#instead of putting their own lens and twisting everything to fit it

[fictionadventurer]

The BBC lady blowing my mind by pointing out the parallels between the endings of North and South and Jane Eyre (man brought low after losing his fortune, woman has gained wealth and comes to his rescue so they're now on equal footing).

She also pointed out that North and South is a continuation of issues Bronte explored in Shirley (to the point that Helstone is named after a character there), so I guess I may have to read that book one day.

[personality-corner]

The Hunger Games Franchise MBTI

Katniss Everdeen - ISTJ

Katniss uses information an things she has observed from previous games, things her father taught to not only win and survive the games, but to understand the Capital and how it works. She is not under any allusion that she has a chance to win the games, and using hard solid data, she understands that the odds are not in her favor. She is logical, reasonable and uses the understanding of her surroundings to make decisions (Si-Te).

Peeta Mellark - ENFJ

While Katniss has survival skills under her belt, Peeta knows how to play the game, and is actually really good at it. When he arrives at the Capital, he becomes really good at fitting the social norm of what the Capital wants from a tribute, and uses this to help Katniss as much as possible. He also tends to be able to determine the outcome of alot of these situations, using his Ni, and uses this to his advantage as well.

Gale Hawthorne - ENTJ

Gale is guided by his own vision for the future and using outside logic to make his decisions. Oftentimes he gets so obsessed with the idea of getting stuff done and reaching a goal, that he neglects to remember why they’re fighting in the first place. He makes many plans that are effective, but miss the bigger picture, or completely devalue the morals they are supposed to be fighting against.

Haymitch Abernathy - ISTP

Haymitch sees the world through his own, cynical lens, is intensely critical of both the Capital and the systems they uphold. Before Katniss and Peeta, he has essentially given up on mentoring a victor, and had essentially told them to prepare to die, and he instead, turned to drinking. He does turn out to be a pretty good mentor to Peeta and Katniss, getting them through the Hunger Games.

Effie Trinket - ESFJ

Effie grew up in the Capital, and had believed every bit of propoganda given to her, which is what she bases her moral code off of. She believes everything she has been spoon-fed by the Capital, and she uses her experiences to back it up. She only starts to question the Capital and their morals when she is given a new set of experiences, and becomes close to those directly affected by them.

Primrose “Prim” Everdeen - ISFJ

Prim finds comfort in the familiar, sleeping with her mother when she’s scared, and even becoming a nurse after watching her mother do it for so long. However, between the two sisters, Prim has a better understanding and a better level of acceptance for social norms and doing what is expected of her. She also shows a great level of care towards the world around her, breaking down when she kills even an animal.

Coriolanus Snow - INTJ

Snow is very analytical and driven by a singular vision, as we can see both in the original trilogy and its prequel. He knows exactly what he wants and he uses external logic and data (Te) to get his way. Oftentimes, this causes him to appear obsessive and it causes him to make rather cruel decisions, such as getting Sejanus killed or making the victors go back into the arena, but everything he does has a reason behind it, even if it’s a cruel and twisted reason.

Lucy Gray Baird - INFP

Lucy Gray is very emotion driven, and has a strict moral code that she doesn’t like when people break it. She is also an idealist, believing in the inherent goodness in everyone, despite everything she has been put through. When she discovers that Coriolanus is untrustworthy, and that her values were not being honored, she left immediately, to discover a life on her own.

To be typed: Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason & Sejanus Plinth

[animehouse-moe]

Call The Name of The Night Volume 1

No, this is not Call of The Night. There are no vampires (yet), there is no romance, and it's not the modern day. But then what it is? Well, I think the best example that people will understand is that it's a more benign Witch Hat Atelier. A whimsical and incredibly wide world of exciting and beautiful magic, filtered through the lens of wonder and excitement of a child. However, one large twist remains that gives this manga the perfect reason to exist.

Marrying the pieces of fantasy that people love the most with a real concept is always a terrific recipe for expression and explanation of them, and Call The Name of The Night makes full use of that. Our main character, Mira, suffers from an affliction that causes her to manifest night all around her sometimes. It engulfs everything around her until she herself remains alone in the darkness. Because of this, she's living with a magical doctor named Rei, who is searching for a cure to Mira's ailment. I don't think it's really a secret to explain, but the "night" in this story is a manifestation of Mira's mental health and emotions. It's not clear cut enough to just be "anxiety" as it runs deeper than that, but a lot of the symptoms appear as anxiety, if that makes any sense.

Regardless, together the two live out a really wonderful life that balances Mira's happiness, and her emotional and mental wellbeing very well. It juggles the act of explaining and expressing Mira's emotions and thoughts with a really beautiful rendition of a magical world to explore.

Leaving that to settle a little, the art for Call The Name of The Night fits it perfectly. It's very bright and soft. Capturing that eccentric and almost playfully mischievous nature quite well. The magic of the series is meant to be a spectacle when we see it, and the smoother and more round designs lend themselves to it quite well. It's not overly detailed because it shouldn't look real, and so the art has put just the right amount of space between it and "real" to really let it blossom and catch the eye's of readers.

Alongside that, a lot of the paneling is really well done. I personally really like this page from the prologue. The paneling does a great job of establishing the important bits early on. How much Mira relies on Rei, and how kind Rei is to Mira. The volume of panels helps sell that feeling of anxiety and pressure, and finishing off with a wide shot of the empty house Mira is in sells her feeling of isolation.

I'd say it's some standout stuff in spite of all the panels being rectangular, and in general there's a lot of really stunning angles and layouts for pages that lean into the best aspects of the story at that point in time.

So now, back to a bit of story and characterization. Mira is currently living with the doctor, Rei, to find a way to cure her ailment, this means she lives separate from her parents. Through pieces of flashback and information we see that she was basically forced out of her own village because she's "cursed". Incredibly thankfully, the story dispels concerns about the parents being involved in any such behavior, and instead provides a really wonderful approach. They're empathetic of the struggles and fears of Mira, and provide their support to the best of their ability despite the distance between them. It produces a really wonderful moment, and instead of capping it off with tears from Mira, the story opts to give it a bright and sunshine-y finishing point for the chapter.

This is just a manga that really exemplifies what it sets out to do. The magic is incredibly cute and beautiful to experience, and the progression of Mira's illness, and her perception of it are incredible. There's little twists and turns, and even different perspectives and methods... we'll say "forced", into the process, and it comes out as a wonderful discussion about how mental health works. Reaffirming the positive behavior and being a shoulder to lean on during the darker times. Providing a safe and happy space to explore and understand yourself, but not one that allows you to shrink further inward, as there's always that gentle hand placed on your back that encourages you to move forward and find ways to conquer and accept your fears.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

2. twisted

The cartoon that came out of the machine was pretty as a picture, perfect in almost every detail, and had a bubbly, positive personality. But she was not what Joey had wanted Susie to become. (Set in an AU where Joey gets perfect toons from his freshly killed employees and STILL isn’t happy, the unpleasable bitch…)

“Progress report to GENT home office, Client; Joey Drew Studios.

With the addition of the new ink recipe to use in the machine, we have made an unbelievable leap in progress and have almost met our client’s expectations. What had started as a machine to mold life sized figures out of ink has now done things that border on being supernatural.

Although Mr. Drew seems unimpressed, even frustrated with the results at times, in spite of the fact that the models have come out identical to their cartoon counterparts.

The process of running the cartoon film through the machine for the figures to imprint on has been successful, but it looks like that unless someone goes through the trouble of making a short that only has ONE character in it, the machine picks what character it makes at seemingly random. That is our client’s complaint; that instead of being user chosen, the machine picks out which living, breathing, thinking ink models it makes at random. Upon working on this, if I were to be in the client’s shoes, I’d have several valid complaints regarding the machine and the models it created, but our client’s complaint… Is that the machine that doesn’t have a system that allows the user to pick and choose which model it makes yet creates a physically flawless model every single time, does not allow the user to pick and choose which model it makes. He never ceases to infuriate me.

On a sour note, there was an incident with the figure in the likeness of a character called ‘The Brute’. Upon its creation, it immediately went and broke our client’s leg in a very… well, brutal fashion too. But fortunately, it has not physically attacked anyone since The Cameraman figure was made as we have threatened to separate them if it keeps up that behavior. It still likes to insult people, and it still does things that unnerve me though. We’re hoping that the rest of the figures will be less violent and or creepy.”

Thomas clicked off the recording and sighed as he looked at the newly made report, there was no way he could submit this to his boss without someone sending in someone to make sure he wasn’t huffing in ink fumes and whatever the Studio workers smoked to consider any of this to be normal.

“Hey Tommy! I think I figured out the issue with the machine! Or rather, its fuel.”

The mechanic grit his teeth and turned to face his client.

“What? I wasn’t aware that there was a problem with it.”

“Why, Tommy, how could you forget? I’m talking about the figure deposit problem of course! Why did we get The Brute when we wanted to get Boris? Why did we get Cameraman when we wanted Bendy? The answer was so simple, why, it was even staring at us the entire time!”

“Uh huh…” Thomas did not look convinced. “And what was this issue?”

“The ingredients, the Ink of course! You simply can’t put blueberry pancake batter in an oven and be surprised when you get blueberry pancakes instead of blueberry muffins, We got those two knuckleheads before we got the real stars of the show because the souls used to make them weren’t fit to make those two, but the machine still did what it does best: made living cartoons.”

Tom had an uneasy feeling in his gut as Joey grabbed his arm and led him to the Ink Machine’s room. He felt like a sheep being led to the slaughterhouse, he KNEW what went down in there! He knew the other ingredients, not well, per say, but for long enough to judge them and their characters.

He didn’t shed a single tear when Sammy was used in it, in fact, he was rather pleased with the results before it started acting out like that. He and the music director were almost always at each other’s throats for one reason or another. If you asked him, the ex-musician was strange, rude, clearly mentally unstable, and sometimes even cruel. And even if he wasn’t, his physical health had declined so much over his time at the studio that it was obvious that he would die regardless of whether or not he was put in the machine. Feeding Sammy to that machine was an act of mercy, really, and even if it wasn’t, it served him right to become a- err, The Brute and have him put the former musician in his place- put his villainous ways to a decent cause. Now if only someone could ensure for a fact that The Brute would behave...

Now the other ingredient, Norman Polk, was a different story. The man was old, weird and kinda creepy. On the surface, the man was an ideal candidate. Like Sammy, he would die anyway and nobody would miss him when he did. But on the contrary, he seemed like he still had some good years left in him. And while he was weird and creepy, he had been those things in an oddly endearing way that most of the studio had either liked or tolerated enough to not be bugged by it. The mechanic didn’t know how to explain it, that man reminded Tom of a mysterious, mostly-estranged relative that shows up out of nowhere and was always there for you even if you don’t always see him. So when the man snooped too much for his own good and had to be silenced… Tom could never look the resulting toon in the eye, or in his case, the lens.

But the mechanic couldn’t deny that it needed to be done, after all, the former projectionist was far too nosy for anyone’s sake. Nobody who knows the secret of the Ink Machine (or rather, it’s unconventional secret ingredient needed for its ink) should be free to wander the studio and spill the beans.

And a feeling in his gut was beginning to tell him that that was why he was the next on the chopping block.

He had built it, he learned what it would take to make it work, he had done what it took to make it work, and it was working now; No more models that would only move a tiny bit before collapsing into puddles! No more off model models! No more issues aside from x, y, z… -No more reasons for Joey to keep him alive when it was now too dangerous to his business… 

A tiny voice at the back of his head told him it served him right. The creator of this unholy torture device would now be consumed by it, just like how the maker of the Brazen Bull was the first victim it claimed.

At this point, he was almost morbidly curious on who or what the machine would make him; would it poke fun at his past and make him that territorial junkyard guard, Canoodle? Would it ironically punish him for his greed by making him The Fat Cat of the show, Boswell Lotsobucks? Would it acknowledge that although he was a villain to the bitter end, he still tried to go clean only for demons to drag him back down his dark paths and make him into Charley? Thinking about it, any butcher gang member would be a good enough fit really.

He was a mix of relieved, disappointed, and horrified when he was brought into the room and saw the unconscious voice actress of Alice Angel strapped to a mobile operating table. Joey seemed to ignore his reaction as he proudly showed her off and began to monologue.

“Like Boris, Sammy was a musician, simple-minded, and was very loyal to those he considered friends until the bitter end. But what made Sammy more like the Brute then Boris- Aside from body type, obviously, was that Sammy had quite the short temper on him, one that got messed with often, and a tendency to hold onto a grudge that can’t be swayed away with a good meal or a bad joke… Just like our friend; the Brute.”

Tom stayed speechless as Joey continued his seemingly prepared and rehearsed speech.

“As for Bendy and Norman, well, it’s obvious that those too simply weren’t compatible in the slightest! Sure, they both have their mischievous sides, but that alone doesn’t make a man into a good imp… However, do you know who DOES have more in common with Mr. Polk? That’s right! A certain smart alec-someone who knows a thing or two about anyone, everyone, and everything whether he wants to or not. Someone with a darker, more jaded sense of humor than our little devil, someone who can lurk in the shadows, or in his case, ‘backstage’ for safety or to gather Intel, but be happy and proud to take the front stage when the need arises! ...Alright, I can see that Norman’s soul may have influenced the personality of our Cameraman, but at least he did it in ways that make sense to the character.”

The mechanic continued to stay silent as Joey continued.

“But the main point is: we know what to do to fix this little issue. If we want a main character, we need someone who embodies the soul of that character. And Ms. Campbell here said it herself; Alice is a part of her!”

“Joey…”

“Why, she’d be thanking us if she knew what was coming! This is a dream come true for her! She always seemed to be the happiest when she was singing our angel darling’s songs…”

As if he was snapped out of a trance, the mechanic pulled Joey to his face, gripping the animator’s arms tightly and shaking him up a bit.

“Joey! We can’t do this! Susie isn’t like Norman or Sammy. She’s young, healthy, and still has a lot to live for. Nobody would buy that she passed on from something out of the blue, or that she moved away without warning or telling anyone. Everyone in the studio loves her and talks to her frequently! If we do this, especially so soon, they will make the connection, and they will find out about this. It was bad enough when Norman went, imagine if someone as well loved as her went too!”

Joey just laughed and slapped Tom’s shoulder.

“Oh Tommy, all we need to tell them is that Susie got her big break and is Bringing Alice to life in ways never before seen! And to sell the illusion, also tell them ‘you know how those folks in Hollywood are with their schedules, always a bunch of busy bees.’ They’ll bite, you just have to trust me.”

“What if they don’t?” the mechanic argued. “What if they start snooping around and start to piece together what really happened to her?”

Joey’s smile wavered a bit, but remained steadfast.

“Well, we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we reach it. And when we do, we’ll have our answer!”

“Nnnnggghhh…”

Both of them shuddered when they heard the voice actress start to stir awake.

“I swore I used stronger stuff in her drink…”

“...Jo...Joey..? ..Mr. Conner..?” The voice actress’s real eye widened in horror as she looked around, and her voice wavered as she grew more and more frantic. “WHat’s going on?! Where am I- Why am I tied up?!”

“S-Susie! Everything’s perfectly fine my dear, you just need to calm down a bit and I’ll explain everything…” He subtly jabbed Thomas in the ribs with his elbow. “Tommy!” He hissed “Throw her in the machine already!”

The frightened voice actress began to struggle against her restraints while Tom hesitated. Joey shot him a glare as he strolled up behind Susie and put a ‘reassuring’ hand on the weeping angel’s shoulder.

“Joey, please… let me go… Don’t do this to me!” Tears were running down the woman’s face, her voice was soft and breaking from her stress. “Just let me go and I promise I won’t tell anyone…”

“Now, now, Susie, there’s nothing to worry about, yes I know this looks unsettling from your position… But you and Alice are going places, new, big places that most people only dream of seeing! You’re going to bring her to life in ways that will touch the hearts of generations!”

A flash of realization crossed her face.

“Joey… answer me this: when Sammy ‘died from untreated lung cancer’ did he actually die from lung cancer? And when Norman ‘died from a workplace injury’ did he really…?” her voice trailed off a bit with uncertainty before asking her third question. “Did their deaths have anything to do with those two toons that showed up?!”

Her questions were not answered by words, but with actions as the two men stuffed her into the machine. When it turned on, her screams echoed throughout the mostly empty studio, chilling all who heard them to the very bone.

When they finally stopped, the machine whirred and roared to life and Joey rubbed his hands together in glee as he watched the machine work its magic.

Thomas, on the other hand, stood in silence while staring at his hands as dread and guilt sank in his gut.

The former man’s smile fell into a look of confusion when he saw a pair of gloves with ‘X’ marks on them come out, followed by arms that connected to them. That look of confusion fell deeper into a frown when he saw the arms stretch, curl, and twist when the gloves reached the floor as if they were streams of ice cream coming out of the machine at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Alice didn’t have arms that curled and stretched, but Joey knew a certain demoness toon who did; Miss Twisted. He was cursing under his breath, of course it would complete their little trio before giving him what he wanted! Now he wasted his one shot at getting Alice!

The rest of the toon didn’t even get out of the damn machine, it was like she was taunting him by continuing to stretch her arms and let them continue to coil in piles on the floor instead of showing him the finished product.

Furious, he marched over and grabbed the toon demoness’s arms and yanked her out of the damn machine.

“Stop messing around!” He scolded before pausing and reapplying his signature smile. “Your friends Brute and Cameraman have been worried sick about you ever since their creation! You wouldn’t want to keep them waiting for you any longer than they’ve already been, right?”

He could’ve been imagining it, but he swore that she had a look of pure terror on her face before she put on a fake smile of her own. And was it just him, or was this Miss Twisted’s left eye slightly discolored, glassy looking, if that made sense for someone with pitch black pie-cut eyes. The grayer eye she had reminded him of Susie Campbell’s fake eye.

“Y-yeah! You’re right!” She pushed Joey out of her face, clearly uncomfortable by his staring but pretending to be perfectly fine. “I can’t keep my boys waiting for too long, who knows what they’ll do?” She chuckled nervously. “So… where are you keeping them? where are they hiding?”

“Tommy here will be happy to show you, just follow him and-”

“Thanks!”

The demoness chipperly chirped and swiftly yanked Thomas out of the room at a speed that almost insulted the man.

[yukisohmasmokesweed]

I recently watched 1x10 for the pod and realized just how much of a peek-behind-the-curtain episode this is for Shigure. The episode does a great job breaking down Shigure’s motivations, agenda, and objective as well as exploring some of his morality and self-perception in a really subtle and nuanced way. I wanted to break down what exactly was said in the episode and what the subtext is showing us about who Shigure is and what he wants: an obsessive man who puts his selfish desires first, always, all while trapping himself deeply within the very curse that he is trying to break.

Motivation: The Dream

Each zodiac’s curse manifests in different ways. For example, Yuki experiences the curse through the lens of social isolation and self-blame, Kyo through familial rejection and projected blame, Hatori through resignation and grief, Ritsu through extreme guilt, etc. Shigure’s manifests as obsession.

This dream was something special to all of them, but it soured over time. The anime implies for Hatori that it was because of Kana,

but I believe that was the last straw in a haystack of crushing oppression for Hatori (see: having the ability to erase memories and being expected to carry out the task no matter who it hurts by the family as a whole, Akito, and his father, who also had this power). As for Ayame, he does not fit in with the Sohma’s traditionalism and conservatism and he never attempted to do so, and as an adult he has done everything he can to divorce himself from the Sohma image—going into a non-traditional and arguably taboo field of work, moving away from the estate, and keeping secrets from the family, even his own brother. Kureno is a special case and Ritsu was too young to remember this. For Shigure though, he became obsessed with this feeling, and because he didn’t have the bad experiences Hatori had growing up or chafe too hard against the family culture like Ayame, it became a life-long obsession that, over time, shifted from chasing that “feeling” to chasing Akito as an individual.

A note about the Dog: The Year of the Dog’s defining trait is loyalty, but they are also notably stubborn. This doesn’t speak to the authorial intent (Takaya added the zodiac aspect to the story late in the game, after their characters was set), but I also think that Shigure being the Dog is a great indicator as to why, out of everyone, Shigure’s curse manifests as obsession, and why he’s in love with Akito despite Akito’s treatment of him, the other zodiacs, and other people as a whole.

Agenda: Emotional manipulation

Shigure believes that the curse has weakened over time. The dragon was apparently not always a seahorse, which implies that the magic is weakening, and this is the first time in a long time where all of the zodiacs have been alive at the same time. Due to this as well as their closeness in age and the agitation present between Akito and the zodiacs, Shigure thinks that this is the curse’s last hurrah before breaking.

Shigure wants to speed up the process by exacerbating what he believes to be an already unraveling curse by turning the zodiacs against Akito, showing them that their lives have meaning and potential outside of the curse, and influencing them to start questioning the narrative around the curse as a whole as well as the ones around each of their individual zodiacs.

The curse’s most obvious effect is the physical one, but the emotional component is arguably much more significant. This is why Shigure is agitating the zodiac’s emotions. He often says things he knows will hurt them, but instead of hurling insults like Akito, what he says challenges the zodiac’s beliefs about themselves, one another, the curse, and Sohma family as a whole. He is aiming for their internal lives and beliefs in a way that makes his meddling seem almost invisible; he manipulates through influence instead of force, orchestrating it so that the zodiacs feel as if they have come to a new conclusion on their own. Here is how 1x10 shows us that tactic:

Shigure is trying to push Kyo into realizing that his feelings for Yuki are more influenced by the Sohmas than he thinks they are (implication of the word “duty,” that it’s not something Kyo chose for himself), and that if he takes a step back from the situation that he might see that him and Yuki have more in common than he thinks (”afraid of getting to know him”).

However, this doesn’t work, and it’s directly because Shigure has known who he is and what he wants since childhood. He has never had to struggle with his own personhood, identity, isolation, and blame the way that Kyo has—not to say that he hasn’t at all, but not to the extent of the Cat. Shigure logically knows why Kyo hates Yuki, but he can’t put himself in Kyo’s shoes because their experience with the curse are too different; Shigure fully embraced the curse, falling into obsession over it and making the choice to permanently attach himself to Akito, and that decision is rewarded for the most part. Kyo, on the other hand, has spent his entire life being rejected and ostracized by his family as well as being scapegoated for things he had no control over. Kyo’s issues with blame and isolation are not something that Shigure can empathize with, leading him to get frustrated with Kyo’s stubbornness and pushing Kyo too hard before he’s ready. All in all it’s not bad advice, but Kyo’s issues run extremely deep, and Shigure got impatient. This scene is Shigure messing up, indelicately going to the heart of the matter because his timeline of events is moving slower than he bargained for, and he accidentally shows his hand because of it.

Objective: Akito

Shigure’s objective is to be on equal terms with Akito and pursue a real relationship with them. The only way to do this is to break the curse, freeing Shigure from Akito’s power and taking Akito’s command over him away, as well as undermining the importance of the other zodiacs in Akito’s life. 

The anime does a nice job portraying this to us subtextually by visually juxtaposing the relationships that are the main focus of this episode:

Tohru lowers herself to meet Kyo where he is, whereas Shigure positions himself physically above Akito. The former is a relationship built on equality and mutual trust, the latter one on an inherent and unavoidable power imbalance, resulting in jealousy, toxicity, and a constant struggle for power.

At first glance the shot of Shigure and Akito would imply that Shigure is the one with the power due to their positioning, but it is Akito who has the power. Akito doesn’t stand up to greet him, simply expecting Shigure to come to them and bend at the waist to accommodate their position. Shigure tries to assert his power here by being physically larger and looming, but Akito is so confident in theirs that they wordlessly watch as Shigure does the exact thing Akito wanted.

Morality: Always looking out for #1

Shigure’s goal is a selfish one, and he has leaned into that completely. He is gloatingly self-aware, which allows him to further his plans without any moral qualms in the way.

The inner circle of the Sohma family has a strong culture of pervasive cruelty. We see it over and over again—Kyo’s treatment by the people around him, Haru’s, Yuki’s, Hatori’s, Rin’s, etc etc. Cruelty is extremely normalized within the family, and you can see even in this fairly casual conversation that Shigure and Hatori take shots at one another (other scenes where this happens between them include 2x7, 2x25, off the top of my head). The line of what is deemed “acceptable” in a larger societal sense is much farther for the Sohma family, and this greatly influenced Shigure’s sense of morality and decency. He is intelligent enough to know that hurting others is wrong, but it’s what has been modeled for him his entire life and something he’s participated in before for various reasons. Hurting others is normal for him and of a small blip in his radar in the grand scheme of things.

Shigure’s morals are warped, but he is also extremely intelligent as well as in touch with his emotions. He is aware that if Tohru gets hurt that it will hurt him in turn, both because she is an outsider whose life he is playing with and because he can’t help but care about her (which is what makes her so good for his plans), but his end goal is overall more important to him than his or anyone else’s emotions in the moment.

Self-perception:

All the other zodiacs hold some level of resentment towards Akito and the curse, but Shigure doesn’t resent Akito. He resents the curse because it’s standing between him and a real relationship with Akito, but not Akito themselves. Since childhood, Shigure has been unapologetically obsessed with Akito, and the power of that obsession and the intensity of the bond has led Shigure to live a one-track life, disregarding the pain of people close to him to feed his own selfish desires, going so far as to willingly dirty Tohru, an outsider and a child, to enable his plans. The others live in misery that has been forced onto them; Shigure picked his poison and never plans on letting it go.

Conclusion: Shigure is a nasty little man

1x10 is an excellent look into Shigure’s inner life and ultimate goals. It very clearly shows us that he is motivated by a love that was initially the pure love of a child-turned-dark and desperate. His motivations are selfish, his actions hurtful and oftentimes callous, and his morality twisted by both the family culture and his own doing. This episode does an amazing job juxtaposing Shigure’s unique relationship with the curse against Kyo’s as two ends of the extreme: the former is trying to break the curse so he can have an individual, the latter desperate to be included in the curse so he can find acceptance from the group. Shigure is an underhanded character who very rarely says what he wants outright, but the subtext of this episode is full of great little moments to spell out what Shigure’s game is and how he plans on winning it.

[aiimaginesbts]

Eternal Summer (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Loads of Angst | Fluff mixed in between | Smut | Childhood friends to lovers AU Warnings: Language | Alcohol | Masturbating | Rough sex | Public sex Word Count: 39k+ words

Disclaimer/Copyright

Summary:  Breaking up with my boyfriend leaves an empty spot on the overseas vacation that I had been looking forward to for a long time. I’m torn between abandoning the trip or going it solo when someone offers to tag along. However, having Jimin, my best friend go with me may not be the best idea — since my crush on him has never gone away.

Author’s Note: This is my fic for the ‘The Summer Bucketlist’ writing event hosted by @jamaisjoons​ with ‘Go sightseeing on a vacation’ as my prompt.

This grin just can’t be wiped off my face. While I’m aware that people passing by me are shooting me weird looks thanks to my humming, I don’t want to stop for their sake. I can barely hold myself from skipping down the street, lined with leafy trees on one side and boutique stores on the other – I’m that excited. The merciless rays of the late sun are welcome on my skin after weeks of slaving away even more than usual at work just so I can enjoy this long awaited vacation. It has completely paid off, since I’ve managed to settle everything I needed to with one day to spare. Everyone – myself included – expected me to be toiling away until the last minute. I even packed my luggage in advance, little by little, whenever I could, since I didn’t think I would have time to do it. So, with everything ready and time to spare, I head towards the only place I could think of going when I don’t know what to do with myself.

After making a stop at Se Hoon’s favourite restaurant to order take-out for dinner, I continue on my way towards his apartment. Since I plan to make this a surprise visit, he might still be working. Still, another glance at my watch convinces me that he will definitely be at home. Se Hoon prefers to work from home, so unless there’s work that he must settle at the office, he’s usually home by this time, even if he has to continue working there. It might mean that I’ll be shooed away while he finishes, but I don’t care. I’m content to just watch him as I eat my dinner. As long as I’m with him. We’ll be going together on vacation the day after tomorrow, but there’s no harm in starting early, is there? Plus, I’ve been too busy to see him lately. And the few scant times I could manage to get some time off, he would be busy instead. It seems like we’ve been missing each other for a while now, and I just miss being with someone.

Another fifteen minutes of walking and an elevator ride to the eighteenth floor later, I arrive in front of Se Hoon’s dark brown apartment door. I hesitate, wondering if I should let myself in or announce myself first. It has been a while since I’ve arrived here on my own, but recalling the times he got grumpy because he was interrupted to open the door for me way in the beginning of our relationship, I pressed the keys to unlock his door. No sense making him stop whatever he’s doing and come for me when I can open the door on my own.

Although I’ve been telling myself that I’m perfectly happy just to be in his presence this evening, my lips purse into a disappointed pout when I notice a pair of unfamiliar women’s black pumps at the entrance. It’s rare for Se Hoon to have visitors to his house, other than myself, but I suppose it’s safe to say that he isn’t done with work. At least his co-worker is willing to come over, so he doesn’t have to stay in the office. Otherwise I’d have arrived at an empty house.

Not wanting to interfere with his work by calling out, I kick off my similar, but lower, heels next to hers and start making my way inside. It has been a while since I’d had time to visit, but the surroundings are pretty much the same as I remember it from last time. Neither of us are the type of people to periodically arrange furniture, or make any changes at all, for that matter. Some people may find it boring, but I’m comfortable in its familiarity.

However, just a few steps in and my eyes land on an unexpected sight. A dark blue tie, adorned with a tiny white diamond pattern, lying on the floor. Se Hoon’s tie. I remember giving it to him for his birthday several months ago. Then a light pink shirt that I don’t recognise – I don’t pride myself on knowing Se Hoon’s wardrobe inside and out, but this shirt is way too small for him. My feet slow to a stop, but my breathing becomes laboured; like I’m running a marathon. Even though I scream in my head in denial, telling myself to turn around and not to continue looking, my eyes betray me by straying ahead, following the trail of clothes into his bedroom.

“Se Hoon?” I call out without thinking, but my voice comes out a croak, volume barely a whisper. The world I thought I had built solidly enough is crumbling under the soles of my feet. Familiar comfort no longer.

“Looks like our plane is here.”

Although my eyes are wide open and the world is bright, blinding even; the light from the sun is relentlessly shining through the gigantic glass panes of the airport, everything looks like a blur to me. I see vague shapes moving inconsequentially in my field of vision, but I can’t make out anything. The world hasn’t righted itself after it got thrown off its axis just yet. I’m dimly aware of where I currently am, of what brought me to this point. And yet in my mind, I’m still frozen in Se Hoon’s apartment two days ago.

While words cannot describe my feelings at the moment, I’m sure whatever combination of letters that the dictionary can come up with won’t be anything good. It doesn’t help that the voice that calls my name repeatedly in attempts to bring me back to reality is noticeably higher than Se Hoon’s. No, it isn’t even that. I wouldn’t be this bothered if it were anyone else’s voice. However, my best friend’s insistence that I return to Earth and get ready to board the plane throws my emotions into a jumbled mess. Forcing myself back to the present time, the surroundings gradually come into focus, like a camera lens finally being adjusted properly. “People are still getting off the plane, Jimin,” I grumble, sinking myself further into the chair in the waiting area petulantly. Maybe I don’t want to board this airplane after all.

This empty feeling has seeped in from yesterday. After a fitful sleep, I’d gotten out of my bed to stare at my luggage, all ready and packed for the next day. I wasn’t sure what time it was then; I’d rolled out of bed onto the floor and turning back to look at the small clock on my nightstand had felt like it would have consumed too much energy. All I knew was that dawn had not even broken yet, as the light blue curtains of my room, so useless at blocking even the smallest bit of light, were still dim. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and started to trace the royal blue strips lining the white canvas, I’d thought about the times I’d chucked the things I wanted to bring into the bag. When I’d seen a shirt that Jimin had said looked good on me, I’d thrown it in there. The cap he’d bought me on a whim after he’d dropped by my office for an impromptu lunch. A pair of socks that Jimin had insisted matched with the pair that he’d bought, just because both pairs have a striped motif. Earrings that he’d helped me choose because Se Hoon couldn’t make it for our date that day. Perhaps he couldn’t make it because of that woman, and not because of work, like he’d claimed.

Hours must have flown by as I’d sat there brooding. Not even sure what I was thinking about – was it really all about Se Hoon? My mind feels empty, but I couldn’t believe that I’d just been blankly staring at the luggage in the corner of my room for so long. And yet I must have had, because when the sound of my vibrating phone grated my ears, making me jump out of my reverie, the room was already bright despite the drawn curtains.

Groaning from grumpiness and the aching of my back and ass from sitting in one spot for so long, I’d braced my right palm on the still-cool floor to twist my body and reach for my phone. “Ugh.” My fingertips had brushed against it, causing it to move forward and teeter off the edge of my nightstand. The next round of vibrations had led to a losing battle with its balance, but thankfully I’d managed to catch it before it made contact with the hard floor. The scramble to play hero to save my phone had left me on both my elbows, horizontal against the floor. By this time, the call had become a missed one. Probably gone to voicemail, but that hadn’t stopped me from glaring at the offending device.

Before I could even look at the screen properly to check who had called, I heard the sharp beeping of my front door lock keypad, quickly followed by the chime indicating a successful breach and the softer click of the door opening to the intruder. Then a call of my name greeted my ears, betraying the identity of the visitor and setting my frayed nerves at ease. In a split second, however, my shock had melted away, leaving mild irritation in its wake. At first I didn’t want to answer him. Let him search the whole place, I’d thought pettily, even while knowing that my bedroom would have been the first place he’d check, then changed my mind. “In here.”

Trust him to hear me even though I’d hardly raised my voice. His chipper, “’Morning!” had reminded me that he didn’t have a clue to what had transpired the previous evening, leaving me torn between two choices; remain in my miserable mood and risk him prying for the reason behind it, or put up a cheerful front. I’m supposed to go for the vacation I’d been looking forward to so much, after all.

In the end, my “’morning,” had come out as a sullen reply. Simply couldn’t be bothered with pretence when this guy was concerned. With my partner for the trip automatically cancelling less than twenty-four hours ago, he was going to unearth the source of my moodiness sooner or later, even if I’d pretended there was nothing wrong.

“What’s wrong?” He’d immediately quipped at my tone, joining me on the floor.

I’d narrowed my eyes at the luggage I’d refused to tear my eyes away from. Still, it was always annoying when Jimin would zero in on me like that.

“Just.”

Jimin had rested his back against the side of the bed next to me, keeping mum instead of answering. I’d always hated that he knew exactly how to handle me at times like these. Several minutes had passed as I’d stewed in silence, then inevitably worked out what I’d wanted to say, like he’d known I would. I’d let one or two more minutes go by, just to spite him, but in the end I’d relented with a resolved sigh.

He’d taken the cue to open his mouth. “Wanna grab brunch?”

Is it that late already? I’d thought, unwillingly softening just a bit more when he didn’t automatically repeat his first question. “Not now.” Holding fast onto my vast – though slowly depleting – reserves of gloominess and fury, I’d willed my stomach not to grumble just then. Under strict orders from my highly distressed brain, my stomach had cowered and obeyed, even as his question had evoked pangs of hunger. Another sigh, then, “I don’t know if I’m going tomorrow,” I finally gave in to the inevitable need to confess, if not my need to eat.

“What? Why?” He’d leaned forward in surprise. I’d wished he hadn’t. Despite not having shed a single tear, I’d had no idea what sort of expression I was making, or whether I had any control over it. Thoughts had been racing through my mind at uncontrollable speeds. Obviously I hadn’t used the time I’d had to think this all the way through. Should I tell him that I’d broken up with Se Hoon?

I hadn’t wanted to.

“Se Hoon has urgent business to attend to and can’t make it.” Ugh. Even uttering his name had made me want to spit and brush my tongue with a scrubber. Bringing my legs up, I’d buried my face in my knees, unable to bear the sight of Jimin’s brows furrowing with concern. Aside from the guilt I’d felt about lying to my best friend, the mix of emotions roiling inside me were – and still is – muddling. There was overwhelming outrage towards Se Hoon, which was not surprising. However, endless hours of pondering had made me realise that the nature of my grief was befuddling.

There had been no tears. Even after the shock of seeing Se Hoon in bed with another woman had worn off as I’d trudged all the way home, walking for about an hour instead of taking the subway, there had been no heartbreak over our failed relationship. When I’d finally reached home and collapsed on my bed, no burning tears had even threatened my eyes. Later in the shower, the only wetness had come from the metal pipes. I didn’t care about losing him. No, I’d thought, with Jimin’s presence solidifying my belief, I’m sad because I’m alone. Even when I was with Jimin – actually, because I was with Jimin – I’d felt so lonely. He made me feel hopeless. He made me feel like a loser. Especially now, I’d felt like I was worth nothing. No, I’d always felt like I was worthless when I was with Se Hoon, or with any of my other exes. That’s why I’ve always chased after a relationship. Because otherwise, I would be worth less than nothing.

It had made me all the more desperate not to let Jimin find out. Better to have him think that Se Hoon was being a jerk – which he was, and still is – by ditching me for work instead of finding out that we’d broken up. Jimin was sure to take great umbrage at Se Hoon – never mind that I  was the one who did the dumping – and would definitely demand to know the reason behind it. To tell him that I wasn’t even worth being faithful for… that would just take the ugly, miserable cake that is my life, wouldn’t it? I’d much rather die than come clean, so I’d pressed the truth as deep down as it could go, took a deep breath and turned to rest my chin on my knee, facing that frown painted on his adorably worried features.

“It’s work. You know how it is. Can’t be helped.” Tossed words accompanied by a cavalier shrug; hopefully passing it off as a small matter that I’d wanted it to appear like. There. It gave the impression that I had a responsible boyfriend, and I was being a magnanimous, understanding girlfriend. Plus, this way I could forge ahead with unloading my immediate problem to Jimin without seeming too pathetic. “But I don’t know if I want to go alone.”

“Hey, what’s the point of riding business if you’re going to zone out and queue with the people in economy?” Jimin’s irritated complaint as he swats my arm knocks me back to the present. Still in a daze, I let him grab my hand and pull me up and towards the air stewardess waiting to check the customers’ boarding passes without complaint, only having the presence of mind to hold my camera bag securely against my side. True, I was really torn between going on the trip alone or cancelling it altogether, but when I’d voiced my indecision to Jimin yesterday, I didn’t imagine that it would lead to this.

We zip past the long queue of people waiting to be allowed to board, all the way to the front. The sweet-looking stewardess takes a look at our documents and smiles, complimenting her rosy cheeks, made up carefully to look perfectly natural, ushering us in. As we stride towards the door to the aircraft, I can’t help but look at our connecting hands, then up towards his slender, but comforting back. Never in a million years would I have thought that he would actually offer to accompany me. In all actuality, ‘offer’ is too mild a word for what he did. After calling in to take a week off of work, then buying flight tickets while I’d showered, did he really think he left me with any choice?

He might have been right that not going just because Se Hoon couldn’t make it, after I’d worked my ass off to get a holiday, paid for the tickets and hotel, would be ridiculous. But I maintain that what he did in a span of less than thirty minutes – because it couldn’t have taken longer than that for me to shower – was the more inane of the two.

However, as we step inside the plane itself, past another stewardess welcoming us onto the flight, the reality of this finally starts to sink in. For the first time since I’ve become single, my face relaxes, and I can feel my whole body relaxing with it. While the cause of this current situation is unfortunate, the outcome is quite fortuitous. After settling in my window seat first, I glance towards Jimin, trying to get comfortable in the next seat over. I’m very aware that allowing myself to enjoy this, or even think about this, is idiocy of the highest degree. That it will just bring me more pain down the road. I know. Years of suffering had taught me that really well. Yet still, being the fool that I am, I don’t deny the giddiness of having Jimin come with me, instead of Se Hoon. Not to myself, at least. If it’s going to hurt me either way, might as well milk whatever joy I can get out of it, right? My future self will probably hate my current self later, so I apologise to her in advance in my head.

“Everything okay over there?” Jimin leans over the wide armrest to ask.

“Mm-hmm,” I answer simply, still half-lost in my thoughts. Sometimes I want to roll my eyes and laugh at myself. Whatever am I thinking, while Jimin is just trying to be a good friend? Imagination running wild can inject a really swift and powerful dose of euphoria, and goodness knows that my spirits need a bit of lifting, but prolonged daydreaming will not do anyone any good. Jimin is just a friend. Just a friend. Indulging in idyllic notions will just burn me in the end.

The process of achieving resolution is interrupted when the plane begins to move. It isn’t very obvious at first due to its size, but I notice it backing out into the runway. As it begins to pick up speed, I forget everything else; from depressing thoughts of being single, to silly fantasies. Turning to Jimin, I whisper excitedly; “My favourite part is coming!”

Before I can start to explain what it is, Jimin laughs and nods. “I know.”

Sitting back against the chair, I absorb the fact that Jimin remembers that I’ve told him before. It’s such a random piece of uninteresting information, but I suppose that’s what best friends pick up over the years. I’m sure I subconsciously collect seemingly useless information about him, too. Not wanting to miss it, I don’t comment any further, instead just grinning at him before shifting my attention towards the window. My heart rate picks up as the vehicle accelerates so rapidly that I feel myself getting thrown back into my seat, gaining momentum until it finally lifts itself up into the air. Sighing contentedly, I told Jimin; “It’s such a rush when the plane moves like that. Like our journey is truly starting, and we’re running towards it with all our might.” He just shakes his head with a chuckle at my childish delight. We’re already high enough that the view outside displays the landscape of Seoul city of buildings and cars. On any other day, I’d be down there somewhere. But not today. And while this may not have turned out exactly as I’d expected it to, I have no complaints about the arrangement now.

As though he’d picked up on my uplifted mood, Jimin asks jovially, “So, remind me, why did you choose to go to Malaysia?”

I remember telling him that I was the one who’d picked the holiday destination. This time, it’s not surprising that he remembers; the way my excited gushing about the trip had escalated as it had approached bordered on annoying, even I will admit that. “It’s a multicultural, multi-racial country, so there’s a diverse variety of things to explore,” I begin to explain, sounding like a tourist brochure, pause to consider, then confess. “Actually, we’re going to Penang, which is famous for having the best food.”

Even though his lips curl down, the way Jimin bites his plump lower lip and holds his shuddering body is a tell-tale sign that he’s not frowning; in fact, I know that he’s trying to hold back from laughing out loud. “Why am I not surprised?” Guffaws escape alongside his words, and I smack his shaking arms playfully.

“Shut up.” Although my pretense at affront is a tiny bit better than his attempt to keep a straight face, it’s impossible to hide the mirth dancing in my eyes. With impeccable timing, one of the stewardesses appears by our side to inquire about our choice of lunch. Ever a fan of chicken, I order without hesitation, whereas Jimin chooses pork as his protein.

“Mmm,” – is Jimin’s way of articulating the tastiness of his meal. “What’s the name of the place,” he picks up his boarding pass to sneak a peek at the name of our holiday destination before returning it into his seat pocket, “Penang food better top this.”

Of course, I have never been there, so I can’t guarantee anything. “If their food is that well known around the region, I should think that it’s better than airplane food.”

Both of us know that I’ve made a sound justification, and Jimin doesn’t have any comebacks. The journey grows quiet soon after, my full stomach encouraging my already heavy eyes to shutter closed. Our transfer in Bangkok, Thailand via Suvarnabumi Airport is a short, uneventful one, and from there, it’s a quick flight to our final destination. Watching the evening sky serving as the backdrop for the sun making a dramatic exit for the night is breathtaking. By the time we land, streaks of orange are all that remain of the sun’s waning presence, and a light smattering of stars twinkle, not to be outdone by the numerous city lights.

“So, are we going to take a taxi to the hotel?” Jimin wants to know our next move after retrieving our bags from the baggage claim carousel.

“Yep, but we won’t be using a taxi.” Armed with the WiFi device I’ve rented in advance, I breathe a sigh of relief as my phone connects to the internet successfully. Sometimes I feel a little ashamed by it, but I can’t stop the feeling of unease whenever I’m cut off and unreachable by phone. I keep imagining the worst things happening. “There’s an app people use here to call for a driver instead of using a taxi. It’s cheaper and easy to use.”

“Oooh.” As I open said app, Jimin looks at the screen of my phone over my shoulder curiously. Compared to Incheon and Suvarnabumi Airports, Penang Airport is very small, which I suppose is befitting of the size of the northern island. It makes the place seem especially busy, and we stand slightly away from one of the exits, doing our best to keep out of people’s way. There must be a lot of drivers on the app service, because one immediately takes our request. Ride secured, we make our way out of the building, looking out for a white car with the specified plate number.

Soon our luggage is secured in the trunk of the car, and we speed away from the airport. From the handy app, I find out that our tanned driver is a man named Hisyam. His fatherly manner and gentle way of speaking reinforces my instinct that he seems to be in his late forties or early fifties, a deduction I’d made upon seeing him. Our friendly responses when he’d initiated the standard questioning – where we’re from, and our purpose of coming here – encourage him to strike up further conversation. From my simple research about Malaysia before coming here, I know that being able to converse in English is enough to communicate with the locals, but I didn’t think that it would go so smoothly. I’d thought that it would be only mostly youngsters who are able to speak fluently in English, but despite his age, Hisyam sounds comfortable talking to us in the language. A comment on this from me has him explaining that many Malaysians can speak English well enough to be understood at the very least, which is a relief. It’s nice to feel so welcomed, especially since he has an eager and easy answer when I wonder where we should get our dinner aloud. “There’s a place that’s famous for its char kuey teow that’s not far from here. You have to try it!”

“Char kuey teow?” Jimin hasn’t eaten anything after our lunch on the flight earlier, and the mention of food, however foreign, quickly piques his interest.

“It’s stir-fried noodle,” he explains. “But the noodles are flat and made of rice. It’s a really popular dish around this region. I’ll drive you there first, if you want.”

Sneaking a glance at Jimin, I can see that he is also in favour of this. “Is that okay, though? Do we need to call another driver after we’re done?”

“I’ll just take some other requests until you’re done, then I’ll come back for you. There’s always people calling for service in this area,” he assures us. “This shop’s reputation is rightly deserved, I promise. So, don’t worry about me and enjoy yourselves!”

Good thing Jimin and I are able to decide on taking Hisyam up on his offer so quickly, because he really isn’t kidding – the restaurant is a mere few turns after that. It’s a place next to the large road, with most of the dining tables spread over an open space past the low fence enclosing the area of the restaurant. I suppose the cooking is done within the small building to the side of the restaurant. The tables and chairs are purposeful rather than decorative, but I know that sometimes a simple, humble place can serve better food than fancy ones. With Hisyam’s phone number saved inside my phone, Jimin and I take a seat at a table in the middle of the place. It has barely gotten dark, but more than half of the tables are already occupied by people who look to be locals. A good sign.

Thankfully the restaurant is well-staffed, and in less than five minutes, we’ve gotten our order in. “Smells good,” Jimin comments hungrily, eyeing the plates on the tables around us. I grin and stop myself from teasing him with the old ‘I told you so’ before I actually try the food. It arrives quickly, although I’m not sure if it’s soon enough for Jimin, who starts to dig in without even waiting for me. “Mmm!” His smiley eyes widen, with an extra twinkle as he swallows the char kuey teow.

If my reaction upon tasting it didn’t mirror his so much, I would have laughed at him. However, our driver’s recommendation has given us a great start to our trip – the char kuey teow tastes much better than I expected. Strips of rice noodles that look like a very thick piece of paper that had gone through a coarse shredder are coated with sauce. This dark sauce isn’t paste-like, yet not runny, either. It’s rich; probably infused with the flavours of the prawns and cockles that accompany the dish. The noodles slide down my throat easily, but chives and bean sprouts mixed in provides a contrasting, crunchy texture.

Our silence during the meal says everything about it. Neither of us are interested in talking; we’re too busy enjoying the food. Only after I finish the last bite do I come up for air to confirm what I already know. “How was it?” But Jimin can’t hear me with his body twisted away in his plastic chair. Even if he could, he’s too concentrated in his effort to attract the attention of one of the waitresses to pay me any heed.

Once the young girl has acknowledged Jimin’s call, he turns back to me. “I’m ordering another one. Do you want anything?”

Looks like Jimin had definitely enjoyed his meal. I did too, but my appetite is nowhere as big as his, so I add another order of milk tea to drink while I wait for him to finish his second plate. Less than half an hour later, we’re back with Hisyam, who is happy that his suggestion is getting rave reviews. “Your hotel is in the center of Georgetown, so it will take about thirty minutes to get there,” he informs us, explaining that Georgetown is in the northern part of the island, while the airport is somewhere down south. The three-story building that he points out sits at the end of the block, and he turns from the main road into a smaller one to let us off. He looks at the hotel in approval. “You chose a good place to stay,” he comments. “The last tourist couple I drove booked a famous hotel, but they didn’t know that it’s known for being haunted.” The corners of his lips twitch while his eyebrows scrunch in the middle, as if he still isn’t sure whether to laugh or sympathise with the poor people’s misfortune. “It broke my heart to tell them.”

“Oooooh, which hotel is it?” Pretty sure that I didn’t come across this morsel of information when I was searching for hotels to stay in, I wanted to know. However, Jimin protests, saying that he’d like to get some sleep tonight. He’s already going to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, and hearing a ghost story just before that is not going to help him sleep easier. Hisyam and I whisper conspiratorially, arranging for a private story time via message while Jimin unloads our bags from the trunk of the car.

Unfortunately for Jimin, this isn’t going to be our first disagreement for tonight. Not ten minutes later we’re standing at the front desk, arguing over sleeping arrangements while the staff looks on patiently. “I should get my own room,” Jimin insists again, his tone riding the line between firm and incredulous at my disagreement.

“Why should we?” This is not the first time I’ve said these words in the last few minutes either, but I’m unwilling to back down. “The room is huge, and,” grabbing his arm to turn him away from the listening employee, “it’s really expensive.”

“I just won’t take a suite, then,” Jimin says with finality, accompanied by an eye roll.

Truly upset now, I let my lower lip jut out in an infuriated pout. “Even a normal room is expensive, and our rooms won’t be close to each other’s, then,” I inform him. “Is sharing a room with me really that bad? I thought it would be fun. Plus, I already feel bad enough for making you come here with me without having you spend even more.” Even though I know that Jimin can easily afford whichever room he wants, even the suite that Se Hoon and I had decided to splurge on to enjoy together, I’m not exactly sure why I want Jimin to share a room with me so much. The reasoning that I’ve given him are all true. Having him spend so much money, on top of messing up his work schedule to go on an impromptu trip with me makes me feel really guilty, even if he’d done it on his own accord. I just hope that’s the main reason I’m so adamant that we share the suite, more so than the fear of having my crippling insecurity issues creeping up on me alone in the room I was supposed to share with Se Hoon.

Since Jimin and I have had sleepovers when we were kids and had even shared a tent when we went camping with friends in high school, I didn’t think he would mind. So when he’d neglected to ask which hotel we would be staying in, I didn’t bother to book another room. In hindsight, perhaps it was just an oversight on his part. He did only have less than twenty-four hours to prepare to go overseas, after all. However, if he’s this against sharing a room with me, perhaps he does feel uncomfortable about it. Sighing, I decide internally that forcing him to share when he isn’t willing would eat at my conscience even more, so I face the staff again as my hand reaches inside my bag, rummaging for my purse. “Could you give us another room? As close to mine as possible, please.”

“Fine, fine, let’s share.” This isn’t the effect that I had intended – I’m fully prepared to pay for his room – but surprisingly, this made him finally give in. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded.” Now that Jimin has agreed, I find myself at odds, feeling like I’d coerced him into saying yes. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I could just get another room if you really don’t want to share.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Nah, I just thought you’d feel awkward since you’re supposed to be here with Se Hoon. Are you sure he won’t mind?”

Oh. So that’s why Jimin had put up such a fight. The realisation makes me feel a little disappointed. I guess I’m a fool for expecting something else. Jimin had never been attracted to me, after all. Why would he care about sharing a room, other than concern over causing trouble in my relationship? If only he knew that he’s worrying about a nonexistent problem. “I’m sure. No worries.” Funnily enough, Se Hoon had been the one sharing his bed with another woman while we were still a couple, not me.

“I guess he thinks I’m a robot, too.”

“What?” I’m in the middle of confirming with the now-thoroughly-confused man at the front desk that we’re definitely not adding any extra rooms to our booking, so I’m not sure if I heard Jimin’s mumblings right.

“Nothing.” He dismisses me, taking our luggage and wheeling them towards the lift, leaving me behind to take the room key.

“Hey, wait! Oi!”

“Here are your room keys,” the young man at the front desk calls for my attention, and I turn around to take the two sets of cards from him. His, “I hope you enjoy your trip,” sounds more heartfelt rather than obligatory, sending embarrassed heat to my face. He’d obviously gathered that things are not hunky-dory between his guests… wait, he probably thinks we’re a bickering couple. At first I open my mouth, automatically about to launch into my go-to explanation that we’re friends, not a couple like I usually do back home, then I close it. There’s no longer a boyfriend who might find out that someone thinks that Jimin and I are in a relationship, and Jimin, that jerk, went ahead without me so he didn’t hear it. What’s the point of clarifying such a trivial thing to a stranger in a foreign land that I probably won’t ever see again anyway?

“Thanks.” Still slightly sheepish over our argument in front of the man, I quickly scatter away towards the lift. “Thanks for waiting,” I repeat the sentiment – but this time in a very different intonation that borders on the churlish – towards Jimin when I reach his side.

“Mm.” His non-committal reply doesn’t indicate whether he missed the sarcasm in my greeting or heard but doesn’t care to respond. It does nothing to improve my mood. I narrow my eyes at him, but he carefully avoids my glare, instead pressing the button to summon the lift, then keeping his gaze locked on the red digits changing from 2 to G. His reaction jolts me away from the displeasure I’d felt when he’d left the counter without me, back to the root of our argument. Uncertainty and guilt replace my ebbing anger.

“Sorry that you had to come all the way here to keep me company,” I begin my apology by addressing the sacrifice he’d made for me. “If it really bothers you, I don’t mind taking two rooms. I’ll pay for it. It’s the least I can do, after all.”

The lift doors open just then, and Jimin goes in without acknowledging my words, dragging both our luggage with him. I follow in and press the first-floor button. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not about to push it any further. I’ve said my piece. Of course, I’m still upset, but Jimin can be scary when he’s truly angry, and I’m not in the mood to deal with that right now. Not that I ever actually want to take on an incensed Jimin. But then, the lift has barely moved when he shifts to face me, his features not quite frowning, but nowhere near friendly, either. “Do you really not care about sharing a room with me? Se Hoon as well?”

“Yes, really.” Well, I really prefer it that way. Se Hoon doesn’t have a say in it, but there’s no reason to tell Jimin that. “No sense wasting money on another room when we’ll only use it to sleep, anyway.”

“You booked an expensive suite in a nice hotel just to sleep?” If I were still with Se Hoon, Jimin’s pointed question would have made me blush. However, all it made me think about is how Se Hoon fucked another woman two days before our vacation. There’s no doubt that there were other incidents before that that I’m not privy to. My blood boils at the thought.

“Well, right now I’d rather get herpes than touch him.” I reply acidly. Jimin might have done a lot for me, especially since I broke up with Se Hoon, but there’s just so much my self-beating, bruised heart can take. This time Jimin is the one doing the following, walking just behind me down the corridor until we reach the door to the suite. Holding the key cards up, I ask him one last time, “Are you sure about this? There’s still a chance to get another room.”

“No need, since you’re so sure,” his reply is slightly curt, but has lost most of the venom. I belatedly realise that he thinks I’m furious with Se Hoon for bailing out because of work, which must have had him softening towards me again. In reality, I’m far more pitiful than that, but I’ll take what I can get. Under his breath, Jimin mumbles again, “I’ll be sure to conduct myself like the saint you both think I am.”

The light musical notes of the door unlocking mask Jimin’s murmuring, so I only register his earlier response, taking it as a reconciliation. Opening the heavy wooden door, I fumble the adjacent wall for a switch, and upon turning it on, white light bathes the space to reward us with a very welcome sight. The entrance stretches and opens up to a spacious living room, decorated with black wooden furniture enhanced by splashes of red – small red cushions and red drawers. Simple white walls provide a nice contrast to the beautiful dark, polished timber floor. While I was looking for a place to stay while we’re here, I had seen some photos of the room, but seeing it in front of my own eyes is just breathtaking. From behind me, the sound of Jimin’s long inhale is audible as he takes it all in with completely fresh eyes.

Excited, I bounce further in towards the bedroom. On my left is a wooden door matching the ones I’ve walked through so far. The walls sandwiching it are also wooden with carvings, but the whole expanse is covered with glass. A peek through it reveals the bathroom, complete with a jacuzzi tub that had been promised in the hotel website in addition to a shower cubicle. The bedroom itself is as beautifully decorated as the living room. Majestic four-poster king-sized bed dominates the center of the room, matching the ornate tables and wardrobe well. Sliding glass doors lead to the balcony, and a large stained-glass window on the other side of the bathroom facing the bed completes the luxurious room.

“I’d be happy to just hang out here until the end of the trip,” Jimin comments in awe as he enters the room.

“I know,” I agree breathily, then compose myself before sending him a firm look. “But there’s food to be eaten.”

My honest statement invokes a helpless laughter from Jimin. “You’re not even pretending that you want to see the sights!” Just like that, all the animosity from before melts away completely. Jimin’s giggles must be infused with magic, drawing out a grin from me effortlessly every single time.

Finally, we collapse on the bed – Jimin resting completely on the left side of the bed, while I lay down partially on the side closest to the balcony with my lower legs dangling over the foot of the bed. If I let myself lay down properly, I know that it’s just a matter of time before I’m knocked out cold from the exhaustion of the journey. A bath in the tub sounds really nice, but it’s too much of a hassle for me now. I just want to sleep; but not with the day’s journey sticking to my body. After some time resting my tired muscles, I let out a loud groan and pull myself up. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Mm.” From the way Jimin lazily acknowledges my announcement, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already sleep-talking.

“Do you want to take one too, or are you just going to stink up the bed the whole night?” Poking the sole of his right foot sharply with my finger, I try to verify this with him before I lose him to sleep completely.

“Mmph.” This time he rubs his face against his pillow, perhaps in an attempt to give a more intelligible answer that fails. Opening up his eyes a crack, he asks, “Together?”

I’m not sure if he’s really lucid or not. But I refuse to let him – and myself – entertain the idea for even one minute. My honest answer isn’t good for the health of both my mental state and our friendship. “I’ll wake you up once I’m done.” Jimin responds with another vague hum that I take as a ‘yes’.

Just a little over twelve hours later, I’m sorely wishing for a nice soak in the jacuzzi tub, followed by a nice afternoon just chilling in the hotel room being blasted by the air conditioner. Jimin echoes my innermost thoughts, as if he can read them; “I swear I must have sweat out all the water in my body,” he complains. “Why did you choose such a hot place to go for a holiday? Don’t people run to cool places in the summer?”

“I think it’s the opposite,” I muse out loud. “People go to hot places to escape the bitter winter.” Right now, the freezing winter sounds good to me. It’s slightly past noon and the sun, which has been slowly creeping up on us since about an hour ago, has become downright menacing. Mentally I congratulate myself on forcing an early start this morning, despite both of us being too lazy to get up several hours earlier. The sky had just been kissed by the sun when we set out from the hotel, using the app to get another driver to bring us to Beach Street.

Despite the name, the street is a few blocks away from the jetty. We started our Penang street art hunt here. The UNESCO World Heritage Site is home to numerous street arts, painted by international and local artists. From what I’ve read, there are some very popular pieces that still survive thanks to restoration, but the art scene changes frequently as the old murals fade with time and new ones take the spotlight. Thankfully, the ones I’ve really taken a liking to haven’t disappeared. An early start gives us some advantages – not having to compete with other people for photos, and most importantly, cool weather for a pleasant walk.

Trusty digital SLR in hand, Jimin and I enjoyed searching for the murals, snapping pictures with them as trophies. To my delight – and Jimin’s amusement – many of these artworks on the wall are interactive. The bicycle that a pair of painted siblings ride on is an actual bicycle that you can sit on, similar to the swings a bit of distance away. Jimin declared that the painting of a realistic little boy walking a very-cartoonish dinosaur as his favourite, until he finds out that the artist, Ernest Zacharevic later made a series of paintings he called the ‘101 Lost Kittens’ project. Whilst indulging him in his renewed vigour to find all the lost cats, I noticed that the street art isn’t all that the capital of the island, George Town, has to offer. Narrow streets snake around terraced store fronts and as the morning aged, some of them started to open. Most of them look old, but many retain an interesting charm unique to each one, be it tiles with beautiful patterns covering the doorstep of the store, or windows and doors carved in cultural patterns that hide a rich history that I’m not privy to.

Dotted between these cramped stores are various eateries, cafes, bakeries and bars, many whimsically decorated, just waiting to surprise us as if saying ‘peek-a-boo’! It wasn't long before our stomachs were rumbling, and we chose our breakfast stop. We managed to get roti canai, a flatbread eaten with curry, which was one of my goals for this trip. Jimin tsk-tsked upon hearing that my goals are food instead of attractions, but even he was mesmerised by the sight of the cook twirling the bread dough expertly in the air. “Okay, this is good,” he relents after taking a bite of the savoury bread.

After filling ourselves up, we resume the search for Jimin’s kittens, but I don’t think we managed to get even halfway before we’re reminded that Malaysia is a country that has sunny and rainy days instead of four seasons. And today is definitely sunny. My trusty cap might be protecting my face, but it’s not doing much against the unforgiving heat. “Korea isn’t this hot, even in the summer,” Jimin insists.

“It’s more humid here,” I explain as my eyes rove about the walls, looking for cat paintings. The grey cat surrounded by red fortune cats has been my favourite so far, but Jimin got more excited about the giant depiction of Skippy, the orange cat.

“How come real cats don’t come in this size?” One would think that Jimin’s wish was an adorable one, but I imagined if it came true, and was horrified at the thought.

“They would eat us whole!” Terrified, I eyed the painting up and down, trying to gauge its size. It must be twice as tall as I am. “It would be worse than a tiger!”

Jimin had laughed at my seriousness, but it isn’t long before I’m ready to call it quits, and he’s right behind me. “Summers are probably more bearable in Korea because we’re in the air conditioning most of the time, while we’ve been out in the sun all morning here.” As if granting my wish, I spy blinds hung over a shop with white lettering written across it. A peek underneath tells me that this is probably a café, since I see wooden stools and tables taking up the storefront space. Without hesitation, I grab Jimin’s arm and lead him towards it. I don’t know what sort of store it is, but I know I could use some shade right now.

It turns out that it really is a café, thankfully. Jimin doesn’t need much persuading to agree on grabbing a bite to eat; it’s lunchtime anyway. We snap up some seats inside, where the air conditioning graces us with its mercy. The menu quickly tells us that this place specialises in bagels. Our bagels are perfectly toasty and crunchy after being reheated over a wood fire in an oven, and I take complete delight in the sour kiwi slices coated in honey topping yogurt in an adorable glass jar. Since I don’t eat as much as Jimin, I opt for a lighter salmon and cream cheese bagel. Although I’m doubtful of the bagel’s ability to satisfy Jimin’s appetite, he insists that the bacon and egg served with his bagel is enough to tide him over.

As Jimin inhales his food, then orders more after giving me a sheepish shrug, my attention keeps straying to one corner of the eatery where I watch a group of young girls snapping pictures amidst raucous laughter. Grabbing the opportunity to catch Jimin’s attention when he looks up from his plate, I gesture towards the corner with my chin. “Look, look. We have to take a picture there.”

By the time we’re done, the girls have gone, so I pick up a piece of white chalk on a nearby table to write on the small chalkboard they’d left behind. “Name… Park Jimin.” The texture of the chalk isn’t pleasant to my skin, but I ignore it to fill in Jimin’s height and the date, chuckling when I think about what to write in the last space. “Charge… laughing too much.”

“What?” My best friend states his incredulity as he lets loose the same charming laughter that I’m charging him with. “Laughter brings joy to the world! How could that be a crime?”

“Shh,” I ignore his weak protests, shoving the board into his hands and nudging him against the wall. He guffaws as I lift up my camera and snap pictures of him against a lineup board to take his mugshot. He then declares that he’s good to go for another search for the lost kitties. But it has been a long day, and with our energy already been sapped by yesterday’s journey, the afternoon is spent in more leisurely walks instead, with Jimin quietly indulging my sweet tooth by popping into trendy and yummy cafes instead of religiously keeping an eye out for more murals. I silently appreciate his thoughtfulness but don’t comment on it, knowing that it’ll give him a golden opportunity to tease me for eating so many sweets. Of course, it might just be him wanting to escape the heat without admitting it, even though the sun’s power seems to have diminished as it slips to the west. Yeah, that must be it, I think to myself, refusing to read more into it.

We’ve just exited another café, the bitter taste of coffee tampered by milk and sugar still lingering on our tongues, when Jimin points out something unfamiliar on the road. “Look, what’s that?” It’s a small cart, just big enough so that two people can sit on the seat underneath a grey shade. Behind it is a bicycle with one wheel, attached to the cart to drive the small cart with two more wheels on its side – like a tricycle – forward. I’ve never seen one in Korea, but I do know that this is a mode of transport in several Asian countries.

“It’s a rickshaw,” I tell him, miraculously pulling the name from my memory.

“Huh.” Jimin eyes it with interest. It doesn’t take a genius to see where this is going. “Wanna try riding it?”

At this point, we don’t even know where we are. It has thankfully cooled down now that it’s late afternoon, but my feet are weary from walking so much. Still… My eyes move from the empty cart, where the two of us can sit comfortably and give our feet much needed rest, towards the back, where the driver is sitting. “It would be nice to support his livelihood, but I’d feel bad asking him to bring us around.” I turn to Jimin, unthinkingly placing my heart in my eyes as I entreat him to reconsider.

Taking in the thin, old man resting his forearms on the bicycle handles as he waits for the traffic light to change, Jimin nods his agreement. “You’re right, I can’t in good conscience hire a man at least twice my age to do that.”

So it’s with mixed feelings that I open the map on my phone to determine where we are. When the phone loads, I sigh with relief. We’ve somehow walked all over Georgetown to end up almost next to our next destination, Chowrasta Market, which is in turn a mere 5-minute walk from our hotel. The large three-storey building looks ordinary from afar, but when we get closer, my eyes widen at the selection of goods in the shops on the ground floor. “Oooh.” Lines and lines of pickled fruits and local titbits remind me of some of the stalls in Korean markets. The vibrant colours of the pickled fruits match the packaging of the snacks, making me go crazy trying to decide what to buy.

Sensing that a lot of time is about to be spent choosing snacks, followed by a lot of money traded, leading to him carrying a lot of things, Jimin interjects. “Why don’t we check out the other floors first? That way we don’t have to carry our purchases everywhere.”

“Okay,” I agree readily, but also absent-mindedly, and he has to take me by the hand to lead me further in towards the escalator. The first floor of the market is nowhere near as exciting as the ground floor to me at first glance. There are some clothing stores, which don’t manage to catch mine or Jimin’s interest. However, as we walk towards the back of the building, a familiar musty smell greets my nose, putting me on alert. Even as we walk in its direction, I start to lean forward, trying to get a good look as soon as I can. “Are those… books?”  

They really are. Several tiny stores filled to the brim with second-hand books – so many that we can barely walk between the shelves. Some people may find the air stale and stuffy, but I see it as staunch, ancient guardians protecting hidden treasures. And some of the books are real treasures; with the help of the shopkeepers, we unearth books in every topic under the sun, some of them a little worse for wear, but the newer releases – like the Harry Potter series – look practically brand new. I don’t find any books in Korean, which isn’t surprising, but I do discover a first edition of a title in the Lord of the Rings series. It isn’t in the best condition, sadly, but it makes me wonder what else I could find had I had the time to thoroughly comb the enormous collection of books. We barely made a scratch before Jimin cautions me against bringing home too many things.

Since I know I won’t be able to decide which book to buy, I decide to not get anything. Pangs of regret echo silently within me as we leave, but then I remember that a plethora of food stalls are supposed to line the few streets next to the market. Picking myself up, I grab Jimin’s arms with an excited grin. “Hey, why don’t we walk a bit more to the food stalls?”

“More walking?” Jimin despairs at the thought.

“It’s just a block or two from here.” As we go down the escalator, I pull him towards the exit by his arm, boding no arguments.

“What about the snacks you wanted to buy?” Digging his heels in, Jimin gestures towards the goods in the small shops we’re passing by, desperately attempting to keep further steps at a minimum.

Sadly for him, I already have a plan of action in mind, and there’s nothing he can do to dissuade me. Shaking my head, I explain to him the logical steps that we should take. “We’ll be passing by this place again on our way back to the hotel. We can buy them then.” As an answer to Jimin’s subsequent whine of protest, I tell him, “Shopping on an empty stomach will make you buy more than you should. So we need to get some sustenance before we buy these.”

Jimin may be following my lead out of the market and opposite the direction we came from prior to arriving at the market, but his mouth isn’t about to admit defeat so easily. “How can your stomach still be empty after eating so many sweets??”

It doesn’t alleviate his disbelief when he’s informed that I’m looking for one stall in particular – a famous cendol stall. When his question of “What is that?” is met with my answer of “It’s a local dessert,” he scoffs in incredulity.

However, as soon as we cross to the next block, both Jimin and I are easily distracted by the shops lining the ground floor. At first the t-shirts with Penang’s attractions, including the murals printed on them as well as the colourful clothes draw our attention. As I start to thumb through some trousers with unusual prints hanging on a rack, Jimin ventures inside the shop then quickly calls me over. I suppress a groan. The shops, with their open fronts, are not air-conditioned, and while the temperature has become much more bearable now that the sun is starting to set, I’d rather stay where the wind isn’t just coming from the fans affixed to the walls. But it is worth it. Even though it’s just your typical souvenir – magnets, miniatures of the country’s famous buildings, and other memorabilia – for me it shows what the country’s people are most proud of. An insight to the people’s minds.

There are also bags and purses of different sizes, some bearing similar patterns to the clothes, while some are woven. “Is this what you want, of all things?” Having Jimin’s heavy arm suddenly drop around my shoulder as I examine a beige bag with red square markings makes me grunt and sag a little.

“What’s wrong with wanting this?” To be honest, I don’t actually plan to buy it, but now I’m tempted to, just to be contrary. Jimin really brings out the childish part of me sometimes; a side that I feel is too immature to show others. My head swivels around to stick my tongue out at him for good measure, but then I notice how close his face is to mine. I can just move my head forward a little and kiss him. Alarmed that this thought is the first that comes to mind, I look back down at the bag so quickly I get whiplash.

Jimin doesn’t seem to notice my reaction to his extremely close proximity, because I can feel him shrug nonchalantly at my verbal response. “Mmm, well, if you like it that much, I won’t stop you.” He ruffles my hair affectionately, earning an angrier “Hey!” than I would have normally given him had I not been so flustered, before I saunter back towards the entrance of the shop, right towards the pants that I’d been browsing when he first called me in.

Sensing a possible sale, or, in hindsight, an opportunity to play the responsible cupid, the shopkeeper who has been watching our shenanigans quietly all this while sidles up to me. “That is a good choice, miss. You should ask your boyfriend to buy it for you.” The woman is very young; probably a few years younger than I am, and her speech sounds a little different than Hisyam’s. I sense that she isn’t as fluent as our driver the night before. However, I can understand her perfectly well, and that’s all that matters.

Or perhaps it would have been better if I couldn’t catch her words, because they made me even more agitated. But before I can tell her that Jimin and I are not a couple, she grins brightly and takes my hand in hers, pressing something small into it. “Here, I’ll give you this. Stay safe!”

Curious, I open my hand to see what she has given me accompanied by that suspicious, conspiratorial look. Eyes widening with surprise and hackles raised, I panic; “No no! You–“

“What’s going on?” Jimin walks over, making me shriek in horror and push the condom back into the shopkeeper’s hands then cover them with the bag I’m holding. I’m not sure why I’m so perturbed. It’s not as if I’m the one suggesting that Jimin and I have sex, but damn it, I want to. And I’m deathly afraid that my best friend would somehow figure out my secret, inappropriate desire.

But of course, my startled and over the top reaction only serves to drum up Jimin’s interest. “What are you hiding there?” It isn’t difficult for him to push my hands – and the bag, my only saving grace – away and uncover the little ‘gift’ that the owner thought she’d thoughtfully given to me. What is up with her, anyway?! I thought this is a conservative country! Looking back towards the winking shopkeeper, I decided that she must be a really forward woman, or a foreigner, despite not knowing enough to tell. Either way, the cat’s out of the bag now that Jimin has seen it. Blinking several times blankly at the small packet, Jimin then looks quizzically at me, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh God.” My mortified groan is muffled by the bag that I’d stuffed my head into, unable to bear the embarrassment.

Needless to say, we don’t buy anything from the shop. The steps we take forward are sluggish and unsteady, just like my emotions. Although Jimin had laughed it off as he’d simply told the shopkeeper that we’re all good the whole time he’d dragged me out of the small shop, his silence now clues me in on the awkwardness that he’s feeling, too. After the row we’d had the night before, I really don’t want this to go on. Must keep my feelings hidden. How hard can it be, right? I’ve done it all these years. No one had ever questioned my friendship with Jimin, so it must have looked easy on the outside. I hope no one would ever find out how torn and beat up I am on the inside.

“Sorry about that,” I broach the incident carefully, wanting to put it behind us instead of making it worse. “She suddenly shoved the… it into my hand.”

“Ah, no worries.” Scratching his head like it doesn’t matter to him, Jimin smiles, but he doesn’t quite look me in the eye. “She must have been desperate to make a sale.”

“That must have been the weirdest tactic I’ve ever seen.” I roll my eyes with a chuckle. Good. This may have started out forced, but it’s sounding more natural to my ears now. Just ignore that the woman had thought that Jimin and I are a couple, and more importantly, how much I want it to be true. We’re really close friends, it’s normal that strangers would think that we’re more than that. Just laugh it off and things will go back to normal. They always do.

Shrugging, Jimin tries to give her some credit. “At least it’s a fresh approach!”

I start to shake my head, but we reach the other end of the building, greeted by the sight of a long line running along the side of the next block, starting at a small, humble stall. “There it is!” I exclaim in excitement, recognising it instantly from the photos I’ve seen online. Jimin’s grunt when I grab his arm to join the line goes ignored, but he doesn’t complain once we’re there, even though I can’t even see the stall from where we’re standing.

Thankfully, the line moves up pretty rapidly. Once we approach the stall, we see why; the green droplet jellies and red beans are already laid out and ready to be scooped into the small bowl with the white coconut milk and brown syrup. The only wait time is caused by the man making shaved ice from the initial blocks with a green machine that takes up almost half their workspace. There isn’t much allowance for chairs and tables by the roadside, so after paying, Jimin and I join the other customers in standing while downing our sweet treat.

“This is sooooo good.” My compliment is backed up by my tilting the remnants of the bowl into my mouth.

“Want to get one more?” Jimin says gamely, and I grin at the offer. Obviously he’d enjoyed it as well, but I shake my head.

“I’d love to, but there are more treats for us to try,” I explain, motioning with my chin away from the direction of the cendol queue. Sure enough, just walking down the road has us stopping every hundred meters or so to check out what this stall or that restaurant had to offer. And not just the local cuisine either! We even come across a Harry Potter café that serves more than just Butterbeer. Penangites sure love their trendy cafes.

It isn’t surprising to hear a local complain over the prices of some of these delectable goodies though. “This much for sotong kangkong?!” A woman about my age gasps after paying the waitress for two plates of some squid dish. I simply listen to her talk to her friends one table away as we skewer our own squid and water spinach, enriched by the dark, savoury sauce that has my taste buds dancing with joy.

Jimin, who is eavesdropping on their conversation too, remarks amusedly, “Looks like we got conned.”

“Not surprising. This place is well known after all. I’m sure they marked up the price since tourists come here a lot,” I muse, unbothered but interested. “It would be nice to have a local show us the good and cheap places. I’m sure there are many that are unknown to us tourists.”

“Hmm,” Jimin hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything else. For a few moments, I watch him in silence, waiting for him to express his train of thought out loud, but he doesn’t continue. By the time we start making our way back to the hotel, we’re so full that the walk is more than welcome. Not as welcome as the stop we make at the Chowrasta Market to buy some snacks – for souvenirs, but I admit to Jimin honestly that I can’t promise that at least half of them might be gone by the time we’re going back to Korea.

The food coma that we fall victim to continues into the late morning the next day, but it’s very well worth it. Both of us sleep so soundly that even the blazing glare of the sun can only make me moan tiredly, trying to shuffle into a better position to continue my slumber. Which is when I come to a realisation that jolts me wide awake.

Jimin’s arms and legs are wrapped around me.

No wonder I feel so snug and warm. It isn’t just all the food breaking down in my stomach. Jimin has hugged me on countless occasions before, but this feels different. More like what a couple would do, while I’ve always thought of our hugs as friendly. Or perhaps I force myself to think that way. I would use all my willpower to make myself pretend that this is the same as well, just for self-preservation. He’s just cuddling me in his sleep after all. It’s not like it’s intentional. Right?

I might have convinced myself, if I didn’t feel a definite, insistent hardness pressing against my butt. Yes, even that is unintentional I’m sure, but my dumb body can’t help reacting to it. Closing my eyes, I stifle another moan – not a sleepy one this time – as I feel how wet I’ve already become in reaction to him.

Against my better judgement, I arch my back, leaning forward and shuffling as subtly as I can into a better position. Tingles that spark like tiny electric shocks when my covered slit comes into contact with Jimin’s clothed morning wood has me stifling a wanton sound of pleasure. I’m not sure if he’s fully hard, but he feels like a good size. Any size would be good, as long as it’s Jimin. My hips rock back and forth, years of depravity leaving me utterly shameless. Unthinking about how wrong it is to take advantage of my unassuming best friend while he’s asleep.

My right hand dives down past the waistband of my shorts and into my panties, seeking the nub that would multiply the pleasure. “Hnn,” I bite my lower lip in an attempt to stop any further sounds from spilling past, while letting my eyelids flutter shut. The better to enjoy this — it is no longer a fantasy I indulge myself in when I’m pleasuring myself. If only I could have more. Deft fingers toy with my clit as I rub my pussy faster against Jimin’s cock. It’s undoubtedly growing bigger. It almost feels like it wants to pierce through the fabric separating us. Even though I’m really just dry humping him, moving by myself, it already feels incredible. What I wouldn’t give to have it inside me, giving my weeping pussy just what it’s craving. If only these fingers were his; flicking the stiffened bud while whispering in my ear, telling me to come for him...

As if answering my obscene prayers, a deep groan from behind startles me into a frozen statue. Belatedly realising the gravity of my actions, I yank my arm up and out of my shorts. Shit, what the hell am I doing??? However, taking a look at my hand; fingers soaked with my arousal, flowing all the way to my wrist, I have to gulp down another wave of desire. No, this is just too risky.

Heart beating deafeningly in my chest, I stay deathly still for a minute or two, hoping that Jimin hasn’t awoken and realised what I was up to. If he has, I don’t even know how to explain myself to him. Hell, I don’t even know how to explain myself to myself. Thankfully, he seems to be in a deep sleep. Even luckier for me, he just loosens his hold on me, turning onto his back with a deep sigh. Like a rabbit sprung free from a trap, I scoot out of the bed as fast as I can without waking him up. Once I climb off the bed, I spin around to look at him, making sure that he really is asleep. His face is positively angelic in his slumber. It would be painful for me to look at it if it wasn’t such a contrast to the tent that his hard-on is making out of the pristine white sheets. Sheets that would no longer remain unsoiled if only he had any interest in having his way with me. They would turn near transparent – if I’m already this wet from brushing against him and touching myself, what state would I be in if Jimin is the one touching me? If he’s the one rubbing against my clit frantically? If there was nothing separating us, if he’s actually inside me, stroking my inner walls with his hard cock? The beddings will be soaked through.

These traitorous thoughts make me whine out loud without thinking. The way I’m looking at him now is no way someone would look at a best friend. No; as much as I’ve convinced myself that I’ve been keeping my emotions in check, I haven’t been looking at Jimin as just a friend for a very long time.

And if he wakes up to find me drooling and mewling for him, there won’t be hiding it any longer. His breathing isn’t the long, calm ones of one in deep slumber. He could wake up anytime. So I hasten to the bathroom, willing my eyes not to stray towards his obvious yet unintentional arousal.

After swiftly divesting myself of my clothes, I hop into the shower, blasting it on full force. Two seconds later, I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from screeching and cursing at the temperature of the water. Somehow I’d managed not only to set it on full force, I had turned it on at the hottest temperature as well.

The cold shower I give myself after hurriedly changing the settings doesn’t do much to clear my mind. My body is crying from rebuffed desire. Clearly this sharing-a-room thing isn’t working out in my favour.

As a compromise to my physical needs that allows most of my pride to remain intact, I turn off the shower and get into the bathtub instead. Reaching for the hose, once again I turn it on full force, but this time only after checking the temperature. Uncaring if it’s shameless to do this when my best friend is asleep on the opposite side of the wall, I open my legs and direct the head between them. The intense pressure of the water hitting my pussy awards me with immediate relief from my pent-up frustration, immediately followed by building pleasure that had been denied from me in the bed just now. Keeping the steady jet continuously hitting my sensitive nub with my left hand, I reach down with my right to trace my slit. It’s completely drenched, and I know that it’s not all from the water coming out of the faucet.

My middle and index fingers slip past my entrance easily. Scooting down the tub to get into a better, lower position with only the upper half of my torso resting against the wall of the tub, I begin to move my fingers in and out of my warm depths. Pretending that it’s Jimin’s cock that I’d felt against my pussy, the memory still fresh, I burn the sensation inside my mind to last me for all time. Soon I’m panting and moaning, though still of sound enough mind to be careful not to utter his name out loud, but unable to stop the aroused sighs that fall out of my mouth at the thought of him doing all of this to me, and more.

The fantasy brings me to a climax in record time with a loud cry that I hope is masked by the sound of running water and thick stained glass. Just in case Jimin is awake, I try to clean myself up as fast as I can. If I’m lucky, maybe he’d still be asleep.

When I step out of the bathroom, he’s still on the four-poster, turned onto his side with his back facing me once more. However, I can see movement underneath the sheets that tells me that he is no longer asleep. Is he… masturbating? Even though it’s covered, I can see his right arm moving rapidly, almost desperately. His breathing is unsteady, just like mine was right before in the bathtub.

A part of me that must be sick and perverted wants to watch him. I stand rooted on the spot with my hand on the doorknob, fascinated, longing to see him pleasure himself. Dying to help him do it. Already my center is reacting again. I’m so ready for him. I’ve been ready for him for so long.

But before I can rationalise continuing to watch my best friend masturbate like a total creep, unthinkingly I release my hand from the door of the bathroom, causing it to close shut with a sharp click. Jimin immediately stills, confirming to me that my suspicions were right. The sound also brings me back to my senses. What should I do now?

In the end, I opt for the safe option, the one that I’ve chosen over and over and over again. Striding past the bed, I greet him as normally as I can. “Hey, wake up, we’ve already wasted half a day just snoozing.”

I’m sure that Jimin is going for a sleepy grunt, but it came out sounding more like a horny groan than anything else to my ears. To keep things from becoming awkward, I pretend not to notice it. Instead, I open the wardrobe in the corner of the room, giving him a chance to hightail it to the bathroom with my back turned to him. He grabs the opportunity readily. As he showers, I dress quickly then let myself out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind me. It’s so much easier to tell myself that he hadn’t heard my shameless moans while I was inside the bathroom if I don’t hear him making them either.

Since he doesn’t comment on it, I assume that he either really didn’t hear me in the bathroom, or that he’d rather not say anything in case I saw him and return the favour. I’m more than happy to just pretend nothing had happened. Especially the fact that I used him to get myself off, although I’m pretty sure he’s oblivious to that. Otherwise I doubt he’d let me go on for as long as I did. Masturbating is something normal, he’d probably spare me the embarrassment even if he hadn’t been caught doing it himself. But using your best friend for your own orgasm is something else entirely.

So, with me neglecting to say anything about sorting out his morning wood – which is completely understandable – and him either not knowing that he wasn’t the only one who got off today, or choosing not to mortify me by saying that he does, the afternoon is spent in peace at Batu Feringghi. It doesn’t cost us much to get a driver to bring us to the long stretch of beach less than half an hour from Georgetown. Going there on a weekday means that we’re spared from the throng of people I’m sure would flock the tranquil strip of sand and sea on weekends. The salty wind is refreshing on my skin; perfect after a proper rest the night before.

Even more perfect than the breeze hitting my face and whipping through my hair is having Jimin by my side, leisurely walking in a more or less straight line marked by the water kissing the sand. We’re close enough that the gentle waves wash over our feet every few seconds, but not too deep into the sea that we’re wet past our ankles. I want to go on like this forever, strolling next to Jimin, feeling like a real couple.

It isn’t long before the blissful walk morphs into a food outing though, as it has always been on this trip, when we spot a stall further up the beach and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as he asks me if I want to check the food out. He knows me well, so I can see how he immediately thought that’s what I wanted. However, this time, I’d really rather just spend some quality time with him. No words or anything else needed. Just basking in his presence, soaking in the happiness I feel simply by having him here with me. Once we get back to Seoul, we’ll get caught up in the flow of our own lives again. With people we know all around us, we will truly go back to being just best friends. He will get a girlfriend, and I’ll probably find another boyfriend to fill in the emptiness that can never be satiated by anyone other than Jimin. Is it wrong of me to want to continue this make-believe game of being his girlfriend a little bit longer, even if it’s only in my head?

Of course, it’s not as if I can tell Jimin any of this out loud. Plastering a smile on my face instead, I jokingly praise him, “Wow, when did you learn to read my mind?” and start off towards the stall ahead of him. His, “Oy, wait for me!” is met with laughter, but it rings hollow in my ears. I bounce and skip along, but it’s hard to do so and maintain a steady foothold on the ground thanks to the soft sand giving way underneath my feet. My body feels unbalanced, struggling to remain upright despite – or perhaps because – of the jolly movements I’m forcing upon myself, parallel to the emotions I’ve been keeping inside me for so long. Always on the verge of crumbling, threatening to fall into the unknown, even as I put up a front of being Jimin’s happy best friend.

Blinking back tears, I clear my throat as I stop in front of the stall to read the menu. “What is this?” Pointing to a foreign word on the small white board propped in front of me, I ask the young guy, barely a man, manning the stall as Jimin steps up next to me, bumping my shoulder on purpose.

“Oh, uhm…” he looks visibly flustered, eyes moving all over the separated goods on his workspace as he tries to find the words in English to answer my question. He must be taking care of this place for someone. He seems new and a little inexperienced with customers. I feel bad for him, but I still want an answer, so I wait patiently, flashing him an encouraging smile.

Jimin is quick to take pity on him. “Well, all that matters is that it tastes good, right?”

Given an out, the young man breathes a sigh of relief, obviously feeling more at ease. “Miss, pasembur is a mixture of all these things,” he makes a sweeping gesture towards the ingredients laid out on the table in front of him, “covered with peanut sauce. Can you handle a bit of spice?”

Placated by his effort to explain, I lean forward to look at the dry stuff he has sorted out in different containers. Some shredded cucumbers and turnips, bean sprouts, fried tofu and a fried pancake-looking thing that looks crispy. “Yeah, I love spicy food!”

The ingredients just need to be put together in a large plate, and soon Jimin and I are sitting at one of the tables propped up around the stall under a leafy tree. Both of us take the chairs on opposite sides, so we can enjoy the view of the sea as we sip our coconut juice straight from the fruit. Halfway through our afternoon snack, Jimin muses, “I wonder how much weight we’ve put on since we’ve been here?”

His question makes the mouthful I have in my mouth hard to swallow. “Ugh, must you think about that? We’re supposed to enjoy our holiday with no worries!” I wag my fork at him grumpily, reaching for a glass of ice I’d asked from the boy to wash down the food with the cool, melted water.

My chiding rolls off of him like water off a duck’s back. “If I’m going to continue going with you for more food after this, I’m gonna have to make some space,” he says playfully, getting up with a gesture towards the small building that houses restrooms a few hundred meters away.

“Ew!” After sending a chuckling Jimin off by flinging what’s left of the ice in my cup at him, I turn back to the remnants of our food. The peanut sauce is only mildly spicy, but still very enjoyable. We’ve found out that the fried pancake-like thing is actually prawn fritters, but I like the turnip the most. Coupled with the heavier peanut sauce, the juice that flows into my mouth when I bite the turnip provides a refreshing, contrasting taste that reinvigorates my senses. As I try to pick out the turnip strips among the few other toppings left over, a man I haven’t seen before pulls the stool next to mine.

Confused, I give the surroundings a quick glance before turning back to him. Only one other table is occupied. The rest are empty. Even while sitting, I can tell he’s taller than many Malaysians I’ve seen so far. He’s fair-skinned, and although he looks Asian, he doesn’t look quite like a Malaysian – I’ve seen many of the main three races of Malaysians; Malays, Chinese and Indians – and I’m no expert, but there’s something about him that tells me that he’s a tourist, too. “Excuse me, why are you sitting here?”

“So I can take a better look at you, cutes,” he responds arrogantly, turning me off in a split second. Trying to find someone to hook up with on his vacation, I suppose.

Frowning, I pointedly continue spearing one of the small nuggets of the pasembur with my fork, uncaring of what I choose to pop into my mouth in a show of blowing him off. “Well, I don’t care to look at you, so please leave.”

As expected, he’s not going to give up so easily. “I came over ‘cause you look really bored, sitting here alone by yourself. The name’s Charlie. Why don’t you come with me? My room is just over at that hotel,” he points towards one of the ritzy resorts by the beach, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction by looking at it. “I’ll show you a fun time.”

“No, tha–“ I start to turn him down again, but he grabs my hand, uninterested in my response.

“Hey! Ah, uhm…” Before I can put up a struggle to get myself free, we’re stopped by the boy taking care of the stall. From the way his words are coming up in short stutters, it’s clear that he’s scared out of his wits. Yet he’s still standing up to the much bigger man for my sake. “The miss has a boyfriend!”

“Eh?” Charlie looks from the boy to me, then scans the open space. “Where is he then?”

“Uh.” Great. What am I supposed to tell him now?

But before I can think of a reply, he shrugs indifferently. “Just ditch him, then.”

Again, I start to pull away from him, but this time it’s Jimin who stops us in our tracks. “What’s going on here?” His tone is light, but I can sense the undercurrent of what I’ve named the Angry Jimin; the quiet man who speaks in a soft voice, hiding a dangerous persona that can cut a person with one cold look. In all the years I’ve known him, I can probably count the number of times I’ve seen Jimin like this with the fingers on one hand, but the departure from the usual Jimin that I know is so drastic, there’s no mistaking it when he’s truly furious like this. Even though I know that I’m not in the wrong, he has me shaking in my flip-flops.

Charlie, on the other hand, does not recognise the cue signalling that he’s in hot water. “Who are you?” Then, making the same assumption as the boy, “what, are you her boyfriend?”

Afraid of what Jimin might say and its consequences – not just about Charlie, but I selfishly can’t bear to hear him say that he’s not my boyfriend, either – I wrestle away from Charlie’s grip, rushing forward towards Jimin to link my arm around his. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.”

My unexpected move confuses Jimin, earning a bewildered expression from him, but Charlie doesn’t seem to care either way. “Tch. Look man, don’t be such a spoilsport. I just want to borrow her for a couple of hours. Or do you wanna come join us too? I hate sharing, but I’m sure we can find someone for you, too. If you don’t mind ‘em ugly,” he laughs nastily, reaching out for me again.

However, Jimin snaps out of his bafflement quickly, and snatches Charlie’s wrist in a firm grip before he can get his hand on me. “Do not touch her.” Jimin’s icy voice intimidates Charlie, I can tell, as the latter hesitates for a moment. But he waves away the warning.

“Aw, c’mon. I–aaaaaaargh!” Charlie’s flippant tone hikes up several notches as his knees buckle, attempting to wrench out of Jimin’s grip, which has tightened so much that his hand is starting to bend at an unnatural angle. Once he manages to get out of it, he backs up several large steps, staying clear out of Jimin’s reach. “What the fuck, man! I thought we were cool! If you’re going to be such a stick about it, you could’ve just said something!”

Now that his switch has been turned on, Jimin is in no mood for any tomfoolery. “I told you not to dare lay a hand on her. Now. Fuck Off.” His words still come out composed and almost unaffected, but his normally smiling eyes now have a malicious glint to them, and even Charlie has learnt his lesson.

We leave the place soon after he does, after I thank the boy for standing up for me. Both Jimin and I know where we’re heading to next; I told him our plans before we headed out a few hours earlier, and I think that we’re walking in the right general direction, but neither of us are checking if we’re going the right way. When the heart is lost, does it matter where the body goes? I’m not sure what’s going on with Jimin, though. He isn’t checking if we’re going the right way, and he doesn’t seem to care, either. I’d ask him what’s bothering him if I wasn’t so preoccupied myself. Having him protect me like that made me ecstatic, even though I was also scared back there. But the aftermath is excruciating. Having him act like he’s my boyfriend, as short-lived as it was, only makes it more painful to face reality. He will be that for another lucky girl, one day, forever. But that girl isn’t going to be me.

While I’m musing on the thoughts that I’ve been burying for ages and plan to do so until the end of time, Jimin isn’t planning on taking the same approach. I should never have worried about asking him what’s wrong – he’s going to address it himself without any prodding from me. “You could’ve just told that ass that your boyfriend is back at home.”

Frayed nerves and a permanently broken heart immediately fuel the ire that rises inside me at his comment. Is that really important? “Do you really think he would have left me alone if I’d said that? He was trying to take off with me even with you there,” I bite off bitterly.

Jimin sighs, unable to argue with the validity of my statement. “I guess that’s true. I just wish I didn’t have to pretend to be your boyfriend to chase him away.”

“Why, is the idea of being my boyfriend that horrible to you?” No, wrong thing to say. I shouldn’t lash out like this. I’m only inviting trouble. But I can’t stop. Jimin might have not done anything wrong, but I still can’t help being resentful towards him for this. I can’t stop hating myself for still being hung up over him. He might not have meant anything hurtful by it, right now and back then, but it doesn’t stop it from eating away at me, turning me into an ugly monster inside.

At least he has enough wits to recognise that he’d put his foot in his mouth. “No, I didn’t mean–“

“Just stop.” I don’t want to hear it. I can’t bear it. His meaning is crystal clear. It always has been. Jimin just doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend. However, if I hear the exact words, I don’t think I can handle it. All of me wants to run far from him, but I can’t do that without appearing even more suspicious than I am now. So I settle for increasing my walking speed just short of a run, surprising Jimin as I leave him behind to cross the road. The few seconds it takes for him to wait for the cars to pass and lengthen his strides to return to my side grants me a bit of time to furiously blink my tears away, clearing my throat. I hope he’d missed the way my voice cracked just now.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Jimin pulls me to the curb, holding me by the shoulder to face him. “You’ve been acting weird. I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just–“

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I throw out fake words meant to reassure him, using my phone as an excuse not to look at him. “Just checking the direction for the night market.” My thumb shakes with the rest of me, making it difficult to type, but I will myself to make it steady. I can’t break down now. Not after all this time, in the middle of the road in a foreign country, no less.

“No, you’re not.” It isn’t the same Jimin that had dealt with Charlie earlier, but I can tell that I’m trying his patience. Still, I can’t tell him. If I do, not just this trip; everything will fall apart. And I need Jimin more than I need air. If I can only have him as a friend, then I’ll take it with the heartbreak that comes with it.

“Just let it go. Please, Jimin,” I plead with him, finally tilting my face up towards his concerned one. The annoyance on his face crumbles when he sees the raw agony I know I can no longer hide. My watery eyes that betray a world of pain, even if he doesn’t know why. His hold on me loosens, then releases me, his arms falling limply to his sides. The last thing I want is to see him like this. It’s even worse because I’m the cause. But there’s nothing else I can do. “I’m sorry.”

“If you think it’s best for you, I’d do anything,” Jimin says, not asking for an explanation. “Just know that you can come to me about anything. Anything at all. I would always be there for you.”

I nod appreciatively, thinking to myself that he can’t be the medicine to the disease that he himself has created. “Thank you,” I whisper. We stand like that for a while, ignoring other people walking by us, some peering curiously at two foreigners just frozen there. Wiping my tears as discreetly as I can with him watching, I take a few deep breaths, determined to return to my normal self again – as normal as I can be, anyway – and get this day back on track. It has been a roller coaster so far.

The night market spanning along the main road and beyond are made of countless makeshifts stalls that light up the descending night. I can see just about everything I can think of here – from the standard souvenirs, to traditional clothes and bikinis, knockoff bags and watches, to paintings. Normally I would have soaked up the atmosphere, growing so excited that I’d border on crazy just trying to decide what to buy and ending up with more goods than I could carry, but somehow I can’t quite muster up the energy. It isn’t the fault of the vendors, who are friendly and inviting, but not too pushy. Nor is it because I’m turned off by the prices; although I do notice that things here are a little overpriced compared to some other places I’ve been to so far. As desperate as I am to return things to how it was before, I can’t get over Jimin rejecting me as a girlfriend. If he doesn’t even want to pretend to be my boyfriend, I can only imagine how much of a turn off it is to him to have it become a reality. And while I’ve known all along that this is how he feels, I’ve spent so long denying it to myself as I pretend on the outside that I’m all good with it. Without anyone knowing, I’ve allowed myself to fantasise being his girlfriend for too long. It’s just daydreaming, I’d thought. Just a fantasy. I know what’s real, I’d told myself. But I didn’t realise that it had made me hope that it would someday come true, and to be forced to face reality like that – it left me in a state of shock. Things are even worse, because I’m here with nowhere to run from him.

It certainly doesn’t help matters that many of the vendors assume that we’re a couple. While not surprising, it makes the air feel more awkward between us, and drives the knife deeper into my heart. I don’t need to be reminded that Jimin doesn’t see me as girlfriend material, no matter how much it may seem differently to everyone else. Every “No, no, we’re just friends,” I tell every friendly seller is a cruel admittance to the fact that I’ve been denying since we were young. Like a punishment for thinking that I can one day have more than I deserve. I couldn’t have been more wrong. And this whole day is just full of occurrences driving the point home, over and over and over. I want to cry my heart out in anguish. I want to scream my lungs out in frustration. And I want to run, to the ends of the earth, and fall off to a place where I can hurt no longer.

I’m sure Jimin knows that something isn’t right with me, but he doesn’t say or ask anything. While I really appreciate that he’s giving me space and keeping his distance so I can lick my wounds as best as I can in such a crowded place, a foolish part of me still hopes that he cares. His suggestion that we call it a night and get an early start tomorrow after popping for dinner at a food court wedged among the stalls is a very welcome one. At this point I just want to sleep and forget all this ever happened. The latter might be too much to ask for, but I can’t imagine that some rest would make anything worse than it already is.

 “When I said an early morning, I didn’t mean this!”

Jimin’s whining is ignored, although he doesn’t notice me giggle softly at his dismay. I’m glad that a few hours’ sleep is enough to restore the normalcy between us. At least that’s how it looks on the surface. My own feelings for him, now escalated to an irreversible state, have been repressed back inside me, where they have been kept carefully under lock and key for as long as I’ve realised them. And I tell myself that I’m okay with this. I’ve always known that Jimin will forever be my best friend, and only that. It was just my stupidity that kept embers of hope burning within that it might somehow change. As long as I can extinguish my impossible wishes, I can hold onto what I have – Jimin’s friendship. That is more than enough. It has to be. The alternative is to confront him with the truth, and lose him.

So I choose to maintain this delicate equilibrium. What happened yesterday should never come to pass again. I was careless, foolishly allowing my real feelings to surface. That mistake should never be repeated. Hopefully Jimin would think that I’m just still upset about Se Hoon, and leave it at that. Jimin has never been all that keen on talking too much about my boyfriends. The time we spend together has always been for just the two of us. We may chat about our partners once in a while, just to check in on the other person, but we never delved into it. I never cared to talk about my boyfriends when Jimin is the only one I truly wanted, and perhaps Jimin has never had much to share about his relationships, either. It would just be frustrating if I had to listen to him talk about them, so if he doesn’t say anything, I’ve never asked.

Addressing him from the front on the narrow dirt path, I point out, “It’s not that early, you know,” then yelp as I almost stumble over a root jutting out of the ground.

“Look out!” Relying on his animal-like reflexes, Jimin rushes forward and seizes me by the arms before I tumble to the ground. Wrapped in his arms, his sweat and slightly heavier breathing from the exertion of our exercise should be anything but romantic, but as I look up into his soft eyes, filled with concern, I can hear my heartbeat pounding erratically in my ears, and I know it’s not because we’ve been navigating this leafy terrain over the past half hour. Even in this awkward, uncomfortable position, with most of my body weight resting on him and both of us smelling way less fresh than daisies, I can’t help but notice how inviting his lips look from this close proximity. I’d give my whole fortune to be able to kiss them.

No. I’m letting myself fall into the same trap all over again. Before I do anything I will regret later, I clear my throat and extract myself from his embrace. Jimin lets me go readily. “Sorry,” I mumble to hide both my embarrassment and disappointment.

At first, Jimin looks as stunned as I feel, but my movements and apology snaps him out of it. “I told you that hiking is a bad idea,” he takes the opportunity to chide me for my choice, in the aggravating I-told-you-so manner only a childhood friend can manage. It automatically incites an immature response in me, pulling me away from my years-old worries, if only for a moment.

“It so isn’t! Just wait until we get there. Besides, it’s the perfect way to burn off all the food we ate.” Finishing with a loud huff, I turn around and continue on the narrow trail towards Monkey Beach, a stopping point on our way to the Muka Head lighthouse in Penang National Park.

We arrive at the beach just a little under an hour later. It’s already midmorning, and the sun has begun its work warming the sand and the water. I had my fill of the beach yesterday, and there’s still more hiking to do before we reach the lighthouse, but I can’t resist running my hand through the clear water and then splashing an unsuspecting Jimin who’d crouched down next to me. “Hey!” He scolds me indignantly as I erupt into laughter; my first uninhibited one since only yesterday, but it seems like forever since I’d last felt such unadulterated joy. The world just isn’t right when things are not going well with Jimin. It makes me more determined to keep everything just as they are. A life where I’m on the outs with Jimin just isn’t right.

If either of us thought that going to Monkey Beach was tiring enough, we’re in for an unpleasant surprise. While the trail to the beach was slightly challenging, it was mostly flat. From the beach to the lighthouse is a far less forgiving climb – one that would have knocked me out if I were in a worse shape than I’m in. Jimin, the fitter one of the two of us, insists that we would have gotten to our destination in less than forty minutes if I hadn’t stopped to catch my breath, but I pretend not to hear his annoying remark, choosing to roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him when his back is turned.

Despite the journey that was more tiring than we’d bargained for, it’s well worth it now that we’re here. The lighthouse is an old one; there’s nothing really remarkable about its appearance. Our climb is really rewarded by the view that we see from the top of the lighthouse. Jimin makes his way up first, then calls out to me excitedly, and I give up on regaining my strength at the bottom of the lighthouse to join him. The narrow walkway surrounding the lighthouse peak offers us a fantastic view of the islands surrounding this one, and we stand there for a while, just taking in the endless stretch of the blue sea, trying to figure out where it meets the azure sky in the horizon.

The climb down from the lighthouse is significantly easier compared to going in the opposite direction, and we find ourselves back at the beach in no time. “Do you know that we can see turtles here?”

“Where?” The possibility of this gets Jimin on his toes at once, excitedly looking around the beach for any stray turtles wandering around. I can’t help but giggle at his enthusiastic response.

“I don’t know. I read that you might see them here. Maybe we’d have a higher chance to see them at one of the other beaches in the park. It’s a nesting place for the turtles, and the season is right about now.” My clarification disappoints him, and his shoulders sagging makes me want to pull him into a tight hug. “Do you want to go there and see if we can find any?”

At first he brightens up at the idea, then looks at me sceptically. “How far is it from here?”

“Uh…” As much as I like playing tour guide, I’m not actually sure of the answer to his question. “A little far, maybe? The way there uses an almost completely different trail, I think.”

That draws an easy response from him; “pass”. By the time we’ve walked all the way back to the park entrance, had a tasty lunch and got back to our hotel to shower, it’s already late in the afternoon. “The day just flew by,” Jimin remarks as we sit in the car, on our way to our next stop.

“I know, right? But this isn’t bad.” We’re on the main road, surrounded by buildings on our left and right, but we must be on the edges of the island, because I can see glimpses of the sea and the reddish-purplish dusky sky as the car zips by the gaps between the buildings. “It’s kind of relaxing when we’re not rushing from one place to another.”

“I wouldn’t call a morning hike relaxing though,” Jimin mumbles under his breath, earning a playful smack on the arm from me.

The easy-going mood and light banter continue even after we get to Straits Quay, a beautiful marina enclosed by a shopping mall. Perhaps too easy-going, as we indulge in some drinks after dinner. Having western food is definitely a departure from the norm after several scrumptious Malaysian meals, but I don’t mind the change very much. Especially now that the alcohol has made its way into my system – losing my inhibitions is making me tap into my repressed emotions more deeply than usual, and it’s confusing me. While I’m happy that Jimin is here with me, I’m also tired and angry at him for rousing my irrepressible hopes once more.

Without thinking, I’ve downed more than I can handle. I’ve belatedly realised that Jimin is keeping a modest pace, not imbibing even half as much as I have, but at that point, I’m beyond caring. “You should slow down a bit,” he warns me, and only then I put my mug down with a sigh, heeding his advice. “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Although I’m starting to feel a little woozy, I still have a bit of wits about me yet.

Jimin stares at me, trying to judge if I’m still of sound mind. He must have been aiming for the delicate balance between loosening my tight lips and inability to think coherently, and I’ve fallen neatly into his trap. “Is everything going well with Se Hoon?”

“Why, do you think there’s trouble in paradise?” My answer is sharp and bitter out of sheer anger and defensiveness, instinctively seeking to protect myself even when I’m not in the best state to do so.

“I’m just concerned. I know you’re pissed because he bailed out of this trip at the last minute, but you seem more… prickly than I thought you would be,” Jimin hedges, expertly opening my precious treasure box of jealously guarded secrets. I’ve always worried that Jimin knows that I’m keeping something from him. He could always tell when there’s something I’d rather not tell him, and he usually manages to make me spill everything out. Everything… but my real feelings for him.

“And whose fault do you think it is?” I ask testily, not thinking that there can be more than one answer to this question.

“Se Hoon?” Jimin’s wrong answer makes me want to slap my forehead. At this point I’m not sure who’s the stupid one; him or me. Of course he would think Se Hoon is behind my irritable behaviour, but should I have clued Jimin in on my troubles in the first place?

“Not any longer.” His clueless answer bursts the balloon of fury blowing up within me, and I deflate in my seat. How can I expect him to put all the pieces together when I’m withholding so much of them from him? Jimin can’t possibly know that I’m hopelessly in love with him. Not when I’ve done everything that I can to hide it from him. But I’m tired of concealing things. I’ve gotten sick of it for a long time, and it has risen stealthily to the surface, slipping through my defences, biding its time until an opportunity comes for it to spill forth. Like right now. “We broke up just before we came here.”

“Oh.” His response is quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s indifferent, or sad for me, or feeling awkward from the sudden news bomb. “So it wasn’t some business thing that made him cancel the trip?”

“It was business, alright. A meeting with his colleague on his bed.” Funny, I should feel more upset about it, but I’m not. Whatever Se Hoon has done during the course of our relationship has never affected me much one way or another. Naturally he did please me and annoy me at times, but nothing he ever did got to me the way Jimin does. It’s the same for all my past relationships. I’m aware of that. But what else can I do but accept these pseudo relationships, since I can’t have the one I truly want?

Jimin’s brows shoot up upon hearing this, then crash down in a frown, accompanied by some colourful curses under his breath as he processes the information. “Sorry about that. Never liked the smarmy guy anyway. You can do way better,” he rattles off the typical sympathetic words that don’t do anything to lift up my spirits. “You could have just told me though,” he mumbles, almost as an afterthought, but I can tell that he’s offended that I kept it from him. Far from making me feel guilty though, his expectations that I share anything about my half-hearted relationships only serves to stab another wound in my already well-punctured heart.

“Guess I don’t want to feel like an even bigger loser in front of the guy who rejected me before I could even tell him how I feel.” A large lump lodges itself in my throat, obstructing my air flow, but the words come out anyway.

“What do you mean?” Leave it to Jimin to be stymied even after being told outright. “Who are you talking about?”

I don’t know what else I would have blabbed to him if a wave of dizziness didn’t strike me right then. Finally, something – alcohol in this case – saves me from my stupidity, even though it was precisely the same thing that led to my foolish confession in the first place. “Whoa!” Jimin reaches out to steady me, almost upsetting the glasses on the table in the process. “Okay, I think we’ve had enough.”

I’m not sure when or how Jimin paid for our drinks, but he must have somehow, because we made it out of the shopping mall and down at the seafront without anyone hounding us to pay the bill.

It’s hard to believe that this beautiful place is this quiet when the night is still young, but I suppose we have the weekday to thank for that. The sea breeze does wonders to whip me awake, and although I remain tipsy and a little unsteady on my feet, I manage to convince Jimin that I’m up to the night-time stroll without any danger of falling into the sea unsupported in no time at all.

The yachts lined up along the marina give the place a luxurious feeling, while the lights from the high-end apartments above the shopping mall illuminate the scene behind us against the darkness of the night and the mysterious sea before us. A white lighthouse marking the end of the yachts is clearly much newer than the one we visited earlier today. What it lacks in character and history, it makes up in pristine beauty, befitting the dreamlike scenery we’ve found ourselves in. While I’m not exactly in a romantic mood that this setting is obviously perfect for, I can still appreciate the atmosphere. Well, as much as I can while focusing on putting one foot in front of the other without losing my balance.

We turn right at the lighthouse, following the wide walkway past white houses surrounded by greenery; surely a picture-perfect setting had we seen it during the day. Lamps glow softly above us as we walk unhurriedly to the end of the straight path, both unwilling for the idyllic time to end. The silence between us is a companionable one. Jimin and I have never felt the need to fill them with idle chatter if we have nothing to say to each other. Or even when we do, sometimes, like we do now. I’m slowly becoming aware of the fact that I have said something I never should have, but I’m still buzzed enough to not care about the consequences.

However, Jimin, the more sensible of the two of us at the moment, isn’t content with letting things be. By the time we turn around to head back towards the shopping mall, I start to feel the weight of the empty air, filled with burning questions on the tip of Jimin’s tongue. In my heart of hearts, I don’t want to do it, but I look at him nevertheless; a silent permission for him to go ahead and say what is on his mind.

“When you were talking about the guy whom you couldn’t confess to, whom did you mean?”

Somehow I just knew that he’s going to zero in on that. “Does it really matter?” I sigh.

“Of course it does! I want to know who is stupid enough to reject you before you could tell him anything.” He pauses, trying to make sense of the whole thing. Of course he doesn’t know. He isn’t even aware that I know what he said, so long ago. Heck, he probably doesn’t even remember – people don’t tend to remember things that aren’t important to them, anyway. I want to snort in derision at his comment. He doesn’t even know that he’s talking about himself.

I shake my head; partly in mild disbelief, but mostly in hopelessness. The events of yesterday had solidified reality and brought me back down to earth. “It’s not gonna happen, so I’m trying not to think about it. Even if it’s just pretend, I just want to feel cherished, by the right guy, for once.”

Jimin stares at me intently, both of us standing so still we could be mistaken for statues but for our hair and garments swaying gently in the calm breeze of the night sea. I can tell that he wants to say something, to offer me words of comfort, but the agony that I’ve suffered for years must be showing on my face. A pain so deep that nothing he can say can make me feel better. Yet I wait. Hanging onto foolish hope that the source of my sickness can provide me with the remedy I need. An eternity passes by, and I know that there’s nothing he can do. So I give up, and step forward, alone. Perhaps this time I really can leave him behind.

But of course, my feet somehow get tangled with each other, and I start to trip. “Whoa!” Jimin’s quick reaction saves me in a very similar fashion to what happened less than an hour earlier, pulling me back against gravity. “Oof!” Like a big oaf, I stumble heavily into his arms, almost causing him to topple over. He manages to stay upright though, leaving me in a very awkward position; a heart-thumping position that I’ve always longed to be in, and also one that is counter-productive to my aim of forgetting him. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm.” I’m not. Intoxicated, the closest I’ve been to outing myself in ages, in dangerous proximity to the man whom I can never have. Carefully, trying not to lose my balance again and to avoid making it look like I’m pushing him away, I extract myself from his embrace. Immediately my body cries out for the warmth of his body. It isn’t that cold, but my desire for his nearness transcends physical needs. Best to get out of this situation before I start daydreaming again. “Can we go back? I’m not feeling so good.”

Without protest Jimin agrees, helping me call for a driver this time, and soon we’re back in our hotel room. We take turns showering, the motions almost feeling like a routine at this point, like we’ve been living together for years instead of this being only the fourth night we’ve shared a room consecutively. Ever since the ride back to the hotel, we haven’t said much to each other beyond short, necessary things, like, “I’ll pay for the ride.” Rather than awkward, the silence is heavy. Jimin seems lost in his thoughts while I’m just trying to clear my head for the most part. When we lay down on the bed together, I’m more aware of his nearness than ever before.

Skin prickling and thoughts all jumbled up, I shift to rest on my side, facing away from him. Perhaps I can try to get some sleep like this, I try to convince myself even though I’m hyperaware of his presence behind me. Why is this so damn hard? Tears well up behind my eyelids at the futility of it all. Jimin is just a guy. Okay, he’s an amazing guy, and the greatest friend anyone can ask for, but he is still just a normal human being. With flaws. He irritates me at times. We get into arguments and fights. So why is it that I can’t let him go? Why do I still pine for him? Why can’t I fall in love with someone else? It’s not like all my past boyfriends were assholes like Se Hoon. There have been decent guys. Nice guys. Men who are just as good as Jimin. Maybe even better. Why am I not with them? Why didn’t those relationships work out?

A wet sob makes its way out involuntarily, inducing one more, then another. I hope Jimin is asleep, so he doesn’t hear me. Slowly, I begin to slip out from under the covers, trying to keep the pitiful noises wedging in my throat contained, at least until I can make my way to the balcony where I can cry my eyes out. However, before I can reach the edge of the bed, Jimin grabs hold of me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. “Shh,” he whispers soothingly into my ear, stroking me softly without demanding an explanation.

His gentle encouragement eases me to let myself go, drawing up the white blanket up to my face, cupping it as I cry in earnest, drenching the quality cloth with my tears. Although Jimin doesn’t know that he’s the cause behind my sadness, it doesn’t make his tender brand of solace any less comforting. For me, Jimin has always been able to evoke the most extreme emotions within; the highest bliss, the deepest pain, the best comfort. And even though I can’t let it go – perhaps I never will – the overwhelming agony eventually subsides. Tendrils of exhaustion begin to creep in on the edges of my consciousness, as they always do after a good cry. My eyes will probably be bloodshot and puffy tomorrow.

After finding a dry spot on the blanket to wipe them, I twist around in Jimin’s arms to face him again. None of the lights are on in the room, but the pinpricks of light from the lamps outside shine dimly through the thin inner curtains that have been drawn over the glass doors, softly illuminating the room like faraway stars. I can make out Jimin’s kind expression as he looks at me, plump lips curled into a tiny smile. “Thank you.” My gratitude comes in a soft voice, even though I can’t return his smile.

“Anytime,” he answers lightly. The arm that was wrapped around me lifts so he can caress the side of my face tenderly with his hand. His touch feels like heaven, and my eyelids flutter shut, wanting to savour and burn this kind warmth into my memory so I can relive it a million times in the future.

When I open them again, my sight is clearer than before, with all the moisture previously clouding them washed away like they have been wiped by the windshield of a car. Jimin looks so close. Over the course of our friendship, I thought I’ve seen all of Jimin, but this is different somehow. He has never looked so attainable. I’ve never wanted him as much as I want him now, right at the cusp of cementing the determination of letting him go forever.

Against my better judgement, I shuffle closer to him, but he doesn’t move away even though he’s now just a hair’s breadth away from me. We’re so close, our breaths are mingling together. His palm is still cradling my cheek. Perhaps I’m deluding myself, but he’s looking at me as if… as if he actually loves me. I’m not sure what came over me, but I lean forward, doing what I’ve always wanted to do but never had the courage to in all the years of knowing him;

I kiss Jimin.

Even though I can feel his surprise from the way his body stiffens and his lips part in astonishment, I keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut, afraid of his reaction now that I’ve taken the plunge. I don’t know what’s possessing me to make such a rash move after holding back for so long, and I’m sure I’ll live to regret it. Either from the embarrassment of being rejected, or from losing Jimin’s friendship. Maybe both. But right at this moment, I don’t care. If I’m never going to have him, the least I can ask for is one kiss, and savour it as much as I can before he pushes me away.

However… he doesn’t do anything of the sort. Quite the opposite, actually. Once he’s gotten over my unexpected move, his arms wrap around me once more, but this isn’t the tender hold meant to comfort me. No, Jimin is squeezing me with a strength that I’m not even aware he possesses, his hand cupping the nape of my neck so he can kiss me more passionately. His tongue teases my bottom lip; not making its way into my mouth, but rather content tracing my lips, as if getting to know every corner of it before going further. It’s like he’s turned the tables on me, leaving me in shock. But not for long. It’s impossible not to react when Jimin’s soft lips are melding into mine, his breaths fanning across my face, the sensations too real for it to be a dream.

It gets even more vivid as his body, much like his mouth, brushes intimately against mine, and I feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire against my stomach. My own body jumps to life immediately. I can feel my blood heating up with need, my leg hugging one of his so I can press my aching pussy against it, and I moan into his throat wantonly. The sound rouses Jimin from his trance, and finally he does what I’d expected him to do from the very start. Sitting up, he breaks the kiss, leaving me disappointed, befuddled and breathless. I hadn’t thought about how I would feel about his reaction – or rather, I didn’t expect that he’d only push me away after reciprocating my kiss, and thus have no clue what to think of it – but his fierce scowl has me trembling in fear. What have I done? Why is he like this?

 “Why did you do that?” Jimin’s voice is rumbling and low, a sure-fire mark of seething anger, and this time I’m on the receiving end. I open my mouth to explain, then close it again. No words will come out. How am I supposed to explain myself? Even if I’m honest with him about my feelings, I already know what his answer will be. While I’ve gone and done the stupidest thing possible, I still can’t bear to hear the rejection from him as he looks straight into my eyes. Seeing that no answer is forthcoming, he bites out, “Do not test me like this.”

He extricates himself from me none too gently, almost kicking my leg off of him so he can get out of the bed. Still trying to gather my wits, I sit up, wanting to call out for him, but he looks back at me, his eyes narrowed in fury as if anticipating what I will do and daring me to do it. I draw back like a frightened deer and let him leave the room. The door closes shut softly, but in the silence of the night following what had transpired, it’s as loud and final as a booming thunderclap in the sky. As much as I want to go after him, I know that’s not a good idea. Especially when I don’t know what to say. What did he mean by testing him? Me kissing him might have been a stupid decision, or even a drunken mistake, but it certainly wasn’t a test. I can’t figure him out. Heck, I can’t even figure myself out.

Even though I should be tired, sleep eludes me tonight. I can’t stop thinking about my unrequited love for Jimin, what happened tonight, the incident that occurred so long ago and all the time in between. With my exhausted body and my overloaded brain wrestling for control, I slip in and out of consciousness several times during the course of the night, but when the darkness is lightened by dawn, I’m still no closer to figuring anything out than I was in the beginning.

Jimin hasn’t returned to the bed, either. A blessing, perhaps, because I can’t face him right now. I’m not sure if I can look at him in the eye ever again. After taking a quick shower, I get dressed and make my way out of the bedroom. As expected, I see him passed out on the sofa in the living room. Guilt hikes up my conscience. I should’ve been the one to take the couch, not him. He hasn’t done anything wrong. But instead of waking him up to tell him to sleep on the bed, I tiptoe out of the room, praying that he wouldn’t wake up.

Yes, I’m running away like the coward I am.

At first I wanted to just leave, but I remember that we’re not in Korea, and my disappearing without notice could cause real panic. So I scribbled a simple note saying, ‘Going out for some fresh air. See you later.’ and left it on the small wooden table next to the couch Jimin was sleeping on before slipping out. It doesn’t diminish my guilt for abandoning him on a trip like this, but it does lessen it somewhat.

Not enough for me to enjoy the time by myself, though. Even though the nasi lemak highly recommended by locals and tourists alike hits all the spicy and yummy levels on the scale, the rich coconut rice accompanied by fried anchovies and peanuts, slices of cucumber, boiled egg and fried chicken – talk about decimating two generations in one go – is only enough to fill my stomach, not my happiness meter. I stay long after my food is gone, sipping the milk tea absent-mindedly until late morning, when I figure some of the touristy places must be open by now.

Using the handy app, I get drivers to take me around a temple and a museum, but as interesting and beautiful as they are, I’m unable to get myself to enjoy them. After ending up walking aimlessly and failing to take anything in, I accept the fact that I’m just wasting my time. Resolving to find a way out, I pop into the first café that I see. With a clear aim in mind, I try to focus, forcing myself to push past the dense fog of self-loathing and denial.

Yet still almost an hour later, I can’t think of anything to say to Jimin. Is there any excuse for acting as moody as I have been, lashing out at him, then getting stupidly drunk and making a move on him like that? On top of that, I even walked out while he was sleeping. He has every right to be royally pissed off at me. Knowing Jimin though, he’s too kind to be mad at me for long. He really is more than I deserve. Looks like I’ll have to be angry at myself for the both of us. And I think that I’m doing the job quite well on my own.

In the end when I pull out my phone, instead of a long explanation that Jimin deserves, I type, ‘Jimin, I’m really, really sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind. Please let me know how I can make it up to you.’

Before I can close the chat, a reply from Jimin appears on the screen. ‘When will you be back?’

I hesitate, wondering which answer would be the right one. Does Jimin want me to come back, or is he so angry that he wishes not to see me, at least for a little while? ‘Do you want me to go back now?’

While waiting for Jimin to type out his answer, I fidget in my seat, belatedly weighing my choice of words. Did I sound like an errant child who is being questioned by her parents about her whereabouts? Or did it sound like a desperate admirer finally being given the time of day? The latter is probably closer to the truth, I laugh deprecatingly at myself. Jimin’s reply, however, doesn’t fall within my expectations;

‘The sooner the better.’

Curiosity filling me to the brim, I quickly make my way back to the hotel. Why on Earth would Jimin want me to come back as soon as I could? Does he not want to do anything touristy by himself? Or does he want to scold me? Or… does he want to continue where we stopped last night? I shake my head in disbelief at my foolish dreams. As if he’d want to do that. Pushing me away and sleeping on the couch made his rejection painfully clear.

Heart threatening to burst out of my chest in anticipation and fear, I pause for a minute to take a deep breath before opening the door to the hotel room that Jimin and I share. “Sorry I–“

“There you are.” Jimin greets me with a smile that has my pulse racing. Memories of last night flood my mind just at the sight of him, but somehow Jimin is acting like nothing had happened. I should be relieved, but for some reason I feel dismayed. Did the kiss mean nothing to him after all? After pushing me away and going so far as to sleep on the couch, I thought my coming onto him had an effect – anger, frustration, befuddlement – something. Anything. I’d risked everything for that kiss. And for a second, I was sure that he’d kissed me back. It doesn’t seem like something that can be swept under a rug. I was expecting a severe scolding. A less sane part of my brain feeds to the hope that he would pull me into his arms and kiss me, just as passionately as we did last night. However, he’s just walking around the room, collecting things as he speaks. It feels anticlimactic.

“Have you had lunch?”

I shake my head. I’ve only had a cup of coffee at the café while I agonised over what to say to him. I haven’t given a thought about lunch. Looks like all that effort was just a waste of time.

“Good. Are you ready to go? Let’s grab some food together,” he says, swiping up keys from the small table where I’d left the note for him this morning.

“Uh, okay,” I reply stupidly, not really being given a choice, as Jimin strides past me to get the door. He is acting slightly weird, but at least he doesn’t seem outwardly angry at me. I’m not sure if this is better, but my instincts tell me to go with the flow, so I follow him out of the building without protest.

“Where are we going?” Instead of waiting at the hotel lobby to call a driver, he leads me to the parking lot next to the hotel. My bewilderment deepens when he presses a button on the set of keys and a silver sedan unlocks with a flash of lights and a friendly beep. “How did you–?”

“Rented it,” Jimin answers simply, opening the passenger door and beckoning me in. In my state of confusion, I thought he wanted me to drive, but then I remember that here the driver’s seat is on the right, not the left. “It’s not that hard to find, and I can just leave the key at the hotel lobby for the owner to collect later.”

“Okay…” It doesn’t really answer the question I have in mind, but I’m not even sure what I want to ask, so I suppose this answer is as good as any.

“Buckle up.” Before I can follow up on his instructions though, he reaches over my seat to pull the seat belt and strap me in. When his body brushes against mine, all the air whooshes out of my lungs, like I’ve been hit in the stomach. He may be able to do it but no, I can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. But I want to remain friends with Jimin more than anything else, so I don’t comment on it, even if I can’t act as nonchalantly as he is.

He has no problem driving on the opposite side, easing out of the parking and making his way down the small alley to join the busy main road with no issues. The only thing that might clue anyone in that he’s not actually from around here is his phone on its holder on the dashboard, displaying the directions to our destination on the navigation app. It says that we will take about forty minutes to get there, but not the actual location we’re headed to. “Where are we going?” I repeat my question from earlier. “Is it too far to get a driver to drive us there?”

“Hmm.” Instead of answering me, Jimin glances at the screen of his phone. “It’ll take us a little under an hour to get there, so I guess it is kind of far, or maybe too expensive?”

“Uh.” I’m not sure what to say to that. How am I supposed to know how much it’ll cost us to get there with a driver, or how far is ‘far’? A question better kept to myself, because I’m sure Jimin would find it ridiculous if I voice it out loud. Why ask when I’ve no idea what I want to get out of it?

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Jimin continues, seemingly knowing what I want to say when I don’t even know it myself, as usual. “I’d like to spend some quality time alone with you, just the two of us. It’s not the same when there’s a driver here.”

“Oh... okay.” My dead heart sputters weakly to life, but I tell myself not to read too much into it. Isn’t that what always gets me into trouble and hurts me in the first place? “It does feel a little awkward to chat between the two of us when there’s someone else there.” Yeah, that sounds like what a friend with no romantic feelings would say on the matter.

Laughing, Jimin nods, agreeing with my statement. “I totally get you! Even if we’re not speaking in English, I feel really guilty when we don’t include them in the conversation.”

“It’s the worst when the driver is totally quiet and unfriendly!” Relieved, I catch Jimin’s jovial, cheerful energy and run with it, happy that this car ride isn’t going to be as awkward as I was afraid it would be.

“What about those who play awful music?” Jimin challenges.

“No, no, that’s still not as bad as the ones who don’t play anything and won’t say a word!”

In this vein, we continue merrily all the way along the coastline of the island. “Look, Jimin, there’s an island over there!”

“Hmm?” Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, he briefly looks in the direction I’m pointing at. “Oh, that’s pretty close, isn’t it? I wonder what island it is.”

“Yeah, there’s a ferry making its way over there,” I inform him as I figure out the keywords to type into my phone to find out about the island. “Turns out it was a leprosarium, then became a quarantine station, and then a prison, but now it’s a resort.”

“Yikes, that’s weird.” Jimin cocks his head, unsure whether to laugh or disapprove. His sentiment echoes mine.

“I know, right?” Casting a look at the cluster of buildings I can see from inside the car, I try to reason the decision behind building a resort there. “Maybe there’s something that still draws people to it, even with its history.”

“Maybe.” His concentration back on driving, Jimin simply agrees with my assumption. “Maybe we can check it out next time.”

Next time? Just two words can make my mind race with endless possibilities, but I force myself not to think about them. It’s probably Jimin making polite conversation. I watch him steer the car smoothly out of the exit, gliding onto the spacious bridge that spans out almost ninety degrees away from the island. “You’re really good at this.” Grasping for a topic that would take my mind off his vague invitation to come to the island again, I comment on his superb driving skills on the left side of the road.

“Oh, yeah, it’s not my first time.” Even though he tries to play it off coolly, I can make out the smug smile yanking at the corners of his lips. It’s so easy to make Jimin happy — just a praise and he’d be on cloud nine. Like a cute puppy. I try not to laugh at the imagery. “Several of the countries I’ve been to also drive on this side.”

“Oh... really.” Just like that, the wind is blown right out of my sails. Are these the trips that he’d invited me to, but I couldn’t go either because of work or because I thought that going on one with him would be too much for me to take? Whom did he go with? Were other girls there with him? My jeans are too unforgiving for me to grab, so I clench my fists around nothing; the dull pain of my nails digging into my palm feeling like a punishment I very much deserve. I don’t have the right to ask or even think of any of this. The more I ponder on it, the more pain I’ll put myself through; I know this, I’ve told myself countless times, yet I still can’t stop myself from doing it.

Thankfully, just then, Jimin’s stomach roars past my troubled thoughts. “Have you eaten anything?” I ask him guiltily, remembering that I’d left him to his own devices just this morning.

“Yeah, just something light near the hotel.” He grins sheepishly, his right hand leaving the steering wheel to push his hair back to cover his embarrassment. Somehow he melts my soul with his cuteness when he makes such an expression, and when he concentrates on driving again, he makes my heart thump hard from how cool he’s become. Feeling flustered on my own, I whip my head to the left to turn my attention out the window once again. There isn’t anything out of the ordinary to capture my attention this time, so I’m left to the mercy of my self-deprecating line of thinking until Jimin’s poor stomach rumbles again.

“Maybe we should stop to get something to eat.” Really, I don’t need any more reminders of my childish behaviour from last night to this morning. I don’t know if I can feel any worse than this.

Chuckling apologetically, Jimin reassures me, “It’s fine, we’re going to a place where we can eat.”

Slightly irritated that I have to ask this a third time, I grind out, “and where would that be?”

“You’ll see,” Jimin says teasingly, darkening my mood, but I don’t retaliate — I shouldn’t be cross with him.

“Well, I hope it’s not too far from here.” Giving in, I simply cross my arms petulantly. “If I hear your stomach growling one more time, I’m gonna go deaf.”

As Jimin promised, it’s not too far after we’ve gotten off the bridge. “This is still Penang, you know,” he informs me as he veers left to exit the highway. “It’s not just the island; part of Penang is also on the mainland.”

“Really...” It’s interesting that he’s playing the tour guide now. All the top Penang attractions I saw on the Internet are on the island, so I’d missed this fact. I wonder what Jimin has found that makes it worth driving all the way here. It doesn’t look to be a bustling city like Georgetown. While not exactly rural, the town seems more relaxed, with two-storied shops and houses filling the landscape instead of towering buildings. After only a few turns, we enter an even less developed area, this one a village. Brick houses are mixed with ones made out of wood, with trees growing all over the place, lending the scenery on both sides of the road a more natural appearance, different from the carefully structured planning of the city.

Shortly after, Jimin turns right and pulls over by the side of the road. I peer over the dashboard to see what’s in front of us — it’s a dead end. “Are we here?”

“Yup,” Jimin quips happily, getting out of the car, and I follow suit. It really feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere. Especially since we’re at the end of the road, facing a river with a very narrow bridge that’s only wide enough for pedestrians and motorists to cross, giving the impression that there’s no way out.

However, the small shop on my left at the end of the row catches my attention. I can tell that it’s been there for years and years; there’s an air of homeliness, like it has blended completely with the surroundings, and it’s filled with people. Most of them are much older than Jimin and I — probably around our parents’ age, or maybe even older than that. From their relaxed, casual dressing, they seem to be villagers. A few men are chatting excitedly over white cups of coffee, but the other patrons are all eating, despite it being slightly late for lunch. Jimin and I sit at one of the two tables just beyond the threshold of the shop, which is the only one available. I shift in my seat a little, looking around for a menu. They’re usually displayed somewhere on the wall, or given on the tables, but I don’t see any. “Ah, you’re the one who called earlier, yes?” A middle- aged man comes over to our table, all smiles as he greets us.

“Oh, you remember me?” Jimin’s obvious surprise at being remembered has the man chuckling good-naturedly.

“Of course, we very rarely see foreigners all the way out here,” the man, later introducing himself as the owner, explains to us. “It’s not exactly a touristy place. There’s a university campus close by, and I bet not even half of them know about this restaurant!”

Neither of us know how to respond to that, but the owner seems more than happy with the customers he has. And from the lack of empty tables, I’m guessing this place is actually a local favourite — with the villagers, if not the students of the nearby campus. Small and out of the way it may be, but this restaurant has a certain charm to it. The menu turns out to be very simple; freshwater curry prawns, fried fish with three-flavoured sauce and stir-fried cabbage. We forgo the fish in favour of the prawns, which were caught just this morning, and is the signature dish, as well as the cabbage.

Thanks to the simple and limited menu, our food arrives at our table quickly. The owner recommended that we get bread to accompany our prawns instead of rice, and I’m glad we’d followed his advice. The slices of white bread are perfect for soaking up the curry, and the concentrated flavour married to the sweetness of the fresh prawns is nothing short of bliss. In his state of hunger, Jimin had ordered a daunting kilogram of prawns, and although it takes us a while to finish them, it’s not as gargantuan a task as I was afraid of when I first saw the plate. Washing down the food with some homemade sugar cane juice, I smack my lips happily at Jimin. “How did you find this place?”

“It was just a stroke of luck. I was scrolling through the phone while waiting for you to come back when I saw it.” It might have sounded like Jimin was trying to make me feel guilty if he didn’t say it with a nonchalant shrug and follow it with, “I was hoping to help you take your mind off of things.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. It seems like I haven’t made such a blunder last night as I’d thought I did. He was so angry when he’d pushed me away then, even though he’d reciprocated the kiss for a bit. I’m sure I hadn’t imagined that. What was that all about then? Something tells me that it wouldn’t be a wise decision to ask, as much as I’m dying to find out. The last thing I want to do is to sour the mood once again, after Jimin had gone out of his way to make me feel better. It’s more than I deserve, after the way I’ve treated him. So I decide to just play along, ignoring the stronger feelings and questions burning away at me, like I always do. As long as I can keep being by Jimin’s side. The momentary lapse in judgement last night could have destroyed our friendship, but somehow we’re still here, eating and talking and laughing like nothing had happened. The enormous burden that the fear of losing Jimin had pressed on my chest eases off of it, now that I’m assured that things are back to normal. Although the niggling desire for something more remains there. Always there. “Thanks, Jimin.”

Jimin’s smile at my appreciation is more dazzling than the late afternoon sun behind us. The sight of it cements our friendship, now back to equilibrium. Our passionate kiss is to become a hazy, slightly drunk mistake, and will be swept under the rug to be forgotten forever, except in the innermost secret corner of my heart, where I tuck in the sweetest memories of myself with Jimin. Tiny, insignificant instances that are surely nothing to him, but are the most precious jewels of my life, to be taken out and admired whenever I’m at my lowest and loneliest. Or sometimes even when I’m not. 

A belly full is one of the easiest ways to make Jimin happy; next to praising him, and seeing him happy is definitely the simplest way to make me happy in turn. How can I not be, when presented with those bright giggles that eat up his whole body, always leaving his position on any chair in precarious balance, and scrunching up his face so adorably? Before I get lost in my thoughts of him again, I snap myself out of it by asking, “So, where to next, Mr. Tour Guide?”

My impromptu title for him jolts him into an upright position in his red plastic chair, immediately assuming a serious, business-like mien that has me in stitches. “Ahem,” he glares at me warningly, wanting me to play along. “Looks like we have–“ he takes a peek at his watch “–a bit of time left before dusk. But I think we should go soon.” Indeed, we had been sitting there for way past an hour, and the place is completely empty of other customers now. I wonder if the owner is keeping the shop open for our sake. Clearly Jimin is thinking the same thing, because he thanks the owner profusely as he pays for our meal before we leave the premises.

As Jimin skilfully manoeuvres the car out of the dead end, he playfully manoeuvres his way out of answering my increasingly insistent questions regarding our next destination. His refusal to tell me only digs my hole of curiosity deeper and deeper, however, I can’t help but laugh and wish that he doesn’t give in to my badgering. For Jimin to be this happily secretive; it must be a pleasant surprise, right? Despite myself, I’m starting to really look forward to the unknown evening plans.

Instead of going to the mysterious location, though, he drives us around the small town. As expected, there isn’t much for visitors to be interested in. “There is supposed to be a haunted mansion somewhere in here,” Jimin interrupts his tour-guide-like speech by breaking into an evil grin, the picture of the very devil with the dark orange and red hues of the sky colouring the background behind him. “Wanna go and see it?”

I don’t have to look at the rubber plantation on our left to imagine the horrors that await beyond the rows of rubber trees. “NO!” Finding Jimin’s raucous guffawing grating on my indignity, I pout petulantly at him. “Hmph. You laugh at me, but you don’t want to go either, do you?”

That was effective in getting him to stop. “You got me there.”

“Really, what would you have done if I’d said, ‘let’s go’? I bet you’d pee your pants!”

“No I wouldn’t!” It’s Jimin’s turn to be affronted. I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from bursting with laughter. “I’d just say we don’t have enough time to visit it, because I’ve already made other arrangements.”

“Oh, have you now?” Every opportunity to tease him is a chance that cannot be wasted. “And is that really true?”

“No,” he admits unabashedly, drawing chuckles from both of us. Just like Jimin knows I’m not the greatest with ghosts, I’m perfectly aware of how easy it is to scare him. “The house has an interesting story to it though. It’s supposed to have ninety-nine doors.”

“Really?” Scaredy cat I may be, but I always love a good story regardless of the genre. Horror stories are always great – as long as I don’t have to watch, or heaven forbid, experience it myself. “I wonder how big it is, to have that many doors. It’s such a specific number though.”

Jimin shrugs, not knowing the answer to that and seemingly not caring enough to find out. “A witch doctor is supposed to be staying there now.”

“Oh?” Since Jimin has turned the car around, I peer at the trees now on my right, trying to catch a glimpse of the mansion in vain. “I wonder what happened to the owners.”

“Murdered, supposedly.”

With a shiver, I tear my gaze away from the shadows of the trees that had been hypnotically pulling me in. “Okay, let’s stop talking about it. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“Aww, sorry if I scared you.” Letting the car move at a snail’s pace along the empty road, Jimin strokes my hair gently. Normally my instinct would be to swipe his hand away, perhaps with a warning to not treat me like a child. However, his touch is oddly soothing, so I simply sit back in my seat, enjoying the comforting touch. It’s not often that Jimin would treat me as preciously as this. Better set aside my ego and make the most of it.

In no time at all, we’ve arrived at a parking lot next to the river. I don’t see the curry prawn restaurant anywhere, and I wonder if we’re currently on the other side. I’m pretty sure we crossed a bridge at some point. Jimin leads me out of the car and up some narrow steps to a small jetty. Sitting down along one of the edges with our legs hanging over the side, we settle down to gaze at the beautiful sunset. “I was going to book a sunset cruise, but I wasn’t sure if we’d get here in time for that.”

“Sorry,” I apologise again in a small voice. Although it isn’t Jimin’s intention to make me feel bad, I can’t get over my guilt. I’m sure if the tables were turned, I’d be completely livid with him. So to have him treat me this kindly makes me feel doubly worse. “I don’t know what came over me.” At least that’s the truth. After managing to reign my feelings for Jimin in for so long, to have it all spill in the span of one night was beyond careless. It’s unbelievable.

Lucky for me, Jimin remains mostly oblivious to the whole thing. “It’s okay. I’d be out of sorts too,  if my girlfriend did to me what Se Hoon did to you.” Jimin tries to lay his hand on my shoulder, but I move away.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I mean, hypothetically.”

“Oh.” My idiocy knows no bounds. I settle down again next to him, trying to play it off like I was just surprised that he had a girlfriend that I didn’t know of. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s had one, but he had always told me about them. It pained me to listen, every single time, but I did anyway, because in a perverse way, I wanted to know about the girls that Jimin is into. Not that any of it matters. Nothing would change the fact that he isn’t interested in me. Even after everything that had transpired last night; after I’d told him that he’d rejected me before I could even tell him how I feel, after that kiss – especially after that kiss – he still doesn’t realise. That’s how little thought he has given to having me as someone more than just a friend. Zero thought. He just thinks that I’m unstable and vulnerable after a bad breakup and is trying to be a good friend. My wandering hand finds a small pebble on the dusty and less than clean jetty, and throws it into the river with all my might. That’s what I need right now. A good friend. Yeah.

All in all, I suppose I have to be grateful. At least things haven’t become awkward between us. I can even almost enjoy the gradual darkening of the sky as the wisps of colour dissipate into the overwhelming dark blues and blacks. Not far behind us, lights from the building next to the jetty battle against the darkness, illuminating the river and trees beyond. “What’s that place?” I wonder aloud.

“A café,” Jimin replies, catching me by surprise. I didn’t expect him to know. Peering at the two-story building curiously, I see waiters seating some customers at a table on the space on the first floor, which is left open to the elements.

“It looks nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.” There is a note of relief in Jimin’s voice. “I booked a table for us, for dinner later.”

“Didn’t we eat just a few hours ago?” Trust Jimin to want to eat again so soon. I can still taste the thick curry on my tongue as I laugh and shake my head at him.

“No, no, you got it all wrong.” He levels his serious gaze at me. “I believe it’s already been a few hours since we last ate.”

Trying not to spray saliva all over him, I curl my lips down in an effort to hold in my mirth. “Is that why we’re here, then?”

“No, actually we – oh! Speak of the devil.” His words are interrupted as our space is invaded by a man who looks like he hasn’t slept in a year. Despite his tired appearance, he’s still all smiles. “Mr. Jimin?” He inquires.

“Yes, that’s me,” Jimin confirms. “I was starting to worry that you’re not coming.”

“Sorry for being late! My wife was supposed to wake me up from my nap, but then between cooking and our son, I was forgotten.” Jimin and I exchange amused glances. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who thought that the man could do with some sleep. “But that’s okay, since it’s just the two of you today, I’d say we’re right on time. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” I whisper to Jimin as the man leads us down the jetty and into a boat, which can easily accommodate at least six people, but will apparently only bring the three of us tonight.

“You’ll see,” Jimin sits next to me and squeezes my hand, determined to not give anything away. If I was told that I’d be getting in a small boat with a stranger in the middle of nowhere, shrouded by the cloak of darkness a few days ago, I’d be alarmed. However, Jimin’s presence changes the experience into an exciting, mysterious adventure.

And we’re off.

The boat glides away from the jetty and the lights of the café, further and further into the ghostly arms of the shadows, barely making any noise. Soon, the river widens, and we can no longer see any signs of civilisation. Only the moon, a whisper away from being full, and the glinting stars offer any glowing relief to the endless blackness, made even darker by the trees lining the riverbank. “These are mangrove trees, called berembang,” our tour guide gestures to the crowding trees clustered together, shielding everything on land from view. I doubt I would be able to see anything but branches and leaves even if we came during the day.

But we’re here at night, and a different sight awaits us.

Our guide steers us close to the riverbank, and stops the boat. “Anytime now,” he informs us cryptically, and I take a look around. What are we supposed to see? With the meagre illumination from the moon and the stars, most of the trees remain in eerie shadows. I silently hope that we’re not on some ghost-hunting expedition. For a split second, I feel panic rising within, but then I remember that there’s no way Jimin would want to go for such an experience either.

Then I see it. A blinking light, so soft and unworldly that I thought I’m seeing things. Before I can pull on Jimin’s shirt to ask him if he saw what I’d seen, I see another small, flickering glow. And another. And another. Suddenly we’re surrounded by them; tiny lights that shine brightly, suddenly from seemingly random locations, making the trees around us glitter like Christmas trees. “Wow!” I whisper in awe.

“Fireflies,” Jimin breathes into my ear, his hushed tone pulling me in against him, unthinkingly wanting to be close to him in such a magical world that we’ve been suspended in. Their light joins the reflection of the stars in the river. Our very own stars on earth. With Jimin’s arm holding me tightly and the ethereal scenery all around us, it’s hard to tell if I’m awake or if I’m  in the most amazing dream I’ve ever had. The same gentle light from the fireflies that juxtaposes with the inky blackness of the night also casts an angelic glow over Jimin’s features, taking my breath away. There’s something in the atmosphere that makes me feel closer to him than usual, and that makes the whole experience even more dreamlike. My hand stretches out to touch the marvels of nature, but even if I can reach them, I can’t bear to actually brush against them for fear of hurting such minute, wondrous creatures, or bring myself back to the real world. So we watch them in silence for a while, until the tour guide breaks the moment by asking if we’re ready to go back.

It feels like time has stopped while we were on our journey, but in reality, only about an hour has passed. Part of me wanted to stay there forever, surrounded by glimmering lights, where real life feels so far away. To be with Jimin, just the two of us. The lights from the café next to the jetty, while not exceptionally bright, are jarring in comparison to the gentle twinkling of the fireflies. I almost refuse to get off the boat. However, all good things must come to an end, and I let Jimin help me out of the boat and lead me to the café.

“Are you hungry?” He asks after we’re seated at one of the tables on the open first floor.

“Mmm, not really,” I muse as I thumb through the menu. Majority of the food here is of the western variety, and although I do enjoy it, I’m still full of the prawn from earlier. Mostly I’m eager to hold on to the memories of the boat ride. Irrationally, I’m afraid that having a meal would distract me and cause the warmth of Jimin’s embrace as well as the magic of the fireflies to slip through my fingers.

“Neither am I,” Jimin sighs with regret, clearly wishing that he could fit some more food into his stomach. With an eye roll, I tell him that I’m not surprised – he ate the lion’s share of the prawns, and there was way more than what two people could normally eat. “Maybe we can share a cake.”

“Ooooh, cake!” His suggestion is met with enthusiasm on my part. Although I’m loathe to share my dessert with anyone, Jimin is – a very, very occasional – exception, and my stomach is panicking at the thought of being stuffed with more food, so I relent. The burnt cheesecake we choose makes me regret having to share a little. It’s downright heavenly; I can probably eat all the slices available if I don’t mind the button of my jeans popping right off. Thankfully, Jimin is fuller than I am, and gives up after about two small bites. “Are you sure you don’t want any more?” This is a treat that warrants opening up that extra stomach I know we all have for dessert, but at the same time, I slyly hope that he doesn’t take me up on my offer.

Shaking his head, he gestures for me to finish it. Quick as lightning, I pull the plate towards my side of the table gleefully. Now that I don’t have to share it with anyone, I can take my time to savour it. In my excitement, I don’t sense Jimin’s intent gaze on me until I’m about halfway through the slice. Realising that I must look like a complete and utter glutton, I pause and smile at him sheepishly, trying to wipe off any crumbs as inconspicuously as I can. Trying to cover my embarrassment, my mind races for something to say. “Thank you for such a great day.” I can’t believe I didn’t think about telling him this until now. He must have put a lot of thought into this, and at the last minute, too.

Those words bring the most tender expression I’ve ever seen grace Jimin’s face. My breath stills for a moment to give my brain a chance to process and commit the sight to memory. “Everyone needs to feel loved once in a while, right?” This is the first time I’ve heard him say such a thing so seriously, without it sounding like an off-handed comment. He always makes these sort of statements like it’s an insignificant matter, sometimes literally waving the words away with his hand in the air as he says them. However, the look in his eyes is intense, as if I’m the only thing he can see. It helps his words come across — I do feel very loved. Maybe not in the way I’m hoping from him, but loved nevertheless. At least that’s what I think, until he continues, “And if I could, I want to cherish you always.”

This is the problem I have with Jimin. Biting my tongue to keep from asking him to elaborate his statement, I try to not get my hopes up. He’s forever uttering things that make me feel special, while I know he doesn’t mean anything by them. His rejection from years ago is as clear in my mind as if it happened yesterday. Yet to this day I still can’t get over him, even after being forced to hear the bitter truth ages ago. “Thanks.” Lowering my gaze towards my plate to hide my tears, I stab at the cake. Suddenly the delicious dessert doesn’t look so appealing anymore. “You don’t need to go this far just because you feel bad for me though. I’m a big girl. I can handle a breakup or two.”

My statement, heavily injected with denial, is met with complete silence. Nervously, I lift my head, chancing a glance at him out of curiosity. His soft features have been rearranged to one of... anger? Frustration? He’s taking deep breaths, as if to calm himself down. At the moment, he’s about to burst into a tirade, which occasionally happens when I do something stupid that warrants a scolding from him. But this time, for some reason, he’s trying to hold it in. While I’ve never relished being reprimanded like a child, no matter how much I deserve it, funnily enough, I find myself eager to find out what he’s trying so hard to keep in. “I didn’t do any of this because I feel bad for you,” he grinds out between his teeth — even after cooling down somewhat, he’s unable to completely contain his vexation. If this is his tempered down version, what had he originally meant to say? “It’s only because you’ve broken up that I can do this. I’ve always wanted to indulge you. All the time if I could, but you’ve always had a boyfriend, haven’t you? I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

Okay, this is seriously maddening. How am I supposed to get over him when he frequently sends mixed signals through his words and actions? Sometimes I really want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him hard and demand him to treat me like a friend since he only sees me as one. I like to tell myself that he treats me differently than his other female friends when I watch him interact with them, but I cannot convince myself that this is true. I know I can’t look at them objectively. What if I’m fantasising by myself, fancying that he treats me better, when in reality he behaves similarly towards everyone, and I’m just seeing him with rose-tinted lenses? I really hate myself when I’m like this. When it comes to Jimin, my logic lays down the hard truth mercilessly, but my wishful side can never fully accept it, encouraging me to indulge in useless visions of us together. 

Out of reflex more than anything else, I laugh self-deprecatingly. If imagining being with Jimin would bring me the most pain, then I’ll just focus on everything else. Even if that may hurt me as well. Nothing can be as bad as being rejected by him. And thanks to my brain reminding me that he doesn’t want me everytime I fantasise about us, I’ve felt the pain of rejection again and again, even if it’s all replayed memories in my own head. “Being single sucks,” I try to make it out as a joke, stabbing at the cake, picturing Se Hoon’s face there and maiming him repeatedly. It’s nowhere near as satisfying as it would be to do it to the real thing. He’s the reason Jimin is here now, so close to me for such a long duration while I’m single and vulnerable. Fucking Se Hoon. “It just reminds me that I’m not good enough for the guy I really want.”

“That guy must be the stupidest person on Earth,” Jimin quips loyally at once. I keep my head down so he doesn’t see me roll my eyes at his ignorant statement. How can he be so dense? The most devastating moment of my life, doled out by the person I love most, my best friend, and he doesn’t even remember that he was the one who’d said that.

Jimin and I have known each other since we were in kindergarten, but I have no idea how long it has been since I fell in love with him. It’s just one of those emotions that builds up gradually, so subtly that you don’t notice until one day; BAM! You realise that you love him and there’s no turning back. But even back then, before the rejection,  we’d grown really close, and I wasn’t sure if it was wise to jeopardise our friendship by coming clean about my romantic feelings for him.

It turned out that my hesitation was for the best, because Jimin made his feelings for me crystal clear in our second year of high school. He doesn’t know that I’m aware of it, though, since I’d heard my name being mentioned by one of his friends as I was approaching, and quietly hid against the wall around the corner to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Jimin’s then-new-girlfriend was with the group, being harassed by one of his friends, Ji Woo. Although I can’t remember who she was, or even her face, I do remember feeling some satisfaction over the fact that Jimin’s friends didn’t like her. It was a feeling that I shared. “I’m surprised you’re with her, Jimin,” Ji Woo had commented, not at all caring that she was right there with them. “When there’s already a perfect girl for you.”

“Really?” Jimin had pressed the button on the vending machine, and I’d heard the loud clanking sound of his drink being dropped into the hatch. “And who is it? Must have walked right by me.”

“He means your best friend, you dumbass,” another one of Jimin’s friends, Ha Rim, had filled him in. His then-girlfriend had made an outraged sound at hearing Jimin’s friends promote me to replace her, but no one other than Jimin seemed to pay her any attention. They were acting like only thin air was present where she stood, which was a good indication of how annoying she was. I never understood what Jimin had seen in her. True, she was extremely pretty, but other than that, she had no redeeming qualities. Peeking out of my corner, I’d seen Jimin rub her shoulder placatingly as he’d chuckled.

He’d said my name in a disbelieving tone, as if the idea of me being his girlfriend was so ridiculous that it was out of this world. The way he’d said it echoed in my mind for many weeks after that. I could still hear it in my head sometimes. “She’s one of us, yeah? You don’t fuck a bro, that’s gross.”

“I don’t know if she’d appreciate you treating her like one of the ‘bros’, Jimin,” Ha Rim had rebuked him gently, but it didn’t change Jimin’s mind. He’d just shrugged, not willing to get into an argument with them.

“Whatever it is, she’s just not girlfriend material.”

I hadn’t stayed to hear anything else after that, since I’d fled from the scene, afraid that my sobs would break out and they would discover me. Since then I’d done everything I could think of to get over him, but nothing had worked. All my boyfriends were just distractions, temporary fixes to the gaping hole in my heart that could never be filled.

“How I wish he knew that,” I say cryptically. A savage laugh bubbles up my throat, hearing Jimin unknowingly call himself stupid, but I refrain myself. My rage over his befuddling attitude still manages to sour the delectable dessert, and I shove down the rest of it. Before the day is completely ruined, it’s better if we return to the hotel. 

Being the dense dummy that he is, Jimin doesn’t notice that anything’s amiss, and we get into the car to drive back without incident. The bridge back to the island isn’t too far off from the small town and soon we’re on it once more. “There’s another bridge connecting the island to the mainland, you know,” Jimin breaks the more-or-less comfortable silence with this little tidbit of information.

“I know. You can see it from this bridge.” It makes me look to my right, past Jimin in the direction of the first bridge, just to double-check if I can see it from here. I’m sure I saw it during the day, but it’s a completely different scene now that it’s nighttime. The orange lamps overhead lighting our way along the second bridge are dull, but the same ones appear romantic and beautiful after a stretch of darkness in between the two bridges, illuminating the first bridge. Is the view of the second bridge just as pretty if we were to look at it from the first one? I’m not sure, but I’m content with enjoying the view from here.

“Then do you know that this is the longest bridge in Malaysia?” Jimin’s voice draws my eyes back from the distance to the man being outlined by the scenery I’ve been staring at. Unlike the flickering glow of the fireflies, the bulbs shine relentlessly from afar, never giving up on irradiating Jimin’s face. While not quite the same view, these lights make him look just as dazzling as he had in the boat. A halo of soft backlight, juxtaposing against the night to bathe him in their radiance.

Although I’ve been staring at him like an idiot, or perhaps because I’m proving myself a veritable one, only when he calls my name does it dawn on me that we’re having a conversation. Well, sort of. I’m not really in a chatty mood, but he has been making stabs at sparking up a discussion. “Uh,” I grunt without thinking, then mentally hit myself for pushing myself further down the ‘being a dummy’ road.

“What does that mean?” Jimin laughs, sparing me a quick glance before turning his focus back on the road. The windsocks are blowing merrily in a perpendicular direction to the mostly straight lanes, and Jimin is taking care not to drive too fast. It’s hard for me to ensure that we’re not speeding when there are hardly any cars around to compare our speed to. I can almost believe that Jimin and I are the only ones in this world, on a never-ending road surrounded by the sea. “Do you know or not?”

“No.” My eyes shift away as I answer, since I have no idea what I don’t know. Which is a fair answer – either I didn’t hear what he’d asked me, or I simply got distracted and forgot. Both sounds highly likely. Sensing a risk of him further probing me on whatever topic it is and figuring out that I haven’t been paying attention, I roll down the car window, hoping some fresh air will clear my mind.

Boy, is that a wrong decision. A strong, unrelenting gust of wind immediately blasts into the car. Jimin’s surprised yelp is barely heard over the loud howl from the sea, exacerbated by the speed we’re going at. Before the window has even reached halfway down, I pull the tiny lever the other way, quickly closing it back up.

“What was that?” As soon as soothing quiet fills the car again, Jimin demands to know the reason behind my inexplicable actions. While he doesn’t sound angry, it’s obvious that he’s genuinely concerned. I can’t blame him, after everything that’s been happening since last night. “You’ve been acting really weird.”

My reflection on the window on my side of the car shows a frowning woman with mussed hair chewing nervously on her bottom lip, brows fused together in confusion and frustration. “I feel out of it. But I’m not sure why.” This much is true. After suppressing my feelings for Jimin successfully since I was in school, why are they surfacing now? If I’ve known that we will never end up together for just as long, why is the pain becoming unbearable now? How can one kiss cause my world to implode? The emotional roller coaster has wrung me out and left me completely bewildered. Everything is so jumbled up inside my head that I’m not even sure where to even begin unravelling the mess.

At first Jimin doesn’t respond, which is understandable. I wouldn’t know what to say to such a vague statement either. We eventually reach the other end of the bridge. The scenery morphs from a dreamy wonderland to cold reality, with factories lining up the side of the road, replacing the endless sea. “Who’s that guy?”

“What guy?” This time I’m sure I haven’t been wrapped in my own thoughts, yet I still can’t make the head or tail of whatever Jimin is asking. Maybe I’ve lost all my wits for the second night in a row, even though this time there isn’t a drop of alcohol in me.

“The one that you want,” he clarifies bluntly.

What am I supposed to answer? ‘It’s you, stupid’?

Not wanting to make the rest of the ride more awkward than it is, I shrug. “Just a guy.” Just the kindest, perfect, heart-warming, densest guy.

Up until he parks the car next to the hotel, Jimin attempts to wear down my defenses, unwilling to leave his curiosity unsatisfied since I don’t fly off the handle or directly ask him to stop. Truthfully, the urge to tell him is becoming stronger by the minute. The dam holding my feelings back has become strained without my noticing. Just one more drop of persuasion threatens to loosen my tongue.

After making sure that I’ve gotten out of the car safely and closed the door, he locks the car. However, when he starts walking towards the hotel, I follow him at a much slower pace, lagging behind. Alternating between looking at the ground and his lean back. It doesn’t take long for him to notice that I’m getting farther and farther away from him; my slowing and fainting footsteps are a giveaway. Unsurprisingly, he turns back, wanting to return for me. However, his approach only heightens my nervousness. “Do you really want to know who he is?” I blurt out when he’s about a meter away from me. If he gets any closer, I don’t think I’ll be able to gather the courage to say it.

Thankfully, he stops at my question. Sensing my vulnerability. Like a bewildered, terrified animal, wary of anyone getting closer. “Of course, if you’re okay with sharing with me.”

Before I can change my mind or rethink my decision, I take the plunge. “It’s you.”

“Huh?” Why is he acting shocked? I think angrily, unfairly. He has no right to be surprised by this. This is not supposed to be news to him. “I’m the one? That you’re not good enough for?”

“It’s you, Jimin. You’re the one I want to be with.” Damn it, my voice is already cracking. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. All the things I’ve bottled up inside have become hot and angry from the constantly added pressure of being kept secret for so long. At this point, I might hate myself more than I love him. I hate myself because I still love him. “Isn’t it laughable? Even though you already made it clear that I’m not good enough for you from the beginning, I still can’t move on.”

Horrified by the words rushing like waterfall from my mouth, I try to escape, but Jimin catches my arm as I stride past him. I would have stumbled if his grip wasn’t so strong. In contrast to his strength, the street lamp is enough for me to see that all colour has drained from his face. “I would have never said such a thing. When did I say that?” His challenging words come out in an intense whisper, like he can’t believe he ever did such a thing and yet unsure if he hadn’t.

“I don’t know. High school, maybe?” It’s too late but I still play it off as if it isn’t a big deal. Like I don’t remember every detail of that excruciating incident vividly. “I’m not girlfriend material, and you made sure Ji Woo and Ha Rim know that too. And.. someone-or-other girl. Whoever it was you were dating back then. Can’t remember her name.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Jimin to grow paler, but he does, and his hold on me loosens as well. Not wanting to hear an insincere apology years too late, or worse, an encore of how I’m not girlfriend material, I yank myself out of his grasp and practically run into the safety of the building.

Once I’m ensconced in the relative safety of our room, I sit on the edge of the bed and take three deep breaths before panicking. What have I done?! It doesn’t look like Jimin pursued me inside, but he’s going to come in sooner or later. What will I say to him then? How will I ever face him again?

Sighing, I let my body slump dejectedly. I shouldn’t have said anything. Ever. I’ve always known that, but all the pent-up emotions have accumulated for far too long, and under constant continuous stress on this trip, they finally spilled over. And I had to choose the worst time and place to do it — in a foreign country where I have no place to run to. Just as I’m berating myself for that particular bit of foolishness, I hear the outside door to our room open and close. Belatedly realising that I should have searched for a place to hide before agonising over my recent mistakes, I get into a frenzy, whipping my head around every which way, desperately looking for a hole to crawl into.

That’s how Jimin finds me with my arms stretched wide, holding the doors to the wardrobe open, and one of my legs inside the furniture. “Uh.” Not the first time a dumb monosyllable is all I can think of today, but still, way to go.

“What are you doing?” Seeing my crazy antics, Jimin’s tortured expression rearranges into a befuddled one.

“Uhm, nothing.” Climbing out of the furniture, I pretend that I walk out of closets every day of my life. It doesn’t help ease the awkwardness after I close the doors and lean on them, though. I don’t trust myself to not say any more stupid things, and it looks like Jimin doesn’t know what to say either. But he does have something to say, if the way he opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again is any indication. Seeing this, I keep quiet, waiting for him to figure out where to start. I’m not sure if I’m going to like anything he has to say, but short of jumping out of the balcony, I don’t see any way to escape from him. I cast a longing gaze at the door leading to it, wondering if it’s at all possible.

After what feels like an eternity, Jimin hesitantly hedges, “Uhm, can we… talk?”

I nod, still not trusting my verbal communication skills.

Jimin walks further into the room to take a seat at the edge of the bed, less than two meters from the wardrobe, and I have to fight the urge to distance myself from him. He inhales deeply, loud enough for me to hear, and finally starts. “Look, I’m really sorry about what I said back then. I didn’t even remember that it happened.”

“Of course you didn’t. It didn’t happen to you,” I bite out. Even though I can see that he’s beating himself up over it, I can’t help but drive the nail a little deeper. It has been a wound that has always festered under the surface, never healing.

“You’re right.” Jimin’s ready admission makes me feel slightly bad for being mean over it. “I have no excuse. It was a horrible thing to say. And it wasn’t true at all.”

“It wasn’t?” Damn it, I’m not supposed to be happy about it! Getting my hopes up over just a few vague words is only going to screw me over again, but I can’t stop myself from being elated. Did I mishear him? Did I misunderstand him somehow? So many lessons and I clearly haven’t learnt anything at all.

With a shake of his head, he explains; “Back then I was a dumb kid with raging hormones, and all I could think about was fucking everything that moved. Heh.” He lowers his head and scratches the back of it sheepishly, aware of how immature and shallow he was. Involuntarily, I soften at his words and actions, with his hair getting messy from his vigorous haphazard brushing. “You’ve never been someone that I want to simply fool around with. I might not have been smart enough to realise how special you are back then, but I knew that much. I must have said that to get that girl to go out with me. You, not being good enough for me – that’s ridiculous. If anything, I’m not good enough for you.”

“Oh.” Despite wishing for something like this, now that it has become reality, I can hardly believe it. “So me not being girlfriend material–“

“Was not true at all.” Jimin leans forward to take my right hand, securing it in both of his. He turns up his eyes at me, silently pleading for me to understand. To forgive him. And my defences against Jimin have always been paper-thin. “Is still not true. God.” He hangs his head again in defeat, slightly pulling me towards him as he sags against the bed. “It can’t be more opposite than that. You’re the one I’ve been in love with for the longest time.”

“What?” I try to breathe, but the air is lost somewhere in my lungs.

Instead of answering, Jimin stands up. The sudden movement startles me, especially as it puts him just inches away from me. The warmth is not just from our connected hands now, but I can feel it radiating from his whole body in the coolness of the air-conditioned room. His words coupled with his nearness make me even hotter – probably even more than the scorching outdoors in Penang during the day. When he reaches up to softly caress the side of my face, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I can’t be sure that I haven’t self-combusted. “You’ve become more than my best friend for ages. I might have even loved you since we were in school. Hell, I don’t know.” Taking another step forward, he closes the little distance left between us to lean his head against my shoulder. Facing this completely unexpected progress, I stand there stiffly, not knowing what else to do except trying not to lose my head. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but you’ve always had a boyfriend hanging around. Every time I swore I’d tell you once you broke up, but before I could work up the courage to say anything you’ve already found a new one. You never considered me, so I thought you just didn’t think of me that way. I guess I know why now.” Lifting his head, he stares into my eyes earnestly. I can’t look away even if I wanted to. His face is etched with regret, and yet I can see hope buried in his eyes. It mirrors the hope I’ve always felt. I just didn’t know that he felt the same way. “I’m really sorry for being a dick.”

A bubble of horrified laughter bursts out at hearing him describe himself as such. Trust Jimin to mend my bruised heart so easily, and break such a heavy moment by sort-of-playfully bashing himself. He deserves it, but now knowing that I’ve put him through similar anguish, I can’t stay mad at him for long. “It’s okay,” I say with a teary smile.

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. I love you.” He cocks his head, then asks, “You’re single now, right?”

Another string of gleeful laughter fills the room. “I am,” I confirm.

“Would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend, then?”

“I would.”

“Finally,” he sighs in relief, and my next round of giggles is lost somewhere between our lips as Jimin kisses me. If our first kiss was incredible, this one is a hundred times better. With no more doubts plaguing my mind, I can give all of myself into my love for Jimin. Just as he’s giving to me. At first he cups my face in his hands, tilting his head to deepen our kiss. In the hazy air of passion, it’s unclear who started to open up beyond the joining of our lips. I know he traced the line between my lips at some point, but I also sucked on his full bottom lip that has always, always caught my attention. Among his many flattering features, it’s the one that has always struck me as striking. A guy shouldn’t have such seductive, plump lips that no woman can resist.

Soon his hand is pressing me to him from the nape of my neck, like I’m not close enough to him. He needs to bring me closer. Our tongues dance with each other, within our mouths like they’re dark, dangerous ballrooms, before things get more intense, and these caverns morph into wet, sweaty arenas, where we wrestle out our lust. In a match that is a win-win for both players, where the energy only heightens, never ending. The palm covering my cheek moves so his arm can wrap against my waist, crushing me against him. Every part of my body is touching his, sending tremors of excitement from outside in. I huff against his mouth, out of breath, but past caring. I just want Jimin. More of him. All of him. And then some more.

From the looks of things, Jimin doesn’t want to let me go either. A tell-tale bulge is impossible to miss, but when I feel it pressing against me, a modicum of sense nudges against my muggy brain. Regretfully breaking the kiss, I pant out, “We should… take… a shower,” in between fighting my lungs for air.

Jimin’s groan ends in a whine that usually gets him what he wants. “Do we have to?”

“We should. I’m all sweaty.” Being outside most of the day has left me sticky. It’s one of those things that you can’t forget or ignore once you’ve noticed it, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. What’s going to transpire between Jimin and I is a no-brainer, and I don’t want my first time with him to be when I’m smelling of sweat.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to sweat either way.” Unwilling to stop for something as trivial as cleaning up when we’re bound to get dirty again, Jimin slips his hand under my shirt, attempting to get me to agree with him.

However, I will not be deterred, even if my moan at his palm stroking the side of my body doesn’t sound very convincing. “Please, Jimin. It would make me feel better.”

This time Jimin’s groan is one of defeat. “Fine.” Honestly, I’m surprised that he relented so easily. I never really noticed how much he normally gives up for me. Perhaps I only notice when he’s whining like a child on the occasions where he really doesn’t want to give in, so I thought that he always gets his way. But if I really stop to think about it, he rarely pulls such an act – most of the time he actually listens to what I want, or outright asks me, and goes along with whatever I wish. Heart swelling with renewed affection, I nod without hesitation when he tugs against the hem of my shirt. “May I?”

Baring the tops of my breasts by removing my shirt, he can’t seem to stop himself from ogling them in my bra. Pushing so my back is against the closet, he dips his mouth against the skin available to him as his fingers fiddle with the clasp of my bra. Once the garment is loosened, he all but pulls it off, tossing to the floor, so he can move on to my nipples. “Jimin!” My cry for him is from pleasure, but he mistakes it as a warning.

“Just… for a little bit.” My right nipple pucker under the ministrations of his tongue, growing stiff more quickly than it takes for him to unbutton and unzip my jeans, dragging them onto the floor with my panties. It’s all happening so fast. I haven’t even processed the fact that I’m now completely naked before him, in the dimness of the room filled only by a lone lamp in the corner I’d switched on when I came in. He slips his knee between my legs, spreading them apart. What his words cannot achieve; lowering my defenses, is being threatened by the difference between the texture of his jeans and the smoothness of my bare legs.

And Jimin, that devil, knows this very well. Propping his leg up against the sturdy wooden wardrobe, he brings it into contact with my exposed center. The friction draws a moan from me instantly, and without prompting, I begin to rub against him like a deranged nymphomaniac, seeking traction from the rough material against my pussy. He hasn’t even touched me there, yet I’m already wet enough to lubricate my movements against his muscular thigh. Each stroke stimulates countless sparks that shakes my body like electricity. I know I should stop, but I can’t. Latching on to his upper arms, I lift my head up to look at him imploringly. “Jimin… please.” Right now I’m not even sure what I’m asking from him.

There must be something on my face that makes him look at me with blazing fire in his eyes, before swooping down to brand another soul-searing kiss on my lips. How am I supposed to hold myself back when he’s holding me so closely, when his hard muscles encourage me to move my hips even faster, when he takes my lips like he wants to inhale my very soul into his body? It hasn’t taken much, but I’m already trembling with my impending orgasm. “Fuck,” Jimin spits out, abruptly wrenching himself away from me. My feet land flat against the floor as I howl in protest at having my high yanked away from me.

He doesn’t listen to my objections. Instead he grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction of the bathroom, his free one working furiously to tear his own clothes off. His haste almost makes him trip at the threshold of the bathroom as he attempts to step out of his jeans. My horrified chuckle at this is met with an impatient, don’t-you-dare-laugh glare, which makes it even harder to hold back my mirth.

“Get in,” he growls so ferociously that I stumble backwards, laughter gulped down as my body follows the motion of his chin. Predatory eyes burn holes along my body, suddenly making me self-conscious of my nakedness, but not for long. My own gaze is fixed on him as he moves forward, the clumsiness from a second ago replaced by panther-like steps, only pausing to take off his underwear in a far smoother move than he did his jeans. For the second time, I gulp; on my saliva this time, upon seeing his erection spring out from its confines. While his length looks average, his girth has me excited and apprehensive at the same time. He steps into the glass cubicle, backing me up against the wall, and closes the door separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom behind him. The shower is spacious enough for two people to fit comfortably inside, yet I somehow find myself cornered like a trapped animal. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asks edgily. “You wanted to shower, didn’t you?” He reaches around me to turn it on.

A stream of cold water hitting my skin makes me gasp, forming goose bumps that are soothed away once it warms to the temperature that Jimin has set. As incensed as I am by the unexpected shift in our relationship and Jimin’s enthusiasm, I’m comforted by having the grime and sweat of the day being washed away.

Jimin’s mind isn’t as easily distracted though. Pressing me up against the wall facing the shower head, he envelops my lips in another fervent kiss. I’m more than happy to give in to it, wrapping my arms around his neck, but instead of holding me, he extends his reach towards the soap, pumping a generous amount of viscous liquid into his palm. “Looks like I’m going to have to help you wash if I want to move things along,” he mutters against my lips.

His soapy palms move slowly down, from my neck, branching outwards along my clavicles then dip down to cup my breasts. My breathing grows heavy as he massages them. Moans start forming in the back of my throat when he begins paying attention to my nipples, flicking them almost playfully with his thumbs. He doesn’t remain there long enough for me, one of his hands continuing down my stomach to the apex of my thighs. “Funny, I’d say it’s wetter here than my whole body.” He rubs his fingers against my folds, as if inspecting them. I can’t argue; even though most of the shower water is hitting his back, my pussy is arguably wetter than he is, and I’m pretty sure it’s not from the pipes.

Without warning, Jimin pushes his index finger in, eliciting a startled gasp from me. “So wet,” he crows delightedly at how easily it slips in. “Do you think you can fit another one in here?” He doesn’t wait for my response before cramming another finger in, making me whimper in pleasure. “You like how it feels?” I nod, turning my face away in embarrassment. It doesn’t deter Jimin. He simply whispers in my exposed ear, “You want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

Yes. I want it so badly, yet to say the words is mortifying, so I nod again. Jimin tsk-tsks disapprovingly at my refusal to vocalise my answer. “Communication is key to a relationship, you know,” he teases, pushing his fingers in up to his knuckles, but refusing to move them any more. “How am I supposed to know what you want if you won’t tell me?”

This cruelly taunting side of Jimin is new to me. I can’t say that I hate it. Not when it’s turning me on so much. “Please Jimin,” I plead with him. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

Tilting his head to the side, Jimin puts on a show of considering my plea. Then he shakes his head, and I know that he never intended to do it in the first place. “No, I don’t think I will.” Leaning forward, he nibbles at my earlobe, telling me, “I’d rather taste you instead.”

Getting the full brunt of the jet of water from the shower when Jimin suddenly kneels at my feet, I sputter in surprise. Jimin uses my momentary confusion to spread my legs even further apart so he can bury his face between them. “Oh!” My hands fly to grasp at his wet hair, holding on for dear life as he goes all out from the get-go. Easily capturing my clit between his lips, he sucks hard, making my knees buckle and my previously unfulfilled orgasm rush back with a vengeance. “Jimin!!” He’s relentlessly alternating between flicking the tiny bud with the tip of his tongue and trying to suck it right off, and I can’t withstand his attack. Flick, flick, flick. And then suck, as hard as he can. In less than a minute I’ve lost completely, making him bear my weight as I cum violently. If he isn’t holding me up by the waist, I probably would’ve collapsed, maybe even slipped in the wet cubicle. Without missing a beat, he releases my clit to run his tongue along my slit, lapping up every drop of his victorious spoils and prolonging my orgasm.

Standing up, he maintains his hold on me, which I appreciate because I still don’t trust the strength of my legs. “You okay?” I can barely register his question in the hazy aftermath of my orgasm, but I manage to nod. Jimin pumps more soap to wash me with as I recover, then swiftly washes himself. Once he determines that both of us are clean enough, he turns the water off. “Can we go now?” He asks, wrapping his arms around me so he can rub his dick, which has grown slightly soft, against my belly. It’s unfair that he’s pushing his advantage like that. Just doing this is getting me aroused again.

As much as I want to get out as soon as we can, there is unfortunately one thing that we need to do first. “Jimin, we should dry our hair. Otherwise we’ll catch a chill.”

Relenting after letting out only one dissatisfied huff indicates that he agrees with me. It doesn’t mean that he’s happy with it. I smother a smile at his adorable childishness, which is a stark contrast to what he was just doing to me in the shower, and what he wants to skip all these small details to do to me in bed. By the time I’ve wrapped myself in a towel, he’s already by the socket next to the sink, hair dryer in hand. “Hurry, hurry,” he urges, pointing the device on full blast to my face.

“Ooof!” Instinctively squeezing my eyes shut to protect them from the powerful gust of warm air, I blindly swipe in his direction, hoping to smack Jimin for his immature prank and the mischievous guffawing that comes with it. Once Jimin directs the nozzle back towards his own hair and out of my face, I fix him a glare, which he returns with a Cheshire grin. He rakes his fingers through his hair roughly, anxious to be done with it. Sure enough, he finishes in record time. “Come on, let’s do you.” He tries to turn me around, but I refuse the offer, giving his messy job, with soft strands sticking up every which way, a pointed look.

“I’ll do it myself, thanks.”

Wisely deciding that handing me the hair dryer will be quicker than trying to argue with me, he relents. Then he leans against the wall next to the sink. With only a towel around his waist, looking like he has all the time in the world to just watch me do something as mundane as drying my hair. I turn towards the mirror, mentally instructing my eyes not to look at him. However, they’re not keen to follow orders, and flick towards his reflection every few seconds. It’s impossible for me to calm myself down like this. Especially not when I can see the obvious tent in his towel, threatening to part the cloth that’s barely covering him. It must have grown harder from the friction against my stomach just now, as well as the anticipation of what’s to come.

 “You can go ahead and wait outside.”

“Eh?” He starts to protest but stops when he sees my entreating look. “Okay,” he yields in a wounded puppy pitch. “But hurry, okay?”

I nod, only turning towards the mirror again after I see him closing the door to the bathroom. I’m glad that he’s giving me this bit of space to think. Even though I’m ecstatic by this turn of events, there’s so much to process that it’s overwhelming. And I’m hesitant to go all the way with Jimin without sorting it out. To me it’s a monumental thing. A really huge step. My sigh is drowned out by the loud whirring of the hair dryer, but the sound has become white noise.

So the incident that has plagued me for so many years turned out to be a misunderstanding. While it doesn’t excuse Jimin from what he’d said, there was never any truth behind those words. It had always baffled me that Jimin would think, much less say, such a thing. Even if he wasn’t interested in me, it doesn’t seem to be in line with Jimin’s personality to measure a girl’s worth so much as to label her something as horrid as ‘not girlfriend material’. The most is he’d think someone isn’t his type, and just move on. He’s one of the kindest people I know, but he isn’t perfect. I’m aware of that. We were young back then. It makes more sense that Jimin was only thinking about getting a girl in bed with him rather than weighing the consequences or fairness of saying something so hurtful.

Switching the electric device off, I gaze at myself in the mirror one last time, finding resolution. What matters now is the future. Am I ready to go forward?

The first thing I notice when I enter the bedroom is that Jimin has gathered all the pillows on his side of the bed, and is resting against them. Before I can wonder what he’s up to, he notices my presence and sits up, like a puppy waiting for his master to come home. It would have been heart-meltingly cute and endearing if he wasn’t gripping his erection in his right hand. Was he masturbating while waiting for me? The thought of it is more arousing than I’d have thought. Maybe there is something wrong with me. “Come here,” he beckons me over, and I approach him a little warily. He helps me atop the bed, manoeuvring my legs so I sit astride his lap.

This puts me face-to-face with him, but more importantly, he’s holding me so I’m sitting right atop his cock. I can predict a very speedy loss in focus. “Jimin,” I begin to ask, then moan when he grinds his hips against mine. “Jimin, are you sure about this?”

“A hundred and ten percent,” he responds, but his attention isn’t on me. Even in the semi-darkness, I can see his eyes are narrowed in the direction of our lower bodies.

Exasperated, I try again, wanting to make myself clear before anything happens that I may regret later. Damn, I’m cockblocking myself, but I know that I’ll be in a world of hurt if this turns out to be a temporary thing. I may be asking for too much, but I can’t do it. Not with Jimin. “No, not just this. I mean… are you sure about… going into a relationship with me? What if…”

Jimin looks up, his expression turning serious, and places a finger against my lips. “Stop that. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I think I know you pretty well.” He briefly stops, waiting for confirmation, and I nod. No one knows me better than Jimin does. “You always overthink things, and when you’re not doing that, your head is filled with thoughts of food.” Even though his assessment is accurate, it doesn’t stop me from hitting him in the chest indignantly, but he only chortles. “It doesn’t matter what you lack. I still love you after all this time, and I’m confident that I won’t stop, no matter what happens. And about what I said back then…” Adopting a sober mien, he brushes my cheek lovingly, leaning closer to gaze into my eyes intently. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” I concede tearfully. There’s no one else who can put me at ease so easily. I wouldn’t say that the years-old scar has magically healed, but his touch soothes away all the pain. Closing the scant centimeters between us, I give him a quick peck. An innocent move, which Jimin changes immediately by drawing me into his arms, pulling me back in for a far more intense kiss. He pulls on my towel, already loosened by my movements, exposing my body to his touch. It’s like there’s fire in his fingertips, setting me aflame wherever he touches – from my hip, to the side of my waist, up to my breasts. Devilishly zoning in on my sensitive spots, sweeping back and forth over the stiffening tips of my chest. All night he has been giving me pleasure, and I want to return the favour.

Ignoring both the loss of the heady sensation from being in contact with his cock and Jimin’s growl of protest, I shift myself down towards the foot of the bed. Taking his half-hard erection in my hand, once again I marvel at its girth. Already I can’t wrap my hand completely around it. The thought of having it inside me is making me shiver in anticipation. Wanting to get a feel of it, I slide my hand up from the base, taking care not to be too rough with my dry hand. It’s enough to get Jimin to moan, the wild yet melodic sound instantly heating up my insides with lust. I want to make him feel good. I move down even further, lowering myself to do just that, but Jimin stops me halfway. “Wait.”

Surprised that he would keep me from sucking him off, I glance up at him, tucking my hair behind my ear so that it doesn’t obstruct my view. “Hmm?”

“Plenty of time for that later,” he exhales restlessly. Grabbing me by my waist, he lifts me up slightly, getting me off of him. Then he wiggles down the space between me and the mattress, comically moving to lie down on his back. It’s hard not to snort all over him.

“What are you doing?” Just how many times is he going to make me laugh while we try to get it on tonight?

“Getting what I want,” he pants, and I’m guessing it’s due to the exertion of his completely unnecessary action rather than being horny. Jimin is such an idiot sometimes. He ignores my eye roll though. “More importantly, are you ready for me?”

Instead of waiting for me to formulate a verbal answer, he reaches down to find the answer for himself. I jolt forward with a moan when Jimin swipes his fingers over my slit, then immediately rams two inside me. I’m sure I dried myself off after getting out of the shower earlier, but somehow I’ve gotten wet enough for his digits to slide into me without much resistance. “So wet already,” Jimin answers for me, even though the mortifying squelching sounds coming from my pussy makes it pretty clear that I’m ready for him. “I want to fuck you. Right now.”

Even though Jimin’s fingers are wrecking the best kind of havoc in me, I want the same thing. More than that, I want to make him feel good too. Before I can put my plan into action though, Jimin slaps the bed angrily. “Shit. I’m clean, but I don’t have a condom.” Scowling, he runs his fingers through his hair angrily, following it with a longer string of curses than I’ve ever heard him utter in my presence. I bite the insides of my cheeks so I can swallow the bubble of laughter back into my throat.

“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “I’m on the pill.” Although I haven’t slept with Se Hoon for ages, I kept taking them. Maybe I’ve continued doing so out of habit. Or maybe I was always unconsciously hoping for something to happen between me and Jimin, as far fetched as it seemed. Well, it’s clearly not as impossible as I’d thought.

“Thank goodness,” Jimin collapses back onto the sheets in relief, amusing me to no end. He doesn’t miss it, and shoots me a look that tells me he’s aware that I’m finding him funny. “I don’t think I can hold back at this point,” he warns me darkly, and I take it as a cue to continue. Bracing my hands on his chest, I sit up shakily. Reading my mind like he always does so expertly, he removes his hand so I can move my hips along the length of his dick. Up and down, up and down, covering him in my juices. I don’t know how he became this hard when I’ve barely done anything for him. But I’ll pleasure both of us now. Lining the tip of his cock with my pussy, I take a deep breath as I feel the bulbous head poking against my entrance. Then I face up to find that Jimin is staring at me with such scorching fire that I can feel my skin blister from the heat. He might just want this more than I do, although I can’t imagine a yearning any stronger than mine.

“Hnng,” I groan as I lower myself down slowly. Belatedly I attempt to figure out the last time I had sex in my head. Even before breaking up, Se Hoon and I hadn’t slept together for a while due to our busy schedules. I didn’t think much of it back then, and had thought that he didn’t mind, either. It turns out that he didn’t mind, but only because he was satisfying his urges with someone else. But I don’t want to think about that now. Not when Jimin’s cock is parting my flesh, its girth pushing my walls aside to make its way in. It’s not even halfway in yet I’m already breathless. The burn feels amazing, even if it’s making me mewl from the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Jimin asks through gritted teeth. “Go slowly.”

Unable to voice an answer, I bob my head in acknowledgement. Taking my time descending on Jimin magnifies the sensation of his cock stretching me out. By the time I’ve sheathed myself over him completely, I feel ready to burst. I’ve never felt so full and I tilt my head back as if to absorb the feeling. But I’m not the only one adjusting to this. Jimin’s grip on either side of my waist is slightly painful, betraying a strength that I wasn’t aware he possesses. “Fuck, so tight,” he grinds out like he can hardly stand the pleasure. “Fuck.”

After giving myself a few seconds to get used to having him inside me, I begin to lift myself up again, then sit back down on him, making both of us groan. I don’t know if I can ever get used to this. Still, I repeat the motion, impaling myself over and over his cock, hips accelerating as I get a sense of the rhythm. Jimin’s unconcealed moans spur me on; knowing how good I’m making me feel drives me to take it higher. But I’m not the only one determined to bring pleasure to my partner.

Even as I bounce on his cock, Jimin manages to reach for my clit, capturing it between his index and middle fingers in a ‘V’. Helped by my rapid movements, he pulls up, exposing my clit to the air. Tongue licking his lips, he looks at it like a delicacy that he’d love to devour. However, unable to do that, he makes do with his thumb. He alternates moving it in circular motions around the nub and grinding against it, all the while pinching it with his other two fingers. My hips stutter from his ministrations, but I don’t want to stop. I can’t, even if I wanted to. Not when he’s stimulating me like this. But I can feel the end approaching me rapidly, faster than I want it to. “Ji—Jimin, wait.”

I should’ve known that he’s not going to do as I say this time. “Give me a good reason to wait,” he challenges.

“I can’t take it.” My body is already shaking from its proximity. I’m about to crest the high, but I want to last longer. “Please, Jimin, or I’m going to come.”

“All the more reason for me not to wait, then.” Jimin takes my reasoning and tosses it out the window. In direct contrast to my request, he teases my clit even more, pushing me forward so I can’t stall it any longer. The knot growing inside me shrinks into itself, compressing impossibly before exploding like fireworks. With a cry of his name, I catch myself from collapsing completely on top of him by bracing my hands on either side of his torso. Jimin releases my clit to grab my waist, pushing me down against him, moaning as he feels my muscles contracting around him. “You’re so sensitive,” he remarks as I start to recover.

There’s nothing I can say to his comment. There’s nothing to say, really. I don’t recall ever being this receptive to someone else’s touch. It has been a while, I think, not wanting to admit that my sensitivity might have been caused by the person touching me, rather than the duration I’ve been deprived of such attention. Burying my face into the crook of Jimin’s shoulder, I inhale his scent; the perfect home to come to after falling down from my high. The realisation that I must be crushing him with my weight comes suddenly. I jolt up to move off of him, but he tightens his hold on my waist, halting me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, I must be heavy, and I–“ Jimin doesn’t give me the time to inform him that I can barely move, returning me back into place right above him and whispering;

“I’m not done yet.”

Digging his fingers in so deep I’m sure he’ll leave me with bruises, he pulls out of me, all the way to the tip. My sigh at the loss becomes a shriek midway when Jimin slams back all the way in without so much as a warning. He doesn’t stop there; in fact, that’s the speed that he’s setting for me. Pounding into me from underneath without mercy, without hesitation, without pause. My relaxed legs quickly grow tense again, as his rapid thrusting stokes a new fire in me. “Jimin, Jimin!” I call out for him in between gasps, every thrust knocking the air out of my lungs and every shred of intelligible thought out of my head, until his name is all that remains. My feet curl inwards, trying to withstand the pleasure but in futility. If he isn’t gripping me so firmly, I would have ended up sprawled over him. However, I have nowhere to run. Forced to take every single one of his hard thrusts. Each one making my lower body wrap tighter and tighter around him.

“Close.” Out of breath, Jimin manages to utter only one word, but he slips a hand between our bodies, closer now that I’ve crumpled over him under his rough pounding, leaving no question as to what he means when he pinches my clit between his fingers again. My body contracts until there’s no space left, and I can’t breathe. Whether my brain is hazy due to the lack of oxygen or because I’m on the verge of cumming, I don’t know. One moment later I climaxing again. Jimin doesn’t need to be told that; my cries of ecstasy and squeezing walls are enough to clue him in. He wraps an arm around my waist and seizes my right shoulder, holding me even more securely in place as his hips accelerates to a speed beyond my imagination. Panting and moaning, I latch onto his shoulders so I can receive his rough thrusts, each one knocking me several inches upwards. Unlike before, Jimin doesn’t give me time to recover, too focused on using my tightening muscles spasming around his cock to reach his own high.

It doesn’t take long, but I’ve regained enough sense of mind to register him sinking his face against my neck as he comes. Each of his grunts accompanying every deliberate, deep thrust, pumping his seed into me is so close to my ear, I can feel the hot air that comes with them. There is an odd feeling of being the one to comfort him as his body quakes. It’s like he trusts me to keep him safe at his most vulnerable, and I immerse myself in the feeling proudly for a while.

By the time Jimin rolls me over to the side, I’m starting to get drowsy. My legs twitch when his limp dick slips out a little, and my eyes flutter open to find that he’s staring at me. “What is it?” Absurdly, I feel a little shy. This is just Jimin after all. On the other hand, I’ve never been with Jimin like this before.

“Nothing. I just can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”

The relatable statement makes me grin. “I know. Me too.”

“It seems like such a waste to just… go to sleep.”

No way. “What do you mean?”

“You know, just…” He shrugs with all the innocence of a toddler, but it doesn’t fool me for one second. Especially when he nuzzles against my neck, then almost immediately switches to kissing and sucking the sensitive flesh. A pressure within makes me moan, feeling myself getting fuller as Jimin grows hard again. “I spent four nights in bed with you and I couldn’t even touch you. Do you know how difficult that was? I was about to go insane.”

The dawn of the following morning is slightly chilly, but that’s what makes it refreshing. Even though I greet the day with a yawn as I rest my forearms against the railing of the balcony, I’m feeling very content and reinvigorated. A light mist shrouding the garden before me gives it a cool, dream-like quality. Each plant has bountiful leaves – it’s always summer in Malaysia, after all – and each one is heavy with morning dew. I wish I could reach and touch the moisture with my fingers.

With time, my brain starts to function more efficiently, and I begin to think about the events of last night. Of course I’m ecstatic about finally being in a romantic relationship with Jimin, the man that I’ve been pining over for so long, but I’d be lying if I say that I don’t have any doubts. I’ve been so focused on getting over him that I never stopped to think what it would mean to have my best friend as my boyfriend. The obvious question is: what if it doesn’t work out between us?

Like Jimin said last night, he has known me for many years now. There aren’t many flaws of mine that he isn’t aware of. I’m quite confident that I know most of the things I need to know about him too. And just like Jimin, none of it has made me fall out of love with him. If anything, his imperfections make me love him even more. I can’t think of any reason that would make us break up, but it’s always a possibility. What would happen to our friendship should the worst come to pass? I hope we can still be friends somehow.

Just the thought of it is depressing enough to make me heave a sigh. There’s no point in speculating about the future. I already know that I can barely endure not being with him. It was torture to watch him with girlfriends when I so desperately, so selfishly wanted to fill that role. Now that my wish has come true, we just have to go forward and do our best. If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m not delusional enough to think that everything will be perfect from now on, but I hope for every rainy day we have to suffer through, there will be a sunny one that will balance it out. Smiling to myself, I enjoy this blissful feeling I never knew I’m capable of feeling. With Jimin, I’m sure my life will be full of happy days, like an eternal summer.

“What’s up with you?” A teasing, rhetorical question comes from behind, making me jump in surprise. I turn around to find Jimin leaning against the frame of the glass door, looking cool as a cucumber. But I see the laughter dancing in his eyes. “One second you were sighing, and the next you were grinning like an idiot.”

Feeling blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment at being caught entertaining my thoughts, I spin back to face the garden. “Nothing! How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to want to get a closer look at you.” Jimin approaches and hugs me from behind. He wastes no time sniffing against my neck like a little puppy. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmhmm.” How could I not? After that second round, I was ready to nod off, but he’d recovered by then and had asked me if he could take me up on that earlier offer to give him a blowjob. How could I say no? And he wasn’t content to finish up in my mouth, either – no, he wasn’t as rough as he was the first time, but he still finished inside me. It left me exhausted and I went out like a light afterwards. I’m not sure what made me wake up so early, but I do feel well-rested, though quite sore.

“I’m glad.” I can feel and hear him smiling against my ear rather than see it. Although I’m not sure if he’s glad because I’ve gotten enough rest, or because the stiff shaft I can feel pressing against my back needs some attention. Given that he’s already tracing the crevices of my ear with his tongue, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.

“I’m beginning to think that you’re a monster.” My complaint doesn’t sound very convincing since it’s followed by a keening moan. He’s quick to slide his hand up my thighs and under my bathrobe, discovering that I’m not wearing anything underneath. His sharp inhale lets me know how aroused he got from that revelation.

“I’m not usually this horny,” he admits, leaning me down to rest my upper body against the railing so my ass juts out. I can hear the shuffling of his slippers as he moves back, but before I can turn around to see what he’s doing, I feel his tongue running all the way from the bottom up to my asshole. My back arches from the unexpected jolt of pleasure, hitting me like a bolt of lightning down my spine. “Maybe we need to make up for… what, a decade’s worth of love-making?” Despite being sore, my pussy clenches at the ridiculous notion. A whole  decade? “Fuck, you’re so wet already.” The loud, wet sounds his tongue makes as he laps against my slit doesn’t leave me any room to argue. I only let out a whine when he reaches around to press against my engorged nub. “You’re swollen,” he says concernedly, contrasting with his unrelenting ministrations. “Are you okay?”

“If you’re worried–mmmnn–“ Against my better judgement, I push myself back against his mouth, craving for more. “Why are you doing this?”

Jimin’s reply is lost somewhere within my folds, but once his tongue pushes past my entrance, I stop caring about his answer. It’s amazing how easily Jimin unearths my most sensitive spots. Not just how putting pressure against my clit stimulates me more than circular motions, but also how a feather-like touch along the side of my body makes me tremble or that lightly nibbling my nipples makes me buck beneath him. However, a night of thorough attention has made all of me super sensitive, and I’m already on the verge of tears while my head is screaming for more. “Jimin, please,” I beg. “I need you now.”

Those words are all the encouragement that Jimin needs. Standing behind me, he lifts the lower part of the bathrobe up so he can press his insistent hard-on against my entrance. “No, wait, Jimin.” Remembering where we are right now, I begin to panic. “Let’s go inside.”

Of course, Jimin has never been one to listen to orders. “No one’s up yet,” he overrides my protest, and cuts off any oncoming ones by slamming his hips against mine, pushing his thick cock all the way inside in one stroke. Tears fall from my eyes and my scream breaks the stillness of the morning at the brutal insertion. “Shh,” he comforts me, raining kisses all over the side of my neck and shoulders as I sob. “Someone will hear us if you don’t keep it down.”

“Damn it, Jimin, you’re the meanest – ah! Ah!” I can’t even finish reprimanding him. How can I, when my body reacts to him so easily, and the fact that anyone passing by can see us, or other hotel guests can hear us turns me on even more? Taking a little mercy on me, Jimin grabs my chin, directing me to look back so he can kiss me, somewhat effectively swallowing my moans. The intense kiss matches the force of his thrusts below; slower than last night but with more strength. He lowers his hand to slip it inside my bathrobe, groping my left breast, using it as an anchor as his cock drives me to oblivion. Everything he does intoxicates me, making me drunk to the point I don’t know up and down, so that I no longer give a damn about anyone seeing him pounding into me in broad daylight. All I can think about is the tingling sparks of friction from every stroke of his cock sliding in and out of me, the tiny pinpricks of pleasure and pain like scorching embers feeding a bonfire growing more and more out of control within me. “Jimin,” I gasp when he releases my lips for air, “coming.”

He kisses me, then pulls at my lower lip. “Come,” he coaxes me with his fingers pinching my nipple, making me mewl, and with the short words his brain can muster in his state. “With me. Now.”

After several hard thrusts, Jimin brings me to my climax and follows me right after. He holds me tightly, supporting me so my shaking legs don’t suddenly give way from under me, although I can tell from his quivering body that he’s having trouble keeping himself up. The sturdy railing provides the support we both need, and we cling to it as we catch our breaths. A few minutes later, we’re still panting, but Jimin slowly sits down on the floor, guiding me to sit across his lap. I’ve hugged Jimin countless times before when we were still just friends, but I think after sex might be the best time for cuddling with him.

His comforting arms almost lulls me to sleep, but the gradually escalating heat of the rising sun brings me back to my senses. Opening my eyes, I ask drowsily, “What time is it?”

Jimin shrugs. “Who knows.”

Resisting the urge to follow his devil-may-care attitude, I climb out of his lap to crawl towards the table where I’d left my handphone. My eyes widen when I see the numbers on display. “Jimin! There’s less than three hours before our flight! We need to go, now!”

We get ready and packed in record time. Soon we’re begging our driver to drive us as quickly as possible to the airport, both of us still huffing and panting, but this time for a completely different reason compared to this morning. The young driver shakes his head in disapproval, but accedes to our wishes, driving at a speed I’m not sure is legal, expertly zipping in and out between cars. We earn a few honks, but I try to detach myself from the chaos, leaning back against the seat to try and calm my racing heartbeat.

“This is all your fault, you pervy animal,” I hiss at Jimin under my breath. “If we can’t board our plane you’re going to pay for both our tickets back home.”

Jimin’s smirk is charming and utterly unrepentant. “Worth it.”

Thank you for reading! As always, comments/asks/likes are very welcome :)

[randomnameless]

Needing that evening salt

While I thank @nilsh13 for giving me the link to that interview.

I was like “prepare for a ton of salt, take your lemons”  however, I’ve kind of mellowed out a bit because the VA seems to be a really nice person -

and I’ve read the Toyonaga interview recently.

Sometimes, the VA are allowed to interpret the character in a certain way that fits with what the game developpers more or less intended (granted they are the same guys who didn’t hire a continuity guy so...), and sometimes, it fails because direction sucks, because lenses are given and doesn’t match with the content you’re adaptating.

As a result, we have Jp!Rhea and lolcalised!Rhea.

i wonder if inoue will ever make an interview one day about 3H but I doubt it

We start with the infamous 

“You don’t have to try it so much (to be the calm and composed person), Rhea doesn’t try, she just is - The essence of Rhea is enough”

Pat no :’(

But... Rhea isn’t calm and composed, Rhea is emotional, pretty much, she’s a bubble waiting to burst and she tries to be calm and composed and keep a facade (more on that later) but, I feel like the “Rhea doesn’t try she just is” might be the reason why lolcalised!Rhea feels detached during certain events, when Aelfric’s attempted Nabatean homonculi Transmutation backfires, when Kikuko Inoue nails the sense of sadness and dread because, uh, a man she just said she saw as her own child basically died here to become a grotesque monster and attempted to replicate her own mistakes. 

Rhea tries to be a calm and composed person, she managed to keep up appearances for, apparently, 1000 years, but Rhea is also emotional as fuck.

But... This is where everything falls apart.

“You were given the direction - paraphrasing - to channel your inner Dumbledore?”

It’s safe to assume most people can draw parallels to “Three Houses and Harry Potter”

And Leigh falls in the biggest trap, trying to “play the game and figure out who is who” because, while I think someone replied to an earlier post about the parallel (i’m really sorry when i finally had time to reply 2 weeks had passed and i didn’t want to necropost), but I still firmly disagree, and truth to be told, this is, in a way, what I was afraid of when 3H was announced.

FE is a series that loves to reference itself, so when it was announced that the next game would be set in a school, and Bernie and Dorothea were previewed I grew really afraid that the game was going to have the typical “North American High School AU” and none of the “Fire Emblem” series. We had the recluse, Sylvain appeared to be the frat boy, I was expecting the cheerleader, Ignatz to be the nerd etc etc.

With the HP thing, and “trying to see who is who”, I feel like the localisation team and the VA were trying to look at the game with a special - tailored by them for their own use - lens. I will not say “western” lens, but they were trying to look for things that just... aren’t?

Yes, 3H took inspiration from the latest behemoth who was trending at that time, but it wasn’t HP, it was ASOIAF. 

And even then, it is only a flair and a colour scheme. 

If Edel isn’t enough, the Golden Deer, with its specific color scheme immediately calls back to the Baratheon sigil (a black stag on a field of gold, when the Golden Deer is a deer... on a field of gold). House Lannister and Arryn are reversed, the Lion isn’t associated to the Red House but to the Blue one, and the Eagle (actually the Arryn sigil is a falcon) leaves the Moon to the Blue House and lands in the Red House. And the Ashen Wolves are... grey wolves on a white field, like this house. IS managed to take animals from traditional european heraldry, but with the colors and the specific animals picked? It’s hard to deny the ASOIAF nod.

Hubert calls the mole people snakes, but it is his own nickname, the death cult has its own name, Agarthans. They never use a snake of their banner, nor refer to themselves as such.

Bar the aesthetics? 

IS wanted the monastery to be a nod to FE Jugdral’s Barahra Royal Academy, a place where, apparently, heirs of various nations could study together and form lasting friendships, which were supposed to prevent wars (or at least made former alumnis of said academy sad to fight against each other).

But because FE Jugdral wasn’t released overseas, and someone didn’t do their homework about the series (when Toyonaga is a big fan of the Jugdral saga), the monastery, and its academy, was linked to... HP.

Rhea isn’t Dumbledore. Rhea is an amalgation of Gotoh - the mentor who guides you - and, twist, of Tiki! 

If Seteth doubted Billy’s abilities, it is tied to their own nature as a self-insert, Fred doubted Robin when they first met, but then mellowed out. Or, without the avatar angle, when Greil trusts Ike, and later on, Titania, Shinon doubts him until the end (or until you recruit him).

So with a blurred lens, it is no wonder why localised!Rhea is so different from Inoue!Rhea. 

Then Leigh continues on with the interview, noting how insecure she is, irl, and how Rhea helped her realise that “sometimes I don’t need to try to be someone else to fit it, it’s okay to just be myself” ...

:/

How can the direction give this impression of Rhea to her VA when Rhea, her character, is the complete opposite? 

Rhea tries to be someone else, she laments about it, she cannot be herself, she has to put on a facade and make careful choices and pick certain words as an archbishop, Rhea has to anonymously ask how to tell people she doesn’t like hot tea because she is afraid of hurting feelings, she wants to socialise with people but cannot due to her station and the role she has. Rhea has to pretend to be a guide and a leader to her people, when she only wants her Mother to return to assume this role she thinks she is butchering.

So, doubling Rhea should actually have the opposite effect, Rhea cannot “just be (her)self”! or maybe it’d be an advice Leigh gives to Rhea, the character?

So if you take the blurred lens coupled with the tragic direction given, Rhea’s depth is erased. She is instead turned into the scary fanatic who never emotes, save to raeg, and only wants to rez her mom.

Cute moment though, even if the topic is one I disagree on, where, talking about Rhea’s temper, Leigh says she wouldn’t want to encounter her when she’s stuck in traffic :) (lbr we all know Rhea would pull out the wings and reactor of her DeLorean and fly over everyone, without Billy though, she cannot time travel)

Tl; dr : Imposing doesn’t mean frightening, Leigh and the interviewer watched too much DBZ and ASOIAF (rather, GOT) was the “western” behemoth referenced in FE16, not HP. 

The other referenced behemoth was... well, a small series called Fire Emblem.

As always, I’m more willing to cut some slack for the VAs because the industries is more recent than the one in Japan, and/or roles weren’t directed the same way (do you know the guy who dubs Morgan Freeman in Wonder France also dubs the voice talking during Uncle Ben’s ads? Or Bruce Willis is in Martin Mystery?)

But the Directors? No. Games have been imported and translated/localised for several decades now, you can’t pull a “4Kids” anymore on content you do not understand or do not wish to understand, and butchering a character (or misunderstand a character that much) shouldn’t have happened in 2019. 

Dub is nice, when it exists, but for now, I’m still going to stick to Sub.

[rallamajoop]

...and the unironic joys of better living through chemistry

How do I love Venom: The Hunger, let me count the ways…

It’s by far the shippiest Venom/Eddie story to come out of the character’s heyday. It’s the only story of the era to treat Venom’s violent wild-animal instincts not as an immutable fact, but as something that can be managed. It pulls off an aesthetic like nothing else that was being done at the time.

And then there’s the way it says, Does the world around you seem sinister and foreboding? Do you lie awake at night contemplating metaphorical oceans of despair? Well shit, son – have you considered you may be suffering from a mundane neurochemical imbalance, and a round of the right meds could clear that right up for you?

It does all this without breaking the atmosphere, without a whiff that our story has been interrupted for a Very Special Message about mental health.

In the near-decade since I was first prescribed anti-depressants, I don’t think I’ve read another story that lands the message “Sometimes, it’s not you, it’s just your brain chemistry,” so well.

Fair warning: if you have not read The Hunger, I am about to spoil every major plot point. If you have, well, maybe I can still give you a new appreciation for a few details you might have missed.

It’s a strange book, whatever else you take from it. It’s almost the only thing either author or artist contributed to the Venom canon, and it’s so different stylistically and tonally from the 90′s Venom norm that it feels like a tale from some noir-elseworlds setting instead of 616 canon. When you take risks that big with a property, you leave yourself precious little landing space between 'unmitigated triumph’ and ‘abject failure’: if this book hadn’t absolutely nailed it, I’d be dismissing it as edgy, OOC dreck. Fortunately, if The Hunger is nothing else, it is a story that $&#@ing commits – to basically everything it does.

Now, I'm not going to tell you Venom: The Hunger is a story about overcoming depression, because I don't know whether author Len Kaminski even thought about it that way while working on it. There's always space for other readings, and this one take is not gospel. That said: holy shit is this thing unsubtle with its metaphors. And with that in mind, let’s start by talking a little about Kaminski’s take on Eddie himself.

As I may have mentioned before, I like to divide 90′s Eddie into two broad personas: the Meathead, and the Hobo.

Kaminski’s Eddie nominally belongs in the angsty, long-haired Hobo incarnation, but that’s a bit of a simplification: this version certainly has plenty of angst and plenty of hair to his name – but nowhere, not even at his lowest ebb, does he doubt that he and his Other are meant for each other, which is usually Hobo!Eddie’s primary existential quandary.

He’s also taken up narrating his own life like a hardboiled PI.

So that’s... novel.

The only other time Eddie’s sounded like this is, er, in that one other Venom one-shot Kaminski penned (Seed of Darkness, a prequel that sadly isn’t in The Hunger’s league), so I think we can safely file it under authorial ticks.

Then again, Hobo!Eddie’s always been one melodramatic SOB, so maybe this is just how he’d sound after learning to channel his angst into his poetry. You can’t argue it fits the aesthetic, anyway.

We’d also be remiss not to mention Ed Halsted’s art, which I can only describe as gothic-meets-noir-meets-H.R.-Giger. Never before or since has the alien symbiote looked this alien: twisted with Xenompoph-like ridges and veins.

But Halsted doesn’t treat Venom to all that extra detail in every panel. Instead, the distortion tends to appear when the symbiote is separated from Eddie or out of control – and I doubt you need me to walk you through the symbolic importance of that creative decision. More importantly, Halsted’s art provides exactly the class of visuals that Kaminski’s story needs.

Did I mention this is a horror story? You might be surprised how few Venom stories really fit that genre, but if all those adjectives about Halsted’s style above didn’t clue you in, this is one of them.

Anyway, with that much context covered, let’s get into the main narrative of this thing.

As our first issue opens, Eddie’s world has become a dark and foreboding place. He’s not sleeping, though he mostly brushes this off. (Fun fact: trouble sleeping is one of those under-appreciated symptoms of depression. Additional fun fact: the first doctor ever to suggest I might be suffering from depression was actually a sleep specialist. You can guess how that appointment was going.)

Just to set our scene, here’s all of page 1.

Eddie’s narration has plenty of (ha) venom for his surroundings, but the visuals are here to back him up: panels from Eddie’s POV are edged in twisted, fleshy borders and drained of colour, the people rendered as creepy, goblin-like creatures. A couple of later scenes go even further to contrast Eddie-vision with what everyone else is seeing:

As depictions of depression go this is a little on the nose, but then, you don’t read a comic about a brain-eating alien parasite looking for subtlety, do you?

Eddie  doesn’t see himself as depressed, of course. As far as he’s concerned, he’s seeing the world’s true face: it’s everyone else who’s deluding themselves. He’s still got his symbiote, so he’s happy. He’s yet to hit that all-important breaking point where something he can’t brush off goes irrevocably wrong.

But he’s also starting to experience these weird... cravings.

He just can’t put a name to exactly what he’s craving until a routine bar fight with a couple of thugs takes a turn for the horrific.

(I include this panel partly to point out even in The Hunger, the goriest of all 90′s Venom titles, you’re still not going to see brains getting eaten in any graphic detail. We don’t need to to get the horror of the moment across. The 90′s were a more innocent time.)

Eddie himself is horrified when he comes back to himself and realises what he’s done.

Or rather, what his symbiote’s just made him do.

Kaminski doesn’t keep us in suspense about why, though. Eddie may have just done something horrific, but there’s a reason, and it’s as mundane as a vitamin deficiency. He’s bonded to an alien creature, after all, and his symbiote is craving a nutrient which just happens to be found in human brains. And if Eddie can’t or won’t help it meet that need, it’ll do so alone. 

Now, giving us that explanation so quickly is an interesting creative decision: this is a horror story, and horror lives in what we don’t know. Wouldn’t it be all the more horrifying had the symbiote been unable to explain what’s going on, leaving Eddie without the first real clue as to where this monstrous new hunger had come from?

The Hunger doesn’t take that route though, and I love it. Eddie isn’t a monster, this isn’t his fault: he has a fucking condition, and wallowing in his own moral failings is going to get him nowhere. You might as well try to cure scurvy or rickets with positive thinking. Just like depression can make you feel like an utter failure at the most basic parts of being human, and all the affirmations in the world won’t fix it when it’s fundamentally your brain chemistry that’s the problem. Or like addicts aren’t weak-willed for struggling not to relapse, they’re dealing with genuine chemical dependency – or even like how someone who’s trans isn’t at fault for being unable to reconcile themselves to the bodies and the hormones they were born with by pure force of trying. Free will is more than an illusion, but we’re all messy, biological organisms underneath, and your own brain and biochemistry can and will fuck you over in a hundred wildly different ways for as many wildly different reasons and it’s not your fault.

We aren’t monsters. But if we do, sometimes, find ourselves identifying with the monster, there might be a reason for that.

(Ahem)

I’m just saying, that’s fucking powerful, and we need more stories that say it.

Anyway, in case you missed it during that tangent, issue #1 closes with the symbiote having torn Eddie’s heart in two itself free to go hunting brains without him.

I’m trying not to get too sidetracked at this point talking about Kaminski’s take on the symbiote itself. Suffice to say there are broadly two schools of thought on how it ought to function while separated from its host: the traditional ambulatory-slime-puddle version, and the more recently popular alternative where anything-you-can-do-with-a-host-you-can-also-do-without-one. I’m not much of a fan of the latter, personally: if your symbiote doesn’t actually need a host, I feel you’ve sort of missed the point. (The movie takes the route of saying symbiotes can’t even process Earth’s atmosphere without a host, which is a great new idea that appears nowhere in the comics, and I love it. Hosts or GTFO, baby!)

Kaminski has his own take, and I can only wish it had caught on. Without Eddie, the symbiote becomes an ever-shifting insectoid-tentacle-snake-monstrosity, driven by an animalistic hunger. It’s many things, but it’s never humanoid.

If you absolutely must have your symbiote operating minus a host, I feel this is the way to do it: semi-feral, shapeless and completely alien (uncontrollable violence and cravings for brains to be added to taste).

Issue #2 comes to us primarily through the perspective of the mild-mannered Dr. Thaddeus Paine of the Innsmouth Hills Sanitarium (yes, really).

Yeah, he’s not fooling anyone. Meet our official villain! He joins our story after Eddie is picked up by the police and handed off to the nearest available institution, on account of how completely sane and rational he’s been acting.

Naturally, Dr. Paine soon has copious notes on Eddie’s ‘crazy’ story about his psychic link to a brain-eating alien monster. Fortunately for Eddie, Paine also runs some tests and makes an interesting discovery. 

Congratulations, Venom: the ‘vitamin’ you were missing officially has a name!

Finding the right meds isn’t always this easy. I got lucky – the first ones my psych put me on worked pretty well – but I have plenty of friends who weren't so lucky. In fact, the treatment for Eddie's problems is so straightforward it arguably has more in common with, say, endocrine disorders like thyroid conditions or Addison’s disease, which differ from clinical depression but present many similar symptoms (but can sadly be just as much of a bitch to get correctly diagnosed – please do read author Maggie Stiefvater’s account of the latter when you get the chance, because forget Venom, that is a horror story).

‘True’ depression remains much less well understood by medicine, either in its causes or how to effectively treat it. But simply having a name for what was wrong with me made so much difference, and that’s an experience I imagine anyone who’s dealt with any long undiagnosed medical condition could relate to. It put my life in context in a way nothing else had in years.

(I can’t speak to the accuracy of the way phenethylamine is portrayed in this comic – a quick google suggests there may be some real debate that phenethylamine deficiencies have been overlooked as a contributor to clinical depression, but having no medical background, that one’s well beyond me. Either way, scientific accuracy really doesn’t matter in this context – it’s how it works in-universe for story purposes that we should pay attention to.)

Since this issue is mostly from Paine’s POV, we don’t get Eddie’s reaction to having a healthy amount of phenethylamine sloshing around in his brain again, just the assurance that treatment appears to be ‘completely successful’.

He’s still a paranoid, hostile bastard though. Meds can turn your life around, but they won’t make you not you.

But even if Eddie’s feeling better, he’s still psychically linked to someone who isn’t. Symbiote-vision still comes through drained of colour and edged in viscera.

That’s the thing about meds: they won’t solve all your problems overnight. If you’ve been depressed for a while, there are good odds you have problems stacking up. But working meds can be a godsend when it comes to getting you into a space where you can deal with your problems again, whether said problems are doing-your-laundry or all the way into not-giving-up-completely-and-just-accepting-you’ll-die-alone-on-the-street.

For Eddie, ‘dealing with his problems’ begins with stealing a keycard and busting out of the asylum.

Of course, that’s the easy part. How do you solve a problem like a feral symbiote? Like any good 90′s comic book protagonist, Eddie tackles it by putting on his big-boy camouflage pants and kitting himself out with weapons and pouches while quoting “If you live something, set it free. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down.”

We can add this to the list of things I love about this comic. Even if The Hunger is a weirdly-stylistic tract about depression at heart, it’s also still a goddamn 90′s Venom comic, and not ashamed to be.

We’re into issue #3 now, and back to hearing the story from Eddie’s POV.

Eddie is very much aware that his symbiote has murdered innocent people while they’ve been separated. Even if this is the result of extreme circumstances, there’s a good case to be made that the symbiote is too dangerous to be allowed to live. Plenty of heroes would treat it like a rabid dog at this point.

But Eddie isn’t a hero, he’s a mess of a character and an anti-hero at best, so we don’t have to hold him to the same standard. He’s well aware his symbiote may be too far gone to save, that he may have to put it down – but that’s only his backup plan. He wants to help it. He wants it back. He’s down in that sewer with screamers and a flamethrower because he knows all his symbiote’s weaknesses, but he’s also carrying a large jar of black-market synthesised phenethylamine, because if he can just get close enough...

Depression can’t make you a literal monster, but it can make you an asshole. Miserable to be around, lacking even the energy to care who else you’re hurting. The depression doesn’t excuse that, but it makes everything harder, and it’s that much easier to sink back into your spiral when everyone around you has given up. It can make you think everyone around has given up even if that isn’t true.

So to have Eddie here say, in effect, I don’t care how many people you’ve eaten, I know it wasn’t your fault. I still love you. You’re still worth fighting for – god, does that get me right in the id.

There’s still a whole issue left at this point – we’ve still got to deal with our real villain, Dr. Paine, who we’ve just learned is into eating brains himself and torturing his patients recreationally, and who wants to capture the symbiote for his own purposes. There’s the scene where Eddie and his symbiote finally bond again, and Venom beats up all Paine’s goons while singing David Bowie because like I said, this is still a 90′s superhero comic and this is what Venom does.

But for our purposes, I'm going to skip to the penultimate page of the story, because the way it mirrors our opening page is really lovely.

Remember that shot of Eddie dealing with a beggar back at the beginning of the story, thinking about how these people would 'get their despair all over you'? Here he is again, cheerfully forking over the last dollar in his pocket to the next man to ask him for change. For all the gothic atmosphere and gore, it’s moments like this that make The Hunger easily one of the most positive, uplifting Venom stories ever written. Funny, that. (I could probably write a whole other essay on sympathy for the homeless as a recurring motif in Venom stories, but that... well, whole other essay and all that.)

What’s Eddie learned from this experience? Don’t take your symbiote for granted. Is ‘symbiote’ a metaphor for mental health here, is paying attention to its needs an allegory for paying attention to your own? I still don’t know how literally Kaminski meant us to take this, but it’s a lovely note to end on no matter how you parse it.

At the end of the day, The Hunger isn’t flawless. The conflict with Paine ends on a thematic but slightly unsatisfying note. Eddie makes much of his symbiote's loneliness and desire for union, but when the two of them are finally reunited, the only reaction comes from Eddie's side. In fact, the symbiote seems to have no response to being able to return to Eddie at all, and that’s an omission that bugs me.

But Kaminski is more interested than any other writer of the era in the truly alien nature of the symbiote, in its relationship with Eddie from Eddie’s side, and though plenty of others talk about the symbiote's love/hate relationship with Spider-man, no-one else had the guts to portray their relationship this much like a romance.

And Venom: The Hunger is no less interesting in the context of Len Kaminski’s other work. You don't have to look far into his Marvel and DC credits to pick up that the guy has a real thing for monsters. (“All of my favourite characters are outlaws, misfits, anti-heroes,” he says, in one of the very few interviews I could find with him, “I wouldn't know what to do with Superman.”) He's written for vampires, werewolves, victims of mad science, and all of three at once, littering his work with biochemistry-themed technobabble, melodramatic monologues, gratuitous pop-culture references, and protagonists who must learn to embrace their inner demons. So The Hunger represents more than a few of his favourite running themes.

For our context, his more notable other work includes Children of the Beast, in which a werewolf must make peace between his human and animalistic sides, and The Creeper, in which a journalist must make peace with the crazy super-powered alter-ego sharing his body. In fact, The Creeper and The Hunger share so much DNA (including an evil doctor posing as a respected psychiatrist who uses hypnosis on our hero while he's trapped in a mental institution) that it’s quite the achievement that they still feel like such very distinct entities beyond that point.

The human alter-egos of both werewolf and Creeper even use prescription meds while wrestling with their respective dark sides. The difference, in both cases, is that these are stories where meds play their traditional fictional role – and that's a role that could be as easily filled by illegal drugs or alcohol without making any substantive difference. You see, if a protagonist is using them, it's a sign of unwillingness to tackle their 'real' problems. Even among work by the same author in the same genre, The Hunger represents an outlier. And that's just a little disappointing – at least to me.

In real life, of course, prescription meds are no magical cure-all elixir. Depression meds that work for one person may not work for another, or may not keep working in the longer term. Everyone has heard stories about quack doctors who prescribe them to the wrong patients for the wrong reasons, about lives ruined by addictions to prescription painkillers, or the supposedly-damning statistics about how poorly SSRI's perform in rigorous clinical trials. The proper way to treat depression is obviously with lifestyle and therapy. People will still airily dismiss medications that we all know previous generations got along just fine without, or suggest that figures like Van Gogh would never have created great art if they hadn't been mad enough to slice off an ear. I mean, the fact you think you need those bogus mediations is probably the best possible sign of just how broken you are, right? Who do you think you’re kidding?

Our popular fiction loves stories about manly men who bury their trauma under a gruff, anti-social exterior and come back swinging at the world that broke them, bravely refusing even painkillers that might dull their manly reflexes. Other genres make space for broken people confronting their demons in grand moments of catharsis, finally breaking down into tears when someone gets through to make them face their problems. "I could barely make it out of bed in the mornings until I found a doctor who started me on this new prescription" is not only wildly counter to the accepted social narrative, it's a hard thing to know how to dramatise.

 Even other Venom comics have been guilty of this.

Believe me, I recognise all of this, and just how much progress we've made in the last few decades. But I haven't the slightest doubt that for so many vulnerable people, the stigma against prescription medications does infinitely more harm than those same meds could ever do. And just having the right to externalise my problems into it's not you, it's your brain chemistry, may have helped me more than the meds themselves.

(And again, no, being prescribed SSRI's didn't fix me overnight, but I honestly don't know if all the talk therapy and tearful conversations with family members in the world could've got me as far as I've come without them.)

I love Venom: The Hunger. It's no-one's idea of high art, but it doesn’t need to be. There is a whole other post’s worth of things I love about it that I’ve already cut out this one as pointless tangents, and that may actually be it’s biggest drawback as a go-to example: I fully recognise that I would not be making this post if The Hunger hadn't also also grabbed me as a great bit of Venom canon, being the massive fan and shipper that I am. Other people who are just as desperate as me for more stories with the same core theme, but not into weird 90's comics about needy goo aliens, probably won't get nearly as much out of it as I have.

But if it sounds anything like your jam, maybe you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

If nothing else, it proves that you can make a viscerally satisfying story out of a message that shockingly unconventional. And you may even have people still discovering it and falling in love with it 25 years after the fact.

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

The Bias of Body Language

By Admin 1, with help from Admin 2

“About social media…it’s easy to interpret. People think they’re moral or ethical. They talk about themselves thinking they’re logically perfect. In fact, in a relationship, even my mother doesn’t know me, for example. About Yoongi or Hoseok who have lived with me for 10 years, it’s hard to say I know them well. Do I really know the person? It’s hard to know myself. “I know him and he’s like this”. “He’s such a person”. I thought this is quite dangerous.”

-- Namjoon, vlive “Namjun’s 7 Behind”, 57:30 onward

Everything in our life is centered around biases, preferences, our partiality toward everything, regardless if it’s about big or trivial matters. Instead of having a single cellphone model for everyone, you can choose one based on your bias. Walk into a fashion store and depending on your bias you’ll gravitate toward darker clothes, longer dresses, shorter skirts, pants, and so on. Someone could present you the very same dress but in two different colors and despite them being exactly the same, your bias, your preference, will dictate that you’ll think the yellow dress is hideous while the black one is gorgeous. Yet the next person might think the exact opposite.

If that weren’t enough there’s also something called a confirmation bias, which is characterized by a tendency to search for, interpret, favor, and recall information in a way that confirms or supports your prior beliefs or values. Both these things, our bias and our confirmation bias, are something we come across and tend to apply to content, in this case, BTS content specifically, and how we view and interpret body language.

Have you ever noticed how when it comes to certain scenes, moments, and/or interactions, suddenly there are thousands upon thousands of body language specialists within ARMY? Suddenly everyone will try to convince you that “based on my experience as body language expert/someone who’s amazing at reading body language this interactions means that”, coming from people who prior to it might’ve never mentioned being such expert or who are plain wrong yet try to convince you otherwise to feed into their own confirmation bias.

Interesting though is the fact that claiming that you’re able to interpret someone’s body language in an infallible manner based on a three-minute video is, to put it lightly, plain wrong and impossible at that. In order to do something like that you’d have to study that person 24/7 in every kind of situation imaginable, take note of every minute detail, interpret it all and, on top of all that, be able to have a conversation with that person to ask them to confirm or deny your theories. Once you’d have all of that, you’d be able to attempt a proper body language reading, and chances are you might still not get it right each time, or at all. Every person behaves a little differently, has their own behavioral pattern, things characteristic for them, and acts a certain way with different people and in different situations, so just because you can read one person right in a singular given situation, doesn't mean it’s the same for every person and every situation.

An example I find very curious is Jungkook during their most recent performance of Life Goes On at the GDAs. When you watch it, you’d think that yes, he liked the miniature set of No More Dream, but that’s it. He was calm, focused, professional. And yet when you watch the behind the scene glimpse at the performance, and watch him specifically, you notice that he was constantly focusing on the set and having to stop himself from messing with it. (x)

What does that tell us? Easy. We only see small glimpses of BTS, of their behavioral patterns, and even the things we do see are polished, controlled, and not entirely natural, so to speak. That isn’t a bad thing by any means, it’s what you’d expect of a professional performer who still is a human like everyone else.

So, if we get body language wrong with something like that, how can these “experts” be sure their interpretations are correct? Even more so when you take into account that every person has some sort of tic, or a number of them. It can be something like absentmindedly playing with a ring, licking/wetting your lips or biting them, scratching or messing with the cuticles on your nails, tapping your foot, or a million other things. There’s also cultural influences/norms that shape certain behaviors in ways someone from another culture might not understand or will interpret completely differently since it means something else entirely in their culture.

And here is where a lot of people, these “experts” as well as those unable to put aside their bias and confirmation bias, go wrong.

More below the cut:

To preface the next two sections, a little disclaimer: I don’t mean to badmouth people like this, after all putting aside these biases is tricky and staying objective about something you’re passionate about is a hard thing to do, as well as distinguishing between an objective observation and a bias one, but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes people purposefully present their bias opinions as facts. That doesn’t necessarily cause issues, but sometimes it can have a very negative ripple effect that can affect and influence others, taint their opinions and cloud their objectivity when it comes to certain things.

That’s when it becomes a problem.

Section One – non-shipping related interactions between the members

You’d think this would be the more unproblematic section, but turns out it isn’t, though it’s problematic in a different way. While most casual fans or OT7 ARMY watch and enjoy interactions between the members without looking too deeply at them, without analyzing and trying to interpret things, therefore leave aside most biases, there are others who do not.

OT1s for instance go into Episodes, Bangtan B*mbs, or RUN with a bias and a need to feed their confirmation bias, be it by finding “evidence” to prove that their fav is being left out or is mistreated or a plethora of other (usually) negative ideas. People like that don’t watch interactions as just friends trying to make each other laugh or playing off of each other, but instead look for things to get upset or up in arms about because their bias going in is that their fav isn’t happy (because that’s what they want to be the truth in many cases).

Or a situation where a member might be a bit more quiet or stiff. Quickly “body language specialists” jump in and interpret this as that member being unhappy, being overworked, wanting to quit and not getting along with the other members, being bullied or silenced by them. When in reality it’s far more likely he just wasn’t feeling well, was tired or maybe his back hurt. But rationality has no place in a bias view, when the sole purpose for that person to watch that content is to find evidence that feeds their confirmation bias.

You could argue that maybe those people are simply looking out for their fav, just want what’s best for him and that they mean well, but do they really? How come those without that narrow bias lens see the same interaction completely differently? If those same people would take a step back and switch from their bias lens to an objective one, would they still see all that negative “evidence”? Chances are they would not.

Section Two – Shipping related interactions between the members

The irony of calling this section in such a manner is that oftentimes these interactions have no actual shipping relation, hold no proof of anything romantic whatsoever. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When shippers sit down to watch a piece of BTS content, they enter the video with a clear bias—X ship is real, as example—so they are (only) on the lookout for interactions between their ship and interpret those interactions in a shipping context, while disregarding/ignoring interactions with other members in many cases since those are uninteresting, or when they care it’s only to again feed into their bias. They look for any piece of evidence to feed their confirmation bias, which sometimes goes as far as completely misconstruing, misinterpreting, and manipulating interactions in order to twist them to fit their bias.

Here’s also where body language and tics come back into the conversation. A lot of ship evidence videos on YouTube rely on body language, somehow every creator being an expert in this field and their interpretations are usually backed by thousands of comments confirming that they are right, that it’s the only logical way of interpreting things. Because that interpretation fits their agenda, feeds their confirmation bias. The funny thing though is that many of the things presented as evidence can be easily explains in a different way once you put aside your bias.

Take wetting/biting your lip as example. Thousands of videos edit together interview moments in which member X supposedly looks at member Y while wetting his lip. That, of course, is taken as ship evidence, interpreted as proof that member X is in love with member Y, that they feel romantic/erotic attraction for member Y showcased through that lip bite. That though is a very bias way of interpreting that action, especially since it removes all context and logic.

Let’s try looking at it a bit more objectively:

I don’t know if you noticed this, but the more you wear a mask, the more your lips are dry and chapped, which explains the need for lip balm. What’s that remind us of? Exactly. The members have been seen countless times using lip balm, even on stage, and they also wear masks a lot, as you do in a pandemic and also because it’s a completely normal thing to do in Asia. Why do you use lip balm? Because your lips are dry. Why do you bite your lip? Because they are dry/chapped, and/or because it’s a tic.

Now, if we look at that same scene again, member X looking at member Y while biting his lip and take into account the above deduction, isn’t it a far more likely explanation than member X feeling the need to showcase his attraction for member Y in that very moment, especially if they are at an interview about their new album, for example? Furthermore, does looking at someone necessarily mean it’s an action done out of love? Isn’t it far more likely that member X looked at member Y because Y was saying something and it’s the polite thing to do, or X was simply looking in Y’s general direction since you have to look somewhere, can’t just stare at the ceiling or close your eyes, right?

Another example I’d like to discuss is how “body language experts” interpret the very same action in two drastically different ways depending on which bias it’s supposed to feed. This point, I think, highlights just how ridiculous and bias these body language interpretations really are, and how unreliable they truly are.

Let’s take member A lying down and cuddling with member B, which is interpreted as two lovely boyfriends cuddling in bed, but when member A lies down and cuddles with member C it’s interpreted as just two bros and nothing more. Even though the scene looks exactly the same. A and B cuddling feeds their confirmation bias, so A and C cuddling is dismissed and downgraded to not interfere with their bias. This is oftentimes done subconsciously, because they are so deep into their bias mindset, they see no other way of interpreting these actions. Even though the basic scene is the same, yet occasionally it might actually come across more relaxed and “romantic” when A and C do it as opposed to A and B, but since that doesn’t fit the confirmation bias, it’s dismissed and interpreted otherwise.

And this is where we circle back to Namjoon’s quote at the beginning of this whole thing: claiming you can interpret their body language with a 100% certainty is a foolish and naïve statement because all we get to see are small glimpses of their days. We see what they want us to see, the best version of themselves, we see edited clips and controlled behavior, the members putting forth their best faces, their nicest smiles, and thinking that just because your bias tells you that a touch of a thigh or upper arm or bitten lip with their face turned in the general direction of another member must mean something or another, it doesn’t mean it’s truly so.

We can theorize, we can analyze, we can make jokes and have fun, but the moment people get into fights or start hate against other members solely based on bias body language interpretations, that’s where we have an issue. And that happens all the time. And it doesn’t just happen with their body language, but also with their words, but that’s an entirely different can of worms I might try to dive into another time if you’d be interested in my thoughts on it. Let me know.

TL;DR: Body language is a very complex thing, interpreting it in an infallible way basically impossible, so making claims of exactly being able to interpret it without bias is naïve, as is believing those interpretations. In order to truly be able to interpret/understand the dynamic between members, body language alone isn’t enough in any kind of way. It isn’t a good enough source or tool to make proper judgements, it’s actually the weakest and most lacking one, especially when it isn’t done in an 100% unbias manner.

The only thing body language can tell us if someone’s a good actor or not, but figuring out true feelings between the members solely based on it, especially when these interpretations are usually skewed due to a bias, isn’t really possible. Even less so if you don’t also take into account the context in which whatever interaction you are interpreting is happening in.

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 2)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 1436

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​ and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence​​, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​ and @arrow-guy​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up in the early afternoon, your parents greeted you with a bit of a chuckle.

“Stay up too late with Jenny?” your mom asked with a teasing smirk. It was a habit of yours and Jenny to probably stay up way past your bedtime, but so long as it wasn’t a school night, your parents never cared.

“Actually… I.. uh, have some news,” you announced as you grabbed some bacon for a BLT that they’d made for lunch.

“Oh?” your dad asked, his eyes still on his laptop. “What’s that?”

“So… Jenny was kind of joking around last night and said that I should try to write on my arm, you know… to see if I had a soulmate…” you began explaining, twisting your fingers around nervously as you sat at the table.

Your parents just looked at you curiously.

“Well, so I did. I wrote something on my arm, and I waited to see if someone would write back… and they did,” you said, showing them your arm. They saw the ‘Happy Birthday’, and the ‘Hi there’, with a smiling face.

“A soulmate?” your dad echoed, looking at your arm inquisitively.

“We’ve never had soulmates in the family, have we, dear?” your mom wondered as she looked over her cup at her husband.

“Not that I know of. Well what do you know about that?” he mused. “I don't see any more marks on your arms, did your mate not write back much last night?”

“No, we actually emailed. We thought it would be best if we reserve our skin.. You know, we don’t want a bunch of… tattoos of each other unless they’re meaningful.”

“Sounds sensible,” your mom noted with a smile. “So what do you know about them?”

“He’s a grad student. He’s 21. He graduated from Harvard at 16, and get this, he’s into psych. He studies it.”

“Graduated at 16?” your dad asked. “Are you sure this guy isn’t pulling your leg? What if he’s some bum?”

“If he is some bum, he’s got a great education. We stayed up all night emailing, and he’s quite well-read.”

“That sounds fantastic, honey. And, did you get his name?” she asked, a bit nervous.

You shook your head. “No, we agreed it wasn’t safe.”

“Good girl,” your mom commended.

“He’s 21, hmm?” your dad hummed. “Isn’t that a little old?”

“Oh, Anthony, don’t pretend like that’s some big gap. You and I have five years between us,” your mom reminded as she got up to pick up the kitchen.

“Yeah well we didn’t meet in high school either. We were adults.”

“I’d hardly call us adults. We were 23 and 28.”

Your dad just shook his head. “You just be careful, kiddo. Soulmate or not, there are weirdos out there.”

“Of course, Dad,” you said.

Well, that was out of the way. Your parents didn’t seem to be too upset, which was good.

You went upstairs to your room and sent an email to X.

“My parents know about us now,” you wrote.

“Do they approve?”

“They’re worried you’re a liar and a weirdo, lol,” you confessed with a smiley face.

“They might be right ; )”

“I reminded them that we won’t ever swap information until one of our names shows up.”

“Of course. As tempted as I am to meet you like a normal person, I don’t want to tamper with fate.”

“I feel the same. And your parents? Have you told them?”

“My parents have died. Happened a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. That’s awful.”

“It’s sad, yes, but don’t let that bring down your mood, please. I miss them terribly. I bet they would’ve loved to meet you.”

“I would’ve loved to meet them.”

“Speaking of, we need to get registered.”

Registered? For what? A marriage license?

Then it hit you.

“Oh, you mean the soulmate registry?”

“That’s the one. Do you have access to it?”

“Yeah, I can just drive to it. It’s at the clerk’s office, right?”

“Yes, it is. Oh, I need to go, Y/F/I. I’ll talk to you later. Feel free to send me emails throughout the day.”

“Will do, X. I’ll go to the registry on Monday, after school.”

“Looking forward to it.”

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

The following afternoon, you went to the county clerk to file for a soulmate. You arrived at the building, stood in line, and finally, it was your turn. You were greeted by an older woman with a permanent scowl on her face.

“Can I help you?” she asked evenly.

“I, uh, I need to get registered for a soulmate?” you said tentatively. You had no idea how this part of the process went.

She eyed you up and down. “Very well, come with me.” She turned around and started to walk away from the counter and you looked around to see if you were supposed to follow. Since no one seemed to be stopping you as you inched towards the small opening in the counter, you went ahead and followed her.

“Do you have a driver’s license?” she asked once she reached a little podium against a wall.

You didn’t answer, instead you quickly searched your purse and wallet to retrieve the ID. She took it from you but before she did anything she asked you to show you the markings.

“I got these, on my arm,” you informed as you pushed your arm forward, your arms exposed.

“I’m just checking to make sure they aren’t tattoos,” she mused as she eyed them and scanned them with a small device that emitted purple light, you assumed it was a UV light or some form of it. “Alright, that all looks good.” With that, she turned to a computer and pulled up a file, scanning your driver’s license that filled out a bunch of forms and blanks - your name, age, social security, birthday, address. “Now, I need to document your markings. Put your arm right here,” she instructed, pointing to what looked like a small x-ray machine. It had a flat platform, a light, crosshairs, and an overhead lens. “Hold still,” she ordered.

You did your best to keep still as she pressed a button and the image was snapped.

“Did you write anything to them?” she asked, her voice stern.

“Yes, I wrote a few things,” you said, explaining everything you wrote and where.

“When did the markings appear? I need the date and time,” she informed.

“Alright, you’re officially in the system. Do you know their name?”

“No, we’ve only emailed and I refer to him as X?” you said, unsure.

“Good. I’m not sure if you know this or not, but we tell everyone who gets a mate: it’s never good to meet them before your time.”

“I’ve heard,” you noted quietly.

“It usually ends in an untimely death, and you don’t get another mate. No one has ever had more than one mate, even if their first one dies.”

You nodded. It made sense. The universe designed one person to fit your soul exactly, they couldn’t do that with two people, it would be crazy.

“No, yeah we agreed not to give any personal information away,” you confirmed.

“Good. Now, whenever your mate comes in to get registered, neither of you will be notified.”

You frowned for a moment. “So what’s the point in doing this?” you wondered.

“In case anything happens before you two meet, you can be notified. If you need a donor, your mate is notified. It’s mainly for record keeping, but just in case, they’re basically added to every In Case of Emergency list you have.”

“Really? Okay,” you said, a little more interested.

“Well you’re all set. Here’s some information for you,” she informed as she handed you a pamphlet. It said: So now you’ve got a soulmate, what this means for you.

Inside were several Do’s and Don'ts.

Do tell people you have a mate, so they don’t think you’re covered in tattoos of random words.

Don’t get the name of your soulmate before it appears on your skin. Their name and current location will appear when you are needed most by them.

Do be sure to include that you have a mate on any legal forms.

Don’t request a new mate.

… on and on it went. It made you smile and laugh at how… old it seemed to be.

Before you knew it, you were back in front of your computer screen, sending an update to X. He said he was busy today and would have to go to the clerk tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[into-crazy]

More to the Madness Pt. 9

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader series

Summary: You see J's bare face for the first time before helping him carry out his attack on the Mayor.

Warnings- Cursing, mentions of violence & murder, incorporated elements from TDK, a dash of J being self-conscious about his scars

I'll admit, that last warning was a bit of a challenge. I might've ruined everything with this & got it all wrong, although I sure hope not. Also, I'd like to add(because I freaking CAN) that I personally adore his scars💜 I find them beautiful, attractive, and sexy as hell

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “More to the Madness” tag lovelies💞💞

7:01 am

You read the time on the wall clock in the empty apartment that belonged to some man named Melvin White. The late commissioner Loeb's memorial service will start soon. Mayor Garcia is scheduled to speak in precisely 2 hours, on the street right outside this very building. Everything's falling into place. Joker and his henchmen had successfully kidnapped the Ceremonial police. Stripped the officers of their guns and uniforms in order to infiltrate the ceremony. This is really happening. Joker's going to assassinate the Mayor.

Your eyes shift to watch J, standing over by the officers- bound and gagged to a sturdy structure inside the residence. Terrified, the men are drenched in sweat, shaking in their restraints. Neither try to mumble or attempt to free the binds in fear of getting themselves killed. Little do they know that's not on the agenda. Still, their frightened state entertains J. That is obvious.

The only one's in full attire in the room are you and J. His men were previously instructed to ditch the clown masks. The area is on a high watch alert, no use in having some amateur blow the job if they're easily spotted. Even though it wasn't negotiable, you're the only exception. Given your stealth skills and the couple lookouts perched down the hall.

The henchmen gather together in their disguises while J is now peering through a telescope onto the street. Angling the scope in a spot to his liking as he mumbles quietly to himself. You slip close beside him, leaning on the frame, glancing down in search of what he's looking for. Which is difficult considering the blind is lowered halfway. Without interrupting his train of thought, you patiently wait. There's no denying that the way he works fascinates you. Given his nature, he can be very precise when it comes to certain things. Since this is a situation which requires precision, he delivers impressively well.

Finally, he gives a soft hum, "annnd.. right there." Still peeking through the lens, he removes his hand from the scope, waving it in a gimmie motion towards whoever's presence he felt next to him. "Timer." You grab the small timepiece put off to the side, placing it in his hand. "Thanks a bunch doll." He gave with a appreciative tug of his lip upwards.

You didn't respond. Instead you caught the gazes of the henchmen looking in your direction. Couple relatively new faces, observing how close in proximity you stood by the Joker. Clearly the sight was unusual to them, like they'd never seen anyone comfortable enough to be within a 6 foot reach by J. Let alone a woman, currently perched the mere inches you were beside him. Intrigued as you are. They didn't have to say what they were thinking, you knew from the judgment flickering of their eyes- what the hell is wrong with her?

That doesn't bother you. Why should it? Why would you care what they think of you? The cowards. You're also not going to let them belittle you. If you let that happen, they're going to think it's okay. That you're too weak to do anything about it. Too weak to stand up for yourself.

Raising your chin, you stare down back at them. Daring them to say what they're too scared to admit directly to your face. You don't need J to stand in and protect you. You can do that on your own, no problem.

Come on. Come over here and say it to my face you fucking cowards.

As expected, they don't. Your message was received. They get right on with the job without throwing another glance your way. Serves them right.

Bringing your focus back to J, you ask, "what were you looking for?"

He turns the knob on the tiny clock, setting a time. His blackened gaze flashes up to meet yours, "where the duck'll be sittin' at." J places his contraption before collecting an officer's uniform and a duffle bag. "Tick-tock doll," he motions for you to follow him, "we're on the clock."

Exiting the apartment, he leads the way to another apartment down the hall. Barging through the front door, it appears this residence is just as deserted as the previous one.

Handing you the large bag, J works on removing his plum trench. Slinging the heavy fabric atop a counter in the vacant living space, it crashes hard against the surface with metallic clinks of the various objects he hordes in that coat. You watch as he continues to strip himself of the remaining articles- blazer, gloves, tie, vest, and suspenders. All in that exact order. The many layers that help complete his look. That join together to make him Joker.

He begins undoing the buttons at the top of his dress shirt, catching the dumbfounded expression on your face while you observe him. "Enjoying the show, aren't we? Getting a ah- good look." A tilt in his head promoting his mocking tone.

"I- uh what- um," You blink a couple times trying to refocus, "sorry, I don't mean to stare." You admit, now remembering you're supposed to place his items in the bag. "You make it a little hard to concentrate sometimes." Cheeks glowing a shade of red, turning your attention towards the pile on the counter, hoping you didn't offend him in any way.

"Never ah, said I didn't like it," he claims, shedding the shirt from his broadly sculpted torso. Displaying a vast of scars adorning his body. J wasn't the largest man in the world with huge, bulging muscles. He's actually rather lean, fit. With the perfect amount of muscle to compliment his arms, chest, and back. Oh, but his legs- those strong, thick thighs of his. Now those are whole other impressive matter on their own.

To keep your mind from straying deeper into building up excitement, you get to work. Get ahold of yourself, keep your head in the game. Tossing the duffle on the floor, you grab his trench. Huffing at how heavy it is, you comment, "Damn J, this coat weighs about fifty pounds! What the hell have you got in here?" Attempting to fold the thick fabric before shoving it in the bag.

"Just the usual knives and grenades," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Woah, woah, hold up-" startled, you back slightly away from the bag, "you mean to tell me that there are explosives in that coat!?"

"Yeah."

"So you've been walking around with a bunch of hand grenades in your pockets? This entire time!" You continue.

"Uh, most of the time. Yeah." He repeats as if it's something you should've already known. It bewilders you that this is something so casual- so common- for him to keep dangerous explosives, ready to use, on his person like it's nothing. Regular people carry their wallets and cell phones. Better prepared citizens also carry a concealed weapon for precaution, be it a pocket knife or small handgun. Meanwhile, Joker's norms are knives and grenades- and he's never shy when it comes to flaunting his custom modified, fully automatic Glock 17.

"Well, you must carry a lot for it to weigh this much then." You let out a breathy laugh, bagging the other articles.

J was on the verge of removing his pants, when he opted not to. Instead, he collected the police uniform, thumbing towards the door behind him. "Gonna ah, finish in the other room." He promptly tells you, "wouldn't want ya getting too distracted."

"Okay," you manage, a roll of your eyes which he didn't see but very well heard. He went into the room and shut the door.

You finished packing everything, minus his pinstriped slacks and shoes. So you left the bag open for those. J wasn't enclosed in there long, however it felt like he was. This is a little unusual, for him. The eerie silence only prolonging the suspense. What could possibly be taking him so long?

It gave you a brief moment to ponder. All he has left to do is get dressed and remove the greasepai- Ohh.. Right.

The greasepaint.

That must be what's holding him, then. You'd imagine it takes a lot of effort to scrub off the many layers he had previously applied. Especially since his disguise is going to require a bare face. Funny how that works.

As if on cue, the door to the room swings open and he emerges. Your head swings up to find him, walking out the room with his head held down, green dyed curls covering his face. His hair is draping his features, yet through the gaps could you see that he is indeed, without the makeup. Purposely avoiding your gaze, you catch on, he's doing it intentionally. He doesn't want you to see his face. The reason, being one or many, you are unsure of.

He reels past you to the bag, nearly bumping into you, he shoves the remainder articles inside. You go to help him zip the overloaded pack, but he pulls it from you, twisting farther away.

You frown, "J, would you let me? I could do that for you." No answer. You try again, "the pants are going to get wrinkled if you put them in there like that. Here-" you carefully go to reach for the strap, lightly brushing your fingertips over his gloveless digits, which are tightly clamped around the band. "Let me fold them for you." His whole demeanor is tense, you're hoping your gentle touch coaxes him to ease. It helps, least a little bit. He allows you to slide it towards you, but his face remains turned.

You're not fond of this behavior. It doesn't seem like him. Could it be a reason similar to yours from before? Hiding his facial features to protect his identity. No, that can't be it if he's willingly revealing them to his goons and the public. So with that being the case, why not simply show you?

For one, you sure hope it isn't because he's self conscious about his looks- about his scars. You can't have that, no. You will not have that. He has nothing to be ashamed for when it comes to you and what you think of him. You didn't find him repulsive at all before. Why would now be any different?

He stands, "where- where's the ah, cap. I need the cap." Frantically searching the room, barely able to see past his own hair.

You don't utter a word as you neatly place his pants and shoes into the bag, sealing it with a loud ZIP! You want him to look at you, but you don't want to push it. Wanting him to feel comfortable with showing you rather than pry at it harshly. Standing fully, you go to the counter where the police cap sat. There sparks an idea. "I got it," you pluck the hat, waving it in his view. He extends an arm for you to hand it to him. "No," you shake your head, "come over here so I can put it on you."

Irritated, he huffs, "just give it- give it to me. I've got no time for this." Beckoning his arm impatiently.

"Yes you do," you return, "will you please just come here?" Nothing. He rakes his hands through his locks, choosing to grumble to himself. Alright, now you're starting to grow frustrated.

"Joker," you almost demand, the full use of his name gets him to freeze. Still staring in the other direction. "Look at me, please." Your tone is firm, yet underlined with a sense of plead.

Ultimately, he decides to look at you. As he does, you have to be careful refraining an admirable gasp in fear that he'll take it the wrong way. Don't make a big deal about it. You mentally apprise yourself as you see his face- bare- for the first time. Easier said than done. If you thought he was breathtaking before, you'd go back in time just to slap that lady across the face, and tell her she hasn't seen his beauty in all its form yet. With those handsome features adorning his face. The same features you already noticed, ridden of the greasepaint. Out on proper display. There have been occasions where you thought about what he'd look like underneath. He's even more gorgeous than you could've imagined. The area around his eyes hold black shades, skin stained from the greasepaint.

J's stoical eyes stare at your face. Searching for a trace of resentment, horror, hate, disgust. He doesn't find either of those, yet he's not sure what he finds, he can't tell.

Your eyes meet his in a deep stare, and your breath hitches in your throat as you fight to hold back what you desperately want to tell him. Baby steps. Giving a soft smile, you inform him, "you still got a bit of white and black by your eye." Pointing to a spot under your own to show him where. He gives a breathy laugh in return. May it be of relief or genuine amusement, he wouldn't tell you, you're unsure at this point. But it's something.

You jump to sit atop the counter, putting you almost eye level with him. "Can I put it on you?" You retry with the hat. He thinks for a fleeting moment, then nods. You quickly remove your gloves as he goes to stand between your parted legs, placing his hands to rest on your hips, keeping a mindful distance. It's respective.

Carefully, do you bring both your hands to his head. Combing your fingers through his locks, pushing upwards, so that you could easily tuck the green strands under the article. Though he's allowing you, if he were to swat your hands away, it actually wouldn't be a surprise. You keep that in mind. He draws in a slow, steady inhale at your delicate touch. His eyes are on you the entire time, taking in the calmness in yours. And wait- is that.. is that adoration he sees? Nevertheless, he remains there, an emotionless look on his face.

"Don't do that." J speaks abruptly. Pulling you from your dream-like trance.

"Do what?" You ask innocently, "I can't sit for a moment and admire you?"

With an exaggerated sigh and a roll of his eyes does he react. "You can stop trying to convince me with the uh, false flattery, doll. I already know I'm not the most ah, prettiest sight to look at."

"It's not false," you frown. "I'm being serious." It hurts that he doesn't believe you. You speak with truth, why won't he at least try to accept the fact that you really do find him drop-dead gorgeous, incredibly handsome, utterly attractive?

"Ha ha," he mocks a laugh that lacks humor in favor of distaste, "Now that was a bad joke." Instead of going on, he chooses to remain quiet. Taking in the feeling of your nails lightly scratching through his scalp. You're being so gentle with him, like anything harsher could ever hurt him. He smiles at the amusing thought.

Once his hair's pushed up enough, you place the police cap atop his head. Completing the disguise. Tucking stray strands that fallen, under the hat. "There.." you draw back to take a final gander. He looks so different, almost unrecognizable. But his blackened eyes, his nose, his chiseled jawline, and the uneven scars protruding the flesh in his cheeks, distinctive features that remind you of how much he is still, him.

Still J.

And damn you. Damn you for allowing it to tug at your heartstrings seeing him this way. You're not supposed to start feeling like this. You're not supposed to start caring. What started out as physical and psychological attraction, is progressing into something more, in-depth. And fuck, are you diving in deep. You know this probably isn't a path to go down. It'd be risky. Although you haven't even scratched the surface of knowing him, you know yourself. Going down that path would result in you growing attached- catching feelings. Which could leave you wandering down a one way road, alone.

Much as you hate to admit, you crave a connection, a real one. And Joker isn't the man for that. He's far too busy carrying out his destructive schemes, he doesn't have the time nor mind for you. Perhaps you should pull out, before everything eventually comes crashing down onto you. Leaving you in a heaving pile of regret. Or in a pool of your own blood once he grows bored of you, realizes he doesn't want you around anymore.

However, once your eyes lock with his in a deep gaze, your rampant thoughts are put on hold. Then you are reminded of how far you've come, and you are not backing down. Let's just keep this going. We're getting too touchy feel-y. Too sentimental. Let's just focus on what's happening right now, and right now, he's gorgeous. You don't mind his scars. You actually think his scars are rather beautiful. Much like a precious work of Japanese kintsugi art. The once severely torn flesh healed together in a way that enhances the tear that used to be there. Visible repairs on his cheeks that give more meaning and strength. Whoops- your sentiment is still showing.

You know what? I don't fucking care anymore. Look at him!

"Well hello officer," you purr flirtatiously. Trailing your hands up the properly done jacket, stopping to rest on his shoulders. "I usually don't take kindly to police officers, but I'd let you frisk, cuff, and arrest me any day."

The suggestive joke brings a sly smirk to his face. Grabbing ahold of your wrists, he sets your hands down on your thighs. "Distractions, bunny." His jeering articulation of the word distractions let's you know that he's back. "Ya sure are good at 'em. Now, we can play officer later. You ah, remember your instructions?" He asks, checking over himself to make sure everything's in order.

"Yeah, I got them down," you return.

"Remember where to wait?" He presses.

"Yeah, yeah.."

" 'Yeah' me like that one more time, an I'll slice that pretty tongue right outta your mouth. Got it?" He warns with a bite of snarkiness.

You can't help but stifle a snicker at his false threat. Um actually, you'd hope that it's false. "Yes sir."

~~

Your part is relatively easy. All you had to do was rid yourself of your outfit- including the makeup- and take J's stuff to the getaway car. Being your car. Oh boy. He gave you a set location to park and wait with his belongings. He mentioned that if everything went in the direction he's striving for, then he'd make it to your car soon after the crowd breaks into a panicking frenzy. If not, then you'll just have to meet him back at the warehouse. Which if course means more improvisation on his part.

You sat in your car, not too far, and not too close in proximity to where Mayor Garcia currently spoke on behalf of Loeb. It wasn't long until you heard the first round of shots ringing through the buildings, then the next, recognizing it to be the 21-gun salute. You braced yourself for the third round of shots, since this would undoubtedly be Joker's point of attack. The moment he and his henchmen turn their guns and fire at be Mayor.

Soon as the third rounds are fired, they are followed by even more shots and loud shouts. That's your cue. Quickly starting the engine, you glance in the rearview mirror, you could see the chaotic riot of people behind you. Rushing and screaming in different directions to get away from the area, escape the immediate danger. Seconds later, there were many running past your car. Citizens and cops alike. Citizens desperately searching for cover and the cops trying to get control of the situation. Madness. It was pure madness. Far from anything you're used to.

The sound of harsh knocking on tbe driver's window startled you. Looking directly at the source of the noise, you instantly recognized it to be J. Clicking the button to unlock the back door, he swiftly moves to get into the car. Shutting the door and motioning for you to go. You didn't have to wait for him to tell you that, as you promptly slammed on the gas before he even shut the door.

Putting as much distance between you both and the scene as possible, while Joker's catching his breath in the backseat. Checking him through the mirror, you see that he's not looking back. Didn't even bother to take a final glance at his work as you drove away. You wondered why, but you didn't ask.

"We missed." J hissed behind you.

"What?"

"We missed the shot." He clarified. "Ole Gordon decided to play hero and jumped in the line of fire." Snickering as he recalls.

"Bummer," you pout while he searches for the bag, "your items are down there." You point to the floor behind the passenger's seat.

He instantly reached inside and pulled out three tins of face paint. Wasting no time in popping open all the containers, dipping his fingers in, and slathering the paint accordingly in his face. Doing it with such a pace as if he couldn't wait to have done it any sooner.

"Please try not to get paint on my seats," you turn your head slightly to smile at him. You expected him to throw a sarcastic remark back, so you weren't prepared when he suddenly reached around, and placed his hand- fingers wet with fresh paint- snug around your throat. Making a showing effort to rub the remains onto your silky skin.

He leans close to where you feel his warm breath on your ear and neck. You find delight in his touch. He relishes the smirk that pulls across your lips, leaning closer to whisper huskily in your ear. "No promises, bunny."

End of part 9. I hope this part wasn't too rushed😭 There's still more to come. So the part in here where I made the comparison of his scars to Japanese kintsugi art, it's something that came to me but I do recall seeing something similar(on the first account that I had before this one) but I don't remember where. I appreciated the reference. If anyone knows where, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. I'd like to give credit!

[thekisforkeats]

Killing Care and Grief of Heart (Let all the Broken Pieces Shine, Chapter One)

Info: The Magnus Archives, D&D AU. JonMartin in this chapter, more ships to be added. Rated T. Post-Canon. Jon is amab nb and uses they/them, Martin is a trans guy.

CWs: Character death, stabbing, grief, webs, manipulation, apocalypses, alternate realities 

Summary: MAG 200 from Martin’s viewpoint, setting up what is to come after. The idea of Martin being Orpheus and Jon being Eurydice comes from the poem “Eurydice’s Retort” by Aiden. The poem quoted is the last stanza of Margaret Atwood’s "Orpheus 1" from Selected Poems II: 1976-1986, published 1987. The chapter title is a line from William Shakespeare's Orpheus.

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

It’s easier than Martin had thought it would be, killing Jon.

He’s thought about it before, of course, and well before he walked through his own Domain and spoke to the other version of himself. Thoughts of Jon’s death have been a constant companion for the weeks (months? years?) they’ve been walking through the Apocalypse, and for more than a year even before that.

Keeping Jon alive was the whole reason he kept working for Peter Lukas, after all.

The first time he thought about the idea that he might wind up responsible for Jon’s death was some time after they went through Oliver Banks’ Domain, the one with all the roots. Jon had been waxing philosophical that night(?), while they were resting in one of the between-places. They’d gotten to talk about the classics, about story and narrative, about how the dream-logic of everything they were dealing with could be understood through the lens of myth and metaphor.

That was when Martin had brought up Orpheus and Eurydice, pointed out that Jon had played Orpheus in diving into the Lonely to bring Martin out. He had quoted Margaret Atwood’s poem, the one from Eurydice’s point of view. Jon, of course, had never read the poem (and honestly, how is he so in love with someone who could barely stand to read anything once, let alone twice), had questioned Martin as to why he liked it so much. (Martin’s answer: melancholy. It’s about Eurydice not really wanting to come back to the world of the living, after all.)

“But you didn’t want to stay there, not really,” Jon had said, looking perplexed.

“Well… no… I mean, I sort of did while I was in there, but once you got me back out…” Martin had sighed. “It fits, that’s all I mean, and it was the first time you’d really used your powers the way you’ve been doing here. You killed Peter Lukas, you drew me out of his Domain, you’ve been doing it ever since. You’re Orpheus.”

Jon had looked at him for a long moment, with those piercing eyes that always took Martin’s breath away, and then said, “That’s ridiculous. I could never make the mountains bow themselves when I did sing.” (Of course he knew Shakespeare, and Martin did love Shakespeare but in this case he really did prefer Atwood), and then Jon was smiling at him and saying, “You’re Orpheus, love.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Martin had countered. “You’re the one who went in there to rescue me. You’re the one who led me out. Forget the Lonely, I’d have been lost in the tunnels forever without you.”

“Ah, but,” and Jon had put up a finger, “I’m the one who actually died.” He’d grinned, as if he were winning something. “I died, and you could not stand the thought, and so you dove into the underworld of whatever plot Peter and Jonah had concocted, and you sang your sweet words at them, and charmed them, and pulled me out of the hell they were trying to trap me in.”

“But… you’re the one who led me out of the Lonely,” Martin had repeated, baffled.

“Yes,” Jon had said softly, “and the problem with Orpheus and Eurydice was always that Orpheus could not trust that she would return to him. He went into the underworld to begin with because he didn’t trust that the gods would reunite them when he died. When he was leading her out he could not trust that it hadn’t been a trick, that he hadn’t lost her, and so he turned around to be sure. His doubts brought everything crashing down around them.” His gaze had been gentle, soft, maybe a little chiding. “If Eurydice had been leading the way, and Orpheus could have seen her the whole time, they would have made it out together.”

The thing neither of them had said aloud was that in the end, whatever Martin had done to pull Jon out of the “underworld” of Jonah’s plans hadn’t worked. The entire world had fallen in around them instead.

Jon had kept the thing alive since then, occasionally calling Martin ‘his Orpheus,’ usually when Martin was making up some ridiculous doggerel to amuse them both. And Martin didn’t mind, and was honestly somewhat flattered, but it started something gnawing at him. Two things, really: first, that Orpheus was the hero of the tale, and Martin did not want to be the hero, did not want to be the one upon whom all responsibility sat. Making choices for himself was all good and well; he didn’t like the feeling of maybe having to make choices for all of humanity.

The second was the nagging, aching remembrance that in every version of the myth Orpheus ultimately loses Eurydice. Death will not be overcome for long, no matter how charming one’s music. The idea that Jon would die to end this Martin had considered more than once. He hated the thought, and would rather die himself than see his lover sacrificed once more.

The idea that Martin himself would have to kill Jon to save the world? It fit perfectly. He knew it fit the moment he first thought of it, and it felt as if his heart were breaking in slow motion ever since.

Orpheus could not return to the world of light and joy with his Eurydice, after all. It just didn’t work that way, no matter how they twisted and turned to try to avoid the truth.

When they’d made a plan Jon had not wholly acquiesced to, Martin had felt that throbbing ache in his chest again. When he’d gone to talk to Jon, and hugged him, and Jon had talked about how everything was his fault… he knew. He just knew, and he did not like the decision he could feel settling in his chest. Jon was going to do something stupid, and Martin was going to have to be the one to fix it.

He could not trust Jon. That was the long and the short of it, he’d thought, as he’d stood there holding the smaller man in his arms, listening to his sniffles. And because he could not trust Jon, he’d stopped when he should have been following the other man, and turned to the others, and told them to go and blow up the gas main now. He’d turned away, and when he’d looked back, Jon was out of his sight and too far gone for Martin to catch up in time to stop him from killing Jonah Magnus and taking his place in the Panopticon.

Ironically enough, this time what doomed Orpheus was looking away from his lover, instead of looking at him.

So now Jon is in the Panopticon, because he could not be anything but self-sacrificing, and because Martin could not trust him long enough to just go after him, could not trust that he would have been able to talk Jon out of killing Jonah once they’d got up there. He’s in the tower, hooked in as the Pupil of the Eye, and Georgie’s lit the gas main already, and the whole thing is blowing up while Jon screams in pain.

For just a moment, Martin has a fleeting memory of Basira telling him that she’d convinced the police not to just burn the Institute to the ground, and oh, if she hadn’t done that…

Well, no use for that now.

For everything Martin’s said, every moment he’s refused, aloud, to admit that he could kill Jon if he had to, he’s known for some time now that he can if he must. He’s thought about it over and over, turning over everything, thinking about how to kill the Archivist. The answer is simple and obvious. Jon already gave it to him, before they’d left the Institute, and it’s narratively appropriate in that dream-logic mythic way the Fears work. So he knows what he has to do.

Martin pulls Jon out of the Panopticon, and they say they love each other, and they kiss. And then Martin pulls Jon’s head back and stabs him swiftly, once in each eye. Jon only gasps once, the first time, and maybe he’s already dead by the time Martin stabs the other, but he won’t take the chance of leaving the job half-done. It’s clear that it was the right choice--stabbing someone in the eye shouldn’t kill them so quickly, but the Eye was all that was keeping Jon alive, and so he’s dead now, gone.

And so, Martin thinks, Orpheus loses his Eurydice. Atwood’s poem echoes in his mind:

Though I knew how this failure would hurt you, I had to fold like a gray moth and let go. You could not believe I was more than your echo.

Martin sobs, then, just once, and he’d keep sobbing but there’s a rising static, the sort he’s used to hearing while listening to the tapes. And then he sees that actual tape has come into the Panopticon writhing up from between cracks and over stone to wrap itself around Jon, around his legs and arms, trying to drag him away.

Martin cannot speak, he’s too wracked with grief, but he’s damned if he’ll let the Web take Jon from him, not now. Wherever Jon is going, he’s going too. That was the deal. So as the web of magnetic recording tape grabs Jon and pulls him through the air like he’s some sort of insect to be wrapped up and devoured, Martin holds him tighter, refusing to let go.

The tapes are somehow strong enough to pull them both out of the Panopticon, through the air, across the landscape. There are other things being pulled toward wherever they’re going, a thousand or a million, too many to count. Martin can see the web of magnetic tape criss-crossing the landscape, touching all the places they’ve been, the Domains they’ve traveled through, the avatars they’ve encountered. He can see with eyes that should have belonged to the Web had Peter Lukas not gotten hold of him and claimed him for the Lonely. He can see the extent of it all, the scope of the plan, the thing the Web had wanted all along--the Fears, bound up by the Archivist’s Knowing, connected by the tapes at a thousand little points, dragged screaming out of this reality toward the hole at Hilltop Road.

For a moment it strikes Martin as a thing of beauty. Wretched, horrid beauty, but beauty nonetheless. A plan at least three decades in the making, finally come to perfect fruition. Reality re-made in order to allow the Fears to manifest strongly enough for the Web to bind them and pull them out and… ascend.

They fall toward the hole, and then into the hole, and then suddenly Jon spasms in Martin’s arms. Martin clutches him more tightly so as not to lose him, so he’s right there when Jon’s mouth opens and sound begins pouring out. Words, but more than words, and none in his own voice. It’s as though he’s become the tape recorder, playing a statement. People talking--Basira and Georgie and Melanie. The world is safe, it seems. The plan worked. And maybe it’s better than Jon’s dead, because surely whatever the people who remembered ‘the Archivist’ would have done to him would have been far more painful and horrific than Martin stabbing him in the eyes.

The Admiral’s okay. Martin wishes Jon were alive, so he could know that much at least.

The voices echo in the darkness they’re falling through. Basira’s voice: “What do you want me to do with this?” She must mean the recorder she found in the ruins.

Georgie replies, “Leave it. We’re done with tapes.”

“Want me to smash it?” That’s Melanie, because of course it is.

Basira says, “I think… we can probably just turn it off.”

Martin can almost hear the shrug in Melanie’s voice. “Okay.”

There are footsteps, two pairs, presumably Melanie and Georgie walking away.

Basira addressed the tape recorder. “If anyone’s listening… goodbye. I’m sorry, and… good luck.”

There’s a final flick, and then Jon actually speaks, despite being dead, the words resonating in the darkness:

“STATEMENTS END.”

Martin almost sobs, clutching Jon, eyes squeezed tight. He’s not sure he ever liked Basira much, and he really barely knew Georgie and Melanie--and really it’s been so hard, for so long, to be sure he liked anyone much, aside from Jon--but he takes the good wishes for what they are, clasps them into his heart. Wherever the Web is taking them, it has to be better than what they’re leaving behind.

Wherever it is, Martin is sure there won’t be any more recorders, any more statements. They, too, are done with tapes.

Next Chapter

[roc-thoughtblog]

Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 20

Chapter 23, Pages 119-126

Previously, poor Elinor... four years... poor Elinor... four years...

Having given it a little thought, it occured to me that the twist from last chapter worked extremely well for something that I would have expected to occur narratively anyway. And I have complete certainty that it's because the twist went completely overboard by a shocking, twisty margin. Four years!

That's definitely something I'm keeping very close in consideration. Noted, circled and underlined. Just because the basic element of your narrative twist may be heavily foreshadowed or just predictable, doesn't mean the whole part of it has to be. There can and probably should be more than one layer of twist to your twist.

In fact, isn't this a form of misdirection in itself? Put people at ease with something that could be interpreted as simple, then throw something else out from behind it. Wait, now I'm just describing the basic element of a twist... a general principle of playing with expectations... Hmm, anyway!

Readthrough below.

Chapter 23

HOWEVER SMALL Elinor's general dependence on Lucy's veracity might be, it was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the present case,

IN THE PRESENT CASE? WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN MS. AUSTEN? Is this just a general statement about her unwillingness to question anything right in this moment? Or is it also a foreboding statement that Lucy's word will not be trustworthy in the future? Ms. Austen are you deliberately toying with me? D:

Elinor embarks aboard a long train of thought. The facts as presently established are thus:

There is altogether too much evidence of Lucy's claims being truthful; ergo they are engaged and all evidence presented is true.

She wasn't alone in believing Edward held feelings for her. Her family (supportive) and his sister (unsupportive) both acknowledged the case, so it's not any personal delusion or her own, or positive bias on the part of her family.

Trying to reconcile those two premises, she can draw various possible solutions that might satisfy both:

Eddie has been deliberately playing with her heart. :(

Eddie has unintentionally and hopelessly succumbed to Elinor's affection. :?

Eddie's engagement with Lucy was going nowhere to begin with. :/

I'm personally gonna float a fourth possibility, that Edward forgot Lucy Steele existed until she returned to his life recently to get him to fulfill his engagement promise, and now he's in a pickle. Not going easy on him though, the only scenario in which he doesn’t bear a significant burden of responsibility in this mess is the one where, iunno, Lucy’s been blackmailing him the whole time or something.

The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to everything but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding years [...] must have opened his eyes to her defects

Oh, so is this why Mr. Palmer was introduced with the following (lemme dig it up) line?

His temper might perhaps be a little soured by finding, like many of others of his sex, that through some unaccountable bias towards beauty, he was the husband of a very silly woman - but she knew this kind of blunder was too common for any sensible man to be lastingly hurt by it.

When I was reading it I thought it was coming uncharacteristically close to laying a man's responsbility over his own emotions at the feet of his wife instead (even if Mr. Palmer was immediately following diagnosed with class angst instead). I suppose the real purpose of this line would be to prep the reader, so that the possibility of hasty engagements on Edward's part seem reasonably expected, and also to, well, suggest at the possible result of such a hasty, valueless engagement being followed through?

I know there’s a Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, is there a Sense and Sensibility and Alternate Timelines?

Well, either way, I'm given to conclude that the Palmer chapter really does a lot more to set up pacing and expectations than I give it credit for. Though I still don’t think I like these particular expectations very much.

Also, Elinor, as mature as you project yourself to be, you think these thoughts of foolhardy youth as though you're not also presently nineteen right now. :'D

Also geez, you're really picking on Lucy hard for her lack of education, which has so far been presented much more a lack of opportunity than anything else. I noticed while reading the Other Stories in Susan and Stories that many of the protagonists were definitely a little on the not-like-other-girls side of the spectrum. I always love when education is valued, but it does make me uncomfortable when I see it presented as though a virtue in itself, rather than the product of opportunity and environment.

I'm still holding out on general judgement of Lucy as I haven't really felt like I've been introduced to her outside of Elinor's lens. There's a sort of tell vs. show element to reliability of information in the narrative voice I've been sitting on; one where I've been told a lot about Lucy from Elinor's feelings and thoughts (that she's artful or selfish), but I haven't actually seen Lucy behave in any way I would interpret as more than some level of insensitive.

It's really hard for me to get a read on Lucy or Edward. Unlike with Willoughby or Brandon, their actions as depicted do not immediately align with evaluations of their character made by the Dashwood sisters. Lucy has been very little shown to have done anything to earn Elinor's harsher assessments of her character (except insensitivity). Edward, I don't even know what about him I can take at any sort of face value except that he's ambitionless.

As these considerations occured to her in painful succession, she wept for him, more than for herself.

Oh, Elinor... She's worried about how Edward must feel, that his family could possibly support his engagement to Lucy when she is in a worse position than Elinor in every regard.

Supported by the conviction of having done nothing to merit her present unhappiness,

Oh, Elinor... she's rationalised away her natural freedom to be unhappy for unhappiness' sake. And she puts the mask back on. No telling her family. She will take this burden on very alone indeed.

It'll have to be up to Marianne to save her, on the day that Marianne finally throws a fit over Edward's mysterious lack of flirting. Oh, and what about their little moment chapters back where they shared a joke over Willoughby? Oh it will hurt if they ever have a real confrontation... :(

and that Marianne was internally dwelling on the perfections of a man, of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly possessed,

oH NO! Well if you're going to say that! If Edward was four years engaged then what's Willoughby going to have been? Secretly married ten years?? I forgot Marianne is still pining hard. Wait what's even going to happen when Edward and Willoughby meet as promised?

"Hi, I'm not marrying a Dashwood sister." "Hi, it turns out I'm also not marrying a Dashwood sister." "What was the purpose of our meeting again?" "Breaking Dashwood hearts solidarity?"

What is even happening? Please come back Brandon, at least your secret daughter can't break hearts. Also because you can't break hearts in general because noone loves you. Wait, ouch. Sorry. Also because your daughter might become friends with Margaret!

Oh Elinor, she's also justifiably disinclined to tell her family anything anyway because she knows they'll make a gigantic deal out of it, and probably Say Things that she doesn't want to hear. I mean, almost certainly Eddie has done you dirty here Elinor, if at bare minimum through negligence in communication. He's gonna deserve some of that tongue lashing.

Well, now that Elinor has come to terms with her situation, she has new objectives. To talk to Lucy again, and in doing so:

Discover the true depth of Lucy's feelings for Edward

Estimate Edward's regard for herself by gauging Lucy's jealousy towards her (HA!)

Convince Lucy somehow that no, she was never interested in Edward, haha, what a funny joke, I am not hurt or in pain at all. Didn't have a minor breakdown in front of you yesterday, nope. Perfectly fine, no feelings here.

Ah yes, the "What doesn't kill me NEVER HAPPENED" approach. Maybe in a couple of years she might even manage to convince herself she had never loved Edward at all, or indeed, anyone ever?

Apparently for all of Sir Middleton's parties, it can be surprisingly hard to get one-on-one time. Yeah, I get that. It takes Elinor some time before she can speak to Lucy privately again: at a party Sir Middleton arranged but is not attending. Heh.

"Insipidity." That was a word I wanted for the past few days but could only remember "vapid." Also wow, the narrative is pulling no punches over how insipid, boring and generally valueless this gathering and it's conversations are. Elinor's usually polite about things but internally she has no patience anymore. She needs to talk to Lucy and everything about this party is very much Getting In The Way.

So some party shenanigans happen and Lady Middleton is very easily manipulated as usual through appeals to her motherhood, to provide space for Lucy and Elinor to talk. Lucy is trying so hard to finish a basket for little Annamaria before tomorrow you see, and Oh! It is so much work, surely Elinor needs to help her! Works like a charm, Lady Middleton lets them out of card games and leaves them right alone to chat at a worktable.

Marianne just up and ditches Lady Middleton for the piano haha, with all the grace and tact of... iunno, Marianne I guess. Zero subtlety. "I hate cards, piano time starts now." Narrative says she's lost in her own thoughts and emotions while playing, I choose to interpret that as "angrily and noisily."

But it provides the appropriate background noise cover for Elinor and Lucy to talk with some approximation of privacy, which seems to follow directly in the next chapter.

Well, this has been a chapter devoted to Elinor's processing of... last chapter. Considering the weight of some such revelations, yeah, there was a lot for Elinor to process.

I feel as though I could go on to make some observations on the differences between Elinor and Marianne's approaches to processing heartbreak, but, they're just so... comically and wholly contrastive I wouldn't know where to begin except in broad terms. Marianne lets it all out, expressing her internal turmoil to almost performative levels and with complete emotional conviction. Elinor suppresses everything she can't rationalise away, and she tries to rationalise away everything, up to and including her own personal right to be upset.

Also it seems unusual to have a chapter immediately succeed from the events of the previous chapter as the next one does, so I imagine the hits aren't slowing yet. No idea what else could come out right now though.

[punkscowardschampions]

Liam & Edie

Liam: I dunno how to thank you for the surprise 🎁 as it’s still giving

Liam: what’s her fave scary movie? I never did get as far as jumpscares and chill

Edie: I wish I coulda taken 🧨 to her for you, see if she melted cool too

Edie: All I know is she hasn’t learnt a single thing from any of ‘em, which is unsurprising

Edie: Curtains open? ✔️ Door unlocked? ✔️ Home alone? ✔️

Edie: She should know only virgins survive 💀

Liam: asking for it from her hairsprayed roots to her painted toenails

Liam: but I left her standing for the 6 sequels

Edie: ☢️ fumes makes it even more of a shame

Edie: and that for her, alive, but at what cost

Liam: the twins play with dolls? you could melt her lookalike for me

Edie: I knew you’d like it

Liam: I like that she thinks it was me, that I’ve ever cared

Edie: Yes, you’ve really been biding your time in the shadows 🧛‍♂️

Liam: what shadows, you’re lighting everything up 🔥🎇🎆

Edie: That’s you

Edie: literally and you know, gay shit 😳

Edie: How’d I miss you, when did you drop the box off?

Liam: when I sent you hunting, in case the gay shit was turning too hardcore

Edie: Was it?

Liam: not for me

Edie: not for me

Edie: I’ve not stopped thinking about you since we met

Edie: as you can see

Liam: numbers don’t lie, you’ll see I’ve been listening to your tracks since you sent them

Edie: If I sing loud enough will you come find me

Liam: if I don’t show up rapid enough would you lose your voice

Liam: before that happens I wanna hear the thoughts you’ve been having

Edie: If that happened, I think I could still show you

Liam: what you could do is where my thinking stops

Edie: What are you doing today

Edie: Thinking is overrated

Liam: my dad unlocked his memories of me and wants to make more

Edie: Great timing

Edie: Is he at least taking you bowling?

Edie: The single dad’s first and last idea of what to do with their kids to seem ‘fun’

Liam: was about this time last year, scrolling back

Liam: he’s taking me ⛺️

Edie: Thank God for campfires

Edie: don’t forget your 🔦 for the scary stories

Liam: and the faked found footage

Liam: don’t forget about me

Edie: It IS a great location, give him that, but I’d need an invite for top marks

Edie: I couldn’t

Edie: How are you feeling about it though, really

Liam: scary stories do start with 🚗 and you’d fit in the boot easy

Liam: how long can you hold your breath?

Edie: [send a video as you did with the staring contest]

Edie: I’ll find the nearest body of water and work on it

Liam: long enough to fool him, but I’m not gonna tell you not to play dead in your 🛁 like a killjoy

Edie: What else can I do in your absence?

Edie: we’ll be having about as good a time as each other, that’s something

Liam: to Alexis or to me

Edie: Both if I do it right

Liam: how extra she is will make up for everything I’m not

Edie: you are everything

Edie: sorry

Liam: only from behind a lens or a screen, sorry

Liam: take away the sfx and yeah, we’ll be having as good a time as each other

Edie: Are you afraid?

Liam: I’m not anything, that’s what I’m trying to get across to you

Liam: you’ve got killer eyes with so much behind them, I don’t

Edie: There’s something

Edie: here, between us, even if it’s not of us

Edie: it’s real, we should follow it ‘til it isn’t

Liam: 🦎🧠

Liam: reflex behaviours ain’t enough for someone as braindead as Lex

Liam: you’re smart

Edie: they’re enough for me

Liam: if I had anything to give you, I would

Edie: I don’t want anything

Edie: I’m not like her

Edie: Whilst you’re around, I want to be around too, that’s it

Edie: you don’t have to do or be anything, I swear

Liam: I want to want things

Liam: but I don’t have the cheat codes for 🐒🧠

Edie: However small that bit of you is, it clearly exists, to even want it at all

Edie: I have nothing to lose with trying with you

Liam: yours is massive

Edie: I’m younger, there’s time for my hope to die

Liam: I’m not letting that happen

Edie: Protect me

Edie: and let me try for you

Liam: I have nothing to lose, already lost it

Edie: has it always been like this or could you access 🐒🧠 before

Liam: my ma didn’t raise a 👶 psycho, I used to react normally to stuff

Edie: You could again then

Edie: not saying it’d be easy or any patronizing shit like that though

Liam: but are you saying you’ll help me or any gay shit like that

Edie: Yeah

Edie: don’t worry, my god complex won’t make it culty

Liam: offer it me and I’ll drink it

Edie: Going ‘round acting like my cunt is magical seems like a Lexie kind of move

Edie: Everyone else is boring, you’re not, and I’m not, if nothing else

Edie: I’ll be better company than her or KM or any other twat

Liam: it was, doing the most to make herself killable is her only move

Liam: but I couldn’t do it and you were already better company anonymously

Edie: She’s a grief thief

Edie: and I’m definitely doing more than call her next time

Liam: she don’t matter, it was never about her

Edie: no, ‘course not

Edie: it’s about you for me though

Edie: I’ll fuck up anyone you want

Liam: start with my dad and I can skip this guilt trip

Edie: Okay, let’s think

Edie: it wouldn’t take a lot, if he only manages once a year as an average

Edie: has he got a new missus?

Liam: she wasn’t his but he liked my sister more, thinking about it

Liam: not that I know about, maybe it’s how short he is

Edie: a kid that isn’t here is easier to love because there’s less to do, nothing to do now

Edie: you reckon he’d call it off for a potential hook-up then?

Edie: might be desperate

Liam: there’s no calling it off, he’s too scared of my ma still and she’s had these days circled and !!ed

Edie: She’ll fuck me up if I ruin your bonding sesh?

Edie: I could catfish her instead but how exciting can a middle-aged man ever feasibly be 🤔😒

Liam: big tesco is gone, how many other places do you wanna have to avoid

Liam: I know something else you can do for me

Edie: I’ll take my chances 👊

Edie: Go on

Liam: if you set up to record and I stream it as often as the fucked wifi will allow we can kid ourselves I’m at your window 👀

Edie: We’re definitely doing that

Edie: You have the best ideas, seriously

Edie: not knowing when you’re watching and what you’re gonna see… 🥴

Edie: mine isn’t as good but [one of the nights he’ll clearly be away like if not tonight, tomorrow or whatever] you should be able to see this comet really clear at [a time] we can watch together

Edie: I’ll take the stream outside

Liam: your idea overtakes mine by miles, I’ll lose my dad in the woods or something before then

Liam: and if he stays MIA I’ll try and call you, when you’re not busy talking to Lexie

Edie: There’ll be a pub or something nearby, failing that, find a high point and push, you can be back by the time he regains consciousness

Edie: I’ll leave her alone now, if you want

Edie: I just don’t like her for you

Liam: she’s not for me, you can have her to do what you want with until I get back

Edie: 😈

Edie: She’s not invited to that either but I’ve got some ideas

Liam: me too

Edie: Surprise or secret?

Liam: neither, I wanna spend time with you, in person

Edie: When are you back?

Liam: 4 days

Edie: 4 days, I can do that

Edie: just about

Edie: patience isn’t my strong suit but I’ve been waiting a lot longer to meet you, it feels like somehow

Liam: when he drops me off, I’m yours

Edie: You won’t regret it

Edie: Summers not over yet, there’s so much we can do

Liam: I won’t regret focusing on you instead of school either

Edie: School is a different kind of torture

Edie: at least now I can see you every day

Liam: torture walking away after I have seen you

Edie: I won’t make you

Edie: we can stick together

Liam: we will

Edie: I miss you

Edie: even though I’ve not actually met you in person yet, and you’re not gone either

Edie: still

Liam: [send her your own version of the staring contest footage like I’m going nowhere bitch]

Edie: There’s something behind them, I swear I can see it

Edie: Do you believe me?

Liam: I said I’d keep your hope alive

Edie: It’s okay if you don’t, I know my 👀 don’t deceive me

Liam: your eyes are something else, they’ll wear my zoom and pause out on this 📷

Edie: I wish I had the words to explain how you made me feel, and I could explain it so good that you could feel it back

Edie: because it feels really good

Liam: we’ve got time, for you to find words or show me without

Edie: if 🎇🎆 wasn’t so overdone

Edie: or maybe when you’re on a 🎢 the second you drop and it feels like the world has fallen out from under you and there’s nothing you can do

Liam: when you’re finally coming up after waiting twice as long as usual for the 💊 to kick in and thinking you got scammed

Edie: exactly like that, but you’ve just taken a 2nd and you know it’s going to get even more intense

Liam: I’ll hunt for 🍄 while I’m here, you trust me not to accidentally kill you, yeah?

Edie: I do

Edie: have you done lots of 🍄s?

Liam: made tea out of some but fuck all happened, they were probably from big tesco, I was younger and didn’t know anything

Edie: 😆

Edie: Me either, but more because my dad only deals in synthetic crap, not because I’m young and don’t know anything

Edie: not a total drug noob, only hold my hand if you want to

Liam: I only got them up bc my sister wanted to put a twist on the tea parties she forced me into as a 👶 I was a drug noob

Edie: How annoying they didn’t work, that would’ve been fun

Edie: maybe more for your sister than you but still

Liam: she was 💔 but it ended up being fun after I cheered her up with my 👒👙 recreation

Edie: How could that not cheer anyone 😅

Edie: when you’re back I’m gonna need to see that myself, honestly

Liam: I’m not gonna fit in the one from then, but I’ll be able to get another 👙 close match to the 👶 pic or show you the vid of us if not

Edie: I’d like to see it, I bet you were real cute kids

Liam: she was

Edie: do you have lots of videos of you guys as kids?

Liam: not really, either they didn’t want it to be like they were hoarding the happy shit for when she wasn’t here anymore, or they thought they wouldn’t have to bc there’d be loads more of it, I don’t know

Edie: Either makes sense, you’re not planning for that to happen and then I can see why you wouldn’t want to when it becomes apparent

Edie: I wish I’d known her more than just another face and name at school, she sounds cool

Liam: you can get to know her, from me picking up my first 📹 there wasn’t much that didn’t get videoed, it was how she wanted it

Edie: I respect it

Edie: and you do have a good eye, you made me look 🤩 from the most basic footage

Liam: you don’t need editing, but I was trying to show off to you

Edie: I thought you were impressive before that point, but it still worked

Edie: especially when most act like face-tuning a selfie is a great feat of skill

Liam: [a selfie facetuned to a pisstakey degree so it looks wild]

Edie: [very much imagining that pillow face filter/handsome squidward]

Edie: 😱 catfished again, gdi

Liam: this has to work, me and you meeting, I can’t rewind to before we talked as if we never have

Edie: There is no going back

Edie: It will work, we’ll make it

Liam: it gets thrown out casually and fucking constantly, but I haven’t found anyone like you before

Edie: It has to mean something that it was you, and me

Edie: it’s so improbable, and we could’ve gone our whole life living in the same place and not ever getting to know each other

Liam: it means I’m not letting go of this, it’s me and you now

Edie: I want that too, I need to

Edie: nothing else makes sense, it’s not complete, it’s not right, I don’t want it

Liam: even if I’m 🤖 I’ll be trying to override my shite programming, harder than I’ve done, to do this right

Edie: 🍄💊 aren’t the only things that can rewire us

Edie: I’m not going anywhere, I won’t leave you, even if it takes forever, even if it never happens

Edie: trying with you is better than feeling like a failure with anyone else

Liam: anyone who’s made you feel like a failure is getting worse than the Lexie treatment

Edie: we’ll make sure the school doesn’t find the hit-list 😏

Edie: it’s like, everyone is so comfortable, and they do the same boring shit every day and never get tired of it, but none of it fucking matters

Liam: 🏫🔥

Liam: I’m down to make everyone uncomfortable

Edie: They need it

Edie: not that they’ll appreciate it but that’s not the point

Edie: I wanna make you feel everything

Liam: you’re so alive, that’s the point for me

Edie: I can be that

Edie: and I can share

Liam: I wanna be a reason you are

Edie: I’m so mad at your dad, full offense

Liam: get in line, but cut in front of me so I can 👀 at you

Edie: You can do more than look when I’m really in front of you

Liam: I keep thinking about what happens if I can’t

Edie: There’s still things we can do

Edie: that only require you to want to

Edie: and you can tell me if you don’t

Liam: I don’t wanna tell you things that’ll make you feel bad

Edie: I don’t wanna make you feel bad either

Edie: or force you to do something

Liam: you won’t, I’m not 😡 at my dad for forcing me to do this instead of being there with you

Liam: block works for negative emotions too

Edie: Okay, but still, it’d make me feel bad if you felt like you were performing for me

Edie: we don’t want that

Edie: when we do meet, you control it, okay?

Edie: Do what feels right

Liam: no crap ARG acting, I can agree to not do that

Edie: Good

Edie: so, you leveled up with drugs, what about girls or did that first nightmare put you off fully

Edie: I mean like, do you hook up with people or is it all ❌

Liam: she put me off, or how desperately I could tell she wanted me to want her did, she’d touch me and nothing would happen and she’d look at me like 🥺

Edie: It’s pressure

Edie: but I don’t think any boy has met her expectations, judging by how fast she gets through them so

Liam: pressure I piled on myself in the first place, thinking about my sister and how nobody ever wanted to touch her, like it was catching or when the lad she was into wouldn’t ask her out and I asked him why and he admitted it was bc he was shitting himself she’d drop dead, so I thought I should, bc she wanted to live those cliches and fucking couldn’t, I don’t know

Edie: People are shit

Edie: they don’t do or say the right things and they can’t handle the stuff you and your sister had no choice but to

Edie: and it’s fucking unfair there’s so much stuff she wanted to do and didn’t get to

Edie: of course the weight of that is going to make that near impossible

Edie: it sounds horrible but you aren’t dying though, and neither am I

Edie: so make the list, see it through, but the pressure is off with time

Liam: r/emo teens would have a post like, we are both dying, just at a slower rate than her

Edie: 🙄 they can do one, I’m never dying

Liam: yeah, please don’t

Edie: I promise

Edie: my ma’s wife died and I can barely remember her but enough that it fucks with my head

Edie: like she was always there, and some memories I have, she would’ve been, and it’s like, fragments, if I try really hard

Edie: but it could all be made up, I don’t know

Liam: I remember her so vividly I think I know what she’d do or say if she was in memories she’s not, but do I

Liam: or am I just lying to myself bc she should be there and it’d be less shit if she was

Edie: You were close, you did know her that well, that’s obvious

Liam: maybe she’d wanna tell me I fucked it and not to do all the shit I’ve done with her name attached to it

Edie: maybe

Edie: but right or wrong you’re the one that’s here and still has to do shit

Liam: if she becomes a fragment to me I don’t wanna be here

Edie: I don’t know if it’ll happen, I don’t think so though

Edie: I was a toddler, you weren’t

Edie: you have more to keep hold of

Liam: if I live for 50 more years then I won’t, I’ll have new memories pushing out the old and outdated tech

Edie: You aren’t relying on just your 🧠

Edie: You have 📷🎞📹📼

Edie: and you can make that last forever

Liam: do you have that of your step-ma

Edie: Yeah, she was more camera-shy than my ma, but there’s still lots of it

Edie: and she’s everywhere, you know, throughout the house and stuff

Edie: memories are important but so are those more physical, tangible reminders

Liam: my ma’s kept her room but she don’t exist downstairs, as if the 🚪 is to a hidden level and you have to earn your way there 💎💰❤️

Edie: It’s good you have somewhere

Edie: and your memorial

Liam: you should meet me there, my house, on day 5

Edie: okay

Edie: 😍😸🤩

Liam: pick a time bc I’ve stolen the place

Edie: I just hope it’s a time you’re there and not just your ma because who knows how much of me will be left to come back to at that point

Liam: I’ll be there to protect you, get used to that

Edie: I’ll try my hardest but wow

Edie: Right now that still gets me so

Edie: I’ve never had this before but I love how it feels

Edie: As for a time how’s [a time so early to prove how badly and ASAP we wanna see him] or [a more socially acceptable suggestion] if not?

Liam: [soz to his mother but we are obvs picking the early af time and so soz to his dad too if it means he has to bring you back early] is cool with me

Edie: Serious?

Edie: I’ll see you then

Edie: should I wear something so your ma doesn’t hate me forreal though

Edie: 👒👗🥿

Liam: she’ll be happy I invited someone over, wear what makes you feel how you want to

Edie: 🎩🦺👙🧤🩰

Edie: Cool though, I’ll bake her something, tell me if she has any deadly allergies or hates now, like

Liam: 🚫👓🕶🥽🤿 I’d hate it

Edie: I know what you wanna see, don’t worry

Liam: everything

Edie: everything

Liam: ㊙️

Edie: 🎋

Liam: I wish you were here ​🌠​

Liam: I could be filming you instead of what’s going past the car window

Edie: definitely B-roll compared to me

Edie: but think of all the laughable monsters you can stick in the frame 🏞👹🏞

Liam: I’ll think of you laughing

Edie: I won’t use my wish on hoping you think about me then

Liam: unless there’s another specific thing you want me to imagine you doing

Edie: If I tell you now, you’ll know

Edie: you’ll have to tell me what you thought about when you get back instead

Edie: see if it came true

Liam: or I’ll show you when I get back, make it come true

Edie: that’d be a lot of wishes coming true

Liam: we’ve got a couple of weeks before summer ends

Edie: There is a lot we can do in a couple weeks

Liam: even more if we don’t waste time going back and forth between my house and yours

Edie: Another thing I can do before you get back

Edie: find somewhere to stay

Liam: you won’t even have time to feel tortured without me

Edie: and where’s the fun in that, right

Edie: you still need to hurry 😜

Liam: it’d be popular on the thread, beautiful girl in ⛓ but I’ve probably got competition enough from other lads with your tracks blowing up

Edie: you have literally no competition

Liam: I still need to hurry though 😏

Edie: only ‘cos I only want you and I’ll be lonely and bored

Edie: some of these dms could fuel an incel-gone-rogue storyline though, they wildin 😅

Liam: I’m about to subvert the cliche and make my dad turn the car round

Edie: + XP

Edie: power move on 💯

Liam: [sends her a virus or something] don’t click it, but do what you’ve gotta until it looks irresistible to the 👹

Edie: the sexy singles in MY area have prepared me for this moment

Edie: not to hit you with the 🥺 but you’re so sweet sorry

Liam: if Lexie’s denied me 🥺 off you forever, I’ll hit her with a 🔨

Edie: Tempting, very tempting

Edie: [showing him the bratz doll she’s found in some charity shop moment]

Edie: 🍀

Edie: If this works as a voodoo doll she’ll be 🥺 for the 🔨 by the end of today tbh

Liam: I’ll be 🥺 if you keep working this hard

Edie: gotta make you proud

Edie: also if I can find a way to get it into her house when I’m done fucking with it it’s game over 🤣

Liam: [tell her about some way that you sneaked in so her parents didn’t know about it when you were going out so she can use that]

Edie: [pretend we are not thinking about that lmao] 👍👍

Edie: you wouldn’t even need a ladder

Liam: don’t be upset

Edie: I’m not

Edie: you’ll sneak in my window soon

Liam: we’ll have a place of our own, just me and you

Edie: what do you want

Edie: town, country, cursed, uncursed

Liam: pick the 🏡 making you feel like you’re home and you don’t ever wanna go

Edie: 🥰

Edie: no spoilers whilst you’re away

Liam: 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Edie: don’t break my willpower I barely have

Edie: I wanna give you all the surprises and it might be a fixer-upper

Liam: I’ll stop testing you, I know you’re gonna pass

Edie: You don’t have to, I can take it, like

Liam: you’re gonna say no spoilers on how you’re gonna prove it and break the 🖤 I don’t have

Edie: Never

Edie: I don’t quite know what you want yet but I’ll do anything you ask, you can test that

Liam: you’ll do anything for me

Edie: I will

Edie: I’m probably not supposed to say that, right

Edie: but it’s true and you should know

Liam: abusing what you’ve said would fall into letting your hope die, which you know I’m not gonna do

Liam: you can trust I’ll keep you safe

Edie: I trust you

Liam: that’s what I want

Edie: 🌠🧚‍♀️

Edie: Does your da still live in Dubo?

Liam: Greystones

Edie: Fancy

Edie: Not going to find anything like that for us

Liam: a holiday cottage that’s empty’s easy pickings

Edie: let’s go

Edie: this place is trash

Liam: when school starts everyone’ll have gone out of them all

Liam: and most don’t change their alarm codes from the default

Edie: we’ll have the whole town to ourselves between 9-5

Edie: can we can we 😍😍

Liam: Yeah, if they’re not gonna treat them like somewhere they wanna be more than a week out of the year, why shouldn’t we

Edie: so wasteful

Edie: why would you even want that kind of money

Edie: I want what you said, somewhere that feels like home and you never wanna leave

Edie: no matter how nice the location or whatever else of anywhere else, home is still the best

Liam: it’ll be homey, how you said, things around that remind you of me and the memories we’ve made in it

Edie: It can all be real, can’t it

Liam: or pretend if you want 🏠🧸🎠🍭

Edie: I’m never opposed to pretending

Edie: it’s weird

Edie: I feel like I know what I want already but that’s a new thing

Edie: like a ⚡️ hit and everything makes sense now

Edie: maybe it’s superpowers

Liam: what else do you want

Liam: a garden to bury Lexie in and

Edie: obviously 😏

Edie: NOT a basement to bury the kids in though

Liam: they’ll be with us, getting their wellies on so they can splash in the massive puddles

Edie: and go rock pooling

Edie: and then take the dog on a massive walk so we can come home and fall asleep on the sofa in front of an old movie

Liam: you’ll be watching the movie I’ll be looking at you

Edie: but then I’ll look up at you

Liam: and we’ll both be thinking about how we’re gonna edit the footage from today bc we don’t wanna cut nothing out

Liam: except maybe the dog getting bullied by a 🦀

Edie: 🤭 save his shame at the dog park

Liam: kids’ll have no fear

Edie: all they’ll know is love and good times and fun

Liam: we should bury something other than 💀🦴 they can dig up when they’re not 👶

Edie: an actually cool time-capsule

Edie: just with all the things we want to show them, that they won’t remember, or happened before them

Edie: if we get the right storage, we could even bury the 📼s

Liam: yeah, we can do it right

Edie: why not us

Liam: we’re different, we already know it

Edie: you make different feel alright

Edie: well, better than actually but you know

Liam: if I can’t do this with you, I’ll never be able to do it, more pressure than 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 sorry, but if we’re keeping it real

Liam: this is the closest I’ve come to a rebooted 🧠 since it was fucked up

Edie: If we can’t we’ll just 💀💀

Liam: you promised you wouldn’t and I already should’ve

Edie: Then I can’t fail

Liam: you test too well

Edie: and we’ve got time

Edie: if you don’t feel it straight away

Edie: have to give me a fair chance yeah

Liam: I’m not just saying I’ll meet you bc I know you want to, that’s more of a chance than I’ve given anyone in years

Liam: and you can have all my time after if you ain’t decided you don’t want it, I’m not lying about handing it over to you either

Edie: The only way that would happen is if you were a massive disappointment

Edie: and I know you won’t be, so all I have to do is make sure I’m not

Edie: It’s going to work, I can feel it

Liam: [shows her that he’s been playing her songs over and over during this entire car journey because of course he has and also let’s pretend he’s rigged up some way of counting how often he’s watched those not blinking or breathing vids so he can show her that too bc he wants to feel something honey and he wants her to know]

Edie: 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Edie: I need to write you more

Liam: who sorts your shows for you, you should build on this hype

Liam: and give me a chance to see you perform live

Edie: I don’t have management, but I’ve done a lot of gigs with the same people at the same places so we kinda hook each other up, keep in the know

Edie: There is a show [a few days after his bday moment] in [a town a few over]

Edie: I weren’t sure if I could get there but we can, if you wanna see me

Liam: [deets of people he knows who might or might not be genuinely helpful for booking stuff and letting you play places cos might as well make use of all those connections boy]

Liam: cool, I’ll get us there, even if none of the @s I dropped on you go anywhere else longer term, but they should, you’re mindblowing

Liam: by next year they’ll have built a festival round you here and my dad will have to give camping a fucking rest

Edie: You’re actually incredible

Edie: No one ever takes my shit seriously

Edie: I mean family, friends, it’s just this fun thing I do to them

Edie: but you get it, there’s no alternative, I have to get this shit out, to say and show it

Edie: Only if he buys a 🎫 but he’s not getting VIP with you

Liam: I understand

Liam: nobody respects mine, which I get when there’s probably 45k off the thread running round with a camera and I ain’t got your talent with it

Edie: You do have talent though

Edie: but I respect it regardless

Edie: we have to make cool shit together

Edie: not just 👶👶👶👶👶👶👶

Liam: I’ll put together something to play behind you at the show, how long are you gonna be up there

Edie: it’s 15 if you’re lucky 10 if you’re not, so you need 5 songs prepped to go but you might only play 2 or 3

Liam: what songs, are you surprising me

Edie: [send him a list of 4 so clearly one is a surprise]

Edie: so you can compliment them with what you make

Liam: 🤩

Liam: wtf did I listen to before you hit me with your link

Liam: you’re fucking sick at this

Edie: idk but I can soundtrack your whole life now

Edie: all I can write rn is 🥰🥺 cos that’s how you’ve made me

Liam: I’m down but if we go with it you should probably have less 👶👶👶👶👶👶👶 to soundtrack the lives of

Edie: okay just one

Edie: the perfect 👶 with the perfect life

Liam: perfect bc she’s got your 👀 and 🧠 and 💓

Edie: so we might need to have two

Edie: I want them to be perfect like you

Liam: 👶👶 wouldn’t ruin you physically or musically, she can have a brother

Edie: 💕👦👧🐶🧒👱‍♀️💕

Edie: that feels good

Liam: I used to really want a 🐶 when I was younger and my ma got me one of those 🤖 ones, it's probably still barking in a box somewhere

Edie: Awh, we’ve gotta find him and free him!

Edie: I had so many weird robot toys but they’ve all been used for parts by now for sure 🤖💔

Liam: he's not been melted, gotta be some proof I felt things before

Edie: You did, you clearly did

Edie: when you talk about your sister, it shows

Liam: I'd offer to talk my dad about you and see what shows but he's too easy to trick

Liam: most people are if it stops at a convo

Edie: Not caring is more convenient

Edie: not even like people are trying to be bastards, but if they don’t know what to say or do then it’s easier to take you at that one convo and pretend

Liam: I don't remember him ever not being his own bonus level of crap, but it's like you said, nobody else is loads better

Edie: Did he stick around, when your sister got sick?

Liam: for a while, when hospital wards covered in shit like 🌞🌈🦋 wasn’t a fuck you and 👨‍⚕️👩‍⚕️ had answers he didn’t mind hearing

Edie: ‘til it got really real and really hard

Edie: gotcha

Liam: he’d show up with a 🎈 before the end so that makes it alright

Edie: 🤡 energy

Liam: ordered pennywise but charlie chalk showed

Edie: [sad clown noise voice note like womp womp]

Liam: [a video or pic of his dad like putting the tent up or something with that voice memo playing over and his eyes crossed out like miss you because bringing that detail back from when we first did these two]

Edie: [it’s a good detail, so we must, just adding some more detail like a red nose or whatever so you can have a lil back and forth here]

Liam: [add clown shoes or something boy because we love a cute back and forth, very JJ of you]

Edie: [not seeing those parallels for no reason later lmao, fully clownify this oblivious man soz not soz]

Liam: [honestly deserved I’d rather have an Ian than such a wet wipe of a person]

Edie: [tbh, wet hen]

Edie: you were not lying though, your da is so short

Liam: not lied about nothing

Edie: I’d never guess you were related

Edie: too bad for mine we look like him

Liam: I’ll ask for the 🎁 of a tube full of spit but he ain’t as happy to do what I ask as you are

Edie: Spoilsport

Liam: won’t be harder to be a better dad than him, however fucked I am

Edie: that’s the thing

Edie: it doesn’t even take that much

Edie: I could do it better now

Liam: I’d stay, even when it’s ugly or I don’t know what to do, I could make you that promise now before we’ve met

Edie: Me too

Edie: It’s like, the least you can do and loads don’t even do that

Liam: maybe I shouldn’t bother getting my 🖤 back, keep caring about nothing instead of only caring about myself

Edie: you’re not going to be like that

Edie: you weren’t before

Liam: how are you this sure

Edie: I don’t know how I just am

Liam: it’s gonna be the longest 4 days

Edie: [a timer you’ve made as you can]

Edie: 🥺

Edie: make him keep you busy, and I’ll keep busy with all the plans and surprises

Liam: I’ll keep busy thinking about finally seeing you

Edie: and watching the stream when you can

Edie: I’ll make sure it’s entertaining

Liam: let me know when you’re set up

Edie: I will, not home yet

Edie: hope my fam only embarrasses themselves in entertaining ways too if you see them

Liam: not calling you an 🚑 but I’m calling it you’ll steal every scene better than they do

Edie: 😇

Edie: I better

Liam: at most anyone else is gonna register to me as a shite ARG sound effect 👻🚪

Edie: That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my fam

Edie: they might disagree but that can be explained away as the wind or house settling noises

Liam: you’ve got my full attention, inexplicable at first but it’s making more and more sense

Edie: 🌌

Edie: Random or fate, I want it

Liam: there's nothing to convince you of

Edie: Nope

Edie: You’re perfect

Liam: I’m buffering bc I ain’t used to it but I don’t want you to ⏸⏹

Edie: I can 0.25 speed though

Liam: don’t

Edie: I 👂 you

Liam: seriously, I’m still here when I can’t work out what to say

Edie: I’d feel if you’d gone 👻

Liam: not a feeling you've gotta get used to, I'll stick with protecting you

Edie: Promise?

Liam: I've already committed to drinking whatever you wanna pass me and a drop of your blood ain't gonna make wine taste any worse but I dunno how you're gonna deliver it

Edie: You going to your dads 🏡 at all?

Liam: if I insist we’ve got to, to check the post

Edie: then do

Edie: no need to tell me his address though 🔎

Edie: it’ll be waiting

Liam: a drop, yeah ❌🧛‍♂️

Edie: it won’t be dripping out onto the carpet

Liam: the jumpscare my dad would get isn’t worth draining you

Edie: fake 🩸 for the scares only 🤞

Liam: there’s a bigger cliche that’d make this official whenever you want, but it’d only scare off the lads in your dms

Edie: do it

Liam: [idk how teens are making shit facebook official when facebook is dead but do something so people know you’re claiming her sir]

Edie: [probably a feed photo or something on insta I imagine, which would actually make you die because now it isn’t just private so clearly it’s not just a prank, han]

Liam: [yeah and probably also commenting on whatever she’s been posting lately in a way that’s obvious you’re a thing ™️ not just a fan of the bops]

Edie: [when I’ve already had to stop you saying ily, as if that’d be the wildest thing lmao but now truly 😖 we’re deffo crying wherever we are rn]

Edie: [do the same energy back because that’s your safest bet atm]

Liam: [loving imagining everyone’s IRL and online reactions tbh]

Edie: [it’s all the drama mick]

Liam: you’ll really have to skip big tesco now like

Edie: I’ll survive

Edie: you can forage for us 🌼🌿🍄

Liam: and if any families show up I’ll check their tents for 👶🐶

Edie: I bet there will be loads of cute 🐶🐶

Liam: when pick your fave out of the photo line up I’ll grab it

Edie: make sure it’s not a biter

Edie: you aren’t allowed to bleed out either

Liam: I dunno what being careful looks like, but to come home to you unhurt I’ll try copying what my dad’s doing

Edie: 🐒 see 🐒 do

Edie: evidence please

Liam: [all I can imagine is a David style wildlife documentary so do that please, soz not soz to his dad who is never gonna see this]

Edie: [that is literally exactly what I imagined too so yes]

Liam: [if the first time she hears his voice is when he’s doing a David impression though I will kms cos I think it is]

Edie: [lmaooooooooooooo oh you guys]

Liam: [keeping it #goals before JJ even exist as a couple byeeee]

Edie: [also the way we know your phone is blowing up right now, send the funnier ones through like]

Edie: 👀

Liam: [send the one from Lexie and the one from your mum for the very different but extra energies LOL]

Edie: Is she sOoOOoOOo happy for you

Edie: not your ma, obvs

Edie: missing those hands, barely

Liam: 😱 for you, I think she’s mixed you and the twins up and you’re 9 to her

Edie: 😒 She wishes I was

Liam: my ma is 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 that’s honestly worse

Edie: I could be anyone, like

Liam: in russia

Edie: maybe she’s done some light stalking

Edie: not hard enough to find anything off-putting but enough to know I’m ‘real’ or whatever

Liam: done the ma version and asked her mates if any of their kids or kids mates know you

Edie: 🤞 no fuckers dobbed me in

Edie: prefer to make my own impressions, bad or otherwise

Liam: she don’t have many left who know what to say to her, you’ll be able to put either a good or bad word in for yourself

Edie: Did she go to any groups, during or after?

Liam: yeah, any of them gonna know you

Edie: nah

Edie: my ma did too but their timelines wouldn’t have overlapped

Edie: not saying they gotta go shop for hats right now

Liam: 🚫💍 with the 👶🐶 is it, you're gonna chuck me then

Edie: never 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Liam: she's been living in dubo since uni, she ain't gonna force us to march us down the aisle, but my ma's still northern irish enough to be pleased if we did

Edie: have you ever thought about it?

Liam: I had to when my sister brought it up, like loads of things I probably wouldn't have otherwise

Edie: You have time to think about everything important, that makes sense

Edie: what did she think about it? All the 👰💍🤵

Liam: it's on us, she couldn't think of anyone she'd accept a 💍 from

Edie: It is a pretty important part of it, when you really think about it

Edie: people who fantasize about it only think about the dress and the diamond and everyone staring at them

Edie: not the actual person they’re legally binding themselves to

Liam: she wasn't short of stares and you can wear what you want when you're dying 👑💎 everyday if you feel like it

Edie: Why not

Edie: though if you’re already sick of the stares

Liam: 👀 that weren't from a specific lad

Edie: What’s he doing now

Edie: he’d be out of school, right

Liam: [more deets than you should know or admit to knowing about this random boy years later because that's your brand]

Edie: She could do better

Liam: people are gonna be saying that about you

Edie: that you could, probably

Edie: I don’t care what they say

Liam: the lies they tell don't matter unless you think there's any truth to them

Edie: I believe you

Edie: and you say you want this

Liam: I can't do no better than you, Edie

Edie: There is no one else

Edie: even if I wasted my whole life looking from now, no one is topping you

Liam: even if you wanted to, I'm not gonna let you waste your life

Edie: I don’t

Edie: I want real and happy and you

Liam: this is real and I’ll keep you happy

Edie: I can’t wait to meet you

Edie: I don’t know how I haven’t seen you in person or heard you speak or all the things that come with it

Edie: I feel like I’ve known you forever

Liam: I should know more about you

Liam: what secrets are you keeping from the people who've known you forever, start there

Edie: Aside from the 💍👶🐶

Edie: Well, you know my dad is a dealer, yeah

Liam: I know he’s a dealer bc he’s supplied me at some raves and your dad bc people talk

Edie: Yeah, so the other’s dad is too, and they were raised together, which is like super fucked up of my ma, whatever

Edie: but if I’m getting stuff, I go to their dad and I hang out with him

Edie: he wants to be more involved, but they hate going to see him, it’s really sad

Liam: I’ve bought off him before too

Liam: don’t you wanna hang out with your dad

Edie: He’s not interested

Edie: And idk, I think my ma loved Caleb, but I don’t think she ever loved Drew

Liam: he don’t sound like he can love or be loved, anyone who could have you around and ain’t saying yeah to it is fucked

Edie: Maybe

Edie: his mum did leave him

Edie: I’d love to find her but there’s nothing to go on

Edie: Caleb is cool though, but they’d all be mad at me if they knew

Edie: Your turn

Liam: send me what there is and I’ll help you look, fresh 👀

Liam: my ma would be upset if she knew anything I’m up to

Edie: I feel that 😏

Edie: your secrets are safe with me

Edie: All I’ve got is a name, and when she was last seen, [give that info]

Edie: Maybe Caleb’s ma would know more, as she informally adopted them, but she also likes to pretend I don’t exist so

Edie: she’d not tell me

Liam: we don’t have to ask her, I’ll go round when she’s not in, see what there is to find

Edie: you’re so hot

Liam: what do you do when you’re hanging out with Caleb

Edie: smoke, usually

Edie: and ask him about when they were all kids, the cool shit they got up to

Liam: did he love your ma back

Edie: Yeah, they had the twins later so it definitely meant something

Edie: they’d probably be together but Billie’s ma had just died, it wasn’t good timing

Liam: have you ever tried to get them together again

Edie: not since I was a kid

Liam: now you’re not and you’ve got me, perfect timing for another go

Edie: you’d really help me?

Liam: yeah, you want happy and I said I’d keep you feeling it

Edie: [picture of your happy face ‘cos genuinely v overwhelmed]

Liam: [obvs put that as your phone background and show her and everyone else that it is]

Edie: [I definitely have a pic I can send you I wonder if there’s like a phone background generator ‘cos that’d be fun to do]

Liam: [oooh I hope so]

Edie: [If not we can change mine and screenshot fr though]

Liam: [unrelated but zeoob does fake tiktoks now btw so JJ and flatwhite energy will be even funnier]

Edie: [omfg, no way, gonna die]

Liam: [I haven’t found a background one yet though people be thinking I’m trying to design one for my phone, nay nay]

Edie: [yeah I don’t know how to search it either, we can just do it on mine though]

Edie: can I have a new one for mine?

Liam: [do send her one of the many pics of you I have where we’re on the grass]

Edie: I’ve never seen someone as cute as you

Liam: [send her her own pic back like HELLO look at you and this image]

Edie: you’re next level

Liam: your level but you completed it faster and unlocked more shit

Edie: [ARG where they make fake games as is a thing]

Edie: I wanna do this

Liam: so let’s do it

Edie: I’m home

Edie: just setting the stuff up and then I’ll storyboard as I stream

Edie: tune in when you can 💕

Liam: 🔁 bc you’ve said you’ll feel when I’m not

[yeojaa]

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why.  Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds.  When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you.  "Yes."  Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic.  Always had been.  It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary.  You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  who knows, honestly.  the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.  

tags.  blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  ~4000

chapter 5.  

By the time you've finished dinner, tumbling through the doorway like two giddy school children, you feel like you've known Taehyung for a lifetime.

He'd told you all about his family, his little brother and sister that he loved dearly.  You'd sensed that same wistful longing from the interview, a sadness that presented itself in the way their names fell from his lips.  You were the younger sister of a relatively nuclear family, so you didn't know what it was that coloured his words or turned his blood to battery acid.  You could never understand.  Instead, you'd held his hand, offering comfort in the form of coiled fingers and a gentle squeeze.  You weren't sure if it'd had any effect but by the effort he'd put into his smile, you'd felt it had.

He'd brought up photos of his beloved Yeontan on his phone, swiping through albums and albums of the little black and tan Pomeranian.  You'd squealed with each new revelation, hands clapping with mirth at a particularly cute video of he and Tannie curled up in his bed.  You'd even been so bold as to ask him to send you a photo, insisting you needed one for his contact profile.  (He'd obliged, all too happily.)

You'd talked about your passions, your current internship and enrolment in composition.  You'd poured your heart out to him, hoping to convey everything it made you feel.  How it was your first love - guiding you through the best of times and holding you in the worst.  You'd felt like you'd lost him a couple times, only to have him repeat your words back like they were the single most interesting thing he'd ever heard.  

You'd admitted your short comings, providing a few brief tales of sordid affairs that hadn't ended well.  He'd laughed when you'd included your kindergarten crush, detailing the way Jeong Jisung had broken your heart when he'd kissed your cheek one day and ignored you the next.  You blended self-deprecation and otherworldly self-awareness so well, like a character breaking the fourth wall.

Together, you'd swept dust from old books, flipping through pages of memories together and baring secrets open for the other to see.

He'd made connections where he could, filling the missing gaps in your knowledge like golden thread in kintsugi.  He'd been friends with the same group of men since he was sixteen - the ones you'd met at breakfast, sans one important member.  Modelling had been something he'd thought to pursue, straight out of university, but he'd found comfort behind the lens rather than in front of it.  What a shame.  He was a curator at a gallery and still dabbled in art himself, finding beauty within the tiny square of his viewfinder.  Neon pink had painted every edge of his skin when you'd compared him to a Caravaggio.

"Thank you for dinner.  I ate so well."  Words are driven home by the way you're sluggish and soft beside him, a glutton for food (and for love).

Taehyung beams like you've done him the biggest favour.  "You're welcome.  Did you have fun?"

You meet his stare and your heart trips on itself, nearly lodging itself in your throat.  You swallow thickly, trying to find the words when you're about two seconds way from ruining everything with your over-enthusiasm.  It's impossible to think straight when he's so close and the streetlight above you is casting a makeshift halo around his head.  He's straight out of your wildest dreams - heaven sent. 

"Can I kiss you?"  Whether he's whispered it, you're not sure.  It hardly registers, dull behind the pounding of blood against your eardrums.  

Still, you nod dumbly, in case you hadn't just pulled the question out of thin air.

It's otherworldly.  That's the only way you can describe the way he kisses you, with hands cradling the slope of your jaw.  His touch is tender as he tilts your head to meet his, his mouth soft and dry, lips barely parted with the chaste peck.  It's over far too soon and you chase the ghost of him, ever eager for more.  You think he's like the first day of winter when the cold sinks into your skin and suffocates you.  It's piercing, digging into every fibre of your being and making you tingle like frostbite. 

He laughs again and the sound is breathless, like somehow you're the one that's stolen the air from his lungs and not the other way around.  

"Can I kiss you again?" 

You're ready this time and you meet his half-lidded gaze boldly.  "Please."

The feeling of his lips on yours again kicks your heartbeat into overdrive, a hummingbird come to life within the cavity of your chest.  He moves with such languid purpose, slanting his mouth sweetly.  He's never rushed, taking in the subtle taste of you and your bubble gum-flavoured lip balm as his palm adjusts, trails heat over the line of your neck and fits itself comfortably against your pulse.  Fingers tangle, gentle as a lover's touch, in the inky strands, and you hum a noise that borders on a whimper.

You feel him smirk against your lips.  You want to rebuff him, warmth spiking across your cheeks.  You're not sure whether it's embarrassment or all-encompassing want that turns your insides to jelly. 

When his tongue glides over your bottom lip, you know it's the latter.

That same half-whimper escapes you, swallowed whole by the cavern of his mouth as he coaxes you open with careful ministrations.  It feels so good and you're breathless, lost in the feeling of his exploring tongue, drawing your own to his in an intoxicating game of cat and mouse.  It doesn't even matter that you've known each other for all of five minutes and that you're crowded under an awning in the middle of Hongdae. 

To you, it feels like the beginning of a fairy tale. 

"I should probably get you home."  It's the best parts of him that have him drawing away from you, allowing you to regain your breath.  His hands have fallen from your neck, trailing affectionately over the royal blue wool of your cardigan until he's found your hands.  Your head is still swimming and you're grateful for the way he anchors you there, fingers interlocked.

"Probably,"  you answer, reluctant.  You're like a child whose favourite toy has been taken away, pouty and petulant despite your best efforts to appear as nonchalant as possible.  It's endlessly clear in the way your cheeks puff, fill with air you won't release;  your shuffling of feet, rubber toe of your sneakers dragging through a line of gravel.  It rolls off you in discontented waves and he's smiling, twisting your joined fingers until you're flush against him once more, your hands trapped in the space between you.

"We have lots of time."  He's reassurance in the form of another kiss, one that just barely grazes skin.  

You know he doesn't mean to tease you but you can't help chase the feel of him as if there's a string connecting you two.  A single red ribbon that spans his lips to yours, knotted in a noose around the thing that palpitates heavy in your chest.  You're greedy for another taste and you know he is too when he doesn't manoeuvre out of your way, instead revelling in the way your mouth finds purchase against the underside of his jaw.  You can taste his pulse there, just beneath the thin membrane of skin, and you think how easy it would be to go too far - to dive headfirst into the siren song of his heartbeat.

Instead, you withdraw, hoping against all hope that fate will reward you for your patience tonight. 

"I know,"  you breathe, still a little morose and all the more endearing.  When you meet his stare, it's coquettish and sly, narrowed behind thickly layered lashes.  "Take me home."  You trace the words like they're a treat, mouth shaping around the last word to drag it into debauchery.  

He knows you'll be the death of him.  He thinks he wouldn't mind.  "Lead the way."

You walk together like you've done it a hundred times, falling into comfortable silence as your feet mirror one another's.  His hand remains steadfast within yours, your cheek pressed to the soft wool of his coat as you amble along.  He hums a tune you don't recognize and you do your best to join in, dipping into your own music box when he trails off.  You sneak glances at him when he isn't looking and yet somehow, always meet his playfully patient stare, colour burning intensely across your cheeks when he meets you with no shame.

"Who would have thought,"  Taehyung muses when he catches you staring for the third time, tongue swiping across his bottom lip in that way you've come to recognize.  

"What?"  You're tilting your head, studying him closely.  You can already see the words that are weaving through his mind, coaxing others out of their hiding spots and slotting into place.  

"That we'd connect like this."  

The sincerity is a little too much, so you do what you're best at - pretend like it's nothing.  "You didn't think you'd meet someone as incredible as me?  On a random YouTube segment?"  A scoff to drive the point home, eyes twinkling merrily, though perhaps a bit too brightly for the guarded tone that wedges itself between your teeth.

"I thought it would be fun."  He's undeterred by your indifference and he continues, an unstoppable force.  Fitting.  "Jungkookie said it would be too good of an experience to pass up - that I would have nothing to lose."  Whether he notices the way you stiffen at his side, you're not sure.  He seems completely lost in his own thoughts, spying patterns in the sky above your heads, and you're grateful.  You don't want to think about him right now. 

"Well, he was right."  There's a casual lack of concern in your voice, a subtle steering of the conversation.  "But you've also only known me for like, a day."  You wiggle your eyebrows before remembering the fact that you're really quite terrible at it, and settle for opening your eyes as wide as possible.  You're sure you look ridiculous but Taehyung doesn't laugh directly at you, instead having the decency to hide his amusement behind a tight-lipped smile that threatens to blow open.  "You hardly even know me.  What if you end up hating the way I eat or the fact that I drink six coffees a day?"

"I've seen you eat and it's cute - and that just means more cafe dates."  Perhaps your examples were poor or maybe he can just read you that well.  You're not sure which it is and that scares you more than you want to admit.  "But even if I don't know you well..."  He's looking at you with those impossibly dark eyes, ones that threaten to pull you underwater and drown you in their depths.  "I feel like I already know you better than most people do."

You hate that he's somehow always so right.  It's infuriating and terrifying all at once.

Because he knew things even your so-called friends didn't, had you offering up your secrets like they were casual hello's.  He'd seen your lovesick heart and offered it a home, a quiet place to lay its head and in doing so, he'd swept into your life like a hurricane, uprooting all of your carefully constructed contingency plans.  He'd torn the excuses right from your mouth, taken your hands captive like they belonged with his.  You, who'd always kept everyone at arm's length out of fear for falling and shattering into a million tiny pieces. 

So you say nothing, letting your silence speak instead.  He seems completely fine with this, a self-satisfied settling over his face like it belongs there.

"This is me."  You've reached your block in no time at all and you can't help the disappointment that colours you when you pull to the side of the street, bringing him with you.  

"Goodnight then,"  He says sweetly with the tiniest edge of teasing.  He's about to move away, leave you high and dry, and you're doing your best not to hold too tightly, unfurling your fingers from his.  He's right - you had all the time in the world.  You repeat that in your head when the weight of his hand is gone and arrange a megawatt smile on your face, ready to wish him goodbye.  You don't expect him so close, however, his eyes lit up like the sky above you, full of promise.  It's easy to get lost in them.  "You didn't think I'd leave without a kiss, did you?"

When your lips meet again, tentative and lingering, you're not sure whether it's his laughter or yours that bubbles into the air.

You're on cloud nine when you swan into your apartment, gently nudging the door closed with the heel of your foot.  You sweep your tiny furry roommate into your arms, nuzzling your face into his soft slate coat and you beam at the way he returns your affections, like he's keenly aware anything else would be a mortal offence.  You don't even bat an eye at the mess you'd left behind this morning, the unfolded blanket hanging haphazardly across the loveseat, your laptop half-shut on the table beside a cup of forgotten tea.

"I had such a nice date, Po." 

You stare expectantly at your feline friend, cradling him under his front legs in a position very reminiscent of a certain Disney film.  He mewls what you think is understanding and you laugh, the sound breathless and sweet, dipped in fairy floss.  You settle onto the couch, legs tangling in your throw as you settle among the cushions.  Upo takes a front row seat, resting his paws upon your chest like a regal prince.  A low rumble starts, quiet at first and then louder, filling the small spaces between you.  You beam, stroking feather light over the turn of his chin, the sensitive spot behind his ears.  You're overflowing with love, like a balloon about to burst.  

"He's the one from filming, with the big boxy smile."  Speaking the words draws a picture in your mind, charcoal shading the contours of his cheeks and the sharp line of his nose.  It tries to mimic the kindness in his eyes, the way his cheeks grow ten sizes when he smiles, the full swell of his lips.  Your imagination is feeble in comparison to the real thing.  "I really like him,"  you relent in hushed tones, as if you're admitting a shameful secret.

Upo doesn't react beyond a flick of his left ear and a nudge of your now-stilled hand, a silent demand for more.  He's seen you through enough heartbreak - often by your own hand - that he takes everything you say with a grain of salt.  

At least, that's what you think as you resume the gentle scritching around his skull.  He's not very talkative.  "You'll get to meet him soon, I'm sure,"  you muse, aloud.  There's a drop of hope in the turn of consonants, softening the way they fall from your lips.  "I wonder if he likes cats."  You think back to his adorable dog, all black and brown and as endearing as his owner.  "Would you like to meet Tannie, Po?"  

It seems your companion has tired of your wishful crooning.  He rises, the soft beans of his toes kneading you like bread once, twice, before he hops off of you.  He doesn't even glance back as he disappears down the hallway, tail held aloft.  You can't help but snicker to yourself.  Normally, you'd be dragging him back against you, ignoring his yowls of complaint and only releasing him when he'd dug his politely sheathed claws into your flesh. 

Today, you were satisfied.  Full.

It's a nice feeling.  Not unfamiliar, but different.  Tinged a specific shade of rose that reminds you of Taehyung.

He's not sure what had possessed him to dig through his belongings, rummaging through school work he'd neglected to shred or burn when he'd graduated.  All he knew is that he wanted to find it. 

It, being the external hard drive he'd used for the duration of his four years in undergrad.

So, there Jungkook was, legs tucked beneath him as he pulled box after box from under his bed.  He rifles through each one with deft fingers, narrowly avoiding collections of paper cuts across his inked fingers and hissing through bared teeth when he manages to get an even worse cardboard cut along the slope of his palm.

He knew it was somewhere.  But where?

Frustration presents itself in something that more closely resembles a whine than a huff, the sound breaking the relative silence of his apartment and joining the constant stream coming from the far corner of his bedroom.  It's repetitive and loud, punctuated with expletives and directives that don't hugely make sense out of context.  He's streaming Overwatch, of course.

When his palm brushes something cold and heavy, he nearly upends the crate he's currently elbow deep in, fingers curling around the root of all of his troubles.  He hoists it into the air like it's buried treasure, glittering diamonds and rubies rather than a piece of hardware covered with a comically drawn sticker. 

He tells himself he'll put the boxes back later - a lie - and crosses to his computer in four long strides.  Even in his sweatpants, worn black and terribly soft from years of wear, he's all leg.  

The hard drive is connected and booted up almost before his butt sinks into the seat, his top of the line model-O mouse sweeping deftly across his gaming mouse pad.  He navigates through neatly labelled folders, clicking in and out of them like he's on a mission.  The irony that his electronic files are so perfectly kept - near obsessively, in fact - when it took him the better part of a half an hour to find the drive isn't lost on him.  Priorities, he thinks.

Once he's found the file, he pulls his headset over his ears and after a brief hesitation, he opens it.

Black swallows the screen and then you're there, reflected in the mirror beside him.  You're both in black - he in an too-big hooded sweater that swallows him whole and you in a leather coat.  There are passports fuzzy in the replication, two dark green covers gripped tightly in your hand.  He's grinning at himself - or you, it's impossible to tell - and you're bouncing from foot to foot like a kid on their first day of school.

It cuts to the airport and there are people milling around you, nearly swallowing you whole.  You dance past them, quick on your feet, and toss a cheery smile over your shoulder.  Then you're at the ticket counter and you're stepping past the gate agent as Jungkook's own tattooed hand comes into view, accepting his passport back as the ambient noise of the terminal fills his ears.  He follows you down the panelled glass hallway and the focus never cuts from the back of your head, midnight curtain spilling across your back and over your shoulder.

You make a noise when you're nearing the gate, turning to wiggle your eyebrows - or really, widen those pretty dark eyes of yours - at him.  He'd cut his laugh but he remembers it now, filling the enclosed space as you began swinging your arms back and forth like a chicken.  You stop right before you reach the aircraft door, flailing arms slackening to fall at your sides, the picture of normalcy.  If he hadn't known better, he would've thought you were crazy.  

There's a shot of his boots - combat leather with laces running up the front.  You'd made fun of him about them, insisting comfort was key as you'd wiggled your toes in your own yellow suede Vans with dirt marking the soles.

Music pours in from the headphones and it's a montage. 

Shots out the window of the plane, blue sky stretching far and wide above cumulus clouds.  The front seat of a taxi cab, unfamiliar Japanese characters shining back beneath the revolving door of lights that filtering through the windshield.  Your profile, crowded in shadow as you take in the sights, the characteristic little cars and city lights.  A single elevator button lit up beneath your finger, then all of them by his as he drags his hands down the cold metal.  The briefest flash of your face, mouth wide open before you double over in laughter and shove him;  the camera shakes.

Your figure again, draped in a soft flannel that stands in stark contrast to the denim of your jeans.  Your long hair sits pretty down your back, two space buns knotted on the top of your head and held in place with soft-looking grey pompoms.  The video follows you out of a hotel and into the backseat of a taxi, cutting from you taking a halfhearted selfie - he's reflected in your phone screen, though largely obscured by the lens of his camera - to you walking down the sidewalk, hands raised above your head as you wiggle your fingers like they've got minds of their own. 

He tracks you like his life depends on it, catching all of the little expressions that make his heart skip in his chest.

Your occasional look back, just to make sure he's still there and within reach, no more than five feet between you.  The way you spin in awe when you cross Shibuya Crossing, child-like wonder written into every line of your smile.  Excitement in a hall of infinity mirrors because it's not just a perfect photo opportunity but because you love Yayoi Kusama and you've been talking about it all day.  The track overlay steals your words but he reads the movement of your lips. 

"It's so beautiful."  He couldn't agree more.

More of you.  Some, up close, with you waving your fingers in your face as if to rebuff the attention.  Others, further away as you window shop, passing by gorgeous storefronts.  A long continuous shot of you finally finding the place you'd decided on for dinner - a kaisendon restaurant - and your grace as you'd skipped down the steps and inserted bills into the automated ticket machine.  Flashes of you shovelling rice into your mouth and his own portion growing smaller and smaller with each transition.

Tokyo's sprawling streets, lit up at every corner.  Hazy outlines of the people you roll by.  Then darkness, again, before it's you, jumping frantically in front of the Tokyo Disney Resort sign.  You look a little spastic, trying to land the perfect pose despite the fact that it's video.  You don't really care.

He can practically hear your laughter through his monitors, the giant Minnie Mouse ears askew on your head as you spin together in a teacup.  You'd had to do most of the work, with his filming and all, and you're out of breath, exhilaration staining your cheeks bright enough that he can make it out beneath the level  adjustments he'd done.  It's like every dream he's ever had come to life in the shape of your mouth, your delighted grin when you let the centrifugal motion carry you through the rest of the ride.

His heart stops, trips and hardly has time to right itself, when he catches sight of your intertwined hands.  They're there, just barely in frame as you drag him around the happiest place on Earth.

Your face is suddenly illuminated, by lampposts and further away and dim, the fireworks that are going off above your heads.  The aperture focuses on them briefly before returning to you.  You've got your phone up and you're on the balls of your feet, swaying to and fro as you try to capture the moment in your hands.  Then, all at once, you're turning to him and his line of sight is obscured, jumbled with lights and darkness.  It centres just in time to catch your faces, his cheek pressed to your hair, one of Minnie's ears scratching his eyebrow, and your teeth blinding around a smile. 

Then there's his name and the year - 2018 - flashing across his screen. 

As his wallpaper returns, Discord and Twitch maximizing to full size once again, Jungkook wonders where it all went wrong. 

notes.  yes, i put the "G.C.F. in tokyo" video into words and every minute of doing so was excruciating.

[toujourspur13]

What’s so interesting about Sirius Black... apart from the obvious?

Well…I feel obliged to jump into this discussion about Sirius and his family.

I actually think that canon Sirius Black is a good example of multidimensional character with a complex personality (rare thing in hp series)…at least the way JKR wrote him implies some psychological depth (hp is mainly teen literature about friendship - the marauders friendship, the golden trio are all great examples of it - but let’s face it - this literature has a tendency to a very specific narrative - maybe that’s the reason for popular Sirius fanon - I mean…Sirius being part of the Harry’s story is seen through the lens of Harry’s problems). The thing is that usually Sirius is greatly simplified when, in fact, he’s one of the most interesting and complex character in the whole series.

OOTP is the longest hp book - it contains huge amount of text about Sirius’s family incl. RAB who’s indeed very important to the story; and it also contains excessive amount of Walburga Black content. Why excessive? Well because she is not even important to the plot…I mean, at all. Harry (and the whole 7-books journey is Harry’s POV) doesn’t even care about her. But she is important. To Sirius. To the extent that he can barely shut up about her.

And as Sirius’s important to Harry we got all those extra pages about The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

When he’s showing Harry the family tree, he keeps going back to her - she did this and she did that, she removed him, she removed Andromeda, Uncle Alphard…

I saw how he managed to squeeze her in one passage in two different contexts. She’s clearly weighing heavily on his mind. Grunted, he is very angry about everything she did - but can you really disagree that he is super fixated on her.  Frankly speaking, you could’ve expected that he’d be talking so much about James (in Flitwick’s words ‘You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers’) - but in fact he doesn’t talk a lot about James - it’s his family he seems unable to shut up about. Cross out all his rant and the book becomes significantly shorter. Sirius shows Harry all of his relatives because he wants to.

Remember Araminta Meliflua…his mother’s second cousin?! Is it of any interest to Harry - I doubt it. Harry’s more interested in the Malfoys at the tapestry - but then again Sirius pays little attention to them - and only answers the direct questions. The only one about who he truly doesn’t want to talk in that scene is Bellatrix.

Btw if I remember correctly, he’s even distantly related to the Potters…but for some reason he chose to ignore this. So let’s just say that his thoughts in that scene are clearly one-sided and family-centered.

Even in POA Sirius is mirrored to his mother (we can only understand this after reading the 5th book though) - Sirius slashes the Fat Lady portrait when she refuses him the entry to the Gryffindor Tower - Walburga burns holes in the family tree. Angry management is what they both clearly need. They are so extremely alike that I am almost sure it’s all deliberate and JKR used her as a way to show deeper levels of Sirius’s personality (and not the abusive nature of his childhood).  Loud, high-strung, passionate and very emotional.

Sirius says that he ‘hated the whole lot of them’ and that’s why he ran away and instead of saying something like ‘I got so fed up with my parents lecturing me how I should avoid mudbloods at all the cost/ hate them/ whatever fits the profile of pure-blood maniac’ he says in the next sentence that he was constantly reminded that Regulus was a better son. This is a very jealous remark. It’s pretty obvious that what he wanted is unconditional love - ‘either you take me with all my extreme political views or I’m gone’. The things Sirius says are often contradictory and half-truths and sometimes he just chooses to withdraw certain information at all.

I sometimes come across the strange ideas that JKR tried to parallel Harry’s life with the Dursleys to Sirius’s childhood - I mean, do we really need to go there? You’d be better off trying to parallel him to Big D rather than to Harry. It’s fairly obvious that the odd ideas about Sirius’s abusive childhood are used for the sole purpose of helping him to bond with Remus (in terms of being subjected to physical pain) where he wouldn’t be able to relate to James (you know what popular phenomenon I mean).

Another popular idea - that the 1st year fiasco with Sirius’s Sorting was a big deal. I admit we have very little info about this BUT the fact that he put Gryffindor banners and pictures of  bikini-clad Muggle girls into his room makes me think that the parents were clearly disturbed and disappointed but not to the extent that it became something crucial in their relationship. Clearly Sirius used that as a means to annoy them. To tell you the truth, I find this attempt to go against fanatical blood purists quite feeble and certainly below Sirius Black’s level - it feels more like «hey, mum, look I stick posters of barely-clothed girls on the wall in my room - let’s see what you can do about this».

Btw the interesting thing is that it somehow feels that Sirius’s relationship with his mother (unlike the ones with his father or brother) was the relationship of equals which is odd because she was older and his mother. The explanation for this can be that they were very much alike and she in fact allowed it…maybe (well here I agree that it’s vague and can be just because it’s only the portrait and not the real person but still there is something about this).  And they have this you-hurt-me-now-I’ll-hurt-you-back attitude that implies equality and a certain degree of exclusivity. They both very clearly are not careful with words and actions.

And thus we’ve come to the very touchy subject - her psychotic portrait - her little ‘welcome home’ present. I grant her that - very impressive and colorful vocabulary.

She definitely wanted to be sure that in case Sirius had come home he would never have a moment free from her. Very dramatic.

“Yoooou!” she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man.

“Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!”

“I said — shut — UP!” roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again.

They match each other really well. (All the drama aside, if we consider this matter seriously - it’s just a portrait of hers and she was insane and alone for years after she lost everyone. But yeah - pretty nasty thing to do - I agree).

Frankly speaking, her personality isn’t really that significant in this case - it’s more important how Sirius feels about her, the way he can’t let her go. He’s relatively okay in the 4th book while on the run in the cave eating rats and arguing about Crouch, Bertha Jorkins, Karkaroff, Snape etc. But his severe depression in the OOTP clearly has everything to do that he’s locked up in ‘the house of a dying person’ (the very last one from their family) - like in the case of his mother’s true personality we’ll never know for sure what’s that about - Sirius’s real feelings are impossible to decipher - he says one thing - does another - feels maybe something completely different - for all I know, it could be about plenty of things one of which is that seeing her awful portrait, sitting in the rooms where they used to be together is a constant reminder that his family is gone and no matter what he feels and wants, he can’t fix anything about that - it’s all lost for good.

Of course, Sirius wouldn’t like to be there - a man of action trapped in his own past without any hope to ever overcome his unresolved issues with his family. The way he’s fixated on his mother is so intense that it’s almost unhealthy but I guess it’s just the visible (most explicit) tip of the iceberg.

Sirius with his hidden and repressed feelings is a great and very interesting character - he’s so much bigger than just James Potter’s best mate with a cool leather jacket. His relationships with his family is what makes him such a deep character (and not those ideas about how fluffy little angle was magically born in the family of twisted and deranged warlocks - well, it’s a little bit naive). After all it’s an internal conflict that sells the character.

Upd 2020

I think it is worth mentioning that since we’re discussing fictional world and fictional characters it only makes sence what the author implied and what the author did not. Yes, there is no absolute truth because it is all not real but the way character is written usually allows us to make certain assumtions about his or her inner world and motivation. So called ‘canonical evidence’ only matter in terms of what the author wanted to show us. I’ve never had any problems with fanon and headcanon - the only thing that bothers me is saying some things were in the main text when it is explicitly implied that there was nothing of that sort.