#jean watches better call saul

[naivety]

lacho power dynamics are like. what if the one who's doing the lying and seducing and betrayal is also at the complete mercy of the one who's betrayed. and i am irreversibly normal about it forever

[purplelupins]

Salvador

|Better Call Saul|

Part I Part II

Lalo Salamanca/Fem!reader

Word count: 16k

Summery: Reader just wanted a fresh start, but when she starts working in a care home, it seemed that she bit off more than she could chew when she meets a member of her clients family.

Warnings: slow burn, age gap, manipulation, intimidation, violence (see note), smut (p in v), fingering, degradation and praise, edging, pet names (niña, niñita, princesita, Cariño, Ratoncito) Spanish (have a translator ready), papi kink, Lalo kinda comes with his own warnings, I’m not an electrician or doctor

MINORS DNI I AM NOT GOING TO ASK AGAIN

Notes: this part contains detailed violence (domestic violence, gun shots, talking about death), and smut.

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Lalo sat in his car watching that laundry facility like it was a ticking time bomb. Indeed it was his time bomb and he would be there when it went off. It was only a matter of time before he confirmed his theory. He knew that crisp Mr. Fring was hiding something fantastical behind his trustworthy, efficient methods. And when that moment came, and the bomb exploded…Lalo would bask in the heat of its flames on his cheeks-

The obnoxious ringing of his phone snapped his focus in half. The little screen sat illuminated as it continued on its insistent noise. Lalo stared at it, and was about yo snap it shut, and fling it into the back seat until he saw the number; his eye twitched.

He knew exactly who it was.

They hadn’t called him during watch hours for months.

The older man calmly answered it, and held it to his ear, and waited.

It wasn’t a full minute that had passed when Lalo hung up the phone, and was peeling out of his watchpoint fast enough to leave two black tire marks.

There was no doubt that he could have simply told his uncle’s men to deal with it; to dismiss whatever was transpiring and move on, not caring if you were alright or what you were going through.

Then he could have moved on with monitoring the facility.

Easy.

But there was something that ignited inside Lalo when his tio’s guy recounted what had happened. He knew he shouldn’t give a rats ass about going there himself- that was why he had those men there. Lalo could feel that awareness eat at him as he sped through the city, but he crushed it down. There were very few thoughts in his head as he drove, and questioning why he was doing what he was doing, and psychoanalyzing himself was not one of them. He never questioned himself, not really; he just…did.

Lalo pulled in outside your shitty building, and didn’t wait for the men to speak as they joined him on the sidewalk. He took a look up at your window, and felt his left hand twitch when he saw the dim light.

“No entres hasta que yo te lo diga, ¿entendido?” He rumbled, not taking his eyes off the window as he turned and began striding up to the building. The men stayed behind, just as he said. Lalo reached into the back of his jeans with one hand and into his pock with the other, pulling out his pistol and silencer. The metal pieces rolled together easily in his hands; just as seamlessly as he hid his gun, and smiled charmingly at an old lady as she held the door open for him as she took her little dog out for a pee. It was so dark she didn’t see how dead his eyes were. How his soul was leaving them with each passing second.

Lalo began planning his next few moves depending on what was occurring inside your apartment. Were you a plant from another cartel and this was your handler? Were you law enforcement undercover? The older man simultaneously thought over each possibility.

He took the flight of stairs up to your floor, and quieted his footsteps as soon as his eyes fell upon your door. Lalo had stood there once before weeks ago, gun in hand just as it was now…but he had left after just a moment. Killing you wasn’t worth it.

Once he was outside your apartment, he leaned in, and listened.

There was a raised voice inside. An angry one at that too. And a cry.

Lalo didn’t dwell on what it was saying or who it might be; he raised his foot and kicked right next to the lock on the door. It burst open. The older man took three strides inside as the door bounced off the wall as he surveyed and took in the scene before him. His eyes flicked from detail to detail rapidly, piecing everything together in seconds.

The lamp you used was kicked over and partially broken- only the lightbulb was intact, and partially at that. In the low light, he could still see that you were curled up against a wall; broken objects, scuff marks and blood around you and behind you. You were sobbing…shaking. Your hands were over head, arms in front of your knees…bruised and bloody.

There was indeed a man there, just as Hector’s men had said. He was standing over you with his back to the door, words spewing from his mouth at you. His shadow ate your little form up.

The man had begun to turn towards Lalo as he walked into the apartment, but his fate was sealed as soon as Lalo saw his bloody knuckles.

Your blood.

Lalo didn’t stop to ask any questions or make a snark comment before he emptied his gun’s clip into the man’s body. The bullets shredded his flesh, spattering blood as the metal existed his back. Lalo didn’t lower his gun until the man began to crumble to the floor, and he watched despondently as blood started pooling around him. It began to fill each little crack and groove in the wooden floor.

There was a beat of silence following the last shot before Lalo pulled his phone from his pocket.

It only rang once.

“Hecho.” He muttered, then hung up.

Then as he slipped his phone back into his pocket…he saw you.

Actually saw you.

Lalo let his gaze wander over your shaking form. You resembled more of a stray animal than a young woman covered in blood. Your knuckles were white from how tightly your were holding your head. He watched the man’s blood that had spattered onto you mix with your own from the wounds he had inflicted. Then, once the noise faded away, and there was no movement, you began to unfurl. Your arms came down jerkily, and you tentatively rose your head up to see what had happened; you eyes were wide, and puffy. Cheeks flushed against your blanched skin.

His hand twitched.

Your dazed eyes slowly refocused. It took a moment before you followed the edge of the pool of blood to the body now laying on the floor; limp and cold. Lalo could visibly see the scene in front of you settle in your mind while you unclamped your legs from your chest. You slowly got to your knees, eyes still trained on the body, and sat there. The older man didn’t move an inch as he watched you; he was fascinated. He realized this must have been your first time seeing a dead body.

He felt honoured.

You didn’t cry, or scream, or cower in fear. You just looked.

It was as if you were in a trance as you finally rose to your feet; your eyes void of any emotion, mouth in a plain line. Indifferent. Analytical.

Lalo might have been a man of many words, but as you took a few difficult steps towards the body, the older man chose to observe you silently.

For the first time since your door had been slammed in your face that evening, your eyes weren’t hazy. You walked to the edge of the pool of blood, and stared down at the body. He looked so human…so much less of a devil than he had when he was alive. This man who had been nothing but a living nightmare for you was…gone. In a matter of three seconds, he was completely gone.

You didn’t know how he had found you… or why. You tried to remember the moment you had first seen him, but he had some so much damage to you over your relationship that you couldn’t recall your first date. Couldn’t recall a lot in fact.

You took another step forward and stood in the blood of your ex-boyfriend. Then as the warm liquid slipped between your toes, something in you completely snapped. Broke.

You were flooded with the first memory you had of blood. You had scraped you knee and someone kissed it better…told you it would be alright and to keep playing. You remembered how smiling used to be so easy and not an invitation for people to think you were soft or easy. You remembered that girl who grew up and saw the best in people. Who had her likes and dislikes and didn’t base her personality on whatever someone wanted to see. You remembered her. And you remembered how he erased her. How he told her that he would keep her safe, but he betrayed that trust at every turn with a perfect lie or justification to draw her back in.

The blood surrounded your feet. Your eyes slowly sharpened, and without another thought, you rose your leg up and delivered a form kick to your ex’s limp side, shoving him a foot across the floor.

He looked so small now…so insignificant…and you felt the fear you had of him melt away, and hate take its place. Resentment, frustration, sadness…it all flooded in.

So you kicked him again.

You still hadn’t fully registered Lalo’s presence, and he was content with staying a part of the background as you began to show him this hidden part of you. Vicious. Vindictive. The parts of him that only the very unlucky saw- it was spectacular to see them mirrored back to him.

You were ruthless.

You kicked the body again, and again and again until he was shoved a few feet from where he had fallen, and there was a streak of blood in his wake. Tears began to stream down your cheeks and your skin felt as if it was burning. It was overwhelming as you beat him with every bit of energy you had left.

A pressure began to build in your chest, and you half wondered if you were going to throw up or pass out from how much you were feeling all at once, but then words formed on your tongue and you let them out.

“You SON OF A BITCH, YOU FUCKING RUINED ME.” Your broken cry filled the apartment, and Lalo’s eye twitched slightly at your raised voice. You were letting go. You were in a frenzy; overtaken by everything you never let yourself say or feel, “I don’t even know WHO THE FUCK I AM ANYMORE! YOU’RE BETTER DEAD YOU ROTTING FUCKER-“ you kicked and stomped and kicked again and again, even when your feet hurt. A snap sounded through the apartment but you were too far gone to realize it was his ribs snapping and caving in.

Blind rage had overtaken you. You couldn’t think as you continued your assault.

You didn’t see Lalo move- too focused on the body under you to notice him until a pair of strong hands grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from the body- bloody footprints on the floor from where you staggered back.

“Okay, I think you got him.” Lalo laughed as he hauled you away.

But your adrenaline was still raging through in you. Regardless of his thick arms locked around you, you started squirming in his hold. Anger fuelled you and you fought to try and get back to the body. Needing to hurt him as much as he hurt you, but Lalo secured his arms around you better, and hoisted you away from your living room and into your small kitchen.

But still, you couldn’t think. All you knew was that someone was stopping you from getting back at the person who had destroyed you. It didn’t matter that it was Lalo Salamanca who was doing it, you didn’t even know it was him; he was just arms and a voice and you needed him to let you go.

Without thinking, you spun in his tight hold and hit him.

A smack right on his cheek.

Then all at once, you saw him.

The sting on the palm of your hand seemed to wake you up, and as Lalo dropped his arms to his sides, you saw exactly who had fired that gun…who had picked you up…who you had hit.

His grey curl hung over his forehead, and his mouth sat in a line under his neat moustache.

You might have been horribly startled by his stony face…but it was his eyes that made you keep from asking for forgiveness.

They were black, and they glittered in the low light.

But they weren’t furious.

There was a moment of silence that stretched for far longer that you knew how to measure; he was processing you. You and the smack.

“Again.”

You blinked, having not been sure if you had heard him correctly or if he had even spoken or if you had imagined it all. And evidently you weren’t functioning fast enough for Lalo’s liking.

The older man broke into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he stared you down, “Okay, how about I put on his shirt and we play pretend-“

Smack.

You hit him again.

He smiled a little wider, “There she goes c’mon.” He goaded you.

So you did.

Smack.

Then it was like a dam broke. You started beating on him. You jabbed and punched and shoved and slapped his chest, and arms, and stomach. You hit him like your life depended on it. You hit him until your arms hurt more than your heart.

And the entire time, he didn’t move an inch; the man was sturdy enough that you weren’t doing any real damage to him. Even when four men he had called walked into the apartment and began breaking the body down, he didn’t say a word. He shot them a look that was more terrifying than a loaded gun to the balls, but that was it. He let you have your moment. And it was likely for the best- watching a man get sawed into pieces and bagged up was not an easy sight to behold.

It was only when he decided the men were taking too long that he slowly retrieved his gun from the back of his jeans and calmly pointed it at them without taking his eyes off you. They scampered out within minutes; just a drying puddle of blood left behind.

You didn’t even know how you were still moving your arms anymore. It was pure adrenaline fuelling you. Slowly your mind began to go hazy and dim…the extreme emotions slowly leaving you.

Then, you felt your arms stop responding as your wrists were restrained. You blinked and looked up from where you had been targeting, and were met with those onyx eyes.

They were locked on you- following your every twitch and move.

“Enough.”

His voice was a rumble that made your head light.

There was no smile on Lalo’s face, no mirth. He was focused and you couldn’t bring yourself to even breathe properly lest it make you move too much. A drop of dread fell from the base of your skull down to your toes and settled into the soles of your feet. You felt cold.

Then, the older man took a single step forward that made you stumble a little but you only looked away from him for a moment as you recovered. He took another, propelling you with him as he backed you against the wall between your livingroom and your kitchen. Your skin suddenly felt far too warm, and it tingled like pins and needles.

Lalo weighed your soul; his heavy gaze had you in shackles and you were helpless to try and get away from it. You had yet to see this amount of intensity from the man, and you were certain that he was preparing to end you. That he would take that pistol back out and fire a new hole into your head.

But the longer you stood there, the calmer you got- much to your surprise. You were still on edge, but your breathing came easier, and you let your gaze flick between his eyes, to the lines on his face, to his brows, his moustache, and that grey streak. Lalo pressed against you and the wall dug into your back but still you didn’t move. You let him invade your space and breathe your air, in fact you almost found yourself drawing him a little closer; pulling the wrists he held towards yourself. And to your surprise, you felt him push back, making your chest tight with how much pressure was on it with his weight. You could feel his breathing against you; every inhale and exhale.

His scent intoxicated you, as did his warmth. It made you forget how afraid you were, and lulled you. You could feel your heart just about beat out of your chest. However despite your sense of calm, you wouldn’t help but feel as if he was just a very cunning predatory making sure his prey wasn’t afraid before he pounced; making sure the meat wasn’t spoiled.

But then, a charming smile took over his face, and just like that, it was as if nothing had happened.

“Look what a mess you are! Let’s get you all cleaned, eh?” He chirped and stepped away from you.

You had jumped when he spoke, and felt yourself cool down almost instantly. Perhaps it was something akin to Stockholm syndrome but you felt yourself missing his chest crushing yours.

“Remind me to not get on your bad side,” he said in a jaunty laugh, “Man, you sure know how to knock a guy around. Damn.” Lalo touched his chest where you had been hitting, but didn’t stop smiling. His hands left you, and he began navigating through your apartment easily, like he had been there before. The older man hummed an old tune as he entered your washroom, and began looking through the cupboards; you were about to wonder what he was doing as your brain played catch-up, but you remembered him saying he was going to clean you up…whatever that meant.

Everything still felt so surreal to you. You stared down at your hands, and the flecks of blood there, wondering if any of it had even happened or if you were having a dream. It wasn’t until you blinked a few times and focused on breathing that you remembered that you were still in your less then modest sleep clothes. You looked around for something to cover yourself a little better, but you missed your opportunity when Lalo came striding back to you, perfectly comfortable in the space like it was a Sunday afternoon in his own home.

“Okaay…” he said to himself as he put down the supplies he had grabbed. Just as you looked at the materials, he wordlessly hoisted you up onto your kitchen counter. You gasped a little, but he seemed unbothered as he ignored your squirming and stood between your knees. You watched his large hand grab a wetted cloth and start wiping away at your skin; you were covered in blood and sweat. The older man cleaned you carefully and meticulously; he tutted the split skin and the harsh bruises forming, shaking his head at particularly bad ones. He gave you a scolding look when you nervously held your shirt down when he tried to lift it to inspect your ribs- tilting his head and pursing his mouth as if to chastise you.

So you let him. He was gentlemanly enough to only raise it to look at your torso…making sure nothing was broken. Lucky for you, nothing was. Bruised, yes, but not broken. Regardless of your luck, you forced yourself to ignore how warm his calloused hands were when they pressed down on your ribs. Oddly gentle. Comforting.

Once he deemed you clean enough, Lalo began dragging cotton pads soaked in peroxide over your cuts; he shushed you when the chemical stung too much.

Everything seemed so calm. There was no screaming, no sirens or things being thrown. It was late…and it was quiet. It was just you and him in your small kitchen; it was as if he had blocked out what you had done just a half hour earlier- beating and shoving at him like he was a punching bag.

You found yourself watching him carefully, half expecting him to break the act and snap your ankle as he inspected it, or spit in your face and hold a gun to your temple. But he didn’t even show a slight sign of ill intent. He just continued to bandage you.

There was no doubt in you that you were in deep debt to the Salamancas now. And while you were fairly naive to it, you knew that such a thing was practically a death sentence. Lalo had killed for you whether you wanted him to or not. He had saved you. There was no coming back from that.

Regardless of the weight settling on your shoulders, there was a calmness you felt as his warmth radiated into you from standing so close to you. You could feel his breath on your skin and all you could smell was him; smoke and some kind of spice, and a little tequila or whiskey. It was in his clothes and his skin. Everywhere. His touch was like a brand- scorching your skin.

There was a gash on your arm from where your ex had come at you with a knife; Lalo cleaned the blood away, and pressed down to see how deep it was. You jerked at the pain, but he tsked you and his large hand gripped you tighter, “Ah ah, hold still.” He murmured.

Your eyes flickered over his face, and you worried the inside of your lip, “S-sorry.” You said softly.

A simple but not altogether peaceful silence filled the space as another few minutes passed as he wrapped your arm. The only noise that ended it was the phone in his pocket ringing. You jumped at the sound, while Lalo merely blinked and pulled the device out and held it to his ear as he checked over your face.

The older man brought a hand up to your chin, and tilted your head side to side while inspecting you. You let him, moving your head as he wished.

“Buen.” He rumbled, and you held his gaze, intimidating as it was. Then, he pulled the phone away and snapped it shut before slipping it back into his pocket.

Lalo squinted at a mark on your cheek, and grabbed the cloth again to wipe it.

“Moron beat the shit outta you…” he remarked almost to himself.

You nodded, and smiled a tiny bitter smile as he signed and tossed the closed into the sink; wrappers from bandages and blots of blood on the counter.

“I used to love him…” you whispered, “Turned out to be a real piece of work…” you smiled again, just briefly, in spite of the pain and shock, “He hated life…and life hated him back…” you were just rambling and thinking out loud, but Lalo listened. Perhaps you were boring him a little, but he was curious about exactly who he was dealing with.

You remembered something then, “Did you know he hated Mexican food? Claimed paprika was spicy.”

Lalo gasped and widened his eyes comically. “No! Estoy jodidamente contento de que esté muerto entonces…” he shook his head.

You snorted and laughed dryly, nodding your head.

Then, after a moment, you looked over at the drying blood on the floor. You flinched at the memory of him forcing his way into your home…how horrifying it was to see him so suddenly. But the longer you looked, the less you felt. In you peripheral, you could see Lalo crumpling the bandage wrappers in his hand.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

Lalo looked up at you then, and followed your gaze, but you spoke again before he could reply.

“I-…I think I would have done the same, you know.”

This made him pause for a moment.

“If I- if I found someone threatening you or Hector…and I had a gun…I would have done the same.” You knew they weren’t the words of a completely sane person but you said them anyways.

Lalo laughed, “Big talk for a mouse!” He smiled wolfishly.

You stared back at him. “I mean it.”

You realized that you really did mean it. You knew that somehow you were so far gone that you would let blood get on your hands for them. But somehow that didn’t scare you.

The older man shifted and leaned forward between your knees again- bracing himself on his hands as he placed them on either side of you. He was invading your space again, but you held firm. There was no room left in you for fear. You were exhausted and aching.

“You trying to tell me little ratoncito would kill for a Salamanca?” He had an amused smile on his face, but you noted his emotionless eyes- like he was daring you to take back what you said.

A part of you was telling you to- to say you didn’t mean it and tell him you wouldn’t tell anyone what had transpired there that night. But that part of you was stupid, and you were not stupid. Not that stupid. You knew that was a one way ticket to an early grave, so you nodded your weary head.

“Don’t know how good of a shot I am but it’s the thought that counts right?” Your mouth quirked up a little at your horrible joke. You supposed it was a stress reaction to cope.

And Lalo laughed. A single bark of a laugh. “I am so glad you’re funny ninita.” He wagged his finger at you. His face had been so firm as you explained yourself, that now seeing him smile set you a little at ease. The older man pulled away from breathing your air and walked to the sink to wash his hands,“Now what are we going to do about this?” He asked casually.

His question was simple, but it made your heart thump hard. “About?” You asked.

Lalo looked brightly at you as he dried his hands. “You want to say thank you to me, sì?”

You stared at him and you knew there was only one answer. “Of course.” You said.

Lalo smiled. “Esa es mi chica.”

He grabbed one of the two chairs from your small table, and turned it around for him to sit. He spread his knees and leaned forward onto them as he weighed your existence with those brown eyes of his. There was only the faint tapping of water dripping from the faucet as Lalo regarded you- still sat on your kitchen counter. Bruised and battered. Alive thanks to him.

“That cute stunt you pulled at Los Pollos Hermanos…can you do it again?” He asked, lacing his fingers together in front of him. The picture of ease and calm.

“Yes.” You didn’t miss a beat. You had come to terms with the fact that you would do what you did again if need be a while ago.

“Bigger?” He asked.

Your stomach twisted a little. The idea made you nervous, but you knew you could do it.

“Yes.” You answered.

Lalo smiled again and wagged a finger at you. “Ratoncito loco, lo juro...”

You didn’t return the smile, but your face softened. “I’ve been called worse.” You mused, then looked back down at your hand and the blue bruises turning to purple.

The older man didn’t say anything, but he watched you while you fiddled with a bandage and absentmindedly swung your feet slightly.

He looked at you properly in the dim light of your simple apartment. You weren’t frail per se, but you had a certain exhaustion to you that scratched an itch in Lalo’s mind. A tiredness of the world you knew, of the people around you, of who you had become. Yet in spite of that, there was a firecracker inside you waiting to burst into flame; you had a bite to you, even if it was small. Lalo could work with that.

The blood wasn’t as difficult to get out of your floor as you thought it would be.

Your landlady thankfully didn’t put up too much of an argument when you told her you were leaving and breaking your tenancy. You had a feeling it wasn’t just her being nice.

The motel room you were now living out of wasn’t horrible. The extra couple hundreds Lalo had given you when he told you where to stay helped too. Sure the commute to work was a little longer but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

Your eyes were a little more glazed over at work now. You wondered how much longer you would be there. That night, Lalo had given you a date and time and location for your repayment, and now you were counting down the days. It was only a few, but time seemed to pass so quickly and so slowly simultaneously.

Your instructions were fairly simple, in theory. Make the buildings power short circuit if Lalo didn’t call you by 11:42pm. Following that and your escape, you were to go to new motel, and lay low for a few days until you got more instructions.

That or you assumed someone would show up to clean you up as a lose end.

He didn’t tell you why he give you such a specific time, but you assumed there was some kind of shift change over for security at 11:45pm, and wanted those three minutes to carry out some kind of plan B.

Which was why your knee bounced as you see as t in your car across from some massive laundry facility. As you waited, you scanned over the blueprints to the building that you had managed to get from city hall. Evidently a forced smile had been enough to get the clerk to hand it over, and a pouty lip and claiming to be a stressed collage student with a paper due to let you take it home. Once upon a time you would have wanted to wretch at the thought of having done that, but somehow you found yourself…indifferent. Like a part of your anxiety died that night with your ex.

The service road was dim, and your pulse was working double time.

You checked your watch. It read 11:25pm.

A part of you wondered exactly what was set to happen inside that building, but you assumed it could mean your death if you asked. Somewhere in your gut you knew it was an attempt to destroy that man from Los Pollos…it couldn’t be a coincidence that Lalo had asked you to do exactly what you had done again for someone else when he had been so pleased with seeing that restaurant crumble.

So you gathered what you needed and shoved it into a small pouch, said a prayer, and got out of your car. You knew it was a 50/50 chance of Lalo calling you to stop you, but you needed to be ready. If you were only halfway there when he called it might be a big enough mistake that would cost him his life.

It was a fairly quick trip to the building, albeit a stressful one. The fence surrounding the warehouse was thankfully not electrified, though it was still very uncomfortable to scale. A day previously you had managed to find a low point that would be easier to get back over when you were escaping too.

As you waiter for the rotation of guards to get to their blind point, you leapt up and rolled yourself over the top of the metal fence, landing with a fairly ungrateful thud and a cloud of dust that was thankfully covered by the darkness.

You crouched low, and held onto the strap of your pouch. There were men everywhere watching, but you were small and unassuming in the shadows. You hoped you could channel that inner mouse that Lalo claimed you had, though it was a long shot. With another breath, you pulled your medical mask up over your face’s lower half as you sped from one shadow to another. It was an odd atmosphere there- you felt as if you were walking into Area 51. It was deserted and eerie aside from the security. You might have not been to a laundry processing warehouse before but you sure as shit were certain that this level of security was odd.

You clung to the side of the building; your heart in your ears. Time was on your side for once, as you checked your watch again, and noted that you still had 7 minutes before you potentially had to clip and cross and overload the building’s wiring. Perhaps you spoke a little soon though as you had begun to go a little too fast towards the back of the building and missed getting spotted by a man by a centimetre. The toes of your shoes stuck out of the thin shadow that concealed you, but evidently they weren’t enough to draw the attention of the guard. You thanked god for the emergency ladder beside you for partially hiding you too.

You found the back entrance and worked your way along to find the main control panel. Shadows moved out of the corner of your eye, making your mind play tricks on you, and you felt chills run up and down your spine; then you found it. The panel came into view, and you checked the area around you once more as you opened your bag. There were three thick locks over the latches that opened the door, and you sighed as you looked at them. Your metal tools felt very cold in your hands.

There was no going back now.

You slipped your picking tools inside the first lock, began pressuring the mechanisms inside of the lock. You were still rusty, but your life was on the line, so you didn’t have room for a botched job. After a few minutes, you felt the device click and pop open- relief filled you. It was short lived though when you remembered that you had a maximum of 5 minutes before the next rotation of guards began their way to you.

The thought of getting caught made your hands shake, but not as much as the thought of the Salamancas coming after you. You worked at the next lock and focused on sleeping in a dry motel that night instead of your body being tossed into a shallow grave or left in the desert like some insignificant roadkill.

The second lock popped open after a few moments, and you checked your watch.

11:40pm.

As the time grew closer to when you might need to blow this building's circuits, you felt an odd clarity come over you- tinkering away at the last lock. You might have been in danger. You might have been caught up in a cartel. You might have been alone. You might have been a witness to a murder.

But you weren’t afraid. Disturbed by your possible fate, perhaps, but not afraid. You were exhausted of being afraid all the time.

The lock popped open, and you stared at it calmly.

You have a job to do.

The metal door opened with a screech, and you enhaled deeply when you saw the massive circuit-board and hundreds of fuses, and wires wrapped and bound together. You were certain your ex was calling you a hypocrite from his place Hell.

You checked your watch again.

11:42pm.

You sucked in another breath, and stared at your shaking hands like it might help to stop the tremors. It didn’t.

The silence was heavy around you, and you stood in it for another second before your little alarm went off.

"Okay..." You whispered to yourself. Your mask made your breath feel moist and hot. Your hands took purchase on your wire cutters and pliers, and you stared at some weak points. You wanted the fuses to blow on their own, so you started with flipping off and switches with wires connected that you wanted to clip or mess with. Lights shut off around you, but there was enough for you to see what you were doing as you reworked some of the wire positions, and clipped and tugged. Then once you were satisfied, you took a deep breath and turned every single switch on. For any building, it was t advised for every power-drawer to be on at once if unnecessary…for good reason. There was a low hum that began to emit from the panel. The tampered fuses and wiring forcing more and more strain on other areas so they would start tripping.

A spark startled you. Then another. Then another. You watched the entire panel start to malfunction. Then, there were shouts of panic around the building as a power grid shut off in the lot, which you took that as your cue to run.

With your pliers and white cutters in your bag, you shut the panel door and locked it back up in record time. Then, you faced the fence, and ran.

You didn't care that the lights were shutting down all around you. All you knew was you had instructions, and you were certainly going to follow them. You came to the edge of the front of the building and paused in the shadows as groups of men scattered around the dusty lot. Your heart was racing in your chest, but you could see your car just beyond the light, and you expected some kind of relief to wash over you but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a deep pit forming in your stomach.

Lalo hadnt called you.

Of course you hoped that it was simply because his plan went accordingly and having the cover of darkness and chaos was what he needed and...not that it was because he had been shot and bled out before he could call you. The idea that he might have met the fate that you had dreaded for yourself suddenly made you-

Ring ring ring

You froze.

The quiet ring tone made you scramble to answer your phone before it attracted attention. You pulled it from your jacket and wrenched your mask down to breathe when you saw the number.

His.

The same number he had put on a piece of paper for you a month ago.

A million and a half thoughts went through your head as you stared down at the little screen, but the only one you could focus on was the possibility that Lalo was in trouble. That he needed you.

You hit answer, and held the phone to your ear. "Hello?" You whispered, pressing yourself against the side of the building.

There was a strained breath on the other end. "You busy, princesita?"

You couldn’t breathe. He wasnt supposed to call you. That was never a part of any plan he told you.

"No." You managed to get out, eyes unfocused as you tried to remember the blueprints of the building.

"Mind giving me a hand?" He asked just as carefree as he always was, but you knew better. There was a tightness to his voice. He was hurt. Badly too, if he was calling you.

"Wh-where are you?" You asked, already searching for your flashlight in your bag as another few light grids shut off around you.

"You’re- mierda...You’re gonna come in through the main door, okay? Th-through the door with the window... At the end- ah...end of those washers and shit, theres gonna be a door behind one..." He coughed, and you heard him suck in a breath.

You nodded frantically to yourself as you recalled the drawing of the building. Seems that Chicken man was up bro more than just a restaurant. "Okay, okay I- I remember where that is. I’m coming just- just dont die!" You said in a rush.

"Klah! Me? Never." You heard him say, but you were already flipping the phone shut. Lights were flickering like mad as you began inching around to the front of the building, and your eyes began playing tricks on you as they strained to function in the changing a brightness.

To your luck, the front was almost devoid of security as they all ran to the back or inside. You heard radios going off and yells and orders being barked out, but somehow no one saw you.

You crept along the blue facility until you made it to the door. It sat open, and you didn’t waste any time as you slipped inside past the massive bins.

You were alone. For now.

You clicked on your flashlight and you were indeed surrounded by massive industrial washers. It was admittedly overwhelming, but you forced your brain to focus. You looked at each end of the main walkway of the processing room just as Lalo had told you to, and you noticed that a washer at one end was off kilter. You didn’t have time yo weigh the pros and cons of choosing to investigate it, but when you went to run, the sound of footsteps halted you. You clicked off your flashlight.

"The hell is going on in there- this shits supposed to be secure..." You heard a ma n say, and a grumble from another man. You looked around and ducked behind one of the washers; evidently just in time too as the men passed by you just several feet away.

“Where the hell is Mike?” One asked.

You let out a relieved breath when they didn’t turn around or stop to check on your heavy breathing, but it caught in your throat when you saw the guns in their belts glint in the little light. The very real situation that you had just ran into settled into your mind. That you were in the middle of a very messy cartel issue. Something that even Lalo hadn’t meant for you to get mixed in.

You waited until they left, and it grew quiet again before you flicked your light on again, and made a break for the washer. You hoped to god that you weren't too late in your search.

The amount of sound from your feet was too loud, but you didn’t dare stop. You hoped no one would care in the chaos you had created. The sound of other footsteps began to echo around you and you felt a weight on your chest like you were running from a loaded gun but you didn’t look back.

When you were just feet away, you saw the edge of a hidden door. You internally rejoiced, but it was short-lived when you remembered a man might be dying. You whipped around the corner of it, and followed the route of the stairs down. You didn’t have time to consider you might be going the wrong way, so you clamoured down as fast and quietly as you humanly could. Your feet were surprisingly soundless as you inched along the catwalks and flashed your light here and there along the scaffolding.

*What the hell is this place...*

Your heart was in your throat. You could smell dirt and machinery-

You stopped. A sound caught your ears, and you listened for it again. There- a wheeze.

"S-Señor Lalo?" You whispered, creeping down the steps, flashing your light across the expansive space.

You continued down, down, down until you were at the second to last flight of stairs when you jumped and almost fell back. Your flashlight caught a sight that chilled you.

"Eh…Hola niñita, fancy seeing you here!"

Just a couple feet down from you sat the very man who had called you. Your blood went cold when you saw Lalo laying there on the stairs with blood seeping out of his side and neck where he was pressing down.

"L-Lalo-" You whispered, rooted to the spot. Not even the sight of your ex shot dead had rendered you so motionless.

"Not to rush you princesa, but I’ve felt better." He forced out, glancing down at his side that was getting more saturated with blood by the second.

Your senses suddenly went into hyperdrive, and you almost jumped down the couple steps to crouch at his side. You placed your flashlight into the crook of your neck and held it there with your cheek as you pulled his hand from his jugular. A little relief filled you when you noted that the artery wasn’t hit and the bullet just skimmed him.

"Okay, you’re okay." You muttered to him, "Lets get you up."

You were so focused as you started positioning yourself for some leverage that you missed the fact that his eyes hadn't left you. Then he sighed and waved you off.

"Need...the camera..." He rumbled and pointed down.

You stared at him in confusion then followed his finger and held your light again to follow the beam.

Sure enough, 20 feet below you in the dirt was a camcorder.

You nodded silently, not even considering the possibility of arguing, and leapt over him before clamouring down the stairs. Your feet hit dirt and you looked around frantically for the device. The metal caught the light of your flashlight, and as you sped over to it, tried to ignore the various trails of blood in the soil. You grasped the camera and slipped it into your pouch along side your other supplies as you scaled the stairs, light jumping with every step.

As you came back to his side, you wordlessly gripped Lalo’s hand and elbow, and gingerly began to help him stand; you had expected him to wince or protest, but all you heard was him groan a little and wave you off like a fly.

"Shit shot..." He rumbled.

You looked at him as you ignored his gesture, and guided him up, "Wh-"

"Chicken Man he was a shit fucking shot...could’ve at least killed me. Now look at me…" He shook his head like he was more disappointed than distressed.

You huffed out a stressed laugh and looked back at him, then swore under your breath.

"What? I look that bad?" He joked.

You shook your head and moved your flashlight to your mouth and your pressed your free hand to his neck as it continued to gush. He was paler and paler by the second.

"Step." You muttered, again you ignored any of his attempts to be independent, and together you began your ascent up the narrow metal stairs.

His pace was determined and you briefly wondered if he was human as he seemed to ignore his wounds. Your steps fell into sync, and you were thankful for the silence between you as you tried to figure out what the hell you were going to do. As you reached the top of the stairs, you mentally began to map out the building in your head in relation to where you were. You couldn't just walk out the front door, and you couldn’t use the back exit either; no doubt there were men stationed at every exit…

You hesitated slightly just inside hidden door, and thought for a moment. You could hear voices outside, and footsteps...the place was crawling with people. With guns.

Your mind worked overtime and while you couldn't think of a perfect solution, you had one that would hopefuly end with the least amount of bullets in you. Without another thought, you flicked off your light and looked at Lalo as darkness engulfed you. Just like you, he didnt say a word. He knew you were thinking- keeping your word that you would effectively put yourself in harms way for him.

You stuck your head out briefly to see how clean the path was, and once you were satisfied, you sucked in a breath and looked back at the older man by your side. He nodded down at you as best he could and the two of you took a step out into the laundry facility.

You both crept along one of the washers, and glanced out at the room. A person came around the corner of one of the machines, flashlight in hand and you quickly moved the two of you back. Lalo hissed at the quick movement, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough. The footsteps came and went, as did a few others along with shouting. You chanced a glance out again, and this time, you went for it.

"Cmon." You whispered.

Lalo let you take his arm, and you guided him along the machines to a service hall where it was less exposed. You could hear people running , and tires screeching outside and orders being barked out, but all you could do was focus on letting your eyes adjust to the darkness and making sure you didn’t trip or take a wrong turn. Once you were halfway down the hall, a door opened at the other end, and you felt bile rise in your throat. You acted on instict and pressed Lalo into the nearest open door and held your breath. You couldn’t see him clearly, but you could feel Lalo’s warm chest rising and falling against you. You watched the flashlight of the person bob around out in the hall beyond the door and prayed that the person wouldn’t look in the doorway.

Your muscles seazed up as you waited and held your breath...then the person was gone. You breathed out and quickly grabbed the older man and began the last leg of the journey. You shouldered open the door at the end, and sure enough, there was an exit up to the roof. You looked around vaguly at the dark room and noted that there were no windows, and turned your light back on.

"You first Señor." You said and nodded to the ladder. Lalo stared at you, hard.

Then he nodded, and began hoisting himself up the ladder. You shone your light up for him to see where he was going and waited until he was at the top before following behind him quickly. At the top, you wrenched the small door open and almost fell out onto the roof. You looked around, and appreciated that there was a little light from neighbouring warehouses illuminating the outside. You whipped your head around and began looking for the ladder down like you had hid behind when you blew the fuze box. Sure enough, across the roof, you saw the first few steps and you nodded towards it for Lalo to see. The two of you took off and kept low. You could see cars exiting and entering the gate and you swore under your breath. So much for a clear path.

"How bad a shape are you in, Señor?" You muttered to him.

Lalo smiled out a hoarse laugh and scanned with you. "Should see the other guy.” He replied, and you looked over at him. He shot you a wink and you felt your eye twitch.

You sighed, and nodded and pointed to where you had managed to get over the fence, "Theres a low part in the fence there...we might get seen, but...I think we'll at least be able to get away." It looked so far away now, especially since you were on another part of the roof.

Lalo nodded and started towards the ladder before you could even check that the coast was clear.

You tried to halt him, "Wait-"

But he already took your hand and dragged you down with him over the rungs of the latter, almost completely foregoing them. You scrambled down after him, and landed beside him just in time for a flashlight to shine over the roof.

As you stood there together, you saw Lalo sway for a moment, then recover with steely eyes as if nothing had happened. You knew he wasn’t doing well, but you had a feeling he would die before he showed any sign of weakness…hell you were certain he would die with a smile on his face if he could.

The two of you stayed low for a moment as you scanned the lot, and it seemed as if you both came to the same conclusion: there was no way you could wait for a perfect moment.

“I’m ready when you are Señor.” You whispered almost reassuringly up to him, then glanced down at his neck that still had a stream of blood coming from it, albeit small. You still didn’t know how he was running around with two bullet wounds.

Lalo remained still for a second as another guard ran past the two of you, then reached into the back of his belt, under his jacket. He produced a gun- the same one you had seen him use that night when he…

“You know how to shoot one of these?” He asked as he pressed it into your palm. You stared down at it. It was heavier than you though it would be.

“I- I know the general idea.” You said, holding it in your hand.

Lalo pressed his hand back to his bleeding side and groaned slightly. “Two hands. One to aim one to steady, okay? Point and shoot. Easy.” He nodded when you had it right. “Vamos.” He rumbled, and began your break from the safety of the shadows.

Having the gun in your hand made you feel both vulnerable and dangerous simultaneously. You scanned as you ran, and just when you began to hope you didn’t have to fire the weapon, you saw a man round the corner of the building just behind you, and you stopped running without a second thought. You aimed, and you shot.

The gun’s recoil made you jump and you watched as the man fell and a spurt of blood came from his back as the bullet winged him.

You heard Lalo bark out a single laugh, “Mi niñita loca…a natural!”

Your ears were ringing. Your feet moved you toward him as you tore your eyes from the groaning man on the ground, and kept your steady pace towards the fence. It came quicker than you thought, though you gathered that the fact that you were still reeling from having just shot a man had something to do with it.

“You first Señor.” You rushed out as you both came to a stop; managing to turn the safety on the gun before stuffing the gun into your pouch.

Lalo didn’t argue, though he did fix you with an intense stare before he pulled himself up the bars with more ease than you thought possible, especially considering his injury. You wondered what it would take to slow him down…

He landed with a thud and a cloud of dust on the other side.

“Vamos, niñita.” He said, beckoning you over with both hands.

You nodded and sucked in a breath and jumped up to grab the top of the fence, and let the adrenaline do the rest of the work. You pulled yourself up and as you situated yourself to jump down, you felt something whizz past your head. Things went quiet and your ears rang. You whipped your head and looked behind you; sure enough, there where two men approaching you with their guns raised. You blinked, then you jumped. Lalos hands were on your waist to guide you down, but all you could see was his paling complexion.

Another few shots were fired, hitting the fence.

You brain kicked back into gear just enough to grab his hand and run to your car with Lalo. You wrench open the door the door for him then ran to the drivers side as another bullet was fired.

You pulled your keys out and forced your hands to cooperate for a moment as you started it up and hit the gas without hesitation. A few more shots were fired behind you, but you peeled out of there before they could do any damage.

It wasn’t until you had been driving for five minutes, taking twists and turns that would get you several speeding and hazardous driving tickets if you were caught, that you finally looked over at the man beside you. He was pressing against his neck and side, and you flickered your gaze over him.

“Y-you’re bleeding-“ you said. It was a dumb thing to say, but it was all you could get out. “I…I need to- we need to get you somewhere…I can’t- no no hospital…do you know anyone? I- I can probably stitch your neck but…”your voice cracked.

“You have to calm down, Jesus Christ… I’m the one dying here.” He rasped.

Your panicking self turned to him sharply and you made a split second decision. “You’re not going to die.”

You turned the car around far too harshly and sped off into the city. You needed more civilization. More people. Being alone would kill the both of you.

You drove to the motel you had booked ahead of time to lay low in after that night, and as you pulled to a stop outside, your hands began to shake uncontrollably. The breaths you took came shakily too.

You didn’t even see the rare look of pride on Lalo’s face- you had done good. He was impressed.

But all you could do was succumb to your adrenaline and panic as they mixed. “You lost so much blood…g-god I should have found you faster, I’m sorry…I gotta get you inside- I have a kit in the trunk, I-I can patch you up-“

You were cut off when Lalo reached over to you with his good arm, and gripped the back of your head and yanked you over the middle console and kissed you. Everything stopped. Your breathing, your words, your heart, your brain, time…everything. You could taste him as his warm tongue flicked against yours when you gasped. It was fast and hard, but you were left stunned as he pulled away. Lalo stared at you, and just as he had hoped, you reset.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“O-okay…” you whispered, eyes refocusing. “Let’s get you inside.” You were on auto pilot as you opened your door and grabbed the first aid kit from the back and the bag you had packed when you left your apartment almost a week ago. As you were about to cross over to the motel, you stopped Lalo quickly and began buttoning up his jacket for a little extra coverage of his bloodstains. Lalo regarded you calmly and carefully, a tiny grin pulling at his mouth.

“I loved this jacket…” he rumbled, regarding the stain forming, “Really comfortable, y’know?”

Once you were satisfied, you led him to the room you had booked, and took out the key they had given you two days ago.

You turned the key and swung the door open before helping the man in and sitting him down and kicking the door shut. You dumped your things down and crouched as you began unbuttoning his jacket. The red stain confronted you again when you pushed the fabric off his broad shoulders. You stared at it, then you heard him tut you.

“Se agradecería un poco de entusiasmo.” He was aloof, but his words were beginning to slur. He wasn’t doing well.

You jumped and snapped back to yourself as you began to frantically undo his dress-shirt.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” You muttered, though you weren’t sure if it was for him or for yourself.

His nice shirt came apart, all sticky from the blood, and you were faced with his soaked skin, and angry wound. Your head went light.

You remembered patching your ex up one night after a bar fight…but nothing that bad. It had been a cut from a pocket knife, not two bullet wounds.

There was no time for you to fall apart though. You were going to make this right even if it was the last thing you did.

You ran to the bathroom and filled the motel ice bucket with warm water and a glass with cold. When you came back, Lalo was forcing himself to stay awake- eyelids heavy. You grabbed every towel you could, and knelt at his feet again.

“Ey, there she is…” he rumbled.

You felt your lips pull into a nervous grin as if trying to see his humour.

“You’re gonna be okay…I’m- I’m gonna fix this-…” Your voice was unsteady though you tried your best to stay calm for him.

You dipped one of the towels into warm water and began dabbing away the blood by his side as best as you could; your stomach flipped at the sight of his torn flesh, but you weren’t about to pass out or back down.

“L-lay back, here.” You grabbed a few pillows and guided him to lay down, and as you went back to wiping his neck and side clean, you watched him try to say lucid. He did a profound job of keeping his breathing steady and you had a brief wonder of how many times he had been shot or worse. You brought a towel to his side and pressed down. Then you felt a surge of panic when you realized you hadn’t given him anything for the pain. “Shit! I’m- I’m sorry you- I didn’t give you anything.” You wrenched the kit open and shakily looked for anything that might help him. You found a small bottle of Tylenol, and though you weren’t certain how effective it would be, you grabbed two and the clean glass of water.

“Open.” You forced out, and placed the pills on his tongue and held the glass to his lips. Your hands shook and you spilled a little, but you focused on remaining calm.

You set the water down once he swallowed and took another towel, then went to his neck where you wiped more blood away. It was just a gash, but needed stitches. You felt your heart beat in your throat, and you wanted so badly to break down, but you couldn’t. You rifled through the kit and found the sutures, a new needle pack and the holder and forceps, and set them on the bed. You wiped the area again, and took a shuttered breath.

“Hey…”

You felt tears well in your eyes.

“Niñita.” Came his voice again.

You blinked and grabbed the needle pack and ripped it open with your teeth. The needle fell into your hand, and you took another breath.

“Y/n.”

You jumped and looked up. Lalo was staring right at you, eyelids heavy.

“You need to stay calm.” He rumbled, “Can’t let me get fucked up, sì?”

You sobbed out a laugh.

“You’re horrible.” You whispered, and sniffled.

“Everybody loves me.” He smiled dazed.

You took a few more breaths and thought of something that made you sober quickly. You thought of what Hector would have done to you if he found out you let his favourite nephew die.

With that in mind, you knelt beside him on the bed; you wiped and dried the wound on his neck again quickly, and pushed his flesh back together to start stitching

“Easy there tiger.” He groaned.

You sighed and brought the threaded needle to his skin, and you pushed in. The feeling of the needle going through his skin made your stomach churn.

His eye twitched, but he didn’t move as you slowly stitched him up. You hoped to god that you weren’t making this worse than it was already was, and thanked god that you had seen several medical shows on late night television years ago…

You finished the wound, and you sighed in relief as you tied a knot for the remaining thread. It wasn’t perfect, but the wound was holding together and he was barely bleeding anymore.

You cleaned the surrounding area one more time, and looked at your patient. He was staring at nothing, but he was awake. You wanted to stop and check on him, but you knew time was not something you had plenty of. With that in mind, you shuffled gingerly down the mattress to the other bullet hole, and cleaned away the entrance wound. There was no way you were going to try and remove a bullet. Certainly you had seen it done in movies but you were not about to do it to a man on deaths door, not when it meant it could cause him to bleed out. You replaced the towel that had become sodden with blood, and pressed down on the crisp white fabric. A warm blot of blood began to seep through and you felt your heart sink down into your ankles.

You were horrified that you had to sniffle a little, tears threatening to well up. You watched his face carefully; he was unbelievably strong willed. He practically refused to lose consciousness. His skin was pale and his eyes were heavy yet still he was awake and watching you from his propped up perch.

“I know a guy…” he rumbled. Suddenly.

You jumped and looked at him, surprised that he spoke. “Tell me how to reach him.” You said, already reaching for his jacket to find his phone.

“Second to last number…he’ll know who it is…” He might have been lacking blood, but Lalo still managed to sound just as confident and aloof as always.

You scrolled down and found the number, and pressed it without another thought. It rang twice before a man answered it.

“Where?” Came the voice.

You wanted to double check that he knew who you were calling for…but you had a feeling this man wasn’t just some guy who forgot who Lalo Salamanca was.

You gave him the address, simple and concise. He didn’t say thank you, or double check, and somehow you found that comforting. You snapped the phone shut, and placed it back in his pocket.

“He’s coming…it…its going to be okay…” you whispered. You wondered how many times that phone had been used to take a life with a simple order.

You looked down at the towel on his side, and lifted it gently to check the bleeding. It was still coming. You grabbed one of the spare pillows and wordlessly began unbuckling Lalo’s belt.

“I know you wanna help there princesita, but I don’t think right now is the best time for a bl-“

You ripped the belt from the loops and pressed the pillow to his side, making him groan and shut his mouth fast. It wasn’t perfect, but you managed to get the belt under his back and around his waist and over the pillow to fasten it to his side, tight. The pressure would help the bleeding better than your hands, and you leaned back once you got it tight enough.

You heart rate had slowed, and now seeing him a little more repaired, you looked at him properly. His eyes were closed, and it didn’t hit you for a moment that him being lax could be a horrible thing. Then your blood went cold.

You shot up out of your seat beside him and leaned over his chest.

"L...Lalo?" You whispered.

Nothing.

You feel lightheaded. You pressed your ear to his chest, and his heartbeat was faint. The tips of your fingers felt cold.

"Lalo!" Your voice broke, but again, there was no response.

Your eyes began to well with tears, and you broke.

"You motherfucker I'm neck deep in this shit, and I cant get myself out without you!" You cried out and slapped his thick chest.

You stared at his face for a moment, dread filling you.

Then, the corner of his mouth tugged.

“Awh, you mean it?” Came his low voice, his eyes still closed.

You felt your hands tingle as the urge to slap him filled you. It was like he could feel it. Lalo smirked slightly.

“C’mon I know you want to…what just because I’m half dead you’re going soft?” He goaded you.

You clenched your jaw and sighed. His mouth tugged again, though his eyes remained closed. Eventually his face went lax, and his breathing became even and slow. You called his name once more, but when he didn’t answer you gathered he was sleeping. You hoped against hope that the guy you had called would be there soon, but you supposed only time would tell.

In his dazed slumber, Lalo murmured a name or two…and you found yourself getting dizzy with sleep the longer you watched him.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but when you woke up, your head was down on the bed in your arms- just where you had been as you watched over him.

You looked up, and and stilled when you saw those large, glittering black eyes staring back at you, fully awake and very alive.

“Ahh she awakens.” He rasped.

You sat up and rubbed your head, taking him in.

He was sat, clean and reclined on the bed. There was a neat bandage over his side, and a smaller one over his neck, along with a couple brown bags where he kept reaching and eating from on the side table

“What…” you tried to say. You had expected to be awoken by the man knocking to get in the room, so how in the hell had he gotten in-

“Hm? Other guy took too long…called in a favour. Didn’t feel like dying yet.” He said as he pulled out a water from one of the bags for you. He dangled it in front of your face.

“I-oh…thank you.” You slowly took the water, and drank from it. You couldn’t remember when you last had water.

“Chicken man thinks he got me…we’ll stay here for a while…” Lalo rumbled.

You nodded, “I- I have the room booked for another two nights…um- I can see if I can get another one for you…if you want some priva-“

“Nah.” He dismissed you. But he said it with that easy grin of his as he looked at the shitty motel room service brochure. There was a warm silence to the room as you sat there with him. You sipped at your water, and slowly stood up, wincing at your back.

Lalo was flipping through one of the brochures of Albuquerque and chuckling every so often. Evidently he thought the touristic sights were amusing. It all seemed so surreal again, just like that night in your apartment as he patched you up.

Then, as you stood there in a daze, you. Suddenly realised how disgusting you felt. Blood and sweat and dirt was caked to you. You quietly went to the washroom and splashed some cold water on your face. You looked a mess. With Lalo more stable, you walked outside and grabbed the bag you had, and went back to the washroom to shower. You bagged up the clothes you had worn, and climbed inside the stall. The warm water washed over you, and you felt tears run down your face as the stress broke out of you. You sobbed quietly into your hand, and let the blood and dirt drain away.

It wasn’t long, but it was enough to help you settle back into your body.

Once you were finished, you dried your hair and put on some clean clothes; you forgot how wonderful it felt to be scrubbed clean. Your head felt a little light, but clear.

When you came out, Lalo was staring out the front window, and slipping a new, clean shirt onto one arm. You watched his back flex and the thick muscles ripple, and you were suddenly hit with the memory of of his lips pressing against yours in the car-

“You’re a little crazy, you know that?” He rumbled as he turned around, and begun buttoning his floral shirt.

You blinked and dragged your stare away from his chest.

“I’m- I’m sorry?” You asked, not fully understanding him. Was he referring to you running through firing bullets for him?

“You said you wished you had a family like the Salamancas. Anyone who says that must be crazy.” He smiled and said it with a laugh, but neither reached his eyes.

You didn’t smile, and didn’t move. Not even when he reached and grabbed his gun off the night stand as he stalked towards you.

“Said you’d take a bullet if you needed to…hm?” He taunted you, standing between you and the door.

You felt a drop of water you had missed run down the back of your neck.

“I haven’t achieved a lot in my life, Señor…but I like to think that I saved your life last night…and while I don’t think you’re a good person, I do know you have a lot of people who would miss you.” You looked from the barrel of the gun to his eyes, “You can shoot me, Señor Lalo…I did something good last night…and I can die with that on my consciousness. If I die with your family knowing I did something in their favour, I’ll be satisfied.” You swallowed and looked back at him. A sense of calm came over you, “Just…please make sure Hector is never seated beside Thomas Lee…they hate each other.” You added with a tiny smile at the memory of having to separate their wheelchairs more than once.

Lalo’s heavy gaze was locked on you, and your eyes flickered over him; his chest was rising and falling quickly. Very unlike the Lalo you knew. He was always so calm…eerily so.

“Come closer I don’t want to miss.” He rumbled.

You took the few steps that were between you, and stood at the edge of his outstretched arm, just an inch from the gun.

You raised your gaze to meet his, firm and ready to meet your end. But you saw something in Lalo that you had only seen once before- that night he had emptied a magazine into your ex- it was a hunger. A glimpse of an animal inside him.

You both stood there for a moment, barely blinking as you stared at one another. The air was thick and warm as the scorching sun heated everything under it outside. You watched his mouth twitch, and his glittering eyes flickered over your face as you remained still. He was thinking…fast.

You had proved yourself to him whether you meant to or not. Proved that you were willing and loyal. That you were quick and nurturing.

You were nuts.

And he liked that.

Then, Lalo brought his arm down and threw the gun onto the table behind him. The movement made you flinch slightly, but you still didn’t move. You weren’t about to be weak in front of him. You watched the older man take the two strides that separated you, and you felt his warm hands slip along your jaw to tilt your head back before you felt his lips on yours. They were warm, and he tasted of something sweet and smoky; his moustache tickled your lip, and you mewled softly into his mouth as you leaned up to move your lips with his urgent kiss. It was vicious, and messy. Lalo swept his tongue over your lips and you opened them without hesitation. A low hum rumbled in his chest, as he tasted you. You laid your hands on his chest, and he tore from your mouth for a moment to speak against your lips, still pecking and licking into your mouth.

“You want to be one of us? A little mouse of a Salamanca?” He rumbled, kissing you again.

You whimpered and nodded as best at you could, “Yes!”

He smirked against your lips and bit at your bottom one as he pulled you closer, “You’ll do what it takes?” Lalo began backing you up, and your legs hit the bed, making you fall back.

“Anything-“ you mumbled breathlessly as he descended upon you, his strong frame caged you in as he leaned down to kiss your jaw down to your neck where he bit and sucked ruthlessly.

“Again.” He rasped against your skin.

“Anything!” You whined, weaving your fingers into his greying hair.

“You’re mine you understand that?” Lalo pulled away and stared right at you; the sight of him so close, and his scent invading every one of your senses had your head go fuzzy. You were his.

“Y-yes papi.” You said without thinking as need took over you.

Lalo’s brow fell, and his face suddenly went serious- you felt worry prickle at you. But then he sat up and on his knees, and began unbuttoning his crisp shirt. “Say that again, Cariño.”

You stared at his fingers as his shirt came apart and you saw his bandage.

“Yes papi.” You repeated yourself.

He groaned satisfactorily deep in his chest, and slipped his shirt off his shoulders and leaned down to to grip the top of your skirt and dragged it down your legs, grinning at your panties. You bashfully went to close your knees but he smiled and tutted you, “No no no, mi princesita, open up for papi…a little more.” He ran a finger down your thigh and flicked it to make a point as you parted them.

He leaned back and reached down to run a finger down your covered slit and barked out an amused little playful laugh when he felt how soaked the material was, watching as the fabric clung to your lips.

“Dulce coñito…”he rumbled.

You may not have been fluent in Spanish, but you knew exactly what he said.

“All for me?” Lalo replaced his finger with his thumb and began rubbing up and down steadily, then stopping to circle around your clit.

You nodded, then he pressed down on your clit gently, and a whimper escaped you.

“Ooh I think she likes that.” He smiled wolfishly down at you. There was nothing you could do to hide your warming cheeks- you were practically glowing as he touched you. This man had just been bleeding on you on the verge of death, and here he was teasing you to near tears.

The man took in every twitch of your thighs, and gasp, storing every bit of information into that calculating brain of his. And you let him. You didn’t hide when you didn’t like something and certainly not when he was driving you crazy. He huffed in annoyance when he couldn’t feel all of your skin against him, and he nearly tore your shirt off of you, and bit and mouthed at the sports bra you had on.

Lalo leaned over you, and devoured your mouth as he finally slipped a long, thick finger inside you. You moaned into the kiss and he chuckled in return.

“Tan sensible, princesita…” he rumbled, and very slowly began to pump in and out of you; the movements matching the pace of his tongue licking into your mouth.

His other hand came up to the nape of your neck where he clenched his fist into your hair and stroked your neck with his thumb. You could feel yourself start to twitch and your muscles grew tighter as he patiently built your orgasm like he was entitled to it. Gently stroking your g-spot and teasing your sensitive clit as it swelled under the pad of his thumb. But then every time you felt yourself start to reach your climax, he would slow, and back off. You whined pitifully into his mouth and he hummed and chuckled.

“Tan impaciente, do I need to teach you manners?” He purred against your mouth.

You shook your head frantically and bit the inside of your lip.

He hummed again, and you felt the vibrations against you. “No…you’re a good girl, eh? Una niña tan buena para mí…” he kissed your temple, and the gesture made your head spin as you keened into his hand.

“Please…” you whispered, and melted when he kissed your nose, continuing his slow pace.

“Look at you…so domesticated like a little dog. Como una pequeña mascota…” he purred.

You blushed, and flicked your eyes away in shame…was he taunting you? Did he think so little of you?

“Ah ah…I like when you look at me, niñita…” he tutted you, and put pressure on your jaw with his thumb as he still cradled your head. You felt his finger pull from you and you suppressed a mewl.

“You’d kill for me. You’d kill for your papi hm?” He goaded you.

You never thought you would say yes to something like that…but you knew that when you fired his gun at that man, you were ready for the bullet to be fatal.

“Yes…” you murmured.

He smiled wolfishly down at you, “Estás loca, niñita.”

Lalo leaned up and away from you, and hissed for a moment. You sat up with him and followed his gaze down to the bandage on his side.

“Are you alright?” You asked quietly, reaching out to touch the area lightly. Lalo snatched your hand and brought it up to his mouth were he sucked one of your fingers into his mouth; your lips parted at the sensation, and with your body so on edge, it only added to the fire inside you.

Then he looked back down and scoffed. “Shit shot.”

You smiled a small smile, then leaned up onto your knees in front of him and watched him closely as you pressed a kiss to his chest. You could feel his heart beating under his skin, and you felt a strange privilege to feel it. You kissed him again, then followed a small trail down to where the bandage was. You looked up at him again; he was watching you intently, his breathing heavy as his thick chest heaved. You held his gaze, and dared to press a kiss right over his wound.

“Mierda…” he rumbled, then you were being wrenched from him and your back hit the bed again. Lalo was almost panting and he opened his belt and pulled it from its loops before throwing it onto the bed beside you. You could only watch as he worked his pants open, not taking his eyes off of you for a second.

You felt pinned to the spot under him, and you grew weak under his heavy, scorching gaze.

“Yours.” You whispered, and spread your legs wider for him. You didn’t know what drew you to say it…but there was a part of you that was so resigned to this man that you couldn’t even think coherently anymore.

Lalo didn’t even stutter his movements as he shucked his pants off. You stared up at him, partially appreciating that you weren’t the only one nude…but somehow you felt even more intimidated with him having nothing on. He was a strong, powerful man. There was no hiding it. A thick, strong chest and tummy, broad shoulders, thick thighs that you had seen pull at his trousers just like his arms strained his shirts.

You felt tiny.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it as he descended on you. Lalo took each of your wrists in his hands, and pinned you there. You could feel the heavy weight of his cock lay on your stomach between you as he nestled between your thighs.

The tip leaked onto your tummy, and you squirmed against his hold on your wrists as you tried to touch him or hold onto him for dear life, but he kept you there- so vulnerable. Lalo transferred one of your wrists to his other hand and he use his free one to grope down your body, and return to your slick cunt; he slipped a finger inside you again, checking to see that you were still soaked, and he chuckled. You knew you were an even bigger mess than when he had initially teased you.

“Creo que estás goteando.” He chuckled and pulled away from you to glance down as he pulled his fingers from you- a thick line of slick between his fingers and he pulled them apart.

You flushed. Lalo hummed in satisfaction. He had you in the palm of his hand. Literally.

He took his wet hand and worked it over the tip of his cock, and you almost whined at the slick sound. You had gotten an eye-full of his cock when he had stood at the foot of the bed, and you knew he was massive. You could feel him pull his hips away from you as he moved the fat tip down to run it through your folds. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Lalo released your wrists and leaned back on his heels to watch himself rub the head over your clit then down the length of your slit, and back up. He rubbed it right over your sensitive bud and you bit your lip to keep from whining.

“C’mon ninita don’t be shy- I know the moustache is a bit much but I promise I’m a really nice guy.” He teased you, then surprised you by dipping the tip inside you. Just a little.

But it was enough to make you lose composure and moan pathetically.

“Ahh there she goes- see? Knew you’d warm up to me.” Lalo’s rough voice filled your ears and you moaned again when he slipped in a little further, one hand still gripping the base of his shaft and the other now on your hip in a bruising grip.

You stared up at him helplessly, hands weaved into the sheet below you.

“Precioso…” he purred almost to himself.

The endearment had you flush even more, and he started to catch onto the correlation. His face no longer held any amusement, but instead a ravenous focus sat handsomely in the deep lines of his skin.

He pulled the tip out again, then pushed in further until it popped inside you completely- a small bulge there at your entrance. Your breathing came heavily and you leaned up a little to watch.

Lalo pulled out of you again, then slipped inside you a little more…so slow and so patient. You felt as if you might melt into the bed or combust as he fucked himself into you, gently stretching you open to fit his girth. Your body welcomed him, albeit nervously as your muscles clenched every so often. But he would ease you with gentle coos and lean down to you to kiss your nose. “That’s it…there you go, princesita, you can take papi…all the way.”

You thought you might die when he was in far enough to stroke against your gspot. You could feel yourself tighten impossibly more around him, and he huffed out an amused laugh as your body threatened to force him out. Lalo pulled from your heat again, watching as your sensitive flesh clung to him, and the round bump that formed in your tummy where his cock was nestled inside you; then his gaze was on yours and he snapped his fingers to ensure your attention. You refocused your eyes and stared up at him.

“Eyes on me.” He murmured.

You nodded, and stared at his glittering black eyes as they bore into yours. Then, he began slipping himself back inside you…so slowly. You could already feel the extreme sensations starting to ripple through you, and as you watched the older man, it was like he knew even before you that you were on the precipice of your orgasm. You almost started to plead with him as he patiently eased the thick shaft into you, the weight of it dragging against every sensitive spot inside you until his hips met yours, and his thick tummy ground against your clit…and you saw stars.

“Cum on papi,cariño…” he purred, “Cum all over me.” He kissed your top lip.

And you let go.

An unrestrained whine tore from your throat as your legs shook and your cunt clenched down on him like a vice. Lalo could feel the sudden rush of your cum over his cock and he continued to grind into you as you rode it out. You didn’t know when, but you felt his warm hands over yours; his fingers locked with yours. Your fingers dug into his knuckles, and your back arched up off the mattress as he patiently fucked you through your orgasm, shallowly pulling out then grinding back inside you.

You could barely hear or see. Everything was cloudy and ringing around you as the extreme pleasure ebbed away and your body went lax.

“There she is.” Lalo grinned, and kissed you. His tongue parted your lips and you wrenched your hands from his and wrapped them around his neck, but you flinched when you touched his bandage there.

Lalo hummed and put your arms back around his neck, “Rip them open ninita, c’mon.” He grinned down at you, and started thrusting into you. There was an obscene sound that came from between you thanks to your powerful orgasm and your cheeks warmed.

“Woah!” He smiled and pushed into you, humming at the feeling of your slick warmth hugging around him. Lalo sighed and leaned over you fullly now, bracing himself on his strong forearms. He sighed, and the air fanned over your face.

“Dios te sientes bien.” The older man purred, and kissed down your neck to your shoulder where he nipped at the skin as he increased his pace. Your body began to bounce under him.

Lalo slipped his hand back under the nape of your neck and held you still as he sucked at your skin and bit down possessively. You whimpered and squirmed but his iron grip held you there. As he slowly released you, he licked at your skin and kissed along your collar. His chest heaved against yours and he returned to your mouth and engulfed your lips again; you parted them without thinking now, and let his warm tongue stroke yours.

Then, he pulled away slowly and stared down at you scorchingly. “Open that pretty mouth.” He gasped.

You parted your lips, and Lalo spat onto your waiting tongue, then leaned back down and kissed you again, hard. You moaned down his throat and he groaned in return. A startling need for eachother had seeded itself in both of you.

He had you so distracted with his mouth that you barely noticed as he started rutting into you until his kiss slowed. Lalo hunkered over you, almost folding you in half and he stared hammering into you fast. There was nothing but the sound of his flesh plaping against yours in the warm motel room, and while you were sensitive, you didn’t want it to stop. In fact, you could feel your sensitive cunt start to tighten around him again, and you were helpless to stop it or even tell him, though he seemed very well aware as he grinned down at you.

“That’s it- that’s it.” He purred, and you let him use you as he needed. His soft tummy impacted your clit with each thrust and you could only babble with need. “I’m- I’m- la- f-f-fu- I’m-“ you couldn’t even get a word out at your second orgasm hit you like a train, and Lalo chuckled low in his chest as he felt you cum for him.

You gripped around him tight, and Lalo groaned low at the sensation. He thrusted a few more times, each one more sloppy and harder than the last until he pushed into you all the way, squishing his tip up against your cervix and let his weight down onto you as he came deep inside you. You rolled your hips with him as he slowed his pace and ground against you. Lalo hummed and panted into your neck, and you held him tight against your body as his thick cum filled you up. You could feel your tummy warm up as he emptied into you, rope after hot rope he coated your insides until some of the sticky liquid leaked out the sides where his cock plugged you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you were terrified that he might have ripped his stitches, but in that moment you didn’t dare say a word. You knew he’d wave you off.

The older man slowly stilled, and stayed inside you comfortably. His heat was comforting, and you clung to his back and stroked his hair gently. Lalo very slowly leaned up off of you, kissing along your collar to your cheeks, and rolled to the side so he wouldn’t crush you. Then, he shuffled something over to you, and lifted your butt up. It was a pillow.

When you looked at him as he raised your hips up, he only sent you a wink.

You couldn’t form a sentence, so you just laid there for a moment before you felt his arm come around your head and pull you into his side. You curled in there, and rested your head on his chest. Your heart beat wracked your entire body- everything pulsed. You couldn’t move. And Lalo noticed how immobile you were.

“What? A mans never made you cum before?” He chuckled. But when you were silent, he looked at you properly. “No…really? That little prick never made a little thing like you cum?” He pushed and you wished the earth would swallow you up.

“No…” you managed to force out.

“God…we have a lot of catching up to do then!”

You stared at him in horror as your body was still recovering from what he had just done to you. And he laughed. “I’m joking- now come here and kiss me. I almost died yesterday y’know.”

You huffed, and leaned up to press a gentler kiss to his mouth. Then leaned back down. You couldn’t even hold your head up.

He kissed your hair, and ran his hand up and down your arm. “Mi pequeña loca.” Lalo purred.

“Mi viejo loco.” You mumbled, and Lalo sat up and away from you enough to look down at you.

You looked at him sheepishly.

“Mocosa.” He smiled, and you returned it.

Lalo enjoyed seeing you like that. Relaxed. Flushed. Sweaty. Fucked out, blissed out, swollen lipped, hair a mess. All for him.

He sighed after a moment, and smacked your hip. “I’m gonna eat you if we don’t get some fucking food.”

You nodded. “What do you have in mind? Fried chicken?” You quipped.

Lalo did a double take, and stared at you dead serious, then burst into laughter. “I knew you were funny.”

You smiled a little and toyed with a little hair on his arm. “How much longer are you going to be here…in Albuquerque?” You mumbled.

“Eh…we’ll stay here a little longer. Keep an eye on my tio…then after that? Think you deserve some real food.” He smiled.

Your brows furrowed and you pulled away to look at him.

“You said you’ve never been to Mexico right?” He said, tracking your eyes.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Entonces está decidido...after that…I think we could use a Uh…mouth cleanser?” He squinted.

Your heart throbbed still his use of “we”.

“Pallet cleanser?” You offered and he snapped his finger and pointed at you. You smiled.

“Yes! That. Tired of this shit city…you know, I hear Germany is nice.” And he grinned.

He knew he had you.

He embodied the chaos you had grown used to, but portrayed it so calmly. He made you feel safe, and made that little girl you thought you had lost inside you sing. Whatever it was that the two of you shared, you were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

And you knew it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[oiwxa]

UMAZANE MISLI | c.bg

STARRING: Choi Beomgyu x fem!reader

CAST: Lee Heeseung (EN-), Lee Geonu (Just B), Jung Sungchan (ex-NCT), Yang Jeongin (Stray Kids), Felix (Stray Kids), Choi Seungchol (SVT)

RUNTIME: 35.9k (sorry)

SYNOPSIS: Beomgyu thought that a life of academic excellence, popularity contests, and ego trips were left behind the moment he graduated from a prestigious private school. However, he found himself locked in an intense, three-year rivalry with you. He always had to be number one in everything that the two of you were involved in, but god damn, your band makes incredible music. Lord knows what would happen if one day, you find him moshing to one of your basement shows. Alas, you were oblivious, and he managed to convince himself that several streaks of messy, temporary red dye and ripped jeans immediately transformed him into a spy that infiltrated your band's smelly, sweat-infused, beer-rotting basement.

GENRE: Coming of age, slice of life, romance, comedy, band!au

WARNINGS: R15+ | Heavy substance abuse | Academic trauma | Familial and generational trauma | Profanity | Strong and explicit language | Crude humor and a flurry of sexual jokes | Honestly there's way too many explosive fights in this fic | Borderline existential | MC and the entire cast basically goes through a breakdown at some point in the fic | If any of these warnings trigger you then please DNI

DIRECTOR'S CUT: hi everyone !! this will be my debut into txt writing !! i hope you enjoy this fic, and as always, PLEASE triple check all warnings and make sure you read this work at your own discretion. You are responsible for the content that you consume. also !! of course, some facets of the band is inspired by the lovely joker out, the slovenian band that stole all of our hearts in esc 2023 !! the family dynamics and rich kid problems in this fic is inspired by succession, the HBO tv series. i also just wanted to give a quick shoutout to alice @jayflrt and her stoner's guide to starbucks smau, which inspired heeseung's character in this fic !! do give it a read if you have the chance !! she's vv funny LOL. also !! another shoutout to @jitaros for the e2l law school dynamics !! i tried my hand at the trope (watched too much better call saul for this LOL) !! this is an homage to crying lightning, and i hope reading this will inspire you to complete law school!hyuck :")))

SOUNDTRACK: Umazane Misli, Plastika, Demoni, Vem da Greš, Proti Toku, Carpe Diem, A Sem Ti Povedal, Bele Sanje, Katrina, and Dopamin by Joker Out (basically the entirety of Joker Out's discog tbh)

VISUALIZERS: Joker In // Law school Beomgyu

COPYRIGHT OIWXA 2023. DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

I. SHAGADELIC, BABY!

The studio has seen worse things. Pizza boxes covered in mold spreading toxic mildew across the entire room; broken drum sticks that were basically tetanus-inducing pieces of legos on the floor for the unlucky person sans socks or sandals; curled ends of guitar strings strewn across the floor like upturned nails; permanent stains of beer scattered in patches on the wooden floorboards; broken lightbulbs for more tetanus and other forms of infectious diseases; a nest of fruit flies concentrated on one of the leaking pipes next to the generator; an unidentifiable liquid etched on the edge of a dirty carpet with an equally mysterious source; crude graffiti filling up the bare cement walls; the temper of a lead singer with a god complex; and lastly, the simmering temperament of a guitarist that believes he deserves more credit than he is currently given. 

To call the basement of an abandoned house on the distant outskirts of Hongdae a studio was an insult to professional musicians who spend their entire lives in a well-insulated creative space. Your band barely had the budget to install acoustic foam panels across the basement—not like you needed it, though. Nobody in their right mind would dare take the last train to the station and hike at least an hour atop a closed trail to record music in a dilapidated house. It wasn’t like there was anything or anybody listening to the so-called “noise” you and your friends made at ungodly hours, too. If there were, it was probably the ghosts of those who once populated what you assumed was a small, forestry village before the war. 

Nonetheless, it became the meeting place that would house all of the band’s creative endeavors—and to be fair, you didn’t mind the musty smell or the murky leakages of dirty water. All of it to you slowly became a sanctuary that broke you free from the bondage of a degree you weren’t even interested in. What was even better was the people that occupied the rather decrepit space. Sure, there was a lot of infighting in the band that made you want to throw your drum sticks at each member or assault them and get charged with battery, but in the end, it was growing pains for the fruition of an otherwise decent band. For you, the disagreements everyone often faced were a testament to the band’s potential longevity. Even if you didn’t consider yourself the most vocal member of the ensemble, you had a reliable voice of reason that validated the input you’d give to every suggestion or performance discussed. 

“Disagreements should be normalized, you know?” You once remember saying when Jeongin would often cry about the heated arguments Geonu and Sungchan would have. “I don’t think we’d be as good as we are now if we never fought or stood up for what we wanted in this thing.”

A word had to be said about the duo before proceeding into important matters—after all, it was the two of them that had the longest overall experience in Seoul’s university basement scene. Geonu in particular was who one might call the “veteran” in your band. He practically grew up around independent musicians his whole life, and his brother was in the garage rock scene since Geonu graduated from middle school. It was the norm for him to show up underage inside bars, venues, taverns, and any place that reeked of spoiled beer, sticky sweat, and copious amounts of cannabis abuse. Of course, Geonu managed to stay clean save for a few sips of beer here and there; he was notorious for his inhumane self-restraint and resilience, after all. When Geonu was fifteen, around the end of his last summer as a middle schooler, he started a hardcore band and toured a couple of basements around Seoul and beyond. The problem, though, was that his lead singer was a late bloomer. Instead of obtaining the gruff, aggressive, and extremely hardcore (for lack of a better word) tone that was required for the genre, Geonu had to suffer through his band receiving “baby noise” status. To his credit, he took it extremely well, using the ridicule to his advantage. It became a common gimmick later on for the band’s cult following to bring pacifiers and cry like an infant during the breakdown of each song. He even began attaching packets of powdered milk with each tote bag or cassette tape purchased from his fans for extra humor. 

That period of his life closed when he was in his second year of high school, where he founded an indie band and completely changed the direction of his music. The hardcore punk to soft boy indie pipeline was a pretty common shift in many musicians in the current generation, and by then, Geonu had grown out of the nu-metal craze of gelled, spiky hair and repetitive power chords. He wanted something more out of his music and thus formed an unexpected friendship with Sungchan, who at the time was the star football player in their high school. Since then, the two had been in the same band together, often changing the lineup depending on where they were music-wise. The first generation of the band was called King Suit, and most of their shows consisted of covers translated from English to Korean. King Suit was perhaps the most radio-friendly iteration out of all the bands that Geonu and Sungchan were in, and they broke off for the exact same reason. 

“Nobody really wanted to write music,” Geonu explained one time after a freshman party. “I mean, I can’t blame them. It takes a lot of effort, and most of us were self-taught. Sungchan was the only one who was willing to make the academic sacrifice to write and produce music with me, so we broke off after graduating high school.”

From what you could tell, Geonu didn’t seem to look back at King Suit with the rose-colored fondness of nostalgia. Each time he complained about his former members in a drunken pursuit, his voice would drop an octave lower, seething bitterness and poison in his slurred cadence. Geonu also only complimented Sungchan when he was drunk. 

The second iteration of his attempts into the underground indie scene was with a short-lived shoegaze venture that was ironically named DARE. One surprising fact that you managed to squeeze out of Geonu was that Sungchan conjured the idea of starting a shoegaze band. He had been listening to a lot of my bloody valentine and Cocteau Twins owing to his nightly Naver scrolls and Spotify recommendations. According to an extremely inebriated Geonu, Sungchan became obsessed with collecting effectors and pedals, blowing his entire savings and part-time earnings into expanding his ever-growing collection of overpriced battery boxes. Truth be told, his obsession for pedals didn’t necessarily come from a place of musical interest—he just thought that some of the artworks plastered across the Keeley or Electro-Harmonix pedals looked cool. He managed to learn how to use them through deep research on YouTube and Reddit, but he would never admit that the sole reason for his collection was the pursuit of aesthetics. Geonu would also never admit that he wanted DARE to live a longer life, simply because his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow it. He would always argue with Sungchan about how the genre of shoegaze itself was a cut-and-paste replica of each other, and for Geonu, it would be embarrassing to admit that his opinions can change over time. He was too much of a staunch idealist in the sense that he stood by most—if not all—of his opinions, thus it would take an eternity for him to admit that he was either wrong or misconstrued about whatever statement came out of his loud mouth. 

Then, Joker In was born—at least, that was what the current band was called. Prior to the name change, the band didn’t have an official name, so each gig just listed your names as individuals. It was the only iteration of Geonu’s bands that consisted of you in the lineup, in addition to Jeongin’s replacement as the current bassist. Prior to Jeongin’s untimely recruitment, the band had an upper year who promptly had to leave because he graduating and he was an exchange student. You didn’t know what went inside Geonu’s mind theater when he recruited Felix, but you assumed that the short-lasting membership was worth it if he was that good of a bassist. 

And to your judgement, Felix was amazing. He was a veteran of the instrument and played the double bass at his university’s big band back in Australia. Naturally, he would adjust to the electric bass pretty quickly, mastering all the techniques and genres by the time the band scored their first gig. Felix wasn’t particularly good at Korean, but he didn’t need the language when his skills spoke for themselves. In addition to mastering the instrument, he was a phenomenal performer that captivated the audience through his laid-back playing style. Every note he plucked was effortless, and his deep, sultry voice complemented Geonu’s powerful vocals quite well. 

The first time you saw Geonu cry was when the band dropped Felix off at the airport, bringing Jeongin along despite the awkward, one-sided tensions between them. Felix didn’t mind Jeongin’s presence since he joined the band knowing it was a short-term commitment, but Jeongin thought otherwise.

“What if he’ll hate me?” Jeongin would lament. It was your job to comfort him whenever he would dive deep into his woes about filling such a big role. Geonu was too cutthroat, and Sungchan was too much of a deadpanner. There was no way those two could ease the noisy thoughts of an anxiety-ridden boy. 

“Felix doesn’t hate, Jeongin,” You’d reply as you stuffed his mouth with endless slices of pizza. “Have you seen the guy? I don’t think he could get angry even if he wanted to.” 

The band became Joker In after Jeongin’s obsession for Eurovision came to light. At first, the three of you eyed him with confusion and bewilderment, wondering how a boy born and raised in Korea could care about a Europe-exclusive song contest. After being subjected to an entire week or two of arduously rewatching past contests and performances, you’ve grown to realize that Jeongin never watched Eurovision for the quality of songs that each artist produced. Sure, there were some good hits that grabbed your attention, but Jeongin didn’t care about the meaning of the songs written for the contest. For him, Eurovision was specifically created for drama and political tensions, paired with ridiculous, overtly surreal, and over-the-top staging that made you question the infinite potential of the human mind. What initially started as Jeongin’s sole hyper fixation now influenced the entire band’s direction, and Eurovision became a pact of friendship in Joker In. 

“You have to watch Viktor Plushenko skating on a fucking ice rink on stage with Dima Bilan,” Jeongin said, pushing his phone screen on Geonu’s face. 

“I’ve already seen that performance dipshit. You’ve shown it to me like, I don’t know? Every single time we go to the studio?” Geonu would reply, then keep his eyes glued to the performance. He didn’t want to admit that his go-to stage costume of a wifebeater and loose, silver parachute pants came from endlessly watching Dima Bilan on YouTube, but the avid Eurovision fan could pretty much piece his inspiration quite easily. Luckily for him, Korea didn’t have a lot of people that were willing to watch four whole hours of countries they’d never heard of sending artists runnings around in hamster balls singing about dusting a turkey in 2000s-era technicolor. 

“They sure did bring a wholeass ice rink on stage, did they?” Sungchan said, using his tall stature to tower over Geonu and Jeongin. He kept his eyes focused on the Olympic figure skater as he gracefully slid around the small, constrained ice rink in Belgrade. 

“Anything for Dima Bilan. Anything.” Jeongin cooed, eyes never leaving the blue-tinted stage on his phone screen. “Look at him! He’s so… sexy.” 

“Take a shot every time Jeongin simps over Dima Bilan,” You interrupted, snatching the phone from Jeongin’s hands. You went on the search bar and typed in the keywords that led to your favorite Eurovision winner, Duncan Laurence. Once his deep, solemn voice began to reverberate across the vast emptiness of the basement, you felt the three roll their eyes in your direction. 

“Of course, you’ll always play Duncan Laurence’s performance,” Jeongin sighed as he shook his head. He yanked his phone back from your hands and paused the video, momentarily admiring the tall, Dutch man playing the grand piano before shutting his phone off altogether. You returned the sentiment and folded your arms, closing your eyes from exhaustion. 

“Jeongin, you know that people can enjoy the contest for the actual music they produce, right?” 

“Well… yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Jeongin replied, giving you his signature foxy smile. “You’re free to argue that Stefania won last year because of its musicality and experimentation with hip-hop and Ukrainian folk music, but man, you can’t deny that people liked it because of Mr. Pink Bucket Hat and MC Kilimmen’s breakdancing.”

“I don’t know, dude.” Sungchan interrupted. Whenever the topic of Eurovision 2022 came up, he always felt the need to join the conversation. “I think Chanel with Slomo deserved the trophy.”

Sungchan always had a penchant to enjoy female entries in Eurovision. When the band rewatched Eurovision 2010 and host their first sleepover in the basement for the first time, Sungchan fell asleep until Lena’s “Satellite” came on. The moment he heard her voice, he jolted awake as if someone shocked him with a defibrillator, posture immediately upright as he leaned his tall frame too close to the projector that they managed to hook up. For the whole week since, he kept replaying her performance whenever he had free time. When he was doing chores around the basement or setting up for practice, he would constantly hum the chorus of the song, following the singer’s odd, breathy cadence while swinging his hips to the rhythms in his head. It got to a point where it became an earworm for the entire band, and for a while, Geonu decided to ban the song from playing whenever they were together. 

“You can’t keep playing Satellite when Alexander Ryback was way better,” Jeongin would bitterly mutter under his breath. He would then pretend to hold a violin and prance around the floorboards, using his light, airy steps to do several failed pirouettes. 

Eurovision became the center of your band, and it became a gimmick to put at least one Eurovision song on your setlist—much to your chagrin. On the one hand, you would enjoy the songs that Jeongin would pick, such as “Believe” and Lordi’s “Hard Rock Hallelujah” for your university’s Halloween bash. In those moments, you were into it because you enjoyed the songs. On the other hand, the songs that were often chosen for your gigs were too “poppy,” for lack of a better word. There was not much you can do except keep steady beats intact while you watched Geonu and Jeongin mess around on stage. It was fun watching them get extremely drunk on copious amounts of cheap beer and vodka cranberries, but in the end, you were left performing basic 808s while the rest had their share of fun. 

It wasn’t unfair. It was just the way music was evolving. You weren’t much of a connoisseur to begin with as well, so you sucked it up and kept the musical harmony of the band. After all, what was important to you wasn’t the ability to execute flashy fills or steal the stage from the rest of the members. If you wanted that for yourself, then you wouldn’t be in a band in the first place. The sole purpose of forming a group is to produce quality as a collective, not as individuals—as such, you kept your role practical. So long as you sounded good as a band, that meant you were doing your job right. 

Maybe that was why you got along with everyone very well. Unlike Sungchan, who had a greedy streak of outdoing Geonu’s vocals with his shrill fills, or Jeongin, who had the opposite problem of staying behind and lowering the volume of his bass on the amp, you kept a good balance between showing off your skills and keeping the band’s overall sound in mind. That dynamic was also reflected in the way you interacted with the rest of the band. When you were with Geonu, you were an agent that showed him humility. You would always slap him in the back without any ill will, making sure he understood that there was no hierarchy in the band. 

“We’re not Geonu and friends, you jerk,” You would often say to him while pinching his ears. “We’re Joker In now, and I don’t recall seeing your name at the forefront of our group.”

“My bad, my bad,” Geonu replied, feeling the pain inflicted wherever you pinched him. Sometimes, it would be a drum stick thrown in his direction. When you were feeling generous, you just shook your head and taunted him. 

“I could do your job just as well, wanna bet?” You’d ask, pushing him to your drum kit in jest. Geonu could take jokes pretty well, but whenever this threat would reach his ears, he’d often see his life flash before his very eyes. Even if he prided himself in his skills as a multi-instrumentalist, he didn’t want to admit that he was terrible at the drums. 

You had a relatively peaceful relationship with Jeongin, owing to the fact that you were both in the same section. As such, you had to parle with Jeongin the most about the musical direction of each song Geonu wrote or translated. Since the genre that you often played with the band was along the lines of contemporary indie rock or pop, you didn’t struggle a lot with learning the songs or creating a soft, basic beat that can go along with Geonu’s vocals and Sungchan’s playing. Jeongin’s case was rather different. Although he was a great bassist that had an impeccable sense of rhythm, he lacked the confidence to properly execute all the bass lines he had in mind. Whenever he felt daunting, it would take him a few drinks or a few words of encouragement until he could finally swallow his insecurities and face Geonu. 

“Why are you so scared of that tiny angry man,” You’d often joke, sticking your elbow to Jeongin’s sides. He would look back at you with a flushed and nervous look, scrambling for answers in his fast-paced head while looking back at Geonu. 

It’s not to say he was scared of Geonu, because you can’t really be scared of a man who was his height. Rather, Jeongin was intimidated by Geonu’s presence—and you completely understood where that unfounded sentiment came from. Jeongin was the only one who did not have any experience with live performances prior to joining the band. Sungchan had been playing with Geonu since high school, and you paid your dues back in high school when you were forced to play jazz drums in the big band. Sure, you had a bit of a blank when it came to performing live, but it was easy to get back in the motions of it all when you already knew what to do. Jeongin didn’t have the experience; he only had skill. No matter how great he was at the instrument in theory, he often didn’t know what to do once he was on stage. Geonu would have to pull him back an hour before rehearsals and sound check just to tell him to let loose—which ironically wasn’t something anyone could teach. 

“Loosen up, kid. You just gotta get out there and play! Don’t think about being perfect or fucking up, because once you do, you mess up. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, so you gotta get in there with good vibes only.” 

Jeongin’s gotten better now, but he still shared the same meekness and apprehension when it came to Geonu. You were sure that it’d completely disappear with time, but you weren’t completely confident about the band’s status in a few years. There was a part of you that still considered it a short-term gig—something you’ll eventually grow out of once you graduate from university and get a “real job.” For this reason, you got along with Sungchan quite well. 

Another word about Sungchan: Though he had the longest track record of witnessing Geonu’s god complex, he was also someone that didn’t take the band seriously. In fact, your shock persisted to this day when Sungchan drunkenly told you that he planned to leave the band and music altogether after he graduated.

“This is just a hobby for me,” You vaguely remember him saying with overly dilated pupils and languid, hazy steps. “I think I’ll quit when I get my shit together someday.”

It wasn’t until you were four months deep into the band that you realized why Sungchan didn’t want to pursue music forever. At first, you thought it was an uncomfortable, yet silent and covert tension between Sungchan and Geonu. They’ve known each other for so long; it was natural to have disagreements. Then, you realized through Sungchan’s work ethic and his commitment to the Varsity baseball team that he simply had more going for him than a four-piece cover band. He wasn’t the smartest of the bunch, but he was extremely athletic—which was always a plus when it came to the unlikely colliding worlds of mosh pits and Olympic-level stamina. 

Joker In often had its moments of explosive fights and passive-aggressive silent treatments, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Usually, all it took was for Sungchan to complain that he was hungry, or for Jeongin to take his phone out and plug it into the projector, screening his niche obsession of odd European performances for everyone to see. 

Unfortunately for you, though, the topic of today’s fight was around the one thing that should have brought the band together: Food. 

“What should we eat tonight?” Geonu asked, adjusting the microphone stand with one hand while scanning the messy, crumpled, and coffee-stained lyric sheet in his hands. 

“Pizza?”

“Sungchan, we’ve been having pizza for the past six months. If we order the same shit again I swear I might throw up,” 

“Yeah, I’m siding with Jeongin on this one,” You added, leaning your head on Jeongin’s shoulder while clutching your unruly, growling stomach. “Pizza’s just not it right now.”

“Then what the fuck do we order, captain?” Sungchan snapped, heaving a sigh as he groaned in pain. 

“Hey, don’t call me that!” Geonu replied and returned the sentiment, scratching his head in frustration and confusion. He looked out at the sky and checked his phone, taking quick glances between all the furniture in the basement. The skies were dark, and the only source of light the band had was the dim, low glow of an ancient, yellow light bulb that was still there before they called the place their studio.

“Didn’t I say we’re all equals here?”

“Well, you’re technically writing all the songs that we’ve played so far, and you’ve been really anal about the solo I’ve considered for Butterflies and Katrina…”

To be fair, Sungchan was right. For the past three weeks or so, Sungchan has tried his best to add more input into the mixing process, but Geonu would either turn his suggestions down or ask him to play quieter in recent gigs. At first, Sungchan could understand the frontman’s qualms; it was never in his best interest for anyone to overshadow each member. However, he disagreed with the way that Geonu played favorites. Two nights ago, he caved in and allowed you to perform a drum solo—but then again, that was out of the request of the audience. You were lucky enough to have half your friend group and the entire law society show up to embarrassingly chant your name over and over again until you had the opportunity to strike. For Jeongin, it was much more forceful. Geonu had been trying to replicate the same charisma that Felix had brought to the band, and as a result, he has given Jeongin complicated bass lines that aren’t the easiest to execute in front of a crowd. Geonu had his own moments as well, but he chalked it up to being the “face” of the band. Disagreements between the two were commonplace, but it wasn’t common to completely diminish Sungchan’s role to basic chords and simple riffs. 

“Sungchan, for fuck’s sake,” Geonu replied in his usual tone. “I’m not being anal because I don’t like it. I’m being anal because  I know you could come up with something better. This is the same, lazy, cut-and-paste solo that you’ve been playing in every single show so far, and we need more diversity in our tune to get everyone to eventually listen to the stuff we put out.”

“Geon, we’re a cover band. Don’t you ever forget that,” Sungchan chimed. He was sick of hearing Geonu tell him the same thing since they were in high school. 

“So? Translation takes a lot of work! Besides, the only reason we’ve gained our following so far is that we do something unique and original that Joker Out don’t do on their shows.”

“Oh please, all the gimmicks you do on stage basically count as stealing. You see fan videos of Bojan online and regurgitate that.”

“Oh? Like what? Please give me an example, because from what I can see, the crowd loves what we already do.”

Usually, all it took was for you and Jeongin to step in and break the two apart. Jeongin would console Geonu on the sidelines, and you would take Sungchan out for a “walk” until he came back with a fresh perspective. Sometimes, it took hours—days, even—for both of them to set their differences aside and swear an oath of momentary truce. However, this was the first time you’ve seen their bickering evolve into a full-fledged fight. You snuck glances between a panicked Jeongin, who slowly unplugged his bass and turned off the amp. He looked like an ostrich that constantly peaked his head in all directions, eyes rapidly scavenging the best time to step in and do what he does best. 

“I don’t know? You call our music shagadelic sad boy rock—just like how Joker Out describes themselves,”

“It’s an original word!” 

“It’s not if they’re already using it…”

“Guys!” Jeongin finally screamed. “I’m hungry! Can we just postpone this little lover’s quarrel for another time?”

“Jeongin’s right,” You backed up, watching the two attempt to bicker amidst Jeongin’s ear-grating, dolphin-like screech. “We haven’t eaten anything since we arrived, you know? We’ve just been busy going through our setlist like, five or six times. Can’t we just call for a break and get back once we’ve eaten?” 

“I hate that you’re always right,” Geonu finally responded after a light, pondering pause. “Pizza?”

Before Geonu could start dialing the usual pizza place’s number on his phone, a light creak bounced back and forth between the gray, cement walls of the basement. It came in little waves, then echoed with a booming shriek. The four of you immediately looked behind you, catching the lanky silhouette of a man wearing an oversized rugby shirt with marinara stains all over its striped pattern. He tipped his cap off and gave all four of you a smile, the very definition of heavy embodied in the soft, yet dense movement of each footstep. He wasn’t even wearing leather boots or platforms; his sneakers seemed to shake the entire room with every step he took. Once you were able to catch a glimpse of the intense redness in his eyes, you finally knew why someone who appeared so light carried such weight with him. 

“Oh my god, you scared me, Hee!” You jokingly exclaimed, greeting him with a strong pat on the shoulder. He cocked his head back and forth, giant, glassy eyes adjusting to see the blurriness of your face. Once he was able to stay still, he returned the gesture with a wave that almost knocked him down to the ground. 

“You losers didn’t call the shop so I got worried you died or something,” Heeseung said, passing the large box of pizza to Sungchan before slumping his entire body on one of the couches in the studio. “This place looks pretty gnarly, so I kinda expected a horror movie plot going on where one of you goes insane and murders everyone in the room.”

“To be fair, you did come at the right time,” You said, practically shoving a glass of water in Heeseung’s mouth. “Geonu was one step closer to ripping Sungchan’s head off just now.”

“Did you bring the usual?” Sungchan asked, knowing the answer just by the whiff of garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella that wafted throughout the entire basement. 

“Yeah, so every single one of you better pay me back. This was out of pocket.”

“You have the employee’s discount though, so the total price was probably around like, 12,000 won or something,” Jeongin said, trying his best to hold his laughter while taking a slice of pizza out of the box. Whenever Heeseung came with pizza, the war zone between Geonu and Sungchan subsides into a peaceful truce. 

“Hey, shit’s brutal lately, okay? I gotta get my money back.” 

Heeseung kept his body within the crevices of the old, unwashed couch, sinking his body further and further until he practically disappeared from your current realm of reality. At this rate, you would be surprised if Heeseung could get up and go home on his own. Though he was notorious for smoking copious amounts of weed every day, it wasn’t like him to show up to work completely fried. While the boy had problems with addiction, he was perhaps behind Geonu went it came to self-control and resilience. One time, he was able to quit weed for an entire month to focus on his studies. In those four months, he refused temptation altogether like a patron saint. No matter how many people tried to tempt him with a single puff or a bong rip, he would cover his nose and run away from the room. So far, he’s never caved in during these periods of asceticism. 

“Fine, you stingy ass motherfucker,” Geonu replied, opening his phone to send a few Wons to the demanding pothead. “Broke ass bitch.”

“Can I talk to you real quick?” Heeseung suddenly interrupted. His brain shouldn’t be capable of multitasking in his current state, but the addition of money to his bank account was enough for him to forget about collecting his debt from the band. 

“If it’s about that guy then I don’t wanna hear it. Besides, that’s all you talk to me about.”

“Beomgyu’s not bad if you give him a chance, trust me.”

Beomgyu. Hearing the name alone was enough for you to reach the same levels of anger that Geonu and Sungchan had just presented. Whenever the topic of Beomgyu came into the conversation, Geonu and Sungchan’s outbursts seemed like nothing but child’s play. While their arguments could easily be solved between a slice of pizza or a pint or two, you could never imagine yourself sitting idly and peacefully at a dining table with Beomgyu. 

“Trust you?” You suddenly interjected, anger slowly seeping into your brain with each passing second. “Trust you? The person who gets insanely high and goes to Starbucks because you find the barista cute? No thanks!” 

“Hey, man,”

“Don’t hey man me, you prick.”

“But you’re gonna love what I’m about to tell you,” Heeseung shushed, doing his very best to lull your unquenchable temper. The funniest thing to him was how being quick to anger was never in your personality. Throughout all the times that he’s known you, he was sure that it took infinite attempts to get you to at least crack or start getting annoyed—not angry. This was why no matter how much he tried to restrain himself, he couldn’t. It was too much fun watching you explode over some guy that apparently made it his life-long goal to get under your skin as much as possible—the best, or worst part about it is that it worked too well. 

“I caught Beomgyu listening to Joker Out lately,” Heeseung started, barely containing the eruption of laughter that was bottled within the confines of his throat. “It’s probably your doing,”

“Of course he would,” You snapped, rolling your eyes at the thought of Beomgyu listening to your band’s idols. “He’s nothing without me,”

“You know what the better part is? He’s trying to learn Slovenian so he can one-up you and see them live in Europe or something,”

“I don’t care,”

“You clearly do,” 

When it came to Beomgyu, you were terrible at keeping your temper in check. This was a well-known fact among your bandmates and a funnier gag to Heeseung. While your bandmates tried their best to pretend Beomgyu didn’t exist in your so-called friend group, they counted on Heeseung to spark the dormant anger within you. It’s not as if they were afraid of you, per se. It was more so the idea of taking responsibility; they’d rather let Heeseung take the fall than have you endlessly scream at them throughout practice for even mentioning Beomgyu’s existence. To be fair, they were right. With Sungchan and Geonu, things were simple. Even if they were to start punching each other during practice, everything could be solved if they ordered a slice of pizza. With you, however, things were different. You would endlessly talk about how much you hated Beomgyu regardless of the occasion. Even if there were pizza or expensive tickets to see your favorite band live, you would never let your loathing for Beomgyu come to a timely rest. It was always in the back of your brain, itching to come out at every opportunity you had. 

“Look at you, little miss I have to be number one in everything,” Heeseung mocked in his inebriated state. He took a dab pen out of his pocket and inhaled its contents, watching the world around him slow down by the minute as your warped, contorted face continued to deepen its wrinkles. You were tempted to take a huff, but adamantly shook your head in absolute refusal. 

“Say that one more time and I’ll hit your already empty head,” You replied, already hitting him a couple of times on the shoulder. 

“Ouch,”

“Who the fuck does he think he is?! He’s the one who started this whole thing! I never even wanted it to be this way!”

“Yeah you kinda did,” 

“How?!” 

“I don’t know? Like, that one time you got angry because he beat you in a project,”

At this point, the band dropped everything to pay attention to Heeseung. He was already somewhat dangerous when he was sober, but he practically had no filter when he was high—which was, to be fair, about ninety percent of his existence. Whenever Heeseung was high, all social filters were removed, allowing him to gain access to all of the things that would incite anger in you. This time, it was the sacred project that sparked the endless rivalry between you and Beomgyu. The band knew to keep their mouths shut around the topic to maintain the peace that they kept between you, but Heeseung? The word peace itself didn’t seem to exist whenever he was too high to even think about what he would order at Starbucks. 

“Well, that’s because he kept rubbing it in my face! I wanted to congratulate him!” 

“He told me you got this close to beating him up in the lecture hall,” Heeseung replied, failing to contain the large grin that was permanently etched on his face. “One of the TAs practically had to grab you before you swung your knuckles in his face.”

“Well, that’s because he kept being annoying about it! He said I got a good mark because I sucked the professor’s dick!” 

“You should know him by now, though. He has no filter.”

“But he said it like he meant it,”

“Yeah… about that…”

Even if Heeseung was, indeed, high, he was not a snitch—at least, he believed himself to be a man of his word. Even if tormenting you with talks of Beomgyu was one of his favorite forms of entertainment, what he refused to tell you was that Beomgyu was doing it out of his weird ways of telling you he had the hots for you. Heeseung didn’t know much about Beomgyu, to begin with, but to him, obsession in all forms was a pure sign of attraction. 

“Look, I think you two just need to lock yourselves in a room and fuck,” Geonu interrupted, rolling his eyes at the scene playing in front of him. A part of him enjoyed watching you lose your cool at a single man that couldn’t even utter proper insults correctly. Whenever Geonu had the displeasure of seeing you and Beomgyu fight, he ironically laughed at the two of you without realizing that it was pretty much a reflection of his own battles with Sungchan. 

“Hee’s right,” Jeongin quietly muttered, breaking his silence after devouring the last pizza slice. “I think you just need to get laid.”

“Excuse me?” You replied, mouth agape at the thought that Jeongin out of all people would call you out in your endless musings towards Beomgyu. “For your information, I do get some.”

“Oh really? When?” Sungchan joked. “When was the last time you fucked?”

“Last month!” 

“Rebounds don’t count.”

“Yes, they do!” 

“No, they don’t.”

A word about your rebound: it didn’t count. It was just a quick hate fuck with an ex that you haven’t talked to in three years. There was no preamble; it was action without thought. You didn’t even bother asking for her contact information after, and the two of you parted ways in mutual acknowledgement to never cross paths again. In that sense, it didn’t count. 

“Anyway, you better sort whatever beef you got going on with Beomgyu out. It’s getting really annoying watching you two fight all the time.” Heeseung said, taking another puff out of his dab pen once he started to feel the ground on his feet again. 

“Why is it up to me to fix things?! As I’ve said so many times before, he’s the one who started this whole mess!” 

“Sure…”

“Why don’t you guys believe me?!” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Geonu interrupted, scratching his head at your poor attempts at salvaging your once calm demeanor. “You’re like, little miss perfect. You’re in like, a million different student clubs, you’re volunteering around campus to the point where you live there—hell, you’re even running for student government this year.”

“Well, that’s because I need to! I need my resume to look good or else I’ll be unemployed for the rest of my life! It’s not like I’m doing so much because Beomgyu does a lot too!” You rebuked, treating the basement like a criminal court. So far, all the witnesses acted as judges with a gavel, striking each of their hammers down to denounce your alibi. Even if you believed you were right, it was up to them to recite the final verdict: Sure enough, you were guilty. Guilty of the vice that is competitiveness. 

“I mean, I believe you when you say that, but you have to admit that you’ve been overworking yourself since you met the guy like, three years ago,” Sungchan admitted, shuffling his feet towards you to give you gentle pats on your back. 

“No I haven’t!” 

“Listen,” Geonu started with a deep sigh. “You’re in varsity, you’re in charity, you almost joined a cult, you’re in debates, you used to be a senior editor for the school paper, you completed your internship like last month, you’re acing all your classes, you’re in the administrative board for your faculty’s association, and you’re in Joker In. That’s overkill, and I’m betting my dick on you not doing this much had you not met Beomgyu.”

“He just brings out the worst in me!” You screamed to no avail. This was the dead end of your court case, and you had to leave the basement without the last word. 

“He brings out the private school overachiever in you that’s for sure,” Heeseung joked, his pupils consuming the whites of his eyes until they were overly expanded like obsidian marbles. 

“That was so uncalled for, Hee. Put a trigger warning before you make my PTSD worse,” 

“Sorry, princess, didn’t realize that going to a super rich private school would be the same as surviving the Korean War,”

“Get the fuck out, Hee.” 

You had to stand your ground. Every single time the conversation led to Beomgyu, you were always seen as enemy number one. To be fair, you were the more aggressive out of the two of you. While Beomgyu limited himself to crass insults, you elevated the threat of physical assault and a free boxing match for all of the university to see. Sure, it wasn’t your intention to want to beat him up into a neat, fine pulp, but there was something about Beomgyu that always made you so violent. 

“And tell Beomgyu that he’s a prick!” You shouted, after finally managing to push an incredibly high Heeseung out the door. Through the small cracks that you left open, you could see him stumbling on his feet as he began to walk away, waving your figure off with a haughty grin. As always, he left his hat in your basement, and once you descended to the meeting point, you picked it up and threw it out of the broken glass windows, watching it swing back and forth between its sharp shards. 

“You two really need to see a marriage counselor or something,” Geonu whispered, watching your rage slowly disperse into your usual calm. 

“Geonu’s right, and I rarely agree with that cunt,” Sungchan added, attempting to flail his elongated arms on Geonu’s shoulders. 

“Hey! We’ve been playing together for centuries and this is how you repay me?”

“My bad, captain,”

“I think you two need to go to couples therapy instead of them,” Jeongin interrupted, using his thin, fox-like eyes to slyly look at the pair. “I mean, you guys have been at it since high school. They’ve only been at it for like, three years.”

“Thank you, Jeongin. Thank you.” 

As always, it was up to Jeongin to fix things whenever the entire band was on the brink of disbandment. For Jeongin, though, it was another stressful addition to his reluctant ventures as a member of Joker In. First, it was his anxieties about keeping Felix’s legacy after he left. Then, it was helping you mitigate the couple’s quarrels that Geonu and Sungchan always found themselves in. Now, it was helping you calm down after the mere mention of Beomgyu’s existence. 

“Anyway, let’s get back to practice. Rhythm first,” Geonu snapped. The one thing about him that made him an efficient frontman was his ability to gather the team back into practice. No matter how many times he’d often want to throw his microphone stand in Sungchan’s face or duct tape your mouth shut whenever Heeseung would come in and deliberately bring Beomgyu up, he had faith that the entire band would succumb to obedience once he took control. 

“Why?” Jeongin grumbled. To his detriment, Geonu had asked the rhythm section to double their practice time for the past week. At first, he didn’t really see an issue with this, but now, he was skeptical. You, too, shared the same sentiment, looking at Jeongin in confusion before reluctantly shrugging your shoulders and picking your drum sticks from the floor. 

“I have to talk to Sungchan about something important,”

With this, you gave Geonu a salute and watched the two climb up from the basement and disappear altogether. Once they were gone, you started to hit your sticks together, counting from two as you waited for Jeongin to play the backing track. 

As for Geonu and Sungchan, they eased into the abandoned kitchen of the rustic house, watching Heeseung’s slumped, sleeping figure on the broken couch. They made sure to drop him home before you finished your round with Jeongin, and they hurried to one of the care packages they’d often pack for a bottle of water. 

“How do we tell her that Beomgyu’s been sneaking into our gigs?” Geonu asked in a hushed voice, his ears turned to the direction of the stairs that led into the basement. 

“I mean, I don’t think we need to tell her,” Sungchan replied. “It’s gonna ruin the band and everything we’ve got going for us so far.” He nonchalantly took a sip of his water and took a quick glance at Heeseung, who was knocked out cold. 

“What do you mean? I think she deserves to know so the two of them can finally fix things,”

“Geon, it’s not that easy,”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t, but I can tell,” Sungchan muttered, trying to keep his already quiet voice even lower. “It’s probably just them blowing some steam off because they couldn’t find a way to do it before,”

“Hate fucking?” Heeseung joked, keeping one eye open before slumping back down into the comforts of the smelly, tic-ridden couch. Geonu also reminded himself to tell Heeseung to visit the doctor and take a long shower once he got home. 

“Not quite,” Sungchan said, returning the sentiment while walking towards Heeseung with another bottle of water. “You know, if you think about it, both of them come from a pretty well-to-do background. They’re both in the same program, and from what I sort of know about her situation and from what I can guess about Beomgyu, they’re both just facing the consequences of overbearing tiger parents,”

“What did she tell you?” Geonu asked. He was always one for good gossip. Unfortunately, Sungchan wasn’t. 

“That’s not my story to tell, I’m just trying to see it from her perspective,”

“So we don’t tell her?” Geonu asked again, rolling his eyes at Sungchan’s tight-lipped nature. 

“I mean, if she finds out, then she finds out. Just let it happen on its own.”

“And how do we make sure that nothing too messy happens in our gigs?”

“I don’t know, let them fight it off if it happens,” Sungchan muttered after a long, quiet thought. He’s thought about the scenario one too many times, but he wasn’t one to stop the inevitable. “It’s good to let all that pent-up frustration out I guess…”

“You’re too nice, Sung.”

“I know, Geon. I know.”

“What?! Come again?!” 

For Heeseung to call Beomgyu’s voice a scream was an understatement. If a dolphin were to learn to speak, it would sound better than Beomgyu whenever the topic surrounded you and your entire being. It was for this reason that Heeseung sometimes loathed the idea of coming home; he supposed the price of free rent came at a cost of living with the earthly incarnation of wrath. 

“Gyu, I know you heard me the first time,” Heeseung said, attempting to cover his ears to no avail. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Hee. My ears are getting bad from hearing her name!” Beomgyu screamed again, fury visible in the twitches of his eyes. 

“Jesus, you don’t have to shout at me… I’m just your messenger boy,”

“And I don’t need to hear about her! So what if she’s playing their songs? She’s probably gonna fuck it all up anyway…”

“Says the person who went to their gig two nights ago,”

In the same way Heeseung knew all the tricks and tactics to turn you into a red, fuming ball of anger, he also knew how to push all of Beomgyu’s buttons. Then again, it wasn’t that difficult to get Beomgyu angry, for Beomgyu was the type of person to get angry at a mere fly that happened to land on his shoulder. It was very easy to tick Beomgyu off, but only you had the power to get him into a continual period of rage that never ceased to disappear the moment he hears your name or catches a whiff of your scent. Heeseung wouldn’t compare Beomgyu’s so-called hatred towards you in a predator-prey dynamic—to him, both of you were blood-thirsty warlords that could never come to terms with a ceasefire to the detriment of the rest of the world. 

“Hee, I swear, if you told her that—”

“Don’t worry, Gyu. I’m not a snitch.” Heeseung interrupted. “What I am, though, is a messenger boy, and if I’m being honest with you, I’m getting sick of my job. Just admit that you like her and I don’t know? Go fuck her or something,”

“Hee, I don’t like her. Let me correct myself: I will never like her. I like her band, not her.”

Beomgyu was an enigma in many, many ways, but what never failed to amuse Heeseung about his reluctant roommate was how hatred was stronger than attraction or any feelings of love. Beomgyu was the type of person to go through lovers like a page in a novel—fast, yet detailed, but never stuck on the same page for too long. And yet, when it came to you, he seemed to be an avid reader that ceaselessly consumed and repurposed every page of a novel, adding and subtracting everything that he could concentrate all of his energy on understanding the layers and complexities of a text revered by schools and institutions alike. 

“All you talk about is how impeccable the mastering is on the drums whenever you listen to their SoundCloud…”

“So? I just happen to like how she plays. That’s not a testament to me liking her,”

“Why do you hate her so much, Gyu? I don’t think I’ve had the chance to properly ask,”

Heeseung never had the chance to ask Beomgyu out of fear, even when he was high. That was the one thing that never went away no matter what state he was in. To be fair, he had every right to be scared or fearful in any shape or form; he’s never seen a type of hatred as intense and raw as the one Beomgyu harbored over you. 

“Because she exists, Hee. She exists.” 

“Can’t you just let it go?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Beomgyu took a deep breath. He hated that he always ran out of something so essential to life whenever you came up. “Because some dipshit keeps telling my parents that she’s basically beating me in everything! Her!”

“So…?” Heeseung replied, rolling his eyes at the underwhelming result of their rivalry. “Why can’t you just tell them to shut up and mind their own business?”

“I wish it was that easy, Hee. God, I wish. Every time they call me it’s like Oh that girl got number one again! Oh that girl’s president of the law society, why are you VP external? Beomgyu-yah, why can’t you be better?”

Another word about Choi Beomgyu: If it wasn’t as clear as day, then it would be helpful to explain it now. He was from a well-to-do family with no financial obligations or the threat of living a brooding, middle-class life chasing paycheck after paycheck to sustain the bare necessities in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. With this in mind, Heeseung begins to paint a kaleidoscopic diagram of the various reasons why Beomgyu may be so hung up on always being number two against you. He closed his eyes, allowed the remaining traces of cannabis to set the cogs in his brain into motion, and came up with an epiphany that shook him to the core: Beomgyu was a bored, rich kid that needed something to keep him at his toes, and you were the very stimulant that he was looking for. Sure, it was, in a sense, an underwhelming conclusion, but Heeseung could only digress. He wasn’t born into a family that had it all, and he reckons that if he didn’t have to worry about his finances, he would end up being a bratty, bored student out for blood just like the very person that offered him a taste of wealth in a sky-high apartment. 

“Yikes… Talk about Tiger King and Queen…”

“So yeah, it is personal.” Beomgyu spat. It would be rude to call the boy tone deaf—especially in his hot-headed state. Heeseung kept his mouth shut, something that he rarely did when he was inebriated in any form. 

“You don’t have to tell them about her, you know?” He asked after finding the right words to say. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and huffed under his breath, his hands twitching to throw his phone off the balcony. 

“I’m not! That’s the point! I’m not telling them about her! They’re just stalking me on their own!” 

At this moment, Heeseung thought of trying his best to reconcile the bad blood between you and Beomgyu. Then again, he pondered—another thing he never seems to do. If he were to succeed in getting you and Beomgyu to set your respective differences aside, then he wouldn’t have his very own source of entertainment anymore. As much as he would’ve hated to admit, he always looked forward to getting high just to hear Beomgyu complain about you. What made it even funnier to him was how you were nothing like the devil that Beomgyu pictured. It wasn’t to say you were an angel that descended from the heavens, either. You were, in fairness, just an average university student that couldn’t—and shouldn’t—care less about a rich boy that endlessly yapped about you. Without Beomgyu in the picture, you were just a drummer that had to deal with another pair of noisy rivals that needed to go to some form of couple’s therapy. 

“Hee, you don’t get it, do you?” Beomgyu suddenly spoke, breaking the short-lived silence that Heeseung tried to salvage. 

“Afraid not.”

“I can’t get along with someone like her. I just can’t. She gets on my nerves, and I wish she didn’t exist!”

It was common for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain about his parents and his brother in the few months or so of him living with the boy. In fact, it was a routine for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain. That was what he was good at, and he was glad that he was putting his skills to good use by choosing the right program and career path. Now that Heeseung had the chance to picture it, Beomgyu would make a fine lawyer, incessantly nagging his way through each court case until the jury rules in his favor so he would shut up. 

“Jesus, you rich kids are kind of an ick…” Heeseung whispered. He gave Beomgyu a quick wave and headed straight to the balcony, closing it to see his roommate flash him the middle finger. He returned it with a smile, and fished a lighter out of his jean pocket to light the stem of a dirty, unwashed bong that was filled with beer instead of water. 

“You should be lucky I’m letting you live here for free,” Beomgyu mouthed through the glass windows just enough for Heeseung to see. 

“Yeah, I guess hearing you pine about a fellow overachiever and trauma dump about your terrible childhood is better than paying for rent,” Heeseung replied, opening the door to let Beomgyu into the balcony. Beomgyu hated it whenever Heeseung would smoke. A part of it came from the stench that stuck to his hair and clothes despite three laundry loads in the washing machine, and another part came from his irrational fear of anything related to drugs—which was rather odd since he was the type of person who was pretty loose when it came to drinking copious amounts of alcohol at social gatherings. 

“Hee, if I go to jail one day, you’ll probably be out of this earth to witness it.”

“Oh, I’m so scared!” 

Heeseung tried his best to stifle a bout of laughter that began to accumulate in his lungs but to no avail. In an instant, he was a laughing mess with red-laced eyes, and all Beomgyu could do was cover his nose as the hooded boy continued to blow smoke on his face. 

“Close the fucking door when you smoke, you’re hotboxing the entire apartment,” Beomgyu screamed, storming out of the balcony to close the glass windows shut. Before he could go back to his room, Heeseung stood up and opened the door again, letting the stench of weed laced with moldy beer enter the ventilation system. 

“You should try it sometime, Gyu. It’d loosen the stick up your ass for sure,” Heeseung said with a languid touch to his cadence. Every word and movement he uttered was met with heavy restraint, and Beomgyu knew that Heeseung wasn’t on earth anymore. 

“Are you coming?” Beomgyu asked. He knew there was nothing he could do to reason with someone that was properly baked. 

“To what?” Heeseung responded, almost shattering the bong in his hands as he languidly danced back into the apartment. 

“Joker In’s gig tonight,” Beomgyu said reluctantly—almost too quick for Heeseung to catch. 

“Gyu, I deliver their pizza like, every day. I don’t need to go there again unless they give me shrooms for free.”

“Whatever,”

Beomgyu stormed off into the bathroom to grab the essentials that he relied on for the perfect disguise: a disappearing can of Manic Panic hair dye in neon red, a pair of scissors and a bunch of razorblades that he used to tear his jeans and his tank tops, a pencil of kohl eyeliner that he stole from one of his first hookups during freshman year, and a near-empty bottle of black nail polish. Heeseung often joked about how his so-called “disguise” was just a blast from the MySpace, scene-girl past, but Beomgyu refuses to admit that his go-to look to your gigs was less-than-perfect. He’s snuck into your gigs since he saw you secretly put posters of a Valentine’s bash on every crevice of the law faculty; he was sure a couple more gigs couldn’t hurt before the inevitable occurs. 

“You’re going alone?” Heeseung asked, waving at his reflection in the mirror while trying his best to stop himself from uncontrollably laughing. 

“Yeah, why?”

“What if she sees you?”

“Have you seen her play? She only focuses on rubbing two sticks. I doubt she’d even notice me.” Beomgyu replied, sharpening his eyeliner. Heeseung knocked the bottle of nail polish and caught it, a wide grin of pride on his face as he carefully placed it back in its original position near the sink. 

“See? You’re constantly horny for her,”

“I’m not, she’s ugly and she’s annoying,”

“And yet you’re going to her gig,”

“Man, shut the fuck up.” To Beomgyu’s surprise, this had become his way of saying goodbye to Heeseung whenever he would go to your band’s gig. He used to push Heeseung out of the bathroom so he could concentrate on applying eyeliner on his waterline, but he’s become desensitized to the stings that he would feel when he would accidentally poke his eyes. Sometimes, Heeseung was willing to help Beomgyu apply red dye to his hair, tracing the lines of his tattoos around his arms and calling them crude shapes such as dick nozzle or pee pee stains. Whether he liked it or not, it had unfortunately become a ritual to have Heeseung with him when he was going through his transformation, and now, he was afraid that Heeseung’s absence wouldn’t give him the push and comfort he needed to go through with his covert operation to see you play the drums.

“I’m calling out to you, I wish I could hide,

Oh, no one loves me tonight

It’s just my demons and I,”

This was supposedly the hundredth time that Beomgyu had seen Geonu sing, but he could never learn from his mistakes. Alcohol, nicotine, and Geonu’s voice seemed to give Beomgyu the worst cross-faded experience of his life. Contrary to what others might believe, Beomgyu felt like this during all of Joker In’s gigs because Geonu was too good at his job. His voice had an enchanting quality to it that made Beomgyu’s walls collapse into putty, turning the decrepit paint-job of the basement into one, giant quicksand that continually pulled Beomgyu in. It didn’t help that the rest of the band amplified Geonu’s hypnotic timbre; Sungchan’s guitar acted as a second voice that harmoniously meshed with the mystic melodies that left Beomgyu in a trance-like reverie; Jeongin’s bass didn’t act as a stabilizer with its own heavy renditions of weightless bliss—and, of course, you. 

Suspension of disbelief was something that Beomgyu thought he could never accomplish, and yet, the moment you started to strike each tom with your drum stick, he knew that everything in his life didn’t matter to him anymore. He supposes it was the power of music, but he also hatefully admits that your skills carried an unbreakable spell with each note you hit. Rhythm wasn’t even something he particularly enjoyed, seeing as most of the music he listened to was melodic and lyrical in nature. It was only when you took the seat to the drum kit that he was finally able to stand close to the speakers, in the very corner he saved for himself, just to see your tireless figure effortlessly match the energy of the rest of the band. He didn’t know what it was that made him nearly obsessed with the way you played: What it the nonchalance you brought to the stage? Or was it the fills you’d add here and there whenever there was an instrumental break? Was it perhaps the almost-melodic nature of your playing that aroused not just him, but everyone in the room into a mosh-pit frenzy? Maybe it was the way you looked when you played—but he wasn’t drunk enough just yet to admit something so… raunchy. 

The walls started to fade one by one, and the group of people that crowded all corners of the basement slowly blended together into various forms and colors. The neon, old gray test lights that dyed the room in a diverse spectrum of colors swirled into one, hazy, hypnotic vision that almost made Beomgyu nauseous. Geonu’s voice began disappearing into thin air, and all he could hear was the muffled bass drum that you kicked with patterned intervals. 

This was out of the norm, and Beomgyu’s recklessness amplified into tenfolds of fear. He couldn’t feel the sensations of his skin anymore; his eyes continued to swirl into an amalgamation of colors and people that looked like blurry amoebas; time seemed difficult to track as everything was moving too fast and slow for him to ground himself; each body he bumped into felt like he was getting crushed under its weight; Beomgyu couldn’t breathe; Beomgyu couldn’t see anything anymore; the only thing that Beomgyu could hear was an all too familiar voice that he wasn’t sure he hated or loved. 

“Hey, you alright?”

When Beomgyu opened his eyes, he was outside the concert venue, crouched down on the same levels of the tall grass that tickled his face. His cheeks felt cold to the touch, almost as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. He felt through his hair and tried to contain the fear that embraced his body, locked in a state of panic at the sight of bright red staining his palms. It took a while for him to realize that it was just the temporary dye that he’d placed on his hair, but the apprehension and trepidation came to haunt him again when he looked up to see your concerned, glassy eyes. 

“You don’t look too good,” You repeated, kneeling down to his level as you lit a cigarette and blew the smoke against his direction. There were several empty water bottles next to you, coupled with an entire cooler filled with soft drinks, fruit juice, and whatever Beomgyu could see in the dimly lit outdoors of the outskirts of town. 

“No, I’m fine.” He breathlessly replied, staring down at the soles of his scuffed, leather combat boots. There was no way he could look up now. He could tell that you weren’t convinced; your chuckles made the pits of his stomach dance with the bile that was piling up in the organ. You took a water bottle and gently held his face in the soft surface of your palms, letting the liquid slowly refresh the corners of Beomgyu’s mouth. The haziness that he felt in his vision slowly dispersed into clarity—which worsened the nausea that overwhelmed Beomgyu in waves. It was the first time he got this close to you without wanting to rip your head off. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but the remnants of alcohol that swirled throughout his bloodstream made his cheeks flush in a bright shade of red. He quickly took the water bottle away from you, drowning himself in its cool temperature. Maybe that way, he would wake up and remind himself that you shouldn’t be a friend. 

The cool winds of the summer night grazed his cheeks in a tender embrace as he tried his best to keep his head down. He relentlessly prayed that the dimness of the venue’s entrance would hide his worst-kept features from you, fearing for the worst. Ever since his first visit to your band’s gig, he’s never felt something so close to a palpable sense of freedom—a euphoric high that gave him the taste of being a carefree young adult caught up in the fast times of rock music and decadence. He’s thought about making amends just to keep his little, secret sanctuary intact, but his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to yield to someone like you. Now that he was sober enough to think about it, he found the irony behind you embodying both his shackles to parental approval and a one-way ticket to liberation quite laughably fascinating. During the day, you were the very picture of something his parents wished he could be, and during the night, you had all the qualities of becoming a musician he idolized. He cursed fate under his breath, wishing that you weren’t blessed with the gifts of intelligence and innate leadership skills. He refused to admit it, but in another life where all you were to him was a drummer in his favorite band, he would’ve given you the benefit of the doubt and let you into his life. 

He was reminded of your presence when you hovered a thin, white stick in front of him that glowed within the vast darkness of the night sky. He politely refused, shaking his head as a way to tell you that he didn’t smoke. You stifled a bout of laughter and tucked the cigarette back into its flimsy, dilapidated box, taking a languid seat next to the boy that you decided to take care of without realizing that he was the main source of your misery in your school life. 

“What was the last song that you guys performed? I think I missed it because I blacked out or something,” Beomgyu asked with slight hesitance. 

“A new version of Vem Da Greš that Geonu translated a few days ago,” You replied, humming the tune to the song that he wished he saw you play live. Something inside of him was telling him that he shouldn’t stay here any longer, so he got up and stretched his arms and legs, callously calculating his angles so you wouldn’t see a single hint of his face. He reveled in your denseness but despised your natural amiability. Once you got up and mimicked his stretches, he turned his head back and stuffed his hand in his jean pocket, fishing for his keys as he mustered a small goodbye in your direction. 

“Are you sure you can go home alone?” You asked. “I can drop you off at the bus stop or something, since this place is pretty far out from the nearest city,”

A part of Beomgyu knew that the city lights would reveal his identity, but another part of him also knew how stubborn you can be. Even if he were to tell you that he was fine, and that he’s been known to rely on drunk navigation a lot, he was sure you would ceaselessly insist on taking him home. That was another thing he hated about you—you were too nice, too caring, and too kind to be his rival. 

“I’ll be fine,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to change the tone and cadence of his usual voice. As expected, your cackles echoed across the large stretches of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house that your band inherited, and you slowly walked closer to his side to poke his shoulders. 

“You were literally wobbling around the basement, and if it weren’t for a nice group of girls that nursed you back to health at the sofa, you wouldn’t be here standing up to go home,” 

Beomgyu covertly checked the time on his phone, afraid that the phone case filled with his cards and IDs would give his identity away. The time read 03:46 A.M., and he heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. He should’ve called Heeseung a little earlier to pick him up before he got absolutely wasted. In fairness, he could just call an Uber and hitch a ride home, but the transaction would raise another round of suspicion for his parents. He already had enough to worry about when he turned off his location and lied about going on weekly hiking trips with his friends, and he didn’t want to subject himself to another endless lecture and the threat of heightened surveillance from his parents. 

“Fine,” 

You jogged back to the venue and quickly came out with several water bottles in your small backpack, tossing one in Beomgyu’s direction. It was already bad enough for him that you out of all people saved him from his drunken downfall. The last thing he needed to end his night was to go on a long walk back into the city with someone he was supposed to hate. 

“So, where do you live, if I may ask?” 

Beomgyu pondered. He didn’t have to tell you his exact address. “Around Mapo-gu, near Mapo station.” 

“Oh?”

He didn’t like the lack of response on your end. A low, vibrating hum escaped your lips, and you snapped your fingers as your mouth widened in amusement. “That’s where my friend lives! I can ask him to pick you up once we get there!” 

You quickly took your phone out of your pocket and held it in your ear, too quick for Beomgyu to protest and stop you from doing so. Now, he was sure it was all over. The moment he heard the receiver pick up, he braced himself for what was to come. 

“Hee, are you awake right now?” You asked, impatiently tapping your foot on the concrete roads that led to the only bus stop in sight—a shadowy silhouette of a thin, metal pipe with a flat circle that read Supsok Village Complex 2. He took a quick glance at your fretful stance, fidgeting with the straps of your phone’s drum keychain while fiddling with the pair of sticks that were lodged under the straps of your loose, billowy joggers. A satisfied hum huffed out of his breathless mouth when he saw you irately throw your phone inside your backpack. Even if Heeseung didn’t pick him up from the venue tonight, he knew that he could always rely on his copious cannabis routine to fall into a deep, unyielding sleep around this hour.

“I’m sorry, my friend’s a bit of a pothead so he’s probably knocked out cold or something,” You apologetically muttered. I would know, he’s my fucking roommate, Beomgyu thought to himself, returning your regretful sentiment with the only form of forgiveness he was willing to give you. Now, it was just the two of you, and Beomgyu had no clue if he should take the long, arduous hike back to his apartment or be thankful enough for your clumsy attempts at assisting him back to his domicile. The fact that he leaned towards succumbing to your aid made him realize that he wasn’t as good with alcohol as he would’ve liked—and now, he was sitting right next to you, eyes glued on his warped reflection in the glass windows as he watched you idly fidget in your seat. He was more than willing to suffer through the entire bus ride to his area of town in awkward silence, but judging from the way you tapped your feet and snuck quick glances between his brows and the tip of his nose, he knew that there was no escaping your desires for a tangible conversation. 

“So… did you enjoy the show?” You asked after passing through six different bus stops. Beomgyu played with the loose hems of his tattered tank top, letting the seams go undone. He didn’t expect you to take your hoodie off in one motion, tossing it to the side of his neck as you quickly looked away. He tried his best to etch the rare shyness he saw written on your curved, cat-like spine; this was definitely something he’ll be bullying you for tomorrow. 

Was he at fault for catching you in your most vulnerable state? No. You were just too dense to realize that the handsome, messy, rocked-out, drunk stranger right next to you was the very bane of your existence. 

Beomgyu’s glory was short-lived, though. Now, he had to make the move. He remembered what his brother had taught him back in middle school, when Beomgyu was still struggling through incessant voice cracks and embarrassing one-liners that he’d religiously recite to get the girl of his then-dreams to bat a single eyelash in his direction. Step one, take a deep breath—because oxygen is the key to looking good, apparently. Step two, expand the diaphragm to fill the ribcage and beyond. It provided the facade of chest muscles. Step three, turn the chin low enough so the vocal cords could only register low notes—he didn’t know the science behind it, but he found that doing these three steps immensely lowered his already low, baritone voice into unknown depths (Beomgyu would like to add that he would never do this sober. It took courage for him to fall for his brother’s tricks, and he was only ever so courageous when he was drowned in eighteen glasses of tequila sunrise). 

“Y-yeah, you guys did great as always,” Did it work? 

No, it didn’t. The timid shyness in your slouched stature was gone, replaced with your best attempts at keeping your laughter within the confines of your throat. He couldn’t tell if you were choking on air, stifling your dinner and pushing it back into your stomach, or suffering through an intense, sharp pain in your abdomen. All he knew at the moment was that the tension that was once present in the air instantly dispelled into the flowery picture of two young adults failing to hold their laughter back in the empty seats of the night bus. It was certainly an odd experience for Beomgyu to not just share a ride home with someone he would very much murder in the confines of an empty, night bus, but he couldn’t deny how right things felt at the moment. Within the dim, flickering fluorescent lights of the shaky bus, all he could see was another universe through the reflections of the glass windows—a universe where he met you under different circumstances. A different reality where he would take you home and house you in his apartment, watching sad movies in his bedroom until the first sunrise. 

Are you more of an action person, or comedy? My favorite genre is melodrama, he wanted to say. Maybe in his “new” identity as a faux washed-up youth in leather combat boots and ripped jeans, he might have some leeway into managing his double life. Tirelessly hating you for three years straight certainly added tired him out, so perhaps it would be a new thing to try 

“Ah, a repeater,”

“That’s… odd? I don’t see you around a lot, though,” You replied. It was often common for your band to track and befriend those that constantly attend your shows—then again, you weren’t the best judge of that. Each gig always ended in 

“That’s because I don’t stick around after the encore. I just leave once the song is done,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to alter the tone in his voice. He couldn’t tell if you were just extremely tired or if you had too much to drink, but the deep swirls of colors under your lids was enough for him to feel a sense of security in his identity being under wraps. Just like the milkiness of the dark skies that danced with several shades of navy, you swayed back and forth with the motions of the car, heavy lids slowly going in and out of sleep as you tried your best to stifle a yawn and pay attention to your somewhat new companion. The driver announced the last stop, acting as an alarm for you to slap yourself in the face and hop off your seat. 

To be fair, both of you were in an equal state of fatigue and inebriation. Beomgyu was waddling as he tried to balance himself on the railings of the exit door, and you placed your weary palm on the semi-wet surface of the bus, momentarily taking it away after the driver had angrily beeped at you until you did so. Once the bus zoomed away, you felt a wave of nausea hit you—at first, it began at the back of your stomach, then, it slowly climbed its way up until you were hunched over at the nearest sewer, coughing out everything that was supposed to fuel you for a one-hour set. Beomgyu turned away and reluctantly placed gentle pats on the small of your back, hiding his face from the city lights that threatened to blow his cover off. 

“My apartment is this way,” He muttered. You nodded after a few rounds of coughing, then doused yourself with the last water bottle that was inside your backpack. 

“Mine’s on the other end of the street,” You replied, wiping your mouth with your jacket and quickly waving off his concerns with a tired grin. He couldn’t imagine the toll it took on you, or any musician for that matter, to play intense, fast-paced songs back to back without any rest, but perhaps that type of stamina was what it took to become a professional of sorts. Maybe that was also why you were such a feisty fighter, because you needed the energy to carry yourself throughout the day. 

“See you around?” You asked. He didn’t turn to look at you. He simply stood still, lowering his head until all he saw were the messy, beer-stained surface of the degrading leather in his combat boots. He gave you a quick nod, then stuffed his sweat-ridden hands in his jean pockets. Somehow, he could still feel your presence lurking around, waiting idly until he entered the apartment. It wasn’t until he was within the comforts of his building, swiftly jogging up to the elevator, that you began to walk away. Through the large, glass windows of the apartment building, you were but a mere ant, eyes lingering on the path he took as if it were a complex maze. He could see you taking quick glances between your road and his, a satisfied smile on your face as soon as you confirmed that he was, indeed, safely home. That was another thing he hated about you. There was no need for you to have gone that far to make sure a stranger from your gig got home without getting mugged. 

He didn’t need to be cautious when he opened the door to his apartment. Heeseung was already fast asleep on the sofa, strewn with empty bags of potato chips and bags of Starbucks takeout that he probably went out to get once Beomgyu had left to go to Joker In’s show. In his current state, it was practically impossible for him to get up and pick Beomgyu up. Beomgyu was pretty much used to ending his night with the role of a babysitter, but now, he didn’t feel like he had the energy to keep up with his routine. Heeseung could probably manage fine on his own, and Beomgyu desperately needed a cold shower to refresh his head at the unexpected encounter. God, she’s so fucking dense, Beomgyu thought, smiling to himself as he plopped his body on the warm, soft surface of his duvet. The shower will have to wait until the morning, and until then, he didn’t mind the extra load of laundry that came with massive spots of red dye on his pillowcases.

II. VOTE NO.24 ON EUROVISION! GO SLOVENIA!

To your luck, Geonu didn’t announce a practice session today. Normally, the band was privy to five hours of practice every single day—including the weekends. A part of it came from Geonu’s penchant for perfection, but another came from the growing bond that the band had developed over time. While Geonu and Sungchan didn’t necessarily need more time together, the daily sessions helped the entire band get to know each other and experiment with compatibility in the most esoteric way possible. In your first sleepover with the band at the eerie, decrepit basement (Heeseung would call it a horror movie set), you were able to call Jeongin a friend after he gently sat you through one of your first acid trips, gripping your hands tight as you endlessly cried about the visions and voices that still manage to chain themselves in your nightmares to this day. Another thing you learned about Jeongin that day was that he had a problem with mushrooms during high school, only quitting in his second year after an intervention that led him spiraling into a near-death experience of impulsively taking his car out in the middle of the night. You didn’t ask him for the specifics, nor did you mention that you were surprised that someone like him had gone through rehab, but you learned that Jeongin had trusted you with his story. 

“Believe it or not, but Eurovision was what got me through that entire ordeal,” You remembered Jeongin telling you at some point. He was confined in a psychiatric ward for nearly a month, his schedule and time dictated through therapy sessions, group activities, and worksheets that he haphazardly filled. He also told you that time passed differently when one was locked inside the same, white walls every day, and so the only time started to move for him was when the person next to him invited him to watch several Eurovision performances in preparation for the finals in Rotterdam two years ago. 

“I knew nothing about Europe then, but the guy next to me was married to a Swedish woman for a decade before she passed. They made it a routine to watch Eurovision every year, and he still tries his best to keep up with it even when she’s gone.” 

You expected him to mention Maneskin as the band that got him through his slump, but Jeongin was a man full of surprises. For someone with beady, glassy eyes and a geekish demeanor, you didn’t think that Finland’s Blind Channel would be the one that would get him out of the institution. 

“I mean this sounds like an edgy fourteen-year-old’s confession on an anonymous forum, but man, I’ve never really seen a band like that go so hard on live television, you know? Every time I see crazy antics or bands that had the same energy as Rage Against the Machine, it was always in the 90s or the early 2000s, when things weren’t too radio-friendly. And it wasn’t just them being hardcore like that, but it was how down-to-earth they all were—almost like they really loved what they were doing.” 

Jeongin didn’t tell you why he started taking mushrooms or what led to him getting institutionalized in the first place, but it was enough for you to know that what you once perceived as an odd affinity for Eurovision was to him, an important getaway that cemented him back into the ground. Since then, the topic of Eurovision had become a daily part of your life—and now that the 2023 semi-finals were coming, Jeongin and the rest of the band had been keeping tabs on the latest culmination of the contest. In your downtime, Sungchan would update the Discord server with his ever-evolving tier list of entries, and Geonu would log on just to argue and contest Sungchan’s opinions. Of course, both would know their places once Jeongin would enter the conversation, but nonetheless, it came to a point where your days would feel empty without someone mentioning anything Eurovision related. 

There was Eurovision, and then, there was Beomgyu. 

Oddly enough, your days also felt incomplete without Beomgyu. Ever since you made the bold mistake of scheduling the same office hours as Beomgyu, the two of you had been in a constant stalemate of academic excellence. For you, it wasn’t necessarily the fact that you needed to prove something; you initially enjoyed seeing someone get so riled up and bothered at the fact that you were always better in everything you did. In a sense, your goals, ambitions, and fortitude didn’t come from a place of parental pressure or identity-building—you had to be on top of your game to the detriment of your well-being. While Beomgyu may have seen it as a competition, you saw it as a zero-sum game. To you, your entire livelihood basically depended on being the best at whatever, whenever, and wherever—excluding your role as a drummer in Joker In. 

“Good morning, dipshit,” An all too familiar voice rang in your ears. You didn’t need to turn your head around to see who took the spot next to you in the vast lecture hall. Keeping your head to the busy tabs on your laptop, you heaved a sigh of both relief and exhaustion. Despite the absence of practice, you still had another part of your daily routine in check. 

“What the fuck do you want, Gyu,” You coldly spat, knowing that the response you were going to get had to do with your gigs last night. 

To the surprise of many—yourself included—your persona as the drummer of Joker In had been one of your best-kept secrets. Sure, being in a band was something most college kids got to experience, and student musicians were a common phenomenon across all facets of campus life. You nonetheless kept those two aspects of yourself as separate as possible, creating a clear divide that made sure none of those parts of your world intertwined and meshed together in any way. The law society didn’t need to know about the nightly debauchery you involved yourself in within the confines of the basement; those were stories that you kept to yourself to your grave—a musical pandora’s box that was meant to stay a secret. 

“Heard through the grapevine that Little Miss Perfect got shitfaced last night,”

This time, you closed your laptop and snapped your head towards Beomgyu. Heeseung was terrible at keeping his mouth shut, but he wasn’t there to bear witness to the copious amounts of alcohol and weed that muddled your body that night. In a flurry of panic, you did your best to remember everyone that was present at the gig, scouring through the entirety of emails on Eventbrite that signed up for a ticket or two. 

“And?”

Then again, what consequence would you get if you got caught? It wasn’t like the Law Society could strip you of your position; you were single-handedly the only president of the contemporary generation that managed to revive the organization from near death. If you told any of your professors about your musical ventures, you doubt they would look at you differently. In fact, they might even check out your gig or look up Joker In’s several sites across the internet, either becoming a fan of the band or not. Truthfully, there was no certain risk that threatened your current position and reputation on campus as the face of the Faculty of Law. The only thing that mattered to you was the unpleasant nature of combining your professional life with one that you exclusively created to escape the shackles of boundless perfectionism and tireless efforts to maintain all that you had built. 

“That’s not a good look for the law society,” He grinned, perching his chin on his palm as he flipped through his notes. You did the same, clearing your throat as soon as the ten-minute mark on the digital clock succumbed all students into a quiet, dreary dread of a two-hour lecture. 

“Last time I recall, you’re the one seen at a super sketchy rave last summer,” You whispered, keeping your head low enough so the professor couldn’t see you. “If you’re ratting me out for my band, then I’m ratting you out for doing lines with Heeseung at the Seoul Jazz Festival,”

“I only did one line, mind you,”

Another odd occurrence between you and Beomgyu’s rivalry was how both of you had accumulated so much dirt on each other, that it was practically impossible to call everything a truce. For the past three years, each intense battle between grades, essays, and projects was met with threats of outing the other for reckless behavior. Whenever Beomgyu would bring up your period of weed addiction in first year, you would rebut with some of his worst speeding incidents. If he were to draft an email to the program coordinator about your experiments with DMT when you just began your friendship with Geonu, then you were ready to send pictures of him doing lines with his rich friends at a yacht in Mykonos. Three years of constant rivalry also meant constant surveillance, and now that the two of you had reached the finish line to your respective degrees, the tension and threat of total exposure increased tenfold. 

“A line’s a line,” Beomgyu silently spat through gritted teeth. “I’d never do coke, so you should be thankful I’m not kicking you out as president,”

“Fuck you,”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’m lucky, then.”

“That’s the only luck god’s gonna give you, Gyu.”

Three years of unyielding pride and egoism also meant that the two of you knew when to stop arguing. Even if most of the people around you saw you and Beomgyu as a pair that didn’t know when enough was enough, there were certain limits that introduced a silent armistice in the war that Beomgyu had waged on you. For one, if fights were to occur before a lecture began, both of you were willing to swallow your feelings of pride and pay attention, ushering the competition elsewhere in the form of aggressive keyboard smashing and who could raise better questions to the professor. This was one of those instances, and as always, you left the lecture hall as the main victor, even being called after class to discuss the prospects of constitutional reform with the professor. Beomgyu simply stood to the side instead of leaving—another trait about him that you grew too accustomed to. Every single time you were either called after classes to discuss further questions or network with the professors, Beomgyu would always be behind you, scanning through every nook and cranny to seize any opportunity to either sabotage your efforts or present himself as the more eloquent and intelligent version between the two of you. Usually, professors didn’t mind this type of engagement—in fact, many academics would thrive in an environment where their students would actively contest and participate in the discourse surrounding topics that interest them the most. However, between you and Beomgyu, this would be a strenuous experience for any professor that was unlucky enough to be caught in your competitive mess. 

Luckily, in every case, Heeseung would always be the savior, dragging the two of you out of the lecture hall in the nick of time. 

“You two should just make out already,” He would often say while muttering strings of apologies to the meek, slouched professors that would hastily grab their bags and rush back into the comforts of their own offices. Albeit humiliating at first, you were now too accustomed to the lanky, tall, and especially inebriated man taking both you and Beomgyu’s collars throughout the ends of the campus, only momentarily seating both of you at the edge of the cafeteria to either laugh or complain. 

“That’s giving him too much luck, Hee,” You bitterly retorted, giving Beomgyu the middle finger as a late greeting. 

“She’s privileged enough to be a rich private school nerd who sucks people’s dick on LinkedIn. I can’t give her too much action,”

“You’re the nepo baby, Gyu! Last time I recall, you got in because of your brother’s recommendation letter,”

Talks about Beomgyu’s brother were what always riled him up the most—of course, second to talks about you. 

Here’s the thing about Choi Seungchol: Though he wasn’t in the Faculty of Law, he was a memorable student that continues to be the face of the Faculty of Medicine. An accomplished oncologist with a prestigious tenureship at John Hopkins, he was one of the few Korean medical students who were able to break the difficult threshold of Western-dominated academia, proving himself with his tenacity, wit, and ever-expanding knowledge of cancer research. From the young age of seventeen, he had already graduated high school and shortened his study as an undergrad, dedicating his entire life to an ambitious—but certainly commendable—dream of finding an affordable, accessible, and efficient cure for cancer. Coupled with a look that was universally easy on the eyes, having a brother like Seungchol would have definitely sparked a deep-seated inferiority complex in anyone who had the displeasure of being his younger sibling. 

Tit-for-tat seemed to be the game that you and Beomgyu often engaged in, and if his kryptonite was his brother, then yours would be the long line of lawyers that you descended from. 

Unlike Beomgyu, who chose to study law out of an intense desire to separate his identity from his brother, you treaded onto the same path that marred your family name with generational pride. Sure, it wasn’t to say you wanted to become a lawyer, but rather, you wanted to become the best lawyer out of your family. Rich people had a different set of issues that they needed to face—a constant, mental battle that cut all ties between blood and family. In your family, there was no such thing as a maternal or paternal bond; every one that bore your name was wrought with the constant pressures of living up to it. Each generation was always compared to the last, and each brought the troubles of the past to the realities of the present. All the woes, infighting, and distasteful pride have unfortunately been a product of an entire familial generation that fought hard to keep its legacy intact—and for you, that meant your ticket to leave all of that behind was outdoing the family altogether, reigning supreme in the lifelong struggle of succession. 

With you, your family wasn’t family anymore—they were stepping stones. A key to success and freedom that can only grant liberation once you did everything to prove yourself. 

In a sense, all rich families were Darwinian. The Chois were a household name in medicine, and yours happened to dominate the legal system. One wanted to break free by independently taking another route in life, while the other aimed to destroy an old empire from within. To those that didn’t have the taste of prestige or the amount of free time to comprehend the psychological detriment of wealth, it was a simple case of money bringing too many unnecessary problems. Why worry about such minute issues like reputation and status when your windows didn’t work? 

To you and Beomgyu though, things were different. Too different, in fact. When both your lives were mapped out to success and filling in the shoes of the past, it was inevitable that you would define yourselves and your actions around your family’s troubles. Something as simple as joining a band would cause immediate ruin to the decades of perfecting your role as the ideal candidate to take over your family’s law firm. 

What Beomgyu didn’t know, and what you kept as an even deeper secret than your nights of musical debauchery in the basement, was that you were a bastard—the only child to a second, hidden marriage that broiled your entire family’s law firm in a mess that led to buying out several news outlets and tabloids who eventually took the money to erase all evidence regarding the scandal. You were paraded as the legitimate daughter of your family, and every single facet of your life had been broadcasted to the public since. From bagging first place in an essay-writing contest as a child to constantly making headlines as one of the best debaters in each high school debate competition, you had maintained the aura and image of a perfect successor. And now, all your accomplishments throughout university had been scantily advertised in university newspapers, online gossip forums, and local magazines—from your events in the law society, the talks you’d organize and give in legal seminars, down to the minuscule acts of charity you would do with the Cold Case Foundation. All of your life was documented for the world to see, prepping you up so the family could contain its skeletons within the safety of its closets. 

This was why you couldn’t contain the hatred and anger you’d managed to keep to yourself for so long when Beomgyu would bring your family into the conversation. An inferiority complex paled in comparison to a family secret that threatened to bring the mighty walls of your family’s empire down to the ground with a single slip-up. 

“News flash: I’m not the one who comes from an entire family that practices law,”

Ah, there it was. You stood up from your seat like always, never looking back as you stomped out of the cafeteria in blood-curdling, fuming anger. It was natural for Beomgyu to assume that you had an uncontrollable temper—after all, to him, you were a figure of contempt. Someone who was lucky enough to be born into a profession that he took up just to escape his lack of medical skills and affinity for science and mathematics. 

“Jesus Christ, she’s so entitled,”

“Not cool, dude. Not cool,” Sungchan suddenly appeared as he always does, carrying a carton of coffee milk and sipping its sweet contents into his throat. Heeseung never really understood why Sungchan would always come to defend you whenever it came to any mentions of your family, but he chalked it up to the behavior of a secret admirer. Spending time together every day in the basement and playing in a band is a great way to get to know a person, and an even better chance to fall in love. If that were the case, then Heeseung certainly felt bad for the guitarist. Although you were already perceived as a picture of admiration, awe, and intimidation from afar, nobody truly knew how cutthroat and blunt you were behind the sheer curtains of model excellence. Heeseung was one of the few that bore witness to how ruthless you can be, and if it were him, he would thwart all chances of attempting to woo you. If Beomgyu was already enough of a testament to your mercilessness, then it was the strict, iron command you had at the law society that made you a less-than-ideal lover in bed and beyond. 

“So I’m the bad guy for bringing up her family,”

“To be fair, she was the one who brought it up first…”

“Thank you, Heeseung!” Beomgyu exclaimed. Sungchan rolled his eyes and tossed the carton of coffee milk; a perfect shot right into the plastic opening of the bin. Heeseung watched with envy, lamenting at his failed basketball career. If only he had been taller, then maybe he might’ve had the chance to skip college altogether and fly to the US to sign a contract with the NBA. He’s always wondered why Sungchan didn’t opt for basketball as a sport, playing for the university’s varsity baseball team instead. He had the height and build to quickly gain ranks as a star player, and he certainly had the agility and aim to entrench himself as one of Korea’s best three-point shooters. Whenever Sungchan would look in Heeseung’s direction, the sense of being tinier than an ant in the entire universe maximized tenfold. It wasn’t just Sungchan’s height, but his general aloofness coupled with his nonchalance made everyone feel small under his presence. 

Sungchan raised his hand at Heeseung, waving goodbye once a mutual high five was sealed and locked—a pact of honest brotherhood, as one might say. He mustered a quick, awkward bow in Beomgyu’s direction and ran off the same way you treaded, ignoring the pair’s curious gaze as he scoured through the maze of crowded young adults and intertwined hallways to catch you in your usual spot. 

Beomgyu trailed Sungchan’s tall frame, watching his forehead graze the entry of the cafeteria. He huffed a sigh and grabbed his backpack, slinging it on his shoulder while knitting his eyebrows in frustration.

“Gyu, you’re not red anymore. You’re green,” Heeseung joked. Before Beomgyu could land a clean, painful hit on Heeseung’s neck, the boy quickly waved and ran past the swarm of students that crowded the hallways, waving his dab pen in the air as a quick sign of surrender. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and stared in the direction that Sungchan treaded, wondering if he should follow along. 

Then again, what was it to him? Why was he so angry over something that didn’t even concern him in the first place? You were the one who brought his brother up constantly, so it would only be right for him to hit you where it hurt the most. He didn’t know much about you, but an aching, swelling pang of guilt began rising up in the form of acidic bile, swirling like rough tides in his stomach until a bout of nausea overwhelmed his entire body. Why the fuck do I care? She’s the one who started it all, Beomgyu thought. He gave the hallway that led to the Law Society’s office one, last glance, completely turning his back in the other direction. He had another lecture to catch; he shouldn’t be worried about you.

Once he found your figure crouched under the table of the Law Society’s main office, he knelt to your height, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. You swatted it away with faux bravery, rigorously wiping the soft tears that marred the apples of your cheeks. 

“Hey,” He greeted. 

“Leave me alone,”

“I can’t,” Sungchan laughed under his breath. “I’m witnessing you cry like a baby for the first time,”

“Shut up, Sung.”

For Sungchan, striking a friendship with you was unexpected. He’d at least expected himself to be on good terms with Jeongin before even attempting an acquaintanceship with you. When he initially met you, he had to admit that you were a deplorable person of sorts. You carried an air of superiority wherever you went, treated everyone like they were below you, and you always had a ruthless, competitive streak that turned everything sour with a single blink of an eye. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was sure that he was going to tell Geonu to look for another guitarist. 

“I can’t work with her,” He confided right after he heard you play the drums in a mock-up audition for a new recruit. “She’s… bitchy.”

“Sung, she’s a professional,” Geonu would often retort, ignoring Sungchan’s complaints about his own strict standard of musical perfection. “I’ve never seen anyone play with so much dedication and tenacity. If only you took this shit more seriously, then I think you can learn to put those feelings aside and actually play the way I want you to.”

For a while, Sungchan did his best to avoid you. Every time you would ask him to play with you so you could synchronize your playing style with his, he would politely decline, opting to send you recordings of his guitar practices from home or outright pretending he didn’t hear you. Granted, he anticipated that you were the type to not let passive-aggression go. One thing he knows about all law majors was their argumentative streak—to him, that was the reason why so many of the people enrolled in that program were born under the star of Aries. Hot-headed, independent, and defensive—those were all the characteristics that aligned with Aries Suns and anyone practicing the legal field. 

It wasn’t until he got too drunk to stand that he experienced your rare displays of kindness. Though it was common courtesy to take care of drunk people at parties, you and Geonu were the only ones who actively checked up on him, closing the door to one of the rooms that became his personal infirmary while constantly feeding him water and a few, light snacks. Whenever he felt like throwing up and Geonu was unavailable, it was you who took him straight to the bathroom, lifting his head of hair as he lurched out his organs into the once pristine, white ceramics of a toilet bowl. Instead of asking him why he hated you, you simply kept your mouth shut, actively giving gentle massages on the crook of his neck and on the small of his back, gently feeding him more water in timed intervals as he continued to hurl and belch in the tiny, squared space of someone’s bathroom. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I don’t like you?” He asked, completely aware of his slurred words. You laughed and pretended you didn’t hear him—the exact same way he behaved whenever you would ask him to practice some of Joker In’s parts with you. 

Perhaps he had too much to drink, or perhaps he just felt safe in the small, cramped, yet cozy spaces of the bathroom, but the first thing he told you—sans re-introductions—was the fact that he wasn’t sure if he was attracted to Geonu or not. In what felt like hours of him trying his best to keep his voice down amidst the blaring, muted, and bass-booted music that streamed into the tiny cracks of the wooden door, he sobered up in a crying fit, watching your figure transform from blurry blobs of wooziness into swirling, tear-soaked waves that made you look like you were submerged into an ocean of his woes and worries. He admired your silence; he admired the small smile that you gave him throughout his entire episode; he admired the way you screamed at whoever was banging at the front door to fuck off; he admired how head-strong and confident you were, even if he knew that you didn’t return those qualities to yourself. 

From that day on, there was a mutual, unspoken pact that formed into a true, life-long bond between you and Sungchan. Whenever Geonu or Jeongin would ask him why he suddenly changed his mind, he would simply shrug, mimicking the same silence you gave him when he spilled his entire emotional journey of sexual discovery inside that holy bathroom. You did the same, giving subtle looks of confusion or outright denying the bad blood between you and Sungchan. The two eventually suppressed their qualms about Sungchan’s drastic shift, nodding in reluctant agreeability that this had to happen eventually for the band to continue. 

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure Beomgyu didn’t mean it,”

“To be fair, I brought it up first. I got what I deserved,” You whispered, careful eyes scanning through random bystanders through the small creak of the agape, wooden door in front of you. Sungchan stood up to close it, but you grabbed the hem of his sweater, begging him to stay. 

“Shh, don’t say that to yourself,” He replied, humming lowly to himself. “I think this is the point where you realize you should probably just get over it all. I mean, it’s been three whole years. Shouldn’t you just get over it and be the bigger person?”

Sungchan’s words hit you like a knife that slashed and hacked at an open wound. Each pause of silence brought another ounce of pain in your chest, and you couldn’t pinpoint if those feelings were a guilty conscience or another byproduct of your massive pride. You hated it when others were right, and you hated it even more that you continued to do the wrong thing despite knowing you could just ignore Beomgyu and get on with your day. Certainly, if you had kept things at light insults three years ago, then you shouldn’t be as riled up or hurt by Beomgyu’s actions and words by now. What bothered you even more, though, was how you didn’t seem to know who made things worse. At this rate, the rivalry between the two of you had gone on for far too long. You couldn’t pinpoint a true start that fueled your spite for him. It was almost like you had always hated Beomgyu from the start, even if there was a part of you that wholeheartedly disagreed with that predicament. 

“You know what, you’re right, Sung. I should stop giving him any of my attention if I want him to shut up,”

“See, it’s not that hard!” 

Before you and Sungchan could shake things off with a friendly hug, your phones buzzed in unison. With a quick nod, the two of you burst out of the Law Society’s office, ignoring the wary eyes that watched each of your steps with confusion and suspicion. You declined the call and swiped right on Sungchan’s phone, popping your head near the camera to see who was on the other end of the line. To your relief, it was an excited Jeongin, carrying crescents in his eyes as he huffed on his earphones’ microphone. 

“Guys!” 

“What’s up, Jeongin?”

“The finals!” He screamed, loud enough for you and Sungchan to mute the phone and cover the speakers. 

“What about it?”

“It’s streaming right now on YouTube!” 

You gave Jeongin a look of confusion, arching your brows and poking Sungchan with your elbows. Despite only getting close to each other for a short time, both of you mastered the art of silence. You didn’t need to tell him to look up the ESC’s website to check if Jeongin was right; there was a certain telepathy that linked your brains together. There was no need for eye contact or physical gestures, it was as if thinking was all it took for Sungchan to understand what you wanted him to say or do, and vice versa. If you were to picture it, then there would be a thin, invisible wire that connected your soul to his, matched with telephone cups where you each whispered your thoughts and actions back and forth. 

“Oh word?” Sungchan muttered once he reached the homepage of the ESC. The semi-finals happened too fast, and it didn’t occur to you that you missed the entire ordeal. Sungchan nodded along, shrugging his shoulders while using his height to push past the sea of students who fell victim to your band’s antics. The key to the exit was Jeongin jumping up and down at the entrance to the university’s main gate, fighting his way out of the security guards trying to calm him down. 

“Come on!” Jeongin exclaimed with infectious glee, grabbing you and Sungchan by the hand and taking the two of you to the nearest train station. 

“Jeongin, where are we going?” You asked. You were sure that Geonu had pinged the entire group chat about the absence of practice that day. Sungchan checked his phone and showed you Geonu’s message once the three of you slowed down and tapped your transit passes to the gates. There was indeed, no practice at the basement today out of Jeongin’s incessant pleas to cancel it. Geonu would have never imagined canceling practice over a singing competition held in Europe, but Jeongin threatened to leave the band if Geonu and the rest didn’t comply with his wishes. Considering how Jeongin was the most compliant member who never seemed to ask for much unless it had to do with Eurovision, Geonu granted the boy’s wishes. 

“The watch party!” 

You scrolled through Joker In’s Kakao group chat with Sungchan, only to find no mentions of a Eurovision watch party anywhere. By now, the entire band had figured that Jeongin was the impulsive type. While you had access to his hidden story of mushroom addiction, the rest were privy to Jeongin’s sudden online activity at the crack of dawn. He would send a barrage of memes and videos on the group chat only to disappear for a week. The only times he would come back was if Geonu had made a practice announcement in the chat, or if the band called him to the meeting place. 

Ergo, Jeongin was not the type of person to organize an entire watch party with his sporadic communication patterns. 

Once the three of you had reached the apartment, a barrage of cannabis hit your nose. Of course, Heeseung was on the side with a bong in hand, while Geonu was already absorbed into the couch, eyes red artificial bliss. Before you could take off your shoes to step inside Jeongin’s apartment, you halted your steps, blinking several times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Some people say that hate was just another form of obsession, and the last thing you wanted was to see Beomgyu in your dreams. 

“Why is he here? 

“Beomgyu is Heeseung’s roommate,” Jeongin meekly replied, keeping a small smile on his face as he kicked his shoes off to dash into the kitchen. Sungchan reluctantly followed suit, taking a bowl of potato chips and popcorn to the small, glass coffee table that was at the center of Jeongin’s rather spacious living room. 

“So? Heeseung never brings him to the basement when he delivers pizza,”

“That’s because Beomgyu doesn’t work at the pizza chain,”

Instead of sitting in the empty space next to Beomgyu on the couch, you opted to take a random spot on the couch, sitting behind Geonu’s legs. Normally, he would complain about you using him as a headrest, but at this rate, he was too high to comprehend that there was something leaning into his calves. 

“Whatever. Since when did you like Eurovision anyway?”

“Before you did, that’s for sure, fucking poser,”

“Oh my god, you son of a—”

Before you could stand up, Sungchan placed a firm grip on your shoulder, entrenching you within the surface of Jeongin’s soft, fur carpet. You took a mental note to ask him about his tastes in furniture. On the other side of the couch, Jeongin had hurried back from the kitchen with a few packs of seltzer that he struggled to carry, pushing one of them into Beomgyu’s lap before he could retort in violence. 

“So everyone in this room is voting for Slovenia, right?” Jeongin asked with an eerily large grin. 

“Yep! Number twenty-four!” Sungchan confirmed, making it his duty to make sure you didn’t lash out throughout the entire song contest. There was no use in fighting back; the hands of a varsity athlete cannot be contested with the likes of an occasional charity player. 

“I’m voting Finland…” Beomgyu huffed, rolling his eyes in your direction.

“Gyu, you literally listened to nothing but Carpe Diem last night,” Heeseung retorted in languid, heavy breaths. If one could guess the lightness of his lids, it would be comparable to a bodybuilder’s daily dumbbell perched on top of his eyes. 

“Shut up. I vote for whoever I want, and my money goes to Finland,” Beomgyu replied, cracking a can of cherry seltzer open with his hand. You followed suit, prompting the boy to roll his eyes once again. 

“He’s voting for Finland because he wants to be oh so special like the rest of the world who’s basically riding Käärijä’s dick!” 

This time, you gulped the can of seltzer down in a single sip, crushing the weak, malleable material between your fingers while raising a middle finger in Beomgyu’s direction. Instead of chugging his drink, he took a deep breath, pacing the amount of alcohol that entered and exited his throat. He knew what he was like when he was drunk, and even if the need to punch you into oblivion was there, he had to control himself—at least, for Jeongin. 

“Shut the fuck up, you two! It’s starting!” You and Beomgyu immediately behaved accordingly, exchanging silent death glares while Jeongin ushered to the middle of the large, flat-screen television mounted on his wall. Even if you knew how serious Jeongin was about anything Eurovision related, you didn’t know that he could exude a level of anger that outmatched you and Beomgyu’s squabbles. 

The introduction to the Eurovision Song Contest lined up with the flurry of buzzes that attacked your back pocket. Upon seeing the caller ID, your fingers automatically hovered over the red button. However, the ringing didn’t stop. No matter how many times you’ve tried to dodge each call you got, it would only come back in waves, accompanied by a barrage of text messages that caught your eye,

Dad’s in the hospital.

To be fair, all your memories with your father had been non-existent at best. The only time you’ve ever seen him was in a pristine, neatly-ironed business suit, gallivanting around the meeting rooms of the law firm or taking the same behavior with him on the dinner table, only allowing everyone else to lift their forks once he was seated. Your father’s presence had a shroud of mist around it—mostly because you couldn’t remember a time when you genuinely bonded with him. To call your father a father only suited you best when you were writing your college application essays or passing interviews for internships and research opportunities. Outside of that, you addressed him with utmost formalities, keeping his power trips unbridled by addressing him as Sir or President. He used to like being called an attorney, but after he began to realize that everyone in the firm held the same occupation, he opted for something more. As such, the news of him being in the hospital was shocking, but it was the least of your current concerns. To you, he was just your lifelong boss, slipping you into the legal world with a guaranteed, secure career filled with success and everlasting wealth. The only reason you had to visit the hospital was to discuss the potential inheritance papers that might have to be negotiated on his deathbed, not because of a familial, patriarchal bond that was never even there to begin with. 

“Hold on, I have to take this call,” You said, hastily getting up while balancing yourself on the carpet. You whispered a mute sorry in Heeseung’s direction, who was suddenly sober at the sight of his bong tipping over. 

Once you were in the bathroom, you locked the door and turned on the lights, keeping your eyes away from the large vanity mirror that enhanced the brightness of the entire room. Closing your eyes, you allowed a mouthful of oxygen to enter your lungs, slowly breathing it out as you dialed your brother’s phone number. It didn’t take a single ring for him to pick up. 

“Hey,”

There was always something about your brother’s voice that irritated you. It wasn’t too nasally, but it wasn’t the most clear-cut pitch either. There was a certain grating quality to it that made listening to an obese chain smoker for hours on end a better feat than hearing your brother in a firm meeting or a case discussion. This was probably the reason why you could tolerate Beomgyu, because you’ve lived with people you genuinely despised for as long as you could count numbers and read the alphabet. 

“Why the fuck are you calling me?” You spat, anticipating the worst. You could hear your brother’s breath hitch on the other end of the line. Of course, a situation like this would stress him out. 

“You know I only reach out if it’s important, so get your ass to the fucking hospital right now. Dad’s going through a hemorrhage, and it’s the worst one we’ve seen so far.”

“Oh,”

“So hurry the fuck up. I’ll write your uni up so you can take an academic leave. Shit’s pretty serious,”

Whenever your brother classified a situation as pretty serious, it usually had to do with money. Talks of a potential merger, a big case that’s worth billions of won, or the acquisition of smaller firms that soon became a part of your family’s legal empire. Anything that had to do with money was serious to your brother, and of course, anything that had to do with money was discussed between the family, beneath the nose of your father. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what this means, right? Dad’s dying, his fucking secretary had just been named the sole trust to the firm, and the entire family’s basically going to war over this fucking fiasco.”

“What the fuck do you mean he signed over the trust to her?”

This was the only time you agreed with your brother about the nature of serious situations. The entire firm and the family were aware of the affair he had with his secretary, but you didn’t know how bad of an impact his senility would have on the future and well-being of the firm and beyond. You kept the phone latched between your shoulders and your chin, taking a seat on the toilet cover while crossing your legs. 

“Just come to the hospital. One of the Choi-owned clinics in Gangnam.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” You curtly replied. “I’ll be there in twenty,” 

Family ordeals were things that Geonu forgave when it came to skipping practice, but you weren’t sure about breaking the news to Jeongin. Perhaps if you simply told him about your father’s condition, he would let it slide. After all, he was the caring sort. Anything that tugged his heartstrings would render him in a thick, melted puddle of tears. All it took was a story of an old, dying man, and you were sure that Jeongin would let you go. Taking another deep breath, you counted to three and opened the door, slowly making your way from the kitchen and into the living room. Instead of taking your seat back next to Heeseung, you stood still, placing your hands on your waist. Despite Geonu’s current state, he managed to groggily sit upright, eyes peering straight into your soul. The rest of the people in the living room followed him as an example, eyes switched from the television screen to your leveled posture. 

“Guys,”

“Look who’s back from her makeout session with the prof,”

“Beomgyu, not now.” You interrupted, clearing your throat as you mentally ran through the quick story you conjured up in your head. My dad’s bleeding out, and I have to go to the hospital to make sure he’s okay. I hope you guys understand. 

“What, you can’t take a joke? Jesus, I never knew little miss perfect was a softie…”

You would usually let your temper subside and give Beomgyu the benefit of the doubt, but this time, he had crossed the line. It wasn’t to say you cared about your father, but it was still a dire situation that needed to be taken seriously. For all the intelligence that Beomgyu prided himself in, he was not the type to understand basic social cues. As if remaining still wasn’t enough of a message, you let the frustration you’ve built up for years wash over you, closing your eyes as you unleashed three years of pent-up irritation and vexation escape your lips in a shrill shriek. The only thing you felt sorry for at the moment was how this was directed at Beomgyu instead of your family, but you needed to release it all before you eventually exploded. Heeseung dropped his bong and alerted himself awake, leaving his mouth agape while his eyes quickly darted past your forehead. Even Sungchan, who was privy to your bursts of anger, lit up in static shock, rendered in a frozen state that made him glued to his seat. Everyone in the room now had their eyes on you—including Jeongin’s roommate who peeked his head out of his door. 

“Seriously?! My dad’s dying, and this is how you react? Look, I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you hate me this much, but this isn’t a game anymore. I’m done, and I’m out of here!” 

In a flash of a second, you were out the door, letting it swing before reclining into a loud thud. The entire room was now drowned in an ocean of silence, and Beomgyu was the only one who gasped for air. He tried to stand up and chase after you, but his legs were stuck to the cotton of Jeongin’s carpet, pulling him deeper and deeper until his entire body was one with the ground. Geonu exchanged glances with Heeseung and the rest of the band, taking a nearby glass of water and gulping it down in a single sitting. Sungchan quickly climbed up to the couch and sat beside him, patting gentle circles on the boy’s back before directing his attention to the sole, uninvited guest that ruined the watch party. All Jeongin could do at the moment was take the remote from the coffee table, lowering the volume of the television until the entire apartment was laced in another wave of deathly silence. Even if the living room was packed, it felt as if he was the only one in the room, stuck between the carpet and the technicolor screen that showed the first performer of the night. Glimpses of red, black, and white dyed the entire space in ominous colors, flashing images of Edgar Allan Poe in the empty, white walls that surrounded the entire group. The only time someone spoke up was when Jeongin’s roommate passed by to turn off the lights, quickly rushing back within the safety of his room as he locked the door shut. 

“You fucked up,” Heeseung started after a few rounds of unspoken guilt. “Hard…”

“It’s not like I can tell her that I’m mad at her because I don’t know? My parents always yelled at me for not being like my brother?” 

No, that’s not what I wanted to say, Beomgyu thought, but it was too late to take his words back inside his mouth. Now, the initial state of shock that occupied the room was replaced with pure, unbridled resentment. 

This time, he was sure he fucked up. 

“Why did you keep this up for so long, anyway? It’s not like it’s that hard to say sorry or something,” Geonu retorted, slowly sobering up. 

“Look, whatever. I’ll get going now, because apparently, I’m always the bad guy,”

“Gyu!” 

Jeongin tried to chase after Beomgyu’s silhouette, only for Sungchan to hold him back. With two silent nods, Jeongin let go of Sungchan’s sleeve, fiddling with the hems of his sweater while watching the tall, lanky boy jog out the door. He didn’t know if he should end the watch party then and there, or if all of them should continue from where they left off. By now, the second performance had started. Flashes of green and red brightly encompassed their eyes, and they remained seated. Geonu texted the band’s group chat and pinged your user to give them updates on your father’s situation, while Heeseung swiftly took his lighter and lit the stem of his bong, deeply inhaling the glass rim in what was going to be his biggest rip to date. 

What was going on outside of Jeongin’s apartment was a different story on its own. You had called one of your drivers to pick you up from the nearest train station, and now, you were zooming past highways and fast cars, reaching your destination as soon as Beomgyu had stepped out of Jeongin’s apartment building. He tried to rush past the flurry of people during rush hour that crowded the station, but the only person he could see was Sungchan, who had managed to chase him by the tail of his jacket. 

“Hey,” Sungchan uttered, never letting go of Beomgyu’s jacket. 

“Here to defend your girlfriend?” Beomgyu spat. Sungchan was used to this by now,

“No, but I’m here to let you know that deep down inside, I know you’re not a bad person,”

The two were now in front of a vending machine behind the station, a place where drunken white-collared men would drink their sorrows away. It also happens to be the place for a rendezvous to hide under the neon lights of the city—high school couples that secretly meet after the academy for a kiss goodbye before going home, college kids that are too drunk to scan their passes at the gate, office workers that feel the need to have a drink or two before being welcomed back home by their kids, smokers who hide their vices under the surveillance system, and people that are waiting for their online saint to whisk them off their infinite suffering. The vending machine was witness to all facets of society, including Beomgyu and Sungchan’s conversations that would have never seen the light of day. Before the two began, it was a natural ritual for any that chose the vending machine as a meeting place to treat their interlocutors with a beverage or two. Sungchan chose a sizzling can of lemon cider, tossing a couple of loose change he had jingling in his pockets and inserting it in the machine. He tossed the can in Beomgyu’s direction, who accepted it with a meek, small bow. Then, Sungchan fished for the last few coins he could find in the deep trenches of his slacks, pressing the bright, green button that displayed a tall bottle of water. It didn’t occur to him that he had a half-filled water bottle that he took with him in his tote bag for baseball practice; the movement was as automatic as the vending machine dispensing a plastic water bottle in its hooded container. Once Sungchan had the water bottle in his hands, he twisted the cap and waited for Beomgyu to snap the can open. The two clinked their beverages and consummated a few sips. 

“Sure, you’re insufferable and bratty as fuck, but I know you have the heart in you to listen,” Sungchan said, after he was finished with his water bottle. Beomgyu took the can back to the side of his arms, holding it tightly to make sure its fizzy contents didn’t spill out into the streets. 

“She’s been going through a lot, so you should probably cut all of this and apologize if you still want to go to our shows,” 

Beomgyu slowly nodded, taking the can of lemon cider up to his lips once again. For a big city like Seoul, his bright, neon yellow can stood out from the masses of commuters that passed the duo to get to their destination. Sungchan kept his water bottle under his arm, tapping on the plastic cap twice to make sure that he sealed it properly. With a satisfied hum, he cleared his throat and eyed the boy who couldn’t take his can off his lips. 

“I know you’ve been sneaking out in your really shitty disguise, but for my sake, hers, and yours, you should talk it out and hopefully fix whatever you got going on,” He continued. His fingers found themselves at the edges of his pocket again, and an exasperated sigh escaped his lips upon failing to feel through a small, rectangular carton that eased all of his woes with a single huff of smoke. What he found instead was a small, cheap plastic lighter that he didn’t remember purchasing. Granted, he probably stole it off Heeseung’s collection or took it with him when he helped Geonu light his joint. Whatever the case, he found no use for it now. 

“If not, I’m gonna have to ban you from ever showing up again,”

Beomgyu finally took the can off his lips, wiping his mouth with the thick decor of his jacket’s sleeve. Considering the weather, he should’ve probably opted for a lighter cardigan that didn’t graze his lips with leather. Nonetheless, he ignored all feelings of discomfort. He should be used to it by now. 

“Whatever,”

“It’s not whatever, and I’m sure you know that too,”

Beomgyu watched Sungchan’s tall, lanky frame stand upright from his slouched posture, waving his transit card in his face as he started to walk towards the station. He didn’t know if Sungchan was going to go back to his place or if he would pay a visit to the hospital. The only way he would find out is if he bumped into him in the white, putrid halls of a place he’d been avoiding since he left home to attend university.

Beomgyu had always hated hospitals. For as long as he could remember, the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol would always overwhelm his nose, rendering him in a trance-like state that made everything around him a blurry haze of fragmented memories. He could try to recollect the countless hours he’s spent waiting for his father to get off his shift, but all he could gather was the car ride home, sitting silently beside his brother while the driver played an old rockabilly tune from his time. His father wasn’t even in the car with them, and he was probably doing another late shift in the operations room with his mother on standby. When Seungchol was old enough to shadow their father’s sessions, he would be on these car rides alone, carrying the same, putrid odor that reminded him of a distant family that never had dinner together once. When Beomgyu would get home from the hospital, he made it a habit to call his maids or helpers to set up a dinner table with him, each member of the cleaning team acting as his father, his mother, and eventually, his brother. This was the only way he could sleep at night, because the scent of antiseptic would be replaced with dish soap, cleaning tools, and remnants of flower-scented detergent. If the cooks were available, they would also join Beomgyu at the large, family dining table of the Choi household acting as external relatives that he would only see in family functions. 

Now that he was back at the hospital, the memories of a lonesome dinner came flooding back to him in tidal waves. First, his father’s tall silhouette would come into full view, for he was never the type of person to turn his head towards his second son. Then, he could see his mother’s side profile, eyebrows knitted in a constant frown as she would scan through each clipboard and envelope with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. When he was in high school, his brother had already begun shadowing for one of the several hospitals that were under the Choi name. He would initially tag along, but opted to stay home once he realized that this wasn’t a game of doctors that he would play with his brother in one of the many playrooms they were granted as children. Seungchol had patients to attend to, and he was a mere nuisance to the inner workings of his family’s craft. 

This was also the point where he figured he would try his hand at the humanities, shifting from an interest in stock brokers and the financial sector to settling for the legal field. In earnest, he never found an affinity for anything political. The newspaper was one of many things that made it so difficult for Beomgyu to remember his parents’ faces, since they would spend their mornings jeering at the headlines in disgust before rushing out to work. Seungchol started doing the same once he was old enough to understand the weary woes of the world outside of their wealthy life, and at that point, Beomgyu had already resented the news enough to block it off his phone and other devices. 

If his lifelong grudge had taught him one thing, it was tenacity. It was a trait his parents exhibited when they went from performing surgeries to managing hospitals, and it was the same trait that Seungchol inherited when he began his own medical career. For Beomgyu, tenacity meant suffering through a lot of the things he disliked—whether it was politics, the news, or medicine. To him, tenacity came in subtle ripples. At first, it was the several scandals that he would hear about at the academy regarding big pharmaceutical companies patenting life-saving medication and selling it at a higher markup. He didn’t even know what a markup meant, but he did know that it was something he could use to destroy his family once and for all. When he entered university and applied for the law program, he used his tenacity to climb to the top, even when the humanities weren’t the strongest set of subjects in his CSAT exam. He didn’t understand how money worked, and he certainly couldn’t care less about the politicians he would see campaigning on the streets during election season. The only thing that mattered to him ever since he was a child was to do whatever it takes to get his family back in a single piece—even if it meant destroying the legacy and generational prestige that the Chois had built for themselves since the Occupation period. 

Places like the hospital were what made Beomgyu’s tenacity disappear into thin air, replacing it with irresolute shakiness. It didn’t occur to him that a single whiff of the hospital’s chemicals immediately turned him into mush—a walking, wandering blob that’s place was always behind his parents or his brother. Here, he didn’t feel human at all. He felt like a visual display—a name tag that bore his family name in shame. It was for this reason that Beomgyu refused to call an ambulance or take himself to the hospital no matter how hurt he was. Every episode of alcohol poisoning would always end in several over-the-counter drugs that would end up in the toilet with the remnants of bile that trickled up to his mouth, coughing up every stint of regret that failed to leave his system. No matter how drunk he would get, he would always berate Heeseung for threatening to dial 119, constantly reassuring him that he could cure whatever he could on his own. 

Now, he was back in the very place that he spent his entire life avoiding, hiding behind the metal railings of a hospital bed once his eyes caught a familiar, white coat sported by the outline of someone he hasn’t seen in years. 

Apparently, years of playing doctors with Seungchol worked against him, and now, he was faced to face with someone he had the displeasure of calling his brother. 

“Hyung,” The word used to come out naturally, but now, it felt too foreign to him. At this rate, he was more comfortable calling his own brother “Doctor Choi” than by any other name that he used to call him. He tapped his tongue twice inside his mouth to feel its insides squirm, then, he restfully let his eyes sit at the crown of Seungchol’s jet-black head, watching the luster of his healthy hair shine under the bright, fluorescent lights of the hospital that always managed to invoke a certain nausea within him. 

“Beomgyu-yah,” Seungchol replied, his voice barely a weak whisper. “It’s been a while,”

“Are you in charge of him?” Beomgyu asked, jutting his chin towards the emergency room. Seungchol looked back and shrugged his shoulders, resting the clipboard on the hilt of his belt as he longingly stared at his younger brother. 

“Who?”

“Him,” Beomgyu asked again, pointing to the patient’s profile on his clipboard. Seungchol adjusted the thick, rectangular frames that slid down his nose, squinting his eyes at the tiny fragments of characters that he could barely read. Beomgyu didn’t know that his older brother’s eyes had degraded past his early problems with astigmatism. 

“Ah, you mean Kim & Lee LLC’s current head?” Seungchol asked. 

“Yeah,”

“Yes, I’m in charge of him. My department assigned me to him since our family sort of owes them in some ways,”

Beomgyu didn’t question the Choi’s relations with yours. None of that concerned him in the slightest, and he was aware of the magnetism that many rich families often exhibited—birds of a feather flock together, especially when feathers were made of gold. 

“How’s school?” He asked. He began walking towards the emergency room and stood outside of the door, peeking his head inside the tinted windows while he vigorously tapped his pen on his clipboard. Beomgyu kept his hands in his pockets and followed suit, peering at whatever he could read in Seungchol’s report. 

“Alright,”

“I’ve heard his daughter’s faring better than you at school,”

Speak of the devil, and she shall arrive. 

By now, a single sliver of your presence was hard for Beomgyu to miss. If tenacity was one thing he had, then perseverance was the other. Throughout the three years he had known you, he’s learned one, giant lesson: to persevere. No matter how much he dreaded the preparations for the bar exam, no matter how worn he was over countless hours of dedicating himself to reading pages upon pages of ancient Roman law, a part of him embraced the sheer hard work that he dedicated to each and every aspect of his academic career. 

Then again, none of that mattered when he was always second best when it came to you. Even if the number of hours both of you had put into a project or an essay was the same, he would always fall short of a mark or two, forever trailing behind your shadow the same way he had always trailed behind the success of his ancestors, then his parents, and now, his brother. 

“This is why I’ve always hated you, hyung,”

“I know, I know,”

That was another thing that Beomgyu noticed about the people that managed to do better than him in every facet of his life. From stories he would hear from his mother, the Choi ancestry was filled with quiet, blasé doctors whose first and only priority was to tend to each patient that required assistance. The same trait was replicated tenfold in the way his parents would berate him; both of them would shrug their heads in blatant displays of disappointment instead of yelling at him. He was sure he was never hit as a child, but the string of pain that came from the sheer looks of despondency was imprinted on his shattered ego, forever sinking their sharp fragments into the throes of his heart. When his brother reached the age of twenty, he had mastered the same, cold look that his parents would often give him, doing the same whenever Beomgyu interrupted him at the hospital. 

How did it all come to this?

Beomgyu wished he knew the answer to a question he had been pondering since he was old enough to think for himself. 

“So you’re not even gonna say sorry? Apologize? Admit that what you and our entire family’s put me through is wrong?”

“Beomgyu, that’s just how it’s always been. I don’t really know what to say other than how lucky you should be right now,”

Luck. Being born a Choi meant a lifetime of financial security and a plethora of career options knocking at the foot of his door, and yet, Beomgyu couldn’t see how this luck was worth the feelings of inferiority that plagued him to no end. 

“How the fuck am I lucky, Hyung? How the fuck am I lucky?! Because from what I know, I’ve been the one that just so happened to be born with the inability to do math and science!”

Seungchol slid the pen he was tapping inside his breast pocket. He placed the clipboard on one of the empty, leather chairs that lined the entrance to the emergency room, adjusting the rims of his glasses in the process. 

“All my life, I’ve studied so hard, went to the academy, and never complained about it—hell, I sucked it all up and gave up on getting friends, having fun, and basically being the best example of what mom and dad wanted. But no! Apparently Seungchol-hyung is always better! That law girl is always better! Inseong from fifth grade is always better! Everyone is always better than me! If they wanted someone better, then they probably shouldn’t have asked for another son!” 

The only thing that Beomgyu could hear was his own voice bouncing back and forth between the walls of the vast hospital. Seungchol stood in silence, taking his glasses off and wiping the lens with the hems of his white coat—a pure semblance of their father. 

“Beomgyu-yah,” He whispered with a lower voice. “Just know that I did all this because I wanted you to be free. I care about you, you know?”

He waved his younger brother goodbye, pushing the large doors to the emergency room where people dressed in blue scrubs awaited his command. Beomgyu tried to chase after him, but he stopped in his tracks. All his life, he was always behind his father, his mother, and his brother. Now, he was behind you. Through the small creaks of the door, he traced your sulking silhouette, seeing himself in the way you bowed down to your own brother, who stood upright with a phone and several envelopes in his hand. Maybe if he let his pride aside a long, long time ago, then he would’ve come to the conclusion that the two of you weren’t so different after all. 

“This is Kim & Lee LLC’s associate speaking, and we would like to file an academic leave as soon as possible.” 

Throughout knowing you, he had seen you cry for the first time, mimicking the exact same sorrows and anguish that plagued him since he was a child. There was nothing to be done, so he left the hospital, never turning back once.

III. VENUS PLAYS WITH MARS IN A GAME OF CHANCE

Nearly three months had passed, and you didn’t show up since. The band was aware of your periods of being a recluse, but none of them anticipated how bad it was until you stopped responding to their texts and calls altogether. The meeting place felt like a barren wasteland in your absence, and none of them could start practicing without you chanting the counts before every song. Heeseung would come by with a slice of pizza from time to time, and it has become a ritual for them to leave you a slice even when you’re gone. It didn’t matter to them that the offering would turn into mold in a few days—what mattered was how the last slice or two was always going to be meant for you, almost as if you’d come back in the crappy basement to devour your slice and complain about how it’s practically inedible. 

  The band wasn’t the only group of people that felt your absence, though. Beomgyu never realized how important you were in the law society until you gave him a passive-aggressive email that relinquish all your responsibilities as president to him. While a part of him felt happiness at the thought of finally taking over, there was an inkling of guilt within him that felt too unqualified to assume your role. Yes, he’s often lamented to Heeseung that he would’ve been a better president than you, and he even told his parents in a bitter argument that he was doing more as one of the vice presidents than you actually were as president, he had to admit that your absence caused an impending upheaval that practically caused the law society to implode. At first, it started with self-fulfilling prophecies stated by the other executives that were anxious about Beomgyu’s ascension as the de-facto president. Some said he wasn’t suited for the role based on academic performance alone, and others have already made predictions about his eventual impeachment from the board of executives. Your rivalry with Beomgyu was a well-known gag in the law society, but now, it didn’t feel like an inside joke anymore. In your absence, nobody knew what to do—and Beomgyu began to realize that perhaps he didn’t have it in him to be an effective leader and a prolific communicator. 

In some ways, Beomgyu finally realized why you were so effective in a group setting. For one, your ability to make compromises with the rest of the team elevated your status and competence from a newbie to a reliable figure. The same could be said for your band. From what he’s heard from Heeseung, Geonu only recruited you because of your background in jazz. He never considered your dynamics with the group or if you were a difficult person to work with, and he chalked it up to luck that you were good at mitigating all sides of the argument whenever he and Sungchan would bicker. Your effectiveness as a team player was further highlighted in the dashing performances that you and your band would deliver as Joker In. Despite all the arguments and horror stories he’d hear from Heeseung, the Joker In he saw on stage didn’t evoke a single ounce of disagreement or discord. Once the four of you were on stage, it was as if you were a single unit with the rest of the band, seamlessly playing melodies as a natural instinct more so than hours of relentless practice and infighting. 

Rhythm is the pillar of music and poetry, he once heard you utter in your conversations with the band. Though he initially disagreed and tried to back up Sungchan’s lamentations of playing a bigger role in the group, your absence has instantly highlighted why you were a stable foundation in everything that you were involved in. Sure, you weren’t the flashiest of both the law society and Joker In, but your absence placed a large dent in the operations of both. Even if you were a quiet figure in the law society, often staying on the sidelines to approve or reject event proposals while everyone was fighting for credit, everyone would always look to you as a final figure of approval. Once you either accepted or rejected an event and started dispatching the organization committee to plan and make these events come to fruition, all elements of disjuncture ceased to exist. It was the same with Joker In. Sure, you were often in the background trying to maintain stability while Geonu and Sungchan played the lead in each performance, but he was willing to admit that the band’s sound was nothing without your invisible hand guiding each melody and verse into perfection. 

In a way that the band and the law society needed you, Beomgyu realized—albeit with denial and extreme hesitance—that he needed you as well. Without your presence, he couldn’t care less about his academic performance. Nothing mattered when the certainty of him being at the top was secured. The astonishing irony behind all this was that, in some ways, he did ask for this. He did ask to become number one in everything, and yet he failed to realize that perhaps being number one in itself was never something he could ever be. 

The reason he got this far was because of his intense rivalry with his brother. For as long as he could remember, he was always vying for attention from his parents—practically pleading to be seen as anything but his brother’s shadow. Then, it was the several rivals he’d encountered in school once his brother was off to university. They were no match against your unyielding nature, but he would be lying to himself if they didn’t push him to further heights. 

Competition was something that he was always surrounded with, and with you gone, he didn’t know where to start. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and he hated that feeling more than hating you. 

For someone that prided himself in intelligence, he certainly fell short of common sense. Throughout all his years of trying to chase after your success and your achievements, he wasn’t ready for the loneliness and emptiness that would overtake him once he reached the top. Maybe that was why you decided to play in a band, even if doing so would result in parental disapproval. Sure, he didn’t know your life story, but that was at least what stopped him from starting his own band in high school.

What the fuck are you thinking, you bastard. Starting a band? In high school? This is why your brother was always better, Beomgyu-yah. 

“Shut up, Dad,” He whispered, remembering all of the GPS trackers laced on his phone and the strict curfew he had to maintain in his teenage years. Even if he knew nothing about you, it was perhaps the freedom and carelessness you had in you that made him envious of everything you had. To him, you were the epitome of a life he could’ve lived had he not been born into his so-called family—a breath of fresh air that tempted him with the fruits of liberation and rebellion. 

In some ways, he loathed you because he idolized you. He wanted to be you in any shape or form. That was, of course, until he rested his eyes on each news headline that managed to damage your reputation bit by bit. 

KIM & LEE LLC’S GOLDEN HEIRESS DEMOTED AND DISOWNED FROM THE FAMILY TRADE: HER SECRETS ARE REVEALED

The news came out roughly three months ago, right after he caught a glimpse of your brother making a call to the university’s board of directors. A part of him wished that you would fight back the same way you did whenever Beomgyu would cuss you out or make your life a living hell—because to him, you were always a fighter. 

He was aware that hospitals could change a person from the moment they entered into its sanitized walls, but he wanted to believe that you weren’t privy to its wicked curse. Above all the families that wept and got their morale weakened by an undesired diagnosis, an incurable disease, or an exorbitant bill that took a lifetime to pay back, he was sure you were immune to it all, keeping a headstrong demeanor in any situation. 

But all rich children were doomed the moment they were born, and you were just like him, a victim of circumstance. 

All he could do now was to continue dialing your phone number, even if the reply he got was the same, automated, female voice that told him your digital existence was erased from its archives. 

I’m sorry, but your call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again later. 

What if he gave you a chance? What if he got to know you instead of letting his bitterness get the best of him? Could things have been different between the two of you? Or would the rivalry persist in a different, more amiable form? Flashes of images were reflected in the large, bathroom mirror that he constantly gazed at, and in these times of automated mundanity between attending classes and fulfilling his new duties as the de facto president of the law society, all he could see was your smiling silhouette imprinted on the chair that he occupied, telling him again and again that he didn’t belong there. 

He contemplated visiting your father, but the nurse at the reception would always get back to him about your absence. You hadn’t visited him since the day your family withdrew you from university, and now, he didn’t know where you were. The band refused to talk to him altogether, and Heeseung hadn’t been to the basement since he quit his job at the pizza place. Sungchan’s whereabouts were also unknown, and whenever he would bump into Geonu in the hallways, he was met with firm resistance. 

“Don’t talk to me unless you’ve figured out a way to fix this entire mess.” The lead singer’s voice looped in his head. 

Beomgyu didn’t believe in a lot of things, but now, he believed in one thing and one thing only: Pillars and foundations of a building can be broken, but they can also be repaired. If you were what kept everything from falling apart, then maybe it was his fate to be the carpenter that rebuilt all the things that he had managed to destroy. Donning the same, neon red hair dye and scuffed combat boots, he decided to live out his life as the boy who simply wanted to see his favorite band play one, final show in the place where he knew he could be himself, free of the shackles that bound him in a life of academic rigor, a lack of identity, and an endless battle of finally finding who he truly was.

“So you weren’t joking about Dad giving the trust to his secretary instead of us, his goddamn kids…” You remember saying to your brother when you saw your father laying unconscious in the hospital bed. To you, your father was a figure of utmost respect and order, someone who didn’t suit the strings and tubes of IV drips and an oxygen mask. He was an innovator, a natural leader that was always meant to stay seated right in the middle of everything—whether it was the dining table or the main meeting room of Kim & Lee LLC. It was your first time seeing him outside of his usual pristine, tidy suit, and you didn’t know what to feel about the sudden change in appearance. Sure, he has aged, but even in old age, you had at least expected him to live and fight for his life for ten more years, still donning a black, expensive suit with utmost pride. 

“Isn’t this ridiculous?” Your brother replied, crossing his arms. The one thing that separated you from your brother was how difficult his expression was to read. Even in the face of adversary and doubt, he always managed to carry with him an aura of unyielding demonstration, refusing to display his woes on his sleeve. 

“Yeah, I guess,”

“You know, I never wanted to consider you as a part of the family,” 

“I know,”

“But this is a crucial time for all of us, and—”

“So what? Are you gonna create a fucking coalition of sorts within the family and try to sue Dad? The current owner and founder of the firm?”

It didn’t even scathe you one bit that your brother had, for the first time, openly shown his disdain towards you. It was always evident in the way he would avoid you around the house, never uttering a single word to you unless it had something to do with your academic achievements or the future of the firm. When your father announced that his solid line of succession had been broken by your existence, your brother moved out to America, only coming back when news broke that your father’s health was waning. It had always been that way since the two of you were children; the two of you were only siblings by family name and nothing more. 

“If it’s several against one, old man, I’m sure we’ll win,” He coldly stated, flipping through several documents that outlined the future of the firm. There were many things you hated about your family, and your brother was the best example of why that was the case. Even if you refused to believe it, the opportunistic trait that carried your family’s name for generations was a genetic plight that even you couldn’t escape. 

“Don’t you even have a shred of humanity within you? That’s our Dad, and he’s dying!” 

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to arrive at the hospital on time,”

I was spending time with my friends! The only people who cared about me! You kept your mouth closed, demonstrating a pensiveness that only the law society and Beomgyu have seen you perfected. As always, your brother’s lips were pressed in a firm, thin line, eyes never acknowledging your existence. To him, the papers were more important than whatever was in front of him. 

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to even be there,” You retorted, mimicking the same nonchalance that soon became your family’s trademark. 

“My point exactly,” He hummed. “You know how terrible he was to us when we were children, right?”

“That doesn’t excuse ousting him from his position, though,”

“If his so-called leadership and stubbornness is what’s bringing the firm down, then I think it’s about time he left his post,”

“And you’re telling me that you’re the better alternative?” 

It was one thing to admit that your brother was right, but it was another to acknowledge him as the next best option in the line of succession. Despite your father’s rather tumultuous decisions that came as a result of senility and burgeoning egoism, he was a natural at micromanagement. Even in his old age, he still commanded an air of elitism that only leaders had. Your brother, on the other hand, lacked such charisma. For all his smarts and his efforts, he simply didn’t have it in him to wield the same charm and authority that your father did in his younger years. Even if he was a spitting image of him, there was no denying that the resemblance was only in the skin. For what your father had in terms of innate control and governance, your brother fell short of such defining qualities. While you had made a name for yourself as a promising air, he was forever tainted in the tabloids as your father’s shadow, forever chasing behind the outline of his pointed shoulders. 

“Well, I mean—”

“Shut the fuck up,” You spat. “I got better grades than you when you were a kid. I was first place in everything, and you were second at best. I attend the best school in the country, and, as always, you got rejected, opting for inferior schools. I’m already getting offers to attend law school in Ivy League institutions, while you had to beg your professors for a recommendation letter to even try to get into Columbia or Yale. You had your first internship at our company? Motherfucker, I worked at Morgan & Stanley Korea when I was nineteen. You think you’re the only alternative? You think you’re the next best option? Grow the fuck up and sit down. You’re just lucky to be where you are right now because you’re Daddy’s first.”

Now, three months later, you wished you could say more—not to your brother, but to your unconscious father lying down on his eventual deathbed. You wanted to cuss him out; you wanted to tell him how horrible he was; you wanted to plug his life support off then and there; you wanted to maul him into pieces; you wanted to slap him the same way he did when you would do every little thing to disappoint him; you wanted to take all his money and run away; you wanted him to experience the same pain and suffering of being a bastard child that should have never been born in the first place. 

But, by doing so, you were admitting defeat. You were succumbing to an ideal scenario of revenge that would leave you unsatisfied even when your father would die on the spot. As much as it tempted you to destroy him when he was chained by his disease, you were in the game long enough to know that there was a better life out there waiting for you—a life of a true winner. You’ve wasted your entire existence on being the perfect heiress, but now, it was time for change. Now that you were disowned, you were free, and in your eyes, this was a victory in disguise. 

And luck would have it that your pleas for freedom would be answered in a single phone call that sealed the deal. 

“We just got a deal from DooRooDooRoo, they got back to us about the record deal,” Geonu had called you a month later, when you were spending every single day under the comforts of your duvet. Back then, you couldn’t even tell that a month had passed, because everything had remained frozen in time. Each passing sunrise and sunset meant nothing to you when seeing your father’s bedridden image would always feel like yesterday. In a sense, time had been completely difficult to track, and you opted for stopping your clocks altogether, tearing off the calendar in your apartment, and replacing it with its original white walls. You didn’t think that the newfound sparseness of your apartment would worsen the lagging of time that hazed your entire being, but it didn’t matter to you. You were out of school, and you didn’t have a schedule to follow anymore. Why place a calendar on the wall when all the dates are merged into one? 

“What do you mean record deal?” You replied, keeping the phone on speaker to hear his voice. “Geon, we’re a cover band, I doubt they’d even want to sign us because we didn’t send them an original demo,”

Truthfully, the only thing that made the time pass was when you were in front of the electric drum kit in your room, replaying the same songs that once brought you joy in the basement that you managed to call your sanctuary. You contemplated leaving your apartment to visit it once in a while, but there was something in you that didn’t allow you to face Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin. What were you going to say to them? They already knew everything the moment the tabloids embarked on a journey of defamation, bearing their voracious fangs on another opportunity—a good story that would destroy the stronghold of your family’s empire. All they needed to know were in the headlines of each news article that was displayed on their television screens and their phones. If Geonu was right about signing a record deal with one of Korea’s biggest indie labels, then it would be bad press to have a fallen heiress as its core member. 

“I sent them the track you worked on,” He stated an amalgamation of static breaching your ears. He was definitely in the basement—most likely alone. The day you disappeared, Sungchan had also gone missing, turning off all his devices and blocking off any form of contact. The same could be said for Jeongin, sans the drastic effort to cut all ties with everyone else. You could still get a hold of him, but it would be in inconsistent lapses of time where he would either sound groggy or overtly happy—nothing in between, and especially nothing like his usual self when he was active in the band. Word had reached your ears from his roommate that Jeongin was admitted to the psychiatric ward a few weeks ago, the culprit being psychosis and his sudden relapse into the same, old habits that marred him in his younger years. 

Ironically, the news you would get from the people that you usually surrounded yourself with when you were a student didn’t come from themselves, but rather, from Beomgyu. Even if you didn’t answer his incessant calls, he would always leave you a voice note every day, detailing his new life as the president of the law society, the current status of your bandmates, and even little tidbits of his life. Without fail, he would always send these in at around six in the evening, making that hour the only way you could tell time. Before you knew it, you kept your watch active, setting an alarm with your smart home monitor to alert you whenever the hour was coming. Then, you would hide under your covers, pressing your cheeks on the cool, glass surface of your phone to hear his voice. Sometimes, you would close your eyes, watching fleeting images of a life that could’ve stayed intact had your father not succumbed to old age. Beomgyu had the voice of a narrator, and each description and detail he provided painted a picture of fragmented memories that felt distant yet so far away. 

“What?” You screeched. You didn’t know how to talk to Geonu, and it was a shame that someone you played music with every day suddenly felt like a total stranger. You were too used to Beomgyu’s soothing voice giving you a glimpse of the outside world, that it didn’t occur to you that the current phone call you were having wasn’t a product of one of Beomgyu’s scheduled voice messages.  

“The track that was in our drafts like, before you went MIA,”

“You mean Carpe Diem? That’s just something I wrote when I was bored, though,”

There were too many sessions in the basement that led to unfinished songs and fragmented drafts, but there was one, concrete product out of all the practices you’ve had as Joker In that never left your head. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact date of writing and actively composing the song, but it was certainly around your sixth or seventh night as Joker In when you began to voice more of your creative inputs into the musical journey that Geonu commanded. 

It was perhaps around the summer season when Jeongin had just replaced Felix as the new bassist of the band. You were sitting on a draft that you had carried with you since high school with your covert experimentations with the adolescent underground music scene. The song was obviously incomplete, but you had the drum track narrowed down to perfection after years of working on it and rearranging some of the fills and sections, experimenting with complex time signatures while retaining a certain sense of replayability that many radio-friendly songs had. At first, it was just a side project that you conjured up after Beomgyu had challenged you to write a song. It may have counted as cheating to repurpose a draft that you made before meeting him, but so long as you changed and updated the song, then it could’ve counted as a new song. By then, you were still on shaky terms with Sungchan, so you opted to ask Geonu to play both the rhythm and lead sections of the guitar. Felix had happily worked on the bass when he was still in Korea, changing a few things here and there to suit his rather intricate playing style. You had worked with Geonu for a few weekends to complete the lyrical bits of the song, but each draft left you in an uninspired mess. Being eloquent in your essays and your courses certainly didn’t translate well into poetry, and even Geonu’s longtime experience with writing lyrics couldn’t quell the dissatisfaction you had with the piece. 

That was until you decided to write your frustrations about Beomgyu, matching up each word, rhyme, and cadence with the tune that you believed you had perfected. You showed Geonu the first draft, solidifying your efforts with his nod of approval. He worked on rearranging a few words to fit the bridge and the chorus, and then, the song was suddenly scrapped. You didn’t know if it was because the band got busy with a surge of live shows and activities, or if you just didn’t want to work on the song any longer. All you knew was that by the time you decided to let go of the song, Beomgyu had replaced your brother and the rest of your family as enemy number one, making the song a daily reminder of him and his deplorable antics. 

“Well, Sungchan completed his bits and covered Jeongin’s bass parts. I sang through it with some of the lyrics I came up with when I was listening to the initial track,”

“Wait… you got a hold of Sungchan?”

Sungchan's whereabouts were kept under wraps since the day you left the hospital and your university for good. At first, you tried to call him, but his number was non-existent on the third ring. Text messages led to nowhere, and his account on Kakao had been defunct when you checked the band’s group chat. The only remnant of his identity was left in Beomgyu’s daily voice messages to you, where he speculated that he might have gone back home somewhere in Seoul.

“I saw someone who might have looked like Sungchan at the station near Mapo-gu today, but I could be wrong. These days, high schoolers are basically giants now, and it’s pretty hard to tell, but I’m still searching for him nonetheless. Did you know? He chased after me when I tried to go to the hospital to see you. We had a long conversation by the vending machine, and then, he just disappeared like that. I think I owe him a lot, really, and if it weren’t for him, then I doubt I’d have the conscience to make things right. Once again, I’m sorry for being a coward that could only apologize through these stupid voice messages. You deserve so much more than that, and even if you don’t wanna see me, the least I could do is try to make amends. You can forget about me after that, but I just wanted you to know that I never hated you—really. I did say that a lot, and Heeseung might disagree, but I don’t think I hated you. I think it was a bit of the opposite.”

You could vividly picture the outlines of Beomgyu and Sungchan by the vending machine near Jeongin’s apartment, sharing a drink or two as they talked about the sudden turn of events. Without Geonu, who often brought out the best and the worst in him, Sungchan was the diplomatic type who disliked conflict. You were aware of him giving warnings here and there to Beomgyu whenever you would storm off from a heated argument with him, but you didn’t know that he would go to such lengths to make things right—and now, the only trace you had of who you could finally call your best friend was in the images that Beomgyu would leave in his voice notes and an unknown text message that read I got rejected. 

“It’s a long story, but he signed the deal. You’re the only one that needs to sign it—of course, if you want to. I mean, I know how much your career and all that matters to you, so it’s no pressure. If you want, I can—”

“I’m signing it,” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m signing it,” You repeated without preamble. Back then, music was just a hobby for you—a way to escape the fast-paced, yet unchanging life of perfecting your image as the ideal candidate to lead your former family’s firm. In your younger years, the thought of pursuing music full-time and escaping the legal field to attend a music college in the heart of Seoul had plagued you, but you let the only thing you’ve known your entire life take over. Now that the foundations of your identity were shackled, you believed it was high time for you to rebuild everything you had lost in the process, facing forward to a newfound pursuit instead of constantly staying in the present. 

“Damn…” You could hear Geonu slowly sniffle in the distance as if he were right next to you. The empty walls of your bedroom had suddenly transformed into the decrepit, unpainted cement that lined the basement. The scent of rotting, molding pizza and lukewarm beer wafted your nose, bringing you back to the sanctuary that you would now call your one, true home. 

“What?”

“I just… You know… it’s been a while since we’ve last seen you, and I just didn’t expect you to sign the deal…”

Now, you could tell that Geonu was crying—something he never did in front of anyone unless he was drunk enough to let his tear ducts do the job. You took the phone away from your cheek, taking your comforter to dab a few splotches of wet tears that slowly trickled down your face. 

“Well, a lot can happen in three months. I’m not in school anymore, I’ve been disowned, and I’m out of the line of succession. I’ve been given an apartment and some hush money to do whatever the fuck I want, and my so-called family has nothing to do with me anymore. I’m free to choose whatever I wanna do, and I think I’d like to tour with you guys for the rest of my life. I never thought I’d be saying this, but fuck, man. I need you guys.” 

“I could say the same for you, asshole. Now quit moping around and get your ass in the studio. We’ll be recording and perfecting our debut album until we can all get a house in Europe and live with fast cars, big houses, and a nice life on the hillside.”

“Sounds like a cult or something,”

“Joker In is basically a cult, and we’re nothing without our founding member, so hurry up and get your ass to the studio. Now.” Before you ended the call, you could hear Geonu’s wide smile welcoming you back to the studio. You ended the call and tossed your phone on your bed, taking your bag of weary drum sticks with you. The map that led to the basement was entrenched in your head, and for the first time, you kicked your sneakers back onto the soles of your feet, jingling the keys to your apartment between your fingers as you heard the click that confirmed the safety of your house. You didn’t even check to see if the door was fully locked. None of that mattered when you were finally coming home.

Sungchan had told you personally that Geonu rejected him in the most “Geonu” way possible. A few days after the band’s reunion in the basement, he had invited you for coffee in one of the cafes near campus. At first, you wanted to change the location of your meeting. After all, being seen as a dropout was the last thing you wanted in your gradual return to life. However, the curiosity within you didn’t seem to die down when you breathed in the air of young adulthood and fast-paced trains. The cafe had always been there since you were a first year, and yet it had only occurred to you now to visit it and see what it had to offer. 

It was a quick, heartfelt conversation between slices of apple crumble and hot cups of warm, camomile tea. He didn’t even give you a greeting; he just sat you down and told you that Geonu didn’t like him back. 

“He said it was to keep the band intact, but I’m sure that’s just his way of telling me that he still wanted me in his life—you know? Even if he didn’t like me that way,”

You would’ve expected an underlying tension in the room during your first few practice sessions with the band, but the moment you entered the basement, everything was left as it was. The rotting boxes of pizza continued to collect mold and mildew, dyeing everything in a murky shade of green. All of the instruments collected dust—a remnant of a time when everything was actively used. Curled ends of guitar strings were strewn on the floor, uncleaned and unscathed since the moment everyone decided to take a break from the basement’s security. The only thing that struck you as a testament to time was how clean the abandoned house looked, perhaps due to a lack of usage. Conversations persisted the way they usually did, and before you knew it, everything was back to normal. Jeongin looked thinner than usual, but he had the same, bright aura of joy and the same passion for Eurovision that he did as before. Sungchan and Geonu continued to bicker in the same manner that they always did, letting the elephant in the room stay dormant. There was no awkward tension or uncomfortable silence that engulfed the entire band, and before you knew it, Joker In was coming closer and closer to perfecting their debut album. 

Today was a different story. There was an announcement by Geonu that practice would commence as usual, and it was granted that there would be a couple of sleepovers in the basement since the deadline to pitch your demo to the label was coming to a close. Being one of the more punctual bandmates out of the rest, you decided to show up an hour earlier, carrying several backpacks filled with toiletries, instant food, and a comforter that held you in your worst breaks. 

“Guys?” You called, only to hear your voice bounce back to you. 

It was normal to hold pranks in the studio, but hide and seek wasn’t the band’s forte. Even if Geonu used his height to his advantage and crept behind small cracks of furniture and large amplifiers, you would always manage to find his mop of hair sticking out in the distance. Sungchan’s footsteps were too loud to ignore, and Jeongin was terrible at keeping his laughter at bay. None of those remnants of your bandmates was present in the studio, and all you could do was heave a sigh at the fact that they might be late. 

Then, there was an eerie feeling that began to consume you. No matter how many times you’ve run up and down the entire house to see if anyone was there, you were left with an empty feeling of solitude, even if you were sure that you weren’t the only one in the building. There was an unshakable presence that made it too difficult for you to ignore, and after ceaselessly checking the same hiding spots again and again, you decided to halt your search altogether and give up. Heeseung often joked about the basement’s ideal location as a horror movie set, so maybe he was right about a few lost souls from the war that lurked in the corners of the basement. 

“You know, this place could have been a burial ground or something, right?” You remembered him saying amidst a flurry of smoke from his bong. Perhaps he was right, and it was about time that you coined yourself a believer of the paranormal. Dropping out of school and throwing away your potential degree was the last thing you imagined, so if the unpredictable managed to stir your life in a completely different direction, then maybe ghosts did exist. Right? 

“Hey…” A voice that only existed within your phone’s voice messages popped up behind your ears. You managed to let out a shrill shriek, quickly turning around to see a man with bright, red hair. His black nails were chipped to the edges, and his dark, grey jeans were distressed to reveal his protruding knees. The scuff marks on his combat boots were accentuated by the dull luster of leather that shone in the sunlight that seeped into the basement. 

“Oh, hi there,” You replied, clearing your throat as you collected yourself. It didn’t occur to you that three months could change anyone this drastically, but seeing your former rival in an outfit that didn’t suit him eased all of the apprehension that was built up in your system. 

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now,” Beomgyu whispered. You weren’t used to seeing him so solemn, and you certainly couldn’t shake the dissonance in the calmness that he exuded. Even if you hadn’t seen Beomgyu in a while, you always associated him with a ball of anger that threatened to explode at any second, and now, the only thing that resembled his fiery passion was the bright, poorly dyed red dye that stained his head. 

“Well, not really. You’re up there, don’t get me wrong, but you’re definitely below my half-brother, my father, and basically every single person in my family.” You said with a small, awkward smile. 

“Oh, well, that’s good to know, I guess?” Beomgyu asked. He expected you to question his disguise or his presence, but perhaps you weren’t as dense as he thought. Maybe you knew who he was right from the start, even in your drunken state when you decided to send him home from a gig that felt like ancient history. 

“Did your brother tell you what happened?”

“No, but your face was all over the internet for a while. Some tabloids saying Kim & Lee LLC’s star daughter had been removed from the line of succession after it’s been exposed that you were in the underground music scene,”

“Jesus…” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Out of all the reasons that they could’ve chosen, they chose that,”

“Yeah…” His voice was barely a whisper now, and he stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, the same way he did when he nervously walked home with you from the bus stop. “I also heard that your band got signed.”

“Through Heeseung?”

“No, through Sungchan actually,”

“Wow, I never expected him to talk to you like that,”

“I know, right?” 

The light in Beomgyu’s eyes had disappeared, mellowing him out into a completely different person. Now that you had the chance to think about it, his newfound rebellious look suited him more when he would incessantly curse at you and call you by all of the profanities that the Korean language had to offer. The clean-cut, professional air of arrogance that he carried was reserved for the silent meekness that Beomgyu now exuded. 

“So, why are you here?” You asked. 

“The boys told me you were coming,”

“Ah…”

You checked the group chat and saw a flurry of texts from the rest of your bandmates detailing their tardiness. Geonu never went to the music shop since he would usually borrow instruments and equipment from his vast network of student musicians, and Sungchan was never the type to be late over a visit to the record store. Jeongin was a bad liar, and it was evident in his texting patterns that he tried his best to cover everything up with a rather believable excuse of waking up late from a nap. 

“They set us up, didn’t they?” You scoffed. Beomgyu slowly nodded—the confirmation that you needed to finally piece everything together. 

“I mean, three-ish years of basically wanting to kill each other needs to come to an end at some point, right? And it’s not like I’m graduating since I’ve already dropped out of uni…”

Beomgyu continued to fidget with the edges of his pockets, whistling a low, barely audible tune as he lightly kicked the can of empty beer that landed on the sole of his combat boots. When the can rolled over to your feet, you returned it to him with a stronger kick, initiating a simple game of soccer that allowed Beomgyu to display his years of practice in the varsity team. 

“I quit the Law Society, and I also quit the debates team.” Beomgyu interrupted, keeping the can to himself instead of kicking it back to you. He began to do a few tricks and keepy-ups, stopping at the fifth pass to kick the can back to you. 

“Oh,”

“I’m off student clubs for a while, and I’m just focused on getting my degree,”

“What happened to the Choi Beomgyu who wanted to be the best at everything?” You retorted with a grin, turning the can into an impromptu volleyball. 

“You get to a certain point where none of that even matters anymore, really.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah…”

Now, the can was on the ground. You kicked it into a nearby corner and used your bag as a seat, taking your comforter out to wrap yourself around its soft surface. Beomgyu hesitated before joining you on the floor, maintaining a sense of empty space between the two of you. Your eyes traced the thin, sheer curtains that flowed back and forth with the gust of wind that cooled the basement, tracing its trajectory until your eyes landed on Beomgyu’s lonesome outline. 

“Wanna… you know? Talk about it?” You asked, wrapping the comforter tighter around your shoulders. 

“I think we should talk about you first,” He replied with a smile that used to be reserved for everyone else apart from you. 

“Right… Well, I’ve been disowned! Yay!”

“You’re a full-time musician now, though,”

“Another yay!”

The basement had always been a place where you would escape Beomgyu for the simple reason that people like him brought you back to the familial infighting that plagued your childhood. It was a place reserved for music and music only, not a place to recall the copious amounts of studying and perfectionism that you allowed yourself to suffer through in your three-year rivalry with him. You would’ve never imagined that one day, you would be able to share this place with someone like him, but something about having him sit a couple of spaces next to you as you caught up with him felt right, rendering the intensity and tension that you associated with him into an evaporating mist. 

“Man, you’re actually funny,” He said behind a light chuckle. 

“And you’re actually pretty nice behind all your stupid dick jokes,” You retorted with the same, gentle sentiment. You took a can of lemon seltzer out of your bag and tossed it in his direction. He caught it mid-air and gave you an even brighter smile, glassy eyes scanning through the can with awe and nostalgia as he opened it and took its nectarine contents between his lips. 

“Anyway, what about you? What’s going on?” You asked, taking a water bottle out and twisting the cap open. 

“I think I’m gonna stick to being a lawyer, but I’m definitely staying out of the family drama,” Beomgyu replied. The can of lemon seltzer was now on the ground. 

“I thought big pharma and the medical industry didn’t have as much fun as we do in the private sector,”

“After I kind of got over my brother being cut out for the job more than I did, I just felt the need to stop being bitter. I mean, it’s whatever. I don’t really care anymore about my parents telling me that I’m basically a disgrace to the Choi name. I overcomplicated my entire life by focusing on that the moment I started breathing, and I think it’s about damn time I act like a fucking lawyer and defend myself from them instead of constantly looking to them for approval.”

“That’s not a very Choi Beomgyu thing to say,” You laughed, rolling the water bottle until it knocked over his can of lemon seltzer. Its contents began pouring out into the wooden floorboards, and you knew Geonu was going to scold you about it later. 

“Well, the Choi Beomgyu now is not the same as the Choi Beomgyu three months ago,” He replied with a smile, as if to tell you that he’d stick around to help you clean up the mess once everyone else arrived. 

“I still don’t get why you hated me so much though,” 

If Beomgyu were to apologize to you at the hospital or right after the Eurovision watch party, you weren’t sure if you had it in you to forgive him. This wasn’t out of the bitterness and pent-up grudges that you managed to hold onto for so long, but rather, it was more so out of your own pride. You were sure that you would take his apology as is and never speak to him again out of a failure to admit that you, too, had crossed the line when you brought out the same traumas surrounding his own family and his brother. 

Three months of silence was all it took for you to admit that a three-year rivalry felt like a childish game. In essence, the two of you were one and the same, both marred by the heavy expectations of generational wealth and status. Even if there were slight differences in your respective stories, perhaps the intense hostility that characterized the two of you came from the same place—one that made it rather difficult to see each other as equals or separate people. You didn’t know if Beomgyu felt the same, but the peak of your aggression with him certainly came from a hidden, inner dilemma that came from seeing yourself in Beomgyu’s glassy, beady eyes. 

“I actually came down here to explain all that, to be honest—then again, I already feel like I did it pretty well when I talked about my brother and whatnot.”

“Some sort of innate, deep-seated inferiority complex since you were always compared to everyone around you?” You retorted and whistled, prompting Beomgyu to muster a dejected nod in your direction. 

“Yeah, that.”

You know, I had the same thing with my own brother too. Crazy, right? You thought but kept those words to yourself. Words weren’t needed between the two of you anymore; you knew him long enough to understand that he could probably guess what was on your mind. 

“Can I be honest?” You interrupted, taking your comforter and tossing it between his lap. You shuffled closer until the space between the two of you ceased to exist. Beomgyu reluctantly nodded again and took your blanket in his palms, feeling through its seams as he stared at the setting sun. 

“I thought you already were,”

“Well, I mean, really honest.”

“Shoot,”

“I actually knew you were sneaking into our gigs.”

A part of Beomgyu wanted to get up and run out of the basement, but another part of him knew that he should’ve trusted his gut from the start. Though he was aware of socially dense, book-smart academics, he was sure you weren’t of the sort. From managing the law society with impeccable leadership down to being a core member of a band, he knew deep down that adept communication and management skills came with social awareness. Nonetheless, he took the confession with ease, admiring the events at the night bus with a newfound perspective. 

“I played dumb because I didn’t wanna ruin things for you, you know? Music is something that brings people together, and I can understand that in some ways, being in this basement was a safe space for you—some sort of escape from all the bullshit that your parents put you through,” You explained, heaving a sigh as you kicked the now empty can of lemon seltzer towards the same corner where the crushed, dented beer can had landed. 

“And at first, I thought you weren’t so bad. I mean, you actively came to our shows even if, for whatever reason, you hated me at school. I think my thing about the entire ordeal is how I can’t wrap my head around you being so mean to me.”

He always knew you were honest, but he didn’t think you would be honest in such a raw, authentic way—especially with him. 

“Like I’ve said, the Beomgyu three months ago is a different Beomgyu. I didn’t really know how to process the grudges I’d held against my parents since I was kid, so I guess I took it out on the people I’ve been compared to,” He replied, after a few seconds of silent pondering. 

“Is that really it?” You asked, repeating his pensiveness with your own rendition of a long, drawn-out pause. 

“Yeah, that’s it, I guess,”

“Are you sure?”

“What are you trying to say?”

You grabbed your comforter and tossed it into his face, running behind the drum kit in anticipation of an attack. Instead of seeing your comforter fly across the studio, however, Beomgyu remained still, slowly taking off the cotton blanket and neatly folding it into a pile beside your backpack. 

“That you were obsessed with me,” You finally joked. The sun had completely set, and there were no signs of your bandmates coming into the basement anytime soon. Heaving a sigh of relief, you took a seat on the stool that saw the best of your musical abilities, grabbing a thin, 7A drum stick that was worn down in an amalgamation of splinters and cracks. You twirled each stick around your fingers, humming a light, jazzy beat on your head before hitting the ride cymbal and placing your feet on the hi-hat pedal. 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Beomgyu retorted, taking a seat on one of the amplifiers as he watched you perform a small solo that reminded him of the bossa nova records that would often leak out of his maid’s earphones.  “I did find you pretty cute, I just wished you didn’t show your cards as a teacher’s pet in our first classes together,”

“Little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a girl?”

“No, more like little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a nepo baby,”

The crash cymbals rang in Beomgyu’s ears, but he didn’t step away from the noise. After hearing your band’s studio sessions on several online music streaming platforms for so long, he couldn’t resist the opportunity of watching you play live in such close proximity. To him, you were surely a one-of-a-kind musician, one that managed to turn senseless beats and fills into a melodic journey. 

“Not anymore!” You yelled, tapping your sticks to the side of the snare drum while kicking the bass drum’s pedal to accentuate each rhythmic interval with timed, yet deeply dispersed vibrations. 

“Ex-nepo baby,” Beomgyu corrected. He wanted to pick the acoustic guitar beside one of the larger amplifiers in the basement, but he resisted the temptation to play alongside you. 

“That’s more like it,” You said with a smile, halting your drum solo and slipping your sticks back into a small, slender bag. Pushing your weight off your stool, you leaned backward until you could reach the hilt of the acoustic guitar, gently handing it over to Beomgyu as you readjusted the towel that lined the entire snare drum. He took it and admired the woodwork, recalling the chords that he had taught himself when he was a teenager that had the ability to dream. 

“So, what do you wanna do?” He asked, bitterly scrunching his nose as the dissonance of untuned strings reverberated in his ears. You tilted your head to the side, but Beomgyu took his palm up in the air to stop you from getting up from your stool again.

Thom Yorke was right, everyone can play the guitar. 

“Can you sing?” You asked, leaning your chin onto your palm while keeping your elbows leveled onto the cotton surface of the towel on top of the snare drum. 

“Sorta?” Beomgyu replied with a shrug. 

“Can you set up the mic on your own?” 

“I think so?” 

“Great, show me what you’ve got. I’m sure being a big fan also means belting out notes like Geonu, right?” Once Beomgyu was confident enough about the tuning of the guitar, he started to strum the chords that lined each stanza to the song you wrote. Instead of playing along, you deepened your trance and kept your eyes on his slouched figure, watching a man that could’ve been a musician with you in a different world. The basement had always been a sanctuary for the two of you, and now, free of all the ills of wealth and familial obligations, you openly shared your secure liberation with him, watching him play a song that was written for him.

EPILOGUE: CARPE DIEM

Wе'll play our love against your hate

Don't you count on us to let you win today

Today

Through the corners of your eyes, you could see Beomgyu in his so-called disguise: bright, long, red hair sprayed on with less than perfect agility and accuracy, torn sleeves that revealed his stick-and-poke tattoos across his arms and chest, ripped jeans to match his long legs, and a pair of combat boots that made his walk turn into awkward waddles between the dance floor and the bar. God forbid you found him attractive in the daylight, but the nighttime brought out a different beast in him. He wasn’t the snobbish, prideful boy that you would bicker with during your law modules; he wasn’t the sharp-tongued asshole you wanted to fight in the middle of the hallways; he wasn’t the man that made you feel less than a woman whenever he unluckily graced you with his presence; he was just Choi Beomgyu—a lost boy under the dark, neon lights of the disco ball of fate that spun the two of you together in a distorted, complicated mosaic of trials and tribulations. 

You wouldn’t dare admit it, but you found him rather attractive from the start. That was the reason why you wanted to catch his attention when you first met him in your first-year orientation. Back then, he had sleek, black hair, trimmed to perfection to explicitly embody his status with a single look. While you presented yourself as the exact opposite of who he used to look like, there was no harm in trying, right? 

Who knew that your lack of courage to speak to him and befriend him from the start would spur a three—almost four-year—rivalry of academic battles and hurt? You certainly didn’t predict it, but perhaps fate worked in wonderful ways, as he was now doing two-steps to a song that you wrote, composed, and poured all your heart into. 

A song about Choi Beomgyu. 

We danced and played until the sun came

Writing a story using our names

About a generation not afraid to seize the day

Geonu’s voice was the perfect touch to the lyrical prose and intricacies you communicated through the song. It was sweet, yet packed a pang of pain in each syllable—something that you always applauded him for. What made his performance better was how it made Beomgyu’s wasted presence look like an angel—as if Geonu’s voice was the spell you needed to finally see the man as a divine, untouchable being in your eyes. The test lights of all different colors glowed like a halo on the crown of Beomgyu’s head, and with the last cymbal to end the song, you immediately got up and dove to the crowd, throwing your drum sticks behind as your lips grazed the man you’ve hated for the past three years. 

Beomgyu couldn’t tell if he was too drunk or if he’s waited for this moment since he saw you on the edge of the row at an introductory elective he chose to fill his schedule, but he took your arms in his in one, fell swoop, catching you in your fall with the sturdiness of his grip. In an instant, all of the feelings he had for you blended into a single word: love. 

Who knew that hate was not the opposite of love? He certainly didn’t. In a sense, he should’ve listened to Heeseung from the start and swallowed his stubborn pride—then again, he also knew that life didn’t work that way. At this moment, he thanked his unyielding nature for allowing him to be with you for three, long years. Even if there was an incessant voice within him that complained about the prospects of being with you earlier had he not been so difficult, there was an equal part of happiness within him that was completely satisfied with the way things were. Chance worked in wonderful, albeit unpredictable ways, and maybe if he didn’t hate you so much, he wouldn’t even know of your existence from the start. 

The crowd around the two of you cheered as they watched you engulf Beomgyu in another, languid embrace. Their voices were mere whispers filtered with the booming sound of Geonu’s speech in the microphone and Sungchan’s own guitar solos; all you could see was Beomgyu’s angelic face between your soft, sweaty palms. The rush of adrenaline that usually came with playing shows was now replaced with the gentle hums that echoed across the cages of your chest, aching with a pulsating pain that threatened to implode inside of you. 

“You’re such a loser,” Beomgyu whispered, taking the back of your hands in his as he caressed the surface of your knuckles with his thumb. You could feel his rapid pulse quicken by the amount of alcohol he consumed, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be inebriated to feel a certain way. 

“Shut up,” You retorted, touching the tip of your nose on his before climbing back up to the stage to finish the song one and for all. 

With the band together, arm in arm, the four of you gave the crowd the last bow you’ll ever give them. Salty tears were shed, roaring claps and cries for an encore were heard in the distance, and the only person in your eyes was Beomgyu, who was sober enough to stand still and spill his drink in your face. In return, you blew him a kiss and threw a single drum stick in his direction, watching him effortlessly catch it and twirl it between his fingers. As the chants for an encore grew louder, you stared at each of your sweat-ridden bandmates—all of them nodding at the last request. 

“Alright, assholes,” Geonu began, taking the mic stand apart and throwing it to the side. “You asked for it, so we’ll give you one more performance. One more, yeah?” 

Sungchan didn’t even need to play the first chord to the song; Jeongin didn’t need to pluck the strings to his bass; you didn’t need to go back to your drum kit to strike the first beat; Geonu didn’t need a microphone to signal the first note of the song. Everyone knew what the next performance was going to be, and they crowded around the stage, forming a circle with Beomgyu at the center. 

This one’s for you, prick. You mouthed with a wide, ear-to-ear grin on your face. You took a can of lukewarm beer and pierced it right in the middle with your teeth, watching the crowd gaud you to finish it all in one go. Then, you crushed the empty can in your fingers and threw it to the side, rushing back to your band as they all sat on the edge of the stage. 

“You guys know the words to this one, right?” Geonu shouted. The crowd roared with approval and kept their feet still in anticipation despite the hazy inebriation that turned their vision into a mere collection of blurred movements. The alcohol had rushed past your bloodstream and circulated in your head, forming a telescope that pointed to Beomgyu as your one and only North Star. 

Look me straight into the eyes,

When I truthfully lie to you

For a graduation gig, this was perhaps one of the best gifts you could ever ask for. No amount of material desire could replicate the sense of community felt within the tiny, decrepit basement that your band has called home. Now that you’ve thought about it, this basement didn’t seem to belong to your band anymore. It belonged to everyone in the room. Those who wanted to escape a life of mundanity and academic pressures, those who wanted to forget about the time they fucked up their jobs, those who wanted to remember their youths with rose-colored lenses and shagadelic sad boy music, and those who just wanted a place where they could be themselves. The basement was a home—no, a sanctuary—that welcomed everyone with open arms—even the likes of Choi Beomgyu. 

Dreams are of your taste,

Mornings smell like you

You took control of the chorus and screamed to your heart’s content. Everyone’s voices blended into a harmonious blend of heartfelt solidarity. There were people making out in the corner of the bathroom, those that were too drunk to stand and yet muttered the lyrics in the best way they could, and the strongest soldiers of your long setlist remaining still, arm in arm with each other as they continued to sing the lyrics with you and your band. Beomgyu was still in the middle, eyes glued to your swaying figure as you slowly descended from the stage again with a microphone in your hand. 

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering,

And searching for the path that leads to you

Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin descended the stage too and started interacting with the crowd. You could see Heeseung in the distance waving at you with two joints between his fingers and a girl clad in a bright green apron in his other arm. He gave you a thumbs up and bowed before going to the bar, and you returned his gesture with a fervent scream of gratitude. You then took Beomgyu’s head and ruffled his hair, letting the residue of his red dye stain your palms. 

“So that’s what the song meant,” Beomgyu whispered right next to your ears, watching your panting figure gulp down an entire bottle of water in one go. He took the microphone from your hands and sang the last verse to the of his best abilities, letting his mind scavenge through all the times he’s secretly listened to your band’s discography on Soundcloud. There was no use in pretending he didn’t know any of the words when he’s spent every waking moment listening to Joker In on his commute to and from campus. 

“Yeah, kind of funny, right?” You replied, tossing the empty bottle to a nearby trash can. Beomgyu tossed the microphone back to Geonu, who was now being nursed back to health by Sungchan. You gave the two a nod and took Beomgyu’s hand to leave the confines of the basement. 

Now that the two of you were outside, you breathed in the fresh scent of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house. The night sky in hues of navy evoked divine iridescence with the hymns of the crickets and fireflies that sparked the outskirts of town into a bright, starlit grove of secrecy. You took another can of beer that you hid inside the pockets of your overalls and crushed it open, offering a sip to Beomgyu once you were finished taking a large gulp. He refused, leaning his tall frame on the unpainted walls of the house. The noise from the basement echoed into the vast, empty skies. Everyone’s voice seemed to repeat the chorus of the song in muffled hums, and you joined their choir with a quiet rendition of your own, humming the song that brought you to Beomgyu in a gentle lullaby. 

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering

And searching for the path that leads to

You stared at Beomgyu before finishing the last line of the verse, twirling the cool can of beer between your fingers. It was impossible to hate him under the moonlight. 

“Do you still think I’m that sexy stranger that you almost took home with you from the bus stop?” He asked, craning his neck to look at you with his glassy eyes. 

“Dipshit, we went over this a long time ago. Did you really think I was that stupid?” You replied, returning the rhetoric while fishing for a pack of cigarettes in your pockets. Beomgyu scratched his head and cleared his throat, averting his gaze to meet the destroyed leather of his combat boots. 

“Well, you’re still kind of dense…” 

“A face like yours is difficult to hide, you know? Even with your dumb excuse of a disguise.” 

A light chuckle escaped your lips. Beomgyu always wondered what you’d sound like if you laughed with him instead of laughing without him. Perhaps it was the remnants of alcohol that remained in his bloodstream, or perhaps it was the irresistible, honey-like tone in your voice that made him want to hear you laugh again. 

“Can we start over again?” Beomgyu interrupted. This time, he positioned himself at an angle that made him face you regardless of where his neck was aching to go. You gave him a small smile, followed by a middle finger as you let the fizz of beer emulsify within the confines of your mouth. 

“Seriously? I thought seeing your dumbass play guitar in the studio was already enough?” You replied, letting the embers from your lighter reflect its yellow flames in Beomgyu’s marble-like eyes. 

You were not one to waste a cigarette, but a single puff engulfed you in a woozy feeling of nausea and turbulence. As you stubbed the light out of the long, white stick on the dying grass around it, you turned your attention back on Beomgyu—the most patient he’s been since the two of you first met. Everything with Beomgyu felt long and drawn out, but this time, you didn’t mind. The night was long, and you wanted all the time in the world to start over, even if it meant confessing some of your deepest, dirtiest thoughts to him. 

Carpe diem. Seize the day. 

And so, you did. Beomgyu’s cheeks felt like satin feathers ruffling and tickling each of your fingertips, electrifying you with a gentleness that lulled you closer to him. There was nothing to be afraid of from the start, and even if it took you three years to overcome that unbridled, irrational fear that is Choi Beomgyu, you were nonetheless glad that it was all over. Another day was about to come, and who knows? Maybe Beomgyu wouldn’t be an enemy anymore.

—CREDITS: @writingmochi @gyvhao @chocorenchin @michipan @hsgwrld (hi meg !! also tagging you on this because this is a eurovision fic lMAOO this is vivian on her txt blog btw !!)

[bewilderedbunny]

Objection! (Eddie x reader smut) 18+ only!

Author's note and content warnings:

2.6k words of silly smut. minors DNI!

I thought that a meet cute between a court stenographer and defendant would be fun. Please keep in mind that I know nothing about the judicial system and my only point of references are Better Call Saul and Legally Blonde. (I also found out that the dancing inflatable tubeman wasn't invented until the mid-late 90s. Please forgive me for my ignorance.)

Fem!reader along with use of she/her pronouns. No use of Y/N, just honey, ma'am and sweetheart. Mechanic!Eddie (it isn't touched on much in the story but that is his job in this world) slightly sub!Eddie, vigilante!Eddie, Eddie has a little bit of a stocking fetish, Eddie is a thigh man in this fic, mentions of drugs, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected piv sex (don't do that IRL) strangers to lovers.

Credit to @firefly-graphics for the divider ❄️ not tagging anyone since this isn't my usual fluff 💗

It's a gray, snowy morning as you step off the city bus and walk to Hawkins courthouse. You check your watch as you enter the building. The first case of the day is at 8am and you've got 45 minutes to get your coffee and set up your station.

Most days are pretty much the same with your work. Scribing every word spoken during a case, then later editing and finalizing the transcript. Every once in a while you speak when you need someone to repeat themselves or when you are called upon to read a portion of the transcripts. Other than those instances, your job is to turn off your brain and type as fast and accurately as you possibly can. It can be a monotonous, boring job but it works for you.

You hang up your coat, grab a paper cup of coffee and sit at your station as you wait for the first case of the day.

The prosecutor enters, you see it's Leonard Mitchell. He's one of the older DAs and he has a reputation for being stubborn and irritable.

Next to enter the room is the defendant accompanied by his attorney. The defendant is wearing a slightly wrinkled white button-up shirt, black jeans, and boots, and his long brown curls are tied back into a bun. He whispers something to his lawyer as they take a seat.

The defense attorney looks vaguely familiar to you, but you can't place his name. He's in his mid-forties and has the cadence of an overworked and under-resourced public defender.

The bailiff enters the room and announces,

"ALL RISE"

All of you rise as the judge enters the room.

"Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Steward is presiding."

Judge Steward is one of your favorites. She's mastered the art of being patient yet firm and she's always been kind to you. You're scheduled to work beside her all day today.

"Good morning, everyone. Calling the case of the State of Indiana versus Edward Munson. The charge is petty theft. Mr. Munson, how do you plead?"

Eddie pleads not guilty and the proceedings begin.

The prosecutor starts his argument.

"On the evening of November 12th, an air dancer was stolen from Wheels and Deals car dealership. That air dancer was then seen at one of the defendants' rock shows."

Judge Steward interjects, "What is an "air dancer" exactly?"

"Your honor, an air dancer is an inflatable figure that, when attached to a fan, dances and flails around. They are mostly used for advertising, which was what Wheels and Deals Auto purchased this item for until it was stolen by Mr. Munson. The loss of potential profits from losing this item is substantial."

Eddie scoffs and his defense attorney rebuts with,

"They aren't exactly Superbowl commercials. They could bring in what, an extra sale or two?"

"Yes- of a car. Of which the average sale price for this establishment is for one single vehicle is $14,000."

Eddie's eyes go wide, he can't seriously be expected to pay 14 grand for a balloon, right?

The judge asks, "Mr. Mitchell, how much did Wheels & Deals purchase the air dancer for?"

"$149.95."

The arguments continue for a while, once they are finalized, Judge Steward makes her ruling.

"On the charge of petty theft, I find Mr. Munson guilty. He is ordered to pay $20 in restitution and work 12 hours of community service. The court is now adjourned."

As everyone leaves the room, you're approached by Regina, Judge Steward's clerk.

"You're the court reporter today, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"You can go. Judge Steward had something come up so the rest of the cases today are being postponed."

You grab your coat and walk outside. The ground is covered in slushy snow and as you walk down the courthouse steps, you lose your footing and start to slip. Just as you do, a hand reaches out to hold your elbow and steady you.

You look up and see the balloon thief smiling down at you from a step above. Now he's added a hoodie, leather jacket, and a denim vest over his button-up.

"Careful there, sweetheart. You could've fallen and landed on your money makers." He nods to your hands as he says "money makers" which makes you laugh.

"That would have been awful. Thanks, Mr. Munson."

"No problem. Let's make sure you make it the rest of the way in one piece, 'kay?"

He holds onto you the rest of the way down the stairs. Once you're on the sidewalk, he lets go, you miss his touch instantly.

"Thanks again, Mr. Munson. Take care."

"You too, sweetheart."

He gives you a nod before walking to the parking garage. You wait at the bus stop and check the schedule. The next bus isn't due for another 15 minutes. You would normally head back inside to wait but you don't want to risk embarrassing yourself again with the stairs.

You're shivering and breathing into your hands as a beat-up van approaches. Eddie reaches over and rolls down his passenger window to talk to you.

"You're gonna freeze out here, y'know?"

"Oh, I'm fine Mr. Munson. Really, don't worry about it."

"C'mon, let me drive you home."

You take a moment before getting in the van. It smells like cigarettes and some type of woodsy air freshener or cologne.

You buckle your seatbelt and thank him.

"Of course. Can't leave a fair maiden such as yourself to freeze. Where to?"

You smile at him and give him your address.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you as he drives.

You look over at him and say, "Can I ask you something?" He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

"Why did I steal the air dancer?"

"Why did you steal the air dancer?"

"I didn't, he just came to my show. Can't help it that he has great music taste. Nice guy, actually. Named him Ozzy.

You laugh and he then says,

"That dealership is the worst, scamming people into buying shitty used cars for well over what they're worth. I work at Thacher Tire and we have so many people come in after being scammed by that place. I just had enough."

God, he stole something so stupid for such a sweet reason.

"That makes sense. A little payback for the people."

He looks at you and smiles, a beautiful dimpled smile "Exactly."

"How do you feel about the verdict?"

"Well, I'm still disappointed that my original trial by combat request was denied."

Your laughter fills the van, delighting Eddie as he continues,

"I'm glad I only have to pay $20, wish it was $0 but it's much more ideal than 14k."

"Very true."

"And the community service is fine. I mean, I was doing service for the community by stealing the damn thing in the first place but whatever." You nod in agreement as he continues,

"I'll be honest, one of the reasons I stole Ozzy is that I thought he'd be fun for shows. And for business."

"At the tire shop?"

"No, I deal on the side."

"Deal… cars?"

He laughs, "No, uh, other stuff."

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline and scold him,

"Eddie! Don't tell someone you met at the courthouse that you're a drug dealer!"

"Aw, I'm not Mr. Munson anymore? I liked when you called me that." You roll your eyes as he pulls up to your home. You're disappointed the drive was so short.

"I'm mostly just sad that I had to give Ozzy back to those dickheads. He belongs on stage with the real Ozzy, y'know?"

Your heart hurts at his personification of the inflatable man. You place your hand on his arm and say,

"Maybe they sent him to a farm where he can dance to Black Sabbath all day with others just like him."

He looks at your hand and bites his lip as he smiles.

"That's the dream. What, uh, what do you have going on the rest of the day?"

"Well, they sent me home early so I have no plans. I'm all free."

"Yeah? I'm kind of a free man too, in a way. Avoided some serious prison time today."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do with your newly found freedom, Mr. Munson?"

He looks at you for a moment before leaning in to kiss you. It's soft at first, your lips are barely touching as warm breath fans over you. He holds the back of your head with one hand and rubs your thigh with the other as he deepens the kiss. You give a tentative swipe at his lips with your tongue. He opens his mouth and repeats the action to you. You have your hands pressed against his chest as you lick into each other's mouths.

You pull back and invite him to come inside, he smiles a big toothy grin before jumping out of the van and sprinting (and sliding) to the passenger side to open your door. You giggle at him, he holds your waist as you walk up to your front door. You hesitate before opening it, realizing you should make sure he isn't some notorious drug kingpin.

"What do you deal?"

"Just weed. Sometimes other stuff but it's usually just weed."

"Other stuff? Like what?" Once the door is unlocked take off your shoes and he follows suit.

"Well, it's rare that anyone wants it, but every once in a while I sell ketamine."

"The horse tranquilizer?"

"What's a girl like you know about special k?" He asks.

You chuckle, "A girl like me spent 60 hours last week transcribing in drug court. Probably recording some of your clients, now that I think about it."

You lead him to your bedroom. Once you're inside, he slips off your coat and cardigan, then begins unbuttoning your shirt.

"Well with customer confidentiality I couldn't possibly say." He removes your shirt once it's unbuttoned and leans down to plant kisses along your breasts. You moan and tug at the many layers covering his torso, he takes the hint and removes them.

"Of course. You're a professional, after all." You kiss his neck and trace the tattoos that decorate his chest with your fingers.

"But, the next time one of my customers gets picked up, I may have to show up to their arraignment if it means I get to see you again."

You laugh and lay back on your bed before replying, "You think that would be good for their case? Their dealer showing up with a stolen air dancer?"

He climbs on top of you, a couple of loose curls hang by your face as he leans in.

"Who knows? I may just woo you into accidentally writing the transcript as not guilty."

You roll your eyes and kiss him.

He runs his hand up your stocking-covered leg. Once he reaches the top of your thigh where the fabric ends, he lets out a groan.

"Fuck, these don't go all the way up? You're killing me here. Let's get this skirt out of the way so I can get a better look."

He unzips your skirt and rolls it down your legs. Once it reaches your ankles, he stops and rests his head against your calf.

"Honey, you are something else." He kisses his way along your leg. He looks into your eyes as he lightly bites the fabric of your stockings and pulls. Your thighs go to close on instinct but he pulls them apart.

"Y-you tear those and you're buying me another pair."

"That's fine. Got a deal set up later today with Arod for some Ket."

"Who?"

"Arod? Legolas' horse in Lord of the Rings? He- y'know nevermind. It's not important right now. I'll tell you after."

You laugh at him and he returns his focus to kissing up your thigh. He lays smooches and licks in the area where your mound and thigh meet.

Your hips buck, he holds them down and says, "Woah, down girl."

"You're ridicu-"

He cuts you off by pressing his mouth to your clothed pussy.

You gasp and hold onto his hair.

He pulls back to slide off your panties and says, "Keep talking, sweetheart. Tell me how ridiculous I am while I lick you out." your face heats up as he uses his pointer and middle finger to spread your lips, inspecting you.

"Fuck. Isn't she pretty?"

He spits directly on your clit which makes you squirm. He licks a flat stripe up your folds before eagerly lapping at your clit. It sends little shocks through your whole body. His big hands keep your thighs spread as he devours you.

The slick, wet sounds combined with both of your moans is, quite frankly, obscene.

He moves down to your entrance and gives it a few licks before shoving his tongue in as far as it will go. You gasp and shudder as he presses in and out, fucking you with his tongue. He switches from keeping your thighs spread to squeezing them against his head. You're a bit worried about hurting him, but he's having the time of his life.

The vibration from the little pleasured noises he is making, the feeling of his tongue inside you, and his nose nudging against your clit has you nearly sobbing.

You feel his eyes bore into you and when you finally give in and look down at him, he's a mess. Red cheeks, ruffled hair, and a twinkle in his eyes as he watches you come undone.

He shakes his head back and forth desperately for a moment before moving up to focus on your clit. Having his pretty pink lips eagerly suck at your oversensitive clit is almost painful. As you feel the pressure in your belly build, you tug on his hair and whisper that you're close. He continues sucking, working for your orgasm like it's a prize to be won.

When your release hits, you're seeing stars. He doesn't stop sucking and lapping until you push him away, twitching and teary-eyed. He moves up your body and kisses you. He's more gentle with your mouth than he was with your cunt and the taste of him mixed with your own slick is mouthwatering.

You reach down and fumble with his belt. You tug down his pants and boxers just enough for his cock to spring out. It's a bit longer than average and thick with a reddened, leaky tip. You stroke it softly as he kisses your neck.

"Gotta be inside of you, honey. Please?" He practically whimpers.

"Mhmm, put in me."

You feel him smile against you before saying,

"Yes ma'am. Here, let me help." Reaching down, he covers your hand that's holding his cock with his own and guides your hands up and down your folds before prodding at your entrance.

He enters you slowly, inch by inch, until he's buried all the way in.

"Jesus Christ, I'm not gonna last long. She's squeezin' me so tight. I nearly creamed my pants from eating you out."

"It's okay, Eddie. Take your time."

He holds still for a moment before grinding into you. You moan and hold onto his shoulders. Once he has control over himself, he finds a rhythm. The patch of curly hair surrounding his cock tickles your clit with every thrust. He reaches down to grip your thighs as he fucks you. He lasts for a few moments before pulling back to look at you with a pained expression on his face.

"You okay?"

"Fuck, I'm so close. Where c-can I cum?"

"Wh-where do you want to cum?"

"Your thighs, fuck. Want to cum on your thighs so bad."

"Please, paint my stockings, Mr. Munson."

Your words send him over the edge, he curses and pulls out, covering your stocking and skin with his release. He lays down beside you and pulls you to his chest. You listen to his heartbeat while he takes a moment to catch his breath. Once he does, he says,

"So, as I was saying, Arod is Legolas' horse and-"

[depressopax]

No strings attached - Nacho x gn!reader

Fandom - Better call Saul

Pairing: Ignacio “Nacho” Varga x gender neutral reader Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, smut Warning(s): Sexual content. Nacho angst lmao, cuss words, situationships, kinda cheesy ngl, reader is gender neutral with they/them pronouns. Words: 1.3K Summary: Nacho realizing that he’s fallen in love with his FWB English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3 AO3 link

You collapse in bed next to Nacho, both of you panting for air after the intense orgasms. After laying next to him, sweaty but comfortable on the soft mattress you take out your phone. 

It's 1AM and even though you said you’d come over to Nacho’s place for a quickie, you’ve been here for three hours now. As you hold your phone, he puts a soft hand on your back, and soon you feel him leaving kisses - both soft and aggressive ones - on your neck. 

You close the phone again and look at him with a smirk. It looks like he’s about to say something, but seeing you leaving bed, he closes his mouth again. When getting dressed in front of the mirror, Nacho lays down in the bed, staring in awe to get another glimpse of your naked skin which is covered in hickeys. He’s smug with knowing he’s the reason behind them. It almost hurts, watching you cover up and get dressed in the same clothes he tossed on the floor earlier.

“I was thinking…”

He starts. You look into the mirror, smiling when noticing Nacho’s intense stare at you. He’s not very discreet when it comes to admiring you. Turning around, you meet his dark eyes and are surprised when he looks away. His lower body is covered by the thin white sheets, and he fidgets with the fabric, like he’s trying to think of something to say. 

“...Yes?”

“Maybe you could stay…?”

You freeze in the process of taking the jeans on and realize what he just asked.

“Nacho…-”

“I know, I know… ‘No strings attached’”

He sounds… Irritated?

“Do I need to remind you those were your words?” 

“Just forget it.” 

He hisses. You stare at him, not quite understanding what's going on.

“...Fine.” You pull up the zipper and then put on the socks and shoes, feeling his eyes watching your every step, but not with warmth. “Goodnight then, Nacho.” 

He grunts in reply, pulling the sheets up and then shutting the only light source in the room. You leave his apartment, confused with what just happened.

Nacho stares at his phone, reading all stupid conversations between you and him, every flirtatious message, and all the arguments over text. He has known you for almost 2 years. 

There was always a spark between the two of you, and you fell hard, but Nacho never fell harder. 

Despite the one sided attraction, he ended up in your bed one night after you both had too many drinks, and since then you’ve been “friends with benefits”. 

He couldn't really complain, he got to sleep with you - one of his closest friends - with no strings attached. 

No relationship, no promises and no jealousy. 

It sounded perfect. It was perfect. 

But perfect is just an illusion. 

“What are we?” You asked that one night, still panting from how good he fucked you. It was the question that was the beginning of the downfall. You expected it, but his reply still shattered your heart. He pulled out of you and laid down in bed. The seconds it took for him to reply felt like hours.

“I dunno. Why?”

You laid down beside him. All you wanted was to curl up next to him, but you didn’t.

“I mean… We do got some sexual tension”

“That’s why we fucked.” He chuckled but your silence soon filled the room. “You ok?”

“Yeah.”

But the truth is you weren’t ok. You felt ashamed. The shot of confidence the vodka provided is leaving your body. You pull the blanket over your naked body, waiting for him to say something. Still, you’re the first to talk.

“I like you.”

The sigh from him still echoes in your mind to this day. Ouch. 

“I like you as a friend.”

A friend. Friend. You felt like laughing and crying, instead you nodded.

“So… This meant nothing?”“Of course it did!” He sat up and moved closer to you. Silly as it was, you looked the other way when the blanket fell off his naked body. “Listen… We have a good connection. I like being around you. And well… I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”

“So what…? Friends with benefits?”

“Is that ok for you?”

“Yes.” You replied. Back then, you didn’t realize it was a lie. 

“No strings attached. We can just have a good time, yea?”

You forced yourself to smile at his words. 

The two of you slept together regularly. You always wanted more, but Nacho didn’t. At least you got to be close to him and be in his strong embrace. It went on for four months.

But nothing lasts forever.

We good? 

Nacho waits nervously for your response to his messages. It’s been an hour since you left his place and he’s wide awake in bed. He is still beating himself up for fucking up. Not only tonight, but for the four months he’s had sex with you. 

No strings attached. 

He scoffs at his own words. 

“How could I be so stupid?”

It was a way to protect himself and protect you from the dangerous life he’s living. He’s been scared to let someone in, especially you. You’re his best friend, after all. He could never forgive himself if you ended up hurt in any way. 

But holding you in his arms, feeling your body under his weight as he fucks you, and having you in his bed afterwards… He wants more. 

Not only the sex, no… He wants you to be his, to have you close at all times, every day. He wants to take you on dates and be the reason you smile. He cusses and rubs his temple. 

“They hate you.” 

He mutters. The bedroom feels so cold and empty, and the feeling of loneliness suddenly overwhelms him. 

The next day, you’re sitting down on the couch watching a movie, when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Nacho-”

“Can we talk?”

You back away from the door, allowing him to enter the apartment. He looks so good it hurts. You watch him hang off the black leather-jacket, revealing the white t-shirt underneath. Without a word he walks to the living room and sinks into your couch. There’s an awkward tension between the two of you, replacing the usual sexual tension. 

“I was a jerk yesterday”

“Yea.” It surprises you, to hear your stubborn friend apologize and admit he was wrong. “You were. Why?”

“To protect myself.”

“...From?” 

You sit down next to him, sensing how anxious he feels. His voice is almost desperate as he replies.

“I like you.” 

There. He said it. He mentally prepares for your rejection. 

“As a friend?” You ask with a sarcastic undertone. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“More.” 

As he reaches for your hands, you hold them out for him, shocked by how tenderly he grabs them. Nacho intertwines fingers with you, bringing your knuckles to his lips. A shiver runs down your spine.

“What happened to ‘No strings attached’?” You ask, and Nacho grunts in reply.

“Fuck that shit.” His grip on your hands tightens and you see him holding back tears. “I’m in love with you.”

Great. Now you’re gonna cry too. 

“I’m in love with you too.” He doesn’t reply, but stares at you, processing the words. With a smile, you repeat the words. “I’m in love with yo-” 

Your words are interrupted when his lips almost crash together with yours. 

This time when having sex, Nacho takes his time with you. He moves in and out of you slowly, making you feel every inch of him. He makes you scream his name over and over, worshiping you and your body. You climax together and afterwards, he grabs your hips and pulls you close.

“Stay.” He demands.

You smile at him, melting into his embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[manicpixiedgoblin]

Nervous Young Inhumans

Masterpost

Chapter Thirty-Two.

Epilogue: El Camino

2004

“What’ll we do when I come back?” Ellie asked.

They were laying face to face in her bed, the light dim and blue from the muted TV in the living room, the low white from the streetlights outside through the thin, white shades.

“Leave,” he scoffed.

“Where?” she asked.

They were both speaking barely above a whisper. He took a strand of hair from across her face and placed it behind her.

“Wherever we want. Where do you wanna go?”

“Anywhere together.”

“Somewhere with trees,” he said.

“And snow,” she added.

He nodded.

“Promise you’ll come back?” he asked.

“Promise you’ll still be here?”

2010

It had been around six months. Months of hiding in bed, watching TV, drinking - mostly at home. She’d driven through the desert multiple times, aimlessly. It wasn’t like she had any idea where to find him.

There was still an out - leaving all of this. Alone, or even with Jimmy. But her heart was full of grief and she couldn’t do anything but watch the sun rise and fall and try not to think.

Like every day, she was chain smoking and drinking wine from the bottle before noon, thinking of maybe popping a Xanax when the doorbell rang.

Which didn’t happen anymore, really.

She clicked on the buzzer.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Elizabeth Sanders?” a man’s voice asked on the other side.

“Who is this?”

“Detective Jones, with the DEA - can I come in?”

She hesitated.

“What’s this about?”

“Ma’am, probably nothing concerning you, but I’d like to come in.”

Deciding there wasn’t much risk, she buzzed him in.

Quickly she darted to her room, placing her taser underneath her sweater, tucked into the back of her jeans. The money was hidden, the only drugs around were technically prescribed.

The knock came a few seconds later.

She opened, standing there.

“Can I come in?” the detective asked.

“Should I be concerned? Should I call someone?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Ms. Sanders, we just want to know if you’re here alone.”

She looked behind his shoulder.

“My partner’s downstairs, thought it better not to, uh, overwhelm you. We know your ties to one Jesse Pinkman have been distant in the past few years, but we still had to check.”

She stared at him, confused.

“Check?”

“Make sure he didn’t think to come around, asking for your help in hiding him. Whatever you know of him, Pinkman has become a hardened criminal. You should, at the slightest indication of his presence, call the police.”

She felt dizzy, took a step back and held on to the couch.

“Woah, woah,” the cop said, stepping towards her, “Miss - are you alright?”

“Jesse?”

“Ma’am?”

“I-I-“ I thought he was dead, she was about to say.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she said instead.

“We’re sorry to have disturbed you,” he cleared his throat, taking one look around. “Anyways, uh, if he does show up, be sure to give me a call.”

He handed her his card and left.

After a few moments she started breathing harder, then stood up. She took out her laptop and pulled up the live feed of the cameras she’d installed, back when she’d still been scared of Walter coming back.

She saw Detective Jones speak to someone in another car and then leave, this second car staying parked in front of her building.

She turned her head towards the TV and found the local news. As she heard, she covered her mouth with her palm.

***

Of course he was smart enough not to come here. She sobered up, showered and packed everything. Anywhere she drove they’d follow, right?

Walter was dead. Jesse was alive. Whatever he’d been through, he was alive.

She wondered if her phone was tapped. She found an old burner of Saul’s, but didn’t know who to call, where he’d go. Who wouldn’t they be watching?

He’d probably rather risk it at his friend’s than involve her.

Did he know she was still there?

She checked the cameras again. Only one car. Clearly they didn’t know that much, then. Two suitcases and her backpack. Just enough money for the service, for them to start, a few changes of clothes. Her small wooden memory box. One last look around. Whatever they found after wouldn’t matter much, right?

She called the cab number Jimmy had specifically given her from the burner phone, asking them to meet her at the corner store and left through the back of the building.

When she pulled up at Skinny and Badger’s place, or rather two doors down, she handed the cabby an extra tip and got out. No cars around - yet.

She didn’t knock, trying the handle and getting inside.

“Woah,” Badger rushed to the door before recognizing her, his hands falling to his sides as she shut the door behind her, having wheeled in the suitcases.

“Where is he?” she said softly.

Skinny walked into the living room. “Shower,” he said, his eyes slightly wide.

She nodded.

Everything she had with her she left in the living room and leaned her head against the bathroom door, hearing the sound of running water and closing her eyes.

She didn’t want to scare him.

She didn’t know the details, and maybe one day he’d be ready to tell her, but now? Now she just wanted to make sure he knew it was over. Knew he was safe.

It took a long time after the water stopped running for the door to open. She took a step back when it did to keep from falling towards the toilet. He startled and stared at her.

He looked different than he did on the TV Badger and Petey kept running in the background. Older. Scarred. Her hand wanted to reach towards his face but she stood still.

He was holding a gun dripping wet.

When she glanced at it he finally reacted.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re leaving, right?”

“El-” he choked.

“I’m already packed,” she smiled softly.

He kept staring, his eyes half absent. Finally, he collapsed towards her, hugging her, face buried in her neck. She held him. He didn’t cry, just stayed there until Skinny walked up behind her.

“Woah, dude, why’d you—“

“Looking sharp, yo,” Badger interrupted him.

Jesse pulled back and looked at all of them.

“I gotta get rid of that car,” he said to them.

***

He called the same guy that had helped them in the past, and Skinny drove off with it.

Even though he didn’t clear much up for them, they understood. They said their goodbyes.

Ellie called the Vacuum Repair shop.

When Ed picked them up he asked her if she was going to Nebraska.

“No,” she shook her head, “we leave together.”

“Where to?”

“Alaska,” Jesse said.

She didn’t say anything, just glanced at his hand and kept herself from taking it. He noticed and reached out, taking her hand.

When Ed put them in the underground room to wait for transport Jesse sat against the wall on the head of the bed, Ellie slowly joining him.

“It’s over,” she wanted to say, but she knew for him it wasn’t. She knew it would take years.

They sat in silence for a long time before he spoke.

“They as bad as I think?” he motioned towards his face.

“They’re kind of hot,” she joked.

***

Ed finally left them in Alaska, almost a week later, next to a pickup truck, with their two suitcases half-full of money, all they had in the world now.

They’d traveled in a cramped compartment, pressed together. Jesse would shake in his sleep. Ellie would stroke his head until it stopped.

They got in their new car, in silence. She looked at him as often as she could, still afraid it would end, it was just another dream.

It would take years for her to breathe normally in the mornings when he got out of bed before her.

Mr. and Mrs. Driscoll, their new identities - a passport and valid ID, a few changes of clothes, a car. Enough money to buy a small cabin in a small town, for Jesse to focus on woodworking, for Ellie to paint, for both of them to slowly build a life that alienated the previous one until it was that which felt like a dream and not this.

In her small wooden box, the ring. She’d forget about the people from the past, until one day at a bar she’d see the news of Jimmy’s arrest. And surprise would overtake her when, after all those years, all that was left was a feeling of tenderness for everyone that had been there.

The kind of tenderness you feel after waking up for someone you’ve met only in a dream.

[anoia]

Top 3 most horrible hard to watch things that happen in Better Call Saul:

3. What happens to Howard

2. What Jimmy does to Irene

1. Kim in the jean skirt and sneakers

[tacticalhimbo]

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

woah! these bitches gay! it's pride month and i have a bunch of queer characters. here's a list of them, actually <3 happy pride

enjoy a gay little picture of my fursona in the meantime (creds in bio)

🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

ace zavala // welcome to the game → bisexual

alastor rosales // fandomless → bisexual

alexey khorkin // fandomless → bisexual

alice preda // fandomless → bisexual

aliénor laurent // red dead redemption 2 → bisexual

ambrose walten // scp foundation → polyamorous nonbinary bisexual

aretmis riveros // the outer worlds → polyamorous nonbinary bisexual

bailey hill // watch dogs → bisexual

briar fontenot // resident evil 7 & 8 → agender

constance fox // resident evil (franchise) → bisexual

constanitia valellian // skyrim → lesbian

darya shipova // fandomless → bisexual

demeter vincze // fallout new vegas → gay

devenni tabris (hero of ferelden) // dragon age origins → lesbian

eden shepard // mass effect trilogy → transfem

emery beaumanoir // dragon age inquisition → bisexual

emilia "candy" kent // grand theft auto 5 → bisexual

erebien the swift // skyrim → bisexual

faye choi // grand theft auto 5 (online) → polyamorous transfem bisexual

françoise couturier // the outer worlds → polyamorous bisexual

hawke // dragon age 2 → transfem bisexual

hyejin ch'on // squid game → nonbinary (agender) bisexual

inquisitor feynrith lavellan // dragon age inquisition → bisexual

isemaya lavellan // dragon age inquisition → bisexual

ishza v'atze // skyrim → polyamorous lesbian

isis eskandarani // far cry 3 → homoromantic (wlw) asexual

jarvaca ardaan // dragon age inquisition → gay

jean-baptiste dominique // cyberpunk 2077 → genderqueer femme (x-gender) asexual lesbian

jennifer massey // far cry 5 → homoromantic (wlw) asexual

jingyi zhuan // far cry 4 → gay (closeted)

jocasta "judas" navarro // red dead redemption 2 → lesbian (closeted)

jody knapp // stardew valley → polyamorous genderqueer gay

joel delgado // breaking bad → gay

jolene atkinson // far cry 5 → lesbian

joseph bascet // better call saul → gay

jovelyn wyatt (the security captain) // far cry new dawn → lesbian

julia adranos // dragon age inquisition → bisexual

konstantin mozgov // better call saul → gay

laverne alba // grand theft auto 5 (online) → bisexual

lucien boutin // the outer worlds → bisexual

léonie winter // red dead redemption 2 → bisexual

lý phan // fallout 4 → polyamorous lesbian

maddox ross // grand theft auto 5 (online) → polyamorous gay

marcella "mars" livianna antonius // fallout new vegas → lesbian

marjorie douglass // fallout 4 → homoromantic (wlw) asexual

matteo pichette // scp foundation → polyamorous agender homoromantic asexual

maxwell hill // watch dogs → transmasc gay

mickey araceli de león → transfem queer (unlabeled sexuality)

mikhail lupin // fandomless → aromantic bisexual

murileis leroux // monster hunter world → lesbian

noami hassan // cyberpunk 2077 → lesbian

noemi peterson // fallout 4 → polyamorous bisexual

patricia "rascal" jones // fallout 3 → biromantic asexual

phoebe blackwell // grand theft auto 5 → bisexual

ramón gutiérrez // grand theft auto 5 (online) → gay

rayford douglass // fallout 4 → transmasc

rhys "ghost" meyer // grand theft auto 5 (online) → nonbinary

roman zemlin // fandomless → bisexual

rüdiger pracht // local 58 → gay

sacha yannis boone → gay

sappho nikolaidi // fallout new vegas → lesbian

sara ryder // mass effect andromeda → bisexual

satre aley // destiny 2 → lesbian

scarlett romero // welcome to the game → lesbian

scott ryder // mass effect andromeda → gay

shepard fleming (the sole survivor) // fallout 4 → transmasc bisexual

tomo otsune (the lone wanderer) // fallout 3 → nonbinary pansexual

vera lynn // cyberpunk 2077 → transfem lesbian

veturia petasia // dragon age inquisition → lesbian

vincent hale // cyberpunk 2077 → genderqueer (transmasc) bisexual

virgil hendrix → polyamorous transmasc bisexual

virgo decius rex (brutus) // fallout new vegas → gay

wendy curtis (the settler) // fallout 76 → transfem lesbian

willie patterson // red dead redemption 2 → gay

winifred annker // fallout 4 → bisexual

xiuying shî // fandomless → lesbian

yagdurash bolhmnag // skyrim → lesbian

zakari marshall // far cry new dawn → two spirit (transmasc gay)

[theboarsbride]

Name 5 movies/book/songs/etc that inspired each of your stories!

:0

OOO!!! So sorry this took too long to get around, but thank you so, so much for sending this ask in!! 🥺💛

The Monster and the Butterfly🥀🦋

Crimson Peak - and Guillermo del Toro's whole filmography, tbh, but Crimson Peak especially. And also other ghost movies/shows, such as The Orphanage, The Others, The Haunting of Bly Manor, Mama, Paranormal Activity, The Conjuring I & II.

Panna a Netvor/Beauty and the Beast (1979), as well as Jean Cocteau's La Belle et la Bete.

Various dark fantasy movies and books from the 1980s/90s like The Dark Crystal, Legend, The Company of Wolves, etc. and Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber.

Shelley Duvall's Fairytale Theater "Beauty and the Beast" episode (literally why Susan Sarandon - who plays Beauty - is Sophie's fc)... and honestly, on that same note, Peter Jackson's LOTR trilogy because the fucking music is so good, and Brad Dourif as Grima Wormtongue is the whole reason why the modern version of Edgar exists (and is his fc) lmao.

A Taste for Monsters by Matthew Kirby - and to add onto this, KIND OF?? Is that a lot of inspiration for TMATB came from the hate I feel towards some modern BATB retellings (i.e.- Sarah J Maas' A Court of Thorns and Roses series especially) that feature conventionally attractive 'Beasts' who are only beasts in the sense that they're awful, toxic, cruel people who, to me, don't deserve redemption or romance - or even friendship - as well as female protagonists who are just so, so unlikeable in their bitterness, idiocy, and Mary Sue-ness??? I wanted to write a romance that featured love interests that were unconventional in appearance, flawed but still likeable, and having a relationship that is healthy/consensual!

Cheating and adding a 6th one, but the works of Abigail J. Harding's Parliament of Rooks portfolio! GOTHIC BIRD MONSTER BELOVED!

Those Red Nights🌕🐺

Using Bob Odenkirk as a fc for a werewolf character - literally that's the whole reason why this story exists lmfao. So you bet I was watching the hell out of Better Call Saul and Breaking Bad for inspo (and simp material)!

Silence of the Lambs, the movie especially! But there is also Thomas Harris' Red Dragon novel (and the movie starring Ed Norton and Anthony Hopkins, and the movie Manhunter) that was a source of inspiration!

David Fincher's Se7en - I wanted to write a neo-Noir story for a hot minute, especially ones with psychological horror elements!

Nightmare by Tuesday Knight - this just helped me develop the idea of TRN being a psychological horror, and writing about the themes surrounding nightmares, the haunting effects of guilt, etc.

Werewolf movies like Bad Moon and Silver Bullet

Temperance & Mr. Wyrm 🐍⚕️- I don't talk about this WIP much but I still think about it regularly!

Wanting to do a retelling of the fairytale "The Lindworm Prince" and also wanting to explore writing a weird body horror romance!

The Shape of Water - again, del Toro out here inspiring goofy fucking monster romances!

David Cronenberg's The Fly - tragic body horror romance goodness, my beloved!

General 1980s media and pop culture - a lot of this was kind of inspired by reading My Best Friend's Exorcism by Grady Hendrix! It's a book set in the 80s and utilizes the 80s nostalgia, but it also doesn't shy away from how ugly the 80s were in terms of social stigmas for people who weren't straight white men. In TAMW especially what I'd be alluding to is the stigma surrounding AIDS, and other blood-borne illnesses.

And, lowkey, wanting to have Gwendoline Christie as a fc for a character?? Like, idk, with who Temperance is as a character within the novella, Christie seems to fit her super well! Also the tall gf x short bf is a ship dynamic I ADORE! (also the character of Jack, the titular 'Mr. Wyrm,' is another character where I use Brad Dourif as a fc for but shhhhh i know I'm cringe, don't remind me)

These are the main WIPs I still work on!! There is also The Faeries and the Lark but that's more on the backburner for now, but that story was inspired by wanting to do a genderbent retelling of Sleeping Beauty but has now turned into a Gothic/dark fantasy Sapphic romance that's a funky blend between Sleeping Beauty and East of the Sun, West of the Moon that's inspired by Scandinavian folklore and seeing images of women in armor lmao.

But if there are any WIPs you'd wanna learn about, give me a shout and I'm more than willing to scream about these goofy, silly little stories!!

[hejihra]

8 shows to get to know me by

I was tagged by the lovely @emiliosandozsequence 💜

Rectify - This is a show that absolutely destroyed me. It's very heavy at times, and some of the subject matter can hit home and be quite triggering. However there is a sense of light, and that even though all this bad has happened it'll be ok.

The Americans - if you want a show that maintains its momentum for 6 seasons look no further. It's packed full of crazy moments, and incredible music. Also it makes me insane knowing that the 2 lead actors got married because they reunited on this show after like 20 years(??)

Better Call Saul - listen...they may have lost at the emmys but they're winners in my heart. This is not only a prequel but a sequel to Brba. The tone/visual shift in this show imo is one of its strongest points. Along with the incredible acting/writing, it's a fun time.

Friday Night Lights - I don't know what they put into this show, but I now love football...so yeah.

Broadchurch - never did watch the 3rd season, but 1 & 2 are perfect and wrap up everything nicely so I didn't feel the need to continue. Again you're dealing with some heavy material, and Olivia Coleman is in it so idk what else you could want.

Sharp Objects - This is a short 8 episode series based off of the book by Gillian Flynn, and it's a pretty good adaptation. The attention to detail in this show was insane, and the cinematography was stunning( rip to Jean-Marc Vallée )

True Detective - like most people I'll be talking about S1 of this series, and that's cause so far it's the best 1 to have come out. Nothing has topped it, it was an 8 episode home run. I don't think I've ever felt this satisfied while watching something, because it leaves no questions unanswered.

My so called life - this didn't deserve to get canceled. Like you don't understand how crazy this makes me. Rayanne Graff I love you 4 ever 💕

I'll tag - @deadwivesclub , @iskarieot , @quinnmagdalene ,@sahtrn , @iloveyoumorethangod

Don't feel any pressure to do this, I just feel like y'all have good taste.

[fereldanwench]

getting to know y'all <3

I was tagged by @thewanderer-000--Thank you!!! 💙💙💙

Nickname: Wench, Wenchie, Fkn Wench (lmao) Sign: Aries Last Google Search: Lara Croft and the Guardian of Light because I will forever be obsessed with this artwork of Lara

Song stuck in my head: SLUM LORD by HEALTH (for reasons) Sleep: About 11 PM/midnight to 6 AM/7 AM Dream Job: Something that pays me enough to have a comfortable life and doesn't suck the soul out of me Wearing: Gray shorts and a black Momocon t-shirt Favorite Song: It changes constantly, I've had Do It All the Time by idkhbtfm on repeat a lot lately Favorite Instrument: I don't think I really have an individual favorite. String instruments are really nice, especially the cello. Aesthetic: Changes constantly, man, lmao. One minute I want to be a retro pinup girl the next I want to be in renfest garb and then twenty minutes later I want to a 90s bad girl in questionably fitting jeans and a leather jacket. Favorite Authors: I'm not really an avid enough reader to follow any authors too regularly. And I generally tend to go for standalone stories rather than series. Favorite Colour: Depends on the context. Clothing-wise? Black, dark earth, or dark jewel tones. For Valerie? Obviously red, blue, and black. Favorite animal sound: Cats purring. Just the best sound in the world, especially if they're purring while you're holding them. Last song: Do It All the Time because I listened to it when I grabbed the link for an earlier answer Last series: Currently watching Inventing Anna, although I did just do a Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul rewatch because 10/10 best fucking television out there. Random: I was chewing gum and now it's hard and I need to throw it out but I was waiting to finish doing this before I got up, lmao.

Tagging @commander-krios, @theharlotofferelden, @unrated-g, @alongtidesoflight, and @beammeupbroadway (as always, no pressure 💙)

[naivety]

i just can’t stop thinking about how alone nacho was. if someone in his life wasn’t holding him hostage, they themselves were a hostage whose distance from him would be to their benefit or who couldn’t even lend a hand lest they jeopardize their own safety. he had reason to lie to his enemies as well as his friends and to the very people he was lying for. he was a ghost who nobody could touch and who everybody could as long as there was a gun to his father’s head. he was the hands and feet of a beast with multiple faces, a mouthpiece talking for him out of both sides of his mouth..... past friendships were burned when he was told to and future friendships became at best a liability, at worst another piece of flesh that would inevitably catch fire from his gasoline. nothing and no one. the only people he could rely on in the end was a man he couldn’t breathe a word to, the very person he haunted for, his death for his father’s life, and mike, whose only kindness left to offer was a sniper’s bullet to his head.

[gilligays]

tagged by @jimmymcgill, thank youuu! 🤍

last song: superstar sh*t, by dominic fike.

last show: fargo!

currently watching: fargo, plus my personal breaking bad rewatch, in addition to our weekly better call saul rewatch (i’m sane, btw).

favorite color: this question is the bane of my existence, but. probably a veryyy vibrant purple.

sweet, spicy, or savory: always savory!

currently reading: oh, just a little book called comedy comedy comedy drama. maybe you’ve heard of it,

what i’m working on: writing an essay for my gender in film course, and (eventually) starting a podcast with some close friends!

currently obsessed with: this recently thrifted pair of black jeans, candied pecan scented candle from target, and peter gould’s hair.

i’m tagging @preciouspatriots, @odekirk, @mcwexlerscigarette, @cauldronofmorning, and @scabby-lasagne! peace and love.

[squidyyy23]

alrighty folks. catching up on the tag game-aplooza in one go here. thanks to @celestialmickey @creepkinginc @mishervellous @sleepyfacetoughguy @milkoviched @look-i-love-u @shinygalaxyperson @metalheadmickey @you-are-so-much-better-than-that @smokey-mickey @ardent-fox @energievie

---------

name, age, and pronouns: tina, 31, she/her

if you could live anywhere, where would you live? we play this game a lot in our house. i am very picky about weather. and terrible at learning languages. so, i think australia/new zealand perhaps?

something on your to-do list today: work work work. meetings meetings meetings. boring.

describe your current outfit: jean shorts. cream and navy striped tank top. barefoot. basically the classic summer uniform.

what’s the last song you added to your playlist(s)? church of the lonely - cobi

favorite holiday: 4th of july (ignore all history and focus on sun and pools and bbq and fireworks and limited familial obligations)

something you’d find in your bag/purse/backpack: nada because i don't carry any of the above. i keep chapstick in my car?

something you’d find in your bedroom: laundry? it is so empty. a little sad honestly, but i'm just never up there unless it's bedtime so haven't bothered with it.

you’re giving a Ted Talk, what’s it about? nothing because i froze the second you asked me a question and forgot anything i've ever known.

what’s something you’d still like to do this year? goals. yes, right. people have those, don't they? uhh...we've been talking about replacing all the toilets in our house for months. maybe we actually get that done. god, being an adult is so fucking boring sometimes. 🤣

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Comfort movie: none? i wachted where the heart is approximately 2178 times as a kid. i guess we'll count that.

Comfort food: ice cream please 🍦

Comfort clothing: tiny shorts and this old tank that's way stretched and my boobs fall out but it's cozy and i love it. so, perhaps, not clothes is the answer? 😂

Comfort book: oh, i don't know. honestly, pre-book club it'd been a looong time since i'd read an actual book. 🙈

Comfort game: giant board game nerds around here! 👋 i can hear my husband in my head right now "not star realms again!" so we'll go with that.

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last song: moonroof - hana eid (daily mix is doing it's thing 🤷🏻‍♀️)

last show: the husband is rewatching better call saul so i've been catching half episodes here and there.

currently watching: the dragon show. excitedly ready for survivor to come back soon and have zero shame in that.

currently reading: words my friends write 🥰 with many more friend tabs open and at the ready!

current obsession: oh, i don't feel like i have a thing right now? quick, someone give me a thing (god no please don't)

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skipping out of the tags because i have no idea who has done what anymore. so...if you missed any, i'm tagging YOU!

[rinn-e]

Tagged by @lithugraph thanks :D

3 Ships: 

I'll go with rare pairs today (everyone who follows my blog knows I ship Obikin :P).

The Gentleman Bastard sequence (Scott Lynch): Jean & Locke - it feels almost canon, those two have one of the closest friendships in fantasy books; they'd do anything for each other <3 Highly recommend the books, they're both cheeky and dark.

Tintin comics (The Adventures of Tintin/Hergé): Tintin & Captain Haddock. Love their dynamic and these comics were a big part of my childhood. They live together - do I need to say more?

Better Call Saul: Lalo & Nacho. Sexy as hell. I feel like you could write a beautifully dark love story with them and you wouldn't even need to change much of the canon.

1st Ship: First I was rooting for was Harry/Ginny (part of why Halfblood Prince was my fav HP book for the longest time). First I was consuming fanfics for were Klaroline (Klaus/Caroline - The Vampire Diaries) and Delena (Damon/Elena - TVD).

Last song? Currently listening to No Me Diga - In The Heights

Last movie? I started In The Heights - LMM can do no wrong :D

Currently consuming: air I guess

Currently watching: Peaky Blinders season 2 (love the history mix and most of the actors)

Currently reading: Little Thieves (Margaret Owen), a Christmas gift. The main love story is fun (soft enemies to lovers type), but writing style is kind of bland and the German/English mix is unintentionally funny sometimes :')

Currently craving: not having health anxiety and getting rid of this damn cold

Whoever wants to do this can do this, not feeling like tagging anyone today. Hope you all have a great day <3

[pynkhues]

Have you ever watched Euphoria? Is so do you have any thoughts on the acting on that show? I always here mixed reviews.

I watched the first episode and half of the second one, but really didn't like the show, unfortunately! I might try and give it another go though – I was looking through the nominations and realised I'd actually seen almost everything in the 'main' categories this year, so might try and watch the few I haven't over the next two months before the awards. It's what I usually do for the Oscars, and I love getting a sense of what's being acknowledged and awarded and feeling the stakes a bit, haha.

I've bolded what I've seen of the main categories under the cut if you're curious:

BEST DRAMA SERIES

Better Call Saul (AMC) Euphoria (HBO) Ozark (Netflix) Severance (Apple TV+) Squid Game (Netflix) Stranger Things (Netflix) Succession (HBO) Yellowjackets (Showtime)

BEST ACTRESS IN A DRAMA SERIES

Jodie Comer (Killing Eve) Laura Linney (Ozark) Melanie Lynskey (Yellowjackets) Sandra Oh (Killing Eve) Reese Witherspoon (The Morning Show) Zendaya (Euphoria)

BEST ACTOR IN A DRAMA SERIES

Jason Bateman (Ozark) Brian Cox (Succession) Lee Jung-jae (Squid Game) Bob Odenkirk (Better Call Saul) Adam Scott (Severance) Jeremy Strong (Succession)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A DRAMA SERIES

Patricia Arquette (Severance) Julia Garner (Ozark) Jung Ho-yeon (Squid Game) Christina Ricci (Yellowjackets) Rhea Seehorn (Better Call Saul) J. Smith-Cameron (Succession) Sarah Snook (Succession) Sydney Sweeney (Euphoria)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A DRAMA SERIES

Nicholas Braun (Succession) Billy Crudup (The Morning Show) Kieran Culkin (Succession) Park Hae-soo (Squid Game) Matthew Macfadyen (Succession) John Turturro (Severance) Christopher Walken (Severance) Oh Yeong-soo (Squid Game)

BEST COMEDY SERIES

Abbott Elementary (ABC) Barry (HBO) Curb Your Enthusiasm (HBO) Hacks (HBO Max) The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (Amazon) Only Murders in the Building (Hulu) Ted Lasso (Apple) What We Do in the Shadows (FX)

BEST ACTRESS IN A COMEDY SERIES

Rachel Brosnahan (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) Quinta Brunson (Abbott Elementary) Kaley Cuoco (The Flight Attendant) Elle Fanning (The Great) Issa Rae (Insecure) Jean Smart (Hacks)

BEST ACTOR IN A COMEDY SERIES

Donald Glover (Atlanta) Bill Hader (Barry) Nicholas Hoult (The Great) Steve Martin (Only Murders in the Building) Martin Short (Only Murders in the Building) Jason Sudeikis (Ted Lasso)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A COMEDY SERIES

Alex Borstein (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) Hannah Einbinder (Hacks) Janelle James (Abbott Elementary) Kate McKinnon (Saturday Night Live) Sarah Niles (Ted Lasso) Sheryl Lee Ralph (Abbott Elementary) Juno Temple (Ted Lasso) Hannah Waddingham (Ted Lasso)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A COMEDY SERIES 

Anthony Carrigan (Barry) Brett Goldstein (Ted Lasso) Toheeb Jimoh (Ted Lasso) Nick Mohammed (Ted Lasso) Tony Shalhoub (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) Tyler James Williams (Abbott Elementary) Henry Winkler (Barry) Bowen Yang (Saturday Night Live)