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mediocre--writing · 3 years

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hiiiiiii :D

i’m going to give you both a harringrove and a kegboys thing

harringrove: the mindflayer didn’t kill billy and billy spent months recovering. when he was let out he didn’t speak to people. but steve was the only one capable of holding onto the patience enough for billy to eventually start talking to him. billy gets a job at a slow business convenient store/gas station. and steve meets him to have lunch together outside in the back every day.

kegboys: steve had a pine tree at the front of his house with a yellow ribbon for barb. and one year billy cuts it down without knowing about its significance. steve eventually finds out what happened and tommy had to take him to the other room before telling billy what he’d done. they spend the day making steve feel better by getting a brand new tree and retying a ribbon even bigger than before.

oooooh these are both so good.

Harringrove: I think that, especially after Steve's whole fiasco with the Russians, he doesn't mind the quietness that comes with Billy. Doesn't mind waiting for him to speak because Steve himself does't really know what he would even say.

Steve's parents, after his 18th birthday, pretty much never came home. They had like seven other houses elsewhere and Steve was his own functioning adult, so they, frankly, didn't give two shits. So Billy stays with him. Plus, Steve's got no job after the mall burned down and his parents are still paying for the house and everything, it's not like it's much of an issue.

They bond in a silent way. Billy can't talk. Like physically, for the first three-ish months, can't get his voice to come out in any understandable fashion, as having a tentacle forced down his throat pretty much ripped at every bit of skin there.

But they communicate. Steve is used to his lonely life in a mansion and just appreciates another body being there that makes it not so lonely.

They function around each other. Whoever gets up first makes the coffee, whoever goes to sleep last turns the main lights off. Whoever opens the clean dishwasher has to empty it and whoever tracks the most snowy footprints in has to mop next.

The first time Billy really talks to Steve is after a nightmare. But not from Billy (he's become really good at controlling how loud his whimpers and crying can get, even asleep [fuk u neil🖕]). Steve is pretty much screaming bloody murder in his sleep and Billy can barely get up the tall staircase as it is, but mixed with sleep and his rush, he slips a few times trying to get to Steve, thinking something is really wrong.

By the time he bursts into Steve’s room, Steve is sitting straight up in bed staring at the blurry light while trying to catch his breath. Billy cautiously walks up to him, flips on a lamp light so there wouldn’t be any in-the-dark scares for Steve, and sits across from him on the edge of the bed.

Steve ultimately just collapses into Billy’s chest and sobs and sobs and sobs until he’s got it all out and the only thing that can be heard are Steve’s unsteady breaths and Billy’s reassurances. It’s the softest Steve thinks he’s ever heard Billy speak to anyone.

Steve starts sleeping in the guest room downstairs with Billy after another incident when he starts screaming occurs because it wears Billy down a lot to battle the stairs (his muscles are worn thin and he has very little strength these days). Steve stirs in his sleep but hasn’t panicked like that since he started cuddling with Billy.

Joyce eventually pulls some strings and gets Billy a job at Melvald's (small town business start picking up after Starcourt burning down) where he can just sit in a chair at the front and check people out. Occasionally she’ll have him stock small things like keychains or the snacks at checkout.

Steve visits most days during Billy’s break time. Brings take out from Benny’s or leftovers that Mrs. Henderson insisted on dropping off every other week because the boys “needed good, homemade food that they wouldn’t make for themselves.”

Billy has never felt more taken care of in his life and enjoys the gentle breeze when he and Steve chat behind Melvald’s and eat, sharing what’s happened during the few hours they’d spent apart or discussing what their weekend plans would be. Maybe what they were hungry for for dinner that night.

One day, when they’re eating a tuna casserole straight out of the Tupperware Mrs. Henderson had put it in, a stray cat comes and kneads gently at Billy’s thigh, over his jeans, and he puts a bit of the casserole on a napkin for the small kitty.

It becomes a routine and eventually he brings out a can of cat food from the store to feed the cat when he takes his breaks. They call her Melly (after Melvald’s, of course) and eventually she finds a way to sneak into the Camaro and becomes a full-fledged, sassy, rude house cat that has to sleep in the bed with the boys every night or she will scream her little cat scream and scratch at the door until they let her in.

Kegboys: (ok I tweaked this just a tad bc I couldn’t find a reason for billy to just chop down a random tree) Steve planted the tree after she’d passed away. He didn’t know how to feel about it. He felt awful, of course. He goaded her into drinking with them just because he wanted Nancy and look where that got him. He basically killed a girl and he lost his girlfriend.

He plants this tree, it’s thin and just taller than he is, but every year, after winter ends and plants bloom again, he ties a beautiful yellow bow around the thickest branch near the trunk. He looks at it every morning through the window, the small pine tree at the end of the driveway.

Only Tommy was there that night, the night a few weeks after it had all “ended” (the first time) and Steve breaks down. Sobs like he never has before, talking in fragmented sentences about how he’s to blame, he killed Barb out of teenage ignorance and because he wanted to have sex with Nancy Wheeler. What a fuckin’ waste.

Tommy is actually the one who suggests they plant the tree in the first place, a life now gone for a life yet to live. Steve takes care of that tree like if it died, he would too.

Steve ties a ribbon on it the first year. Tommy adds a second the next year.

Nobody else really cares. It’s a tree, not a giant portrait of the girl, for crying out loud. Nobody says anything about the bow that gets put on the tree because nobody would put together that the tree represented Barb, it’s just a tree to everyone else.

Billy wasn’t around for the beginning. He knew that a girl close to Nancy and Steve had died, sure, but he hadn’t known that it was in Steve’s pool and he never knew about the pine tree that grew at the top of the driveway.

There was a storm, a big one right at the tail end of summer, one that ripped up plants and trees and shingles off of houses, flooded the ditches and low points in the town.

Billy takes it upon himself to try and fix the Harrington’s trashed yard once the storms let up. He rakes away all the pine straw that had descended and piles up all the large branches and debris. There’s a tree, the pine tree that usually stands tall at the end of the driveway, that was severed at the base, only a mere three or four feet still protruding from the ground, the rest split and resting, half connected, on the ground.

Billy breaks off the part that was already off, puts it in the pile with the rest of the debris.

The stump stays at the end of the driveway and Billy goes inside, walks up to Steve and Tommy in the living room after washing his hands and grabbing some water. Tells them that he straightened up the yard.

“And that tree at the end was broken, so I picked off the part left hanging and put it on the fire pile. I figure we can find something else to plant in it later this week or--”

He’s cut off by Steve jumping off the couch and running out of the front door. He stands a few feet away from the stump left over and falls, bare knees hitting the still damp and muddy ground as he shows no other reaction.

Tommy’s right behind him, holds his shoulders from behind as he stares at the tree. Billy, from behind Tommy, doesn’t ask a question but stares confusedly at the boys who seem distraught by the disappearance of a seemingly meaningless tree.

Gentle coaxing, “C’mon, Steve. It’s alright, it’ll grow back and we can buy more ribbon, I promise, but you have to come inside, you’re all muddy,” from Tommy convinced Steve to come inside.

With no care for how his mother would react to her perfectly white rug being ruined by the dirt, Steve trudges through and eventually lays on the couch, cradling a pillow to his chest while Tommy promises to make him something warm to drink.

He beckons Billy into the kitchen with him as he puts the kettle on the burner, enough water for all three of them to have tea, and turns to Billy.

“Why’s he so upset about a tree?” Billy didn’t mean for it to sound harsh or inconsiderate, he was just curious why Steve seemed so distraught over a pine tree that was nowhere near as tall as the ones that were around the house.

“Ok, so, you know Barb, the girl that died here?”

“She died here!?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Well nobody talks about it, how was I supposed to know?”

“You should--Nevermind, anyway, she died here because of the whole other-world-monster-guy and Steve blamed himself for it, for, like, ever,” Tommy rested his elbows on the counter, “So, when he finally told me about it, we wanted to do something for her, like a memorial thing, anyway, we decided on a tree and he always ties the yellow ribbon around it and he takes care of it like it’s a child, but it’s gone so--”

“--He feels like he let her die again. Like it was his fault,” Billy concludes.

“Yeah,” Tommy assures before turning to the cupboards and pulling down three mugs, pouring the hot water in before placing tea bags in each.

“I mean, is there anything we can do? I feel awful, but the tree was already snapped, I couldn’t have like mended it or anything. I swear it wasn’t intentional,”

“You wouldn’t have known, it’s not your fault. I think Steve just feel a little out of his own mind at the moment, like he lost the hold he had on her. I really don’t know,”

Billy and Tommy stayed on the couch with Steve that day, they just rested and drank tea, listen to soft music on the radio, and took care of the droopy brunet.

They didn’t replace the tree. They let the old one stay and made sure to take excellent care of it. They’d tie three ribbons on the tree every year, made sure they were tied tightly, the tree growing faster and more prosperous than before, and Steve was better.

He realized that sometimes you have to get cut down before you can really unveil your true potential, that a little extra love can do wonders.

#idk if the last one is really what you wanted but it was kinda all I could come up with #harringrove #kegboys #keg boys #Steve harrington #Tommy h #Tommy Hagan #billy hargrove #stranger things #mediocre—writing #mw harringrove

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melancholic-pigeon · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday #15

Since Jason's birthday is tomorrow and all, I'm doing something longer as a treat. A triptych, if you will!

Content warnings for child abuse and neglect, alcoholism and food insecurity.

Thalia wakes up, like she usually does, to Jason curled against her with his fingers in his mouth. She can't easily put him in his crib by herself, but her mattress is on the floor and there's nowhere for him to fall, so she can ensure that she's there to hold him whenever he wakes up crying. Her shirt's a little damp, but this time it's just because he's drooling in his sleep. Last night, thankfully, was free from disruptions.

For him, at least.

He's a year old today, and she hasn't seen their mother since two nights ago, slumped on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka on the ground next to her. The door to her room is closed. Whether she's in there sleeping it off or out somewhere getting drunker, Thalia has no idea.

Bitterly, she doesn't care. It's not like their mom cares about them, either.

Jason yawns, his hair sticking up like a cockatoo's feathers. The first eye contact of the morning always leaves him giggling and reaching for her, and the feeling of his small, warm body flopping onto her brings her focus back to where it should be.

"Happy birthday, shrimp."

"Happy," he repeats, nosing at her stomach.

It's up to her, like usual, so she gets him dressed and ready and gives him the last of the cereal to occupy himself while she digs through her closet to find the old coffee can she stashed there.

Every time she thinks she can get away with it, she lifts a bill from their mother's wallet and puts it in the can. Every nickel she finds on the street, every dime she pulls from the couch cushions; it all adds up, a little at a time.

After carefully saving as much as she could for the past few weeks, she's squirreled away enough. She takes out a fistful and stuffs it in her pocket, then re-buries the can under a pile of her laundry.

Today's special, and she'll cover the loss somehow— by sneaking some extra groceries under her coat again, if she has to.

Jason's finished with his breakfast by the time she emerges, sitting patiently and playing with the plastic dish she'd given it to him on. Her sweet baby brother, looking up at her with a smile so sunny you'd think they were living like kings.

Her chest feels tight and her throat's in no better condition. After a deep breath, she reaches down to grab his hands.

"Do you know what birthdays mean?"

He takes a second to think about it as she pulls him to his feet, then shakes his head.

"Birthdays, Jason," she says, grinning— it's harder to dwell when he's holding onto her hand— "mean birthday cake."

The gas station a block away at least has the miniature kind wrapped in cellophane. He won't know the difference, since he hasn't even been introduced to the concept of cake yet, but she'll still have to make it up to him with a real one someday.

—

By the time Jason turns two, Thalia has shoplifting down to an art form.

People are usually too busy fawning over how precious her brother is to pay her much attention, and having Luke along makes it almost easy. Jason adores him, and he's happy to draw focus away from her by translating the toddler babble and proclaiming that they're his favorite babysitting clients, which conveniently explains the lack of adult supervision.

Thanks to him, she's managed to get Jason something a lot better than cake.

She saw it in the window of a toy shop and immediately knew it was perfect, but it cost more than she'd scrounged in the past six months. She'd been resigned to the idea of stealing a brownie instead, and then last night, Luke showed up at her doorstep with it tucked under his arm and his face split into a wicked grin.

She's not sure she wants to know how he managed to smuggle it out without getting caught, but the way Jason lights up when he lays eyes on it, happier than she's ever seen him, is enough to make her ignore the uneasy feeling.

"Puppy!"

She can't help but mirror it back to him, her heart swelling with emotion as he flings his arms around the stuffed animal's neck. It's almost as big as he is.

"That's right. It's a wolf puppy. She's named after a mama wolf called Lupa."

The real Lupa is the matriarch of a pack living at a conservancy in San Diego county. Her likeness is an embodiment of the fiercely protective love Jason should have gotten from his own mother, and which has fallen to Thalia and her limited capabilities instead.

Jason rolls over, still holding tight to his new doll, and lays his head in her lap. If she's coming up short, he certainly hasn't noticed.

"My Lupa?"

He's gently petting the wolf's fur, in a movement that's strikingly similar to how Thalia's petting his hair. She blinks a few times to chase away the burning in her eyes.

"Your Lupa."

She can't give him the childhood that he deserves. It's a struggle to make sure even his most basic needs are met, and some days it feels like the whole world is united against them, but then he hugs her leg or curls up against her shoulder or tells her in that sweet voice love you, Taya—

And everything settles in her chest, refining itself into a white-hot determination.

She's all he has, and the one thing she can make sure he'll never want for is someone who loves him enough to fight for him.

She understands how the real Lupa must feel about her cubs. She knows, with more certainty than she's ever known anything, that if anyone so much as thinks about hurting her little brother— hurting her baby— she'll tear them to shreds with her teeth before they have time to run.

—

Everything is perfect. Thalia's made sure of it.

The party doesn't start for another hour, so she has to keep Jason occupied until then. He thinks she has lunch reservations and they're meeting at her place for coffee first— the second part is true; she has a pot of Kona ready to go as soon as he arrives.

While she's preparing his decoy surprise, the rest of his friends are in Manhattan, helping Percy and Sally get his bash underway. She finds herself quivering with excitement as she puts the last few touches in place.

The doorbell rings and she squeaks, shoving the main item behind a bookshelf before racing to answer the door.

"Happy birthday, shrimp." She stands up on her tiptoes and hugs him around the neck. "I have something for you."

Jason beams, pink, and squeezes her back.

"I told you last year that you don't have to get me anything. Your company is a gift in and of itself."

"Ha ha," she counters dryly, knowing he can hear her getting a little emotional at the sincerity on his face. "Very funny. Like I'm not going to try to make up for the ten of them that I missed."

She takes hold of his arm and pulls him into the apartment, past the kitchen to the hall that leads to her bedroom. She opens the door beside it, the one that used to be her study.

Jason's eyes go wide.

The desk is still there, but the chair is new, much larger than the one she used. The bookcase is the same, too, but she's put her video games in a box in her bedroom and filled the shelves with fresh sketchbooks and paints and pencils instead. The bed is new too, as well as the nightstand and the dresser.

Sally stripped and varnished all of the wood, and built a set of floating shelves that are currently storing a series of framed photos from Annabeth's camera reel. Piper decided on the paint colors— sky blue with a deep purple accent on the wall that slants to the ceiling. Leo took care of borrowing Jason's favorite sketches to make the framed prints above his bed, by pretending he was doing a photography project with them.

(He'd burst into laughter when she gave him Jason's baby drawings to frame too, and she'd almost punched him in the mouth— but then she'd noticed his voice was a little tight when he told her the crayon scribbles looked just like her.)

"Wow," Jason breathes, staring around the room as though he doesn't know where to land his focus. "This— is all of this for me?"

"Anytime you need an escape, you've got one. Think of it as your safe house. And there's one more thing."

Reluctantly, she steps away and retrieves what she hid earlier.

Jason's mouth drops.

"Lupa," he whispers, raising his hand. He stops himself halfway through reaching over, like he doesn't know if he should. "How did you find another one? I thought they were a limited run."

Thalia takes his hand, wrapping his fingers around the new doll's front leg.

"I traded twenty-seven ultra-rare mint-condition beanie babies for her with a collector in Montana."

"Do I want to know how you got twenty-seven ultra-rare mint-condition beanie babies?"

"It's not as sordid as you're thinking, I just spent a lot of time on Ebay."

Jason laughs, shaky, and sits down on his new mattress. He's probably not even conscious of the way he's running his thumb over Lupa's paw, exactly the way he did the first time.

He said that donating the original to charity was his idea, but Thalia has a suspicion he was pushed into it with a healthy dose of shaming and manipulation, and the look on his face— shocked, bright-eyed, a little scared like he thinks she'll disappear if he blinks— pretty much confirms it.

Thalia sits beside him and wraps an arm around his back. He slides down along the mattress until he's lying with his head in her lap.

"My Lupa," he says quietly, and she knows he remembers doing it before.

"Your Lupa," she chokes back. "For real, this time. Nobody's going to take her away from you, ever again."

It's different now, because Lupa is about the size of a two year old child, and Jason very much no longer is. She fits in the crook of his elbow, and he couldn't wrap his arms and legs around her if he tried.

Thalia tries not to think about all the nights between then and now that he's needed her, and didn't have her.

He smiles, wiser than his fifteen years.

(He's fifteen years old. God. She missed so much— thirteen months isn't long enough to even really begin to catch up.)

"I know they won't," he tells her. "You won't let them."

She's never going to get those years back. The only thing she can do is make sure she appreciates what she has now.

"I believe you would."

"I'll bite anyone who tries," she whispers back, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He bursts into laughter, reaching up to ruffle her hair like she used to do to him.

@perseusjackson-jasongrace @msdrpreist I still feel self-conscious about pinging people tell me if you'd prefer I didn't difjvhg

#thundersibs are go #wip wednesday #let jason grace be cuddly dammit #q #Jason Grace Birthday Spam #i wrote this #stellarverse

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undeadsnorlax · 3 years

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Alone at Midnight, Inside My Mind

@badthingshappenbingo

Ao3 Link

Bingo Card

using the prompt in a metaphorical sense, as opposed to the medical aid sense

Prompt: Crutches

Fandom: Yakuza/Ryu Ga Gotoku

Warnings: a lot of alcohol related issues, including addiction and withdrawal, some suicidal thoughts and body image issues, hurt/no comfort. set pre-Yakuza 2.

Wordcount: 5511

2pm. He could tell it was because his downstairs neighbour was home, attending to the array of plant pots she kept littered outside her door, and playing music on the radio that bled through the crack of the open window.

Daigo squinted in the afternoon light that managed to make its way through the blinds, groaning loudly.

“Fucking hell…”

Suppose now was as good a time as any to start the day. Especially when he felt his stomach rumble.

It took some effort to get to his feet, but soon he was dragging himself into the kitchen, yawning loudly. He needed something quick and tasty, now.

The fridge had nothing but convenience store sushi and days old leftover curry. The cupboards were also pretty bare, half a bag of rice and a ramen cup.

Daigo sighed heavily, setting his kettle to boil before grabbing the sushi. He stuffed a piece into his mouth, wrinkling his nose at the taste of stale rice but ate another without any complaint.

Head to the store. Get some more food, he thought, holding the ramen cup in place as he lifted up the kettle.

The water splashed on the counter a little, narrowly missing burning his fingers, making him forcefully slam the kettle back down once the cup was filled.

Daigo gripped the sides of the counter, closing his eyes as he felt a pulse of nausea rush through his body. If he forced the tension against the surface hard enough, he could stop his hands shaking for just a moment.

Eat noodles. Have a shower. Go to the store.

Opening his eyes again, he ate another piece of sushi, absolutely no taste on his tongue as he chewed it into mush, before taking his ramen into the living room.

He slumped down on the couch, turning the TV on and forced the food down him. He still felt nauseous, but he knew he wouldn’t actually vomit. He already had last night. Doubled over in a bush outside the train station and puked his guts out, despite not having much solids in him. Even now his throat felt sore from it. Classy.

He wasn’t even hungry, really. He was eating out of obligation, feeling his stomach gurgle happily at finally being filled with some kind of food.

As he ate, he noticed his cell phone on the table in front of him, discarded amongst the empty bottles and candy wrappers. It was flashing.

Daigo frowned, reaching over and flipping it open.

Three new answer machine messages.

Who the hell had tried calling him?

Message one - 9:25am

“Daigo, it’s your mother. Pick up.”

Message two - 9:43am

“Me again. Please answer your phone.”

Message three - 10:08am

“Daigo...it’s Mom-“

Daigo groaned, snapping his phone shut to end the messages. Nope! He was not dealing with this today.

He discarded the empty ramen cup and chopsticks with the rest of the trash on the table, storming towards the bathroom.

Shower on, clothes off. He used the toilet as the water heated up, catching the reflection of his upper half in the mirror as he finished.

“Hrmph.”

He ran a hand down his front, resting it on the middle of his stomach and huffed again.

His weight had been up and down the last ten years, though it had obviously settled during his stint in prison, with its shit food and no alcohol. Now that he was out, with all the freedom to indulge in every last inch of hedonism he could find though, he had developed a bit of a gut. Just a bump, but it was…noticeable, it was there. It stuck out.

No surprise really. How much did he drink last night again?

Enough I puked in a bush.

Daigo shifted on his feet, standing up a bit straighter and sucking his stomach in. It didn’t make much difference. He suddenly wondered how visible it was under his t-shirt, glad he usually wore a thick coat to hide himself in.

“Great,” he growled, stepping into the shower. Another thing to feel insecure about.

He stood there, forehead pressed against the wall as he let the water run down the Fudo Myoo on his back.

His hand started shaking again.

“Give me a break,” he said, clasping it to his chest, “A few hours, a day.”

He dried himself off, going back to his bedroom for a clean shirt and pair of jeans – both black, of course.

He also grabbed a heavy hoodie to wear to the store, a way to feel a little more comfortable in himself in a public place.

Wallet, keys, phone. Go to store. Buy supplies.

Daigo pulled his hood up as he jogged down the stairs, immediately blocked from leaving by the downstairs neighbour still gardening.

“Lovely afternoon, isn’t it Dojima-san?” Ito cried, beaming at him. She was older, always so chipper. How did she manage?

As much as he wanted to ignore her, Daigo had been raised with far too proper manners. He still remained casual, grunting a little and rubbing the back of his head.

“Yeah, suppose.”

“You came back late again last night,” she added, hands lifting a plant to move to another pot, “Ouma-san went off about it before going to work this morning.”

“Oh, did he now?”

Ouma was the guy around his age in the apartment next door. Always miserable, always bringing a new girl home every weekend that Daigo had to endure hearing fake horribly through his thin bedroom walls.

“I’ll try to be a bit quieter next time, Ito-san,” he mumbled. For her sake, not for that asshole Ouma.

“Or maybe you should stay in once in a while, hm?”

Daigo scowled, jerking his head and storming off toward the store. With any luck the old bag would have gone inside by the time he was back.

As he made his way down the street, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He went to answer but paused, clenching his fingers tight into his palm. Nope. He knew who it was, and what she wanted, and he didn’t care.

His supply run was basic. More noodles, packs of chips and cookies, some onigiri and bentos that could last a few days.

Whilst picking up a few bottles of Staminan and Tauriner, he stared blankly at the alcohol.

His hands still shook. There was such a quick fix to settle that.

He grabbed a six pack of beer and a bottle of scotch and vodka, unable to help a crooked little grin.

The cashier looked at him a little oddly as he set his basket down on the counter. And yeah, he’d admit he looked strange. Sweating and shaky from withdrawal, under his eyes dark and his brow pulled into a near permanent scowl, face otherwise obscured by the shadow of the hood.

“Get me some cigarettes too, huh?” he mumbled, taking out his wallet and avoiding eye contact.

He was a mess.

He stared at the glass case of baked goods, unable to resist the pull from his sweet tooth, and asked for two donuts as well.

He arrived back home rather pleased with his haul. He had enough in him to pack away most of it, before he stared down the booze he bought.

He could...not do this, actually. He could not drink. It was easy, in theory.

He wiped his damp brow, licked his dry lips. His head hurt, despite the slight gloom of the kitchen.

They could sit there as an ultimate temptation. He could ignore them. He could do all manner of things.

But he wanted to drink, that was the issue. That was the whole point. Drinking was the only thing he had that stayed consistent.

He grabbed the scotch and slugged back a long mouthful, feeling everything just melt away. He let out a relieved gasp, the taste strong on his tongue and warming his throat. Felt like a part of him was back. His mind became a little clearer, his mood a little more elevated. He took a shorter swig for luck, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Much better…”

He spent the rest of the afternoon lounging on the sofa, playing video games. There wasn’t much else for him to do during the day.

Evening was his time.

When seven rolled around, Daigo got ready. His jeans and t-shirt were fine already, so all he had to do was put on his usual cross necklace to complete the outfit. He spent a while staring down himself in the mirror as he applied a shaky dash of eyeliner around his lid.

Once upon a time he shied away from doing this publicly, but since leaving jail he stopped caring. Wore eyeliner and straightened his hair. Painted his nails black and picked at the polish when he was anxious. Who gave a shit? Anyone dumb enough to say anything soon regretted it.

Keys, wallet, phone. Same routine. He chose his white puffer jacket to wear instead of his hoodie, enjoying the barrier it gave him from the rest of the world.

One quick metro ride later, he was in Kamurocho, just as the town was coming alive in a burst of neon. Daigo lost himself in the crowds, thinking of which bar to hit up first.

He paused for a moment down Tenkaichi Street, staring at the sign for Serena. Place was closed, and had been for a little under a year now.

He knew what happened last year, of course. Heard about Rina through another barkeep. Not that he’d known her well, or spent much time at Serena, but something in his chest ached hearing she was gone in such circumstances.

He soon forgot about it with another glass.

With a weary huff, he decided the Champion District on the other side of town was the best place to start. The bar he chose was quiet, no other customers, and a barman who knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Perfect.

Instead of conversation, Daigo focused on the soft jazz music playing as he nursed his whiskey. He was into heavier tunes, but he needed a bit more of a buzz before going to his favourite rock bar.

He tapped his nails against the glass, tilting his head. Good idea, actually. They did cheap shots and a big array of imports.

He slammed some cash down on the counter before stumbling into the street, glad to feel the slight evening chill on his cheeks.

Down to Pink Street, and into the rock bar he enjoyed. Already feeling at home with the heavy guitar music blasting over the speakers, most of the other patrons dressed in a similar style to him. He’d missed out on a lot of stuff whilst locked away, the slight sways in fashion that happened in such a short amount of time, but he liked knowing he was still on trend within his scene, mostly.

He sat at the counter, giving a half-grin to the girl working there, and ordered himself five shots of vodka.

His earlier drinks had been a warmup, these were the first leg of the race. The second came in the form of a large scotch, some new brand they’d started selling.

Honestly, the start to a perfect night for him, until he heard a small gasp from behind him.

“Hey! Aniki!”

Daigo’s heart sank at the voice, glancing over his shoulder. Five of the guys he usually hung around with were there – or more accurately, they hung around him.

He rolled his eyes and groaned, turning in his seat and glaring them down. He should never had shown them this place.

“What do you want?” he muttered, already knowing the answer.

“We didn’t know you were out today!” Arita cried, leaning up next to him, with that sycophantic look he always had in his eyes. As if Daigo wasn’t out every night.

“Why don’t you join us aniki?” Kubo asked, which actually translated to wanna pay for all our drinks because we’re cheap scrounging bastards?

Daigo groaned again, knocking back his glass and waving the bartender over again.

“If you quit calling me aniki.”

They didn’t, of course. They gleefully accepted the drinks he bought them with more coos of thank you Dojima-aniki. Daigo rubbed the bridge of his nose and ordered himself two double scotches, slugging them back like they were water.

“I was thinkin’ we could go to Dazzle after this,” Arita said, having not left Daigo’s side. He always babbled and talked too much, like he felt he had to fill every silence with his own voice save people be left alone with their own thoughts.

“Why there?” Daigo asked, thinking of all the things he’d rather do more than go to a hostess club, including and not limited to slamming his face into a lit stovetop and drowning in a hot tub.

“I just think the girls there are really underrated, y’know? I like that they have some slightly older gals, I love a mature lady. How about you?”

Daigo shoved a shard of ice from his glass into his mouth and let it melt on his tongue. “Come on then.”

He was paying for two hours and that was that. At least he could get a bottle for himself and work through that, sitting at the edge whilst the others enjoyed the girls’ company.

Dazzle might have specialised in more mature women, but the decor was a nightmare like every other hostess club. Why’d they always insist on so many sparkles, it gave him a headache.

“Um...are you enjoying yourself?”

Daigo lowered his gaze to look at the girl. ‘Mature’ really meant ‘late twenties’, and she was running on the younger side of that.

“What do you think?” he said coldly, swirling his drink in its glass.

She seemed a little dazed at this, glancing back at her fellow hostesses, but kept going.

“M-my name is Nashi. Yours?”

“Daigo Dojima.”

He clicked his tongue, emptied his glass and went to refill it, his shoulders slouching slightly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so short, you’re only doing your job.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’ve had far worse responses.”

Daigo just gritted his teeth. Another reason he hated hostess clubs was he knew how other men treated these girls, saw it himself the times his father brought him along as a teen.

The least he could do was give this lady a nice conversation.

“Well, I’ll try to be a bit better than them,” he said, gesturing with his head towards the others, so loud and obnoxious.

Nashi smiled a little. “They’re not so bad. Your friends are just a bit...out there.”

He scoffed. “They’re not my friends. I don’t really...do friendship anymore.”

“Oh? How come?”

Shit. Of course, when you say something like that, people have questions. Daigo licked his lips in thought, considering how he should phrase this.

“You...don’t recognise my name, do you?”

Nashi blushed a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um, well, you do have a bit of notoriety around town, Dojima-san. I know girls in other clubs, and they always talk about you.”

Daigo did a slight double take at this. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. You’re a rather…” She gestured at his coat and skinny jeans. “A striking figure, you know. A lot of girls like the edgy emo bad boy look. It’s popular right now.”

“Hm, figures.” A lot of men are also fans…

Daigo sat up a little straighter, gazing Nashi down. “Do you?”

“H-huh?”

“Find me attractive?”

It was a joke, said with a dry smirk, but she flustered, clearly uneasy. Daigo grimaced, sliding up a little closer and putting a hand to her knee.

“Hey, hey. I’m kidding.” He made his smirk a soft smile, broke down the facade for just a moment to put her at ease. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nashi’s eyes went wide, but nodded, brushing down the edges of her dress.

“A-anyway, I...I’ve heard you...were involved with the Tojo Clan. Is that why you don’t ‘do’ friends?”

“Mm. Essentially.”

Daigo gave up on the glass, swigging back from the bottle which got him a funny look from one of the other patrons across the way.

“My only friend murdered my father,” he said, so matter of fact. He hesitated a moment, letting out a short huff. “Well. He went to jail for the crime, at least. He was actually covering for someone else. Either way, I was left without his guidance for ten years, thinking he had betrayed me like that.”

He paused a second, swilling whiskey around his mouth, before continuing.

“I came back to town a few months ago and...he hasn’t bothered trying to find me. Which shows how little he cares.”

“Oh. That sounds...awful, Dojima-san.”

“It sure does, doesn’t it?”

Daigo shrugged, tilting the empty bottle back so he could savour just a few more drops as best he could. “That’s just how my life is now.”

He grumbled a little as he set the bottle down, belching into his cupped hand before draping himself back against the seat.

“Sometimes you gotta deal with the hand you're given,” he added, scratching lazily at his middle, “And unfortunately, I’ve had a poor deck from the start.”

He shut his eyes before letting out a laugh, forced and hollow. “Sorry. I’m not the best at keeping things light.”

How many hostesses had he paid to listen to him whine? Then he thought how they were probably all used to it, which made it even worse.

“Well, given your circumstances…”

Nashi glanced back at her co-workers, the barely hidden looks of disdain towards the rest of the crew and their boorish behaviour.

“I’d much rather talk to you though,” she said, reaching over to grab another one of the bottles along the table, gesturing toward his glass, “You’re nice.”

Daigo swallowed, nodding in approval as she filled it to the brim. His head pounded, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the music or the cravings.

“If you say so.”

The glass was empty in a flash, and filled just as quick.

“You’re good at this,” he purred.

The bottle was empty by the time the waiter came by. Daigo had just enough mental capacity to dig through his pockets and pay, giving Nashi a shaky smile and a pat on the knee.

“Thank you for tonight. You’re great.”

His friends, on the other hand, all started to whine as the waiter began to urge them into finishing their drinks.

“Aw, c’mon aniki, let’s hang around a bit longer!”

“If you want that, pay yourself, ya cheap fucks.”

Daigo stood up, a bit too quickly as he felt the room spin. He stumbled to the side slightly, wincing as he contained a belch that very much tasted of vomit. Nope! No puking tonight. Keep it all inside.

“I’m outta here,” he mumbled, resting a hand on any available solid surface to keep himself steady as he left.

He blanked out the cries of the others as he did. He’d wasted enough time with them tonight, and he was craving something else.

“Burger,” he mumbled, squinting as he glanced up and down the street, “Pffft...that way.”

This was always the worst part of the night. Trying to sober up enough so he could keep going, or at the very least get home in one piece. Stumbling through the streets and trying not to crack his skull open.

It wasn’t just food he craved though. He felt...itchy. That was the only way to really explain it. The desire to go wild, start a scuffle. Really earn that reputation he supposedly had.

To hell with staying in one piece.

But first, Smile Burger.

The fact that the poor worker even understood what he said through his slurred words was impressive and soon he was curled up against the window, feet pulled up on the chair beside him as he made his way through a burger that tasted like the finest wagyu steak right now.

All the while, he kept his eye out.

Yeah, it felt shitty to target people for a fight like this, but he made sure it was a fair fight. Usually a few guys, who looked like they could take a hit as well as throw one, maybe even have a chance if they weren’t facing someone running on adrenaline and too much booze.

He cocked his head as he focused on a table nearby. Four men, mid-twenties, definitely young yakuza from some family. He couldn’t see any lapel pin from where he was sat, but they were perfect.

Childishly, he picked up one of his fries and threw it in their direction. It hit the back of one guy’s head, and he looked around puzzled. Daigo just threw another, chuckling as it hit him again. A bit too obvious, as he was spotted this time.

“What the hell’s wrong with you dude?” one of the four cried.

“I dunno,” Daigo said, stuffing a bunch of fries in his mouth before flinging another their way, “Target practise.”

This one hit a guy in a striking red sports jacket right between the eyes, and Daigo could barely contain the full-on cackle he let out at the expression he pulled. It was almost too easy.

He grinned when one came over and jabbed him in the chest.

“Outside. Now.”

“My pleasure.”

He followed them into a nearby side street, hands in his pockets and head held high. He liked an audience sometimes, but a private fight was fine enough.

The biggest one of them threw the first punch. He was expecting it, crossing his arms over in front of his face to block it, before kicking out at the guy’s ankles.

The whole fight was messy. The little gang clearly had never been in a proper fight, had no form. They kept punching poorly, wincing with any that managed to hit as they stung their knuckles.

Not that Daigo was any better. He was still far too drunk, but that was half the fun. Stumbling about and getting in a rough hit that frightened these kids who’d never experienced this before. He just wanted the thrill, the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Anything to feel something.

Daigo landed a punch on that guy in the sports jacket, right in the middle of his face. It sent him flat on his ass, skidding down the street slightly.

“Come on!” he groaned, “Grab him, idiots! We outnumber him!”

A moment of pause. Daigo tried to catch his breath, but ol’ sports jacket was right. He was outnumbered.

Two of them grabbed his coat and pushed him back against the wall, holding him there. The third punched at his gut, over and over. Daigo gritted his teeth, tensed his stomach for every punch.

He knew he could get out of this, easily. The guys holding him were hardly doing much, weren’t even gripping his actual arms, just the sleeves of his jacket. It wouldn’t take much to duck and slip down, then send them crying home to their mommies.

“Come on!” he hissed, baring his teeth.

But he wanted them to hit him.

“That all you got?”

He wanted them to hurt him.

Sports jacket guy had gotten back on his feet now, face already starting to bruise. His fist met the middle of Daigo’s face hard, harder than they’d been hitting before. It stung, a lot, which is exactly what he wanted.

Not that it solved anything.

It never did.

“Oi!” They all froze, turning toward the entrance of the street. Daigo, semi-dazed, managed to look too, and felt his stomach drop.

Kashiwagi's expression, initially a scowl, changed the moment he saw him, shaking his head and blinking a little. “Daigo?”

He sighed heavily, storming over and waving his hand at the little gang. “Shoo. Don’t let me catch you boys doing shit like this again, you hear?” “Y-yes Patriarch Kashiwagi.”

They scurried off further down the street, leaving Daigo to stand up straighter, rubbing his nose. He groaned a little as he saw the streaks of rusty red on the back of his hand, sniffling heavily. “Great.”

“Daigo…”

Kashiwagi sighed again, rubbing at his temple. “What are you doing?” “I’m just...I’m just out.” Daigo sniffed again, scrunching his nose. “Just finished dinner.”

“You know what I mean…”

Kashiwagi looked around, then grabbed Daigo by the shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s talk in the office.”

Daigo went to argue, but it only took one stern glare, the kind the older man had given him his whole life, for him to clench his jaw and follow.

Kashiwagi led the way toward the Millennium Tower, hand on Daigo’s shoulder the whole way. It felt so patronising, like that time he accidentally broke a window at the Dojima Family offices when he was ten, and Kashiwagi had done the exact same gesture, marching him to his mother.

“Nice upgrade,” he still said, gazing out the wide window of Kashiwagi’s office once they arrived, “From that little place on Tenkaichi.”

“Well, we make do. I’m second in command now.” Kashiwagi set down the plastic convenience store bag he’d been carrying on his desk, letting out a small, bemused exhale of air. “It’s not all bad. Now come on. Why were you fighting?”

Daigo clicked his tongue and shrugged, staring at the blinking lights below them.

“Daigo…” “I just was, okay?”

He gave a dismissive shrug, walking across the floor toward a cabinet, throwing the doors open. Kashiwagi watched him with tired eyes, slumping down in his chair. “I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight.”

“How did you know that’s what I was looking for?”

“Your breath reeks of it, kid. Your whole body does.” He took out a bento and can of coffee from the plastic bag, raising a brow. “And I know what you’re like, especially lately. How’s being a free man by the way? Haven’t seen you since you were released.”

“It sucks ass.”

Daigo slammed the cabinet door shut, opening another and grinning as he saw half a bottle of whiskey there, as well as some crystal glasses. He heard Kashiwagi tut loudly as he slammed both down on top of the cabinet.

“What did you expect?” he scoffed, pouring a very large measure, “Mom told me the news the moment I got out. What Nishikiyama did. That it wasn’t Kiryu. He hasn’t even come to see me, to apologise for it.”

He knocked the glass back, the sensation warm and familiar down his throat. “Hardly feel free. Just not in jail anymore.”

“What happened to the boy I knew?” Kashiwagi asked, walking over and placing a hand on Daigo’s shoulder once more. This time it was gentle, kind, attempting to be comforting. Not Kashiwagi-san, one of his father’s men, but Uncle Osamu, his mother’s best friend.

Daigo scrunched his nose up, taking another slug of whiskey. “You say that like I’ve ever been cheery.”

“Well, okay, you’ve always been a serious young man, but…”

He just shook his head, moving his hand away. He grabbed the whiskey bottle in the process, making Daigo let out a pathetic little whine.

“I’m not going to enable you any more than I have,” he said firmly, before adding, “I mean it though. You don’t need to throw your life away like this.”

Daigo didn’t reply, because he didn’t like the real answer. There wasn’t much of a life to throw away. He was doing everyone a favour with this.

“You bring me up here just to lecture me old man?” he growled, narrowing his eyes.

Still looking for someone to fight. Kashiwagi would wipe the floor with him, he knew that, but he didn’t care. He also knew he wouldn’t get that kind of satisfaction.

Didn’t mean Kashiwagi wasn’t frustrated with his attitude. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists and let out a deep exhale from his nose. “I saw your mother today. She’s been trying to call you all morning.”

“I know.” The empty glass was set down heavily, with a grunt. Daigo dug around for his phone, holding it out so Kashiwagi could see the countless missed calls and texts from her on the home screen. “I know what today is.”

“...and is that why you’re-”

“You know I’m like this anyway.” He stared at the texts, all similar in tone - Daigo, please call me. Daigo, it’s important. Are you okay? He got them most days from his mother. She was trying so hard. He didn’t want her to. He would rather she forget about him. She deserved that much.

Kashiwagi wasn’t looking at him, staring up at the ceiling as he thought of what to say next.

“I understand that...none of us could have predicted the extent of what your father was like.”

Daigo did a double take, noticing Kashiwagi immediately cringe. At least he knew what he said was stupid.

“Sorry, that was-”

“Yeah. It was.” Daigo looked up, head cocked to his shoulder. “Anyone could have guessed, really. We just pretended otherwise, because somehow he seemed to be the only thing keeping the Tojo Clan from completely falling apart.”

He was up in Kashiwagi’s face now, feeling his chest clench tight. He was working himself up over nothing, over that bastard. He hated it, but thinking of what his father did to get himself killed, the kind of man he was, it made his skin crawl.

“He deserves to spend every birthday after what he did having the most miserable time in hell,” he said with a hiss, noticing his voice wobbling, “I know it. You know it. But Mom refuses to let go-”

The slap felt cathartic, for both of them. Daigo shut his eyes and nodded as his cheek stung. He deserved that. He was trying to provoke that kind of reaction and got exactly that.

“I take back what I said. That boy you were is still there. An insolent brat,” Kashiwagi said, walking back to his desk, “Daigo, one day, you’re going to have to grow up. You can’t keep doing this until you die.”

He threw a semi-sympathetic look over his shoulder, but Daigo mostly felt it was piteous. That’s what he was. A pitiful, useless mess.

“Go home, Daigo. Call your mother. And for everyone’s sake, don’t have anything else to drink tonight.”

Daigo sucked in through his teeth and nodded again as he walked toward the door.

“...good night, Kashiwagi-san.”

No response. Yup. I deserve this.

He made his way home in a daze, everything working in automatic. Kashiwagi’s words kept echoing in his head, over and over.

You can’t keep doing this until you die.

Because that’s what he was trying to do, wasn’t it? Die. Suicide by hedonism. He was born already holding the worst hand life could deal, and he was never going to get anything better. After his father was killed, the one tiny scrap of potential good he could have in his life was gone, even if that prospect was a life of crime.

So why not? Why should he grow up when there was nothing to grow up for?

The moment he was inside his apartment, he slid down the door, staring blankly ahead. He’d needed that talking to, he needed a few really, from people who were currently pretending like he didn’t exist. That’s what he really needed. For Kiryu to talk to him, apologise for ruining his life, try and talk some sense into him. He always knew what to do.

But it was like he didn’t exist. Kiryu didn’t care. Kashiwagi tried to care, but knew he was a lost cause. Who did care?

Daigo opened up his phone again, staring at the missed calls and sighed. That’s who cared. Mom.

He should talk to her. He knew he should. He was an awful son who loved his mother very much, which is why he knew she deserved better. She was trying despite knowing she’d made mistakes, but he just couldn’t let that go.

He hovered on her number, ready to press the button to call...but instead he tossed his phone to land on the couch, walked to the kitchen and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the vodka bottle still on the counter.

He licked his lips, swallowed heavily...but let go, pushing it away.

“You win this time old man,” he grumbled, picking up an energy drink and the donuts he’d bought earlier in the day instead. Kashiwagi could never be allowed to know that though.

He knew this self-control wouldn’t last long. Come morning, he’d be shaking again, a hangover banging in his skull, and he’d be dragging himself towards that bottle like it was the source of life.

The same thing every day.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

He couldn’t have it any other way.

#dojima daigo #ryu ga gotoku #trope: crutches #badthingshappenbingo #undeadbthb #highly recommend reading the end notes on ao3 for the buckwild place the inspiration for this came from

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a-tiny-atiny · 4 years

Text

Coming of Age (Seonghwa x Reader)

Request: Hello! I would like to request a seonghwa bestfriends to lovers au and make it kinda angsty kshdh thank you very much💕

A/N: thank you so much for my first request! i hope i do it justice! feel free to request anything else~

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.9k

“Hwa? ...Hello? Earth to Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa is snapped out of his trance-like daydream when a hand waves in front of his face. He stares with wide eyes at the offender who is none other than Hongjoong, looking at him with a disapproving gaze. “Sorry,” he says immediately, trying to come back to the present. “What were you saying?”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. This has been pretty par for the course recently, Seonghwa surmises, judging from his friend’s reaction. “I was talking about what we might want to do over winter break,” Hongjoong explains. “I was thinking maybe you, me, and (y/n) could go to the city for a week or two. She already agreed so I’m just waiting on you.”

Oh, that’s what this is about. No wonder Seonghwa completely checked out.

Seonghwa likes to think that he’s good at hiding his feelings for you. After all, none of his friends, including Hongjoong, know the way he feels about you. And he’s felt this way ever since you were kids, so it’s easily his best-kept secret.

Things started taking a turn for the worse, however, when Hongjoong started expressing that he might have feelings for you. It was a few months ago now and nothing much has come from it other than a lot of worrying and overthinking on Seonghwa’s part. He knows that Hongjoong would let it go if he knew how he felt about you, but there is some part of him that can’t bring himself to tell him. What if it messes things up? What if it ruins the friendship between the three of you? What if things are never the same again?

Seonghwa can handle you not having feelings for him. It’s been this way for years, after all. What he can’t handle is you never being friends with him again. And he knows that is a very real risk if he decides to tell you about his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, responding to Hongjoong’s suggestion with a forced smile. “That sounds fun.” It sounds like he’s going to be the third wheel again, but he doesn’t mind. At least he’ll still be able to spend some time with his best friend and his crush.

It’s not like Hongjoong has made a move on you yet. He’s still thinking about what to do, he told Seonghwa before. Some part of him is grateful for that and another part just wants to get it over with. “Just break my heart already,” he wants to say. But he can’t, because that might ruin things. And ruining the friendship he has with you is worse than seeing you and Hongjoong together.

And if that means he has to hide his feelings forever, so be it.

A week passes, and winter break can’t seem to come soon enough. As much as you love your university major, you are in desperate need of a break. Spending some time away in the city with your two best friends sounds like a dream come true right now.

As soon as you finish packing the last of your clothes into a suitcase, you hear a knock at the door. “Come in!” you say loudly enough for the person to hear it, though you have a feeling you already know who it is.

Unsurprisingly, a familiar face peeks through the doorway with a smile. “Hey, (y/n)!” Seonghwa says, looking as excited for this trip as you are. “Hongjoong and I are waiting for you in the car whenever you’re ready. I already called shotgun.”

You groan and pout playfully. “But I wanted shotgun! Sitting in the back like a little kid is no fun.” Before Seonghwa has a chance to confirm the fact that you’re basically a little kid anyway, you say, “You’re so mean, Hwa.”

He just laughs as you get your belongings together and head to the car. “You know you love me,” he says, teasing you. It’s been like this ever since you were kids, and you doubt that’s going to chance anytime soon.

“Duh,” you say. “You’re my best friend.”

You walk out the front door and head to the car where Hongjoong is waiting in the driver’s seat before you notice Seonghwa’s smile quickly fall. But as soon as you turn back around to ask if he’s coming, he plasters the smile back on his face and nods, going to sit in the passenger’s seat.

“Road trip time!” Hongjoong says in an attempt to get the two of you excited, though there isn’t much work that needs to be done. It’s been such a long few months and this vacation is just what you need. It couldn’t come sooner. “Everyone ready? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You giggle at this which makes Seonghwa feel...something. He isn’t sure what. Jealousy? No, that can’t be it. Why would he get jealous of his two best friends just joking around with each other? It can’t be that...can it? “Let’s get going,” Seonghwa says in a tone that he hopes is playful rather than demanding.

Most of the trip is fun but relatively uneventful. The three of you play games, listen to music and sing along, and periodically spend time on your phones (minus Hongjoong). You’re all having a good time and Seonghwa can see that.

Something of importance does happen, however, when the three of you make your first stop at a gas station. After Hongjoong finishes getting gas, you offer to go into the convenience store to get some snacks. “I’ll get us some chips,” you say. “Anyone want anything else?” When both Hongjoong and Seonghwa shake their heads respectfully, you smile with a short nod and head into the store.

It’s quiet in the car with just Hongjoong and Seonghwa. It’s like there is some kind of tension between them, and Seonghwa supposes there is. Neither of them want to speak first, but Hongjoong evidently decides to break the uncomfortable silence and get it out with. “You like her,” he says.

This catches Seonghwa off-guard. He knew they were both probably thinking about it, but he never thought Hongjoong would actually blurt it out like that. Still, it’s not like he can lie to his best friend. “...Yeah,” he says after a moment, exhaling deeply. “I do.”

Hongjoong nods, his expression unreadable. Seonghwa can’t tell if he’s angry or hurt or...anything. He just stares ahead blankly. For a minute, he almost thinks Hongjoong isn’t going to say anything at all. But then, yet again, he surprises Seonghwa by saying, “Then you should tell her.”

Before Seonghwa can even protest, Hongjoong holds up a hand to prevent him from saying anything else. “It’s okay. You don’t have to lie, Hwa, you won’t be hurting my feelings. But I see the way you look at her. You’ve looked at her like that for as long as I can remember and I’ve only just realized that...you love her, don’t you?”

Seonghwa freezes. What should he even say to that? Hongjoong has feeling for you too, right? So why is he saying this? “I-I do,” he says, the confusion evident on his face. “But why are you encouraging me? I thought you liked her too.”

“I do,” Hongjoong admits a bit shyly. “But...it’s not the same way you do. I just recently started to see her as something more. I realize now that you’ve seen her that way for, well...forever.” He looks at Seonghwa, but there isn’t any hint of sadness in his eyes, only happiness. It’s like he already supports you and Seonghwa wholeheartedly. “I’ve been in love before, and this isn’t love. It’s just a crush. But I can tell that you love her, so why would I stop you from going after the person you love?”

Seonghwa sits in silence for a moment, thinking about everything that’s just happened. He knows you’ll be back from the convenience store in just a few minutes, so he has to make this quick. “Thank you,” he says. “Truly.” He gives Hongjoong an appreciative smile, which Hongjoong reciprocates with a friendly punch on the arm.

“No more of that sappy stuff, okay?” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “And if you don’t tell her how you feel while we’re on this trip, I’m going to punch you for real.”

“Oh no,” Seonghwa says in mock fear, “not the wrath of Hongjoong! Anything but that!” The two of them dissolve into a fit of laughter just as you arrive back in the car with a few snacks.

“What’s so funny you guys?” you ask, completely oblivious to the situation. Hongjoong just shakes his head and says “nothing,” so you shrug it off.

“Home sweet home!” Hongjoong says as soon as the three of you walk into the condo you rented for a few days. “Let’s get all of our stuff unpacked and then we’ll get something to eat, okay?”

He always steps into leadership positions, you think. Hongjoong is the type of person who is a natural leader, but Seonghwa is more like an older brother. He’s kind and caring and attentive, but he still knows how to have fun without being too high-strung. You couldn’t ask for a better pair of best friends.

It takes a while for everyone to unpack, but you get the job done. Hongjoong immediately heads into the room he claimed as his own and takes a nap after the long drive here. You and Seonghwa, however, decide to relax on the balcony.

“It’s really nice out here,” you say with a smile on your face that Seonghwa thinks is absolutely gorgeous. “Wanna sit and watch the sunset for a bit?” He nods and the two of you sit next to each other. You tentatively reach out to hold his hand, so he takes it.

“It’s so cool that we get to have a proper vacation together,” Seonghwa says, “just the three of us. I feel like we haven’t been able to spend that kind of quality time that we used to when we were kids.”

You nod and look out at the city. “Yeah,” you say. “But there are things that we can do now that we weren’t able to when we were kids.”

“Really?” Seonghwa asks, not really believing you. He misses the freedom of childhood and adolescence where you had endless time to spend playing with each other and his main worry was homework. “Like what?”

You think for a moment if you are ready to do what you are thinking you’re about to do. It might change everything between you and Seonghwa forever, and not necessarily in a good way. What if your friendship with him is ruined? Well...that’s a risk that you’re willing to take.

Instead of answering his question, you lean over and take him by surprise by kissing him passionately before he even has a chance to react. You feel the sparks instantly and you hope he does too. Evidently he does, because he leans into the motion and begins to kiss you back. You rake your hands through his hair as you lean even further into the kiss, teasing at his lips with your tongue.

After what feels like a lifetime, you finally pull away and he stares at you with something akin to shock. “(y-y/n), I don’t...” he begins with a stutter, trying to wrap his head around what just happened between you and him, “what was that?”

You shrug shyly and look away from his questioning gaze. “Well, you asked what we could do now that we weren’t able to do when we were kids. We definitely weren’t able to do that, now were we?”

Seonghwa chuckles lightly, reminded of why he loves you so much. “No,” he says, smiling, “we definitely weren’t.”

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linkysmommy · 4 years

Text

The Time That Came Between

PART I

Part II link here

Fandom: It Lives in the Woods

Pairing: Noah Marshall x fem MC

Words: 3,057

Summary: What happened to Noah after Jazmyn Park sacrificed herself and he fled Westchester?

Warnings: Some minor swearing, topics of drug use and addiction

Author’s note: This is basically my imagination of what happened to Noah after he left Westchester and before he realized that MC was still somewhat cognizant as the shadow monster. I definitely have some creative liberties and my own thoughts on the dark path Noah went on after everything went down. It shouldn’t be too long, but I’m splitting it into parts. It’ll probably be between 5-6 parts when all is finished.

The first thing he noticed was the overwhelming stench of sour, rotting garbage.

Then came the God-awful pain.

It felt like there was a bonfire burning in Noah’s back. The muscles in his body screamed and throbbed, and his body shook violently. He weakly opened his eyes, and could barely see because they were so watery. It was like this every morning when he woke up. But somehow, that didn’t make it any better.

He managed to push himself into a sitting position as he tried to put together where the hell he was. He rubbed the film away from his eyes and glanced around himself. He was sitting in an apartment parking lot, his back pushed up against a huge dumpster bin. A trail of gooey water dripped from the trash can and trickled down the cement pavement. The morning sun shone in colorful rays through the filth, and he could hear the morning hum of cars and commuters as the responsible population began their days. A street cat hissed and rustled through the trash, and one of the windows in the building across from him burst open as yells from the people inside drifted out into the morning.

Noah sighed and leaned his head against the metal trash bin. He didn’t even care that his shirt was soaked with trash water, or that the side of his face was still covered with gravel from the ground. All he could focus on was the pain and discomfort. His burning back, his aching muscles, his runny nose, the wave of nausea that crashed over him.

He should get up, go to his apartment, take a shower, get dressed. He should get to work on time and save some money so he’d be able to go far away and leave forever. But no. Instead, he woke up in front of a dumpster and the first thing he did was reach for his phone. He hated everything about himself as he turned on the screen and dialed the person he simultaneously hated most and needed most in this entire world.

But he was too weak. So he called Reynold anyway.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Terror seized through him and his hand began to shake uncontrollably. What if Reynold didn’t pick up? What if—

Before Noah could think much, a very unhappy voice on the other line answered.

“The hell you want? It’s 7:00 in the morning.”

“I need some,” Noah said. “Where can I meet you?”

The voice on the other end scoffed. “Are you serious? You already blew through what I sold you two days ago?”

“It’s been… a rough couple of days.”

Reynold fell silent, which pissed Noah off. He was the one funding this guy, yet Reynold acted like he was the nuisance. Finally, Reynold let out a long sigh. “I’m busy today Malcolm. I don’t have time to—”

“I’ll pay you double. Hell, I’ll pay you triple. Just tell me where to meet you and when.”

Reynold grumbled something under his breath, but then he agreed. Soon, Noah had the place and information typed into his old, cracked phone. Now all he had to do was survive six more hours until they met up. Even that long seemed like more torture than he could stand.

Noah didn’t know how long he sat there, feeling like complete and utter shit. It could’ve been minutes, or it could’ve been hours. All he knew was that when two middle school girls crossed in front of him to head to their bus stop, chattering excitedly about some TV show, the expression on their faces when they saw him was enough to make him want to kill himself.

There was fear in their faces. Fear that the dirty, grimy man sitting by the dumpster would hurt them. Noah lowered his gaze and they hurried past. And he wished, for what must have been the thousandth time in the past twenty-four hours, that his life had never been so goddamn awful that he felt the only way he could survive was through losing himself to heroin.

He wished that it had been him who took Redfield’s place, and not Jaz.

Never Jaz.

***

The bell jingled as Noah stepped into the gas station where he worked. A handful of customers browsed the shelves, and crouched in one of the aisles was his supervisor, Russ, probably doing inventory.

The door clattered shut behind Noah and he tried to sneak past Russ. But, like some freaking bloodhound, he looked up the moment Noah took a step. Russ’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed with anger. He stood, the item scanner hanging loosely from one hand.

“You’re late again, Johnson.” Russ glanced pointedly at the clock, then back at Noah. “Twenty-two minutes late, to be exact.”

“I’m aware of that,.” Noah said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “I ran into some… stuff.”

Russ did roll his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. Not when it happens every day.”

“Yeah, well. I’m here now so let me get to work.” Noah shouldered past Russ to the employees only area. It wasn’t much, but there was a wall with hooks where he could hang his jacket, and shelves and shelves full of supplies.

Noah hung his jacket and took a deep, calming breath. He hated this job. He hated how Russ thought he was worse than dirt, and he hated how much he resented that. After what he’d done, he didn’t deserve to be treated well by anyone. He deserved every ounce of hatred every single person had to spare.

He brushed his fingers over the scarred skin on the inside of his elbow. It was rough, and still tingled with his most recent dose. He was a coward for trying to find something to ease the pain, to make him forget. It was only fair that the drug no longer made him feel anything other than normal. Where it once had left him feeling powerful and nearly happy, now all it did was make him need it when he wasn’t using, and when he was using he just felt normal.

And normal… wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

The one good thing about Jaz sacrificing herself for him was that at least she didn’t have to live to see him like this. This pathetic shell of a man she thought was worth enough that she decided to die for him.

Noah squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hand into his forehead. Forget about this. Don’t think. Just get out and do your job, go home, shoot up, go to sleep, repeat. Keep going. Just survive.

He took one last calming breath, took a moment to steel himself… and then stepped back into the front.

As he approached the counter to take his position for the day., the girl standing behind it glared at him.

“Finally. You made me stay late, you jerk. I’ve been here since 12 AM!”

“Yeah… sorry Diane,” Noah said sheepishly, fumbling awkwardly with the edge of his beanie. “I’m here now though, so you can leave.”

Diane peered up at him from behind the counter and her scowl melted away into a grin. “I’m just teasing, Malcolm! No need to be so serious. Of course I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh! Right. Of course.” Noah forced a laugh and sidled behind the counter.

Ever since the cops found Jaz’s broken body last September and Noah had become the prime suspect, he’d been on the run, never staying anywhere for too long. He spent time in Montana, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada. He never finished high school, and instead took to getting himself fake IDs and socials just to find work wherever he could get it. But now, he was back in Oregon, a mere three hours away from where it all started: Westchester.

Noah had only been working at this convenience store for two months, but no one in any of his other jobs paid attention to him like Diane did. She knew nothing real about him—she thought his name was Malcolm Johnson and that he moved from Missouri to live with his aunt—but she always invited him out, always found ways to tease him, always tried to make him smile.

And she was cute and pretty and sweet, but she was no Jaz. No one could ever even begin to compare to Jazmyn Park.

“Well now that somebody’s here, I’m gonna go get changed and get the hell out of here,” Diane said with a smirk, nudging Noah as she sashayed out from behind the counter.

“I said I was sorry,” Noah called after her. She just waved and disappeared into the employee area.

Noah let out a sigh and leaned his elbows against the countertop. The store wasn’t very busy right now, so he’d just get to stand there for hours, doing nothing. Doing nothing was hard because when you were doing nothing, there wasn’t anything to distract you from the terrible things you didn’t want to think about. He much preferred busy days to slow days.

The door jingled and Noah heard footsteps as people entered the store. He couldn’t see the door from where he stood. He hoped it was a munchy druggy or a parent with kids. Those people always bought the most stuff, which meant more time to be occupied.

“…Been a whole year now,” a familiar voice drifted over to where Noah stood. “And nobody knows where he is.”

Noah’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced furtively around the store. The newcomers to the store stepped out from behind a row of shelves and then, standing across the room with his back to Noah was a man with a flannel shirt and shoulder-length blond hair. A man Noah recognized all to well. Connor Green.

“Shit,” Noah muttered. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth felt dry. “Shit shit shit sh—”

Connor started turning, so Noah did the only thing he could think of. He dropped to his hands and knees behind the desk, disappearing from view. Diane exited out of the employees-only area just as he did, and he saw confusion flit across her face.

“I miss Jaz,” Connor said. “She was really… somethin’ else. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

A very unjustified but burning hatred for that man flared up inside Noah. He remembered being at the hardware store, shopping for supplies to go up against Mr. Red—Jane. He remembered how Connor flirted with Jaz and how she flirted right back. And he remembered the day Andy asked them if they wanted to go to homecoming. Noah had said, “Seems kinda pointless to go without a date. And I’m… not really in a good place for that. Dating, I mean.” Then he asked Jaz who she wanted to go with and she turned around and went straight to Connor.

He knew he had no right to be angry about it. He’d told Jaz that he wasn’t in a place for dating, and he probably would’ve said no if she’d asked him. But when she decided to ask Connor and Noah responded with “Good luck,” he really had just wanted to clock Connor in the face.

“Do you think they’ll ever catch Noah?” another voice—a woman this time—asked. Noah’s heart nearly froze at the mention of his own name and he frantically tried to place the voice. Then he realized—it was Stacy Green, of course.

Another pair of hands and knees fell onto the ground beside Noah and he started, jumping back and nearly slamming against the back wall.

Diane watched him with an amused expression. Her short black pixie cut was messily styled and her dark makeup made her features stand out against pale skin. “What’re we doing down here, Johnson?” she asked.

“Uh…” His mind raced frantically, trying to come up with some sort of explanation. Some sort of truth and lie mixture that could get him out of this mess. “I know those people from high school. And, uh, they were snobby assholes who hated me. So, I just don’t want them to know I work here, okay?”

The amusement faded from Diane’s eyes and she nodded solemnly. “I understand. I know I already clocked out, but… I can cover for you until they leave.”

“Really?” Noah couldn’t hide the relieved smile that stole onto his face.

“Oh yeah,” Diane said. “But you owe me.”

“Okay yeah, that’s fair. What do you want? I can cover your hours or—“

“A date,” Diane said with a smug smile, and before he could protest she bounced to her feet and pasted a winning smile onto her face.

“Hiiii,” she greeted. Noah wondered if she was talking to Connor and Stacy. All he could see was the gross tile, front counter, and Diane’s legs. “Can I help you with something?”

“Hey,” Connor’s voice said. “Cute shirt, by the way.”

Noah wanted to barf. Flirting with random strangers was so Connor.

“We just wanted to buy a few things and ask a few questions, if that’s all right?” Stacy said. Noah could practically hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay, shoot!” Diane said.

Noah heard the sound of items being dropped on the counter, and then the register creaking like it did whenever anyone leaned on it. He could imagine Connor leaning against it now, looking at Diane with the stupid flirtatious smirk he always used on Jaz.

“We were wondering—” it was Connor again “—have you heard of anyone… suspicious running through these parts?”

Diane let out a sharp laugh. “Is that all you’ve got to go off of? I’m sorry, sweetie, but if I told you all the suspicious people I’ve seen around here I’d be listing names ‘til midnight.”

Noah snorted silently. Leave it to Diane to handle a situation like this so perfectly.

He heard Stacy sign in aggravation. “Connor, maybe I should handle this.” There were shuffling footsteps, rustling of the contents of a purse, and something being slapped onto the countertop. “Have you seen anyone who looks like this man? About this tall, almost always wears a beanie? His name is Noah but he probably goes by something else?”

All traces of a smile evaporated from Noah’s face. His heart started to race with panic. He chanced a look up at Diane’s face, and her eyes were narrowed, her mouth tugged into a frown.

Silence. No sound besides a ticking clock and Russ shuffling around the aisles. Diane stared at the counter, at what Noah was sure was a picture of him. He held his breath, waiting for her to jump aside and say, “Oh you’re looking for this guy? Here he is, take him!”

But instead, she shook her head. Her voice was tight. “Nope, never heard of a ‘Noah.’ Also never seen this guy. Sorry.”

Relief flooded through Noah, almost as satisfying a feeling as a heroin high. Diane wasn’t giving him up. At least not yet.

Connor sighed loudly. “Do you have any idea who might know something? This is important. We got a tip that he moved to this area recently but so far, we’ve found nothing.”

“I don’t know,” Diane said. “Why’re you looking for him? Maybe if I knew I could point you to the right people.”

Noah frantically grabbed her foot, trying to somehow signal to her to not ask these questions. But she shook him off and kept staring straight forward.

“It’s kind of… a personal thing,” Stacy said.

“Well I can’t help if you don’t tell me anything,” Diane countered.

“Look,” Connor interceded. “The police are after him for something he actually didn’t do. We think we might be able to help him, but he’s dodging us.”

Diane glanced down at Noah for a fraction of a second. Then she shrugged. “A person on the run? I’d look for them in Lensgate Park. Or maybe check out the baseball field on eleventh. Tons of shady people hang out there. They might know something.”

“Lensgate Park…” Stacy repeated slowly, probably entering it into her phone. “Okay. And you said eleventh?”

“Yup,” Diane said dryly. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Nope,” Connor said. “You’ve been great. I hope you have a great shift.”

Finally, finally, the footsteps sounded once again, the bell rang as it was opened, and then the door slammed shut. Noah barely had time to reorient himself before Diane reached down and pulled him roughly to his feet.

“Malcolm, what the hell was that about? Who were those people? They weren’t high school bullies, this was something else entirely. And Noah? The cops? What. The. HELL.”

“Diane, Diane,” Noah said, grabbing her by the arms. “Look, those people are from where I grew up, and they… they can’t be trusted.” His mind scrambled to come up with some sort of excuse, but all he could see was Jaz, over and over again. Her terror when she realized he tricked them, her body, broken in his arms… “Um, they, want to frame me—”

Diane scoffed and glared into his honey brown eyes. “Do you expect me to believe that? Are you just one big lie?”

Noah fell back a step, the color draining from his face. “I—”

“Save it, Malcolm. If that’s even your real name.” Diane skirted around the counter and headed for the door. “I backed you up because I liked you, but whatever you’re involved in, I don’t want any part in it. You can forget about the date.”

Noah’s eyebrows knit together as he watched her head out the front door, never looking back. Russ came out from one of the aisles, glancing between Noah and Diane.

“What happened with you two?” Russ asked.

Noah skirted around the counter, removing the name badge he wore on his shirt. “Sorry, Russ, but consider this my resignation.”

He dropped the badge on the counter and shouldered past a shocked Russ.

“Wh—what?” Russ sputtered, chasing after Noah. “Johnson, if you leave it’s just me and Tom. I need the coverage, at least wait until tomorrow—”

“Stuff came up,” Noah said, pushing the glass door open with his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Russ.”

Russ watched helplessly from the sidewalk as Noah slid into his old beat-up car. He turned the radio on high as he backed out of the parking lot.

He was going to Lensgate Park, or maybe the baseball field on Eleventh.

He was going to figure out what Stacy and Connor knew.

***

Post-note: I wrote this a while ago and wasn’t going to finish but that fic by @isometimesplaychoices inspired me to continue and finish this fic, ily friend!!

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genbmnt · 4 years

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closed: @shanexmartis

It's the nightmares that gets her this time and the inability to wake from it at the very start. The last mission -- that will always haunt her. It's a dangerous lifestyle and Genevieve is very much aware of this; she's not a stranger to the risks it undertakes or how she practically walks in with a target on her back. A small, sadistic part of her actually enjoys it if she's being quite honest with herself. There's just something with the feeling of having the upper-hand at having someone's life dependent on her next movements. It's an aphrodisiac at this point and if one were to squint, Genevieve just about gets off of the thrill. Life hasn't always been kind to her and while she tries her hardest to be a good person -- or hell even a decent person would suffice -- a job's a job and it's the only thing she's ever known. That doesn't mean that everything always goes according to plan; she's human and she's bound to have errors.

This last time, though, it very nearly cost her life.

Genevieve can practically taste the rust in her mouth, the dizzying feeling almost knocking her out. It's a death sentence and she knows it, the memory of the onslaught of panic that hit when she realized that the whole mission went sideways. It's only her luck that she didn't have anyone else with her. Everyone thought it was quick and easy; no one could have predicted that she basically walked into a trap. Quick reflexes may have saved her but at a cost. The bullet fragments lodged in her shoulders with something metallic rooted near her spine have the woman almost screaming in agony, but the main objective was to stay alive. Genevieve remembers the hysteria in stealing someone's car and driving to the nearest place she knows: Santa Ysabel.

In the dream, though, she never made it. Her subconscious just loves playing with her, toying the idea that no matter how fast she drove, he wasn't too far behind. There was always something wrong: the car wouldn't start, the gun hit a little too close to something vital, she wasn't able to kick away from being pinned down. It all ended the same: with Genevieve in her coffin and no one there to attend the funeral. She's not quite sure what it means; is it the fear of death or the fear of being alone that has the woman in a twist? Either way, she wakes once the first shovel-full of dirt hits her grave.

Upright with her chest heaving, there's a trail of sweat falling from her temple. She's shaking and she's only glad she's alone since vulnerability has always been instilled in her as a form of weakness. It took a lot to let Bear help her out that night. The clock on her night stand reads near 3 am and she just knows she's not going to be able to go back to sleep. Alcohol has always been her comfort, but the nightmare of two nights ago already have her stock needing to be replenished. Figuring that there's no better time to do so -- convenient store liquor would have to do, she supposes -- Genevieve is quick out of bed. A hoodie over her frame is the only thing that's actually keeping her from falling apart right now and she hates herself for it.

Out the door and into the night, she's made sure that she's strapped. Even if she doubts he'll find her here, there are still others out there that like to tease the lawlessness of the city. Genevieve would be damned if she were to go down by some townie who barely knew how to operate a pistol. The cool wind nipped against her skin and it's only then that she realizes that she came out in her pajama shorts. Around her, the residential area doesn't seem to scream any kind of familiarity and so she ventures on, letting the pinpricks against her thigh raise goosebumps. It's kind of relaxing, in a way; her heart rate's slowed down and the memory is starting to fog up in her mind. The feeling is still there though so the need for something alcoholic stays. Besides, she's never been the type to deny herself a chance at getting drunk.

It'd be smarter to go to the diner, to wrap herself around Bear since he's always been the one that's able to calm her down at this state, but she's done that far too frequently throughout the years. She doesn't want it to become a pattern even if it already has, but denial's been a friend all this time and she's not going to walk away from that. The streetlights guide her towards the commercial part of the city and surprisingly -- or not -- it's somewhat alive with those coming from clubs, bars, and just whichever hellhole they've decided to ascend from. Her age has probably warranted a pause in such celebrations, but she remembers a time when she too would stumble out of establishments, the liquor going straight to her brain. It was a fun time; it was a safe time. Now, she walks past them with her head hung low as she searches for the nearest gas station.

It doesn't take long and Genevieve's not quite sure why she's disappointed by that. The store holds some off brand whiskey and she goes for it, opting for two bottles lest the nightmares come back. There are no plans for tomorrow and work is easy to call off to. Grabbing some snacks as well, she heads to the register, ignoring the way the cashier seems to eye her little ensemble with interest. It's disgusting and she wants to punch him for it. Payment is done with a quick swipe of her card but he seems to be taking his sweet ass time in printing out the receipt. Before she could even tell him to forget it, there's a quick flick of his wrist as he writes his number down on the back and handing it to her with a wink. Maintaining eye contact, she takes the receipt and drops it on the floor in front of them. There's a smile on her face then, the first feeling of something at seeing how fast his face falls.

Genevieve isn't in the mood right now.

Outside she opens one of the bottles -- with the other safely tucked in the plastic bag that hangs low on her wrist -- and takes a long pull from its neck, letting it burn its way down. How she's come this low, she doesn't know, but she doesn't have a way out of it yet. Her feet walk to their own accord with the woman taking random sips from her liquid therapy. There are still people about and she's sure some are looking at her with something akin to pity or disgust, but she finds that she doesn't even care. One of the people on the streets in particular bump against her shoulder and she stumbles for a bit. It's probably the alcohol but Genevieve doesn't even care, only turning to the woman with a smile on her face. She must look insane but this is a chance to actually have some type of interaction with people rather than just the whiskey.

"Hi."

#genevieve * / threads .#genevieve * / & shane .

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years

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so basically any time I've seen you talk about food it's a meaty thing, if I'm not forgetting something. do you ever do any meatless meals? also where do you get your produce? being a vegetarian in hell is suffering. but I guess that's the point huh

🎶 I do very few meatless meals, but then I do very few plantless meals, either!

🎶 That seems like an obvious statement, but from time to time it surprises people. There's a stereotype that cannibals primarily eat flesh as a large portion of their diet, I'm sure from watching those who like to eat meat fresh and in public—and I’m sure my own reputation doesn’t help! But watching a cannibal chew on a man in the street and concluding he primarily eats human flesh makes as much sense as watching someone pluck an apple from a tree and concluding he primarily eats fresh, unwashed apples: eating like that is more of a treat than a dietary staple! But I digress. I do like to take these little opportunities to clear up misconceptions about my dietary community, but let’s get back on track!

🎶 Aside from the rare raw fleshy treat, my preference is for well-rounded meals with a complex flavor palate—meat, vegetables, herbs, spices, grains... Either all in one dish or spread between a main course and several sides that compliment the flavor. All told, I find the best meals have more plant matter than meat matter in them, even if the meat is the central attraction... but most of my meals incorporate flesh of some kind, yes.

🎶 But I won't turn up my nose at a sufficiently delectable meatless meal! The most common, of course, being seafood—I don't know whether you count seafood as different from meat, I don't myself but I know enough people who do that I thought it worth mentioning—but I'll have pure vegetarian dishes too. I make a mean variation on eggplant parmesan using a plant native to the inner ring of the Seventh Circle. The common name for it is "blasphemer's stool," it looks rather like a squat maroon cactus, and after baking it to neutralize the poison and letting it soak a couple of days to soften up, it makes a wonderful eggplant substitute! You can find it at most imp supermarkets for fairly cheap. Let me know if you'd like the recipe!

🎶 Which leads right into your next question, doesn't it! Believe you me, Hell isn't kind to carnivores, either. You're not going to find a cattle ranch or chicken farm down here, and the local shellfish are universally toxic. Most of the cannibals I know who started postmortem—including me!—did so because we humans are actually far safer to hunt and to eat than a vast majority of Hell's native fauna! But I digress again, you're looking for produce!

🎶 There's no easy guarantee to getting good produce, but here are a few tricks I use:

🎶 One: learn all your nearby grocery stores. All of them. And when I say “nearby,” I mean every store in a thirty-mile radius! And don’t count out the unexpected spots like the ice boxes in gas station convenience stores! Sometimes there’s just no better way to get a particularly fussy ingredient than by going store to store to see who happens to have a healthy supply. It means a lot of extra legwork in the beginning, but over time you’ll get a feel for which stores are most likely to have healthy onions, which stores all get their tomatoes from the same farm, et cetera.

🎶 Two: learn when your nearby grocery stores expect to have their produce delivered! It will be least likely to be wilted or rotten when it’s first delivered! To best compete with your local gourmands, you want to be there when that truck is being unloaded—even if that’s three in the morning! Don’t despair if your first few trips leave you waiting for a truck that never arrives; food shipments and deliveries are irregular, especially in the city, and expected delivery times are more loose guidelines. Make friends with the stockers and slip them a little bribe and most will be more than happy to tip you off when that long-awaited truck arrives, or even hide a healthy pack of peppers for you to pick up!

🎶 Three: get to know your neighborhood farmer’s market—as well as the farmer’s markets farther abroad. There are hardworking sinners scattered throughout the nine circles doing their best to coax Hell’s soil into growing seeds from the mortal realm. Their individual crops’ successes will vary more widely than those grown in the secure facilities that sell to grocery stores, but when they do succeed, they’re typically healthier and heartier than their grocery store counterparts! Subscribe to some farmers’ periodicals to keep up with which circles’ growing seasons seem likely to thrive and which are struggling this year, and if some crop you particularly covet is looking to have a good year, consider making a road trip out to the circle where it’s flourishing.

🎶 Four: get to know your neighborhood black market! If you’re willing to pay a little more for better quality, smugglers moving goods out of the mortal realm are the way to go. You’ll have best luck finding smugglers near enclaves of inhuman demons—imps and so forth. Be prepared to barter! Never put part of your soul on the line no matter how desperately you crave a nice juicy lemon. Five percent of your soul here, five percent of your soul there, and pretty soon you’ve sold ten percent of your soul! Some native demons see human souls as a mere currency of convenience to be freely exchanged, but enough treat collecting souls as an end in and of itself that you should never sell to someone you don’t know. What you sold for a bunch of bananas, they may not be willing to let you buy back so cheaply. Resist the temptation and deal only with smugglers willing to trade in money, goods, and favors.

🎶 Five: try cooking with local ingredients. Unsurprisingly, Hell’s native flora thrives far more easily than transplants from the mortal realm! Most Hellish crops require much more labor to make edible, not to mention palatable; but if you’re a little adventurous and don’t mind accidentally poisoning yourself from time to time, learning to work with local ingredients is very rewarding. Like I mentioned earlier, imp supermarkets are a fine resource for most Hellish produce—but there are some plants that sinners have worked into recipes that native demons don’t eat, so consider picking up a guide to Hell’s edible flora and foraging for your own ingredients!

🎶 And finally, six: consider growing your own food! Many mortal realm crops need quite a bit more help than a mere green thumb to grow—why, some will take a green arm and a leg!—but if you’re skilled, careful, or lucky, you can maintain a few ingredients yourself. I myself recently acquired an okra plant and a pepper plant that have lasted several weeks in fine health! No okra yet, but the bell peppers are ripening beautifully!

🎶 To the carnivores out there, most of this advice also applies to meat and seafood, with the exception that most mortal realm animals are even harder to raise in Hell than mortal realm produce. If you’re trying to avoid cannibalism, don’t look into hunting your own meat unless you’re really, really into hunting—and it doesn’t hurt to be an adrenaline junkie.

#anonymous #ask

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fuckmehoney · 4 years

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@lovemewarm - summer camp

Standing there in his white shirt and green camp shorts, he felt naked. (Dean didn’t DO shorts.) So it was out of humility that when his shrimp of a room mate walked in on him at his most vulnerable he spat out, “What are you, like 8 years old?” Shit, he thought, or maybe said out loud as he sent his backpack as far under the bed as he could and pushed passed the other boy.

“Bottom bunks mine,” he barely got out before the screen cabin door shut behind him as he left. Unbelievable. He knew this camp was filled with kids, but what the hell were him and this bright eyed toddler going to fill time in between activities with? Hopefully the dorm could just be ignored until after this kid’s asleep. When is bedtime for children these days? 5pm? 3am? He’s never had one unless John brings someone home, in which case he lays in his bed pretending not to hear. Definitely not sleeping. And definitely not noticing that it’s not always women he’s hearing. Dean’s got this. Just gotta find something to….. he scans the camp. There’s some kind of archery happening. That looks.. interesting, he guesses. The cafeteria is always an option. But it’s the glimmering lake that catches his eye. Kids, teens, and counselors alike in and around the thing, but it’s hot out here. Like sitting in the impala, top up in 98 degrees, wonder if John’s EVER coming back out of the gas station convenient store hot. And what he wouldn’t give in all those moments to just be somewhere, anywhere else. A basically personal pool? It doesn’t get much better for him that right now. Okay fuck it, he’s getting in. Pulling off his green cuffed shirt (he actually kind of likes, ngl. It falls nicely on his frame) he can feel the looks he gets. He likes attention, he can’t pretend not to. He’s just never gotten so much of it at the same time from people around his own age. He catches the eye of a counselor boy who seems to be the last pair of eyes on him after the others abashedly looked away. There was a challenge in his eye that he’s only seen before in girls. But.. he’s reading this wrong. He’s the counselor anyway, there to watch over them it’s his job to look, right? The cool lake water took away any thoughts of the boy. Or any of the others. He float on his back relishing the feel on his skin. In a couple hours time the sun was sure to heat the water, muddy brown and smelling of summer time in a way that Dean was familiar with. This is where he would spend the majority of his time, he knew. His previous anxieties melted away as he stared at the clouds floating away behind the trees. This is his summer, what is he WASTING it being mad at John for? Hell, maybe him and the lanky baby will even become friends. Keep in touch for years to come… He actually laughed out load at the completion of this thought. Threw off his back stroke, he laughed so hard actually. Came up spitting water. He dove under to take a full swim, letting the pressing feeling of the water surrounding him wake him up to this new life he was living. I can be anyone here, he thought. Be anyone.

Presumably Dead Arm - Sidney Gish

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Both of Sam’s shoulders jumped a little when the other boy rushed past him. He was scared the other was gonna try to rush him, but luckily he just left.

And the door slammed shut, and Sam let himself relax once more. He stared down at the floorboards and breathed a little harder than he had been before. It was as though the sudden hammering of his heart demanded more oxygen in his lungs, or else everything would collapse inside his body.

He even had to part his lips. But eventually the breathing slowed down and he was able to look forward again. Swallowing hard, he moved towards the bunk bed, eyeing the top one and then the bottom one. He wasn’t even sure which one he preferred yet.

He dropped his bags beside him. He was frowning and staring at the comforter that covered his roommate’s bed. The other boy hated him and he felt like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to his innards.

Sam was too scared to talk to the popular kids in his class back home. What was he gonna do now that he was stuck sleeping on top of one? He bit his lower lip and decided to go talk to one of the camp counselors about what had happened.

As he tossed his bags up on top of his bed he remembered last year how Joey had tattled on Ashley for kissing Johnny and everyone hated Joey for it. Sam sighed and dropped his head forward, getting even more annoyed when his brushy brown bangs fell forward into his eyes the way they always did.

He couldn’t tell on the other boy.

Instead he climbed up onto his bed and rummaged through his backup for his plushie, which he held onto while he laid down for a nap because the thought of being around anyone else felt far too overwhelming for him.

(Presumably Dead Arm - Sidney Gishyeah dude same thing )

#why can't I just reblog like a normal person.#just let be extra I guess #I wanna keep it organized so we can post it on ao3 later tho #p. summer camp #at first I tagged this as pumpkin implied bc I just can't get enough implications

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taexual · 5 years

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HOLIC - 38 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: mostly angst

words: 4.3k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

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The ride back home was quiet. This time, the road wasn’t quite as empty – and it was daytime – so Jaebum didn’t need you to keep him awake, which worked out in your favor because, while his mind was buzzing with joy, yours was foggy with dread and you wouldn’t have been able to hold a conversation even if you’d tried. So, instead, you tried to sleep but the wheels inside of your mind would not stop turning and you ended up spending nearly the entire ride back home half-laying on the passenger seat, clutching your knees to your chest – however big of a safety hazard that was – until you couldn’t feel your legs anymore.

If Jaebum minded your lack of talking, he didn’t show it and instead continued to hum along whichever song played on the radio. The sound was soothing but your heart still sunk whenever your mind gave you a reality check, crudely reminding you that you wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of your life in this car where nothing ever seemed to go wrong – and if it did go wrong, like the time you’d gotten lost, is till found a way to work out for the better. Eventually, you’d be back in your apartment. You’d have to make a decision about your future. You’d have to find enough strength to fight your fear and decide if you preferred to watch Jaebum’s career take off on the sidelines, or if you wanted to achieve success at the same time as him.

Funnily enough, the more your mind tortured you, the faster the drive turned out to be, and Jaebum was suddenly pulling into the parking lot of your building as one of his hands came to rest on your leg.

“We’re here,” he whispered gently, unsure if you were awake. “Should I keep the engine running so you can continue to nap here? Because, no offense, but I’m not carrying you all these flights of stairs with our elevator not working—”

“I’m awake,” you spoke, your voice groggy. You glared at him once you opened your eyes. “You’re a real romantic.”

Jaebum grinned. “So I’ve been told. You feeling alright?”

“Sure,” you replied with a sigh, momentarily forgetting the front you’ve been putting up ever since you left Jiho’s gallery. “Just tired.”

Now that the original excitement of the moment he’d received the good news from Jackson had passed, Jaebum’s usual perception was back and he could tell right away that you weren’t being completely honest – for one, you didn’t look him in the eye and, what’s more, your eyebrows were crinkled as though you’d spent the entire six-hour ride back home attempting to apply Einstein’s theory of relativity to some kind of astrophysical realms far beyond his imagination; also, your eyes were red even though you’d kept them closed all this time – but he decided not to push because, even though it was obvious that you were keeping something from him, he could also see that you’d meant it when you said you were tired.

“Okay,” he said, undoing his seatbelt and then helping you undo yours. “Let’s go home and sleep there.”

Sleeping, however, was not what you did once you were back in the apartment. Your mind was still hazy with doubts and uncertainty about your future – by all means, you did look like you needed to sleep for, at least, a week to recover from this trip – but Jaebum was extremely alert as he kept checking his phone every three seconds, only allowing himself to yawn when he was sure that he had no new notifications. You knew exactly why he was fidgeting so much.

“Go,” you told him after you’d changed into sweats and saw him still very much immersed in his phone in the kitchen. “Jackson is probably waiting for you.”

“He isn’t,” Jaebum replied with a sigh, putting his phone down on the island in front of him. “He hasn’t been replying to me since we got back to the city.”

“That’s just twenty minutes, then,” you said, watching him take a deep breath and then, very ceremoniously start pacing around the kitchen island.

“Yeah. Plenty of time for him to occupy himself with something else. Something more exciting than… this,” Jaebum gestured his hands around vaguely.

You shook your head. “What could he possibly find more exciting that his best friend’s big break?”

“Jackson? Anything once the initial excitement dies off,” Jaebum replied. “I mean, he’s one of my closest friends, but, I swear, the guy has the attention span of a squirrel. He’s probably off at some party already, his phone long forgotten.”

For a moment, you could not understand why your heart seemed to perk up at the mention of a party. And then you were struck with the bitter recollection of the conversation Jaebum had had on his phone at the convenience store of the gas station last night.

You squinted your eyes, asking carefully, “does Jackson know Cassie?”

“Cass—why?” Jaebum stopped moving. He realized the answer to his own question a second later. “Oh. No. I-I mean, he does. They were friends, too. Well, sort of. But no. He’s not there. T-that party is on a whole different level for us now. Even for Jackson.”

“Right,” you said, swallowing. The party didn’t seem like such a huge deal when you were hundreds of kilometers away from it but now that you were back in the city – and Jaebum’s friend was suddenly MIA – you were starting to grow more worried about it. “Maybe the sound of his phone is off. Or maybe he’s doing something important. I’m sure he’ll get back to you soon.”

Jaebum nodded, allowing your words to comfort him because he could still recognize the traces of exhaustion on your face. “You should go get some sleep.”

“How can I sleep when you’re this close to filing a missing person’s report on Jackson?” you teased, hoping that the playful jab will take the attention off of the evergrowing pile of anxiety on your shoulders. You were probably slouching already, the weight of your worries getting too much.

“Sure, make fun of me,” Jaebum said, finally sitting down on a stool nearby and then – seemingly inconscpicuously – nodding his head towards the stool opposite him, across the island. Your designated spot. “I’d really lose my mind if you weren’t here. Oh—I realize how selfish that sounds now that I’ve said it—”

“No,” you cut him off, sitting down. “I like to be useful. Talk to me about what you want your first album to be like. Distract yourself from waiting.”

What you were really hoping for – in a way that certainly was selfish – wasn’t just for Jaebum to momentarily forget that Jackson was ignoring him – although that would surely be beneficial for your poor neighbors downstairs who have had to listen to your creaking floorboards make noise non-stop since you’ve returned to the apartment – but also for yourself to forget the stupid party that Jaebum’s ex-girlfriend was essentially throwing for him, and the stupid interview at the gallery where Jiho’s stupid face showed up with his stupid offer that your stupid life depended on.

The whole situation you were in was stupid but then Jaebum sighed with a shake of his head and you saw the first glints of smile on his face, and, suddenly, the weight on your shoulders got lighter. That was his specialty, you’ve learned – Jaebum was the only person able to teleport you into a different reality, leaving your anxiety behind, with just one smile.

“I’m not sure if it’s going to work,” he said then, but the same yearning smile was still on his face, “since I would, basically, still be talking about the very thing I’m supposed to distract myself from.”

“Yeah, but you’d be looking at it from a different perspective,” you disagreed. “Hopeful instead of desperate. So, come on. Tell me. Are you going to return to your rapper roots, maybe include some diss tracks?”

Jaebum laughed, shaking his head. “No. The only song remotely close to a diss track that might make it to the album is “Don’t Touch Me.””

“Hey, that’s a start!” you clapped your hands supportively and Jaebum laughed. Finally. “Have you thought of any titles? First name usually works well for debut albums – I can just see it on the shelf at our local grocery store, “Im Jaebum by Im Jaebum: buy one get one free.””

He was laughing again. “Are you saying my albums will sell so bad, they’ll have to put it on sale to get rid of the remaining copies?”

“No, I’m predicting that you’ll be releasing new albums so fast, the salespeople will have no choice but to put them on discount or else every music section at every store will only feature your works,” you replied. “Although, now that I think of it, that doesn’t sound so bad. Imagine all the money you’ll make.”

“I’m not in it for the money,” he reminded you.

“No, I know that. But, still, imagine,” you said and then added teasingly, “maybe you’ll even earn enough to pay me back for enduring you for so long.”

“Hey!” Jaebum shot back, “this was going so well and you just had to ruin everything.”

“I can’t keep stroking your ego,” you explained, “God knows it’s already big enough.”

“Oh, big enough,” he repeated, his mind suddenly elsewhere. “I see. What else is big about me, I wonder?”

You squinted your eyes, reading through him but refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Hmm,” you pretended to think, leaning on your elbows. “I can’t seem to come up with anything else, to be honest. That must be it.”

Jaebum watched you for a moment, his own eyes narrow and glistening. Then, he shook his head and warned you with a dead-serious expression, “you’re going to get it one of these days.”

“Oh, exciting,” you said. “What am I going to get?”

“You—” the buzzing of his phone interrupted what was undoubtedly going to be a very witty response and Jaebum lunged to pick the device up from where he’d left it before he sat down.

You watched him read the message and then turn to face you with wide eyes.

“It’s Jackson,” he said. “He wants to meet me and discuss everything in person.”

“Well, go, then!” you said, waving your hand in the direction of the front door of the apartment. You weren’t sure if Jaebum really needed your encouragement – he did, actually – because he looked like his mind was already in Jackson’s studio even if his body was still here. “Let me know how it goes when you’re back.”

“I will,” he said, not forgetting to kiss you before darting for the door – and then backing up again one more time. “I want to take you with me. But you need to get some proper sleep. Your eyes are bloodshot.”

You hadn’t realized your eyes were red but, as soon as he’d mentioned it, you started to feel the stinging sensation behind your eyelids every time you blinked. Your eyes must have been unusually dry and yet you were so preoccupied with your mind, you’d completely ignored the physical signals your body was sending.

“I’ll be waiting for you here,” you said, your smile letting him know how much you appreciated him wanting you to come with. “Don’t take too long, though, or I’ll fall asleep.”

“Never,” he promised and, after nodding his head in the general direction of your—or his; it was hard to tell —bedroom, he disappeared into the hallway.

You only dared to release the breath you’d been holding when you heard the front door close. Debating what you should do – stay in the kitchen and stare at the empty living room area ahead, or return to your room and stare at the walls of your empty bedroom instead – you toyed with the corner of the countertop of the kitchen island. Now that you were alone in the apartment, everything you’d kept inside was suddenly rushing to the surface and you realized you weren’t going to be able to keep sitting still for much longer.

You needed something to occupy yourself with, so you went to take a shower and purposefully played loud music to drown out your thoughts. It helped for the first few songs – because you could sing along under your breath – but then your playlist decided to introduce you to some new – melancholic, of course – music you’ve never listened to before and, immediately, you found yourself standing in the shower, with your head down, the water pouring on your hair and sliding down your shoulders in nervous dribbles. It would have looked comically dramatic had you been watching yourself from afar.

Once you managed to clear your head by turning the knobs until the water was scalding hot and your skin was rapidly reddening, you finally started to feel less like you were outside of your own body. The steam in the shower cabin made it difficult to breathe, however, so you didn’t stay in the cabin for too long.

The damp warmth inside of the bathroom itself, as well as the fogged up glass door of the shower and the mirror above the sink reminded you too much of Jaebum’s car on the night before your interview, and you felt your mind drift back to the trip whether you liked it or not. There really wasn’t much that could distract you from it.

After you stepped out of the shower and wrapped your hair in a towel, throwing a robe on your body, you opened the door of the bathroom to let some cold air in, and then leaned against the sink with your hip, grabbing your phone to pause the music.

You needed silence as you braced yourself for what you were about to do.

You hadn’t really taken the shower to come up with a definite decision, regarding Jiho’s proposal. The decision what to do had come to you even before you entered the shower – although, truthfully, being closed up in a small space, surrounded by water and steam, did work as a great stimulant for your mind – and if you had to pinpoint the exact moment that triggered you to reach a decision, you’d say it was the sound of the door closing as Jaebum walked out to meet up with Jackson, a lengthy discussion about his future awaiting him.

You wanted to close that door, too. You wanted that future, too.

And, as you typed the text message on your phone, you figured that maybe you didn’t need to make the ultimate decision right now. Agreeing to a meeting with Jiho when he’s back here in the city would only mean you’re giving him another chance to convince you to do this but you weren’t going to give him a guarantee you’d say yes. You thought Jiho was smart enough to realize that himself but he probably also expected you to be smart enough to understand that this was your last chance.

If you had him adjust his schedule to make some time for seeing you and then ended up saying no, he wouldn’t offer again.

Depending on which angle you looked at this from, it could be both good and bad. Good because you didn’t want to associate yourself with Jiho anyway and, surely, his pride wouldn’t allow him to pursue you professionally – or in any other way, to be honest – any further. But also bad because this was your only opportunity to have an exhibition of your own.

Then, just as you started to think that you might have to find a different way to get yourself known in the photography world because Jiho didn’t answer your text for, at least, twenty minutes – so this was what Jaebum must have felt like in your kitchen earlier – he finally got back to you.

And he wanted to know if you were free to meet him for lunch this Tuesday.

Exhaling slowly, you left the bathroom and headed to your bedroom instead. Jiho was, apparently, still visiting the city every Tuesday, and that felt like an overwhelming reminder of all the Tuesdays you’d already spent seeing him or avoiding to see him. The bathroom suddenly felt like it was too public to agree to meet up with him again. You felt like you needed to be all by yourself as you texted him back – as if you were doing something that you’d have been embarrassed if caught – but you couldn’t find that privacy in your bedroom, either.

Since crawling inside of yourself, hiding in the deepest pit of your soul, and pressing the dreadful “O” and “K” on your keyboard wasn’t possible, you sat down on your bed, straightened your position, fruitlessly tried to convince yourself that you weren’t doing anything wrong, and then agreed to spend the rest of the weekend dreading the upcoming Tuesday.

Jaebum returned home a few hours later when you were still in your bedroom, sitting in the corner of your bed closest to the wall, your hoodie snug around your body, the hood hiding your hair and providing the perfect acoustics for the music in your earphones. You’d tried to sleep – the sitting position obviously wasn’t the smartest choice but every time you lied down and relaxed your mind, you kept imagining the argument you’d get into with Jaebum after you would tell him about Jiho, so you chose to remain seated – so the music wasn’t very loud and that was why Jaebum didn’t scare you when he entered your bedroom, his bright smile illuminating your room.

You unhooked the straps of your hood from below your chin and took the hood off, followed by the earphones.

“Did it go well?” you asked pointlessly as you clocked the bottle of champagne in his hands. The golden bottle of MOËT complimented his million-dollar smile very nicely. “It better, because that thing in your hand costs more than the most expensive pair of shoes I own.”

Jaebum laughed, sitting on your bed next to you and throwing his shoulders back as he took a deep breath, sorting his thoughts and placing the bottle of champagne on the floor next to your bed.

“Jackson agreed on a meeting with the agency,” he announced. Just as your eyes widened in surprise and your hands already extended to engulf him in a congratulatory hug, he added, “this Tuesday.”

Your heart seemed to drop to your very toes as you paused, your mind nearly going into overdrive as it reached a dreadful conclusion: you were seeing Jiho this Tuesday as well, and that meant you and Jaebum only had three days left before the familiar and comfortable road of your lives would lead you to enter the dangerous, unknown woods ahead. You weren’t sure if those woods were truly there or if they were just a mirage – a figment of your overactive, overly ambitious imagination – but now you were halfway there, and if they weren’t actually real, they surely felt like they were.

Either way, both of your lives were changing this Tuesday.

“That’s so soon,” you pointed out, only allowing yourself half a moment of shock before throwing your arms around his neck and feeling his chest rumble as he laughed in relief – he’d noticed the apprehension in your eyes – hugging you back. “I’m so happy for you. You’ve worked so hard.”

“So have you,” he whispered into your hair. His voice was elated and you knew immediately that you couldn’t tell him about Jiho and risk staining the pure—beautiful—shade of joy on his face. “Can you believe how far we’ve come?”

You couldn’t. Everything stopped feeling real when you’d left your apartment yesterday. It was as if you got into Jaebum’s car to drive to the gallery and ended up driving right into a different reality instead. It may not have snowed ash here but your current state of mind felt just as inescapable as Silent Hill.

“For what it’s worth coming from me,” you said, “I’m proud of you.”

Jaebum pulled away. “What do you mean? It’s worth everything coming from you. You’re the person I’m most excited and most afraid to play my music to.”

“Well, I was always proud of you,” you said, afraid to sound awkward but plunging ahead anyway because your heart had started to beat too loud for you to hear your thoughts and form coherent sentences. “It just feels like it’d be more meaningful if the people who never expected much from you were the ones saying these words—”

“Fuck those people,” he cut you off with a swift shake of his head. “I’m not doing this to make them proud. I don’t care what they think about me now. I care what my friends think, the ones who have always been there for me. I care what my mom thinks; she was the first one who read my lyrics even though I wasn’t ready for her to read them yet. But I care what you think most of all because, although “Don’t Touch Me” is out there for everyone to listen, you’re the only one who knows what it’s really about.”

Before you and Jaebum had come clean about your feelings to each other – even if it was as vague as possible because you two lived off of all that wasn’t spoken out loud – you had speculated and doubted if his heart beat the same way yours did. You’d completely disregarded every instance when Jaebum excluded you from everyone else in his life, proving that he had feelings for you even when you thought that wasn’t possible, because none of it seemed believable and, instead, everything seemed too good to be true.

The most prominent instance proving that he never hated you as much as he may have lead you to believe at the beginning of your relationship, was his confession about Suji. He’d told you that you were one of the few – one of the two – people who knew this many details about his relationship with her.

“Mark knows,” you said out loud, after a few prolonged moments of silence.

“Mark knows about Suji,” Jaebum clarified, “he literally saw me go through that relationship. Jackson saw me write about it. But you saw me survive it. Not just that, y-you—you survived it with me,” he looked down, tracing the floral pattern of your bedsheet with the tip of his index finger. “So, yeah, Mark does know, I guess. And Jackson figured out plenty, too. Jinyoung and the others – they’ve caught glimpses. They understand what I’m singing about in that song, it’s not hard to figure that out. But you’re the only one who knows the meaning of every word of the song. You know it so well, really, it’s as if you wrote it yourself. And, in fact, the song probably wouldn’t have been much different if you had written it because, by the time Suji resurfaced, it wasn’t just my life she had reappeared in. It—it was our life.”

You swallowed with great difficulty, recalling his previous confession about the precise moment when he’d started to have feelings for you. You knew nothing of these feelings when you saw Suji for the first time in the kitchen right outside of your bedroom. You didn’t know that the gorgeous girl, fitting right in at your apartment as if she was the one living here, would turn out to be the central figure of both of your lives. You didn’t know that, fueled by your mutual hatred for her, you and him would, bit by bit, come to terms with your budding feelings for each other until one day, you’d be sitting on your bed, holding one another in your arms, a bottle of champagne awaiting you as you celebrated another milestone together.

But you knew it all now. Even though you and Jaebum were as far from an actual relationship as two people could be at that time, Suji didn’t just show up to wreak havoc for him because he wasn’t hers to control. He wasn’t alone anymore. He hadn’t been alone since you walked out of your bedroom on your first night here, expecting to see your female roommate return home from her errands, and, by a hilarious coincidence, seeing the missing piece of your soul instead.

“What do you want me to do?” you asked.

Jaebum blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“I—it sounds like you’re saying all of that because you want to get something from me,” you explained lamely, your cheeks suddenly hot.

He laughed. “What? No. I’m just say—okay, I do want something from you.”

“What is it? Careful, though. I’d give you anything and, at this point, I’m afraid I can’t tell the right from wrong,” you said, unsure if you were swearing to do so much for him because you were so grateful for all that he had told you or because you felt guilty about the things you hadn’t told him. “So please don’t ask me to kill for you because I will.”

“No. I don’t want much,” he shook his head, chuckling still. There was a heaviness in his chest – the same kind that always gathered there whenever he remembered his earlier life or whenever he allowed himself to imagine how different everything would have been if he hadn’t met you. “I just want you to be with me through whatever the hell we’re about to get ourselves into and then after.”

You took his hand into yours and nodded, tasting blood inside of your mouth as you promised, “I’m with you.”

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