facing the challenges of a tumultuous galaxy together.

Now today, as you look out into the setting sun, you smile. Who would have thought that a love tested by loyalty, betrayal and heartache would heal in such a way?

Wolffe hums behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as a kiss is pressed behind your ear.

“If you keep staring at the sun, Mesh’la,” he remarks, squeezing you a little. “—you'll go blind.”

You laugh brightly and wiggle around to face him. He smiles and let's his lips brush across your cheeks, nose and forehead, before landing on your own in a tender kiss.

“I suppose I have something better to stare at here,” you tease. The golden hour glow highlights his best features. His hair has begun to gray at the temples, silver strands fading into his thick curls, and his cybernetic eye glitters in the sunlight. His jaw bears a little bit of stubble; a deliberate choice, you assume.

“Oh?” He asks, forehead resting gently upon yours.

“Yeah,” you answer, reaching up to caress his scar. His eyes flutter closed.

“What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours, huh?

You smile. “I was just thinking. About us.” Your head rests against his shoulder as a warm breeze dusts both of you.

He hums deeply in acknowledgment, a kiss being placed to your temple.

“Also known as: a scratch and dent clone falls in love with a smart, caring, drop dead gorgeous woman?”

You laugh lightly and shake your head. “More like, How a man and woman’s love made it through all sorts of trials.”

Wolffe’s face falls a little, but you cup his cheek to turn his gaze toward you.

“And what happened is in the past. We have all the time in the world now, yeah?”

He smiles ever so slightly and holds you close. “Yeah Mesh'la. That sounds perfect.”

And he thinks now that he’s had a taste of love, he can get used to it for the long run.

[bitbybitwrites]

Flashback: Klainetober 2022 fics

Since we are back in October (and I'm feeling all sorts of nostalgic), I just wanted to reblog and share the old Klainetober 2022 fics that myself and my friend @madas-ahatters-world did last year.

We put them all together in a series called Halloween Harvest - Klainetober 2022. There were 31 prompts - and we do plan to get back to them, but here are the ones we did finish.

It was fun writing these. It was challenging to try to take a stab at horror writing, which isn't usually my thing. These fics were created last year when I first started writing fan fic - so its nice to look back on some old work and see how my style has developed in over a year.

If you haven't read any of these - enjoy!

The cover art for each story and individual story summaries are listed below the picture. (13 stories so far!)

*****

Day 1 Prompt - Poisoned

Nightshade by bitbybit (puttingittogether)

Summary:

An unexpected route through the Dark Forest brings a young bard face-to-face with magic, mystery, and unforeseen consequences.

*****

Day 2 Prompt - Cage

Vervain by bitbybit (puttingittogether)

Summary:

Torn between a life of solitude and imprisonment in the cursed forest and the freedom beckoning just outside its glades, a young man is finally forced to decide which path he chooses to take. But will his choice only bring him more death and heartache?

***

Day 3 Prompt - Insects

You're Buggin' Me by MadAs_AHatter

Summary:

On their way home from the pumpkin patch, Blaine takes a short cut that leads them to a sketchy motel in the middle of nowhere. In their attempt to make the best of things, they come across some unexpected visitors.

***

Day 4 Prompt - Buried

Graveyard Shift by MadAs_AHatter

Summary:

Blaine isn's sure what Kurt was thinking when he agreed to help out at their local cemetery.

***

Day 5 Prompt - Trees

Feeding Time For Woodland Creatures by bitbybit (puttingittogether)

Summary:

The world has turned upside down, and Kurt is in search of the one person who will help him make sense of it all. But while searching for Blaine in the forest, he learned that timing is everything when hungry creatures need to feed.  

***

Day 6 prompt - Photograph

Until The Darkness Fades Away by MadAs_AHatter

Summary:

After traveling back to Ohio to participate in the dedication of the new Dalton marquee, Kurt wakes up to an empty home, no Burt, Carole, or Blaine in sight. When he starts receiving strange text messages during a freak thunderstorm, he quickly realizes that things may not be what they seem.

***

Day 7 prompt- Trespassing

No Trespassing by MadAs_AHatter

Summary:

Part 2 of Until the Darkness Fades Away After learning that things are, in fact, not quite what they seem, Kurt works relentlessly to find his way back to Blaine.

****

Day 8 prompt - Basement

Come Into My Parlor by bitbybit (puttingittogether)

Summary:

After an evening of clubbing, two men have a night neither will ever forget.

***

Day 9 prompt - Eyes

Lavender by bitbybit (puttingittogether)

Summary:

With Death looming all around them, two young men must learn to see what is right before their very eyes and listen to what lies within their own hearts.

***

Day 10 prompt - Growl

What Lurks in the Dark by MadAs_AHatter

Summary:

After a night out with his work buddies, Blaine wakes up Halloween morning to some unexpected disturbances.

*****

Day 11 Prompt - Obsession

My Hands Are At Your Throat (I Think I Hate You) by MadAs_AHatter

Summary:

After finding out they need to fundraise for their trip to New York, the New Directions decide to hold a booth at the McKinley Annual Halloween Carnival. When an anonymous donor offers a hefty donation to the Glee Club, Kurt finds himself coming face-to-face with the last person he expected.

****

Day 12 Prompt - Passenger

All Aboard by bitbybit (puttingittogether)

Summary:

A trip from Paris to Prague on the Orient Express sets the scene for a meeting between a traveler and a mysterious passenger that catches his eye. Could romance bloom between them?

***

NOTE: Day 13 prompt - (still to be written)

****

Day 14 prompt - Omen

The Child by bitbybit (puttingittogether)

Summary:

While out and about running errands, Kurt keeps running into a strange child everywhere he goes. He suspects something odd is at play, but Blaine thinks he's just being a bit paranoid.

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Call Me Yours (Chapter 2)

Sam Drake/Reader

Spoilers for all of Uncharted.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,587

on Ao3

Chapter 1

As you curl into the blanket on the couch, you watch your phone on the living room table. Today had been the first day in a while that you had not woken up with complete dread. The thoughts that usually filled your head after you woke up from peaceful sleep were usually about the things that had happened, work or the lack of contracts, or that relationship that kept progressing into the wrong direction. But today there was this ray of hope in your heart, that lightness, although it was barely there. You pull the blanket over your shoulders as you lift up your feet on the couch as well, eyeing your phone like a predator would watch its prey but with a certain kind of respect for the thing that could run its course and make your life miserable. And the worst was, at this point you did not know which way would be the miserable kind because all seemed equally frightening.

There was no texts in the morning and while that was a relief, you also dreaded it. Gone were the days of sweet good morning texts that you had asked for so often. At some point even demanded. Gone were the days when you felt taken care of. And then there was that guy from yesterday who you were curious about but at the same time the idea of getting to know him even more made you anxious. You saw it play out like with the last guy. You saw yourself sending texts again. And there, before you knew it your hand reached out for the device. You read your messages again. Still there were none from him. You did not want to text the other guy either. You did not even want a text from him, you were not longing for any more heartache than you already had.

With the overthinking driving you crazy again, you sigh at last and walk over to your desk where you wake the laptop and decide to reply to some business mails and look for new contracts for the time being. As your eyes wonder past the frame of the laptop, you see that outside it is still snowing, so you decide to keep yourself lightly engaged and minimally entertained at your desk for the rest of the afternoon.

As the sun is about to set, you finally put your laptop to rest and watch the snow twirl in the air through your window. On your lock screen appears a message and your heart leaps at it, although you feel the pang of anxiety at the same time.

Feeling cold right now?

It was him, Sam. Involuntarily you smile a little.

Not really. But I’m home. Your fingers run over the screen faster than you can consider whether you should reply right away or not. You wonder if you should follow up with a question about him. In the end you decide not to.

Glad to hear. is the text you get back, but then an image of a cozy sweater with a snowman and winter theme pops up.

My sister-in-law is obviously going crazy. She ordered me this online.

You chuckle at the text and the sweater, although it seems childish, it was cute. In a way.

Hey is that really not your girlfriend who got you that?

You sent the text before the regret sets in.

Not my girlfriend. he replies fast and follows up with another text, Why? Would that be important?

I don’t know. Just seems like the kind of thing girlfriends do.

Or pregnant sisters-in-law for their whole family. You can see my brother’s too if you don’t believe me.

Oh you bet I want to see it now.

You grin as you see the other winter-themed sweater,  a man wearing it but without his face in the picture.

So she already made him wear it? you ask via text.

I think he’d much rather do that than argue with his pregnant wife.

Smart man you text back and chuckle.

You’re right. And funny by the way. he texts back.

You frown at the awkwardness of his response.

You don’t have to say it like that. I know I’m funny.

Oh I’m sorry. comes back.

Before you can even think of texting back you see the screen changing to him calling you. What do you have to lose, you think.

“Hello?”

“Hey” he greets in a low but friendly, almost seductive tone. Or maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

“Well hey” you greet him back properly, not overly cheerful but in a nice way.

“You know what, I’m not good at texting.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” you defend him.

“Oh please. I’m terrible.” he replies with a short laugh followed by a sigh, “I just really thought I like your remarks and I wanted to tell you that.”

”What remarks?”

“Oh you know, the ones about men having to treat women well.”

“That’s the rule though.” you insist. “I’m just reminding you of how it should be.”

“See” he says, “That’s what I mean.”

”Shut up” you chuckle, “They aren’t remarks.”

“Sometimes you sound so sad.” he breaks in and your heart sinks at how sudden and yet soft his words hit you.

“Wh--” You barely bring out a word, then take a moment to think.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” Sam insists. “Sorry. It’s just…”

You look into space while patiently waiting and at the same time wondering if you should say something.

“The way you carry yourself. The way you talk, the way your eyes wander. I couldn’t help but notice.” he explains cryptically and you frown a little.

“What about all that?”

“It’s just-- I find it has a certain something to it. There is something you carry around with you.”

You look down. Yes, there was something you carried around with you.

“You’re alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure” you answer quickly. “Maybe I just overthink a lot.”

“Oh I get like that sometimes.”

“You do?” you wonder slightly surprised.

“Oh yeah. Not all the time, I tend to keep myself distracted. But it definitely happens.”

“I can’t imagine you all stuck in your head.”

“It’s more moments than days on end but believe me, it happens.”

“Maybe I’ll see some of that one day.”

“Maybe. Not that I wish that upon you.” he warns.

“Don’t be like that.” you chime in immediately, “It’s not like you could be a burden. I’d be happy to hear about your thoughts.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.” you assure him.

“Huh. Wouldn’t have taken you for the type. Then again, I would. You’re different from what I imagined.”

“Different how?”

“Just-- just different. I mean I wouldn’t have expected for us to be talking like this. I usually only talk to people that build a wall around them and keep me outside of it.”

“Who says I’m not building a wall?”

“Oh” he sounds surprised, but also a little offended. “Right, maybe you are. And you’re just subtle about it.”

“Maybe I suck at building walls around me. I should be better at it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. Just don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“Yeah, getting hurt isn’t pleasant.” Sam agrees softly.

“So?” You chuckle a little. “No promise not to hurt me?”

“Oh no, I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“Huh” You stare into space again.

“Not that I would want to…” he adds with softness in his voice and you wonder how you again had failed at keeping your feelings at a safe distance. Just your luck.

“Hey, I mean, you’re honest. Or so. That’s something.”

“I guess.” he agrees softly. “I’ve made the mistake of not being honest with people who matter to me plenty of times.”

“You learn from mistakes, huh?”

”You could say that.” he agrees.

Your thoughts start trailing off, you wonder if you gave him too much credit. Maybe you were falling into the same traps you for set yourself again.

“Hey, maybe we could meet up again some time if you feel like it.” he suggests before you get to the bottom of your thoughts. “It sounds like you don’t need to contact me for insurance reasons but we could just make sure.”

You frown a little at his reasoning.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He stops before continuing and it makes you wonder what is going on in his mind.

“I messed up, didn’t I?”

“No” you reply instantly, feeling almost bad for judging him so harshly. “I just-- I don’t know.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, I understand. Sorry if I sounded like an asshole.”

You stare blankly, wondering if you should say anything else.

“Hey, I’m glad we could talk. I really don’t want to bother or hurt you.”

Sudden memories of the last guy come up and you wonder how you can keep them down.

“No-- I just. I’m sorry.” you reply automatically.

“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry.” he replies empathetically.

“Okay. I just, I don’t know. Maybe we can talk again some other time.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Okay. Take care. Bye.” You say finally.

“You too. Bye.”

Tears flow over, on your cheeks you feel them rolling down as you hang up and struggle with your thoughts.

Before you can even sob you see a text notification on your screen. You realize it’s him and freeze.

I’ve been dealing with something lately

[aries-rp-corner]

As Baron drifted off to sleep, he felt himself floating in the air waking up to find himself facing a watery surface. Swimming up as he emerges and climbed out, looking around to see a familiar starry sky, a sea of trees, and orbs gliding in the sky…making him feel a deep longing to fly again… “Nasrin… Did I die in my sleep?” He asked as he turned over to face the woman, only to find she is not here….

“Nasrin? Nasrin!” He called out, looking around to see if he can find her… until spotting a figure in the distance. Walkng over closer and closer to see… “No…you can’t be… Cornelius?!” Baron began to shake and run to the figure, tears streaming down as he ran with his might. “Brother! Cornelius! I’m sorry! I know you told me to protect Mom and my family! But I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you!” Baron cried out, reaching out his hand to grab his brother for one final hug… only… now he found himself tripping and meeting the water again…only now it feels like mud as it was dragging him down. “No! No no no NO!! Not again! Let me speak to him!!” He cried out now fighting to run pass the Lake of Stars to reach his brother. “Please!… Let me speak to him! One last time! Please!!” He held out his hand to try to grab something…anything!…

Baron felt a hand holding his, looking to see his brother. Giving a supportive smile as it soon turned into a goofy grin. Yet…there was sadness within it as Cornelius’s face softened. “I left Aries a message for her, you, and Mah in it. I forgot to tell this to Hana, my fault there…which is I’m going to say it now. Baron, don’t stay earthbound forever. Use those wings of yours to fly once more! Go forth with no fear, and go forth with swift justice! Just like the old times! Show them and Aries why I, our family , and the rest of the Rangers called you The Silver Comet. Never be bound by sorrow, I did it so Aries won’t have the heartache of losing two people she loved dearly… Use those wings to soar in the sky once again. Morning is coming little brother…and so is my message. Take to the skies as a way to remember me. I love you.”

Baron had tears falling more, before he was about to question him Baron found himself sinking back down as his hand was freed. Falling into darkness once more… looking up to see the stars fading, yet he didn’t feel fear…but a desire to fly. Smiling warmly as he shut his eyes, feeling at peace after so long. Now awakened with a soft gasp as he looked at the ceiling, and looked over to see a sleeping Rina. “….Cornelius….” Baron whispered, looking over to the alarm clock to see its almost dawn. Feeling the determination to fly once again.

Quietly getting up as he grabbed his tools and equipment. After that, he quickly called his Uncle… “Hugo, you awake?” Baron softly asked as the Blacksmith barked out.

“BOY!! It’s 5 in the Morning!! Rina told me you were asleep! Go back to bed and wait for ya daughter!” Shouted the tired and angry Blacksmith, “And I thought my shift was coming up next week to make sure she’ll respond back!”

“I know! But there is something I want to ask! Would you like to help me fix my glider? I’ll explain everything when you get here! But please keep it down!” Baron sheepishly spoke in return. Keeping his voice down to not wake up his wife, but also covering his phone thanks to the outburst.

“….Fine. Let me grab my equipment and tools. And sorry for the shouting there…I’m tired lad…but honestly, I think we all are…including Aries. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Hugo was honestly tired and angry he was waken up, but he know Baron long enough if something comes up…especially the stress and worry.

The two hanged up as Baron raced over to his barn, opening the doors to see something under the tarp. Carefully removing it to reveal his wind powered glider, now dusty and possibly some damage within it due to not using it anymore. “Alright Core, one last time in the sky… for you and everyone. Like the old days. The Silver Comet shall Sore the Skies once again.”

[reddragon-cowboy]

can i ask for unusual hcs 5, 6, and 26 for both?;;

send me a # to learn an unusual hc about my muse! | @hartxstarr

5. how many blankets / pillows do they like to have on their bed?

One pillow is all he requires to wander after one's dreams, or as an alternative, he could do without a pillow all together to accomplish such a feat. Aboard Bebop is where he usually slumbers on the couch, occasionally found on the mustard-colored piece of furniture more times than in his own private quarters upon his own bed. Blankets appear absent when he rests in the living room, but one cover is found on his mattress if anyone peeks inside.

One pillow isn't quite enough to fill her satisfaction, rather, there are at least four pillows that sits at the head of her bed, at least for the purpose to warp her arms around one to cuddle her body against. A single sheet and thick blanket are spread over the surface of the mattress.

6. what do they normally dream about? nightmares or nonsense?

Sometimes, there are memories of dreamscapes which his mind crosses over like a bridge, memories that form a dark, blank slate when his eyes open to a new morning, mind having completely forgotten what he dreamt the night before. He can't recall what happens during those long hours of rest, visions of night dreams drizzle away as reality steadily dominate his senses as he's whisked back to the present. Spike's relationship with dreams is complicated. On one hand, he longs to be wrapped up in the gentle arms of dreams that whisper something sweet, loving, and everlasting, brushing away the pain brought on by years of heartache and tears unshed. And on the other hand, nightmares love to chase after him in a never-ending cycle, gripping his heart in terror and fright he's incapable of escaping from. He has little control of what may transpire within dream-like events behind eyes closed, frequently utilized to evade reality, but if given the choice, he'll perpetually dream of the scent of roses and tranquility.

Familiar faces surfaces amongst crowds of people, faces that invoke feelings of nostalgia as memories of long ago rush through her dreams. There are certain locations and places that tugs at her body to travel at the blink of an eye. Dusty old books. Sitting beneath the shade of a tree, an inch away from the touch of sunlight. Rich voice of a mother loveful and full of warmth. Roses and honeysuckle. Trapped beneath the shadow of abandonment that looms over and follows wherever naked feet goes. Dreams imitate a secret lover that visits her bedroom every night, slipping through the window between red curtains and moonlight.

26. what are they most passionate about? what could they debate about for hours?

I think it's common knowledge to know that Spike was passionate about Julia. The mere sound of her name would bring him to absolute attention as everything else prior would go out the window, the vision of her beautiful image in his mind's eye holding his focus on her alone. But something else also swims within his lonely heart, beneath the surface of deep waters where fish dwell, for who could know love is an aspect that lies within the backdrop of a former criminal's utmost desires ? How love saved him for a time where he felt truly alive ? For once, have something ( or someone) worthy to live for ? This is a passion he rarely delves into with anyone, and despite his own resistance to the topic, Spike can't help but listen when it's mentioned.

Niah is passionate about life, nature, and every living creature. Whether big or small - strongest and the weak. Simple things that may seem insignificant to others hold as much value as anything else. Show her something often viewed as trivial, and she'll evaluate its value with sincere words uttered of a deep meaning. She's a supporter of the weak, forgotten, and people ( or creatures) who have been abandoned in some way or another. A child could offer her a dandelion and she'll preserve its merit between pages of a book. Life is precious and should be cherished. Don't take it for granted. There is much to live for.

[needs-a-lil-spice]

The things that make me love you

[What exactly is it about Astarion, that makes the Tiefling just want to hold him and never let go? What draws him to the beautiful elf beyond his beauty? It’s small things, really. And one day he catches himself noticing all of them throughout the day until he just can’t contain himself anymore.]

- Astarion x Arijon (Male Tiefling Bard) - Very light Act 2 spoilers (mostly for behavior and small details) - No specific CWs

Also can be read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49580941/chapters/125341804

It already started early in the morning. The little glances that Arijon couldn’t keep to himself, always gravitating towards his precious Elf. Like watching those nimble, pale fingers carefully style his hair back into shape after a night of rest - gods know how he was able to manage this without the use of a mirror, consistently every time - and feeling the urge to gently tug a strand of it behind his ear and leave the ghost of a touch behind. When those brilliant ruby eyes met his own and his lips turned up into a soft smile, it made the Tiefling’s heart skip a beat; no matter how many times he saw it, it would always fill his heart to the brim with adoration. Well, at least he wasn’t kept entirely yearning and he was able to sneak a small good-morning-kiss in before the group had to pack up camp and move on; there was always something important or another to get to after all. But it didn’t keep him from wishing there was just a day of mundanity in which he could indulge in not having to worry about some illithid beings or devious plots, relax and dote on his beloved.

The rest of the day was much of a repeat of its morning however. Despite having their hands full of things to look into, now that they reached Rivigton and Baldur’s Gate was closer than ever, he kept stealing glances whenever he could. Maybe it was his bardic nature, finding a sort of poetic beauty in even the simpler things, but with Astarion he barely had to try. The way the sun kissed his face at certain angles would make even the gods envious he believed. But it was about more than just his outer beauty. Now, obviously it was true that he possessed a lot of outer beauty, but it was when those perfect features morphed into a joyous smile or when he heard his cute little laughs, when his heart was truly soaring. The latter was especially bad, because Arijon never was able to suppress a wide smile on his own when he heard it. It was infectious, really.

He also enjoyed his somewhat eccentric personality; in the very beginning the excessive sass and snark wasn’t… Well, he wouldn’t say he had disliked it - quite the opposite actually, it was entertaining - but he hadn’t been used to a person like him staying so close for so long. Usually Ari’s own personality clashed with people like him, despite him not minding them and in the beginning he probably did clash with Astarion, too. He had no ill feelings for the Elf’s initial deception and manipulation - he understood the pain he had gone through and the feeling of needing to do this in order to survive - but without it, there was a chance he wouldn’t have been allowed to get as close to him as they had been. Or maybe they would have, who knew. The romantic in himself wanted to believe they would have found their fondness for each other one way or another, but he wanted to stay realistic. And that was the point, really. They had grown fond of each other, all unique personality traits included. And sometimes Ari found himself being a little sassier or snarkier or more realistic than he ever thought he’d be. Astarion had rubbed off on him. And he believed he probably had some effect on him in turn as well. But as it stood in this moment, the bard could listen to him for hours on end, laugh at his dramatic reaction to people’s different issues and fight the urge to just kiss him every time he filled his heart with joy over these mundane things.

There was also the heartache, however. Every time a new piece of information of Cazador’s endless torment was brought up, Arijon always felt two emotions violently fighting for dominance in his body: The pure rage when thinking about all these horrible things this Vampire Lord Bastard had done to his love and the sheer endless sorrow he felt in turn when he imagined for a moment what it would have been like to be in his skin. Every time he heard something new, he so desperately wished he could take it away from the Elf. But he couldn’t. All that was left was the primal urge to just hold and tell him he’s there, even if it wouldn’t undo anything that had happened before but maybe bring the smallest of comforts to him. To be there for him when he wants to open himself and share his burden. When they came back to camp that night, Arijon reflected on the turbulent day. A lot had happened and a lot was yet to come but when he glanced back at his most special companion, he felt his worries wash away, replaced by all the feelings that came in their stead. He was so beautiful and cute and intelligent and cunning and surprisingly silly once you really got to know him and it was all too much; he yearned all day and finally needed to act on his urges.

Once everyone got comfortable for the night at camp, Arijon approached his beloved with steady steps. “Hello, my sweet~” Astarion greeted him with that wonderful smile of his that he wished he could put onto a canvas. Before the Tiefling even got a word in, though, the Elf continued. “Now, I could be wrong - which I don’t think I am - but you’ve been staring at me awfully much today, haven’t you.” He didn’t seem to mind, considering he said it with his usual charisma dripping from every word. It did however fluster the bard a little being called out like this so bluntly. “Oh! So you’ve noticed, hah.” He chuckled, trying to play off his fluster. Astarion raised a brow and smirked at that. “Darling, I think half of Rivington has noticed. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve very much enjoyed your undivided attention, I’m mostly just wondering what I’ve done to earn it.” It sounded like idle, charming banter, not unlike most of their day to day interactions, but Arijon felt like there was a hint of truth in his words; that he truly wondered how or why he ‘earned’ it.

With a soft smile, the Tiefling stepped closer and embraced his beloved. For a second he felt a familiar flinch, just like the first time he put his arms around him, so unfamiliar to the pale man, so full of emotion. But unlike the first time, Astarion didn’t take as long to free himself from his daze and return the embrace, leaning into it and making the Tiefling’s heart beat so loud he wondered if his love could feel it in his own chest. “It wasn’t anything specific. You’re just… wonderful.” He began softly. “Every time I look at you and see you smile or hear you laugh or crack a joke or share parts of yourself.. I just want to hold you and never let go.” He said honestly. Luckily Astarion couldn’t see his face, dark-tinted due to embarrassment and adoration alike. As a bard he obviously was one for the big declaration of love being flung around in his circle but truly, honestly meaning them and saying them to your lover? It was a very different experience and still made even the bard himself nervous at times with how much they made him feel.

But he had to lean back, had to see Astarion’s face, had to know if those words reached him and had any kind of impact. And much to his delight those ruby eyes looked back at him widely, mouth slightly agape as if in shock. “O… oh. Is that so?” The Elf mumbled, having lost his wit for just a moment before he smiled brightly at his Tiefling. “I mean, who could possibly blame you, aha~” Ah, there we go he had found his wit again, together with that cute laugh of his. Now the Tiefling truly couldn’t hold himself back and kissed his cheek, then his cheek bone, then his temple; just peppering him in tiny declarations of love, feeling his Elf’s arms tighten around him in response. “Gods, you’re adorable.” Ari whispered, smiling ear to ear like an idiot. Instead of answering - maybe he couldn’t with the way he looked at the man in his arm, oozing emotion he didn’t know how to properly put into words - Astarion tilted his head and responded with a kiss on his own, soft on the Tiefling’s lips, loving. “Am I now…?” He whispered back when their lips left each other. Sometimes he seemed so shook when being offered the same acts of adoration that he threw at Arijon. “Very much so.” Astarion sighed softly. “Well, aren’t you just sweet.” He followed this up with another kiss before the two finally let go of each other. “Now… I think it’s my turn to prepare the provisions for today. Care to join me?” The Tiefling smiled, letting his fingers run down Astarion’s arm to gently take hold of his pale hand, tugging it just slightly as if to invite him to the fire. “With pleasure, my dear.” He drawled, following along and looking forward to the rest of the evening relaxing with his beloved and his companions.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Advent Calendar: Day 17 @lokitheliesmith​

Beth sets the ribbon between the pages before she closes the book and sets it on the nightstand. She had been listening to Hela’s breath until it became slow and deep, an indication that the girl had fallen well and truly asleep. She leans over and brushes the lightest of kisses against her brow then secures the covers around her shoulders. Every movement is slow. Designed to do as little disturbance as possible. After all, tomorrow is the Solstice and she has a few more things to do. There are holly and evergreen boughs in place, set at intervals with candles. Stockings hung from the hearth in place of a tree, in which she’s got gifts to put in. Those gifts are not as extravagant as they might have been while they remained in Midgard. There is of course a variety of confections both sweet and savoury to appeal to both their tastes. A particularly special book of fables and mythologies from her homeland, so little known beyond the islands, written by none other than the titular Merry Monarch, King Kalakaua. One from the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen. Stories so woven into the fabric of human imagination it’s unlikely that Hela has read them all. Loki was so much harder to provide for; she’s showered xer in jewels, tokens made by her own hands, and everything in between. There really isn’t anything about the world left behind that might hold xer interest or fascination that she could possibly think of. So instead she got Loki a phone which is sort of impractical but then she loaded up several terabyte micro-sd cards with all the music she could imagine. A host of different genres and tempos, for every possible mood that xe could have. Airpods too, just in case xe wanted some semblance of privacy to go along with choice. The final gift is less that and more a symbol, however stupid it might seem. Three necklaces of equal size, all of which are wrapped in rose-gold refined from one of the Riley mines. Each wrapped wire bears the axis mundi, the World Tree, Yggdrasil. The one thing common to them all, whose branches reach into ends of the heavens, whose roots go into the deepest of the lower realms, and whose trunk connects every path. For Loki, it is green opal. A stone all about the heat, meant to nourish and replenish the energies of anyone who struggles with emotional heartache, who knows trauma and grief. A stone to help release fear, to strengthen all bonds between others regardless of the nature of the relationship. For Hela, tiger’s eye. Its unblinking eye is a powerful guardian talisman to ward off evil. To strengthen the will and one’s inner mana which might lay dormant or repressed. It is known to enhance one’s empathy and inner vision, able to pierce even the heaviest of mystery’s veils. For herself, turquoise is known as a spiritual counsellor, dispelling negative energy and balancing mood swings. It is sworn to soothe depression and exhaustion. There’s other traits too, though she doesn’t find them particularly necessary. Once each of the wrapped gifts find their way to where they belong for morning’s surprise, and she’s laid her glasses aside, she seeks Loki out. Not at all surprised to find xer at the window. She slips an arm around xer waist, and leans into the space nearest xer ribs. It occurs to her that this is the first Solstice that Loki has not been entrapped. And yet, here they are together. Serene in the quiet. She’s almost loath to break it, but she does. “I would know your mind, Ástvinur, were you to share it. And if not...have you anything you’d like in particular, with your birthday coming up?”

[rockislandadultreads]

Domestic Fiction: 2022 Releases

Mad Honey by Jodi Picoult, Jennifer Finney Boylan

Olivia McAfee knows what it feels like to start over. Her picture-perfect life—living in Boston, married to a brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon, raising a beautiful son, Asher—was upended when her husband revealed a darker side. She never imagined she would end up back in her hometown, living in the house she grew up in, and taking over her father's beekeeping business. Lily Campanello is familiar with do-overs, too. When she and her mom relocate to Adams, New Hampshire, for her final year of high school, they both hope it will be a fresh start. And for just a short while, these new beginnings are exactly what Olivia and Lily need. Their paths cross when Asher falls for the new girl in school, and Lily can’t help but fall for him, too. With Ash, she feels happy for the first time. Yet at times, she wonders if she can she trust him completely . . . Then one day, Olivia receives a phone call: Lily is dead, and Asher is being questioned by the police. Olivia is adamant that her son is innocent. But she would be lying if she didn’t acknowledge the flashes of his father’s temper in him, and as the case against him unfolds, she realizes he’s hidden more than he’s shared with her.

Never Meant to Meet You by Alli Frank, Asha Youmans

Self-appointed fixer of other people’s woes Marjette Lewis is uncharacteristically determined to keep to her side of the driveway when it comes to her flawless neighbor Noa Abrams. Professionally, Marjette has her hands full as she prepares for a new class of kindergarteners and her first year of teaching without her best friend, Judy, as campus “Black-up.” And at home, her son’s budding manhood challenges her expectations, and her vexing ex-husband continues to be a thorn in her side. But when tragedy strikes Marjette’s street, and an unexpected child shows up on the first day of school with an uncle who has all the class moms aflutter, Marjette is forced to contend with both her neighbor and her own heartache over losing the life she once thought was guaranteed. Through laughter, tears, and the gift of found family, Marjette and Noa navigate the rituals of loss together and discover the strength to remake their lives—whether they meant to or not.

This Time Tomorrow by Emma Straub

What if you could take a vacation to your past? On the eve of her 40th birthday, Alice's life isn't terrible. She likes her job, even if it isn't exactly the one she expected. She's happy with her apartment, her romantic status, her independence, and she adores her lifelong best friend. But her father is ailing, and it feels to her as if something is missing. When she wakes up the next morning she finds herself back in 1996, reliving her 16th birthday. But it isn't just her adolescent body that shocks her, or seeing her high school crush, it's her dad: the vital, charming, 40-something version of her father with whom she is reunited. Now armed with a new perspective on her own life and his, some past events take on new meaning. Is there anything that she would change if she could?

Other Birds by Sarah Addison Allen

Between the real and the imaginary, there are stories that take flight in the most extraordinary ways. Right off the coast of South Carolina, on Mallow Island, The Dellawisp sits—a stunning old cobblestone building shaped like a horseshoe, and named after the tiny turquoise birds who, alongside its human tenants, inhabit an air of magical secrecy. When Zoey comes to claim her deceased mother’s apartment at the Dellawisp she meets her quirky and secretive neighbors, including a young woman with a past, two estranged middle-aged sisters, and a lonely chef, and three ghosts. The sudden death of one of Zoey's new neighbors sets off a search that leads to the island's famous author and to a long-estranged relative of the sisters. Each of them has a story, and each story has an ending which hasn't yet been written.

[90363462]

Ye's Donda Academy shutting down for school year, per principal

The Donda Academy is shutting down for the school year after the recent antisemitic statements made by the academy's founder, the artist formerly known as Kanye West.

According to an email from academy principal Jason Angell, a copy of which was obtained by ESPN, the decision to close was made by the Grammy Award-winning artist, who has legally changed his name to Ye.

"Our leadership team will be working diligently to assist all families during this transition, ensuring that every scholar has what they need to succeed in their next community in a prompt and gracious manner," Angell wrote. "We intend to begin afresh in September of 2023."

However, another email obtained by TMZ and signed "Parents of Donda" called for students to return to the academy Thursday, leaving the status of the school in some doubt.

Amid the closing announcement, the Donda Academy's boys' basketball program, which has three top-50 recruits in the Class of 2023, has seen invitations to three prominent high school basketball showcases rescinded.

The Hoophall Classic and Kentucky Play-By-Play Classic both confirmed in statements that Donda Academy would no longer participate in their events, with Scholastic Play By Play Classics founder Jeremy Treatman expressing remorse for the effect on the academy's players.

"Kanye's words and actions violate our values as a company and a country, and what we seek to ensure at all of our events -- a spirit of diversity, sportsmanship, inclusion, equity and mutual respect," Treatman said in a statement. "While we are firm in our reasoning for this decision, it does not diminish our heartache and regret for Donda's hardworking student-athletes who will lose out the most as a result of Kanye's actions."

A third event in which Donda Academy was scheduled to play, the City of Palms Classic, replaced the academy with The Patrick School (New Jersey) on Thursday morning.

Donda's boys' basketball team features Kentucky commit Robert Dillingham, who is ranked No. 8 in the ESPN 100, and fellow top-50 seniors A.J. Johnson and Javonte Taylor.

For weeks, Ye has made antisemitic comments in interviews and social media, including a Twitter post earlier this month that he would soon go "death con 3 on JEWISH PEOPLE," an apparent reference to the U.S. defense readiness condition scale known as DEFCON. His posts led to his suspension from both Twitter and Instagram, although new posts have been made on Instagram this week since the suspension.

Donda Academy's shutdown is the latest fallout from Ye's controversial remarks. Adidas said Tuesday that it was ending its partnership with Ye, while Los Angeles Rams star Aaron Donaldand Boston Celtics star Jaylen Brown both announced this week that they were leaving the Donda Sports agency.

Donald addressed his decision to cut ties with Donda Sports on Thursday, saying he came to that decision after discussing Ye's comments with his wife, who also helps with the defensive tackle's marketing.

"It's just a situation where a lot of things was going on that I felt that wasn't in the best interest of my family or what we got going on and what we believe in," Donald said. "So I think it was best for us to go our separate ways."

ESPN's Sarah Barshop and The Associated Press contributed to this report.

[bzedan]

I started playing Fallout: New Vegas in December so! Please enjoy my favourites from Mojave Radio, along with a couple songs from my personal FNV playlist, which is mostly Spanish-language from a similar era. I feel like this month's playlist is a wider range than usual, but I think it hung together well in the end. It is wild to me that 'Bonkers' by Dizzee Rascal is from 2009 and that I first listened to it with LJ friends on a PC that later died because of (or partly thanks to) a moth that had found its way inside. Related media to some of the songs:

If you're of a specific age cohort then MGMT's 'Bubblegum Dog' video is like a buffet of music video style references.

Proceeds from Bjork's 'Oral' will be used to support a legal case against commercial salmon fisheries in Iceland, which are poorly regulated.

Because I do listen to mid-century music, 'Remember (Walkin' in the Sand)' by The Shangri-Las came up naturally in my suggested and when it began I was delighted to realise it's the "oh no" song from various short video formats.

Future Islands are a joy to watch preform live, but their concerts are also enjoyable in video form.

Anyway here's a link to December's playlist on Spotify, with the track list below the cut.

And embedded if you like that

'So Long to the Holidays' - Ugly Casanova

'Someday' - The Strokes

'Untitled' - Interpol

'D.A.N.C.E' - Justice

'Time After Time' - Cyndi Lauper

'Mi Querer' - Amandititita

'The Tower' - Future Islands

'Couldn't Get It Right' - Climax Blues Band

'Burning Down The House' - Tom Jones

'Let's Live For Today - Uncensored Version' - The Grass Roots

'Wasn't Born to Follow' - The Byrds

'Bubblegum Dog' - MGMT

'Something To Feel' - Dixon Dallas

'Oral' - Björk

'Is That All There Is?' - Peggy Lee

'In the Shadow of the Valley' - Bing Nathan

'Believe' - Izzy Perri

'Gone for Good' - Matt Berry

'Bonkers' - Dizzee Rascal

'Jargalant Altai' - Batzorig Vaanchig

'Big Iron' - Marty Robbins

'Viva la Quinta Brigada' - Rolando Alarcon

'Life Goes On' - The Damned

'Remember (Walkin' in the Sand)' - The Shangri-Las

'Girls Like You' - Vitamin String Quartet

'Ride My Bike' - Maude Latour

'It's a Sin' - Eddy Arnold

'Stars Of The Midnight Range' - Johnny Bond

'Lazy Day Blues' - Derek Scott

'good morning afternoon and chill' - demon gummies

'Let's Ride Into The Sunset Together' - Tony Vice

'Heartaches By The Number' - Guy Mitchell

'Tu Castigo' - Luis Pérez Meza

'Allá en el Rancho Grande' - Tito Guízar

'Goodbye Old Paint' - Arthur Russell

'Flashback Blues' - John Prine

'A orillas del Cauto' - Ñico Saquito

'This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) - 2005 Remaster' - Talking Heads

'This Is the Day' - The The

[willtasker]

Nothing Bleeds Red Enough

(As is the habit of my better, younger writers, I feel putting a trigger warning at the top of this entry is needed, but as I’ve not written it yet, I can’t say what the TW is for. That said: General TW for mental health, suicid*l ideation, and things in that orbit.)

I found out around Thanksgiving that Amanda married someone.

This information limped its rotten way across my path because Tiktok has a really nefarious way of using contact information. They’ve since edited it to look less intrusive, but basically: if your information is in someone’s contact list, the Tiktok app will tell you. That is to say: I no longer had her information in my phone but she apparently still has mine, and her new last name appeared with the axiom “People who have your contact info” (the descriptive in quotes is now changed to “people you may know” - which is much more passive tense).

Some basic math is: the guy she cheated on me with and then left me for is her new husband.

We were on and off, staying in touch over the years because we couldn’t shake the supernatural connection. I would think about her at random, and then she’d email me the next day after having no contact for years. Or I’d email or call her. Back and forth. This would freak her out very badly, and while I do not believe in supernatural events but I have had experiences that would make other people believe in them.

For three years, its a perfect relationship. Everything - everything - worked. Until it didn’t. I had gotten an AirBNB for our anniversary and that night she rolled over and gave me her back. No explanation. The next morning, she dumped me in a coffee shop in Boston with no explanation. I begged her in a text for a reason why.

No explanation.

Some years later, standing outside my father’s house, having found my stepmother dead the night before from a heart attack, she replies.

She loved me but wasn’t in love with me. There was someone else and it was long distance and not stable but was probably for good. She had new and better friends and the support she wanted. She wished me well.

This burned into my mind’s eye much worse than the Death that just entered my life. This was the supernatural, spiritual connection I had mentioned, but used for evil. The timing was entirely too on the nose.

I do not believe in supernatural events but I have had experiences that would make other people believe in them.

It is now the end of 2022. I am not letting go so much as forcing myself to move on. The head tells me to, the heart never lets go. I missed some big benchmarks growing up, like how to forgive myself or how to move on from a break-up, lessons that protect you from life. And I was never told what to do or what to feel when I would open up an old app to find she’d deleted our entire chat/image history while I was asleep.

And now I find out she’d rather fuck someone else than be with me. That all her perfect annunciations over the years amounted to meaningless. That all those years of bonding and sweet words and shared pain and scars and dreams meant nothing.

I’d have had children with her, if she’d asked. And now its obviously better that we hadn’t.

She lived in my head as a paragon of what a partner should be for a very long time. To say I put her on a pedestal isn’t high enough. And for all this heartache, I miss the lie that I believed.

I miss it so much it makes me literally physically ill.

I’ve had a rolling panic attack since the start of December. I had no idea why and couldn’t shake it. I fully believe this news, this update, however ... big a nothing it is, is the reason I’m sleeping 4 hours a night, having premature ventricular heartbeats, unable to sit still. Finally, at 2 in the morning a few days ago, I burst out crying like Claire Danes and it wasn’t nearly long enough, but it was what I needed. And I need more. Release is addictive when all you know is anxiety.

I’ve also spent some of today looking for a new therapist. I haven’t been to CBT in a few years and I think I’m way overdue. I probably need some short term anxiety medication too.

I wouldn’t need any of this if I had her though. And I can still hear her voice in my head and remember how she touched and the smell and pull of her hair and every gentle sigh and look in her face when she found me looking back.

I do not believe in supernatural events but I have had experiences that would make other people believe in them. 

Our one mutual friend hates Amanda now. HATES. Like - no lie - “old Italian woman spitting on the floor if I mention her” hates. She doesn’t hate her ex-husband but she hates Amanda for what she did to me. Calls her a narcissist and a body empty of soul. I somewhat agree; you can’t pull someone this deep into your ocean and then be dispassionate when they drown.

But I fucking miss her.

I hate myself for it too. But I fucking miss her.

I don’t plan on contacting her. I don’t even know if the old email addresses or phone numbers or any of that is still valid and I don’t have any of her social media information. Its better that way because, Lord knows, we use to stalk each other.

But I fucking miss her, you know?

I’ve struggled with suicidal idealization since age 10. My last therapist said it was more that I wanted to be free of misery than to be actually dead. I needed to know I had that way out, or an escape hatch or place to run to if it ever got so bad. And I won’t lie: I am struggling with this again because of her. I’ll likely never act on it, but its also a hard thing to live under. Its a shadow that also paints everything else under it.

And while I have no doubt she’s happy - or at least happier - I also know (not believe, but KNOW) that she still hears that instinctual call we share and that she knows what she’s dragging me though and maybe - just maybe - its keeping her awake at night sometimes too.

I do not believe in supernatural events but I have had experiences that would make other people believe in them. 

She is probably the biggest one of them all.

[atelliernana]

La-Dee-Da-De-Da, La-Dee-Da-De-De

Shouto Todoroki X Reader

Headcanon: Renai Circulation has been played religiously in the Class A dorms at some point

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There’s a lot of things that are amiss about Shouto. Foremost, his scar that covers a quarter of his face. He doesn’t remember what he looked liked before it and he never bothered to look for the pictures of his younger self - there’s probably a few if not none given how much of it was spent inside the training ground of their manor.

The scar has also changed along with him, what was once was a burning red has now faded to a more demure pink. Over the years, the excruciating pain it rendered has transpired beyond the layers of his skin and somehow has found home within his heart, at some point he recognized that the kind of pain its giving is beyond what pain relievers can cure.

It doesn’t help that the memory of how he got it lives rent-free (as Kaminari would often say) in his mind. It lingers around his mind every now and then - in the morning when he wakes up, in the middle of Ectoplasm-sensei’s lecture, while sparring with his classmates, sometimes more pronounced as the girls of his class boil the water for the weekly tea session. He came to the conclusion that the scar will permanently be a part of him and that the heartache it incurred may be the kind that time may never mend.

Which leads him to his second case, the scar on his face isn’t the only one he has. Physically its the most prominent, the others littered over his body are more of badges of honor - a gift for every successful mission, a reminder of him getting stronger after every training session. He can’t deny though, that the worst of his scars are those he have emotionally and mentally too. He has learned to shut himself inside, hide all the pain of yesterday, and move towards everyday with as much indifference as possible. He’s hiding a lot of demons inside him, he’s actually quite troubled that it makes him afraid if people found out half of the thoughts that linger in his mind.

And finally, there’s the case of his family. His highly dysfunctional family who was once viewed with awe due to the prominence of his father’s title as number one hero. His highly dysfunctional family who’s now infamous all over Japan after the their eldest brother spilled the tea (As Mina would often say during the weekly tea session) during his grand reveal. Tea spilled, both literally and figuratively, is never good he thinks.

After the war, their family has chosen to collectively move forward and tackle their ghosts as bravely as they can. They’re all bonding in therapy which is as good as a normal family picnic, he thinks, because now Natsuo is less snide in the presence of their father, their mother is trembling less when in the presence of the number 1 hero. His sister is much more calm and carefree in her approach with them. His father, although still very distant from them, is slowly making his way to them. Lastly, his brother is seeing him again. They’d been sharing some meals lately albeit in the confines of the psychiatric ward. But he looks forward to eating with everyone seated onto to their tatami flooring with a table of dishes prepared by their mother and sister.

In conclusion, Shouto thinks there’s a lot of things about himself that is amiss and perhaps not perceived by those around him. Things that he needs to work on. Things that he should stop hiding in the corners of his mind and openly address. But, Shouto is still only 17 years old. There’s a lot of things he wish to do. And while most of it is slowly being ticked off in his stay in Yueei, there’s a still a handful he wish to experienced.

One of those, is the feeling of being close to you. Somewhere along your friendship with him, Shouto has found himself quite enchanted by you. The increasing beating of his heart whenever you are around, the unconscious coloring of his skin whenever you call his name, the shivers he feel whenever he sees you. After a long deliberation with Sero’s shoujo manga collection and actual advice from his friends, it is now known to him that you are more than a friend and someone he wished to know romantically.

Because with you, Shouto exists as a whole. He’s the 17 year old hero course student with immense potential to be number 1 but also the 17 year old boy who’s had a troubled past. Shouto doesn’t feel the need to hide himself from you. Shouto wants to deserve you. Shouto wants to be whole for you.

There’s a lot of healing that he needs to do and while he wants to be the best version of himself before pursuing you, he also cannot let his youth fly away. His childhood was taken from him already, he doesn’t want to regret any of his youth. He loves you now and whether you feel the same or not, he’d rather you know than have regrets about it later (he’s read enough shoujo manga to know that communication is key!)

So with a taken chance, he leaves a letter on your desk. Hoping that his feelings will not be ignored. And if fate is not in his favor, then he’ll work hard till both your timing is better. After all, he’s yours truly and forevermore.