#indie untangled

[indiesellersguild]

Convention Schedule

Hey y'all, we'll be posting a small flood of things later on today, and we're starting with the convention schedule! (ID in alt text.)

You can also participate on your own time (videos will be available on-demand) but the schedule shows the times we'll actually be live. Book a ticket for as little as $1 at indiesellersguild.org/convention.

[aestheticsyoutubers]

emma, emmainthemoment ↳ untangling the indie yarn dyer drama: sock obsession yarns

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kickstarting the Red Team Blues audiobook, which Amazon won't sell (read by Wil Wheaton!)

Red Team Blues is my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller; it’s a major title for my publishers Tor Books and Head of Zeus, and it’s swept the trade press with starred reviews all ‘round. Despite all that, Audible will not sell the audiobook. In fact, Audible won’t sell any of my audiobooks. Instead, I have to independently produce them and sell them through Kickstarter:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/21/anti-finance-finance-thriller/#marty-hench

Audible is Amazon’s monopoly audiobook platform. It has a death-grip on the audiobook market, commanding more than 90% of genre audiobook sales, and every single one of those audiobooks is sold with Amazon’s DRM on it. That means that you can’t break up with Amazon without throwing away those audiobooks. Under the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act, I can’t give you a tool to convert my own copyrighted audiobooks to a non-Amazon format. Doing so is a felony carrying a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for an act that in no way infringes anyone’s copyright! Indeed, merely infringing copyright is much less illegal than removing Amazon’s mandatory DRM from my own books!

I’ve got amazing publishers who support my crusade against DRM, but they’re not charities. If they can’t sell my audiobooks on the platform that represents 90% of the market, they’re not going to make audio editions at all. Instead, I make my own audiobooks, using brilliant voice actors like Amber Benson and @neil-gaiman​, and I sell them everywhere except Audible.

Doing this isn’t cheap: I’m paying for an incredible studio (Skyboat Media), a world-class director (Gabrielle de Cuir), top-notch sound editing and mastering, and, of course, killer narrators. And while indie audiobook platforms like Libro.fm and downpour.com are amazing, the brutal fees extracted by Apple and Google on app sales means that users have to jump through a thousand hoops to shop with indie stores. Most audiobook listeners don’t even know that these stores exist: if a title isn’t available on Audible, they assume no audiobook exists.

That’s where Kickstarter comes in: twice now, I’ve crowdfunded presales of my audiobooks through KS, and these campaigns were astoundingly successful, smashing records and selling thousands of audiobooks. These campaigns didn’t just pay my bills (especially during lockdown, when our household income plunged), but they also showed other authors that it was possible to evade Amazon’s monopoly chokepoint and sell books that aren’t sticky-traps for Audible’s walled garden/prison:

https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/columns-and-blogs/cory-doctorow/article/90282-we-wrote-a-book-about-why-audible-won-t-sell-our-book-and-snuck-it-onto-audible.html

And today, I’m launching the Kickstarter for Red Team Blues, and even by the standards of my previous efforts, I think this one’s gonna be incredible.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

For starters, there’s the narrator: @wilwheaton​, whose work on my previous books is outstanding, hands-down my favorite (don’t tell my other narrators! They’re great too!):

https://wilwheaton.net/

Beyond Wil’s narration, there’s the subject matter. The hero of Red Team Blues is a hard-charging forensic accountant who’s untangled every Silicon Valley finance scam since he fell in love with spreadsheets as as a MIT freshman, dropped out, got his CPA ticket, and moved west. Now, at the age of 67, Marty Hench is ready to retire, but a dear old friend — a legendary cryptographer — drags him back for one last job — locating the stolen keys to the backdoor he foolishly hid in a cryptocurrency that’s worth more than a billion dollars.

That’s the starting gun for a “grabby next-Tuesday thriller” that sees Marty in between three-letter agencies and international crime syndicates, all of whom view digital technology as a carrier medium for scams, violence and predation. Marty’s final adventure involves dodgy banks, crooked crypto, and complicit officials in a fallen paradise where computers’ libertory promise has been sucked dry by billionaire vampires.

It’s a pretty contemporary story, in other words.

I wrote this one before SVB, before Sam Bankman0Fried and FTX — just like I wrote Little Brother before Snowden’s revelations. It’s not that I’m prescient — fortune-telling is a fatalist’s delusion — it’s that these phenomena are just the most spectacular, most recent examples in a long string of ghastly and increasingly dire scandals.

Red Team Blues blasted out of my fingertips in six weeks flat, during lockdown, when technology was simultaneously a lifeline, connecting us to one another during our enforced isolation; and a tool of predatory control, as bossware turned our “work from home” into “live at work.”

The last time I wrote a book that quickly, it was Little Brother, and, as with Little Brother, Red Team Blues is a way of working out my own anxieties and hopes for technology on the page, in story.

These books tap into a nerve. I knew I had something special in my hands when, the night after I finished the first draft, I rolled over at 2AM to find my wife sitting up in bed, reading.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I had to find out how it ended,” she answered.

The next day, my editor sent me a four-line email:

That. Was. A! Fucking! Ride! Whoa!

Within a week, he’d bought Red Team Blues…and two sequels. I finished writing the second of these on Monday, and all three are coming out in the next 22 months. It’s gonna be a wild ride.

Kickstarter backers can get the usual goodies: DRM-free audiobooks and ebooks, hardcovers (including signed and personalized copies), and three very special, very limited-run goodies.

First, there’s naming rights for characters in the sequels — I’m selling three of these; they’re a form of cheap (or at least, reasonably priced) literary immortality for you or a loved one. The sequels are a lot of fun — they go in reverse chronology, and the next one is The Bezzle, out in Feb 2024, a book about prison-tech scams, crooked LA County Sheriff’s Deputy gangs, and real-estate scumbags turned techbros.

The third book is Picks and Shovels (Jan 2025), and it’s Marty’s first adventure after he comes west to San Francisco and ends up working for the bad guys, an affinity scam PC company called “Three Wise Men” that’s run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest and an orthodox rabbi who fleece their faithful with proprietary, underpowered computers and peripherals, and front for some very bad, very violent money-men.

Next, there’s three Marty Hench short story commissions: the Hench stories are machines for turning opaque finance scams into technothrillers. While finance bros use MEGO (“my eyes glaze over”) as a weapon to bore their marks into submission, I use the same performative complexity as the engines of taut detective stories. Commissioning a Hench story lets you turn your favorite MEGO scam into a science fiction story, which I’ll then shop to fiction websites (every story I’ve written for the past 20 years has sold, though in the event that one of these doesn’t, I’ll put it up under a CC license).

Finally, there’s a super-ultra-limited deluxe hardcover edition — and I do mean limited, just four copies! These leather-bound editions have Will Staehle’s fantastic graphic motif embossed in their covers, and the type design legend John D Berry is laying out the pages so that there’s space for a hidden cavity. Nestled in that cavity is a hand-bound early draft edition of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues. The binding is being done by the fantastic book-artist John DeMerritt. Each copy’s endpapers will feature a custom cryptographic puzzle created especially for it by the cryptographer Bruce Schneier.

I often hear from readers who want to thank me for the work I do, from the free podcast I’ve put out since 2006 to the free, CC BY columns I’ve written for Pluralistic for the past three years. There is no better way to thank me than to back this Kickstarter and encourage your friends to do the same:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

Preselling a ton of audiobooks, ebooks, and print books is a huge boost to the book on its launch — incomparable, really. Invaluable.

What’s more, helping me find a viable way to produce popular, widely heard audiobooks without submitting to Amazon’s DRM lock-in sets an example for other creators and publishers: we have a hell of a collective action problem to solve, but if we could coordinate a response to Audible demanding the right to decide whether our work should have their DRM, it would force Audible to treat all of us — creators, publishers and listeners — more fairly.

I’ll be heading out on tour to the US, Canada, the UK and Germany once the book is out. I’m really looking forward to as many backers in person as I can! Thank you for your support over these many long years — and for your support on this Kickstarter.

Today (Mar 22), I’m doing a remote talk for the Institute for the Future’s “Changing the Register” series.

[Image ID: A graphic showing a phone playing the Red Team Blues audiobok, along with a quote from Booklist, 'Jam-packed with cutting-edge ideas about cybersecurity and crypto. Another winner from an sf wizard.']

[measuredingold]

7:15

author's note: hello hello hello ! the jolly fic i promised last month. on a roll :-) i have a few trips coming up and i wanted to get this sweet lil fic out before i was away from home. i haven't wrote much for jolly and i just really like how this came out. short and sweet, domestic as fuck. as always, i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated !

pairing: joakim karlsson x reader

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 1.9k

cw/tags: fluff, sweet domestic tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, maybe some angst but it lasts 2 seconds, kissing, ~suggestive~ content, 18+ minors do not interact

Jolly wakes up slowly, a groan slipping from his lips as he stretches his limbs out across the bed. He pauses, realizing the spot beside him was unoccupied and cold, and a frown settles on his lips. Blinking, he sits up and stretches out his limbs again with another groan, looking beside him to confirm that yes, the other side of the bed is definitely empty. 

He doesn't panic, no, because he sees the bedroom door has been left ajar only slightly, but enough to let him hear you downstairs. It's a distant sound, muffled, but he can hear the clambering and chattering of pans in the kitchen and the faint hum of music. The frown on his lips slips away and a smile replaces it soon after, heart twisting. 

He loves mornings like this with you. With their more than hectic schedule now, mornings like this are few and far in-between, so he tries to never take it for granted. Even though he'd much rather drag you back into bed with him and sleep a few more hours, (he flinches at the time on the clock, 7:15), he throws his legs over the side of the bed and pushes himself up. He hisses as his feet meet the cold floor but braves it, shuffling out of your shared bedroom and down the stairs. 

The music gets louder the closer he gets to the kitchen and he's not sure what it is, something easy to listen to early in the morning. Some morning indie playlist you found on Spotify, he's sure. He smiles again when he finds you in sweatpants and an old shirt of his, hair pulled back out of your face. Your back is facing him, humming along to whatever song is playing, and he leans against the wall beside him. Jolly doesn't remember the last time he was able to just... admire you from afar. He's always in your space whenever he's home, the both of you wanting to spend as much time with each other as you can, never leaving each other's side. 

He likes seeing you like this. As corny as it sounds, this is the most beautiful he thinks you are. Still sleepy he’s sure, still in your pajamas, hair thrown in a messy ponytail, cooking breakfast for the both of you. It's something he'll never get tired of.  

After a solid two minutes of silently watching you, he shuffles over to where you stand and doesn't waste time in wrapping his arms around your middle, lips meeting your shoulder.

"Good morning."

"Was waiting for you to come over here." You hum and instantly melt back into his chest. "Were you just watching me in silence?"

"Maybe."

"Creep." 

But he can hear the smile in your voice, which makes him smile, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head before untangling himself from you, leaning against the counter to your right. 

"What's on the menu this morning?" He questions, eyeing the eggs in the pan.

"Eggs and waffles. Wanted some turkey bacon with it too, but was deeply disappointed to find out that we were out." You send him a pout before focusing back on cooking.

"Oh, you poor thing. How will you ever survive?" He teases before reaching out to poke your side gently, causing you to squeak. "I’ll make sure to add it to our ever growing list. You still want to do that today, right?"

"At some point." You nod before reaching over to turn the stove off and then reaching for one of the waffle filled plates that were placed behind him - two for you, three for him. "We also need to clean this place up before you leave. The living room makes me want to peel my skin off... and don't even get me started on your studio."

He hums, almost in an afterthought, and watches you plate the eggs. "We have time, love."

"I know, I just..." You trail off, continuing to plate the food and he watches as your brows begin to furrow like they always did when you were in thought.

He reaches up and rubs his thumb in between your brows. "Your face will get stuck like that."

"Shut up." You grumble, but your face relaxes for just a moment. "I just like having the place clean before you leave. Makes it feel better when you're gone."

It's his turn to frown, brows furrowing as he stares at you. He knows it rough when he leaves. Leaving you here all alone while he's off traveling with the band isn’t an easy thing to do. If it was his choice, he'd bring you with him every time, but he can't. You have responsibilities here... and unfortunately, his responsibilities are elsewhere most of the time.

He doesn't leave for another three weeks, though, and usually you're asking him to help clean up around the house the week prior. Something is obviously bothering you.

"What's on your mind?"

You sigh, sitting the spatula down on the counter after you finally finished plating. "I just... this time feels different. Don’t you think?” 

Jolly cocks and eyebrow up at you. "How so?"

"I don't know." You shrug and come to stand before him, leaning into him and resting your forehead against his shoulder. His arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you closer to him. "You guys are getting bigger, which is amazing. Don't ever think I hate that because I don't, but... the bigger you get means the more tours you get. The more tours you get means..."

You don't say it, voice trailing off, but he knows what your next words will be. The more tours you get means the less time at home. With you. His frown deepens at that.

"Baby..."

"And I don't want to sound selfish. Seriously, I don't! I'm so fucking proud of you, Joakim. All of you. Some of the most deserving people I've ever met, but I..." You sigh again, almost in defeat, and he feels you press closer to him, voice muffled. "I miss you. More than I usually do. It used to be easier, and it still is because I know you'll always come back, but..."

The silence that follows breaks his heart. 

He does remember this last time being away in Europe was a little rougher than normal, constantly thinking about you, wishing you were there with him. It might be because last time they were there you were with him, taking leave from work to join him on their European headliner for this new album. The only thing that really got him through was the fact he knew that when he got home, you'd be right there waiting for him.

"But?" 

"But... it just sucks." You pull back just enough to look up at him, a sad smile settling on your lips. "Wish I could just go with you and not worry about anything else.”

"You could," He's quick to respond. "You've always had that option."

"I know." You mumble, face pressing back against his shoulder. "I feel bad, though. Making you support the both of us. Plus, you know how much I hate flying. I couldn't stand it." 

Jolly laughs at the tiny groan you let out, probably remembering your flight last year to the UK with him and the rest of the band. You had begged Matt to switch seats with you, so he could be by the window and you in the aisle with Jolly squished between you two. One look out the window - while you were still on the ground - had sent you in a spiral. He remembers having to hold your hand the entire flight, and when it was allowed, lifting up the armrest so you could press yourself into his side. He hadn't minded it one bit, finding it endearing that you put all your trust in him to keep you safe.

"You and flying don't mix well." He teases, hands now rubbing up and down your arms. "But... you know I don't mind providing for you."

"I know you don't."

"And I love taking care of you."

"I know you do." You whine, pulling back again to pout up at him. "But you know I can't let you do that. My brain tells me no."

"Tell your brain to get over it and let your boyfriend take care of you." He leans forward, planting a kiss to the center of your forehead. He feels your arms circle around his middle and he smiles against your skin.

"If only it were that easy." He pulls back to find you still staring at him, but a smile has since replaced the pout on your lips. "This'll only suck for a little bit, then it'll become our new norm and it'll get easier. I'm just cranky about it now, but I know we'll figure it out."

"We always figure it out." He hums. "Just tell me what you need from me to make it easier on you while I'm away, and I'll do it."

"There's nothing you can do.” You pause. “Except, maybe, right now… a kiss could possibly fix my cranky mood."

He watches your gaze drop from his down to his lips, and then back up, your own lips puckering dramatically. Jolly huffs out a laugh before happily obliging and leans down, lips pressing against yours gently. Nothing too crazy, a sweet peck, because he still hasn't brushed his teeth, and he pulls back seconds later.

"I love you." You say happily, eyes fluttering shut briefly. 

"I love you, too, baby."

"Alright, I’m not allowed to complain for the rest of the day. Let's eat before all my hardwork gets cold." You step on your tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek before pulling away entirely, reaching around him for both of your plates. "And maybe after, shower? Then go grocery shopping? The fridge is running on fumes... I think I used the last of the eggs and we have maybe half a glass of milk left."

He perks up at that, following you over to the chairs that sit at the island in the middle of the kitchen, plucking his plate from your hands before settling down in his chair. "A shower, you say?"

"Of course that's the only thing you heard." You deadpan, but he doesn't miss the smirk on your lips.

"Sorry. You know my brain likes to focus on the important stuff."

"Perv." You tease, but the smirk has finally settled on your lips fully. "Does that sound good, though?"

"Mhm. Sounds good to me, love."

"Oh! And maybe later we could go to the thrift store we wanted to check out last week? Hit up some other shops, too."

"Oooh, yes. That sounds like a perfect plan.”

It's almost as if the worry from earlier is forgotten as your conversation continues through breakfast, and when you're finished putting your dirty dishes away and dragging him up the stairs to go shower (among other things), Jolly knows that the two of you will eventually figure it out. He knows you two can weather any storm, just like you have for the last few years, and that these worries won't mean much to the two of you in the future. He knows wherever he goes, you’ll be right there waiting for him, and he hopes you know he’d do the same for you.

[shares-a-vest]

"One piping hot cocoa," Wayne announces, setting an Indy 500 mug in front of Eddie, "Extra cocoa."

The boy is sitting at the kitchen island, drawing and taking up what little space is left on the countertop with his tools. He's been sitting there for a good hour now, working on some of his fantasy drawings.

Wayne wants to tell him the dragon he is working on is getting pretty good - quite realistic compared to the wibbly line work he'd started with when he first came to live with him two years back. But he doesn't say anything, just stirring his coffee a moment longer than necessary.

Eddie places his free hand around the mug handle and Wayne stills, hoping the boy will at least stop to take a sip and save himself from a spillage.

"Thanks, Dad," Eddie mumbles, moving the mug a little too close to the paper's edge.

They both pause.

Eddie mid-pencil stroke, Wayne mid-sip.

The boy sets the pencil down and grumbles at the purple streak now painted clean across the dragon, ruining its brilliant sunset-like shades of red, orange and yellow. Wayne tilts his head. He thinks his nephew might have intended to colour the eyes purple.

He also suspects his heart might have just skipped a beat – even if he isn't too sure how he feels about the cause of the awkward silence they have fallen right into.

And their silence is never awkward. Just calm. Peaceful.

Wayne had always been that way anyway, but he'd made an effort when Eddie showed up two years ago, with a duffle bag of clothes, an armful of his favourite books and a beat-up old acoustic.

He wanted to give Eddie time, too. Let him be himself. Guide him without being too militant. Though, considering Eddie's boisterous age (the boy is now twelve – where in the world does the time go?), sometimes that's easier said than done.

But a purple streak ruining a sunset-coloured dragon seems a heck of a lot different.

"I... didn't..." Eddie stutters, scrunching the corner of his drawing in a fist, "I didn't mean that."

The kid scratches his head, brows wobbling and lip quivering as he runs his fingers over the hair, likely remembering he has no curls to twist worried fingers around just now.

Wayne braces a hand on the countertop, willing himself not to curse to the heavens over his own stupidity. A couple of months back, he'd made the downright asinine decision to allow his brother Al to take Eddie on a fishing trip. He was perfectly within his rights as the kid's father to do so.

Well, at least at the time, he was.

But Al rolling back into town with a suspiciously shiny car and Eddie sporting a buzzcut with disappointment in his eyes was the final straw.

He picks at the chipped Cubs logo on his own mug, mulling over the best place to start with this one. But Eddie slips off his stool and books it down the hall, firmly making the decision for him.

He sighs and slides the drawing closer. Turns out Eddie was working on adding details to the dragon's scales with the purple pencil.

Wayne gives it a full few minutes before he heads down to Eddie's room.

He opens the door to find his nephew lying flat on his back with his hood over his face and the drawstring pulled so tight that it only leaves room for a small breathing hole.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he moves to sit by the edge of the bed. Eddie pointedly folds his arms.

"What's going on in that noggin, kid?" he asks, leaning towards the hooded form, "If it hasn't been swallowed up into a fabric void, that is..."

Eddie stills for a moment before puffing out a laboured breath.

"I didn't mean it," he says after a long silence, "Freudian Slip."

"Eddie, you know I haven’t the foggiest what that one means."

Even though Eddie reads a lot of books, Wayne still doesn't know how his nephew comes up with half the stuff he says. Eddie groans and paws away at the tight drawstring. He starts to really struggle with it so Wayne reaches over to help.

"There you are," he says, smiling once he gets the thing untangled and open.

"It doesn't matter," Eddie gripes, waving a dismissive hand before letting it fall back against his chest.

Wayne looks around. Eddie must have tidied his room yesterday judging by the empty laundry basket – even if he didn't place the thing back in the hallway.

He's a good kid.

Wayne pinches his nose, hoping that the prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes will go. He looks down and instead focuses on his striped socks, a pair Eddie gifted him last Christmas that he saves for Sunday afternoons.

"You can call me 'dad' if you want," he finally offers.

"I don't," Eddie bites back.

The first feeling out in the kitchen might have been a hearty thud of his rusty old heartstrings, but this one stings. Wayne nods a little more curtly than he'd hoped.

Eddie huffs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"I don't mean... gah!" he babbles incoherently for a moment like he does when he is frustrated beyond words and trying to mind his manners, "All I mean is, the guy I call 'dad' – or I'm supposed to – sucks. So – to me – the word doesn't mean all that much. And you aren't like him at all. Which is why I didn't mean it."

"I understand," Wayne nods.

He looks up to find his nephew teary-eyed. Eddie used to wail away as a toddler, running around with all his big feelings. But over the last few years, with everything that happened with his parents and now living here, Eddie has struggled to express himself beyond frustration and acid-tongued anger.

Though, as he wipes his eyes, that might be changing. Just a little.

"Any plans for this afternoon?" he wonders aloud, patting Eddie's knee and catching on a dang tear in his jeans.

Eddie shrugs, "Might go practice with the band."

"Ah yes," he smiles, "The talent show."

"We are going into battle," Eddie clarifies, enunciating every syllable with the faintest smile.

"And I expect an invitation to come see your performance, regardless of what that flyer over there calls the thing."

He points to the school's Talent Show flyer Eddie has had pinned to his bedroom wall since the start of the school year.

"Sure thing, Old Man," Eddie says.

"Hey now," Wayne chuckles, "I'm going to draw the line with some other choice terms of endearment, y'know?"

Eddie scrambles to the edge of the bed, a cheeky grin stretching across his face.

"Maybe we should discuss this further over some cold cocoa."

[afewproblems]

Part Four: Final Part Four Mean!Eddie Misunderstandings Au

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Read in full on Ao3

Thank you to everyone that cheered me on @samcoxramblings for your kind words on every post! @flowercrowngods and @barbariansteves for your helpful advice and @zerokrox-blog for your original prompt waaaaay back in February, I'm sorry this took so long but I hope you finally get the comfort you wished for!

***

The kids demand two weeks to prepare for their Hellfire session, insisting that they need this time to debrief Eddie and come up with their game plan, which is fine by Steve.

It also gives him two weeks to decompress from his last interaction with the kid's Dungeon Master, and time to try and untangle exactly how he feels about the whole situation. 

It was nice for things to start moving back towards something resembling normal. The kids seemed happier, even going so far as to begin splitting their time between Eddie and Steve once again. Asking for rides to the hobby shop in Indi from their resident metal-head rather than Steve. It was nice to finally have a little bit more time to himself again.

Even Robin, who had previously been steadfast in her Anti-Eddie stance, had suddenly grown rather tight-lipped about the whole thing.

She had even offered to accompany Steve on his errands for the day they scheduled their Hellfire meeting, citing that she was always up for a grocery run and he may need help bringing everything in.

Which, in hindsight, should have been Steve’s first clue that something strange was going on. 

“So, you ready?” Robin hums as they walk up and down the canned food aisle of Marsh Market, “you can still back out you know?”

Steve smiles and grabs a box of onion soup mix, he’s fairly certain he has some sour cream at home to make a dip of some sort, much easier than the last snack he tried to prepare for the group. 

“Yeah, Robs, I know, I think it should be fine,” he crosses off the soup mix on his list and turns the cart around the empty aisle to head towards the produce section, “the kids are already setting up now so the only thing I need to do is be there,” he shrugs and stops in front of the humming displays. 

Steve waits until the misting stops before reaching for a bag of mini carrots and tossing them into the cart. 

“Can’t believe you trust Henderson to have a key, I can’t believe you hold us at the same level of trust!” Robin grumbles under her breath as she picks up a granny smith from one of the bins and rubs it on the rolled up sleeves of her navy blazer; it’s just slightly too big for her, most likely stolen from her dad’s closet. 

Steve rolls his eyes and continues pushing the cart around the produce area, "careful Birdy, you roll those up anymore you're actually going to turn into Don Johnson". 

"I should be so lucky," she snarks back as she catches up to him by the celery.

She tosses the apple back and forth between her hands, nearly dropping it twice before placing the produce into the cart under Steve’s unimpressed gaze. 

She starts snapping her fingers and shuffling her feet as they continue walking up and down the aisles, going through their list bit by bit. Steve finds himself watching his friend’s nervous fidgeting with curious eyes, it was just a grocery trip, there shouldn’t be anything to really make her act like this, right?

He takes a quick glance around at some of the employees stocking the aisles, in case Vickie or some other pretty classmate of Robin’s is wandering around. 

But, they’re alone.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Robin asks, as Steve folds up the list and turns the cart towards the check out tills.  

She tips the small watch she’s wearing up to her face, her eyes flit back and forth between Steve and the watch as she chews on her bottom lip, which is more than a little odd.

The kids are already at the house and Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire gang won’t be arriving for at least another hour, they have plenty of time?

Robin steps away from the cart and throws her thumb over her shoulder at the chip aisle, “you do realize that you’re going to have like ten teenagers at your house right? You think veggies and dip is enough?”

“I’m ordering pizza later, I think this is fine?” Steve says slowly, gesturing at the cart, confusion and suspicion saturate his words as his eyes narrow at his friend. 

“Robin,” Steve murmurs, walking the cart closer towards her, “what's going on?”

“Nothing, why would you --nothing!” She stutters as her freckled face pales slightly. 

Steve smirks, Robin is probably the worst liar he’s ever met, and it's always endearing whenever she tries. 

The last time she had lied to Steve, it had been about the mascara wand she had dropped onto the passenger seat, staining the leather just slightly, and smearing the black makeup all over the floor covers. 

Robin had panicked and insisted that had been there before she had sat down.

Steve had been sitting in the car with her at the time.

He knew a Robin lie when he saw it, but he also knew it wouldn’t take long for her to crack. 

“Okay!”

There it is.

“Listen,” Robin hisses sharply, she steps closer until she’s nearly whispering in his ear in the empty chip aisle, “I’m stalling you okay?”

“Probably not something you should be telling the person you’re stalling but okay?” Steve snorts as he leans onto the cart handle, “also, this was the worst place to go to stall us, it's two in the afternoon on a Wednesday, no one else is here”.

“I know!” Robin groans, letting her face fall into her open hands, she slowly lifts her face once more and lets her fingers drag across her forehead and cheeks, pulling at the skin, “I should have said no, I wanted to say no, but they used Will--”

Steve nods, “and you can’t say no to Will, yeah I gotcha”.

The words register after a beat.

“Wait, backup, the kids put you up to this? The unsupervised shitheads in my house right now?”

Robin nods, her blue eyes wide and the barest of smirks still covered by her hands.

“Oh christ,” Steve mutters under his breath, “do I even want to know?”

Robin drops her hands away from her face and scowls for a second before sighing, “I would absolutely love to tell you,” she shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling, “better yet, I’d love to just take you to Indi for the day, forget about this completely, but those God Damn kids know exactly what to say,” she looks at him once more in barely concealed exasperation, “how do they always know what to say?”

“How angry do I need to be, on a scale of like one to ten?” 

Robin stares at him consideringly, her eyes scanning his face, “I mean, if I were you, it would be at like, a hundred,” she says eventually, “but since it’s you?”

“Maybe a four”.

Steve nods and drums his hands on the cart handles, blowing out a long slow breath as he makes his decision, “how much more time do they need?”

Robin looks at her watch again and smiles this time, “Well this bought them another five-ish minutes, so maybe another half hour?”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled five dollar bill, “come on, I’ll getcha a coffee or something?”

“Wait, do I even need these snacks? Robin?”

Robin was wrong, this at least warranted a five for the groceries alone. 

***

The drive back is uneventful, Steve did end up going though check out, rationalizing that, no matter what, he needed some veggies for the rest of the week so there were worse things he could have spent the money on. 

Robin had bought him a coffee from the gas station down the road. There wasn't enough creamer in the world to make that palatable so he leaves it in the cup holder while driving back. Even with a hot chocolate Robin hasn't fared much better. 

"Okay, well that's the worst five dollars ever spent," she groans after taking a sip. Robin wrinkles her nose and sets the cup in the other empty holder beside Steve’s before sneaking a quick look at her watch once more, “worth it though,” she says with a small smile.

It slides off her face after a moment when she realizes that they’ve turned down her street, “Steve?”

He looks between her and the road, tilting his head as she touches his elbow gently. 

“You can just come over you know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to and that includes letting people force you to--” Robin snaps her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth. 

She shakes her head and takes her hand back, “sorry, I promised not to say anything”.

Steve pulls over onto the Buckley’s driveway and finally turns to face Robin as much as the driver's seat will allow. 

“Still sure about this whole thing only warranting a four?” he asks softly as a bubble of anxiety begins to expand from his stomach and into his chest, as though he’s absorbed her nervous energy over the course of the afternoon.

Robin shrugs, “I don’t know, but,” her blue eyes bounce back and forth between his own, “just don’t let them make you make a decision you’re not ready for,” she chews her lip again, “no one gets to push you around but me”.

Steve laughs as Robin leans out of her seat to give him a quick, but firm, hug before she opens the door and steps outside. As soon as she’s out of the car, Steve wishes he had asked her to stay, to come with him and hold his hand through the unknown. The bereft, hollow feeling from before returns in full force as she walks up to her front door. 

She turns around and holds up her thumb and pinky as she lifts her hands to her face, mouthing, ‘Call me later,’ as she waves with her other hand. 

She stays outside as Steve slowly reverses, hesitating on the street for just a moment as Robin walks backwards the rest of the way to her door, she moves her hands, motioning for him to get going. 

Steve nods once and takes a deep breath as he shifts into drive and heads down the street.

It’s just the kids, he tells himself, how bad can it be?

***

By the time Steve pulls into his driveway, he’s nearly turned around to retrieve Robin and insist that she come with him at least five times. Even now as he pulls the emergency brake for the slight incline of the Harrington driveway, he considers starting the car again and leaving. 

The last time he felt this anxious to be home was after graduation, after he’d been rejected from every school he’d applied to and knew there was no getting around that conversation with his dad. 

That conversation had ended with the crack in the table, a hastily completed Scoops application, and his parents leaving for three months. 

If it hadn’t happened he wouldn’t have met Robin, so at least there had been a silver lining on that occasion. 

He’s not sure if there will be one this time.

Steve gets out of the car before opening the back door to grab the paper grocery bag from the store, he leaves the full coffee and hot chocolate cups with a grimace and makes a mental note to throw them out later before locking the car door. 

Steve slowly makes his way to the steps, balancing the bag on his hip as he rifles through his pants pocket for his house key. 

He looks around the street and spots Eddie’s van parked a few houses down. Great.

Steve knew that Eddie and the others would be showing up around now, even before Robin went ahead and spilled the beans about whatever it was the kids were secretly doing, but he had still hoped for a moment to just breathe before he had to face the inevitable.

Steve takes a deep breath and grabs the door handle, scoffing as it opens immediately. He makes a second mental note to scold Dustin for leaving the door unlocked for just anyone to come in --especially since the rest of Hellfire was already here apparently.

“Hey assholes, the snacks are here,” Steve calls out as he steps over the threshold, tossing his own keys into the dish on the side table. 

He kicks the door closed and locks the deadbolt with a roll of his eyes, “and I do include myself with that statement,” he adds under his breath with a smirk.

Steve slides off his shoes and pauses, looking around the foyer.

It’s quiet.

Where there is normally an abundance of yelling and laughter, of the kids arguing amongst themselves, or Eddie’s usual dramatic storytelling, there’s nothing. 

Steve walks into the kitchen and puts the bag onto the counter, “guys?” he calls out again, only to be met with silence. 

Steve makes his way into the dining room through the swing door and stops in his tracks.

The table is gone. 

“What the fuck?” he hears himself whisper as he walks into the middle of the space, nearly into the hanging light in the center of the room --he’d never noticed just how low it was, what with the table that was normally there to stop him from walking directly into it.

“What the fuck?” Steve hisses again, his heart starts to race as he steps around the light and spots the open sliding door to the backyard. 

“If you little fuckers decided to move my grandmother’s table when there is a perfectly good patio table out there, I swear to Christ--” 

But the kids aren’t outside either. 

Eddie freezes as Steve walks around the corner of the house, he’s standing next to the dining table with a piece of sandpaper in his hands.

“Steve,” Eddie squawks in surprise, quickly hiding the sandpaper behind his back, “hey!”

Steve’s not entirely sure just what he’s looking at as he takes another step further into the yard. Eddie’s normally black ripped jeans are covered in a fine layer of dust, his wild curls have been pulled back into a messy ponytail away from his face, and an open container of wood filler sits beside him on the concrete patio.

Steve takes another four steps until he’s close enough to touch the wooden surface, his mouth hanging open as he takes it all in. 

The surface of the table has been sanded down in its entirety, removing the beautiful deep cherry varnish, but the crack in the center has been mended, some kind of slightly darker putty has sealed the gaping wound that had marred the surface. 

“Can you,” Eddie’s voice shakes, drawing Steve’s attention once more, “can you please say something, I can’t tell if you’re mad or what?”

“You fixed it,” Steve whispers, his eyes fixed on the table, he reaches to run a shaking hand over the surface.

“Careful,” Eddie says softly, grabbing Steve’s hand before it can touch the center with long sure fingers, “that still needs about an hour or so to cure”.

Steve looks from the table to his hand, still cradled in Eddie’s own, before looking up to see two big brown eyes staring into his own. 

“I don’t understand,” the words come out in a whisper as Steve swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, “why?”

“Well,” Eddie murmurs as he squeezes Steve’s hand once before threading their fingers together and dragging Steve towards one of the pool loungers in the grass.

Eddie sits down and pulls Steve with him to sit, he feels a deep flush begin to wash over his neck and the tips of his ears, it's impossible to hide in the bright sunlight this time --not that he’d even be able to with Eddie’s firm grip on Steve’s hand.

“Those kids of yours are pretty genius,” Eddie says slowly, deliberately, his gaze never wavering from Steve’s face, “and they love you so fucking much man”.

Eddie clears his throat and rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles, “and there seems to be some confusion about how I actually feel about you, so allow me to uh, lay it all on the,” he gestures with his free hand towards the dining table and smirks, “well you know”.

Steve feels his heart leaping out of his chest, he can’t sit here, listen to this, he’s heard it before, it isn’t real.

Steve moves to stand up from the lounger but Eddie is faster as he manages to grab Steve’s other hand, holding him in place.

“Eddie--”

“You said no one had ever bothered before,” Eddie barrels on, speaking so quickly that Steve hardly understands at first. He squeezes Steve’s hands lightly again, the skin warmed metal from Eddie’s rings press into the palms of Steve’s hands.

“No one’s ever tried to fix it, have they?” Eddie breathes out as his eyes flit back and forth, searching Steve’s own, “would you let me try?”

For a moment, Steve lets himself just sit with the words. 

Lets himself indulge in the soft, almost reverent way that Eddie asks. He lets the warmth of Eddie’s hands tether him to something resembling hope.

Before he shakes his head.

“You don’t know what you’re saying Eddie,” Steve growls, but the words lack any true bite.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Eddie insists, he gets up from beside Steve and kneels in the grass in front of him, “but I don’t think you do, I think we’ve been talking past each recently Steve, and it took speaking to a bunch of people --way smarter than me, to realize it. So here it is--”

“Don’t,” Steve shouts at the same time that Eddie whispers, “I like you,” and for a moment neither moves. 

Steve slowly takes his hands out of Eddie's now slack grip. 

He lowers one hand down to the edge of the pool lounger, gripping it so harshly that his knuckles slowly fade to white, while the other he brings up to cover Eddie’s mouth.

“Don’t say something you can’t take back,” Steve says softly. 

Eddie just stares for a beat, his forehead pinched in a terrible frown, before he reaches up to cup Steve’s cheek and gently removes the hand covering his mouth. He smiles softly and lets his thumb gently run over the crest of Steve’s cheekbone.

“Good thing I don’t want to take it back,” Eddie insists, he slides the hand on Steve’s cheek down to hold his chin firmly between two fingers.

“Steve,” Eddie lifts himself up so he’s balancing on the balls of his feet, just high enough that they are at eye level now, “I spent a very long time holding onto things that weren’t even remotely true, and they made me act like an asshole, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that sweetheart”.

“What if you change your mind, what if I--”

“Steve, what the fuck could you do at this point that would shock me?" Eddie says with a derisive laugh, he lets go of Steve's face to press his hand briefly to his own chest. 

"I’m a drug dealing, satan worshiping, murderer who almost ate it in another dimension from killer demon bats".

Eddie grins as he peppers his speech with air quotes but the edges of it are jagged, and the good humour doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Steve breathes out sharply through his nose and shakes his head, “I get angry sometimes, I say things I don't mean, I…" 

He sees himself surrounded by ceramic shards again, crying as he sweeps up his own mess, and shudders.

It's enough for Eddie to nod, and shuffle closer still.

"Pot," Eddie says softly as he pokes Steve in the sternum with this pointer finger and then brings it around to point at his own face, "kettle". 

Steve chews his bottom lip as his thoughts swirl together and fly apart, disjointed and frenetic, "I just," he swallows around a harsh lump that begins to form in his throat, "I don't want you to think that I'm something that I'm not”.

Steve closes his eyes, missing the way that Eddie freezes at the words, but he can’t stop now --he has to get this all out or he’ll never be able to.

"That I've changed, that I'm this thing you've built up, for your sake, because let me tell you, it's pretty heartbreaking when everything you hoped was real turns out to be all in your head".

Steve opens his eyes as Eddie makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut. 

He’s still kneeling in front of Steve, even closer now, almost close enough that Steve can count the light dusting of freckles on his nose, and it feels like his heart will burst at any moment. 

Fuck it.

"I've been halfway in love with you since you woke up from the hospital," Steve blurts out, “only to find out that you didn't feel even remotely the same about me, this whole time,” he breathes in shallowly as Eddie pales.

"I don't think I could take it if that happened again Eds,” Steve continues as he drops his gaze to his knees, “I think it would crush me".

"That's why I don't want you to say something you can't take--"

The words die on his lips as Eddie grabs his face and kisses him.

It’s harsh and clumsy, their teeth clack as Eddie loses his balance, pushing himself into Steve. They fall over the lounger, Steve’s shoulders and lower back hit the metal  frame hard, forcing a muffled groan out as Eddie falls on top of him with his own faint, ‘oof’.

Eddie tries to raise himself up by his hands before falling even further as one of his hands slips through the rubber slats of the chair and he crashes into Steve's stomach.

Eddie babbles a string of incomprehensible apologies as he frees his trapped hand and manages to gently straddle Steve. Eddie hovers over him and lifts his hands to cup Steve's face.

“Shit baby, are you okay? Fuck, that’s not how I wanted that to go at all, I’m so shit at this”. 

“Can we, can you get off and then we can get off the stupid chair?” Steve wheezes as he tries to catch his breath and shift his weight away from the metal still pressed into his back, “lets go inside, we can..talk about this”.

Eddie curses under his breath, his expression nervous, and moves his legs off of Steve and the chair before holding a hand out to help Steve to his feet.

Steve rubs his back as he leads the pair back inside through the sliding glass door, not daring to turn around and face Eddie. 

He feels his own mortified flush spread across his chest and neck and winces; this is probably the most he’s blushed in years all in the span of a single afternoon.

He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me, plays on a seemingly endless loop in Steve’s head as he walks into the house, he can’t help the wide smile that blooms over his face --despite the other, darker thought that whispers in his ear, be careful, be careful, be careful.

Steve takes them through the empty dining room and into the living room before dropping onto the couch with another low groan. He looks up as he realizes that Eddie is no longer beside him.

Eddie stands in the entryway to the living room, he’s holding a thick handful of hair over his mouth and watching Steve carefully.

“Can’t talk with you all the way over there,” Steve huffs. 

He tries for a smile but the effect is lost as Eddie continues to stand and stare at him, looking as though he could bolt from the house at any moment.

“Please come here Eds,” Steve tries again, his voice small. He takes a deep breath, if Eddie can be brave so can you, he thinks as he holds out his hand.

Eddie hesitates for just a moment more, his eyes flick beyond Steve to the hallway linked to the foyer and back, it’s so quick Steve nearly misses it. 

Still, he keeps his hand steady, holding it aloft.

Eventually Eddie takes a tentative step, then another, slowly moving forward until his fingers brush Steve’s own. He takes a seat next to Steve on the plush gray couch but doesn’t relax as Steve turns his body to face him. Eddie tenses even further as Steve gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

He opens his mouth to start but Eddie beats him to it.

“I’m so sorry Steve,” Eddie whispers, his voice strained and thin as he takes his hand back, “I just fucking attacked you? Jesus, I," he cuts himself off, whatever he had been about to say trapped behind the teeth that dig into his bottom lip.

"I mean," Steve mumbles, hating the hunched line of Eddie's shoulders, "I tell you I've been in love with you for months and you kiss me, that makes sense to me?"

"Stop doing that," Eddie bites out as he stands up, slapping his hands on his knees to launch himself away from the couch.

He paces the living room, not looking at Steve and getting progressively more agitated as he walks.

"I apologize and then you turn it around on yourself, why do you do that? Just let me apologize!"

Eddie halts suddenly as he straightens and faces Steve, it's as though a lightbulb has blinked on in the ether as Eddie speaks his next words slowly and carefully, "stop letting me off the hook Steve, be honest with me".

"I have been honest with you," Steve tries but Eddie shakes his head.

"Nope, you've told me some of your stuff today, but not why you keep downplaying everything, why you're not just telling me you're upset, it's like you're censoring the stuff you think I don't want to hear, come on”.

"My stuff," Steve mutters under his breath as a hot flicker of irritation licks at his ribcage.

"Yes," Eddie says, throwing his hands into his hair in frustration.

"Everybody censors themselves Eddie, you think I tell the kids everything? That I've told Robin everything?"

At this Eddie blanches, surprise etched over his forehead as his eyebrows climb into his wispy bangs.

"But Robin--"

"Knows enough, but not everything,"Steve scoffs as he crosses his arms over his stomach, "and she doesn't need to".

Robin may know his parents are hardly around, she may have formed her own opinions, assumptions about what she thinks is going on; but Steve has gotten very good at hiding these things -especially over the years. 

Pulling out the King Steve persona, make them laugh, make them mad, watch this hand while the other pulls the wool over their eyes. 

"Then tell me," Eddie says softly, but there is a challenge to his words. 

He shifts his stance slightly, putting more weight on his left leg as he cocks his hip out to the side, "shock me Harrington". 

Steve shifts on the couch, feeling pinned under Eddie's gaze, before swiping a tired hand over his face and dropping it into his lap.

"That crack in the table happened just before I graduated," Steve says softly, his head tipped down so the words tumble into his knees. 

He ignores the sharp intake of breath from Eddie, not daring to look up as he continues,  "my uh, my dad opened the rejection letter from Vincennes, that one had just been delivered that morning I think". 

Steve breathes out slowly and picks at a hangnail on his left thumb, he hasn't ever spoken about this to anyone, he's never really managed to talk about his home life growing up without side stepping things. 

There had been moments where Steve thinks Tommy and Carol might have had their suspicions, but they never asked and Steve wasn't in a position to talk about it.

"I think that was at the beginning of June, so, so his logical conclusion was to uh, go looking for the other letters, the ones I must have received already". 

Steve barks out a laugh, but the sound rings out hollow in the large living room, he startles slightly as the couch dips down next to him as Eddie sits, close enough that his knees are brushing Steve's own.

He doesn't say anything, but it's enough for Steve to breathe out and keep going.

"And he found them, my dad, in the shoebox I kept in the back of my closet". 

"I don't know why I had even kept them," Steve shakes his head, "I should have thrown them away".

Steve absently traces a faint white line across his temple, staring past his knees into the patterns of the ornate area rug, "I got home from school and he had the letters waiting for me". 

"He laid them all out on the dining table," Steve sweeps his hands out, setting the scene in his head, "like you see in those detective movies right? He just needed some string to connect them all to me". 

Steve shivers and closes his eyes, the words still echoing fresh in his mind, the hot spittle that hit his face as his father cornered him against the wall still makes him flinch if he thinks about it too hard.

"He asked when I was planning to tell him about the rejections, and I couldn't give him an answer," he reaches up and pinches his nose, just once, blinking a few times as he wills away the gathering moisture.

"I didn't raise you to be this way Steven, like some fucking ungrateful coward --look at me when I'm God Damn talking to you!" Richard seethes as he slams the flat of his palm into the center of the table, his Harvard class ring splitting the wood as it connects with a loud crack.

Richard doesn't look down, his hand slides to one of the letters, snatching it from the surface as he steps around the table, towards Steve, in three sure strides. He backs his son towards the wall, looming over Steve as he shoves the paper into his face in one hand while the other grips the collar of Steve's T-Shirt.

"What will people think, huh, our only son didn't get into college, Hagan got in for chrissakes," his dad shakes him once, forcing Steve's head to connect with the wall, "what am I supposed to tell people Steven, what are we going to tell your poor mother?" 

"I thought that Wheeler girl was supposed to be smart, tutor you or something," Richard scoffs as he finally lets go of Steve's shirt collar, "or did she finally come to her senses?"

Steve sneers before he can stop himself, "I didn't think you were even around enough to see that dad--"

The blow comes swiftly, catching him across the temple, his father's class ring comes out to play once again as a hot burst of pain blooms across the entire left side of his face from the backhand. 

"Don't you ever speak to me that way again, you want to be a big man Steven? Just see what happens". 

Steve blinks once, coming back to himself, "my dad, um, he has a problem with anger, with uh, expressing it I guess".

"But that isn't what this is about," Steve whispers, and this time he can't keep the wobble from his voice as he speaks.

"I'm afraid, I'm just like him, that I could do what he did if I got upset enough, and you," he breathes out sharply but the sounds more like a sob than anything else, "you want me to be honest?"

Steve finally lifts his eyes up to meet Eddie's own. Eddie, who looks as though he wants to melt into the floor, his shoulders tense and his own eyes seem suspiciously shiny as they stare back at Steve.

"Why couldn't you be honest with me, huh?" Steve whispers, "from the beginning?" 

A tear breaks the surface, tracing down Steve's cheek. He manages to catch it roughly with the back of his hand before reaching up to press the heels of both his hands into his eyes --as though the pressure could stop the building deluge he knows is inevitable.

"I was so angry with you when you told me that you hadn't meant what you said in the Upside Down," Steve manages to speak through the tightening of his throat as he drops his hands back down into his lap, "that I smashed a plate in my kitchen after you left, I don't, I don't know what happened". 

His breath quickens suddenly and every other word comes out as a gasp, "but it's like my worst fucking fears h-have come true and I don't, I don't know what to do, I don't, I--" 

"Oh sweetheart," Eddie says softly as he reaches for Steve, pulling him into his arms with gentle fingers, "oh, I gotcha".

Steve lets himself be moved, for his head to be tipped into the crook of Eddie's neck and his body tucked into Eddie's chest. 

Steve tries to slow down his breathing, to stop the shuddering of his chest as he fights the tears. 

"It's okay," Eddie tries but Steve shakes his head.

"It's not," he bites out, the words taper off into a whine, "it's not--"

"Okay, you're right, it's not," Eddie says so softly Steve nearly misses it.

"I'm so, so, sorry Steve," Eddie murmurs into Steve's hair, holding him tighter as Steve finally gives in and lets himself cry. 

He's not sure how long they sit for, eventually Steve feels a steady hand card through his hair while the other strokes down his arms, he feels the tension in his shoulders begin to melt away and the tears slow to a gentle trickle.

"I'm an idiot," Eddie huffs out, the breath flutters Steve's hair, making him twitch at the sensation.

Steve reaches up and wipes at his face with tired hands. The skin feels warm to the touch and puffy around his eyes and his nose which refuses to stop running, he must look like an absolute sight right now, he thinks to himself with a grimace.

"You're not an idiot," he manages to croak, but Eddie's already shaking his head sharply, turning himself to look at Steve.

"Oh believe me, I've fucked up before, pretty spectacularly, but this takes the goddamn cake sweetheart". 

"And you're right," Eddie says slowly, carefully, "I shouldn't be harping on about you hiding how you feel when I'm the reason why we're in this mess".

Eddie chews his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth before pulling away from Steve entirely as he reaches up to cup Steve's face between his hands.

"I'm sorry for not being honest with you Stevie, and I will spend every day trying to make it up to you if you let me?"

Steve looks at Eddie, really looks at him.

He takes in the drooped curve of his shoulders, the subtle pink of the tip of his nose and the glassy sheen in his brown eyes. The way his chest has stopped rising and he drops his hands away from Steve the longer he openly stares at the metal-head, the way Eddie anxiously spins and spins and spins the rings on his hands the longer he waits. 

It’s an easy decision to reach out and place his own hand on Eddies own, to halt the frantic movements with a gentle squeeze.

“So,” Steve says, grinning as Eddie finally looks up at him once more, "on a scale of helping to chauffeur the kids to finishing fixing the table, what kind of making it up to me are we talking about?"

The smile Eddie gives him is nearly blinding as he launches himself at Steve, gathering him up in his arms. His hair smells like sawdust and there's the barest hint of some kind of cologne that Steve can't place.

Eddie leans back into the couch cushions, laughingly wetly and taking Steve with him. The sound makes his chest ache as Steve realizes just how much he’s missed Eddie’s laughter. He buries his face in Eddie's neck as they cuddle into one another, letting themselves sit with nothing but the sound of the occasional car driving down the street outside or the humming of grasshoppers through the screen door to the backyard.

"For what it's worth," Eddie huffs, breaking the quiet, a hint of dimples revealing themselves as he smiles, "I've never met the guy, but from the sounds of it, you are the farthest thing from being like 'Ol Dick Harrington".

Steve says nothing but feels something in his chest finally unclench for the first time in weeks.

"Besides, there's nothing like a good plate smash every now and again Stevie," Eddie hums as he runs his thumb over the crest of Steve's cheekbone again.

"That's what Robin said," Steve mumbles, as he leans further into Eddie with a smile, "she came over that night, after". 

"A wise and terrifying woman," Eddie says sagely, "who I hope to never piss off again".

He stops suddenly and looks up at Steve, a nervous pinch to his brow as he plays with a loose curl hanging in front of his face, "I'm glad you guys have each other," Eddie says slowly, letting his thumb stroke Steve's hand absently, "that you have people in your corner and--”

Eddie swallows, his eyes darting back and forth between Steve's eyes as he finally seems to steel himself.

"I hope you'll let me be one of those people".

This nervous, quiet Eddie, is so strange to take in, but then again Steve's also never been on the receiving end of so many apologies all at once, it's just shy of being overwhelming at this point.

"Oh come off it Eddie," Steve huffs with a roll of his eyes, "you had me the moment I saw that fucking table outside and you tried to hide the sandpaper behind your back --real smooth by the way".

The way Eddie stares at him in surprise and that same look of awe from before, tells Steve that was the right thing to say.

Eddie barks out a wet laugh and squeezes him tighter, tipping his face to nuzzle Steve's ear, "I missed you teasing me".

"That was the worst part about all of this," he shudders once and drops his head to Steve's shoulder, "I thought I lost my friend, but I have you back".

"Yeah, you have me Eds," Steve says softly.

Steve rests against Eddie, uncaring that the position is growing more uncomfortable as the arm tucked closest to the metal-head falls asleep. Eddie holds him with such gentle reverence that Steve feels as though he may just burst from happiness at any moment. 

Everything he's wanted for months, has finally fallen into place.

It's quiet for another moment. Steve plays with one of Eddie's hands, running his fingers over the calluses from playing guitar and the eclectic rings decorating his knuckles.

Eddie clears his throat after a beat, swallowing once, “so uh, earlier….that wasn’t exactly how I pictured our first kiss you know?"

Steve feels a small grin slowly bloom, he's not quite facing Eddie the way they're sitting, so he can play coy a little longer.

 “You’ve pictured it huh?” 

Eddie snorts “Oh yeah, you have no idea, there’s usually more tongue involved and less chipped teeth”.

Steve nods, letting them sit for a moment longer, letting himself be chased for once.

Eddie pulls back slightly, leaving his arms loosely wrapped around Steve, “think we could uh, try again?”

“Will you mean it as much as you did the first time?” Steve says with a smile as he rubs his lip with his thumb and flushed cheeks.

“You liked that huh, always knew you were a freak like me Harrington,” Eddie barks out, his eyes shining with mirth as he leans closer to run the tip of his nose down Steve's before nuzzling them together, "wanna make some good memories in this house Stevie?"

“Only if you’re with me Eds,” Steve whispers against Eddie’s lips as he slowly leans in. 

Steve’s heart races, anticipation flooding his veins and filling his chest with a giddy realization that he finally, finally, gets to have this. 

That he knows Eddie finally, finally, feels the same way.

He’ll call Robin later, let her know about Hellfire’s plan, the apology, and maybe even the truth about everything he’d kept hidden away for so long. The old hurts soothed and the lid of the box in his mind permanently open now, the lid wrenched off its hinges so as to never close again. Maybe he could let people in, to let them know him. 

For now, Steve lets himself be lowered onto the couch, lets Eddie's hands roam freely, over Steve's shoulders, his neck --letting his fingers gently brush the long scar from the Demobat tail, before lifting one hand to cup his cheek while the other climbs into Steve hair, threading his fingers through it and giving the locks an experimental tug.

Steve's hands make their way up Eddie's back, under his shirt, tracing over the raised scars on his sides. Eddie shoots Steve a wicked grin, his eyes crinkle at the sides as he lets his weight gently fall over Steve, catching himself with his hands on the couch cushions on either side of Steve's face, effectively caging him in. 

Eddie moves slowly, deliberately, it's not nearly as brutal as the first time but Eddie kisses like a wildman starved, licking into Steve's mouth and grazing his bottom lip with harsh teeth. 

It feels like Steve is being consumed, slowly, carefully.

It's overwhelming in the best way. The feeling of his soft lips against Steve’s own, the harsh stubble that rubs against Steve’s chin. The smell of weed, and sawdust, and cologne invades his nose.

Eddie pulls back briefly before leaning down again to place a soft kiss against Steve’s lips.

“How's that for a second kiss?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and a wide smirk pulling at his slightly puffy lips.

Steve scoffs and tugs at Eddie’s shirt collar, “I dunno, maybe we need to check again?”

Eddie’s laughter rings out loud and long in the Harrington living room, as he leans down again and hugs Steve tightly.

For the first time in a long time, Steve feels himself relax. 

He lets the weight of Eddie press him into the cushions and releases a long contented breath, the Harrington house, finally feeling warmer than it has in a long time.

I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed working on it! This was the first fic of this length that I was still actively writing as I was updating that I've actually completed and I'm pretty damn happy about that! I was so worried about abandoning this guy and I'm glad I was able to finish it, hopefully it has come to a satisfying conclusion <3

Taglist: @zerokrox-blog @samcoxramblings @thosemessyvibes @liketheocean @vampireinthesun @themostunoriginalpersonever @merricatty @hyperfixationgoddess @hippieg1rl420 @mysticcrownshipper @estrellami-1 @clumsiluni @messrs-weasley @the-obsessed-nerdist

[hongcherry]

pretty please (stay with me) || c.sc | 5

“After being assigned a fashion show for your big senior project, you set off to find volunteers to make it successful. However, when you meet Choi Seungcheol and his unfriendly clique through your volunteers, you realize they’re an unwanted package deal you can’t escape from. Can you handle Seungcheol’s obnoxious friends, and can he handle your brash behavior?”

🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (afab)

🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Slice of life (!!!), slow burn, drama, fluff, angst; Unrequited enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, college au

🍒 Warnings: General tws + seungcheol's not smart with his words, name calling not in bed (bitch), degradation (no in bed), mention of murder (jokingly), slut-shaming

🍒 WC: 11.6k

🍒 Betas: Sarah, Indi, Kelly, Freya 🤩

🍒 Author’s Note: I love seeing everyone's reactions to the chapters so far! The last chapter was the calm before the storm, so prepare for lots of angst in this chapter 🫣 Thank you for reading, and please enjoy the early upload ♥️

also read here: AO3 | Wattpad

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

Waking up in Seungcheol's bed is a lot more relaxing this time.

Partly because Seungcheol has your back pressing against his chest, an arm slung over your body, and his head nestled against yours. You rest an arm over his as you take a deep breath, recalling the memories from last night. The events flash in front of you as if you’re clicking through a view master. From Dae and you drinking to both of you on the floor, to hitting Hajun, to the argument you had with Seungcheol, to having his body moving with yours.

You thought you were going to get closure last night, but you only opened the wound wider. It’s going to be harder to stay away from him. At this point, you don’t want to either. You just need to find a way to stop seeing his business friends every time you see Seungcheol. If anything, you are more willing to find alternatives than completely push him out of your life.

Seungcheol stirs behind you, body untangling from yours to switch sides. You think he’s going to get up, but he just stills again. You peer over your shoulder to look at him. He has his back to you now, so you can’t see his face. You decide to let him rest longer since it’s the weekend, after all.

You carefully climb out of bed and put on the hoodie and boxers he had given you last night. You walk to his bathroom, ready to freshen up, only to remember you didn’t come with anything. 

Your eyes land on his toothbrush. You can snoop around until you find a new one, but you don't want to risk his privacy. You can just use your finger… Ah, whatever, you’ll ask him really quickly, then let him go back to sleep.

Padding back to the bed, you carefully kneel in front of him. 

Seungcheol has never been unattractive, yet you didn’t find him that handsome initially. Though right now, he looks beyond stunning. Strands of his hair lay in front of his face, and his lips are in their natural downward position. Nothing has changed in his appearance from when you first met him, so why does your heart flutter at the sight of him at this moment?

Sighing at your never-ending thoughts, you reach out and shake him gently.

“Seungcheol?” you ask softly so as to not scare him awake. You expect to have to wiggle him a few more times, but he wakes up instantly. His eyes find yours easily and fill with worry as he starts to sit up. You begin to feel guilty waking him up for a silly toothbrush.

“You alright? Are you hurt?” he asks. His morning voice is as deep as you remember. Although it’s still attractive, you find it cute now. You’d fall asleep around him more just so you could hear his voice the next morning.

You give him a tiny reassuring smile. “I’m okay. I just wanted to know if I could have a spare toothbrush.”

Upon hearing your words, his body relaxes. He sits up fully and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. The covers fall down his body, pooling in his lap. You forgot he is naked. Now with the morning light, you can see his chest clearer. You had felt every inch of it last night, even saw it due to his lamp, but seeing it in a new light is another joy. Or perhaps it’s because your mind isn’t as cloudy.

“Of course, baby,” he rasps. The small chuckle accompanied by his response is low, and you want to hear it again.

Seungcheol steps from the bed, letting the cover fall half on the floor. You shake your head at his carelessness. While he retrieves a pair of sweats from his dresser, you pick up the cover from the floor.

“You could’ve just left it there,” he smiles as he strolls past you into the bathroom. You can’t help but make a mental correction in your daydreams—Seungcheol would wear sweats without a shirt.

“It was going to bother me,” you reply and turn to watch him. He leans down, opens the lower cabinet, and digs around until he lifts an unboxed toothbrush.

“For you,” he says and tilts it in your direction. You take it and free the brush. Seungcheol takes the trash from you as he stands, then points to the toothpaste on the counter. “Feel free to use it, okay?”

You nod. “Thank you. I’ll give you a new one in return,” you reply, starting to prep the toothbrush.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Seungcheol tosses the trash in the bin next to the sink, then pauses in his actions, as if debating on what to do. After a second, he quickly grabs his own toothbrush. You watch him silently while you brush your teeth. Soon, Seungcheol is copying your actions, giving you a smile in the mirror when he catches your stare. Your heart twists with affection, and seeing both your reflections—dressed in casual wear and doing a simple act—is all too domestic. 

Almost as if this is something that is normal for you two, but it isn’t. Not liking how comfortable you are starting to feel, you quickly rinse your mouth. Seungcheol reaches down and holds your hair back as you do so. Once you’re done, Seungcheol grabs the brush and places it in the container. He rinses his mouth next before setting his toothbrush down next to yours.

Who knew seeing two toothbrushes next to each other would be the cause of your mental spiral?

You walk from the bathroom and into the living room, trying to find your purse. He follows you slowly.

“You’re not about to make me a one-night stand, are you?” he asks. His voice is playful, but you know it isn’t a rhetorical question.

You think about it, but unfortunately, he’s your ride. The only other person you can call right now is hung over at another person’s apartment.

“I just wanted to see if Dae was okay,” you answer.

“Oh, right,” he says, seeming to have forgotten about her predicament. It doesn’t bother you, though. She isn’t his concern. “I put it over here.”

You turn to see him grabbing it. You walk over, taking it from him before fishing out your phone. Ah, of course. Dead.

Your pout must be evident on your face, because Seungcheol asks, “What’s wrong?”

You flip the phone over to show a black screen.

“No power,” you sigh and toss the useless brick of a phone back into your purse.

Seungcheol glances around, then leaves to grab something from another part of the room. It’s his phone.

He presses a few things on the screen before lifting the device to his ear.

“Hey,” he says and moves to sit on the couch. When he pats the spot next to him, you go over. 

“Yeah, she’s fine,” he continues.

From a close distance, you can faintly hear Joshua on the other end.

“That’s good,” Joshua says. “Dae’s up. She wasn’t doing too well earlier, but she seems better now.”

“Speaking of, Yn wanted to talk to her. Can you give the phone over?”

“Sure thing,” he answers.

Seungcheol gives you the phone with a small smile.

“Thanks,” you mutter and bring the phone to your ear. You lean back on the couch so your head is against the armrest. Seungcheol places your legs over his lap and begins massaging your calves. You give him a smile at his actions, his strong hands feeling nice against your skin. The sight of him shirtless doing a mundane act has butterflies forming in your tummy. You’re about to daydream about him, but Dae’s loud voice snaps you away from those thoughts.

“Did I really puke on you?!” Dae gasps on the other side. You pull the device from your ear slightly at the loud noise.

“Yeah, so not only do you owe me a pair of heels, you owe me a whole outfit too,” you tease.

“Pluh-ease, just take something of Seungcheol’s and call it a deal. I’m sure he’s got some designer clothes you can steal.”

Your eyes snap to him at her suggestion. Seungcheol has his focus on your legs, acting like he isn’t listening in, but the smile on his lips tells you he is.

“I don’t need his clothes,” you reply with a huff. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Considering I’m at a cute stranger’s apartment, in a cute stranger’s room, I’m doing just peachy.”

“You think Joshua is cute?” you ask. Okay, so this isn’t the time for girls talk, but the question leaves your lips before you can stop it.

Dae giggles. “A little. Don’t you?”

Seungcheol’s hands squeeze your legs as if challenging you to say yes.

Despite agreeing with Dae, you answer with a shrug, “He’s not ugly.”

Hopefully, that’s good enough to save your ass.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dae concludes.

Your eyes flicker to Seungcheol to see his reaction. There’s a hint of a pout on his plump lips. You hold back a laugh. Still a baby, you think with a shake of your head.

“Hey, did those assholes leave you alone eventually? I started to black out. I don’t quite remember,” Dae wonders.

At the mention of Hajun and Hana, you avert your gaze from Seungcheol. 

“Sort of,” you trail off. They didn’t, but you don’t want to bad mouth Seungcheol’s friends in front of him. Not that it probably matters; it’s not a surprise you don’t get along. 

“It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” You try to dismiss the topic.

“To an extent, Yn. I know you,” she says, more serious now. “Remember, don’t let them get to you. They’re the real whores. Oh, did they ever take that picture?”

Knowing Dae doesn’t want to let up on the conversation. You start to retract your legs from Seungcheol so you can go to another room. However, he grips your legs so you can’t move. You eye him confused, but he still doesn’t look at you. Sighing, you lay back down.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly.

“Hm. I think Joshua stopped them. He said when he came out, neither of them had their phones out.”

“T-that’s good.”

“I just wanted to ask in case you saw otherwise,” she explains. “I know what I said before, but you’re right. Seungcheol should really lose them as friends.”

You speak fast before she can dive into the topic further.

“Look, I just called to see—”

“Well, besides that. Was Seungcheol nice to you last night?” she interrupts.

Your hands start to play with his hoodie as you try to ignore the fact he can hear everything. The answer depends on which part of the night she wants to refer to. He was not nice the first half, but the second half… You feel a shiver run down your spine at the thought of you two in bed. His hands and lips over your body as he made you feel so, so good.

Not wanting Seungcheol to question your response, you semi-lie, “Yes.”

“Hm,” she pauses. You can tell she thinks you’re lying by your delayed answer. “Did something happen between you two?”

Yes.

“No.”

Dae giggles. “I knew you liked him! You did the two-person tango with him, huh? You send me off to be babysat so you can have some freaky time.”

“Dae!” you scold and pull your legs from Seungcheol’s lap despite him trying to stop you again.

She gasps on the other line. “You haven’t had se—”

You jolt from the couch and briskly walk to the other side of the room.

“I should get going. I’m glad you’re fine though,” you rush.

“Alright, alright. We’ll talk later about that,” she laughs. “Do you need me to get Joshua to pick you up?” she asks. You finally looked at Seungcheol again. He’s looking at you now, face unreadable. Your heart races a little at not knowing what he’s thinking.

“No, I can get Seungcheol to drop me off.”

“Okay. I’ll be home soon and will probably go back to sleep.”

“Alright. Get back safely,” you reply.

“You too, Yn.”

You hang up the call and slowly walk toward him to give the phone back. You hate how silent it is.

“Pretend you didn’t hear anything,” you tell him.

You expect him to bring up your fight with his friends again, but instead, he asks about another part. One that takes you by surprise.

“You were a virgin?” His voice comes out hushed, but it’s so quiet you have no trouble hearing it. Rather than sounding frightened like some others may, he sounds doubtful. To your disappointment, he even chuckles under his breath.

Before you can completely digest his words, he adds, “So, I wasn’t number sixty-seven?”

Your body halts. 

Although you aren’t a virgin, you feel hurt by his implication that you sleep around. It’s then you recall Dae on the phone. You cut her off before she could finish her sentence. You haven’t had sex in a while, having dumped your ex for being a douche and not wanting to hook up with some rando from a bar in the meantime.

“You think I’ve slept with everyone on campus?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady as you look for your ruined outfit from last night. There’s a sense of foreboding as you await his reply.

“Well, maybe not everyone,” he says slowly and raises his head to look at you. There’s a teasing tone hidden somewhere in that sentence, but you don’t find it funny.

You stare at him incredulously, your movements halting at his words. Is he serious right now? You’re not sure where this is coming from, but you don’t need to hear more. Wherever your outfit is, it can stay there. You don’t care about it that much to last another minute here looking for it.

“Ah, right. I just have people lining up as I keep my legs spread. Oh! But there are always newcomers that enroll. We can’t forget them, so you’re right. Not everyone,” you hiss out, mind ripping up every pleasurable thought you ever had about Seungcheol. All those minutes thinking of him are wasted in a blink of an eye.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a shake of his head, standing up. “I meant you’re just too pretty to have not had se—”

“What a fucking pig,” you berate. “Being pretty doesn’t have anything to do with being a virgin or not. I can be pretty without being a whore.”

Panic rises in his eyes. “You’re right. I didn’t mean—I just… Shit.” He closes his eyes tightly for a moment, but you don’t wait for him to collect his thoughts.

“I see why you let your friends talk shit about me now,” you say as you snatch your purse from where you left it. You lock eyes with him when you continue, “It’s because you agree with them.”

It’s like the light bulb above your head suddenly turns on. 

You know it was unlikely he wouldn't ditch those friends, but you thought you could deal with it if you didn’t have to see them. You could visit Seungcheol somewhere in private or with your mutual friends instead. You would have found ways to be with him because your feelings for him were too strong to overlook. Though, now you saw that would never happen. It truly was all an illusion.

And you were right earlier.

He already thinks bad of you.

“That’s not true at all,” Seungcheol urges. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised and joking before. I didn’t use my words correctly. Hear me out, Cherry.”

He definitely did not sound surprised earlier, and his “jokes”… Yeah. His words were ass. And so is he. 

You take a deep inhale, fanning the flames so as to not let your heart feel anything but anger.

“Joking... You and those ‘friends’ of yours always tell such hilarious jokes,” you laugh dryly and turn for his door. Recalling you don’t have a car, your gaze lands on his face. Well, since you are already a bitch in his eyes, might as well bring that persona to life.

“Where are you going? You’re not even dressed. Yn, stop! Just stay here, and let’s talk,” he implores, rushing to you.

You forgot you’re just in his hoodie and boxers. Heck, you don’t even have shoes on. None of that matters to you, though.

You quickly whip around to face him.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” you over-exaggerate your apology as you reach behind you. “I can’t stay any longer. My one o’clock fuck is waiting for me.”

Your hand snatches his keys then you’re storming out of his apartment. You hear him yelling after you, but you ignore it while you rush to find his car before he can catch you. 

Voices to your right catch your attention, which has you sighing with relief when you see familiar, friendlier faces. You’re not sure how they always pop up around you, but you aren’t complaining for once.

Chan, Jun, and Soonyoung are walking toward you while they chat. They don’t notice you at first, but the sound of your feet hitting the pavement catches their attention.

“Yn?!” Jun exclaims, eyes big at seeing you.

“What are you wearing? Where are your clothes?!” Soonyoung asks. His shocked expression quickly turns into concern.

“Yn’s here?” another voice asks. Jeonghan stands by the driver’s seat of the car the others got out of. He props an arm on the top of the vehicle, his door still open. You’ve never been happier to see his face.

“Yn!” Seungcheol’s voice calls out behind you. You don’t bother looking back and quickly maneuver around the three men to get in the car. Thankfully, it isn’t locked yet.

“Where are your clothes?” Chan asks Seungcheol.

“Jeonghan, get your ass in the car now, or I’m going to burn your legos,” you threaten quickly as you buckle, remembering his precious Lego collection you once saw in his room.

“Aish,” he grumbles and gets in, shutting the door. You quickly lock the doors and then point to the road.

“Drive now,” you demand.

“Woah, just calm down. Why are—”

There is a loud knock at your window, and you see Seungcheol’s face appear.

“Yn, please just come out. I can explain,” he begs.

You glare at Jeonghan, one that is a lot fiercer than you’ve ever given him.

“You think I’m joking about your fucking legos?” you growl, a finger pointing in his direction.

“Seungcheol’s going to beat my ass,” he whines as he starts the car.

“And I’m going to beat yours and burn down your Le—”

“I got it,” Jeonghan huffs and glances at Seungcheol apologetically.

“Jeonghan, I swear if you fucking drive off, I will—” Seungcheol growls from outside the car.

“Sorry, my grandma suddenly needs me!” Jeonghan shouts before he backs out of the spot, slowly at first so he doesn't run over Seungcheol’s feet, not that you care, then speeds out of the parking lot.

You glance in the side mirror, seeing Seungcheol still yelling as the other men watch, confused and shocked behind him. Your eyes finally tear away when they become little specks in the distance. A sigh leaves your lips as you allow your body to sag in the seat, head tilting back.

“There’s a jacket in the back if you want it,” Jeonghan says softly.

You glance back and find it folded on the seat. You grab it, draping it over your bare legs. “Thanks.”

He sighs. “Now, do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“Seungcheol’s an asshole.”

Your reply is curt. You think that’s a good enough reason to leave him in the dust.

“Okay,” Jeonghan answers slowly, “but that was a pretty big fight you two had.”

“Seungcheol’s a really big asshole,” you correct.

Jeonghan chuckles lightly. “Alright. Then explain your attire.”

“Dae puked on me last night; Seungcheol let me borrow clothes.”

“He didn’t give you pants?”

“He did,” you trail off. You don’t want to tell him you just didn’t put them on again this morning. How would you explain how they got discarded in the first place?

He’s silent for a moment, trying to put the puzzle together himself.

“Where’s Dae?” he wonders. You’re grateful he decides to let it go.

“Probably at home by now… Can you drop me off there?” you ask. You can’t go home dressed the way you are. Dae will probably be sleeping, as she told you, but a few loud knocks should wake her up.

“Sure. What’s the address?”

You inform him quickly then glance out the window. The sun is shining and the clouds are out. You can’t remember how it feels outside since you were only focused on getting out of there. 

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, letting the sound of the car on the road fill the empty space.

“Whatever Seungcheol did, I hope he can fix it. I know he cares about you,” Jeonghan comments.

Your gaze drops down to your lap. The hoodie you wear comes back into view. You hate how you can still smell him.

“I don’t think he can,” you reply. 

Your mind goes back to what he said to you. Anger was the only emotion fueling you at the time, but now that you’re settling down and your mind is becoming clearer, several emotions creep into your chest. 

Betrayal. Distress. Crestfallen.

Jeonghan releases a small breath. “That bad?”

“Yeah, Jeonghan. He really messed up.”

The ride is quiet now. While you are grateful, you actually wish Jeonghan kept talking. At least then, you would be distracted from your thoughts. 

Seungcheol was just holding you tenderly hours ago. Your body tingles at the mere memory of his gentle touch. He was acting so sweet toward you. For those blissful hours, you felt like you were his. Was he acting? Had he wanted you for different reasons?

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back. You don’t want to cry in front of Jeonghan. You refuse to. 

When you arrive, Jeonghan parks the car and gets out of the vehicle. He comes around to your door and opens it, holding out a hand. For a moment, you imagined his hand is Seungcheol’s. He would always open your door and help you out.

“You don’t have to walk me there,” you say, words mimicking what you’ve told Seungcheol before in the past.

“You’re barely dressed. I’m not risking anything,” he replies. His light, cheerful voice is stern now, and you know he isn’t going to change his mind.

People stare at you strangely in the elevator, but when they peer up at Jeonghan, who stands behind you—something about you hiding your front and him your back—they quickly avert their gaze.

It takes four loud bangs on her door until Dae opens it. Her half-lidded eyes open quickly at your state.

“Am I drunk again? Why does Seungcheol look like Jeonghan?” she asks.

“You’re not drunk. It is Jeonghan,” you reply, then turn to him. “Thank you for driving. I really appreciate it.”

You hope the sincerity in your words is conveyed with your tone. Given the non-cocky smile on his face, you know he understands.

“Even though I’m friends with Seungcheol, know I’m your friend too, Yn. If you need me, you have my number,” Jeonghan says.

You’re not sure if you will ever take him up on his offer since it’s unclear where his loyalties lie between you and Seungcheol, but his intentions are kind, and you’re grateful nonetheless. He starts to walk away but you reach out to stop him.

“Wait,” you quickly say. You pull a set of keys from the hoodie’s pocket. “Give these back to Seungcheol for me? Or toss them in a lake, I don’t care, but take them, please.”

Dread fills Jeonghan’s face when he notices what they’re for. He reluctantly takes the keys from your hand.

“He’s really going to kill me now.”

Luckily for both you and Jeonghan, Seungcheol does not murder him.

For him, it means he has another day to finish his Lego tower. For you, it means he can finish those flyers he promised you.

“There should be twenty-five in there,” Minghao says while pointing to the stack of papers in your hands.

Minghao and Jeonghan completed the flyers for your show, and you are at the latter’s apartment to pick them up. You flip through them quickly—having already seen mock-ups earlier. There are six of each element plus one extra to turn into Dr. Lim.

“These look great, guys,” you say as you finish looking at them again.

“Thanks,” Jeonghan says. “You need help putting them up?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re really offering to help more?”

“You’re not that bad to work with,” Minghao chuckles, standing from his seat to grab his bag. He came to see if you needed anything else before his class.

“Speak for yourself, Hao—Ow!”

Jeonghan whines when you smack his arm with the flyers.

“Kidding, Yn,” he grumbles, “but yes, we will help you. You’re our friend.”

Their friend.

After years of just having Dae, it’s odd to think you actually have more friends—a lot of them, for that matter. It’s not like you gained two new friends this semester. No, you gained thirteen. Fourteen, if you count Seungcheol, but is he really a friend? Do friends make your heart soar with just a glance? Are friends able to take your heart and leave you feeling like an empty husk? It doesn’t matter now. He isn’t in your life. If he was your friend then, he isn’t anymore.

“If you leave some here, we’ll hang them up later,” Minghao instructs.

You gaze at him, letting yourself focus on what is happening now. You can sorrow in the privacy of your four walls later.

Sighing, you nod and sort a few flyers out from the stack. You place them on Jeonghan’s coffee table.

“Thanks. Just let me know which buildings you put them up in,” you say. “It’ll just save me time in the future.”

“No problem. Well, I’m glad you like them! I should get going before I’m late,” Minghao replies with a small smile on his face. He gives you both a wave before exiting the apartment.

Once Minghao is gone, Jeonghan looks at you. “What are the plans today?”

You shrug. It probably will consist of finishing bringing your designs to life or maybe taking Seoah to get something to eat. Anything to keep yourself busy from your mind.

“Not sure yet,” you reply.

“You know, I’m kind of hurt you didn’t ask me to be one of your models,” Jeonghan says with a playful smile. “Mingyu’s overrated.”

You laugh lightly, rolling your eyes at his latter comment. “Mingyu has the face and body of a model. You…?”

You trail off as your eyes glide down his body teasingly. Jeonghan sits up when he sees what you’re doing, trying to pose nonchalantly.

“Mingyu doesn’t have this hair, though,” Jeonghan comments. His semi-long locks are tied in a half-up-half-down style. It looks good, but you aren’t going to admit that to him.

“True, and thank goodness for that.”

“Hey!”

You laugh at his reaction. “I just didn’t want to overbook you,” you finally explain. “You were already helping me with these flyers.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” he answers.

“Don’t get used to it,” you huff and start picking up your purse. It’s getting late, and there’s no reason to stay longer.

“Wait, I have something for you,” Jeonghan rushes.

“I already have the flyers,” you say and gesture to the stack.

He smiles, shaking his head as he stands. “Something else.”

You watch as he jogs to his room. There are sounds of things moving around before Jeonghan yells for you to close your eyes. After arguing for a second, you finally relent.

“Are they closed?” he asks from his room.

“They’re not about to be if you take any longer,” you grumble.

You listen to his footsteps become louder as he approaches. Suddenly something is set in your lap.

When Jeonghan instructs you to open your eyes, you peep down to see a bag. Jeonghan gestures to it when you don't open it right away. Hesitantly, you reach inside.

Your hands meet something textured, and you grip it gently to pull it out.

“H-how’d you get this?” you ask slowly. Your wide eyes don’t mask the surprise you feel upon seeing the fabric you had been wanting to get so badly a few weeks ago. However, instead of navy blue, it’s red.

Jeonghan shrugs and watches you nervously. “Do you like it?”

“I—” you start but for once, you are out of words. 

You lay the fabric over your lap as you admire the sheerness, small specks of glitter scattering across the surface. You aren’t able to use it as you originally planned since you’ve already adjusted the design to not use the fabric, and it’s also the wrong color. Regardless, it’s too beautiful to not use in some way.

You are about to thank him when you remember the cost. It isn’t the same color, but it’s the same design and brand, which means it’s probably just as expensive. 

“This was a lot of money,” you state and glance up at Jeonghan. His eyes are roaming around the room then moving to look at you when you speak. “You shouldn’t have bought this.”

Jeonghan smiles, albeit a little bittersweet for a reason you aren’t sure of. “We do a lot of things we shouldn’t when we like someone.”

“Is that your way of saying you like me?” you wonder, folding the fabric to place in the bag again. You mean “like” in a platonic way and hope Jeonghan understands this.

“I do,” he chuckles lightly. “You put up a tough front, but you’re not too bad of a friend.”

Your smile is small at his response. Glad you don’t have to have an awkward conversation about which version of “like” you mean.

“Too bad?” you tease and stand up, your bag and purse on your arm.

Jeonghan tilts his head. “You did threaten to burn my Legos three weeks ago. That wasn’t very friendly.”

“Just imagine that I said that lovingly,” you answer, forcing the memory of that day from your mind. Although you know it won’t be that easy since it already keeps resurfacing.

“Right,” he responds, dragging out the word in a knowing smile. He walks you to the door when he sees you’re ready to leave. He opens the door, watching as you step out with his head resting against the side of the frame.

“Jeonghan?” you say after taking a few steps away. You turn to look at him. He wears that same bittersweet smile on his lips from earlier.

“Yn,” he responds.

“Thank you for… for the fabric. That was very kind of you, and I—” you pause as you try to voice your truest thoughts. It still doesn’t come easy, but you want him to know how grateful you are. “I don’t know if I deserved it.”

“I think you deserve more, but that can be a topic for another day. Get home safely, Yn,” Jeonghan replies as he lifts his head from the door.

You stay still for a moment. His words register in your head slowly while you stare at him. You’ve experienced Jeonghan being nice to you despite his constant jokes, but he’s never said anything on this level before. There is a moment where you think he is lying to you, but even though Jeonghan is playful, you don’t think he would lie to you—especially not now.

You bid farewell to Jeonghan once you collect yourself.

You’re not sure if that day he speaks about will ever come, but you are content with just knowing he thinks highly of you.

Home is better.

Still not Hallmark-perfect, but better. As expected, your mother leaves for another trip somewhere. She stops by, and to your surprise, your father lets her talk to you and Seoah. For once, there is no screaming. No yelling. No hostile attitude from either of your parents. It’s odd yet refreshing.

Your mother apologizes for not always being there for you and your sister. She says she will message you both when she has time. You nod, but you don’t believe her. She has given you the “promise message” before, and it never happened. 

Additionally, if she is truly sorry, she wouldn’t keep leaving when she has a family here. Perhaps that’s a selfish thought, but it doesn’t matter. It won’t make a difference. You’re not sure when or if you’ll see her again. It’s clear she isn’t allowed to stay here if she comes back. Visiting is fine, but that’s all. Despite it all, you wish you are able to see her in the future.

Your father began attending dinners after your mother left. He reasons it’s time to start being more like a family again. You bite your tongue when you want to say he never was part of it to begin with.

The first night together is awkward. Seoah breaks the tension eventually, but it always reverts back to crickets. After a while, your father starts to make small talk. 

How was your day? Is your homework going fine? Are classes hard?

You never are one for small talk, but at least he is trying.

Though he only tries during dinner. As always, he stays inside his office the majority of the day. It’s like nothing changes until it becomes dinner time. Then you are a family. Once that is over, it goes back to normal.

You tell yourself it’s just baby steps, which is better than no steps at all.

“So, Savannah ate her homework as a… dare?” your dad asks at dinner one night.

“No!” Seoah sighs, having tried to get your dad to understand her story for the past five minutes. “It’s because she’s crazy!”

“But I don’t understand why she would do that willingly,” your father replies. He has food on his fork, but it’s paused in mid-air, completely appalled by his daughter’s story.

“No one really knows. The point is she���s insane,” Seoah says.

“And she did this in front of her teacher?”

“She did it in class, so I supposed you could say that. At least she ate the homework that was already graded,” she huffs before stuffing her cheeks full.

“Yes, at least it was graded,” your dad agrees slowly as if he is still processing the story. He then turns to you.

“How’s Dae?”

He finally takes a bite while waiting for your response.

“She’s fine. We’re already done with our projects finally,” you answer.

“Ooh, I’m excited to see them! Dad and I are coming, you know?” Seoah says with a bright smile.

“I know,” you reply, trying to hide the grin that wants to show. You were a little shocked when they first told you they had gotten tickets. Even though you were secretly hoping they would come, you didn’t want to expect it. After all, it would be less disappointing if they didn’t come when your expectations were already low. It’s not that they don’t support you, but with everything going on, you weren’t sure if either of them had the time.

“Are your other friends going too?” asks your father.

Your gaze drops to your lap as you recall the conversation with Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Wonwoo. Seungcheol planned to get his friends—now your friends as well—to come to the show; however, you haven’t spoken to him since that weekend. You don’t know if any of them are coming now that Seungcheol most likely isn’t organizing his “surprise” anymore.

“I’m not sure,” you answer as you roll your shoulders back, sitting up straighter. No reason to be sad over it. You don’t need to be upset about losing someone who looks down on you. If anything, you should be glad you’re not talking to him. Your life is better now. Less drama.

At least that’s what’s been repeating in your head.

“What about that one boy? The one who came here? Seungch—”

“Shh!” Seoah gasps and puts her hand out to stop him. “You’re not supposed to talk about him in this house anymore.”

“W-what? Why not? He was very nice,” your father says. He glances between the both of you puzzled.

They always start that way, huh?

“They’re not talking anymore,” Seoah whispers, but you can hear it clearly.

“Oh,” your dad says and then looks at you with a sympathetic expression. It has you wincing internally. You don’t need his pity. “I’m sorry to hear that, honey. I’m sure he meant a lot to you.”

His words fish out all those thoughts you tried to drown. You aren’t about to spiral in front of your family.

“I’m going to work on my project more. Final adjustments and whatnot. Seoah, do you mind doing the dishes tonight?” you ask as you push your chair back.

“Only because you’re sad,” she replies.

Sighing, you grab your dishes, and place them in the sink.

Before you leave, you mumble, “I’m not sad.”

Seoah makes a sound to let you know she doesn’t believe you but doesn’t bug you about it.

“Way to go, Dad,” you hear her grumble as you’re leaving.

Shutting your bedroom door is akin to shutting off the lights in the world. It transports you to a place only you’re allowed in. A place where you are able to feel everything you have been keeping under lock and key. 

As soon as you hear the familiar click of your door, you feel your knees buckle.

You stagger to your bed and let your body flop onto the mattress. There’s an influx of the thoughts and feelings you had repressed.

Four weeks.

It’s been nearly four weeks since you last saw him. Heard his voice. At least not in conversations.

The first few days after that weekend, you ran into him on campus. Well, more like he found you. He’d call your name; he’d tell you he was sorry and ask for you to listen to him. Though each time, you ignored him. You went the other way and never said a word to him. Eventually, he stopped trying. He stopped finding you. He stopped calling your name. The frequent texts he would send stopped too. Soon, you were truly left with just a memory of him.

You should be glad.

You should be relieved he stopped because each time you saw him, you had the temptation to actually listen to him. To hear his side because you don’t want to believe he had said those things in his apartment. However, that will never happen now. Even if you want it to, you aren’t going to crawl back to him after all this time.

The picture you had taken of both of you is still in your photo gallery. You deleted it when you accidentally stumbled upon it a few days after the fight. Pained at even the sight of him, your finger had hit the trash icon quickly. Despite that, you ended up recovering the photo a few hours later because part of you wasn’t ready to erase him from your life completely.

The words your dad said linger in your mind.

I’m sure he meant a lot to you.

Had he?

In the few months you got to know him, had he really made himself a home in your heart? Perhaps if you say no, you will stop feeling like there is a void in your chest.

The weeks went by quickly. It wasn’t like in the movies or books where the heartbroken character felt their life was moving in slow motion. First, you weren’t heartbroken. Second, you had so much to do regarding your project you didn’t have time to think about him.

A part of your mind told you that working nonstop was your way of coping, but coping with what? What you lost wasn’t meaningful…

He wasn’t meaningful.

Yet as you let that thought roll around your mind, the more your chest feels heavy. The more your vision becomes blurry. The more your body feels weak.

The more you feel suffocated.

Suffocated by the thoughts gripping you and trying to shake you into realization.

Seungcheol had meant something to you. The extent is unknown, but if you were to ever tell someone how much your heart was aching, they would probably say he meant a great deal to you. Though if you allow yourself to agree, it will only cause more pain. So for now, you are fine being in denial.

You close your eyes as you inhale slowly. You hold your breath for a few seconds and then exhale gradually. You repeat this until you start to feel like you can breathe properly.

Images of him appear uninvitingly in the darkness—from when you first opened Jeonghan’s door to see him instead of Minghao then to waking up in his arms while laying in his bed.

It shouldn’t have come to this point. He wasn’t even helping with your project, yet you felt as if you saw him more than anyone else volunteering.

In the recesses of your mind, you can feel his gentle touch on your skin. You recall the moments you had together, but more strongly, you remember the way you felt when you were around him. Your chest would tighten any time he smiled or laughed. Such simple actions had you feeling so joyful. Even more so if you were the reason behind the actions. 

Then you think back to his apartment—before that phone call with Dae. The way you both held each other so tenderly during such an intimate moment. It had you feeling a sort of love you haven’t felt before. You think back to how content you were waking up in his arms. The glimpse of what your life could be like if you were his in his home.

You don’t know how you got here. You don’t know when you started falling for him. You don’t know when the tears started to roll down your cheeks. For the first time since the argument, you let your emotions flow freely.

You can’t believe you’re wasting tears over a guy you met this semester. Though, maybe you're just crying over the fact you no longer feel those feelings anymore. The feeling of being cared for, thought of, loved… Even if neither of you had said that word to the other, it doesn’t take away the feeling of being cherished. Maybe you don’t feel in love, but you could see yourself getting to that point if that argument never transpired. Although his words hurt then, they sting ten times worse now.

Your mind is filled to the brim with thoughts of him. It’s taking such a toll on you that you eventually fall asleep reflecting on your relationship with Seungcheol, dried tear streaks painting your cheeks.

“Mingyu, stop playing around,” you scold for the third time.

Mingyu stops dancing, peering down at you to give you another teasing grin. Perhaps you would’ve found it amusing if you weren’t under a time crunch.

“God, what a shit show,” you hear someone giggle behind you.

You dismiss the voice, knowing it’s probably Tori or Siwon. You only have a limited time to do your dress rehearsal before it’s another student’s turn.

“Worry about your own show, ladies,” Mingyu says above you, voice so stern it has you looking at him a little surprised.

“You never know when something bad might happen during your section in the show,” Jeonghan adds. Although his responsibility for the show is already done, he whined to join you today. Something about being bored and needing something to do. You had said no, but you couldn’t really stop him from following you to the theatre.

You turn around to see Tori and Siwon. They have their bags on their arms, ready to leave since they finished their rehearsals before you.

“Is that a threat?” Siwon gasps.

Jeonghan smiles that not-so-innocent grin and shrugs. “No, but it’s just a general comment. Anything can happen.”

Tori scoffs and then looks at you. “If I find out you’re tampering with other students’ projects, I’m going to tell Dr. Lim so you’ll flunk.”

“As if I need to sabotage your stage,” you reply. “You’ll do that yourself.”

“Oooh,” Jeonghan chuckles, bringing a hand to his mouth for dramatic effect. You shake your head at his reaction, but there is a tiny part of you where you’re pleased.

“You better watch yourself, Yn,” Tori warns.

You smile. “Oh, I will. After all, why would I watch your shit show?”

“You’re—”

“Tori, Siwon, please let Yn get back to her work. Yn, you should be focusing on your fittings and makeup. Not talking,” Dr. Lim instructs as he walks into the backstage room.

Tori and Siwon quickly apologize before they hurry out.

“Yn,” Dr. Lim calls to get your attention. You tear your gaze from your two peers to look at him.

“I heard you, Dr. Lim. I’ll be done before my time ends,” you say.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile before leaving you.

“Sorry,” Mingyu mumbles once they all leave. You exhale gradually and gesture for him to lean down.

“It’s fine, Gyu,” you answer. You quickly fix his hair, then turn him around to show one of the students you selected to help with hair and makeup. “Like this, okay?”

The student nods, taking notes and pictures as they observe the simple style. You want the focus to be on the clothes rather than fancy hair-dos.

You attend to your other models and stylists, making sure the clothes fit well and that the stylists understand what you want them all to look like. You had met with Seokmin earlier to go over the music. It’s pretty simplistic since it’s just one track, but you still want to make sure things go smoothly from all aspects.

Luckily, you finish within your time slot. Mingyu and Jeonghan trail behind you as you exit the building, talking amongst themselves. You figure they’ll go their separate ways once you are done, but nope. You act as if it bothers you, but you kinda like the company. You’ve been so focused on finishing the project that you haven’t had the chance to hang out with many people. If you did, it was only to discuss the final details.

Now that the show is around the corner, you let yourself breathe for a little.

“I don’t need you to pay for me,” you tell Jeonghan when it’s your turn to purchase your drink at the register.

“Think of it as a thank you for letting me tag along today,” he answers and starts to lower his card to the payment device. However, you quickly snatch it from his grip.

“Aye,” he drags out in a whine.

“I said n—”

“Done,” Mingyu cuts in. Your eyes flicker to him, then down at his hand. He just paid for your drink. He gives you a cheeky grin before ordering for Jeonghan and himself.

“Kim Mingyu, you’re a little shi—”

“Shining star,” he finishes for you as he pays for his order. He guides you and Jeonghan from the line to the end counter as you wait for your orders. His mouth is spread into a wide, confident smile. 

Jeonghan laughs at Mingyu’s answer, but you simply glower at the taller man.

“Come on, that was good,” Mingyu pouts when you don’t say anything. He gives your shoulder a poke, trying to get you to agree.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you announce instead, walking away before either of them can answer.

After you’re done, you walk out with your phone in hand to check on Dae who has her rehearsal after you.

You are typing your message when you hear something fall to the floor. Glancing down, you notice a stray pen.

“Think you can pick that up for me, princess?” a familiar voice asks.

You’ve heard the intolerable voice enough times to know who it is without looking up. Regardless, your eyes lift to see Hajun. 

You notice a change in her appearance. Her outfit is less boring than it normally is. You think she has dressed up for a class assignment, but the attire isn’t professional-like. After all the shit she’s given you for dressing “over the top,” she sure is heading down the same path. 

You grit your teeth in order to stop the snide remark you want to make. 

“Well?” she prompts smugly.

Two options run through your head. The first option is to stomp on the pen with your heel until you hear a satisfying crunch from breaking it. The second is to slam the pen down in her open palm—tip facing downward.

Instead, you chose the safer option. You step over the object and continue your way back to your friends; your text to Dae forgotten.

“Can’t even help a person out by doing a simple task?” Hajun asks. You pause in your steps to look over your shoulder.

“You’re a big girl and fully capable. I’m sure you can solve your own problem,” you reply.

“Bitch,” she mutters under her breath, but it’s loud enough for you to hear. As if that word is meant to make you cry.

Turning around again, you say, “Ditto.”

It isn’t anything rude, but you’re done dealing with her. Nothing is ever going to change, and there is no reason for you to put up with her bullshit.

“That’s why he left you,” she calls out after a few steps. You hear her footsteps near slowly as yours still once more. You know she just wants your attention, but you can’t help but give it to her. 

“He realized you were nothing but a slut who needed something between her legs to be satisfied.”

You stay silent for once as you listen to her words. You don’t need to hear his name to know who “he” is. Your gaze lowers as she stands behind you. Your heart rate is increasing as a mix of emotions courses through you, somewhere between fury and sorrow.

“Is he just one more check mark off your list?” she wonders. “He told us about how pathetic you were at his place. He said he needed a way to get you to leave him alone.”

“Are you sure he didn’t say that about you?” you ask and finally, turn to look at her. Despite your words, she smiles at you cunningly.

Ignoring your question, she continues with her high-horse speech.

“It’s a shame you had him so wrapped around your finger. I told him you weren’t worth it,” she tsks sadly.

You’re not sure why you stand there as she belittles you. Maybe in some sick way, you want to hear every bad thing she has to say about you. Let her get everything off her chest while she can. Not that you need to give her that opportunity. She doesn’t deserve an ego lift.

“I was right, though. He said you were one of the worst fucks he’s ever had,” she giggles. “Truly not worth the chase you were giving. I’m sure everyone you’ve had sex with feels the same. Eventually, they’ll stop chasing someone so worthless.”

The sorrow you felt earlier is overcome by anger. It doesn’t help that she’s staring at you with a Cheshire cat smile that makes you want to slap it off her face. Your hands fist at your sides at the thought. However, before the temptation takes over fully, someone calls your name.

Jeonghan stands at the end of the hall, a drink in each of his hands.

You glance back to Hajun.

She simply shrugs, not bothered by being interrupted. You doubt that’s all she has to say, but for now, it will do. She had gotten under your skin. You should have walked away.

“He’ll stop chasing you soon, too,” she tells you quietly before moving around you and toward Jeonghan.

“Hi Hannie!” she greets cheerfully. You watch as he smiles at her and tells her hello.

Unfortunately, the hallway to the bathrooms is a dead end, and the only way to leave is past Jeonghan and Hajun.

“Is she okay? What’s taking so long?” Mingyu questions as he rounds the corner. Following closely behind him is Seungcheol.

Seeing him should be like seeing a poster on the wall—one glance and move on. Yet, your gaze catches his, and your heart starts to break away from the bandaids you placed on it. Scattered memories of the argument flash before your eyes, yet between those snip-bits are memories of you in his soothing embrace. You can’t help but yearn to feel that one more time.

Besides looking tired, he seems fine. He must have known you were here since he didn’t seem surprised to see you. That, or he simply doesn’t care. The latter is difficult to bear.

Your feet want to move. You want to run and escape the situation you’re put in, but you can’t leave. You just need them to go so you don't have to walk past them.

“Hey,” Jeonghan calls out gently as he takes a few steps forward. He hands the drinks to Mingyu, who has to juggle a little to hold them, before walking toward you.

He gently moves your face so you aren’t looking at Seungcheol anymore.

“Did something happen?” he asks lowly so no one can hear.

“I just need to get out of here,” you mumble, casting your eyes down from his worried one.

“Okay,” he says unhesitantly. “Let’s go then.”

He hooks his arm in yours and starts walking toward the end of the hallway, forcing you to follow him.

“What about your drinks?” Mingyu asks when you both walk past and in the direction of the exit.

“Keep them,” Jeonghan replies, slowing his steps but never stopping fully. You keep your gaze away as he answers. “You paid for them anyway.”

“But—”

“We’ll take them. Here, Cheollie,” you hear Hajun say as you leave.

The air outside feels heavenly.

You inhale deeply, letting yourself breathe after feeling like you couldn’t for the longest time. You’re not sure what you’re more affected by—hearing what Seungcheol had said about you or seeing him for the first time in a long time. 

You should let her words flow from one ear and out the other, but some things she said already planted themselves in your mind. And of course, you water those seeds until they sprout to consume your thoughts.

Were you not worth it to Seungcheol to fight harder for you? Not just after the argument but before. His lack of loyalty to you was always an issue with him. You didn’t care if he had a project with Hajun and the others. You didn’t care if he knew them for longer. You were tired of not being his first. You had always split that position with Hajun. At least that’s what you felt. Maybe he kept her around for reasons he didn’t disclose. Even then, how much did she mean to him?

Loud footsteps sound behind you quickly. Before you can fully turn back to see who or what is emitting the noise, a hand is on the arm Jeonghan isn’t holding.

“Yn,” Seungcheol rasps, eyes wide and pleading.

Jeonghan stops in his tracks as he flickers his gaze between you both.

“Maybe another time, Seungcheol,” he says gently, so as to not offend him.

“Let’s let her decide that,” Seungcheol responds, his jaw clenching slightly as he gives a warning glare in his direction. You don’t like the expression he gives Jeonghan.

Even though his hand awakens sleeping butterflies in your stomach, you move it from you—catching his attention. His firm features immediately soften.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

You want to say yes, but after hearing Hajun’s words from earlier, you’re not sure if you want to anymore. He’s allowed to speak to his friends about whatever he wants, but you had hoped he would’ve done so respectfully.

“Depends,” you answer. “Are you going to go twist my words to your friends?”

His eyebrows push together. “What are you talking about? I wouldn’t do that.”

“And I wouldn’t use a needle to sew,” you reply sarcastically.

“Seriously, Cherry. Let’s go somewhere private and talk. Please?” he says, eyes glancing up at Jeonghan who still stands next to you.

Hearing that nickname after so long makes your brain short-circuit. You’re a little surprised that he used it since you aren’t on speaking terms. Nicknames are normally reserved for friends… Does he think you’re still friends with him? That’d be sad if he did considering how he treated you before.

“I’ve heard everything I needed to hear,” you argue.

“No, you haven’t,” he sighs. His eyes move to see Mingyu and Hajun leaving the building. It’s not going to be long until they catch up.

“Do you plan to whisper sweet nothings in my ear until I forgive you?” you question with venom.

“No, I—”

“One day, you’ll see my clothes in a shopping window and think, ‘Wow. How did I ever sleep with someone so out of my league?’” you hiss out, narrow eyes locking on his. 

“Instead of your clothes, he’ll see a used napkin in the wind and think, ‘Wow. I should’ve pushed her out of my life sooner,’” you hear Hajun's voice before you can see her. 

Seeing Hajun next to Seungcheol reminds you of all the problems you have with him. Even though you did miss him, you don’t miss this—feeling like you are getting ganged up on while Seungcheol stands there and does nothi—

“Be quiet, Hajun,” Seungcheol snaps. “I’m tired of you getting in my business.”

His aggressive tone takes everyone by surprise.

You never heard him like this; not to you, not to anyone. It’s a whole new Seungcheol you have yet to discover. One you don’t want to be on the receiving end of. You can only imagine how Hajun is feeling.

“W-what? But I’m only trying to help,” she sputters, trying not to look as startled as she probably feels. It seems it’s her first time seeing this Seungcheol, too.

“Did I ever ask for your help? For fuck’s sake, just stop bothering Yn.”

Hajun’s eyes widen like saucers, mouth opening slightly at his words. You watch the scene before you. Your expression is probably the same as Hajun’s.

She looks at you, shock turning into irritation.

“You said something to him, didn’t you?” she accuses. That pulls you from your surprised daze.

Rolling your eyes, you answer with a forced smile, “Ah, yes, I bewitched him so he’d tell you to fuck off. Isn’t that right, Cheollie?”

You glance up at him when using the nickname, eyelashes batting obnoxiously.

“Cherry,” Seungcheol scolds lightly with a groan, hand coming up to rub at his temples.

“Who the hell is Cherry?” Hajun questions, miffed.

“What did I say, Hajun?” Seungcheol responds instead. “Stop talking shit about Yn. Stop trying to fight her.”

Hajun scoffs. “If anything, she’s trying to fight me!”

“And I’ll win, too,” you comment under your breath, causing Jeonghan to yank on your arm slightly with a shake of his head. You forgot he’s here.

“What did you just say, bitch?” Hajun asks you. You open your mouth to repeat what you said, but Seungcheol’s voice interrupts you.

“Leave, Hajun,” he says and stares at her. Even though it isn’t directed at you, you can tell how intimidating it is.

“You’re really going to let her control you, Seungcheol?!” she exasperates, almost desperately.

“Now,” he demands.

Hajun’s mouth opens again, but nothing comes out. She glances at Mingyu and Jeonghan as if they will say something; however, neither of them does. With one last look at Seungcheol, she spins on her heels and walks away.

You all watch her for a few seconds. The awkward silence is starting to make you feel uncomfortable.

“She could’ve at least taken the drinks,” Mingyu says, trying to break the tense atmosphere. You peer at him to see he has all the drinks again.

Seungcheol disregards him to speak to you. His voice has lost that firmness to it. “Yn, just five minutes.”

You still want to say no, yet, this is your chance to listen to him without having to appear desperate for closure. Perhaps you can finally get him out of your mind if you agree.

“Fine,” you yield and glance at Jeonghan.

“I’ll wait here with Mingyu,” he informs. You would have told him it was fine, but after rejecting Dae’s offer to pick you up at Seungcheol’s that day, you want to have someone to turn to in case this conversation ends like the last.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

Seungcheol guides you both to sit on a bench nearby. You sit on opposite ends with your hands in your lap.

“I’m sorry” is the first thing he says as you get settled. He tucks his hands in his hoodie’s pocket, reminding you you still have to return the one you have someday.

His back leans against the bench while he shifts his eyes on you. “I’m sorry for the awful things I said. I don’t think you’ve slept with everyone on campus, and I don’t agree with what Hajun and Hana have said about you.”

You rub your lips together, staring at him at first but then averting. The events of that day come to the forefront of your mind. Though they’ve never been far from it to begin with. You wonder if you overreacted at the time, but you’re so emotionally involved with him it’s hard to tell. No doubt his words stung; especially after engaging in such vulnerable moments with him and slipping into that fantasy life you had created for the both of you. All for it all to evaporate with what? A so-called joke?

“You don’t have to forgive me right now, or ever, but I would still like to talk to you… to try to get back to where we were before I fucked up,” he continues when you remain quiet.

Your first response in your head is no, that won’t be possible. You just want to move on. But that answer spurs from having your defensive walls around you. What if you get close like before, only for something else to tear you apart?

Sighing, you begin playing with the end of your clothes.

“What did you tell Hajun?” you ask in lieu of answering his silent question.

Seungcheol tilts his head at the sudden topic change. “I told her to leave you alone.”

“No,” you shake your head and look at him. “What did you tell her after that day?”

He’s silent for a moment as he digs around his thoughts for an answer.

“I didn’t tell her anything. She just asked where you were,” he replies.

The look on your face conveys your disbelief.

“You didn’t tell her we had sex?” you asked.

“W-what? No. There was no reason to,” he says. You can see the shock on his face from your question.

“Then how does she know?”

“Does she?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Seungcheol ponders on the information. “Well, she did ask as a joke, but I didn’t tell her we did,” he answers.

You take a deep breath. Another joke, huh?

“Did you tell her we didn’t then?” you wonder.

He shakes his head.

“Seungcheol,” you scold while bringing a hand to your temples.

He pouts, scooting closer to lower your arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d figure it out. It wasn’t her business to know.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you concur sadly. The warmth of his hand spreads up your arm, bringing back a sense of familiarity that makes you want more but also want to pull away in fear of losing it again.

“What else did she s—”

The sound of your phone going off startles you both.

You pull away to grab it. Seoah’s name appears at the top.

“One second,” you murmur before answering and turning away.

“Yeah?” you greet.

“Are you almost home?” Seoah asks.

“No, did you need something?”

She releases a loud sigh on the other end. “Yeah. Dad’s cake. You’re going to be late.”

Shit.

You completely forgot about your father’s surprise birthday party. Seoah invited a few of his co-workers over to celebrate, and you’re supposed to pick up the cake on the way home from rehearsal. It’s going to be the first time in a while since you do anything big like this. Normally, his birthday consists of only you and Seoah singing him a happy birthday with a present.

“I’m so sorry. Look, just start without it,” you say and begin to stand. Seungcheol follows you, waiting patiently as you stay on the call.

You pull the device from your ear despite Seoah talking.

“I have to go,” you inform.

Seungcheol’s lips dip in a frown, but it quickly disappears. “Can we meet this weekend so we can talk more?”

“I can’t. I have the—”

“The show. I know,” he pauses. “I’ll be there.”

The phone call is forgotten instantly at his words. He’ll be at the show? The show you’ve been working on? You figured that would be the last place he’d be.

“Y-you will?” you stutter.

Seungcheol smiles, but it isn’t anywhere near his eyes. “We can talk the next day. I figure you’ll be busy after.”

“I-Uh… Yeah,” you reply, not sure what to say. You want to ask why and when he got the tickets. You want to know if he is being forced to go or if it’s a decision he made all on his own. Though, none of those questions come out.

“Are you even listening to me?” Seoah’s voice is loud. “Who are you with? Is it Jeonghan? Tell him to go away, so you can grab the cake.”

Seungcheol glances at the phone in your hand. His face morphs into something you can’t read, though you catch the way his jaw clenches briefly. You’re not sure if it’s because he recognizes Seoah’s voice or if it’s something she said. Regardless, you ignore it and change your focus to your sister.

“I’m on the way now, relax. You’re not cutting it at the start anyway,” you reason. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

You hang up the call before you can hear more of her complaining.

“Sorry,” you apologize as you look at Seungcheol again. He seems lost in his thoughts. It’s odd to see him this way since you feel you’re usually the one in his position.

You take a few seconds to scan his face properly. Even with his slightly visible eye bags, you find him handsome. Your fingers twitch with the desire to touch him, to feel his warm body against yours and see that smile that has you smiling back.

“Seungcheol?” you ask softly when you realize neither of you has spoken.

His eyes snap to yours. “Right,” he clears his throat. “So, the next day?”

“Okay,” you agree before you can overthink the decision. You know you need to resolve the issue in order to continue with your life—whether it’s one with him in it or not.

“We can go to that café? I can pick you up,” he offers.

Having been used to him driving around, you almost say yes, but you learned your lesson of not having your own transportation.

“It’s fine. I’ll meet you there,” you reply.

“Alright,” he says slowly, allowing you time to change your mind. When he senses that isn’t going to happen, he adds, “I’ll see you this weekend.”

“See you,” you say, gaze lingering on his for a little too long before you tear yourself away. 

You find Jeonghan with Mingyu a couple of feet away. They both look up when they hear you near.

“All good?” Jeonghan wonders.

You shrug. “For now, I guess. Thanks for waiting.”

Jeonghan stands, a drink in his hand. Mingyu still has the third.

“Anytime. Do you still want that?” Jeonghan asks as he gestures to the third drink. You glance at it, shaking your head. You don’t know if it’s contaminated.

“No one’s drunk out of it,” Mingyu reassures; however, you still shake your head.

“Thanks, though. I’ll pay you back for it,” you say.

Mingyu smiles. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Still want some company to your car?” Jeonghan questions.

“That’d be nice,” you smile slightly. Jeonghan nods. After you both say goodbye to Mingyu, you lead Jeonghan in the direction of your parked car.

You haven't seen Seungcheol’s face in weeks. While seeing him again is difficult, it feels like you can breathe again. The temptation to glance back at him is strong. You want to see him again.

And so you do.

Only to find his eyes already locked on you.

Something about his look captivates your attention. His expression isn’t settled in a set emotion; it ranges from longing to worry to hope. Jeonghan guides you down the sidewalk, talking about something you don’t know. It’s not until you turn a corner that you’re forced to break your gaze due to a building obstructing your view.

You’re anxious about this weekend and unsure how your life will change. The fashion show is a big deal for you, but so is Seungcheol. It’s nerve-wracking to not know how everything will end.

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

A/N: Next chapter will be the last one in the series! Ahhhhhvfjsnbfgkvkd

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

taglist: @iammisstora, @christinewithluv, @lithelust, @musingsofananxiouspotato, @yoozuku, @lockburn-castle, @mystikhal-blog, @oncloudvii23 (cant tag :c), @cheolcherries, @mingyublues, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @comounlunar(cant tag :c), @minhui896, @doom-fics

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[vergess]

V, I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on the recent @staff announcement with regards to making Tumblr more algorithmic? Especially as someone very new to the site.

People are way too worked up about it, tbh.

First of all: The chronological dashboard is staying! No one ever said anything to fucking threaten that. People literally made that up, and @staff had to make a whole separate post about it.

The "algorithmic changes" would affect things like recommended blogs and the notoriously broken search feature we've all been begging for a fix to for a decade now.

This is VERY much the tumblr user base being hostile out of habit. Literally the announcement gave us two (2) features we've been begging for for years. Fixes to search AND the ability to make custom chronological dashboards featuring only specific blogs.

But instead of celebrating, everyone is losing their actual shit over the word "algorithm" with no idea what it actually means. Algorithm does not mean "super evil magical AI boogeyman that takes away your ability to blog with your friends." I know that's how facebook and google use it, and the fear is well earned, but it's misdirected in this case.

Of course, it's worth noting that I'm biased. I am very lenient with tumblr's current staff. I've lived through every era in tumblr staffing, and this is the only staff group that has ever taken user feedback seriously.

Unfortunately, people seem to think that the exorbitant excesses of the indie era and the obnoxious censorship of the corporate era are also the fault of the current staff.

In actuality, those are inherited problems that have been nightmarish to untangle from the heinous spaghetti code that they also inherited.

The stuff we love about tumblr (chronological dashboard, ability to turn off ads and recommendations, custom urls and blog themes, etc) is here to stay.

But fixes to the way the search and rec algorithms are long overdue. We should be delighted by this news, not enraged.

[karisomk]

Túumben comienzo fic- Soft! Okoye/ Alt. Attuma HC. Attuma would be addicted to the way that vanilla sugar smelled on Okoye. And when the times she hugged him, the way it clung to his clothes. I believe he would become a big softie when it came to her giving him massages too. Vanilla sugar and scalp massages. Alt. Attuma had gotten so used to having his hair down or just pulled back. Tangled ends, that he would carefully pull apart until one day Okoye offered to braid his hair for him.

Sitting on one of the lounge couches, she asked Attuma to sit beside her but he would opt to sit on the floor in front of her so she would not have to reach awkwardly. Being so close to her, Attuma would notice the sweet scent of vanilla that would come from her hands and arms. A particular lotion she favored and Attuma instantly liked. Light touches that didn't pull at his hair, carefully untangled knots in the process. Attuma didn't even realize he was leaning back more into her touch. Sitting between her legs now while she parted each section, untangling and lightly massaging his scalp whenever she carefully raked threw his hair. The soft chiming of her bangles and the low volume of indie music that played in the room with her touch were putting him to sleep. To the point, he hadn't realized she parted his hair down the middle and neatly braided it into two French braids for him to keep his hair out of his face. And when she said all done, Attuma hadn't moved away right away. Instead, he leaned back carefully, tilting his head back to get her to place her hands back on his hair. He did mumble a thank you but did ask her if she could touch his hair some more.

[indiesellersguild]

Another exciting thing that's happening at our virtual convention is a presentation on the results of the Marketplace Research Study!

In addition, these results are being used to accredit marketplaces who understand that when the sellers succeed, the marketplace succeeds.

So far, six online marketplaces have applied for ISG accreditation under these findings. Each one will be interviewed during the virtual convention. They are:

The Artisans Cooperative

Goimagine

Artizan Made

Mayfli

Indie Untangled

The Virtual Market

Find out more about our virtual convention, taking place from April 13 to April 14th, at https://indiesellersguild.org/convention/

[oatmealaddiction]

In light of RQ drama, I'm seeing a lot of kids on tumblr out here wondering if they can listen to TMA or not, or if they should feel bad for supporting the kickstarter and asking things like "can I still like Rusty Quill?" and like as someone whose struggled with Obsessive Compulsion, that's honestly really sad to see and I need to make this clear. Nothing that Rusty Quill as a company does, reflects on you as a person. You are not enabling abuse of employees by liking Magnus Archives and being excited for the sequel. There are allegations out right now, and there still needs to be time to substantiate them and there is zero pressure on you as a fan to come to a conclusion right away. It's okay to be unsure and it's okay to shrug and say "well I don't know what the truth is and frankly I'm probably not going to be the one to untangle this" and continue to post your TMA fanart. If it turns out your kickstarter money did end up going to an unethical company, you do not need to feel guilty about that given the information that is available right now. You guys are all looking for a way to label yourselves good or bad, and too often that label comes from what we consume. If I buy this I'm bad, if I like this I'm bad, if I have a parasocial relationship with so-in-so I'm bad, and like, no. What you like or dislike is honestly pretty nebulous, and you are not responsible for other people's actions. It is not your job to keep corporations in check and if a spooky gay podcast gives you joy, I promise you it is okay to still find joy in it while also acknowledging that unfortunately the company that produced it may have treated its employees unethically. There is no media produced by perfect individuals and liking Magnus Archives and other RQ products does not mean you endorse employee abuse. And by all means, if the allegations make you uncomfortable and you want to support workers, go ahead and support indie podcasts and pull your money out of the kickstarter campaign. If the knowledge of possible employee abuse makes it difficult to engage with TMA, feel free to move on. But don't just do that because you're scared you're a bad person and you feel like you need to come to some conclusion right now about all of this. Anyone who needs that kind of response from you is being unreasonable.

And to the people out there telling other people the correct moral way to react to this news, seriously, it's fine if people need time to come to their own conclusions on this and there is no reason to accuse anyone of some kind of moral failing for not knowing how to react to this frankly confusing and opaque controversy. It's okay to just be uncomfortable and not know what to do. I think more of us should do that all the time, and be forgiving of others for trying to do their best with the information that they have. But in my opinion, Fifteen year old Magnus Archives fans do not need to be making abusive labor laws and bad company practice their responsibility. Literally no one besides the relevant parties involved should be feeling any kind of guilt or shame.

[thatwailingwoman]

Stray (2022), BlueTwelve Studio

Lost, alone and separated from family, a stray cat must untangle an ancient mystery to escape a long-forgotten city.

Best Independent Game, Best Debut, Best Debut Indie Game, Best Sound Design for an Indie Game, PlayStation Game of the Year, Most Innovative Gameplay.

[0junemeatcleaver0]

i like the show a great deal but why do people so often insist it's the best ever? what's up with that? (on the other hand i never managed to finish hannibal after multiple tries so what do i know)

It's the insistence that all rep is good rep and if you push back even slightly on it (or have specific qualms with the way its done), then you're a bad person.

It's the taking a random white man at his word that this show is supposed to be progressive and if you point out the ways in which it is not, you're wrong.

It's the whole trying to treat fandom itself (or rather, the consumption of media--especially mainstream/non-indie productions-- period) as a stand in for affecting actual change in tangible ways or supporting real life POC in tangible ways.

Like, there's a lot going on here actually that is contributing to how a lot of fans of the show interact with the show and other fans and non-fans alike. Like a big, writhing ball of earthworms all knotted up together. With enough care and delicacy you could untangle it, sure. But do you really wanna get your hands dirty doing it?

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

'blinding dreams' for the made-up fic title game perhaps?

Ask game

Completely out of my wheelhouse and possibly not the best option but DARK FEANTURI AU.

Melkor still Sings discord into the song- it is impossible to conceive of an Arda never marred. But perhaps he listened and understood his creator just a bit more, perhaps Manwë got through to his brother, and this time Almaren is reshaped out of need for change- change Melkor is present to advocate for and embody, forgiven for his sincere remorse.

But Nienna has been mourning for the world since Melkor's song began. She is forgiveness and mercy and wishes none to suffer as she does at the long-repentant voice of Arda's Marrer. Irmo and Námo do not share her domain. Námo is the Judge, and there has been no sentence or reparation made by the one who Marred his sister and the world. Irmo sees no reason that he cannot help both prevail- mercy and justice for every victim, and nothing but judgement and sorrow for the source. They are wise, these siblings, cunning masters of spirits that they are, and with a prophet among them it is easy to plan.

(Vairë sees the Doom-maker, not Doom-sayer, and keeps her tapestries to her own halls. The past and the future will never be fully untangled, but history exists regardless if it is judged by those who come after. Estë sees no healing in Irmo's dreams, and while rest and wellbeing must still be connected, to be healthy is to be alive and aware, free in body and mind and soul. She finds a place with Nessa instead, with Tulkas never needing to fight their co-king.)

They hold, cold and steady. The Song is discordant, growing by the day. Perhaps Melkor works even now, a snake in the grass. Perhaps their kin are aiding, abetting him. They hold. They plan. They make their moves carefully.

When Míriel Therindë dies of something like despair within Lorien's sheltering arms, the time is come. It is only right- only merciful- only just- that no innocent should suffer again as she did. It is child's play for Irmo to slowly, slowly coax the weary, weak, and waning into his garden and into a perfect dream. Child's play for Nienna to slowly dull those who are too bright and sharp and hurting to be lured- if taking their joy is the cost of taking their pain, well, it is only a matter of time before they reach her brother and that cost is refunded in perfect excess. Child's play for Námo to determine the course they must take for justice, and to determine that the ends justify the means. He is Judge, Jury, and Executioner, and the world has escaped its sentence.

No innocents will die. Perhaps his siblings cannot take fëar as he can, but they can ease the mind enough to ignore the body, and if he calls to no spirits than any damage is trivial. His siblings will insure them paradise free of pain, free from the marring of incarnation. He will insure that everyone else gets their due.

(and then I don't know what happens except I think that teenage Fëanor and Nerdanel, tween Findis, and young Fingolfin are the ones to try to do something about it once Finwë and Indis are also caught in dreams as "victims of the marring")

[bogkeep]

Leighton Night with Brian Wecht really is an outlier podcast for me, since it's a talkshow-y podcast with leighton gray (worked on video games dream daddy and the newly released horror game homebody)(i have played neither) and brian wecht (former astrophysicist and current member of comedy band ninja sex party)(which i don't listen to), since my usual fare is like......... Let's Untangle Some Complex And Maybe Depressing Topics..... so maybe it's vital for me to have a chill podcast with lots of cool creator guests and hear about brian's adorable daughter hyperfixating on legend of zelda once a week. ANYWAY something that comes up every now and then is how traumatizing the release of dream daddy was for leighton. like the backlash to it caused her to have a one year long mental breakdown and to this day she can't watch streams or reviews of the game. she was 19 at the time. i'm just........... i LIKE to think it's fallen out of fashion to harass indie creators (or any creators! or anyone!!) over """Problematic Representation""" because holy shit!! that kind of experience will literally traumatize people for YEARS, and for what? for wanting to share a labour of love with other people? and not only that, it makes other creators, especially marginalized creators, terrified of creating and sharing works that are diverse or complex. it's astounding to me how much harm people would cause in a crusade to reduce it.

on a much nicer note, the release of homebody (horror game. linking here for people who like horror games. who are not me) has been a very good one for leighton and it sounds like she gets to have a much better experience sharing her work this time around and i am genuinely so happy for her

[arnamantle]

We’re back baybee

after a couple months of downtime, BURNAWAY is back online. Getting back into the process of writing about it has been daunting. We didn't make the previous campaign's funding goal, but for most of the team, that was our very first shot at something like this. We know now where we were off the mark, and how we're gonna make this time different.

Writing about game content feels weird. I think because, ideally, everything I write here or on arnamantle's other socials is all supposed to be Content™. Marketing. Sharable and algorithm-friendly. And I'm not even opposed to that, ostensibly. If you want people to play your game, if you want people to pay you for it, they gotta know it exists first. I think this feels weird not because I know its purpose as a marketing tool, but more due to how seamlessly good other designers and writers are at it. Some people just naturally love talking about their games, their progress in their creation. Some people love using social media to talk about it. So naturally, those voices float to the top of the dogpile, people take notice and follow, and that turns into a beneficial cycle that grows their audience. You could call that proclivity for talking about oneself and one's creations a talent, or a natural advantage; I don't think there's much difference at some point. I am very much not one of those people.

In these past couple months of reflection and ponderance on this project, I've managed to figure out something pretty essential to me; the games and content I'm making are less comparable to others than I was expecting, or fearing they would be. In a tightly knit field like indie ttrpgs, comparing your stuff to other peoples' is such a natural thing to do, you won't realize you're doing it at first. And you'll start seeing people who are doing the thing you want to do better than you're doing it, or doing the thing you thought only you had come up with. In the past 10-15 years there's been an explosion of ttrpg content, on a scale unlike anything before. It's daunting, even to someone who's been around awhile, like me. There's more attention on the space, higher production values, more money being thrown around. It's very easy to get intimidated. I certainly have been at times, seeing some people seemingly come from nowhere and establish incredible success within a couple years.

The obvious moral is, comparison bad, boo. But as any other owner of a human brain knows, it's not that simple. The thing that finally seems to be untangling that mental knot for me, as I mentioned earlier, is the realization that other people's games have less overlap with mine than I thought. It's just... harder to articulate the differences, because a lot of them are pretty deep below the aesthetic surface. They have to do with how people interact with the game system, and each other.

I want to make sure that the end result of BURNAWAY is something that holds true to my game design approach. It won't be perfect or even particularly pretty, but it will be a step forward. Anyway, I'll start being more specific about what that approach is in future posts. This is the big, long, "I'm back in action" post. Most other posts aren't gonna be anywhere near this long. But they will, with any possible luck and divine grace, be somewhat consistent.

Thanks to anyone who's supported BURNAWAY thus far, and welcome to anyone who's new.