#like flashbacks or diary entries

[kazamajun]

I started writing a jun pov thing of her retelling her first meeting with kaz and an overview of them catching feelings but accidentally writerblock'd by asking myself "who would she be saying this to and why?" then I had the thought of it being smth like akin to kaz's t8 ending, maybe she's being interviewed or whatever but AUGH I'm still conflicted bc I don't think spilling the beans is terribly IC

[microclown]

I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..

Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?

Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.

As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.

That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.

Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.

I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"

But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.

It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!

And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.

And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.

idk it just makes me feel things ok

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

This is Part 2 of 3 total metas. Here are:

Part 1, in case you want to read about my analysis of the Story of Job first

and Part 3, in case you're impatient and want to jump ahead.

Fair warning though, for the sake of understanding some of the references, you're probably better off reading this chaptered meta chronologically. However, every part should work just as well as a standalone! I'll do my very best to make it so.

Alright, off or on you go beyond the cutty cut!

I'll start this second part off with a very brief summary of the main take aways and points from Part 1, which go as such:

Memory, as opposed to a third party's narration, is not a factual, objective retelling of a story or event. It's mingled and mangled with emotions, imaginations and exaggerations, projecting both the feelings and impressions you had back then as well as those you might have now in the present time back on whatever it is you are remembering. (Which is why we need to put everything that Aziraphale is remembering into the context of what he might have felt in the past, as well as what he's feeling right now.)

While this doesn't mean his (or anyone's) memories are lies, it does mean they're a very subjective and sometimes factually distorted representation of what actually happened, which, in our case, gives us a lot of subtext and a lot of not-there furniture to figure out and look at.

So, let's continue with S2E3 and the Story of wee Morag. We start our flashback with a scene of Aziraphale writing his diary entry on the 10th of November, 1827. Immediately, it's firmly established that this is once again not an outside-point-of-view narration, but rather what Aziraphale remembers and wrote down.

One thing that immediately stuck out to me here, is how helpful and kind Crowley is to Elspeth, pretty much from the very beginning when they meet her in the graveyard. Not only does he take on a Scottish accent so she won't perceive him as English (as she does with Aziraphale), but he also helps her drag the barrel that has the fresh body in it and, in the end, even pulls it all by himself while Elspeth simply follows behind them. Here's a rather poor-quality picture, for reference:

Now, we know that despite not showing it very often, Crowley has always been very fond of the humans and never really put himself on a pedestal simply because he's an immortal being himself. He likes humans, just like Aziraphale does. But, just like this story will tell us, Crowley knows that on top of liking humans, you can't just put them into boxes of good and evil and expect them to always do what is supposedly the "right" or "divinely good" thing to do. (Which is what differentiates him from Aziraphale in the way he understands and treats them, as we're shown in this minisode).

Him immediately and unspokenly helping Elspeth with dragging the barrel therefore might also be a first sign of a tiny projection from present day Aziraphale, as opposed to what Crowley might have actually done (probably just walked beside her, like Aziraphale) because he has the knowledge that Crowley really was so very kind to her in the end, wasn't he? And that he's kind to humans in general. ("Not kind! Off my head on Laudanum!" Sure, babe.)

Most of this minisode, in my opinion, is actually there to establish how Aziraphale's view of morality and good vs. evil used to be quite flawed and elitist –– and how Crowley has always been there to gently nudge him towards questioning his black and white view of heavenly right and hellishly wrong. That's why I think there's not as many hints in this minisode about Aziraphale's memories not being an accurate portrayal of what happened, as there are in the Story of Job or the magic show in 1941. (And, fear not, the latter will definitely be the most hint-heavy one). Alas, there's still a few bits and bobs in the Story of wee Morag that stuck out to me, that make a brief yet good case of the whole unreliable narration thing.

First of all: The way Aziraphale describes all of it in his diary is so different from the way we see him actually remembering it. It's almost like he tried to write this entry (and possibly all of his diary) as a bit of a thrilling short story, with himself as the main character. Which makes sense, given the fact that he adores books and would certainly be keen on dabbling in the art of capital-w Writing himself. It's yet again hinting at the fact that sometimes people (and angels) try to polish and bedazzle stories (and memories) to make them seem more exciting and adventurous, often to distract from the not-so-fun parts of it.

Like when Aziraphale's diary narrates:

"It was with heavy heart we arrived at Elspeth's destination. I was determined to thwart her monstrous plan!"

... and yet we see Crowley and Elspeth casually walking down the alleyway, very obviously not heavy-hearted in the slightest, while Aziraphale nervously scurries on behind them, very obviously not determined to thwart. (Timestamp-wise, it's around 17:38 in S2E3, in case you want to see for yourself.)

We get another cinematographic/auditory hint at the fact that Aziraphale's memory is heavily influenced by what he's feeling that very moment, when Dr. Mister Dalrymple –– FRCSE, thank you very much –– shows him the tumor he removed from the seven year old boy. You can see the shock and horror on Aziraphale's face once he learns of this child's cruel fate. We then proceed to hear Mr. Dalrymple's voice grow sort of echo-y and far away as the sad music swells up and drowns out his voice almost completely. It's awfully similar to what it feels like when really horrible news are broken to you and you dissociate and drift into a state of shock. Here's the clip of it, so you may listen for yourself:

It's clear that this is a very subjective portrayal of what Aziraphale is going through during this part of the memory. He's deeply horrified and saddened about the little boy having passed away so early in life – and we hear and feel this shock with him. Through him, because this is his memory. Whatever it is he's feeling and thinking, we're feeling and thinking it too because we're seeing it through his lense.

Another (less sad) hint at a possible exaggeration is the abnormally deep hole Crowley makes the two graveyard watch keepers fall into. I'm pretty sure he's very much in charge of his miracles, making this random slip-up seem a little silly – which is why I'm also pretty sure the "Might have slightly overdone it on that hole" is a wee bit of a meta hint at this just being another one of Aziraphale's dramatic bedazzlements of this story. For the *flings feather boa around neck* drama!

You know what else might be exaggerated? Hm, I dunno, maybe Crowley growing into the size of a tree for no apparent reason. Sure, yes, he's pretty high on Laudanum which is making him a bit loopy. But apart from that, it does seem an awfully big cinematographic euphemism for him being the metaphorical (and, once again, for the drama of it) literal bigger person in this scenario. He's the one who ends up saving Elspeth and who manages to secure a safe life without poverty and grave robbing for her. While Aziraphale was so tangled up in his own moral journey and main character-ism, missing that wee Morag was seconds away from death already, Crowley is the one who actually ends up growing stepping up for the human in need and saving them for good (pun intended).

In a way, it might just be Aziraphale's view of/feelings for Crowley in this very moment. Watching the demon outgrow what, according to Aziraphale's heavenly logic, is supposed to be a foul fiend, bestowing evil upon humanity – and growing into someone who does the exact opposite and saves Elspeth instead. Another larger-than-life character development, in Aziraphale's eyes. Literally.

Let's switch back to the topic of the diary entry one last time, so I can make my final point of the this minisode's unreliable and a smidge over-dramatic narration of Dr. McFell. If you pay close attention, Aziraphale starts the entry we're all getting to experience with: "Last month, Crowley and I both happened to be in Edinburgh." Which means it didn't actually happen on the 10th of November, but rather at some point in October, 1827. Once we see Crowley get hydro-pumped back to Hell after rescuing Elspeth, the minisode ends with, presumably, the last sentence of Aziraphale's diary entry: "And that was the last I would see of Crowley for quite some time."

Take my hand and let's look at where the furniture isn't: This very clearly means that Crowley couldn't have been gone for more than a month, at best. Read again: "It happened last month and that was the last I would see of him for quite some time." This, albeit indirectly, clearly implies that when Aziraphale had sat down to write the diary entry, he had already run into Crowley again. Otherwise his phrasing would have probably been more along the lines of "... and I haven't seen Crowley since" or "... and Crowley has yet to return from wherever it is Hell's currently keeping him".

What's the point I'm trying to make? Good question. I guess my main point of storyteller Aziraphale being a bit over-dramatic in his narration is simply backed up by this, since A Single Month would barely pass as "quite some time" for an immortal being like him. And yet that's how he puts it, in his little Confidential Journals of A.Z. Fell, Vol. 603.

And another point that has absolutely nothing to do with the topic of this meta (but I'm still gonna make it 'cause this is my memory post): The meeting at St. Jame's Park in 1862 that so many, post-S2, took to be their first run-in after the Story of wee Morag, actually wasn't that at all. They saw each other at least once only a month later, as Aziraphale's diary lets us know. Which explains why he wasn't very surprised or concerned when he met Crowley in London, 1862. If there really had been 35 years in between those two events, the first one ending with Crowley being sucked back Downstairs to receive more than three decades worth of hellish punishment, wouldn't Aziraphale have been at least a tiny bit worried or more interested than:

Just saying.

Alright, let's string this inflated hot air balloon of a post back together so we can outline some invisible furniture. This time with only two humble points:

Crowley through Aziraphale's lense Backed up by how we are introduced to Bildad the Shuhite in the Job minisode (suave, cheeky, smart, passionate in shoemaking and obstetrics), it's growing quite clear that Aziraphale's memories and impressions of Crowley are very fond and impressed ones. He sees him as someone who's not only witty, funny and cool, but also as someone who has figured out way sooner and faster than him that nothing's ever black and white. Not God's plans and not the human's choices either.

Aziraphale as a bit of an exaggerating adventure author With the direct parallel we get of inkslinger journalist!Aziraphale in the present day, it's quite apparent after this minisode that Aziraphale's memory is not only deeply influenced by his emotions, but that he also tends to have a bit of a dramatic touch to him. Although, you gotta give it to the guy: A month without seeing the love of your life, even if said life is eternal, can indeed seem like "quite some time".

Well, would you lookie here, we've reached the end of Part 2! What a journey it was. I hope you forgive me for the fact that I drifted off-course a few times. I just can't seem to reel in my silly little observations, even if they've got nothing to do with the point I'm trying to make. But hey, doesn't that just make me a little bit like Aziraphale's storytelling, in a way?

I'll let you be the judge of that.

See you in Part 3! And in case you haven't snuck a peak yet: here's Part 1 again.

Ta!

[beomgyucoded]

Genre: friends to lovers, fluff, teeny bit of angst

Word Count: 19.8 k

Summary: a collection of diary entries turned love letters that tell the story of how you fell in love with Choi Beomgyu

*previously released as a series

*regular text is present day

*bold text are the diary entries/letters

*italic text are flashbacks

Note: I live in the U.S. so I based the school years on how mine went. Parts are going to vary in length, some will be super short and others will be long with multiple diary entries. They become more complex as the reader gets older. Also, all the members are the same age in this story!

Right now, a smile tugged at the corner of his rosy lips, and his eyes turned to look down at the ground. His fingers twitched as he twirled the wispy ends of his shoulder-length hair and pulled them through his fingers like he was soothing himself. The shy, sweet smile on his face brought one to yours. He was so beautiful, and you know you weren’t the only one to think so. You were positive everyone either wanted him in any way they could have him or wanted to be him. It was a bet you could easily win, because for as long as you could remember, people would come up to you and ask if you knew the pretty boy with the shy smile.

To this, you always answered, “I do, but not well.”

Which was mostly true. You’ve been acquainted with the boy since you were six years old, and started elementary school. You could never forget the day you met and he gave you a small wave, his face mostly hidden because he was hiding behind his parents. That was the day you started to adore him. Being a simple minded six year old, when you went home that day, you wrote in your little notebook about him. 

Years have gone by since then, and you're now in your late teens. You've watched him grow into an even more beautiful person, his features sharper and more defined, his hair still just as long and wispy as it was when he was a child. It seemed like everyone in your small town knew him, but he remained just as shy as ever, preferring to keep to himself or stick close to his group of friends.

You've continued writing since that first meeting, mentioning him in your notebook more times than you can count. All of it was words of admiration at first, before you became friends. The only interaction between the two of you was polite and brief. You were even shyer than him, so you stuck to just admiring him from afar, a simple smile or gesture of acknowledgement from him enough to make you blush a warm pink. As you got older, your friendship began to bud and now in high school, you were part of the same circle of friends.

You continued to watch him twirl his hair between his fingers, and you couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have those soft locks teasing your own fingertips. But you quickly brushed the thought aside, feeling your face heat up with embarrassment. You couldn't believe you even thought of doing something like that, let alone actually being able to do it. You looked away, casting your eyes downwards towards the open notebook in front of you on the lunch table.

Glancing back up at him from under your lashes, you saw that he was still lost in his own thoughts, his smile fading away slowly as he continued to twirl his hair absentmindedly. You wondered what he was thinking about. Perhaps he was contemplating something important, or maybe he was just lost in his own world as usual. Another thing, he was always writing. You often found him deep in thought and writing in a little black notebook. One that matched yours, except yours was filled with pretty words and poems and love letters you won't send.

September 4th, 2007 

Today was my first day of school. I made a new friend that’s a boy. He was shy just like me. He hid behind his mommy and daddy but he waved at me. He looked kind of like a circle. 

It was your first day of school and you were beyond excited. You woke up bright and early that morning, putting on the outfit you picked out the night before just for the first day.

Your parents dropped you off and you walked into class with a smile on your face, feeling nervous and shy but ready to start going to school. As you settled into your seat, you looked around the room and saw the other kids with their parents, either crying or holding onto them for dear life, not wanting to be left alone in a new environment without them.

But then you saw him.

He was standing behind his parents, hiding behind them. You tried to catch his eye and give him a friendly smile, hoping to make him feel welcome, despite feeling just as shy as him. Eventually, he saw you and waved back with a small smile. You felt happy that you had made a new friend and curious about him at the same time. The boy and you sat side by side during the morning assembly. Even though you were too shy to make conversation, just sitting next to each other felt comforting. You made slight attempts at communication. Glancing furtively at each other whenever your teacher wasn’t watching, and smiled ever so slightly when your eyes met for a brief moment before looking away again with blushing cheeks.

You learned his name was Beomgyu.

September 5th, 2007

I thought Beomgyu was my friend. When I got to school today, all the boys stayed with each other and all the girls stayed with each other while we were on the playground. He said the other boys said he couldn’t have friends that were girls because girls were icky. That hurt my feelings, if I’m icky, then he’s icky. 

Beomgyu's interaction with the rest of his peers on that day started off well enough. He talked more today and tried to joke around with the other boys, trying to get over his shyness. But when the boys started grouping up together in one spot while the girls stayed by themselves in another, he suddenly stopped talking to you entirely and acted like you weren't friends at all anymore.

No matter how hard you tried to approach him or get his attention again he clearly sent out a message that felt like "you're not one of us" so it got harder for you to try again - especially after hearing those distressing words about how icky girls were. That was the last time you were talking to him, you decided. 

As the school day went on, and being the pouty six year old you were, you found yourself avoiding Beomgyu at all costs. You didn't want to be associated with someone who would abandon their friend so easily. When school was over that day and you were waiting for your mom to pick you up, you felt a small tap on your shoulder. It was Beomgyu.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your ear as he held onto your hand tightly. 

"I didn't mean what I said earlier. You're not icky."

You looked up at him, a frown on your face.

"Why did you say that then?"

"I was just trying to be friends with the other boys," he admitted. 

"it's okay," you forgave him easily. 

He smiled. 

"Can we still be friends?" he asked sheepishly, extending his pinkie towards you.

It was then that some of the other boys in your class saw the two of you and started teasing, calling Beomgyu a sissy for being so close to a girl or mocking him for even attempting to make up with you after what had transpired earlier today. He lowered both his head and his pinkie, feeling hurt by their comments. You wanted to do something, but you knew if you said anything that they would just tease him more. So, you walked off, deciding to leave him alone and wait for your mom somewhere else. That was the last time the two of you spoke.

You didn’t try to be his friend after that. 

May 28th, 2011

I went to my first boy/girl party today. It started so late too. I showed up at 6 pm but the invitation said 5. My friends said it's better to be “fashionably late”, whatever that means. Beomgyu was there too, he smiled at me and I smiled back. My friends saw when this happened and they started squealing and making “ooh” sounds. That was annoying. Beomgyu and I aren’t even friends. The rest of the party was spent with everyone practically checking each other out, girls on one side of the room and boys on the other. We’re all ten now, I guess double digits means girls aren’t icky to boys anymore and the other way around. After all the craziness that happened at this first party, I've decided that I don't like parties. Even if boys will be there. (Even if Beomgyu will be there). Oh, and I had my first kiss tonight. (Almost had my second one too).

Today was an exciting day. A classmate was celebrating his tenth birthday and everyone was invited to the party. He promised it would be just like the ones we saw in movies. His parents would stay in their room, leaving us to have fun and play games until it was time to cut the cake. There would be pizza, video games, and lots of sweets for us to enjoy. He made sure to invite both boys and girls, and there were even rumors about kissing at the party. When you and your friends received your invitations, they suggested that you all go shopping together at the mall to find new outfits for the occasion.

After your dad picked you up from school that Friday, he dropped you off at the mall. A few of your friend's moms would be chaperoning your group as you all went shopping together. You spent most of the day wandering around the mall, trying on different clothes and listening to your friends giggle about boys. You didn't really care too much about boys or kissing, so you just listened to them, softly giggling and sometimes blushing at their words. 

On the day of the party, you put on your new dress and met up with your friends in front of the birthday boy's house. As soon as you walked in, the sound of laughter and music filled your ears. The boys were playing video games on one side of the room while the girls huddled together in the opposite corner. You spotted Beomgyu across the room and he looked different somehow.

He wasn't wearing his usual clothes, and his hair was parted showing his forehead. You didn't know that boys could do that too. He was wearing a blue shirt with black jeans, and his hair was styled neatly to the side. You felt a strange stirring in your chest as your eyes met his, and you quickly looked away. When you met his gaze again, you greeted him with a smile, and he smiled back warmly. Your friends were quick to start making teasing comments, but you ignored them. 

The two of you smiling at each other wasn't anything new. It was always a smile and wave when you two would see each other in school, as a form of acknowledgment. You always wondered if the two of you would be best friends if you decided to just ignore the stupid comments from your classmates when you were younger. There was no animosity between you, but it's not like the two of you talked aside from a simple hi or "you dropped this".

At some point during the night, a game of Truth or Dare began, and you found yourself sitting next to Beomgyu. The other players were daring each other to do ridiculous things like climb trees and sing at the top of their lungs. 

"Beomgyu, truth or dare?" one of the boys asked, snapping you out of your thoughts and looking at him. 

"Truth," he responded with a smile.

"Do you like anyone?"

All eyes turned to Beomgyu as he blushed and looked away.

"Maybe," he said shyly.

You felt your heart skip a beat as the other kids started teasing him. You didn't know why you were feeling like this, maybe it was because you were sitting so close to him and he looked so cute. The game quickly ended after that, and people started to break off into groups around the room, groups of boys and girls this time. You stayed with your friends and a few other boys, but your eyes kept wandering. You noticed how Beomgyu stood close to a girl and she would giggle and smile up at him. When this happened, the others standing with them started making “ooh” sounds and it made you feel uneasy in your stomach. 

The cake was cut eventually, and the birthday boy decided he wanted to play another game. Everyone huddled around the middle of the room for a game of spin-the-bottle. You took your place in the circle awkwardly, not really wanting to participate but feeling like you had no choice at this point. The bottle spun around and landed on a girl who giggled loudly as she leaned in to kiss one of the boys in the circle. You watched as everyone took their turns, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second. When it was Beomgyu's turn, he spun the bottle nervously, and it landed on you. You felt your heart race as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours softly before pulling away. It was a quick peck, but it was enough to make your head spin.

After the game ended, you sat down on the couch, feeling flushed. Beomgyu sat down next to you, looking at you with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

You nodded slowly, trying to process what just happened.

"I don't like parties," you blurted out suddenly.

Beomgyu looked at you quizzically. "Why not?"

"I don't know," you said honestly. "It's just...there's so much pressure to be someone else. To fit in or do things I'm not comfortable with."

You felt oddly comfortable with him right now though. 

Beomgyu nodded slowly, fidgeting with the ends of his shirt.

"I feel the same way sometimes," he admitted.

You looked at him in surprise, wondering why he would feel that way when he seemed so popular.

"Why?" you questioned quietly.

"Because sometimes it feels like I have to be someone I'm not for them to like me," he said carefully. 

"Sometimes I just want to be real and not care what anyone else thinks."

"And who is that?" you asked him, turning to fully face him now.

He looked at you confused and you just laughed.

“Who’s the real Beomgyu then?” you clarified. 

Beomgyu just smiled at you, his eyes sparkling just like they always did. 

“He’s someone a lot quieter and to himself. I’m not sure anyone would like the real Beomgyu,” he said softly and dropped his head. 

“I would.”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you even realized what you were saying. Beomgyu looked up at you, surprise etched on his face. For a moment, neither of you spoke, just looking at each other in silence.

"Really?" Beomgyu finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, feeling your heart race with adrenaline. 

"Really," you repeated, a little more confident this time.

A small smile spread across Beomgyu's face, and before you knew it, he was leaning in to kiss you again. However, before your lips could touch, one of his friends called out for him. He gave you an apologetic look and you gave him a small smile in return, telling him to go. You were still flustered over the first kiss and there was about to be a second one. 

September 6th, 2012

Today was the first day of middle school. I wasn’t nervous for the first day, even though it was a new school with new people. A lot of my friends from elementary school applied to the same school as me, so I knew some people. I was surprised to see Beomgyu and some of his friends though. I didn’t know he applied here too. I only found out because his locker is right next to mine and will be for the next three years. He was still a little shy and it was still cute. I met a lot of new people today and my friends said the boys in middle school were much cuter. They talked about who would look good with who in our little group and even I got curious. I heard things about eighth graders dating, but did sixth graders do that too? I won’t tell my friends, but Taehyun in my math class is cute, and really smart too. I saw Beomgyu with a girl today, they looked like they were flirting and I felt weird. Middle school is like a whole new world. 

Today was the first day of middle school, your friends and you were now in the 6th grade and things were changing. You weren’t one to be nervous for the first day of school ever, but your friends were. You spent last night on a video call with them trying to help them decide on what to wear today. You didn’t understand why it mattered so much and they would reply with, “it's middle school (y/n).” 

As you walked into school, you could hear the chatter of students and the sound of lockers slamming. But something caught your eye, someone you didn't expect to see here, Beomgyu. Your heart raced as you realized you would be seeing him every day for the next three years and at the fact that your locker was right next to his. Beomgyu caught your gaze and gave you that same small smile, the one he always did. 

Returning his smile, you gave a small wave and pretended to fiddle with your locker, unsure of how to act in this situation.

"Hey, (y/n), do you remember me?" Beomgyu asked shyly. 

"Of course I do Beomgyu, I didn't know you applied to this school," you replied softly, finding it adorable that he thought you’d forget about him so easily. 

“It’s a good school and was the closest to home,” Beomgyu said, as he started to open his locker and put his books in. 

You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, noticing how he changed since the last time you saw him at graduation. His hair was a little longer and he got taller. He was still pretty scrawny though. The bell rang shortly after and you both walked to your first class. Seeing that you two were walking in the same direction, Beomgyu started softly talking about his summer vacation and how he spent most of it playing video games. You nodded along, but your mind was elsewhere. He was still shy, you mentally noted, and it was even more endearing to you now. He waved to you when he got to his class and you smiled, not really sure of how else to respond, and kept walking. 

When you finally arrived at your first class, you were relieved to see that some of your other friends from elementary school were in the same class as you. You greeted them with hugs and excitement, trying to push the awkwardness with Beomgyu aside. Throughout the day, you kept encountering him in the hallways and found out that you shared a few classes. Every time you'd see each other, you'd smile and wave, like the routine you developed in elementary school. It was familiar, in a comforting way, and the awkwardness you were feeling towards him started to dissipate as the day continued. 

At lunch you saw him sitting with two new boys that didn't go to elementary school with you guys. You recognized them, since they were in a few of your classes too. Their names were Kang Taehyun and Huening Kai. Taehyun sat next to you in math, he had big, round, pretty eyes. Kai sat at your table in social studies and he was really friendly. His laugh was really loud but it made you want to laugh with him. Kai was animatedly talking about something with Taehyun, and Beomgyu had a hand resting on his cheek, a pen in the other hand writing something in a little book. You couldn’t help but wonder what it was that he was writing. When he noticed you, he gave you a small wave and went back to whatever he was writing, the small encounter causing you to blush for some reason. You shook your head slightly and looked around the cafeteria trying to spot any of your friends, going over to their table when you did. You pulled out your own little book and started to doodle, while listening to your friends gossip and talk about boys they thought were cute.  

The rest of your day went by in a blur, nothing exciting happening since all your teachers basically did the same thing today. You walked to your locker when the last bell rang, stopping in your tracks when you saw Beomgyu at his. He wasn’t alone though, there was a girl next to him and she was leaning against your locker, twirling her hair a little too forcefully as they talked to each other. You recognized her, she went to elementary school with you and was fairly popular. You remembered all the boys in your class having a crush on her. You felt strange as you watched Beomgyu laugh with the girl, his hand resting on her arm. You decided to gather your things and just go home, not wanting to see whatever was happening between them. 

“Excuse me,” you muttered softly, and she looked at you annoyed. 

You pointed to your locker and she moved, quickly going back to giggling at Beomgyu, which caused you to roll your eyes. Beomgyu looked at you when he heard your voice and gave you a small smile, like he usually did, but it felt different this time. You managed to give him a tight smile before walking away and going home.

November 2nd, 2012

Today was my first school dance, it was a halloween dance. Halloween was on a wednesday this year, but they didn't think it was convenient to have the dance on a wednesday, so it was pushed to today. It was weird to dress up in a costume in November, but I suppose costume parties aren’t just for halloween. I dressed up as an angel. My friends seem to make a big deal about a lot of our first experiences, like today, they decided we should all get ready together and then show up to the dance together. When they first heard about the dance, they immediately thought we should try to get dates. Sometimes I wonder why I’m friends with them because our interests and the things we prioritize are so different. They kept their word and managed to get dates, I didn’t, because I didn’t even want to go in the first place. Even though I didn’t have a date to my first dance, someone did ask me to dance and their costume paired well with mine.  It was sweet of them to ask. Beomgyu was there and he had a date. It was the same girl I saw him with that one day by our lockers, and almost everyday since then. Are they dating now? If they are, good for them. I don't care…

Today felt like it was dragging along. You felt like it was always like that on Friday’s, but today was especially slow and not just to you, but to everyone. Tonight was the Halloween Dance, and everyone’s anticipation and constant staring at the clock only seemed to make time move slower.

 As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, your classroom erupted with a chorus of relieved voices. Students rushed to their lockers, grabbing their bags and shoving any and all books into them with eager anticipation of the evening ahead. But as you made your way through the crowded hallway, a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. The excitement buzzing around you only served as a stark reminder of your own lack of enthusiasm for the dance. Parties and gatherings were not your thing, anyone that knew you, knew this. Yet, for some reason you had a costume picked out and waiting for you at home. Your friends made plans to meet up after school to get ready together, however you were left out of these plans and weren’t told until today. Your friends knew you had to tell your parents at least a day ahead before asking to go out. It felt like they didn’t want you to join them. After saying bye to your friends, you took the bus home. Your parents weren’t able to pick you up today, and luckily they taught you how to get home using public transportation in case this happened. 

You got home shortly after, trudging up the stairs to your room. Slipping into your angel costume, you couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment from the festivities. Glittering wings adorned your back, and a halo perched lightly on your head, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You didn't recognize the person staring back at you. You felt like you were wearing a disguise, hiding behind the façade of an angel, when you felt anything but angelic. The heaviness in your chest and the weight of loneliness settled upon you, casting a deeper shadow over your already lack of excitement. You wondered if this was really worth it, the discomfort of pretending to enjoy a party you had no interest in attending. You were going because your friends were, and they said you had to be there. With a sigh, you decided to make the best of the situation. Maybe tonight would surprise you, and you'd find some hidden enjoyment somewhere in the midst of your stagnant melancholy.

The evening air was cool as you stepped out of your house and made your way towards the house your friends agreed to meet up at. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow on the deserted streets. Halloween decorations still adorned houses, their flickering lights and grinning jack-o'-lanterns showing more of an expression than you were. It was a stark contrast to the emptiness of the night, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. 

You arrived at your friends' house, the designated meeting spot for the evening. As you walked up to the front door, you could hear the faint sound of laughter and music echoing through the walls. Taking a deep breath, you knocked once and pushed open the door. The living room was transformed into a makeshift dressing room, with clothes and makeup strewn about all over the room. Your friends were gathered around a full-length mirror, each one meticulously perfecting their costumes. They didn't seem to notice your arrival at first, too engrossed in their own reflections. You stood there awkwardly, feeling like an outsider in your own group. It was moments like these when you questioned your friendship with them. Their shared enthusiasm and excitement for the dance seemed foreign to you, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was your fault for not fully embracing their interests or if they were to blame for excluding you from their plans. None of them made the effort to acknowledge your presence. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut; they didn't really care if you were there or not. You were just an afterthought, someone they had to invite out of obligation. 

“(y/n)! You’re here! When did you come in?” One of them asked, still not looking directly at you, snapping you out of your thoughts and shooting them a forced smile. 

“I just got here,” you said quietly and looked down. 

That wasn't true, you had to have been standing there for at least five minutes. But you didn't want to make a big deal out of it. You didn't want to draw attention to your own insecurities and feelings of exclusion. So, you brushed it off and joined them in front of the mirror. As you joined your friends in front of the mirror, they finally turned their attention towards you, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in your angelic appearance. A mixture of awe and excitement filled their faces, momentarily putting your doubts at bay. They complimented your costume and eagerly asked how you managed to look so ethereal. It felt good to be noticed, even if it was just for your outfit. Part of you felt like they were only being half-hearted in their words, but a compliment was a compliment and it made you feel good nonetheless.

As the group finished getting ready, you all made your way to the school. You walked slightly behind the group and just listened to their chatter like you always did. They talked about how they couldn’t wait to slow dance with their dates and potentially kiss them. Your group arrived at the school after a short walk and the moment you stepped through the doors, the atmosphere consumed you. The gymnasium had been transformed into a haunted castle and it looked better than you thought it would. The dim lighting and haunting decorations created an eerie but magical ambiance. The chattering of students and the thumping bass of the music reverberated through the air. You scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces amidst the sea of costumes.

Your friends quickly dispersed, finding their dates or joining other groups. Left standing alone, you hesitated, unsure of where to go or what to do. So you took a seat on the bleachers, just sitting and observing the scene in front of you. You sat there for a majority of the evening, only getting up occasionally to get something to drink or accompany one of your friends to the bathroom. Since it was a school dance, there were sixth, seventh and eighth graders there. It was easy to tell who was who. The eighth graders tried to carry an air of maturity and do things they thought would make them look cool in front of the underclassmen. The seventh graders mostly kept to themselves, trying not to be awkward, yet they still looked more comfortable than you did here. And then there were the sixth graders. They were all buzzing with excitement, making a dramatic spectacle of every song that played, every “couple” that came together. They were still divided, with girls in one corner and boys in another, despite most of them having dates. Right then, the melodic tunes of a slow romantic song washed over the gymnasium, beckoning couples to take each other's hands and attempt to sway in harmony. It was then that you noticed Beomgyu standing across the room, his eyes locked on his date. She was absolutely stunning in her costume, and you watched as he took her hands awkwardly and they started to slow dance. You felt a pang of envy wash over you, but you weren’t sure what you wanted. Did you want someone to dance with you like that? Did you wish you were as pretty as she was? Did you want to just go home? Did you want Beomgyu to- You tore your gaze away from them, a feeling of loneliness settled deep within you once more. But just as you were about to descend further into your isolation and self-doubt, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Surprised, you turned your head to find Taehyun, one of Beomgyu’s friends, and one of the cutest boys in the sixth grade, standing in front of you with a shy smile on his face.

"Hey," he said softly. "Would you like to dance?"

You looked up at him, and saw that he was wearing a pair of devil horns on his head, his big warm eyes looking at you with genuine kindness. 

“M-me?” You stammered, taken aback by his unexpected invitation. 

Taehyun nodded, his smile widening as he held out his hand for you to take. A mix of surprise and anticipation swelled within you, and you hesitated for a moment before placing your trembling hand in his.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'd like to dance."

As Taehyun led you towards the dance floor, a rush of nervous excitement coursed through your veins. You could feel the eyes of the other students on you, curious and intrigued by the two of you together. One of your friends drew your attention and she shot you a “you go girl” look, which caused you to blush and turn your attention back to Taehyun. 

"I'm surprised you came here alone," Taehyun said and gently placed his hands at your waist.

He was a natural.

"What do you mean?" you asked shyly and put your hands on his shoulders, keeping your gaze glued to the floor. 

"Well, I've been watching you sit here all night, and it just didn't seem right for someone as pretty as you to be alone," he replied confidently and started to sway the two of you to the music. 

His words caught you off guard and you blushed at the compliment. His words were simple, but they seemed to hold a sincerity that made you feel seen and appreciated. 

“Did you come here alone?” you asked him, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

“I did,” he said and laughed, his hands were holding you as gently as he could. 

You were visibly surprised at his response, Taehyun was popular, smart and extremely cute. You thought he’d get asked a number of times, or at least ask someone, who would no doubt say yes. 

You heard him laugh again, “Is that really that surprising?” 

You nodded. 

“I should've asked you.” 

“Well if you did, I would have said yes.” 

“Our costumes even go together, it was meant to be,” he jokes and you giggled as he attempted to twirl you. 

The song came to an end and you thanked him for the dance, quickly being pulled away by your friends for the first time that evening. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Taehyun retreat back to his friends and one of them kept their eyes on you.

Beomgyu.

January 3rd, 2015

You were late today. I heard Kai and Taehyun talking about whether or not you’d show up. I kept looking at your locker, as if you’d just magically appear. This was a small thing that I looked forward to each day. Our little interactions at our lockers. It’s usually a small smile or a soft “good morning” but I really looked forward to it. It hasn’t really been happening since you’ve been hanging out with her more though. 

January 3rd, 2015

I heard them. They were talking about you. The girl you like I mean, she and her friends were talking about you. Usually, one would be happy by this. Even outsiders would be thrilled witnessing love. However, this wasn’t very thrilling. She was making fun of you and your feelings. She knew you’d fall at her feet and wanted to play with you for fun. She has been playing with you for fun since we started middle school. For some reason that tugged at my heart.

January 3rd, 2015

You did end up coming today, but you didn't look anyone in the eye. Not even your friends. I saw you though, at your locker. Your eyes were red and they looked empty, like someone pulled the rug from right under you and there was no sparkle. 

You couldn't help but feel a pang of worry as you watched him from across the hallway. Curiosity drew you closer, your footsteps light and cautious. You didn't want to intrude on his solitude, but you also couldn't bear to see him suffer in silence either. With hesitant steps, you approached his locker, unsure of what to say or do.

“Beomgyu?” you called out to him softly. 

He turned to face you, but still didn’t meet your gaze, though you knew he was listening. 

“Here,” you said and gently placed something in his hands.

It was a bag of gummy bears.

You watched the way his eyes widened slightly and he looked up for what was probably the first time today. 

“I didn’t realize that I bought two, and I know these have been your favorite since we were kids, so I’d like you to have them.”

His fingers gently gripped the bag in his hands and his eyes squeezed shut. When he opened them and looked at you again, you saw the sparkle. It wasn’t as bright as it usually was, but it was there, slowly flickering back to life. 

“You remember that?” he asked, the surprise clear in his voice.

“I do,” you confirmed.

“Why are you nervous right now?” he questioned, his voice as soft as ever.

“H-how do you know that I’m nervous?” you stammered, tugging slightly at a strand of your hair.

“You’re doing that thing with your hair. You’ve done that since we were kids.” 

It was now your turn to be surprised.

You giggled softly, slightly embarrassed with a mix of relief and amusement bubbling up inside you. 

"I guess some things never change, huh?" you replied, tucking the strand of hair behind your ear.

 It was true, whenever you felt nervous or uncertain, you had a habit of fiddling with your hair. Beomgyu's lips twitched into a small smile, faint but genuine. The tension that had been shrouding him seemed to dissipate ever so slightly.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice still tinged with sadness. 

"Some things stay the same," he said and looked down again, this time fiddling with the bag of gummy bears.

He tore it open and held it out to you. A smile spread across your face, warmed by the small gesture. You reached out and took a gummy bear from the bag, popping it into your mouth. The two of you stood there in silence, chewing on the gummies and just looking at each other with shining eyes.

It was a simple moment, but it held a weight that words couldn't capture for both of you. At this time, Taehyun rounded the corner, a very familiar little black book in his hands and a small smirk adorned on his face. But when he saw the two of you, his smirk turned into a wide smile and he let you be.

He’ll give Beomgyu his book back some other time. 

September 8th, 2015

Today is the last day of summer vacation. I’d be starting high school tomorrow, and I was really looking forward to how the changes over the summer would transfer into the school year. A lot changed. Like a lot. Mostly good changes. I think I have real, genuine, friends now. But I’m afraid that my old group of “friends” will try to torment me throughout our high school years. I realized a lot of things about myself over the summer too. I can feel my face getting hot recalling them as I’m writing this. 

A lot had happened over the summer. A lot had changed. Your supposed friends had decided you would only bring them down, and despite them wanting a dramatic parting of your years of friendship, it ended quietly and expectedly. You weren’t hurt, and that seemed to bother them. You hung out with Taehyun a lot over the summer, Kai joining you two often. You found that you shared a lot in common with them, it was easy to get along with them and you never had to force yourself to go along with their plans. You learned that’s what friendship should feel like. 

Beomgyu would sometimes join you, his presence a comforting and familiar one. He seemed to carry a weight on his shoulders and you couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy towards him, especially after knowing that he had fallen for someone who didn't appreciate him. It was also strange how the two of you always seemed to show up around each other at just the right time, as if drawn together by some unseen force.

There was an instance where some random guy had been following you around on one of your evening walks and Beomgyu showed up then, catching on to the situation, pretending as if he’d been waiting for you. There was another time when you felt like having ice cream and when you went out to get some, you found Beomgyu walking out of the convenience store holding one of those ice creams with two sticks that you could split in half. He gave you the other half and joined you on your evening walk that night. You tried to brush them off as mere coincidences, but deep down, you knew there was something more at play.

After the “gummy bear incident”, as you like to refer to it as, there has been a subtle shift in your dynamic. Your interactions were never lacking in chemistry or politeness before, even with both of you being naturally shy individuals. But now, whenever the two of you found yourselves alone, neither of you could barely get a word out without stumbling over your words. Eye contact was practically non-existent between the two of you now, the air thick with unspoken tension and unfulfilled desires. The summer had brought you closer, yet somehow he still felt far away. And although you were hesitant to admit it out loud, your feelings for him had grown stronger with each passing day.

You liked him.

You’ve always liked Choi Beomgyu. 

September 9th, 2015

Today was the first day of high school. You and I are attending the same school again. You look really different now. Even though I saw it gradually happen over the summer, I’m pretty sure I spent most of today just looking at you. How tall you got, how deep your voice is now. Taehyun said you had a crush on someone, and it's good that you feel okay enough to feel like that about somone again I guess. I also met two new boys today, and we got along well. I'm looking forward to getting to know them.

As you entered the bustling hallways, sleek and gleaming under the bright fluorescent lights, you couldn't help but get lost in the sea of faces. There were whispers of excitement and trepidation that filled the air. Today was the first day of high school, a milestone that held both promise and uncertainty. You could feel the nervous energy radiating off the other freshmen as they hurried to find their lockers and compare schedules with friends that joined them from middle school. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your own racing heart, reminding yourself that everyone else most likely felt the same way you were feeling. 

As you navigated through the maze of lockers, you caught snippets of conversations. Excited chatter about summer adventures, worries about making new friends, and anxious whispers about the infamous teachers they were told to look out for. You saw a few familiar faces, including your former friends. Before any sort of interaction could happen between you, someone's frantic waving caught your attention. You sighed in relief seeing that it was Taehyun, and he was frantically waving at you to call you over. 

Grateful for the familiar, friendly face, you quickened your pace and made your way towards Taehyun. He was leaning against a row of lockers, his hair falling into his eyes as he scanned the crowd. As soon as he saw you approach, a wide grin spread across his face.

"Hey, you're finally here!" Taehyun exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine relief.

"Yeah," you replied with a nervous laugh. 

"Just trying to figure out where everything is."

Taehyun chuckled, brushing his hair back with a casual flick of his hand. 

"Don't worry, I've got it all figured out," he boasted playfully.

"I'm sure you do," you laughed and looked around. 

"Where's Kai?"

"He's at his locker, did you find where yours is yet?" Taehyun asked, leaning closer to look at the schedule in your hands. 

"No, I haven't. Want to help me find it since you got it "all figured out"?" 

Taehyun grinned and nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets as he fell into stride beside you. Together, you weaved through the bustling crowd of students, scanning the numbers on lockers until you finally found the one that matched the number on your schedule. With a sigh of relief, you spun the combination lock and swung open the metal door.

As you began to organize your books and supplies, Taehyun leaned against the locker next to yours, observing you with a twinkle in his eyes. 

"So," he began, "nervous about any particular classes?"

"Not really."

"Are you going to join any clubs or teams here?" he asked, though you could tell his attention was now somewhere else.

You were going to look up and jokingly ask why he wasn’t paying you any attention, but instead your heart started to beat really fast. Across the hall was Beomgyu, standing at his locker and you're only now noticing that Taehyun left your side to approach him. You watched as Taehyun sauntered over to Beomgyu with a mischievous glint in his eye. The two of them exchanged a few words, their conversation drowned out by the surrounding chatter. Beomgyu looked surprised at first but then broke into a shy smile, nodding in agreement to whatever Taehyun had asked him. The sight of both of them approaching you snapped you out of your daze and you quickly went back to organizing your things. 

“Hey,” Beomgyu greeted you softly.

 “Hi,” you slightly blushed, voice just as soft.

Watching this, Taehyun couldn't help but snicker because of what he knew. Taehyun stepped closer, now joining you and Beomgyu, his chuckles escaping his lips. You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, curiosity tugging at your thoughts. 

"What's so funny?" you questioned, tilting your head to the side.

"Oh, nothing," Taehyun replied coyly, a mischievous glimmer still lingering in his eyes. 

"Just enjoying the sight in front of me."

Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as you exchanged a look with Beomgyu. 

"What are you going on about?" you asked cautiously, trying to hide your flustered state.

Taehyun chuckled again, nudging Beomgyu playfully. 

"Well, it just so happens that Beomgyu here has a little crush on someone," he teased, winking at Beomgyu.

Beomgyu's face turned several shades of red, and he shot Taehyun a playful glare. Your eyes widened slightly at Taehyun's words and you casted your eyes down to the floor, the only thing on your mind now was a simple question:

Again?

With a shy smile, Beomgyu glanced at you before turning his attention back to Taehyun. 

"Hey, don't go spreading rumors," he mumbled, trying to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

Taehyun chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Who said anything about rumors? I'm just stating the truth." He grinned mischievously, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting from both of you.

Taehyun looked at you and smirked. 

"You see, he's got this little black notebook and-" he was cut off by Beomgyu practically pouncing on him and covering his mouth shut. 

You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of Beomgyu trying to silence Taehyun. It was clear that there was more to this story than Taehyun was able to say. You glanced between the two of them, biting your lip to supress your laugh.

"What's in the black notebook, Beomgyu?" you finally asked, a genuine glimmer of curiosity in your eyes.

Beomgyu's face turned an even deeper shade of red as he released his hold on Taehyun, who immediately took the opportunity to tease him further.

"Oh, just a little collection of poems and doodles," Taehyun said with a smirk.

"They aren't poems," Beomgyu mumbled, looking down now.

"They're just silly scribbles," Beomgyu continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

His embarrassment was palpable, and there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. With a gentle smile, and a small burst of confidence, you took a step closer to him and reached out to touch his arm.

"I have a little black notebook too," you said, hoping to lessen any embarrassment he was feeling. 

Beomgyu's eyes widened in surprise as he looked at you, his blush fading slightly. 

"Really?" he asked, his voice filled with both excitement and curiosity.

You nodded, your own embarrassment now surfacing.

"Yeah," you replied softly. 

"Yeah, and it's my diary that's practically filled with love letters I can't send to you," you thought to yourself.

Before any more words could be exchanged, Kai approached you guys with a loud "hey" and the four of you started to compare schedules. You looked to Beomgyu one more time, finding that he was already looking at you, and you both looked away blushing yet again. Taehyun only shook his head in amusement and continued to point out the classes you all shared together. 

The rest of the day went by quickly, and as the final bell signaling the end of the school day rang, you found yourself walking alongside Beomgyu towards the exit. The air was filled with a comfortable silence, a warmth settling between you two.

"I can't believe Taehyun spilled the beans like that," Beomgyu muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

You giggled softly, feeling a surge of contentment wash over you. 

"Well, at least now I know I'm not the only one with secrets."

You two found Taehyun and Kai outside by the school's entrance, along with two other boys you've never seen before. As you approached the group, you squinted your eyes, trying to get a better look as if that would help you recognize them. One of them, with his tall stature and warm smile, extended a hand towards you in greeting.

"Hi there," he said, his voice friendly and inviting. 

"I'm Soobin. It's nice to meet you."

You shook his hand, returning his smile with one of your own. 

"Nice to meet you too, Soobin. I'm (Y/N)."

The other boy, on the other hand, had an air of confidence about him. His dark hair was styled effortlessly and his gaze, though piercing, was still inviting and held a hint of mischief. 

"Hey, (Y/N). I'm Yeonjun, nice to meet you." he introduced, giving you a charming smile. 

You nodded in acknowledgement, feeling the spark of curiosity ignite within you. There was something magnetic about these two new faces, something that made you want to know them better. After the small introduction, you waved your friends goodbye and made your way home, looking forward to the next day and the rest of your years at this school. 

February 14th, 2017

Today was Valentine’s Day. I wanted to mark this as a milestone. Although it’s not the first Valentine’s Day after I acknowledged my feelings for you, it’s the first one where I acknowledged them and have money of my own to buy you a present. Did I do that? Of course not. But something else happened, something better. I think you’d agree. I also think we were set up, which reminds me that I have to thank Taehyun and Yeonjun tomorrow. 

February 14th, Valentine’s Day. You never really understood the point of the holiday. Never understanding why a day needed to be dedicated to love. You thought love should be expressed everyday, through big or small gestures. In elementary school, it seemed like another excuse to be able to eat candy and chocolate, which you didn’t mind at all. In middle school, people started to use the day as an opportunity to confess, that way if rejected they could play it off as an obligatory present. In high school, it seemed more serious. People planned to confess with the intentions of a relationship, not like in middle school where you would confess just to get it over with. As you walked down the halls of your high school, you took notice of the flurry of red and pink decorations adorning lockers, walls, and even the ceiling. Couples exchanged heartfelt gifts and whispered sweet nothings to each other, while others eagerly awaited their own moment to confess their feelings. Shaking your head, you made your way to your locker, finding Beomgyu at his.

"Beomgyu, good morning," you called out to him, your voice small and cheeks getting warm from the sight of him.

He turned slightly and gave you a sweet smile in acknowledgement. 

"Good morning," Beomgyu replied, his eyes sparkling with warmth. He closed his locker and leaned against it as he looked at you. 

"Happy Valentine's Day."

You couldn't help but blush deeper at his words, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside you. 

"Happy Valentine's Day to you too," you replied, mustering up all the courage you had.

Beomgyu chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your heart flutter. 

"Do you have any plans for today?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

The tilt of his head caused his hair to fall into his eyes, and without thinking, you reached out and brushed his hair out of his face. Beomgyu's eyes widened slightly at your touch, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. He seemed momentarily taken aback before a smile slowly graced his lips.

"Thanks," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

The way he looked at you, with such gentle adoration, made your heart skip a beat.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that. I wasn't thinking," you stammered, your face burning with embarrassment.

Beomgyu shook his head, still smiling softly.

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring. 

"I liked it."

Your face flushed even deeper at his words, but a shy smile tugged at the corners of your lips. As the two of you stood there, caught in a moment of unspoken connection, the sound of laughter and chatter echoed down the hallway. You both turned to see Taehyun and Yeonjun approaching, their faces bright. Taehyun had a mischievous grin playing on his lips, while Yeonjun had a glint of excitement in his eyes.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Taehyun called out with a teasing grin.

"Did we interrupt something?"

You felt your face grow even hotter, embarrassed by the attention, but Beomgyu's presence beside you gave you a sense of comfort.

Yeonjun nudged Taehyun playfully. 

"Leave them alone, Tae. Can't you see they're having a moment?"

Beomgyu chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

"It's fine, guys. We were just talking." 

You immediately nodded in agreement. 

“Right, can’t two friends just talk?”

You can tell that neither of them were convinced, but they decided to drop the teasing and turn their attention to their own plans for the day. Apparently all six of us were going to hang out after school, since none of us have a Valentine. Soobin, being as boyfriend coded as he is, thought it would be hilarious to plan something sickeningly sweet for us all to do after school. Taehyun, Yeonjun, and Kai were all on board with the idea, finding it both humorous and enjoyable. They offered to handle the arrangements. 

After that, the rest of the day seemed to stretch on endlessly. You witnessed numerous confessions, with some leading to a positive outcome and others resulting in unnecessarily harsh rejection. By your lunch period, you saw your friends walk into the cafeteria holding multiple boxes of chocolates. You weren't surprised in the slightest, they were all incredibly charming and attractive. 

As you and Kai walked to your next class after lunch, he explained that both he and Taehyun couldn't make it to the group's afternoon plans. When you asked for a reason, all he said was "something came up". You didn't press any further, even though you were confused, but you figured that Kai had his own reasons for keeping things vague. 

When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, you found yourself walking alongside Beomgyu towards the designated meeting spot. The meeting spot was a quaint little café tucked away in a quiet corner of town. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and soft jazz music played in the background, creating a cozy ambiance. You looked around for any sight of Yeonjun or Soobin, and saw Beomgyu doing the same. But to your surprise, neither Yeonjun nor Soobin were there. You exchanged a confused glance with Beomgyu, wondering where they could be.

"I thought they would be here already," Beomgyu said, furrowing his brows. 

"Maybe they got caught up with something."

"They'll probably show up soon. Let's just grab a table and wait for them."

Beomgyu smiled at you gratefully, the corners of his lips lifting up. Your heart started to race at the sight, and you couldn't help but return the smile, feeling a warm sense of comfort settle in your chest. You found a small table near the window, and Beomgyu pulled out a chair for you, his gestures filled with a gentle tenderness. As you settled into your seats, the anticipation of the afternoon plans mixed with a hint of uncertainty lingered in the air. You glanced at Beomgyu, who was lost in his own thoughts, a faint furrow still etched on his forehead. He pulled out his little black notebook and started to scribble. A soft smile played on your lips as you watched him, and you recalled that he was writing in the book earlier today too. 

Curiosity getting the best of you, you leaned in a bit closer, trying to catch a glimpse of what Beomgyu was writing. However, as if sensing your prying eyes, he quickly closed the notebook and looked up at you with a grin.

"Oh, so you're interested in my little secrets now?" he teased, playfully raising an eyebrow.

You blushed and shook your head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and intrigue. 

"I was just curious. You wrote in that book a lot today."

Beomgyu's smile softened, and he slid the notebook back into his backpack. Before he could respond, the sound of an incoming text notification went off and you picked up your phone. 

"it's from Yeonjun," you announced, reading the message quietly to yourself. 

You frowned slightly, disappointed that Yeonjun wouldn't be joining you. But the text message left you with more questions than answers. What could be so urgent that he couldn't even explain? And why did he add that playful winking emoji at the end?

Beomgyu, who had been waiting for your response, leaned in to catch a glimpse of the message. His brows furrowed, mirroring your own confusion. 

"That's strange," he murmured. 

"Yeonjun usually doesn't leave things so vague."

Then, another notification came in, Beomgyu picking up his phone this time. 

"It's Soobin," Beomgyu read, his eyes narrowing as he read the message. He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.

"What is it?" you asked, leaning closer to see the message on his phone.

You exchanged a bewildered look with Beomgyu, the pieces of the puzzle not quite fitting together. It was too much of a coincidence that at this point, you didn't believe that any of this was a coincidence. You were starting to feel like you and Beomgyu were being set up. The sound of another text coming in on Beomgyu's phone brought you back to the present. Beomgyu glanced at his phone and his eyes widened in surprise, a faint pink now dusting his cheeks. Sitting up a little straighter, he cleared his throat and looked at you. 

"Should we just go home...?"

His voice trailed off as if he didn't want to ask the question. 

“I-I mean, we’re already here. But they never exactly said what we’d be doing so..” you stammered over your words, not expecting him to ask that.

Did he want to leave?

Beomgyu sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as if he was trying to make himself smaller out of nervousness.

"Are you okay with it being just the two of us?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of nervousness and hope.

"I think we can still have a great time together," he added, mustering a small smile. 

Your heart started beating faster at his words, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the genuine desire for your company. You found yourself nodding, unable to form words as you simply smiled at him. Beomgyu's face brightened at your response, a genuine grin spreading across his features. He stood up from his seat and you followed, both of you walking out of the cafe. 

“Is there anywhere specific you want to go?”

He asked as he checked his phone. 

“I’m okay with anything really. Just walking around like this is nice too.”

He gave a slight nod and put his phone in his pocket, “how about an arcade? There’s one nearby.”

Your eyes lit up and you nodded, “I love arcades. I haven’t been to one in a long time.”

Beomgyu smiled, looking at you, “was the last time when we went to one in fifth grade? For that school trip?”

“Yeah, it was then. I think I spent all the money I got on the claw machines,” you said with a small laugh as you recalled the trip.  

“The claw machines are probably my favorite.” 

“You know…” Beomgyu started, “I’m known as the king of claws,” he said with as playful smirk. 

“Is that so? I’ll have to see it to believe it,” you replied giggling. 

You arrived at the arcade shortly after and he did prove it. His first try, he won a small teddy bear. You watched as he kneeled down to retrieve his prize, then stood up and handed it to you. 

“Believe me now?” He asked with a grin, running a hand through his hair. 

You gently took the teddy bear and hugged it to your chest. 

“I think you got lucky,” you teased, even though you did believe him. 

He raised an eyebrow as if to say “oh yeah?” and tried a different one. This time he won a prize in two tries, retrieving it and turning around with his arms crossed. You bit back a laugh and clutched the teddy bear in your hands a little tighter. 

“Okay, I digress. You’re the king of claws,” you admitted to fuel his already growing ego, and just to see him feel good about himself. 

He grinned, satisfied with your words and then brushed the imaginary dust off his shoulders. 

“I was only teasing you know, I believed you from the start,” you said softly, adjusting your backpack on your back. 

“I know, I was playing along and trying to impress you,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling shy. 

You blushed at his confession, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. Beomgyu's vulnerability and effort to impress you made your heart flutter. You reached out and gently nudged his arm with your elbow.

"Well, you succeeded," you said, your voice filled with sincerity.

Beomgyu's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and he couldn't hide the bashful smile that tugged at his lips.

You kept wandering through the arcade, trying out different games and amassing more tickets. Rather than exchanging them for prizes, you opted to give them to a group of young children also enjoying the arcade. You didn't want to carry all your winnings and your backpacks, it would have been too exhausting. It was also nice to see the way their eyes lit up when you gave them the tickets. You made sure to hold onto the teddy bear Beomgyu won for you when you first got there though.

As the afternoon turned into evening, you and Beomgyu decided to leave the arcade. The two of you walked side by side on the bustling streets, occasionally bumping into each other playfully. There was a comfortable silence between you, no need for constant conversation. It was enough just to be in each other's presence. Beomgyu checked his phone and suggested finding someplace to have dinner. You nodded in agreement, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. Together, you searched for a nearby restaurant, eager to continue the enjoyable day you were having. 

As luck would have it, you stumbled upon a cozy little diner with the inviting aroma of comfort food wafting through the air. You entered the diner and were immediately greeted by the friendly chatter of other diners and the clinking of cutlery against plates. Beomgyu led the way to a booth near the window, and you slid in across from him. After scanning the menu, you glanced at the teddy bear that you put to sit neatly on the table.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like a teddy bear?" you asked him suddenly. 

He chuckled softly, reaching across the table to playfully poke the teddy bear's nose.

"Well no, no one has ever compared me to a teddy bear before," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement.

"But I guess I can see why you'd say that. Is it because of my fluffy hair?"

"Your hair is part of it," you started to say, but stopped and wondered if you should continue. 

You thought for a moment, considering whether to share your feelings with Beomgyu. Not confess to him, you weren't ready for that. You looked into Beomgyu's eyes and found comfort and reassurance staring back at you. Encouraged by his presence, you decided to open up.

"Actually, it's not just your hair," you confessed, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and sincerity. 

"It's more about how being around you makes me feel. You have this warmth and kindness that reminds me of a teddy bear. Whenever I'm with you, it's like being wrapped in a comforting embrace."

Beomgyu leaned back against the booth and looked at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. A soft smile graced his lips as he took in your words, and you could see the genuine joy sparkling in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said, his voice soft.

"That's honestly one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me."

"You know," he continued, his smile growing wider, "I feel the same way about you. Whenever I'm with you, it feels like all the worries and troubles disappear, and I'm just surrounded by this incredible sense of happiness and comfort." 

"I wonder if it would've been like this still, if we decided to ignore those stupid boys when we were six," he mused aloud, a sense of nostalgia now surrounding your booth. 

You chuckled softly, reminiscing on the memory of the day you first met and the day after.

"I'm surprised you remember that. I only left you alone so they would stop calling you those mean names," you said, fondness in your voice.

"I didn't like seeing you so disheartened and I thought that was the best thing to do," you explained, a hint of sheepishness coloring your cheeks.

"You were really considerate for being six years old," he replied, a wistful smile playing on his lips. 

The waitress approached your table, interrupting your conversation as she took your orders. As you waited for your food to arrive, you found yourselves lost in each other's company, talking about everything and nothing at all. When your food arrived and you dug into your meals, savoring the taste and coninuing to enjoy each other's presence. The diner was filled with a comforting ambiance, the soft buzz of conversation and the clinking of cutlery providing a soothing soundtrack to your moment together. 

You excused yourself to the restroom and came back to find that Beomgyu already paid for both of you. He stood up upon your return and you left the diner.

The night air was cool against your skin as you continued your stroll down the streets. The city lights illuminated the path ahead, casting a warm glow over everything. You looked up at Beomgyu and found him checking his phone again. 

"Is everything okay?" you asked, noticing the slight furrow of his brows as he scrolled through his phone.

"Yeah, it's nothing," Beomgyu replied, slipping his phone back into his pocket. 

"Do you still go on those evening walks?" he asked in a clear attempt to change the subject. 

You smiled at the question, recalling the habit you had developed long ago.

"Yes, I do," you replied. 

"I find them quite calming, especially after a busy day. It's a chance to clear my mind and appreciate the beauty of the world around me."

"Then, would you like to take a walk now? Before we go home?" he asked, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

You nodded, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through you. You didn't want whatever this was to end just yet, and his question allowed you to believe that he didn't either. You walked side by side, not really following a specific path. As you strolled through the city streets, the sound of your footsteps harmonized with the rhythm of your conversation, a sense of serenity enveloping you both. The bustling chaos of the city seemed to fade into the background as you wandered aimlessly, and soon the two of you found yourselves in a small park.

 The park was mostly empty, save for a few older couples scattered on benches. You noticed a beautiful gazebo standing gracefully in the distance. You immediately walked towards the gazebo, Beomgyu following closely behind. The moonlight filtered through the intricate ironwork of the structure, casting delicate shadows on the ground below and you stood there for a while, Beomgyu right by your side, taking in the scene before you and looking up at the moon. The night was getting darker, and both of you had to wake up early for school the following day.

"Should we get going now?" you asked, glancing at Beomgyu. 

"Yeah, we probably should," he replied softly.

As you started to leave the park, Beomgyu kindly offered to walk you home. You accepted with a grateful nod and a gentle smile, walking in the direction of your house together. 

You watched as he checked his phone once again, his eyes widening and he shook his head slightly, as if in disbelief of what he read.

"Are you sure everything is okay?" you asked, concern lacing your voice.

"Y-yeah, everything is good," he said, his voice tinged with nervousness. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"If you say so, it's just- you've been checking your phone since we left the cafe," you pointed out.

"I promise, it's nothing to worry about. I was just checking something," he assured, and you believed him for now.

Little did you know, he'd been checking a list Soobin had sent him of all the things they were supposed to do after school, though he thinks they altered it. He knows for sure they altered it. Still, he made sure to do all of them (he didn’t feed you though, he’d blush too much trying to).

Except for the fourth thing, it wasn't time yet. 

March 13th, 2017

Today’s your birthday, your 16th birthday to be more specific. I was the first of our friends to turn 16, then Taehyun, and I think Yeonjun made turning 16 a bigger deal than it is. Though, it was nice to see you excited for your birthday. I hope your excitement is still as big today.  I debated a lot on what to get you, or if I should even get you something at all. In the end I did, the beaded bracelet on my wrist that you got me for my birthday, gave me an idea. I really hope you like it. If I had the courage, this is how I would give it to you: I  imagine going on a walk with you. Planned this time. Either under the moonlight or early in the morning. Taking in the fresh, crisp air and getting a chance to breathe. I’d listen attentively and answer all your questions wholeheartedly, and ask you some of my own. You’d surprise me by bringing up something I thought was too minuscule to remember and then you’d probably let out that precious giggle, followed by that pretty smile. It would quickly be replaced by your own surprise because I would bring something up about you too, and let out a small giggle of my own. It would feel like we were away from the real world for a while, surrounded by warmth and magic- cause that’s what you’re made of in my eyes. Then we’d stop somewhere, maybe by the Han River or the park we went to on Valentine’s Day and that’s where I’d give you my present. However, I wouldn’t be able to do this, so I’ll have to settle for lamely giving it to you when I see you in school. 

Today was the warmest day of the week, and your nervousness was making you feel even warmer. The bracelets on your arm jingled and clinked as you nervously fiddled with them, the sound catching the attention of your friends. Yeonjun and Kai noticed your anxiousness and playfully teased you for it as you walked through the school hallway. Their laughter only fueled your nerves, and you blushed, desperately trying to hide your embarrassment.

"Come on, it's just a birthday present," Kai said with a grin.

"Yeah, don't be so nervous," Yeonjun added, nudging you playfully.

"I'm sure he'll love it."

You managed a weak smile, grateful for their support. Deep down though, you couldn't help but doubt yourself. What if he didn't like the present? What if it wasn't good enough? Your mind swirled with insecurities as you made your way to your first class, not even bothering to stop at your locker. Beomgyu would probably be there, across the hall at his, and you wouldn't be able to give him the present, let alone see or talk to him right now.

March 13th, 2017

It’s already lunch time and I still haven’t been able to give it to you. I also think you’ve caught onto the fact that I’m avoiding you. The guys were teasing me earlier but Taehyun realized just how nervous I actually am and has been staying by my side. After Valentine’s Day, it felt like we were both holding something back. I knew I was, but what could you be keeping from me? Do you like me too? That’s probably impossible. Did you pick up on the fact that I like you, and you don’t know how to tell me that you just want to be friends? I’m overthinking again… 

Taehyun nudged you gently to get your attention. You looked up from fervently writing and saw his eyes filled with concern. 

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked softly.

You sighed, closing the little black notebook. 

"I don't know, Taehyun. I've been avoiding Beomgyu all day, and I can tell he's noticed. But I just... I can't bring myself to give him the present."

Taehyun tilted his head, his expression thoughtful.

"Why not?"

You looked at Taehyun, uncertainty clouding your eyes. 

"I guess I'm just scared," you admitted reluctantly.

"What if he doesn't like it? What if it's not good enough?"

Taehyun's gaze softened, understanding flickering in his eyes. He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

"Listen, I get it. It's natural to be nervous about this kind of thing. But Beomgyu is not the kind of person who would judge what kind of present he gets. And take it from me, he'd be over the moon to get anything as long as it's from you."

You took a deep breath, trying to absorb Taehyun's words of encouragement. He was right, you knew Beomgyu well enough by now to know that he wouldn't judge your gift. Still, the anxiety gnawed at you like a persistent itch.

"Thank you, Taehyun," you whispered, appreciating his unwavering support.

"I needed to hear that."

He squeezed your shoulder gently before releasing it and giving you an encouraging smile.

"Anytime. Now go find him and give him that present. I'm sure he's waiting for it."

March 13th, 2017

Despite what Taehyun said, I still didn’t do it. It's eighth period, and the bell signaling the end of the school day will ring in a few minutes. I know I’ll see you before going home, cause I have to go to my locker. I don’t need all these books. Maybe I can prolong going to my locker for as long as possible. Just until you, along with everyone else in the school leaves.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, you found yourself lingering in the classroom, pretending to organize your books. Each passing minute felt like an eternity, and you couldn't shake off the knot of nervousness that had settled in your stomach. The classroom slowly emptied out, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

Ten minutes passed, and you peeked out of the classroom to find the halls nearly empty. This was your chance to pack up your books and head home, without the worry of bumping into anyone, especially Beomgyu. As you turned the corner, you spotted Beomgyu leaning against the lockers, his eyes casted down to the floor. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of anxiousness and fear.

And a little bit of guilt.

What was he still doing here?

Beomgyu looked up as the sound of footsteps echoed through the empty hallway. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You watched as a flicker of surprise and disappointment passed over his face before he quickly masked it with a small smile.

"Hey," he said, his voice filled with warmth but tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

"Hi," you replied, your voice almost a whisper as nerves danced in your stomach.

Beomgyu seemed to sense your unease, taking a step closer to you, his expression filled with concern.

"Is everything alright?" he asked softly, his gaze locked with yours.

"You've been avoiding me all day."

"oh, you noticed," you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

Your eyes darted away from his gaze, unable to meet his penetrating stare. Beomgyu reached out, gently placing a hand on your arm.

"Yeah, I noticed," he said gently.

"Did I do something wrong?"

His touch caused you to jump, and he quickly retract his hand. You could see the hurt flash in his eyes, and guilt washed over you. 

"No, no, it's not you," you stammered, finally mustering the courage to meet his gaze.

"It's just... I've been feeling overwhelmed today."

Beomgyu nodded, his expression softening with understanding.

"I'm sorry if I added to that. I didn't mean to make you feel overwhelmed."

You shook your head quickly, wanting to reassure him.

"No, it's not your fault, really. It's just... I didn't know how to give you something."

Beomgyu's brow furrowed slightly, confusion evident in his eyes.

"Give me something?" he repeated, his voice laced with curiosity. 

"Happy Birthday," you whispered, your eyes squeezed shut as you held out the present you made for him.

Beomgyu's eyes widened as he took the gift from your trembling hands. For a moment, he simply stared at it, as if unable to comprehend what was happening. Then, a warm smile spread across his face, and he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.

"You have no idea how much this means to me."

Relief flooded through you as you melted into his embrace, feeling safe and secure in his arms.

"It's a bracelet. Like the one you gave me for my birthday. I added a teddy bear charm, cause well... you remember what I said," you whispered, your voice trailing off.

A tenderness settled over Beomgyu's expression, and he nodded in understanding.

"I remember," he replied softly, his fingers tracing the delicate charm on the bracelet.

"It means the world to me."

"I'm sorry for avoiding you," you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"I was just scared, clearly for no reason."

Beomgyu put the bracelet on, holding out his wrist for you to see. You gazed at his wrist, the bracelet snugly hugging his skin. The sight brought a smile to your face, and seeing you smile caused Beomgyu to smile too. 

"Can I walk you home?" he softly asked, his voice filled with a newfound warmth. 

You nodded, your heart fluttering with relief and excitement. As you walked side by side down the deserted school halls, you found yourself sticking closer than usual to him. The two of you strolled down the familiar streets, sharing lighthearted banter and laughter. Beomgyu's hand brushed against yours occasionally, sending feelings of electricity through your veins. As you reached your front gate, silence fell between the two of you.

"Thank you for walking me home," you said softly.

Beomgyu smiled, his eyes looking you over with pure adoration.

"It was my pleasure," he replied gently. 

"I'm sorry again for avoiding you on your birthday," you said quickly, not wanting him to leave just yet.

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"Thank you again for the bracelet, I'll treasure it."

"I'm glad you like it," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine happiness.

A sudden burst of courage overtook you, "there's another thing I forgot to give you," you said almost confidently and made sure to meet his eyes.

Beomgyu's eyebrows raised in surprise, curiosity taking over his features. 

"Oh? What is it?" he asked, a playful smile now tugging at the corners of his lips.

You took a deep breath, your heart hammering against your chest. All that nervousness was resurfacing but you weren't going to back out now. You slowly stood on your tippy toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Beomgyu's eyes widened at the unexpected gesture, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. He stood frozen for a moment, processing the gentle touch of your lips on his skin.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand instinctively reached up to touch the spot where your lips had touched his cheek.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow," you whispered, a shy smile playing on your lips.

Beomgyu nodded, still slightly stunned by the unexpected kiss.

"Yeah, definitely," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and anticipation.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

You waved goodbye, feeling a newfound sense of confidence as you walked towards your front door. As you closed the door behind you, the confidence turned to slight embarrassment and you felt your face get hot.

You can't believe you just did that.

May 18th, 2018

It’s hard to believe that junior year is almost over. Then we’ll be seniors. For some reason, today felt like one of those “hey let’s reflect on my life” days and I decided that I’ve been really happy lately. No I haven’t confessed to you, but we’ve definitely gotten closer. To the point where we hang out after school or even on the weekends, just the two of us. Sometimes (a lot of times), you’ll even ask to join me on my walks and it’s nice to have company on them. Or should I say your company. Aside from that, something a little strange happened this morning. Someone from the basketball team asked me out. I told him I’d think about it. 

Even as you grow older, there’s something about Fridays that never loses its appeal. This particular Friday greeted you with a sense of optimism and well-being. The sun was shining and the sky was clear, almost like it was a sign of good things to come. You got to school earlier than usual, none of your friends are there yet, except for Kai because he's on the basketball team and they had practice before school began. 

"Hey," Kai said with a smile as he approached you. 

"You're here early today."

"Yeah, I woke up earlier than usual," you replied, returning his smile.

Kai leaned against the lockers beside you, his gaze fixated on the empty hallway.

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Curiosity piqued, you turned to face him fully.

"Sure, what's up?" 

Kai took a deep breath and his eyes darted around the hallway, almost as if he was hesitant to say anything. 

"You know, Taeyang right? Our point guard?"

"Yeah, I know him," you replied, wondering where this conversation was headed.

Kai continued, his voice slightly hesitant.

"Well, he asked me to talk to you on his behalf. Since you and I are good friends and all. He... um... well, he wanted to ask you out."

You blinked, taken aback by the unexpected proposition. Taeyang was popular and well-liked, but you never considered dating him. You let out a nervous laugh, trying to process the sudden turn of events. 

"Wait, seriously? Taeyang wants to ask me out?"

Kai nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Yeah, he's been talking about you lately."

"Wow, that's... unexpected," you spoke honestly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

"Well, what did you tell him?" you asked Kai, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and what felt like excitement.

Kai sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I told him I'd talk to you about it. And honestly, I think you should consider it."

Kai wasn't exactly sure why he was telling you to consider it. He knew about Beomgyu's feelings towards you and even helped orchestrate the setup on Valentine's Day. 

As you listened to Kai's words, a swirl of emotions filled your chest. On one hand, the idea of going out with Taeyang intrigued you. He was popular, charismatic, and undeniably attractive. Anyone would agree to go out with him in a heartbeat. But, your mind also couldn't help but drift to Beomgyu. You thought about how gentle, kind-hearted and attentive Beomgyu was. You liked Beomgyu, really liked him, but Kai didn't know that. You only told Taehyun, and Yeonjun somehow picked up on your feelings too. Taeyang may be popular and attractive, but he didn't evoke the same warmth and comfort and thrill as Beomgyu did.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at Kai, determination flickering in your eyes.

"Thank you for telling me, Kai. I appreciate it."

Kai's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Wait, you decided already?"

You nodded, your voice filled with certainty.

"Yeah, I have. I don't see myself going out with Taeyang. He's probably a great guy, but there's someone else I've been thinking about."

Kai's eyes widened in surprise and he couldn't help but ask to confirm his suspicions.

"Do you mean... Beomgyu?" 

A blush crept up your cheeks, confirming Kai's suspicion.

"Yeah, Beomgyu. I really like him. I have for a long time, but only came to terms with it when we got to high school."

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Kai's lips as he leaned closer to you.

"I had a feeling," he whispered, his voice barely audible. 

You looked at Kai, relief and nervousness flooding your heart.

"You knew?"

Kai chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Let's just say I'm good at reading people. And it became more obvious with the way you were acting on his birthday last year."

You couldn't help but blush at Kai's observation, remembering how nervous you had felt that day. It seemed that everyone had picked up on your feelings for Beomgyu except for Beomgyu himself. And maybe Soobin.

"Yeah, I tried my best to hide it," you admitted with a sheepish smile.

"But I guess I haven't been doing a very good job."

Kai shrugged and nudged you playfully.

"To be fair, it's hard to hide with the way your eyes light up whenever he's around."

You laughed softly, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you openly discussed your feelings for Beomgyu with Kai.

"So what are you going to do now?" Kai asked, his eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

"I think I'll wait and see if Taeyang talks to me himself. Cause I find it a little hard to believe that a guy like that would have someone else ask someone out for him," you said, your voice laced with a hint of skepticism. 

"If he's interested, he can approach me directly. But as for Beomgyu, I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell him." 

Kai nodded understandingly, his gaze sympathetic. He knew Beomgyu liked you, but he swore not to say anything. 

Kai let out a soft sigh and reached out to give your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I understand your hesitation. It's not easy to confess our feelings, especially when we fear the possibility of rejection. But sometimes, taking a chance is worth it."

You looked at Kai, his words resonating deep within your heart.

Taking a chance... Was it really worth it?

The fear of rejection loomed over you like a dark cloud, casting doubt upon your every thought. You shook your head, pushing all the negative thoughts away, and the sight of more students entering the hallway caught your attention.

Among the students making their way through the bustling hallway, you caught a glimpse of Beomgyu. He was talking and laughing with Soobin and Yeonjun. Your heart felt warm, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. Kai followed your gaze and noticed Beomgyu too. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he leaned in closer to you. 

"You know," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, "there's no harm in taking matters into your own hands."

You looked at Kai, intrigued by his suggestion.

"What do you mean?"

Kai grinned, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Well, if you're hesitant about confessing directly, why not drop some subtle hints? See if Beomgyu picks up on them."

The idea both excited and terrified you.

"I-I'll consider that," you murmured. 

The day progressed as usual, but you made the choice to sit outside during your lunch period. You found a quiet spot under a tree, the gentle rustling of leaves providing a soothing backdrop as you mulled over Kai's suggestion. The sun bathed you in its warm rays, and you took a deep breath, pulling out your little black notebook. Flipping through the pages, you came across several doodles and snippets of poetry and letters that you had written over the years. Lost in your thoughts, you absentmindedly traced the words you had written about Beomgyu.

Unaware of the passing time, a shadow fell over your notebook. Startled, you looked up to find Taeyang standing before you. He had a small smile on his face, his eyes reflecting curiosity and something else you couldn't quite place.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, gesturing to the empty space next to you.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by Taeyang's unexpected presence. 

"Uh, sure," you stammered, quickly moving your backpack aside to make room for him.

Taeyang settled down beside you, his gaze lingering on your notebook for a brief moment before focusing on you. You quickly closed the notebook and put it back into your bag. Nervously, you fidgeted with the strap, unsure of what to say. You were the first to break the awkward (at least for you) silence when you mentioned that you and Kai had talked this morning. He leaned back against the tree and let out a small laugh. 

"I didn't think he'd talk to you for me," Taeyang admitted.

"I also wanted to talk to you myself."

You looked at him, surprised by his straightforward honesty.

"Really?"

Taeyang nodded, his eyes searching yours.

"Yeah. I wanted to see if you'd be interested in going out on a date with me."

Your heart started beating faster, caught off guard by Taeyang's straightforwardness. 

"Is it okay if I think about it?" you asked, trying to steady your racing thoughts.

Taeyang's smile faltered for a moment, his eyes filled with a hint of disappointment, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Of course, take your time," he replied, his voice gentle and understanding.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm interested in getting to know you better."

You nodded, grateful for his patience.

"Thank you, Taeyang. I appreciate your honesty."

Afterwards, you collected your belongings and went in search of your friends, joining them for the remainder of lunch. You found them sitting at a table that was not too distant from the tree where you had just been sitting.

"So, what did Taeyang want?" Soobin asked, nudging your shoulder playfully as you sat down in the open space next to him.

You blushed, feeling a rush of nerves as all eyes turned toward you.

"Um, well... he asked me out on a date," you admitted shyly. 

You noticed the way they all looked to Boemgyu before erupting into a chorus of excited exclamations, their enthusiasm coming off a little forced. Soobin clapped you on the back, causing you to nearly spill your water.

"That's amazing!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with delight.

"Finally, someone recognizes how incredible you are!"

Blushing even more, you laughed at Soobin's exaggerated reaction.

"Thanks, Soobin. You guys are too much."

Yeonjun smirked and leaned in closer, his voice dripping with playful teasing.

"Well, I guess now we have to give you some dating advice. Remember, confidence is key."

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudged Yeonjun back.

"Oh please, like you're an expert in dating."

Yeonjun feigned offense, clutching his heart dramatically. 

"Hey, I'll have you know that I'm a smooth operator when it comes to matters of the heart."

"Before any dating advice, you guys should know that I didn't say yes. I told Taeyang I'd think about it," you explained, trying to temper their excitement.

"But why would you need to think about it?" Kai chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eyes as if he didn't remember anything you told him just this morning. 

"Taeyang's a great guy and he likes you. What's there to think about?"

You sighed, realizing that your friends weren't going to let you off the hook easily.

"It's just... complicated," you murmured, avoiding their intense gazes.

You looked up from your fidgeting hands to see Beomgyu looking at you. His expression was unreadable, a mix of concern and something deeper that you couldn't quite place. It made your heart ache a little, the way he had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the conversation. 

"I think you should go for it," Beomgyu spoke softly.

The chatter from everyone else suddenly stopped and they all turned to him looking either confused, shocked or both. You looked at Beomgyu surprised, your heart sinking at his words. You felt a pang of disappointment at Beomgyu's response. His words weighed heavily on your heart, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions that you struggled to make sense of. It felt like a knife twisting in your chest as you realized that Beomgyu, the person you had secretly (not so secretly) harbored feelings for, was encouraging you to pursue someone else.

With a forced smile, you tried to brush off the sudden heaviness in the air. 

"Thanks, Beomgyu. I appreciate your input," you said, your voice wavering ever so slightly.

The rest of your friends exchanged glances, sensing the tension that had seeped into the atmosphere. Soobin, always the peacemaker, cleared his throat and tried to lighten the mood. 

"So, who's up for some ice cream after school?" Soobin suggested with a grin, hoping to distract everyone from the brewing awkwardness.

The suggestion seemed to work, as the tension in the air eased and your friends nodded eagerly, already planning which flavors they would get. You silently thanked Soobin for his quick thinking, grateful for his ability to diffuse any situation. Despite the lighthearted conversation that followed, the weight of Beomgyu's words still lingered in your mind. The bell rang shortly after, and even though you had your next class with Kai, you walked quickly to the classroom by yourself, needing some time alone to process what just happened.

May 18th, 2018

It’s the end of the school day and even though you didn’t say much, your words were all I could think about. You wanted me to date someone else… That has to mean that you don’t like me any more than a friend. I guess I’ll have to just deal with that-

Beomgyu closed the little black notebook.

He should've done so when he realized the notebook belonged to you, which was when he read the very first entry. He shouldn't have read any of your personal thoughts and feelings, but he couldn't help himself. He found it on a desk while looking for you after the final bell had rung. Thinking it was his own notebook, since he had the class earlier in the day and hasn’t been able to find his, he picked it up and sought out a blank page to write on, needing an outlet for the complicated feelings that surfaced at lunch today. 

Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether he should confess his accidental discovery or simply leave the notebook on the desk without mentioning it. He was certain though that he had to be completely truthful with you about his feelings now. He didn't want you to go out with Taeyang, but he knew you might not believe him after the way he had encouraged you before.

He was in a state of panic, desperately trying to figure out how to make you understand his feelings without actually saying it, because he can't seem to say the right words around you. Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out his identical little black notebook, finding it at the very bottom, and put it on the desk where he found yours. He looked back at the book and let out a deep sigh before leaving the classroom. 

Now he just had to wait.

When the last bell rang, you tried to get yourself out of the school building as quickly as you could, not bothering to stop by your locker. You were lost in your own thoughts, still replaying the conversation from earlier. The hallway was bustling with students, but everything around you seemed to blur into background noise. You continued walking, as if you were on autopilot, until your legs began to ache and you stopped. As you survey your surroundings, you realize that you somehow ended up at the park where you and Beomgyu spent Valentine's Day. The memories flood back and tears begin to well up in your eyes.

Why were you crying?

You didn't tell him how you felt, yet it still felt like you got rejected. 

You take a seat on the nearest bench, resting your bag on your lap and frantically search for your little black notebook. It holds all of your thoughts about Beomgyu, but also serves as your diary, which you desperately need at the moment. Panic began to take hold as you hurriedly emptied your bag.

It wasn't there.

Your little black notebook was missing from your bag.

How could you have lost it?

The notebook held not only your innermost thoughts about Beomgyu but also all of your secrets and fears. Your mind races with possibilities. Did you drop it somewhere? Did someone take it? The thought of someone reading your most intimate thoughts and feelings made you feel sick to your stomach.

You feel a lump forming in your throat as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. The weight of the situation, combined with the emotional turmoil of the day, became overwhelming. Taking a deep breath, you put everything back into your bag and went back to school. The first place you checked was the lost and found in the main office, asking the teacher behind the desk if anyone turned it in. You heard the teacher rummage through a box of forgotten belongings, emerging with a solemn expression, "I'm sorry, no one turned in a notebook." 

Your shoulders dropped slightly and you thanked her before quickly making your way to the classroom where your eighth period class was located. Walking into the classroom, your eyes anxiously scanned around the room, and you almost cried again upon seeing the little black notebook sitting on your desk. Relief washed over you as you hurriedly snatched up the notebook, clutching it to your chest.

It was still here, safe and sound.

But then, a flicker of doubt crept into your mind - had someone read it? Or did they just pick it up and put it on your desk for you? You shake your head in disbelief as you put the notebook back into your bag and begin your walk home. Your phone had been going off since the last bell rang, but you didn't bother to check it, already knowing that they were messages from your friends who had made plans to get ice cream after school. You'd talk to them tomorrow, you needed time to yourself. 

Walking home, you couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions. The sun had begun to set, casting a warm orange glow across the sidewalk. The familiar sights and sounds of your neighborhood seemed distant as your mind continued to replay everything that happened today. The events of the day had left you feeling vulnerable and exposed, and you once again thought about someone potentially reading your innermost thoughts. You arrived at your front door, feeling a mix of exhaustion and anxiety. Taking a deep breath, you inserted the key and opened the door, stepping into the comforting familiarity of your home. The silence enveloped you like a soft blanket, soothing the inner chaos that had plagued you most of the day. 

You made your way to your room and immediately collapsed onto your bed, grateful for the privacy it offered. The weight of the day's events pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. Retrieving your small black notebook and favorite pen from your bag, you sit up to record today's entry in your diary. As you flipped through the notebook, searching for a blank page, you came across handwriting that was both unfamiliar yet strangely familiar at the same time, causing your heart to stop.

This wasn't your book. 

You furrowed your brow, confusion and curiosity intertwining in your mind.

How did this notebook end up on your desk?

You cautiously flipped through the pages, your eyes scanning the words before you. It was filled with beautiful prose and heartfelt musings, but they were not your own. Each word felt like a glimpse into someone else's soul. As you continued to read, your own name caught your attention. It was written delicately, in most of the entries, as if it was a whisper on the page. Your heart pounded in your chest as you read the words that followed. The way this person described you, your quirks, your smile, and the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed. It was an ode to your existence, penned by an unknown admirer. You couldn't believe what you were reading.

This notebook was one that matched the contents in yours, except it was about you.

Overwhelmed by the emotions flooding through you, you sat in stunned silence. The realization that someone had been writing about you with such depth and appreciation, the way you wrote about Beomgyu, left you feeling a mix of emotions.

You continued reading, even though you knew you shouldn't, a sense of longing and familiarity washed over you. The way this person described your interactions, the shared moments and inside jokes, it all resonated deeply within your soul. Oddly enough, reading this notebook felt like flipping through the pages of your own diary.  The realization caused goosebumps to form, trailing down your arms.

This was Beomgyu's notebook. 

With trembling hands, you slowly closed the notebook and carefully reached over to retrieve your bag.

As you were trying to put it away, a photograph slipped out from between the pages. You immediately recognized the photo as one taken last week. Beomgyu had joined you for an evening walk and brought his polaroid camera along.

As you strolled along the Han River, a kind stranger offered to take a picture of the two of you together. The stranger had taken a few, but this one in particular was beautiful. It captured the essence of that moment perfectly, the way Beomgyu's laughter lit up his face and the way your eyes sparkled with genuine happiness. Neither of you were purposely posing for the picture, but that's what made it feel authentic.

You held the photo delicately in your hands, studying the smiles on both your faces. It was evident how happy you were together, and yet, you couldn't help but wonder why Beomgyu had kept this notebook a secret from you. Probably for the exact same reason you kept yours a secret from him. Closing your eyes, you tried to process the new whirlwind of emotions that engulfed you. The discovery of Beomgyu's hidden admiration for you felt like stumbling upon a forbidden treasure. A myriad of questions swirled around in your mind and it felt overwhelming.

Amidst all the questions and overwhelming emotions, one thing was undeniable: you liked Beomgyu and he liked you too.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you've been staring at the closed notebook in your lap for what feels like hours. The buzzing of your phone drew your attention away from the emotional whirlwind that started during lunch. With a heavy sigh, you grabbed your phone and saw that it was flooded with notifications from your friends. They ranged from asking you what ice cream flavor you wanted to the everlasting debate on mint-chocolate. The most recent message was from Taehyun, expressing his concern for you and letting you know where they were in case you decided to join them. As you scrolled through the notifications, you noticed that none of them were from Beomgyu. 

Your heart sank a little at the realization that Beomgyu hadn't reached out to you. It had been hours since you had discovered his notebook, and the weight of the unanswered questions was becoming unbearable. Why hadn't he said anything? Was he waiting for you to say something? Taking a deep breath, you decided that enough was enough. You couldn't keep dwelling on these uncertainties and waiting for Beomgyu to make the first move. If you wanted answers, you had to be brave enough to seek them out yourself. 

When you glanced at the clock, you saw that it was the time you typically go for your evening stroll. You grabbed his notebook and slipped it into a canvas bag, carefully stepping outside. The evening air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers and a sense of anticipation. The streets were bathed in the warm glow of streetlights, casting long shadows on the pavement as you walked. You arrived at the location Taehyun had sent you, and through the window of the ice cream parlor, you saw them sitting at a table in the far corner.

Your friends looked up in surprise as you entered the ice cream parlor, a mix of concern and curiosity evident on their faces. Taehyun, ever perceptive, noticed the canvas bag slung over your shoulder and the determined look in your eyes.

"You made it!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with relief. 

"We were worried about you."

Taking a seat, you responded with a small smile, though your mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of Beomgyu. Your eyes searched the crowded parlor, hoping to catch a glimpse of him somewhere amidst the sea of faces. But he was nowhere to be found. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when Yeonjun nudged your arm gently. 

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, concern etched into his features.

You blinked, pulling yourself back to the present moment.

 "I'm... I'm fine," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.

"Um, where's Beomgyu?" you asked, mentally facepalming at your voice faltering slightly.

Yeonjun exchanged a glance with Taehyun before answering, his voice laced with sympathy.

 "He... he left a little while ago."

Trying to hide your disappointment, you mustered a smile and nodded, pretending that it didn't bother you as much as it did. 

"Oh, I see," you replied softly. 

"Did he say where he was going?"

Taehyun cleared his throat, exchanging another glance with Yeonjun before answering. 

"No, he didn't mention anything. He just said he had something important to take care of and left in a hurry."

Something important?

Your mind raced with possibilities, then your eyes widened in realization.

"Wait, what time did he leave?" you asked, a sense of urgency creeping into your voice.

 Soobin checked his watch and furrowed his brows. 

"I think it was around thirty minutes ago," he replied, his eyes filled with concern. 

"Is everything okay?"

You stood up abruptly, the canvas bag slipping off your shoulder and hitting the table with a soft thud.

"I need to go," you announced. 

Without waiting for a response, you hastily picked up the canvas bag and rushed out of the ice cream parlor. This morning, Beomgyu had asked to accompany you on your evening walk, and you had agreed to meet at the park.

That park. 

Heart pounding, you picked up your pace as you made your way towards the park. It was a familiar route, one that you had walked countless times together with him. The anticipation in your chest was overwhelming, and all you could hope was that he was there. 

As you entered the park, you scanned the area, searching for any sign of him. Your eyes fell upon a figure sitting on a bench near the pond and relief washed over you as you recognized the familiar silhouette. Beomgyu was there, his head bowed down, engrossed in deep thoughts. You approached him cautiously, not wanting to startle him.

"Beomgyu," you called out softly, your voice carrying both unease and longing.

Beomgyu looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes as he met your gaze. His expression quickly transformed into one of relief, and he stood up, a mix of emotions crossing his face.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said, his voice soft. 

"I had to," you replied, your own voice trembling slightly. 

You pulled his little black notebook out of your bag and clutched it tightly. 

"I found this," you started, holding out the notebook towards him, "when I went back to school to look for mine."

Beomgyu reached out and took the notebook from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. His fingers traced the worn edges, the pages filled with his words and thoughts. He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering with unspoken emotions.

"I was hoping you would. I left it there on purpose," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I wanted you to find it, to know how I felt." 

"Then... then that means-" before you could continue, he pulled your notebook out of his bag and nodded.

Yeah," Beomgyu interrupted, a small smile gracing his lips.

"I found yours." 

As you reached out to take your notebook from Beomgyu's hands, your fingers brushed against each other again, and a tingling sensation coursed through your veins.

"Did you-" you started to ask, but then stopped yourself.

The answer was already clear. If he didn't read your book, he wouldn't have left his for you to find. The unspoken understanding between you and Beomgyu hung in the air, as if time had frozen in that moment. Without a word, Beomgyu stood up and took a step closer to you. The air crackled with anticipation as he reached out, his hand gently reaching out to hold yours. His touch was tender, a tenderness that spoke volumes. 

"I've been wanting to tell you for so long," he whispered, his voice barely audible. 

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you found yourself unable to form a coherent response. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"I've wanted to tell you too," you finally managed to say. 

Beomgyu's eyes searched yours, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand as he leaned closer. 

"Do you remember that party? The one we kissed at?" he asked softly, his voice filled with nostalgia and vulnerability. 

"How could I forget?" you replied softly, your gaze locked with his.

"That was my very first kiss."

"When you told me you'd like the real me, that's when I knew. Since then, it's always been you " he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. 

"You've liked me for that long? But then-" you cut yourself off, realizing it wasn't the appropriate moment to bring it up.

Beomgyu smiled as if he knew what you were going to ask, "all the other boys liked her, so I followed the crowd. Stupid, I know." 

"I've felt the same way," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"I've always seen you, Beomgyu. I've always loved you. It just took me a long time to realize and then accept it." 

Beomgyu's eyes softened, relief and adoration shining in them. 

"I'm sorry it took me so long," you murmured.

"Don't apologize," Beomgyu whispered, his voice filled with delicacy. 

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves around you, as if nature itself was acknowledging the significance of this moment.

Beomgyu leaned in closer, his lips just inches away from yours. 

"Can I ask something else?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. 

You nodded, anticipation coursing through your veins.

"I didn't get to kiss you that second time, can I make up for it now?" 

The question hung in the air as you looked into Beomgyu's eyes and felt your heart race. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you nodded, giving him permission to make up for that missed opportunity.

Beomgyu's eyes lit up with delight and nervousness as he closed the remaining distance between you. His lips met yours in a gentle, sweet kiss. Time seemed to stand still as you melted into each other, the world around you fading away. It was a moment of pure bliss, a culmination of emotions and desires that had been building up for far too long. The kiss was everything, full of promises and possibilities. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him, while yours found their way around his neck, tangling in his soft hair. 

And then, as if the universe had conspired with your group of friends, the sound of clapping and cheers caused you to pull away. You glanced over Beomgyu's shoulder and saw your friends standing there, huge smiles on their faces, applauding the two of you.

Taehyun and Yeonjun were grinning like they had just won the lottery, and Soobin and Kai pretending they had tears welling up in their eyes, wiping them away. You couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Beomgyu turned to look at your friends, his cheeks flushed from the kiss. 

"Guess we've been caught," he mumbled and pulled you closer.

Your friends approached, still clapping and cheering, their laughter echoing through the park.

Taehyun gave you a playful wink while Yeonjun threw an arm around Soobin's shoulders, teasing him about his "emotional" display.

Kai, always the romantic, applauded the loudest and shouted, "Finally! Took you both long enough!"

You blushed looking everywhere but your friends , feeling a mixture of embarrassment and joy. Beomgyu squeezed your hand reassuringly, a silent reminder that this was real, that it was happening.

As the laughter subsided, Yeonjun cleared his throat and glanced at the others mischievously. 

"Well, I think it's time for us to give these two some privacy," he said with a sly grin, playfully nudging Beomgyu. 

Beomgyu chuckled, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea," he replied, his gaze never leaving yours. 

Your friends exchanged knowing glances before making their way towards the park's exit, leaving the two of you alone. The park was now quiet, the only sounds being the soft rustling of leaves. The tranquility of the moment wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, allowing you to fully soak in the reality of what had just transpired.

Beomgyu took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze made your heart skip a beat, and you felt a wave of vulnerability wash over you. This was uncharted territory, a new beginning for both of you. 

"What now?" you asked.

Beomgyu reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a spark deep within your soul. It was a gesture so simple yet so intimate, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never capture.

"Well first," Beomgyu whispered softly, "I think I should ask you properly."

"Ask me what?" you replied, your voice barely a whisper, afraid to break the delicate spell that had woven itself around the two of you. 

Beomgyu took a deep breath and looked into your eyes, his gaze unwavering.

His voice quivered slightly, “Can I be your boyfriend? Will you let me love you and cherish you, like you deserve?" 

The vulnerability and sincerity in his voice made your heart swell with love for him.

You reached out to cup his face gently, your fingertips grazing his cheek.

"Yes," you whispered, "as long as you'll let me love you the same."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. The weight of his feelings enveloped you, filling every corner of your being with warmth and contentment. You pressed your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

"Just so you know," you murmured, "I still plan on writing you love letters like in the book."

"Will you send them to me this time?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Of course," you replied, a giggle escaping your lips. 

"I'll send them straight to your heart."

a/n: thank you for reading, I really hoped you enjoyed it as much as I did while writing it! I've been working on this story since October of last year and it's crazy how the idea stemmed from a little joke I made. As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated and thank you again for reading!

Beomgyu Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[elliespuns]

Something about the way Ellie says "I can't let you leave." keeps nagging at me. It's not threatening or angry. It's almost desperate. It makes me think of how Ellie isn't really looking for revenge anymore. She's traumatized and can't stop reliving Joel's death. She feels like killing Abby is the only way she can move on and get closure. It's not "I won't let you leave." it's "I CAN'T let you leave."

It's like the sunk cost fallacy—she's already done so much shit to get to this point—killed a pregnant lady, about a hundred other people, Jesse's dead because of her, Tommy is crippled, she left Dina—if she gives up now, it means it was all for nothing. She feels like she HAS to kill Abby to make it all mean something. Even if she doesn't even want to anymore.

She was clearly torn after cutting Abby down, and her diary is filled with entries like "What am I doing here?" She even started loading up the boat to leave. But then she has that flashback of Joel lying there lifeless, and she can't keep living with it.

It's before it's not only his mutilated face she sees; suddenly, he appears in her mind alive and well, doing something he always loved—sitting on the porch, strumming his guitar, enjoying his coffee—and that is when she finally… lets herself let go. She's letting go. For him.

[lenaellsi]

It's so interesting that in every single minisode, Aziraphale really is like...the POV character, for lack of a better term.

While we start Job with Crowley alone with the goats for a brief minute, the rest of the episode stays firmly with Aziraphale. We see him in Heaven, discussing the pact between God and Satan with Muriel and the archangels. We see his outrage, his confusion, his guilt. But we never see Crowley receiving his orders from Hell. We know only as much as Aziraphale does about the reasons for Crowley's actions--we don't know that Crowley has saved the goats and is planning on saving the kids until Aziraphale figures it out.

Obviously, the Edinburgh plot line centers Aziraphale's perspective as well, going so far as to have him narrate his thoughts and feelings in the form of a diary entry. We know why he's doing what he's doing, how deep in Heaven's rhetoric he is, and we get his very limited perspective on what happened to Crowley at the end--"that was the last I was to see of Crowley for quite some time." Again, Crowley's perspective on the story as well as what happens to him after it remains a little bit of a mystery, but Aziraphale's thoughts are front and center the whole time.

And 1941. Nothing about 1941 makes sense unless you know exactly what's going on in Aziraphale's head. That's why we get the shot of his face at the beginning, after Crowley hands him the books and walks away--it's saying, look! Aziraphale is in love! This is the story of the night he realized it! And Crowley doesn't know! And while we stick with both Crowley and Aziraphale that whole night, the audience can clearly see the motivation behind all of Aziraphale's actions, because we're in on his secret. We're sharing his headspace in a way we just aren't with Crowley.

But the narrative also plays with that, because in all of these stories, there's a level of "oh honey no" that we're supposed to be feeling with Aziraphale. We see him struggling with God's cruelty in Job, with his fear of falling after he defies the plan, and how it shakes his faith in Heaven, an institution the audience already knows to be corrupt. (Like S1). We see him talk about "the virtues of poverty" and inadvertently cause harm both to humans and to Crowley in his pursuit of Heaven's ideals, all while we are screaming at him to stop. (Like S2). But in 1941 (magic show aside), the audience and Aziraphale are finally on the same page! Yes, you love Crowley! Yes, you can trust Crowley!! Yes, shades of gray!!! Good job, Aziraphale!!!! (...S3?)

Idk what it means, really. I just think it's interesting that we're being offered such a close perspective of Aziraphale's thought process in the flashbacks. Obviously it has to do with priming the audience for his decision in 2x06, but I hope it's also a little preview of what's to come for him in S3.

What this means for Crowley is a different post.

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Exposition And Info Into The Story

This specific post is for @loverboyxbutch who has asked for multiple things with multiple caveats so we have to absolutely get this perfectly answered!

Question One: Exposition And Letters

The quote: I was wondering if you had any advice about telling part of a narrative through things like letters or diary entries?

There are two different ways to incorperate diary entries and letters. It all depends on your formatting

You could have the person's letter be an actual quoted segment of the letter so the reader could physically read it or you could have the basic information be relayed to the reader by the characters.

Neither way isn't better than the other but they do have different pros and cons.

The benefits of quotes is the fact that it allows the reader to see the original writer's personality to come through in their writing. The con is the fact that this quoting can quickly get out of hand and the information is kinda under the emotion.

The benefits of characters relaying the information is the fact that this cuts down on flowing emotion. All the information is laid out there! The negative is the fact that this information lacks emotion and personality.

Objectively speaking, expositio is best gathered through story since it's more natural without having to do an infodump!

Question Two: Balancing Emotion With Info

Quote: "I’m not too sure how to balance the realism and emotion with the information that needs to be displayed."

Remember, realism in stories is less "factually accurate" and more "consistent within itself".

In this case, realism in information is "would this character say this" and "how would this character say this"?

Audiences hate "infodumps" because it feels like the character's personality has turned off and now a college professor is speaking.

So it's definitely important you maintain a character's unique voice and personality when reporting on information. However this can lead to some unreliable narrating.

Ultimately, a character's emotion trumps all else. If a character doesn't have a personality that would reveal all this information in an objective way then they will hide stuff or tell the information in a way that validates their own perspective.

However, in the case a character is willing to reveal information without trying to impress their ideology and beliefs onto your character you need to keep in mind what a character could reasonably know and care about.

Two characters could know the same information but prioritize others. For example, D might focus on the damn bread prices rising again while C is focused on the official's death.

Question 3: What Context The Reader Needs

Quote: "I struggle to imagine how much context the reader would want or need."

This is definitely the hardest thing to answer since this is a highly case by case basis but I will try.

The best universal measurement for what a reader needs to know is how much a character needs to know.

Your characters have information that the readers don't have and the readers have information that the characters don't have but readers don't want to know everything.

Readers need a little confusion and curiousity so they will keep reading and investigating.

The key is to get enough information out there that readers will be emotionally incentived to chase after the rest.

For Worldbuilding, unless this information directly impacts the characters then unfortunately readers just wont care about all the little details.

For future events, forshadowing and outlines are your best friend. You can also use an unconventional story formatting by having "flashbacks" be imbedded into the story as their own individual chapters.

For characters, you can use the "show, don't tell" method. Characters who aren't actively trying to deceive others will lay their personality on their clothing, their face, their room, their friends, and the way they speak.

I hope this was informative @loverboyxbutch . I genuinely appreciate your constant support and I wanted this to be an amazing post for such an amazing mutual :)

[indigovigilance]

Every single minisode is Aziraphale's memory, and why that's [not?] important

There is extensive meta-analysis, my own included, that Before the Beginning is a doctored memory resulting from erasure of Angel!Crowley, and that the trace of him that is left in Aziraphale's memory is the Starmaker, so that this is what we see at the opening of S2. With this foundation of "some scenes are altered memories," we can critically examine the minisodes and see that, in fact, they are ALL Aziraphale's memories that are potentially subject to doctoring.

Evidence (and exploration) below the cut:

A Companion to Owls

The largest part (S2E2 22:10 to 44:00) Book of Job flashback is book-ended by Aziraphale leaning over the physical Book of Job in his bookshop. We enter the memory when Aziraphale enters it, we leave it when he leaves it. Pretty straightforward.

The Ressurrectionists

Similarly, in S2E3, we begin the first flashback to 1827 with Aziraphale's "dear diary" entry. We flash out each time to Aziraphale: in the car to Edinburgh, getting out of the car at the Ressurrectionist Pub, and with Aziraphale staring up at the statue of Gabriel while standing in the graveyard in Edinburgh, respectively for each of the three flashbacks. This all strongly indicates that we've been in his memory.

Nazi Zombie Flesheaters

I didn't even notice until I was doing research for this that basically the entire episode takes place in 1941. From the end of the main title at 5:00 to 37:50, we never come out of the 1941 story. But what is interesting is what bookends this minisode.

Before the main title, Shax has tricked her way into Aziraphale's car and alludes to a time when a rumor started about our ineffable husbands:

Sometime in the last 80 or 90 years I remember hearing that you and Crowley were an item. I didn't believe it then. Not really. Poor old Furfur.

And when we flash back to modern day, we first go to Hell with Shax proposing a full frontal assault on the bookshop, and then we get:

Aziraphale has arrived back in SOHO, and has spent the 8 hour drive reminiscing about what Shax alluded to.

But this part gets even weirder. Because the final line of the episode is:

You're really hosting the meeting? Absolutely! And I can guarantee you: it will be a night to remember!

What this means in context of the 3 memory sequence

This line has been taken by a lot of analysts as a reference to A Night to Remember by Walter Lord, a collection of first person accounts of passengers of the Titanic. Most notably, the thematic ties of this work to the cinematographic design of Good Omens are captured by this quote:

A key to Lord's method is his technique of adopting an unconventional approach to the chronology of the event, "[taking] an imaginative approach to time and space in which hours and minutes prove extremely malleable, the ship itself seems almost infinitely complex, and the disaster assumes order and unity from far away."

Which is an amazing connection, and probably true, in that it was a deliberate reference by the writers. "Malleability of time and space" describes well how this show is put together for us the viewer. But it also illustrates how Aziraphale experiences his relationship with Crowley; skipping over centuries at a time, while dwelling on and protracting intimate moments spent together, create a cohesive whole when viewed from a distance. That whole is their relationship. [Which is about to go down like an unsinkable ship.]

But absent the literary reference, we could even take this line for its literal meaning. Aziraphale is talking about forming new memories, after we have spent the last three episodes living in his memories of times with Crowley that were key to shaping their relationship. This isn't a S1E3-style series of allusions to a furtive, flirtatious, and organically blossoming intimacy; these are rough events where the two are shoved into moral quandaries and forced to make some really difficult decisions that bring them closer together and define "their side." These are core memories, and incredibly precious to Aziraphale. And now, after a few short days in which he has spent a lot of time ruminating on these intense memories, he is embarking upon the task of making another important memory, that is, dancing with Crowley.

Why We Care

Because memories can be altered, all of the information we get from these episodes is subject to a reliable narrator problem. As of the Gabriel trial, we know that memories can be doctored even when the person in question isn't present. Crowley knows that his memories have been removed or altered, and has put painful effort into retrieving them. Aziraphale may not realize that he has suffered the same fate. These memories that he holds so dear might not even be true.

Memory, Identity, and the Relevance of Fidelity

We would probably expect to get some "corrections" to these memories in S3, to see exactly what kind of manipulations our heroes suffered and what that reveals about the motivations of the perpetrators. That's how a paranormal mystery story with a memory manipulation element would normally proceed.

But it will be even more significant if we don't; it would speak to a philosophy-of-self that you are not the product of your objective past, but of what you remember, and so we don't get to know what actually happened because it doesn't matter to informing us about who Aziraphale is.

Aziraphale's love for Crowley springs from what he remembers about their shared past; it doesn't necessarily matter that the memories aren't true, because the love is.

~~~

I realize that I kinda buried the lead, so if you reblog, please tag appropriately? I'm taking suggestions.

If you want to read more on this topic, this meta by @ineffable-suffering is a good place to go.

[lightandfellowship]

KHDR Re:Write - Giving Hermod A More Prominent Character Arc

Urd's rewrite can be found here.

The tl;dr:

Hermod’s initial motivation: To uphold the "greater order" and follow the rules no matter what.

Hermod’s struggle: He doesn’t always agree with the rules, and following them often results in both him and his friends getting harmed. His commitment to following the rules even at the cost of himself partially stems from him feeling like he has no control over his life, and he copes by assuming that (most) authority figures are trustworthy, competent, and have his best interests in mind.

Hermod’s conclusion: He needs to be willing to break the rules and think for himself in order to do what’s right and protect his friends.

Below the read more is a rough outline of how I would implement this character arc into the story. Be forewarned that it's a fairly long and text-heavy post.

Four notes before we begin (feel free to skip):

Rather than this being a full-fledged rewrite where I get to go ham and do whatever I want, instead my goal is to try and demonstrate how the game in its PRE-EXISTING state could have given Hermod a more clear and satisfying character arc via fairly minor changes to the dialog, characters, and story. I want to see if this could have been possible without having to expend too much extra time and resources, since it seems like a lack of time/resources/budget is why his story got cut in the first place. So I won’t be doing anything drastic like creating entirely new episodes or anything like that. Same worlds. Same number of episodes. Same sequence of events. Same overarching plot.

Ideally, I would have liked to convey certain details about these characters and their story via secret reports/diary entries. Specifically, the sorts of details that would slow the pace down or feel a little too direct/clunky if addressed within the story itself. However, because of the self-imposed restriction I talked about in point 1 (i.e. no drastic alterations to the game or additions that would require extensive effort to implement), I won't be utilizing such a format, and so I will sometimes have the characters speak a bit more openly/directly about their feelings/thoughts than I otherwise would've liked.

Because I have a lot to say, I won't be providing summaries of the episodes I'm discussing as I explain my story changes. A fairly solid recollection of the game's events is...perhaps not required, but certainly helpful for understanding what I'm talking about and how I arrived at my choices.

I don't claim to know better than the writers or even be an experienced writer myself, this is just how I personally would approach giving Hermod a more prominent character arc, because I think we can all at least agree that Hermod didn't get enough focus in this game. If Hermod's story hadn't been cut (presumably), I have no doubt that Tomoco Kanemaki would have come up with something better than what I'm proposing here.

But anyway, without further ado:

Hermod's Motivation and Personality

"Simple as that."

During the flashback where the underclassmen are asked why they want to become Keyblade Masters, Hermod is initially flustered at the question, as if he either didn't have a good answer prepared or was reluctant to say what it was. He averts his gaze and noncommittally agrees with everyone else’s reasons, avoiding the question somewhat, but then he clarifies that he’s doing it so that he can “uphold the greater order." This phrasing is a little vague, but I assume he basically just means that he wants to uphold the law of Scala, Keyblade wielders, and Light.

Based on his behavior and dialog here, it almost seems like Hermod became a Keyblade wielder for much the same reason as Eraqus: it was just expected of him. It was what he was told to do, and he always does as he’s told. But he nonetheless is content with the path chosen for him because he knows that it’s the best way to uphold order and protect his loved ones. As his official bio states, “he plays the role of big brother as he looks out for and takes care of everyone.”

Honestly, I think even in the base game Hermod’s “arc” is fairly obvious: he goes from strictly following the rules to being willing to break them for his friends. However, the problem is that the game doesn’t really focus on Hermod enough to make this arc feel sufficiently developed and explored. As in, the end of his arc just kinda happens abruptly with very little build up. So, in my rewrite, I’m going to have Hermod more frequently demonstrate his commitment to upholding order, and have him do it in a way that impacts the events of the story more, while also having the narrative address the consequences of that mindset more directly.

Also, as an aside, Hermod's official bio makes special mention of his anger, but I don’t think the game showcases that aspect of his character enough? So I'll try to incorporate his anger into the story just a tiny bit more. To be clear, I don't really want his anger to be framed as, like, this major character flaw of his (for the purposes of this rewrite, his major character flaw is going to be his aforementioned strict rule-following), I just want it to crop up more often in the story to add more Flavor to his character. It seems like the original intent was for Hermod to be the fire to Urd's ice, but the game doesn't really convey that all too well, if you ask me.

Before we move on, I want to quickly summarize some canon aspects of Hermod's character that are going to be important to this arc, things that are consistently established about him throughout the game, to the point where it would be silly of me to list every single example of these character traits as I walk you through my rewrite (I will be mentioning some of them in more detail later, though).

He's a model student. Hermod tends to be the one who takes charge in class; he's the one who approaches Odin with the underclassmen's issues, speaks on behalf of the underclassmen, and volunteers for tasks. He also tends to prioritize Odin's wishes and judgment.

There's some implied friction between him and Eraqus that eases up as time goes on. He tends to give Eraqus annoyed and disapproving looks whenever Eraqus talks back to Odin or says something ignorant. That being said, he also seems fond of Eraqus, smiling and laughing at jokes about his antics.

With that, let's get into the rewrite.

Episodes 1-2: Establishing Hermod's Character, and "The Problem"

To start off with, I want to point out a small detail at the very beginning of the game that leads me to believe that Hermod isn’t actually satisfied with being such a well-behaved rule-follower.

When the underclassmen talk about the potential existence of newborn worlds that don’t have rules or laws set in place yet, Hermod, after some quiet contemplation, remarks with “Then the rules can be changed...” (this is even the quote chosen for Hermod’s official bio, no less!) The fact that this thought crossed Hermod’s mind at all, and the fact that the narrative chose him specifically to be the one to deliver this line, makes me think that he has some unspoken desire to see the rules be changed despite his best efforts to be a model student. This is great, because it provides a decent foundation for his character arc and hidden depths.

TANGENT: I want to highlight a moment in Episode 1 that will be relevant to this rewrite later. Namely, Hermod getting annoyed at Eraqus talking back to Odin. (As I said before, there are several other moments throughout the game where Hermod looks at Eraqus with an annoyed/disapproving look, but I'm only going to mention this one.)

Anyway, on to the actual changes. First off, much like the Urd rewrite, I’m removing the mechanic from Episodes 1-3 that lets you choose your third party member for the cutscenes. Why? It just doesn't make for good writing in this particular case; the dialog has to be at least semi-generic across all the characters in order to make swapping them out easier, and that's simply not conducive to giving the characters unique character traits and individual focus.

Episode 1 is mostly uneventful and focuses more on Urd in my rewrite for her, so let's move on to Episode 2.

Urd is your party member for this episode (for reasons I explained in Urd’s rewrite), and Hermod, Vor, and Bragi are the three party members that get put on trial. And rather than all three of them yielding to the Card Soldiers because they unanimously agreed to not mess with the world order, instead it was HERMOD’S idea specifically. Bragi suggested that they fight back, and since Vor’s bio mentions that she “shies away from battle”, she suggested that they try to run away and evade capture. Hermod points out, however, that the best way to avoid disturbing the order would be to follow the laws of this world and not cause trouble.

Vor and Bragi are hesitant but ultimately decide to trust Hermod’s judgment on the matter, as they tend to rely on him as a big brother figure anyway. This serves to highlight how Hermod will follow the rules and obey authority even when he doesn’t necessarily agree with what’s happening to him or is put in serious danger because of it. Now, none of this happens on-screen of course, because we also didn't see what happened in the base game either, but we'll find out about it after the trial.

Speaking of the trial. When Xehanort, Eraqus, and Urd find the other underclassmen at the court on trial, it is Hermod who is leading the defense. In the base game, either Bragi or Hermod will lead the defense depending on who you picked as your third party member, but since I want the trial plotline to focus more on Hermod, in this rewrite it is only ever Hermod who stands in front and speaks to the Queen of Hearts. (A quick note, if you compare the two different versions of this scene, the one where Hermod leads and the one where Bragi does, Hermod comes across as a bit more apologetic, whereas Bragi puts his foot down more about what he's willing to take responsibility for. Hermod: "Okay, I apologize for trespassing." vs Bragi: "Wait, I'll own up to tresspassing, but that's it.")

Anyway, back to Hermod and the rewrite. At first, he's a bit of a bootlicker, being very polite and trying his best to placate the Queen while also calmly defending himself and his friends. After a while of trying and failing to reason with the Queen however, Hermod loses his patience and explodes at her. He pretty much immediately regrets it and tries to backpedal in a panic, stammering the entire time, but it's too late—that was the last straw for the Queen. Just like in the base game, Xehanort, Eraqus, and Urd recognize the danger and intervene to try and talk the Queen down from executing their friends. The cutscenes then proceed just like they do in the base game, with the Queen demonstrating that her rule is based on her subjects living in fear of her.

After the trial, the discussion the underclassmen have about the darkness in people's hearts being more dangerous than the Heartless still happens, but either before or after it there is a separate (but still interconnected) discussion where Hermod apologies to the others and takes responsibility for his idea to surrender themselves to the Card Soldiers, explaining his reasoning for why he did that. Namely, that as Keyblade wielders, it was their duty to not disrupt the order in any way, and their hands were tied.

Xehanort and the party exchange Knowing glances to indicate that this isn’t uncommon behavior for Hermod (and also that they’re not exactly pleased about how quickly and easily he relented to the Card Soldiers, not putting up much of an argument or fight) but they silently agree to not confront Hermod about it since he had no way of knowing what a farce the trial was going to be. Perhaps letting themselves get captured would have been the correct decision if Wonderland’s court system was actually fair. Instead they assure him that they understand why he thought that not fighting back or running away was the best decision in the moment, but nonetheless he needs to be more careful in the future. Hermod agrees and is genuinely apologetic for putting his friends in danger, but there’s still a hint of irritation in his expression. He still thinks that adamantly refusing to disrupt the order was the inarguably right decision to make; after all, it’s what they were specifically instructed to do by Master Odin. And if there's one thing that Hermod refuses to do, it's break the rules.

Episode 3: Minor Details of Note

Episode 3 isn't a Hermod focused episode in my rewrite, but there are two details from this episode that I find worth mentioning.

Detail 1: Unique dialog from Hermod that won't exist in my rewrite (because I have Vor slotted for Episode 3) but I think says a lot about Hermod: "But the Tweedles didn't seem to be cowering under [The Queen's] rule. They looked happy enough to me." Does Hermod perhaps consider himself "happy enough" with his life, and thus makes no attempts to change or improve his circumstances?

Detail 2: When Eraqus starts getting angry and upset at Xehanort because Xehanort said that the upperclassmen might have been felled by darkness (presumably, a painful reminder of the fate that befell Eraqus' grandfather), Hermod looks sympathetic, puts his hand on Eraqus' shoulder, and tries to calm Eraqus down. Though Hermod is sometimes at odds with Eraqus, he seems to know about what happened to Eraqus' grandfather, and tries to be understanding about it. At the end of the day, they are good friends even if they don't agree on everything.

Episode 5: Further Emphasizing Hermod's Personality and His Dilemma

Canonically, Episode 3 (if you choose Vor to be your party member like the game prompts you to) and Episode 4 are more Vor focused, and in my rewrites Episode 5 is Urd focused, but we can squeeze a couple of minor Hermod moments in Episode 5 to keep things balanced.

Specifically through Cogsworth and the Beast, as people of authority in the castle that Hermod can show respect to.

With Cogsworth, I just imagine Hermod being very polite with him and being more than willing to help him get the rose back, giving him respect as the head of the household.

Same goes for the Beast (in fact, in the base game it is Hermod who speaks/approaches the Beast first, not Urd like you'd expect), but when the Beast tries to viciously attack Hermod despite the underclassmen being very polite and reasonable with him, afterwards Hermod makes a comment about how surprised he is that someone in such a respectable position as lord of the castle would act like that and yet still garner such love and loyalty from his servants. Genuine loyalty, not the fake, fear-based loyalty that the Queen of Hearts commanded back in Episode 2.

"There's still much we don't know about this world and its residents. Perhaps we're missing something important. Or perhaps this world is like Wonderland; it's just the order of things." says Xehanort. "Maybe he's not so bad once you get to know him?" offers Urd.

And like, that's the thing, right. The Beast definitely needs to learn how to treat his servants better, but he lashes out because he's hurting, not out of genuine disdain for them like the Queen of Hearts, and deep down he really does care about his family at the castle even if he doesn't always show it. If Hermod can somehow recognize that that is what's going on, if he can recognize what exactly makes the Queen of Hearts and the Beast different despite their similar temperaments, then he can also realize that "Hey, people who genuinely care about you and your wellbeing probably deserve your loyalty more, and those who don't, don't." (Not that the Beast is a terribly great example of this given his nonetheless inexcusable behavior, but you get the idea.)

I can imagine Hermod starting to realize what conditions are required to birth true loyalty in people's hearts after they return the rose to the Beast, and the party finally sees him in a more calm, grateful state. This could be a discussion that Xehanort, Hermod, and Urd have as they leave the castle, capping off their adventure there.

BUT regardless of whether or not Hermod ends up seeing the hidden humanity of the Beast, once again Hermod is being presented with a wrathful, flawed authority figure wielding power against their subjects in unfair ways, and not yet recognizing how his alarmed and frustrated emotional responses to these scenarios could be applied to his own life and circumstances.

(And, honestly, maybe seeing such extreme examples of anger being wielded carelessly and spitefully against people who don't deserve it would make Hermod re-examine his own anger issues too and learn how to wield/direct his anger more responsibly? I know I said I didn't want his anger to be the focus of this rewrite (especially since anger isn't inherently bad) but the connection that can be drawn here is still a little too juicy to pass up, don't you think. Also, in addition to the Queen of Hearts and the Beast being examples of extreme anger wielded carelessly, there's also Hades to consider, who is known for his own unique brand of fiery, explosive anger as well. Keep him in mind for later.)

Episode 6: Confrontation and Introspection

The next set of major events relevant to Hermod’s development occur in Episode 6. In fact, Episode 6 is like, THE Hermod episode.

Episode 6 starts off with Jafar trying to trick Xehanort, Urd, and Hermod into going to the Cave of Wonders and fetching the lamp for him, lying about how the lamp is crucial to saving the kingdom. In the base game, Hermod is the first one in the group to show sympathy for Jafar and start falling for Jafar’s ruse, to the point that Urd worriedly grabs his hand to stop him when he starts to approach Jafar after overhearing Jafar's "woes".

In this rewrite, I’m taking inspiration from that little interaction and having Hermod be way more trusting of Jafar than Xehanort and Urd are, implicitly respecting Jafar’s authority as the royal vizier. So rather than Xehanort being the one who agrees to help Jafar (because he has suspicions about the lamp and wants access to the Cave of Wonders) with Hermod acting surprised/displeased at Xehanort’s willingness, instead it's Hermod who enthusiastically agrees to help, with Xehanort and Urd acting a little surprised and displeased but nonetheless going along with it (due to the aforementioned "the lamp might be important to our mission actually.")

There's also a moment during this scene where Xehanort and Urd start poking holes in Jafar's sob story and Hermod seems surprised/displeased that they're so rudely questioning Jafar like that, and obviously I'm keeping that in since it exemplifies Hermod's hesitation to question authority.

Afterwards, as the party makes their way down into the Cave of Wonders, Xehanort voices his doubts about Jafar’s intentions. In my rewrite, rather than Hermod instantly trusting Xehanort’s judgment of Jafar’s character, instead I want Hermod to argue with Xehanort about it. Hermod doesn't understand why Xehanort is accusing Jafar of nefarious intentions without any evidence to back it up, especially since Jafar seemed so...NORMAL and COMPASSIONATE compared to the other authority figures they've encountered so far. He's just trying to save his city, is that really so bad? says Hermod.

Xehanort, realizing that "I can feel his greed/darkness tho" doesn't really qualify as hard evidence, but ALSO being kinda fed up with Hermod's inflexibility and compliance up until this point, calls him out on not thinking for himself and just blindly following authority even when they're so CLEARLY suspect. Must I remind you about what happened with the Queen of Hearts, Hermod?

Hermod, shocked and offended at being criticized like that, and also getting defensive at having his Major Character Flaw thrown into his face, scoffs but doesn’t argue the point further. However, he’s still very visibly angry, and short with Xehanort whenever they do happen to exchange words. "Whatever. Let's go find this lamp already and get back to our mission." Or something like that.

It’s only when the party runs into Bragi and Eraqus who reveal that Jafar tasked them with the exact same dangerous mission too without ever mentioning them to Xehanort and company that Hermod is finally convinced that Xehanort had been right all along. Jafar was treating them like disposable pawns and knowingly sending them into a death trap.

He also realizes that he was naive to trust Jafar so easily just because he was a charismatic authority figure. Before, Hermod was presented with the unfortunate reality of some authority figures just being plain cruel and incompetent and careless, but here he learns that they can also be deceitfully charismatic on top of that, and that it's not always going to be obvious when you're being taken advantage of.

He apologizes to Xehanort for (yet again) dragging his friends into danger due to his own personal hang-ups and choosing to trust Jafar, a stranger, over Xehanort, his close friend. Feeling the need to explain himself, he confesses that lately, he has felt like he has had no control over his life (perhaps with the implication that his family is really strict and expect way too much from him?), and the only way he knew how to cope with that was to assume that the authority figures controlling every aspect of his life were trustworthy, knew what they were doing, and had his best interests in mind. If he believed that with all his heart, then he could accept his lack of freedom to make his own choices, and be content with it. Xehanort, realizing that he was overly harsh on Hermod earlier, apologies as well.

TANGENT: Once again, I wish to highlight a moment from the base game that will be relevant later. Namely, Hermod and Eraqus starting to act more and more like each other.

Moving on: In addition to Vidar trying to recruit Eraqus in the lamp room, I want Vidar to try to recruit Hermod as well, because there's an awfully convenient similarity between the two of them that's relevant here. In that very scene, Vidar talks about how he and his friends heeding what they were taught (i.e. “don’t mess with the order no matter what”) is what resulted in four of them dying in the first place. Vidar had to learn the hard way what happens when you blindly follow the rules without considering your own opinions on what the right thing to do is. This lesson is absolutely what Hermod needs to learn, too. Perhaps Vidar’s entreaty isn’t enough to convince Hermod to join him, but in conjunction with the Wonderland fiasco and Jafar’s deceit from earlier, it’s certainly enough to make Hermod start re-evaluating himself. 

Specifically, I can imagine this theoretical Vidar and Hermod interaction slotting somewhere after Hermod's canon line "...upsetting each world's order is the worst thing you could do." (Is it? Perhaps Hermod will change his mind about this very soon...) Maybe it goes something like this (my added dialog in italics):

"I don't have a clue about true darkness and how much of a threat it is, but upsetting each world's order is the worst thing you could do." says Hermod, angrily. "'Don't upset the order,' huh? That's what we were taught, too." [Upperclassmen classroom flashback, followed by Vidar explaining that the other upperclassmen are dead, just like in the base game.] "And what about you, Hermod?" "Huh?" Hermod's anger gives way to confusion. "How has 'upholding the order' treated you and your friends so far? In Wonderland, and here in Agrabah?" (<-knowledge he got from spying on them.) "..." "If there's one thing I've learned from all of this, it's that you can't let darkness have its way. Not ever. Otherwise, it'll take away everything you care about the moment you give it the chance. If you wish to protect your friends...then you must fight it. So why not join me, and fight it?"

Hermod, much like Eraqus, refuses Vidar's offer, being worried about what might happen to the worlds if Vidar continues to steal the items of world order. But now he has something to mull over.

Episode 7: Realization and Resolve

Episode 7 is where Hermod's arc concludes (naturally, since he dies here.)

A couple of canon moments from this episode I want to highlight before we get to my changes, since I think they're important to Hermod's arc:

In the scene where Odin and the underclassmen discuss Vidar's plans to purge true darkness, Odin says to Hermod and the underclassmen "However, it has not yet been determined that what we face now is true darkness. And if it is indeed so, will you risk the lives of countless others to save your friends?" A question that we will actually get an answer to quite soon.

After Odin relieves the underclassmen from their duty, Hermod despairs over this fact and acts like there's nothing they can do about it since Odin's word is absolute. We see his anger and frustration spill out due to his conflicting feelings on the matter. He seems to be at a crossroads, unsure of what the best thing to do is. You get the impression that he is on the cusp of doing something uncharacteristic of him.

Anyway, Episode 7 remains mostly the same up until the Hades boss fight that occurs due to Hades claiming to have imprisoned Bragi or Baldr. Hermod, after much internal conflict, finally decides to break the rules and agrees to fight the literal GOD of the Underworld (you could not have asked for a more fitting ending to Hermod's arc than that) in order to save his friends, wielding his anger compassionately and strategically to protect what's most important to him. This acts as a bookend to the Wonderland episode; there, Hermod’s refusal to fight an authority figure nearly got him and his friends executed, but here he’s finally realized that he needs to follow his heart and do what he thinks is right, even if that means disregarding his orders or disobeying those in power. He nearly got his friends killed last time; he won’t let that happen again.

However, instead of Hermod showing up after the Hades boss fight, I want him to show up before it and actually be involved in the battle. And since Eraqus and Hermod are usually at odds with each other due to Eraqus’s flippant and disrespectful attitude towards authority, I think it would be very emblematic of Hermod’s change of heart for him to protect Eraqus in the battle. (Remember those canon Eraqus and Hermod moments I highlighted? This is where they finally pay off. This moment of Hermod putting himself in danger to save Eraqus works without me having to add any extra details to lead up to it. Nice.) So at one point Hades gets very close to offing Eraqus. but Hermod jumps in front of him just in time to fend Hades off, getting seriously injured in the process. 

So later in the dark corridor when Hermod starts passing out way before Urd does, it’s specifically because of the extra wounds he sustained in the fight, adding another layer of tragedy to his death. He stood up for his friends and what he believed was right, discarding his strict adherence to the rules and disrupting the order in the process, but the ironic cost of that choice was that he was too hurt/exhausted to properly protect Urd and himself from Baldr. He did his best, and realized his error in time, but unfortunately that just wasn’t enough. This game is a tragedy where nothing goes right despite how hard the characters try to change for the better, after all.

And that's my pitch. As before, if you have any ideas, feedback, or criticisms, feel free to add on. Thanks for reading to the end.

[lynxgriffin]

How can Paper Trail end, when Kris didn't even enter the seventh Dark World? The justification you gave for ending it there is that "what happens next is... not for the player to know". But the SOUL wasn't destroyed, only severed, so what's stopping them from continuing to observe? You didn't need to give a justification at all. (ask continued)

(continuation) Isn't the timing of the SOUL gaining control of Kris awfully convenient? Why does Gaster think he knows when the story will end? After all, its actual ending was premature, from his point of view. Why didn't you give a transcript for Lemon Ralsei's prophecy? And how did he get those scars? One more Paper Trail ask: do the soul traits of each prince have any relation to the content of their diary entry? Because if they do, I can't spot it. I lied, heres another PT ask: is there any real reason why the princes can travel between dark worlds and combine, or is it just some bullshit power they get from being connected to Kris?

Geez okay so that's a whole lot of PT and DOFP critical asks. I'm just going to do all of those at once because I don't want to spread that out over six asks. Maybe uh...next time try and consolidate those?

The whole idea is that the player can't observe the world of Deltarune without that connection to Kris. If that connection is severed, then so is the ability to observe and interact with that world.

Gaster thinks that he understands the player well enough to believe that they will not let go of Kris until they know what happens. The player choosing to let go of Kris without knowing what happens is unexpected for him, so yes, from his point of view, it is premature.

If you mean when Gaster got his scars, he just got them over the course of his work. He's clearly not working safely!

I can't remember, but I think I did give a transcript? If not, people were able to work out what Lairse's legend was, anyway.

The soul traits for the princes relate to the feelings/behavior that Asriel expresses through the diary entries, and specifically link up to how the souls move. For example, for Eslira, his worries over what Kris is doing -> Eslira's fear of a human lightner -> he tends to isolate himself and stay in one place -> teal soul is "don't move, and you won't get hurt."

And all of the princes can do that by the end when enough connections have been established between them, and because they're special compared to how other Darkners work. It probably would not have worked early on in the adventure, even if they did know how to do it.

DOFP ask - Why does Greatest Dog's save file date back to just before they joined the guard? At the time, GD wouldn't have DT, so my assumption is that the save file updates on its own, but you need DT in order to LOAD. But why is that the last time it updated? What does Greater Dog mean when they the first subject's "face was different"? Did they have a blaster... GRAFTED onto their face? Why?

Greatest Dog mentions this in the story: this was the day he was supposed to get his special armor, and he wanted to remember this day forever. Even if he has no direct control over his save file, that's still something that would stick as "important! save here!"

You see in a flashback that the monster is wearing a mask akin to the machinery that looks like a Gaster blaster. This gives the idea that the mask/machinery altered their face, although this wasn't intentional on Gaster's part.

[prying-pandora666]

“The Search” Rewrites, Book 4: Air, Leaks, and A Call for Help from the Fandom

I’ve talked a little about the Book 4: Air restoration project @book4air. If you haven’t seen it yet, check it out! Three full episodes are already out and episode 4 is going to cover Zuko’s early days right after his banishment, exploring his relationship with Iroh and the world as Zuko understands it as a lost boy rapidly coming into manhood.

Wait until you hear the VA’s performance with music and everything! It’ll break your heart.

But I want to talk a little bit about what comes after these next few episodes: our adaptation of “The Search”.

If you’ve seen our adaptation of “The Promise”, you’ll know it was quite faithful. This won’t be the case for “The Search”. For the purposes of the overarching story we are telling, this story is getting overhauled. (Please still support the original release if you’d like to see the canon version).

The biggest change that’s been announced is the addition of Toph. The team felt that a story about family, identity, and faces could benefit from including Toph’s perspective as she comes from a unique but toxic family situation, has a strong conflict between the performance expected of her versus who she really is, and is completely blind and so faces don’t even register for her.

Here is the sample scene we released:

But I want to talk a little bit about what we are changing about Zuko and Azula’s roles in the story. While the set up is virtually unchanged, there is one small alteration that makes a big difference.

(Sorry for the poor quality, this is technically unreleased content and I’m being kinda risky leaking it.)

Ursa’s letters are now a diary. This means that rather than get random flashbacks, the narrative framing now becomes Zuko and Azula reading these entries together. As a result, they get to discuss their discoveries about their family, and even share each other’s perspectives.

What that means is that when things like Zuko dangling Azula over the cliff happen, now we actually are forced to address it. The characters have to talk about how they treat each other and the reasons why. They have to confront the toxic family dynamic they’ve been forced and groomed into since childhood. Zuko has to realize his mentally ill little sister isn’t the monster here and in fact he’s the one with all the power now, and Azula has to realize that Zuko can be trusted if she can let go of her fear long enough to talk to him about her vulnerabilities.

We also address issues like this:

Many people criticize this for being OOC, but I think there’s a way this could easily not be. Sokka has been known to be juvenile and reactionary as a first response, the difference is that he always eventually apologizes and learns from his mistakes. Without even needing to be asked.

Threatening a mentally ill person who has just been removed from an asylum—even as a joke—is not okay. It would be questionable even if they’d been friends before this, but considering their prior relationship it really does seem like an boneheaded lack of awareness or compassion for how triggering this could be.

So rather than remove this interaction, we addressed it. And I am really taking a risk posting this here, but here is a brand new script page:

Sokka isn’t just comic relief. Sokka is smart, Sokka is compassionate, Sokka is brave, and Sokka knows when it’s time to apologize and reach out versus when it’s time to fight.

Safe to say, there are several things that stay the same and we tried to keep faithful to the spirit of the story, but there’s a lot we wanted to do for the Gaang and for the Fire Sibs, and I hope you’ll join us on this adventure, whether you’re a diehard fan of the comics and just looking for a fun AU, or you hate the comics and would like a rewrite, or even if you’ve never read them and would just love to return to the world of ATLA.

The only trouble is, we can’t do it alone. The project is very expensive and time consuming to produce. Our team pays for everything out of pocket and some of us don’t even have reliable housing, so it’s been a hard time.

If you can help in any way, even only by spreading the word so YouTube will stop burying us in the algorithm, that would be huge!

If you can afford to help, we have a Patreon where you can get all sorts of early goodies.

Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated! As the head writer and voice of Azula, this project is very near and dear to me. Avatar was my first pro-writing gig when I was just a homeless 19 year old, and it’s here for me again as I struggle to rebuild my life and health that COVID destroyed.

I love this series and the community that has helped me through the hardest times in my life. I can’t wait to make something beautiful with you all!

[hotchfiles]

finale. damn your love.

pairing: james x fem!reader.

content warnings: james being kind of an ass, cheating on lily, lily will be probably shit talked (i luv her i'm very sorry !), mistress!reader, uhhh cursing, not totally AU but like... canon divergent i would say. probably hurt/no comfort unless i switch the ending but--

worth mentioning: reader insert with no use of names or “y/n”. paragraphs completely in italic are flashbacks. pro quidditch player!james. muggle born!reader.

word count: 2,1k

chapter 4, finale.

      You spent the whole afternoon with some cousins, talking about the whole France thing, asking questions and trying to understand why they didn't move there when your aunt, their mother, did. Stable job, pregnancy... All reasons you certainly didn't have to hold you back. You could ask to be transferred to France's Ministry of Magic, or just take a muggle job as you thought about sometimes. And you definitely didn't have a baby on the way, nor a husband, or a boyfriend.

      Still, your heart was full of uncertainty, it's the perfect place to fall in love, one of your cousins said, and you laughed as if love wasn't the problem to begin with, as if love wasn't the one thing pushing you away from your home town because you were too weak.

      You got home and by instinct started roaming around your apartment, looking at every picture, the place was full of things you loved, things you were dearly attached to and would deeply miss like your friends, the rest of your family, the London weather you could always see from your window... And obviously, James.

      You weren't innocent to believe he would even remember you when making a decision like this, you very much knew if the roles were reverse he probably would be in France by now, and that hurt, that cut your heart deeply, knowing he didn't care was a terrible feeling, but still, you cared, you didn't really want to live away from him, because even after everything he put you through, you loved him.

      Even when you were angry you couldn't imagine a life without James, it wasn't easy to switch your brain around completely, fact was that for too long you were sure that being close to him, that having him even for a night was the best for you, because you had him. And a life where you wouldn't have him at all seemed... Empty.       But that emptiness seemed like such a relief if it came with no longer being his second option, not having to hear her name, not being the one he looks for to complain about her while also not doing anything to leave her. That seemed comforting. And the right thing. But you still were confused. It was too big of a decision that you had to make all on your own, anyone you told about it would certainly tell you to move and leave him behind. It was the right choice. So you couldn't.

      While looking for a painkiller in your drawers (crying always gave you a headache, and you've been doing it a lot the last few days) you found the worst possible thing you could: A memories book. You and James had made two of those the last year of Hogwarts. With pictures and little notes and diary entries. The first page was your first picture together from when you were eleven, it was winter time, you both had your cold clothes on but still your cheeks and noses were extremely red.       The picture itself was already a punch to the gut, but alongside there was his handwriting, meaning you probably left something on his as well, "you complete me since I was eleven. Back then I didn't know how big that was, but now I do, meeting you was the most important thing to ever happen to me. You're my best friend and I love you. From eleven to forever."

      You tried to hold back the tears but it was inevitable, it was terrible to see how much things had changed since then, the person who once said you completed him, now would go months and months without talking to you, and then appear out of nowhere at your door in the middle of the night, it was always like that now.

      Now the moments where you really felt like he needed you were rare, very different than how he was as a teenager, then there was a constant need to listen to you, to be helped by you, to touch you. And it was the same for you, and it hasn't changed for you, but it has for him.

      Each picture from that album was a different knife to your chest, each photo causing you another wave of sobs as you compulsively cried. Every memory confused you even more, because in London you had that man, not always, but when you did it was like you were complete again, and when you were away from each other, you felt empty. You didn't want to feel empty forever.

      In a moment of pure nostalgia you came to the conclusion that your James, the James from those pictures, still existed, even if just deep down, well in the back of his mind, he did still exist, and if you two could finally talk with honesty without fighting, you could bring that James back and you could work it out.

      Before you could loose that single string of courage, you took your wand from your nightstand and conjured your patronus, non corporal as always, with time it began to feel humiliating to have yours mirroring his after so many years, your message with it was simple, yet desperate: I really really need you right now, come see me.

      You felt relief, knowing he would be there soon and you two would talk. At least that's what you expected him to do. But he never came. Nor did he send a response. And truly, you could expect anything coming from him, but not that, you were clearly distraught in your message, and it still didn't matter. Just a new way to disappoint you.

      Then you finally, finally saw the problem for what it was: You romanticized everything about that man, you could find beauty in every disappearance, you saw loving gazes when there was only lust in his eyes. There was no love coming from James, not for you. And you should have noticed that the first time he disappointed you. But you loved him too much and you thought things would be fine one day.

      And nothing would ever be fine, not as long as you let him treat you like that, not if you kept answering to his pleads. Not if you still opened the door for him.

      You were very nervous, but in the best way. It had been some weeks since the last time you had seen and talked to James, being one of Appleby Arrows' newest and youngest chasers was very time consuming, and you respected that. But he was home, you knew he was, Sirius had told you over letter when he would be back. You wanted to surprise him.

      You weren't dating anymore for some time now, for no other reason other than the fact he couldn't be the boyfriend you deserved right now because of the team. You understood that, you thought it was endearing how he was thinking of you that way, and you still missed him when he was gone, you missed his smile, his eyes, his voice, his curls, his blurred glasses you would always have to clean.

      You two had an unbreakable bond, best friends who were always there for each other, and even after breaking up you both had spent a few nights together, some just cuddling, some more than that. You didn't mind because you knew James loved you, and that he was just busy right now.

      You apparate directly at his door without notice, the perks of being of age, and knocked on the door a few times, not even trying to hide the smile that took half of your face, you were so excited to hear him talk about the games, to see him, to feel his arms around your waist. To just think you were a few steps from feeling his scent... You were glad the torture of being away was over for now.

      Ms. Euphemia is the one to open the door and you try not to notice how her smile simply disappeared as soon as she noticed it was you by the door, it was probably your imagination, she always liked you, actually, she loved you, you were always called for family dinners and vacations, you were part of the family, just as James was a part of yours.

      "Darling! Didn't expect you so soon..." she sounds concerned, her head turning around for a slight second, seemingly checking for something, before giving you room to come in. "Come in, sweetheart."

      You hug her in appreciation, and also because you've missed her almost as much as you missed her son.

      "Jamie's home, right?"

      "Yes dear, in the kitchen... But be careful."

      You don't understand what she means at first and you don't try to hard to, you don't have time to, your steps quick to the kitchen, regret filling your mind and your heart as soon as you did so.

      James had a girl by his side, you knew very much who she was even, from Hogwarts, Gryffindor like the both of you. Lily Evans. Their hands were intertwined, his smile that once was only yours was freely being directed at her, and worse than that, you see him brush his lips, that were also yours, on hers.

      Your heart shatters. You feel like there's no floor to fall to anymore. You didn't know what to do, how to deal with that. You were so sure he loved you, that he didn't want a serious commitment simply because of his job, and now you saw with your own eyes that he just didn't want to commit to you.

      You take the deepest breath you've ever taken, holding your tears back as you try to maintain at least some of your pride. He didn't even notice you were there, too busy completely lovesick for the one in front of him. You turn around and get out of their sight, Euphemia looks at you with the saddest eyes and calls you with her hands for a hug, which you gladly take. You can't hold the tears anymore, so you cry.

      "I'm messin' up your blouse," you whine, feeling so sorry for that you couldn't even put into words, it was silly.

      "Dear, my son broke your heart, don't mind the blouse." She hugs you even tighter as you both hear laughter coming from the kitchen, "You'll always be my favorite. My James will see how wrong he is, just wait a little."

      You slowly agree with a nod, and as you both notice steps approaching, she lets you go from the hug.

You can hear James asking her if it was you just as you close the door and apparated back to your house. That was the last time you saw both of them for... You don't even know how long.

      Euphemia told you to wait a little, and unconsciously you followed her advice, but you couldn't wait anymore, that was too much, it had been years, too many years, he made your life hell by taking advantage of the fact you felt in heaven by his side.

      You let yourself sob, this time in total and complete rage, taking the book full of memories in your hand and throwing it in a trashcan.

      Incendio.

      You were going to burn him out if you couldn't ignore the memories. You watched the flames dance as they destroyed the paper, but the feeling in your gut didn't get smaller. And to think he was probably having a nice time with his girlfriend by now made you even more angry. Angry at him, resentful at yourself for letting it get this far.

      You went back to the room and screamed in fury, throwing every single one of the frames containing pictures of you two on the floor, you desperately wanted him out, you didn't want anything to do with him anymore, you wanted him gone, gone.

      You spent the next hours going through everything you had, burning pictures, breaking CDs, destroying plushies, ripping clothes apart, you knew for sure your neighbours would call the police at some point because of the breaking sounds and your yelling, but you didn't care anymore.

      And then...

      Your eyes fell to your bed, and you realized it didn't matter how much you tried to get him out of your home, James had plastered himself everywhere. Everything reminded you of him. You truly couldn't be there anymore. You couldn't sleep in that bed, in that room anymore.

      And you knew, there was no confusion. London wasn't your home anymore.

      So you left. Your apartment. Your hometown. Your beloved country.

      And most importantly. You left James.

tag: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @dreamsygirl

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Let me at first put a small index for you here, since this is a three part meta and you might want to read the posts that precede this one:

Part 1: The Story of Job

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

... and now: Welcome to the final Part 3! We made it! Or well, we will have, soon-ish. Because let me give you a fair warning: This one is definitely the longest one out of the three. And by long I mean literally almost 5k words long. Mainly because there's a lot to work with since the 1941 minisode is less mini and more the entirety of S2E4 and also, in my opinion, needs a lot more context than the others. But! That shan't discourage me, as I am currently stuck in bed with a bit of a sore throat, a steaming cuppa tea and an entire afternoon to spare.

So, for the third and final time in this meta series: Let's get cracking! Under! The! Cut!

I shall spare you another summary of the points I have made so far and, should you not have read or remembered them, I kindly redirect you to the end of Part 1 and the beginning & end of Part 2, where I summarize most of it. Don't worry, the link to this post will be in both of them, so you can hop right back once you're done!

On commence with some needed context.

I think one of the most important things to point out at the very beginning here, is that unlike with the other minisodes, we don't have a direct indicator that this is once again one of Aziraphale's memories or diary entries. In the Story of Job, we see him read the part in the Bible and actively immersing himself into the flashbacks (so deeply, even, that Crowley leaves in between, since Aziraphale seems to be so intensely lost in thought). And the Story of wee Morag is being narrated to us by past Aziraphale's diary entry.

All we see before the start of this episode's minisode, however, is Aziraphale driving the Bentley before Shax unconsensually hitchhikes with him and then leaves again. The title squence rolls and we're in London, 1941. And once the minisode ends, it's also not with Aziraphale looking like he just remembered something or a shot of his diary, but instead with present day Shax going to Beelzebub to request permission for the attack on the bookshop and then Aziraphale arriving in Soho, back from his trip to Edinburgh.

It's safe to say, therefore, that these two somehow indicate why and when the 1941 flashback starts and ends the way it does. And they do! You just have to listen and look closely, because the hint of whose memory this is, is a bit more subtle. Let's take it bit by bit.

Shax reveals herself to Aziraphale, catching him off guard. ("You have the advantage on me." "I do, yes.") She then go on to introduce herself as "former admissions demon" and ...

"Now, a Hell's ambassador planner, potentially plenipotentiary* to this corner of the planet. Replacing the demon Crowley."

*(Thank you for pointing this subtitle error out in the comments, @odonataanisoptera!)

At first sight, this might seem like no new information. We already know this, we have seen Crowley and Shax talk multiple times, we know Shax is Crowley's hellish successor and we know Shax now lives in Crowley's flat in Mayfair and, due to that unfortunate circumstance, Crowley in his car. You know who doesn't know this yet?

That's right: Aziraphale!

Neil himself confirmed that the reason why Aziraphale hasn't yet asked Crowley to move into the bookshop is because he doesn't know Crowley is living in his car! Which also indirectly implies that he hasn't told Aziraphale yet that he's no longer Hell's representative on Earth! Massive communication issues aside, this means that four years after Armagedidn't, Aziraphale is realizing for the very first time that Crowley is no longer officially employed by Hell.

Which is quite big news! We don't really know what Aziraphale's exact state of employment is with Heaven, but we do know from Crowley saying so (to Shax, again) in S2E1, that they no longer talk to him and he no longer reports back to them about his work. We can therefore deduct that he isn't actively operating as Heaven's ambassador on Earth anymore – on Heaven's own volition.

After they pulled off their body swap stunt post Armagedidn't, Crowley and Aziraphale of course secured themselves some temporary freedom from both Heaven and Hell. But it was only ever that, right? Temporary. Crowley says so himself at the end of Season 1: "They'll leave us alone ... for a bit." Sure, they were both sort of free to do whatever they wanted, but up until this very moment in the Bentley with Shax, Aziraphale thought he was the only one out of the two of them who had not only been let off the leash a little but also, so to speak, let go from his former employment. Which really explains his genuine, surprised look once Shax lets him know she's officially Crowley's replacement.

Their body swap trick gave them some breathing space, yes, but that's still entirely different than actually officially being let go from your job obligations and duties. What Aziraphale doesn't know either, however, (because again, Mr. Anthony J. Can't-Communicate-Crowley hasn't let him known), is that despite having been replaced and technically absolved of his hellish duties, Hell still very much relies on and demands things of Crowley. And also that Crowley himself hasn't been able to drop his weariness and worries since he still seems to seek out any and every information he can get on what's going on in the Up and Down. David Tennant said in an interview about Season 2:

"[...] interestingly, when we first meet Crowley, he's on a park bench catching up with the person who's taken his job. He obviously can't quite let go. He still wants the updates, and he still wants to know what's going on."

There's just so awfully much Crowley isn't telling Aziraphale – but that's stuff for another meta.

Either way, it eeks me a bit that we don't certainly know how much and what exactly Crowley has told Arziraphale about Shax – but it clearly can't have been all to much, since the Bentley conversation is their first encounter and Aziraphale doesn't even seem to know what Shax looks like, let alone that she's Crowley's new replacement. Crowley must have mentioned her to Aziraphale at one point or another pre-S2, because he does name-drop her when Aziraphale is about to reveal the appearance of Jimbriel ("You'll never guess who Shax was asking me about").

But it's one thing for Aziraphale to know or deduce that Hell might still occasionally send someone (like Shax) to check in on Crowley and another thing for him to not know that Beelzebub still summons Crowley whenever they feel like it, trying to coerce/blackmail him and that Shax regularly follows, even threats Crowley and lives in his goddamn apartment because she now fully replaces Crowley in his former job.

So, to sum this up: Aziraphale just received quite a bit of news Crowley withheld from him until now, but is also still lacking some other context that neither Crowley nor Shax has given him yet in order to be aware of the full picture.

Now, you're probably wondering: What the f*ck are you on about, OP, what does this have to do with the memory and narration analysis that this whole meta is supposed to be about? Well, dear reader, I'll kindly ask you to just hold onto that thought I outlined here until a little later. Tuck it in your pocket, don't worry, I'll remind you to take it out again once it's time.

Despite looking clearly incredibly surprised and, what is is again– ah, yes, flabbergasted upon hearing of Crowley's replacement, Aziraphale only reacts with a short "Ah", trying not to give away the fact that this is indeed very much news to him. He then continues to try and deflect anything Shax is saying and suggesting about Crowley. Except for the part where Shax says that she doesn't think Aziraphale seems like Crowley's type at all. And I cannot, for the absolute life of me, keep that GIF out of here, so:

God, how I adore you, Mr. Sheen, master of immaculate microexpressions.

Alright, let's move on from the brief flash of sassy angel, onto what Shax says next. Because this is the crucial part:

"You know ... what, sometime in the last 80, 90 years I remember hearing that you and Crowley were an item. I didn't believe it then. Not really. Poor old Furfur. He thought you were his ticket to the big time."

Which Aziraphale replies to:

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

But you do, Aziraphale, don't you? Of course you do. How could he forget the time he almost got Crowley caught together with him by Hell ("Fraternising!") in what was probably one of their most insane and turbulent adventures (that we know of, at least). And now he knows that Shax knows about it too! At least some of it, because she used to work together with Furfur and was the one who pushed him to do his investigation in the first place.

We end their little Bentley encounter with Shax getting out, cryptically saying "You've already told me where Gabriel is" and Aziraphale hurriedly speeding off back to London.

I'd like to briefly point out that according to Google Maps, Edinburgh is almost an 8-hour drive away from London. Of course we don't know where exactly Shax semi-grand-theft-auto'ed into the Bentley, but it's safe to say that since it's still dark when she does and Aziraphale arrives in London when it's light out and morning already, he must have at least been driving for another couple of hours. All by himself, with nothing to think of other than a) Crowley never having told him that he's been relieved of Hell's duties and –– you guessed it –– b) what happened in 1941.

And here's where it gets interesting: It's not just Aziraphale who's remembering 1941. It's Shax, too. It hit me like a ton of bricks, once I realized. Shax is the one who brings up 1941 and Furfur's mission to get his promotion. So everything we see that happens in Hell, with the Nazi spies being processed, are Shax's memories. Obviously Aziraphale couldn't have known or remembered any of that. But Shax could! And she does. Because this entire minisode is their shared memory of it, stitched together with the parts both of them actually witnessed.

And alas, here you have it: The reason why it makes so much sense that this minisode is so much longer than the last ones and also happens right after Aziraphale's encounter with Shax. They both were just very much reminded of what went down all those years ago. And they're both thinking back on it to come to some sort of conclusion. And funnily enough, it ends up being the same one – but I'll get into that in a bit too.

Aziraphale's got time to kill in the Bentley. A few good and long hours alone, with the knowledge of Crowley's and his own sort-of-newly-found freedom at the back of his mind. (Crowley! No longer bound to Hell! Himself! No longer bound to Heaven! Blimey!)

What else would Aziraphale think of, if not the time he realized, after the demon had saved his precious books, he was utterly and irrevocably in love with Crowley. And what else could Shax think of on her way back to London, if not the time Hell almost got proof of Crowley and Aziraphale being "an item", putting one of her colleagues onto investigating it and only now, decades later, coming to realize that it was true after all – giving her the confirmation that there was only one place Crowley would hide Gabriel while Aziraphale was gone: the Bookshop. Aziraphale's bookshop. Because if there's any demon that would have unrestricted access to it, it would be Crowley – as Shax has just now realized.

Let's just say it's no wonder that this minisode is about to be an explosion (pun intended) of all the things we have seen and realized about how Aziraphale capital-r Remembers things (ft. a bit more behind the scene knowledge, provided by Shax). And yes, it took me this absolutely ridiculous amount of time and words to get to the actual beginning of this minisode. But I'll be as bold as to say that you'll thank me for it because if there's one thing all of this teaches us, it's that context is so very important for memories and decision making.

... let's continue!

Title sequence: Rolled. London, 1941: Begins. Nazis in the church: Bombed. Books: Saved.

(Aziraphale: in Love.)

Right away again, the title card for "London 1941" looks like an old black and white film, similar to the retro hue and colouring of the Job episode in S2E2. We see what we saw already in Season 1, with the bomb dropping and Crowley saving the books. What we didn't know is what Shax's memory will now show us: How the Nazi spies were processed in Hell. And how she offered to help Furfur with being promoted if he could get her some intel on "some demon being up to no good."

I have yet to fully take my time to take a closer look at Shax, but I think she's a lot more competent and smart than Hell gives her credit for (similar to Saraqael in Heaven). How else would she have gotten word of A Certain Suspicious Demon while she was still an admissions demon herself. Or figured out simply by Crowley's Bentley not being at the bookshop in S2E3 that Aziraphale must be the one who'd currently be driving it somewhere. But okay, I really don't want to divert too much from my own plot here, so let's jump right ahead into our next scene: Aziraphale's first memory in this minisode.

I'm just gonna play Captian Obvious for a second here: There's literal sparks flying in the air. Red, firey, passionate sparks. And an angel looking like this:

I'll just let the imagery do the talking.

Now we have that love-birdery out of the way: I was at first going to once again call bullsh*t on the timeline our dear smitten Aziraphale is giving us here. Because I thought: "You're really gonna try and tell me that while there was an actual Blitzkrieg happening just down the block, the girls playing Ladies of Camelot had nothing better to do than to happily perform at the Westend like nothing out of the ordinary had happened?"

But the answer is ... yes. Yes, they literally had nothing better to do – because they were still performing! I chastised our dear angel too soon, because lookie here:

(Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Windmill_Theatre)

I indeed didn't know that the Windmill Theater remained open during WW2 –– but it did put a smile on my face that the article specifically mentions it remaining open even during the hight of the Blitzkrieg. Neil, you clever man!

Also, one last nugget of appreciation: Aziraphale most definitely having no clue what sort of performances actually happened at the Windmill Theater (in case you don't know, just check Wikipedia for a sec), exclaiming "Sophocles! Shakespeare!" and Crowley simply going "Something like that" just warms my heart infinitely.

Fondly thinking about Aziraphale asking Mrs. Sandwich: "What exactly is it that your girls do?"

Another thing that seemed strange to me at first, that I think I also managed to semi-debunk, is the fact that Crowley's Bad Deed of that day seems to have been to deliver 80-percent-proof alcohol to the Windmill Theater. It made me frown and go: "Huh? I don't think alcohol was illegal in England in 1941?" However, upon googling around a bit, I think it might actually be not so much about the alcohol itself, but who it was given to. Which, in this case, is the American soldiers frequenting the nude shows at the Windmill Theater. All I could find were some books and essays, one of them titled "The Wet War: American Liquor Control, 1941–1945", as well as this short abstract of a paper that seems to talk about how American soldies consuming alcohol while at war/stationed abroad for WW2 were frowned upon by US Army chaplains because "the impact that alcohol would have on the men's moral well-being".

So, it would make sense for Hell to send a certain alcoholic temptation to one of the dens of temptation itself – the Windmill Theater. Enter Anthony J. Crowley, your local Nazi-church-bomber, book-saver, angel-seducer and alcohol-smuggler. (Albeit that last one sort of failing a little. Sorry, Mrs. H.)

(Sidenote: @createserenity gave a lovely and very plausible explanation of the whole alcohol delivery and also who Crowley's character design might have been based on in the comments of this post!)

Aziraphale then of course jumps in, offering to be the magician of the evening to repay his "good friend" (sideye), waving around his little handkerchief like an excited little boy. ("Ah, the ✨theatér✨!") We also get the first zombie!Nazis content, which I believe is probably a reconstruction of what the zombie!Nazis told Furfur once they met up with him again and what Furfur then probably told Shax once he failed his mission. Brains eaten, we continue to this glorious line:

He's just so very excited and giddy about it all – and I think that's partly because he a) just realized that Crowley loves him (and he very much loves Crowley too) and b) because Bentley!Aziraphale who is remembering this, probably remembers it even more fondly and giddily. We've seen his emotions bubble over a lot more during the other minisode-memories – so it only makes sense that in this one, he's remembering himself to be almost out of his mind with happiness and excitement about Crowley the magic show.

Remember what I asked you to tuck into your pocket?

Take it out again. Go on, there's a love! Because what is it that Aziraphale realized mere moments ago during his conversation with Shax? Crowley is free of Hell.* (*and remember, he doesn't know that that's not entirely true because no one told him the rest of the facts. So yes, we know it's not quite as simple – but Aziraphale doesn't.)

For all of S2, he has been trying to bring his relationship with Crowley to a new, more domestically intimate level (our car!), confidently and potentially even a bit carelessly ignoring the still-very-much-there threats of Heaven and Hell. I think one of the things that might have still been holding him back in his attempts to get to the next base (huehue) was the fact that he thought Crowley was still actively employed by and tied to Hell.

In all of S2, Aziraphale does come across as a little bit blinded by his desire to finally be with-be with Crowley (rose-tined glasses obstructing the view and all) but he's not completely carless. He knows Hell to be way more cruel to their employees and has always been careful to not get Crowley into too much trouble by being associated with him. But now he has (a little falsely) deducted that Crowley is in fact no longer in hellish demand – and isn't that just absolutely tickety-boo! Lacking the context that we, the audience, have, Arziraphale.exe is currently running hot on: Heaven and Hell don't care about Crowley and me anymore! We're free of our employers' interest in us and the threat that used to bring!! I've been trying to lock this serpent down ever since the World didn't end – and now I finally can!!! I'm We're able to do whatever I we like which is to finally confess to Crowley!!!!

From Bentley!Aziraphale's point of view, this is the literal green light on their highway to Alpha Centauri! Metaphorically, anyway. More like their country road to the Southdowns. And, for now, the M1 to London– back, back, back to Crowley!

For a minute, I did wonder about why he doesn't seem at all worried or stressed once he arrives in London after his journey. After all, Shax did very clearly threaten him and insinuated that she already knew where Gabriel was. But if you look at Aziraphale all throughout Season 2, it's so very evident that he's completely occupied with being soppily nostalgic of all the memories he recalls of him and Crowley and, even while facing off with Heaven and Hell again, seems oh too happy to ignore all that because he only has eyes for one thing.

Need I say more?

So, of course, realistically Aziraphale should probably be worried and weary of what Shax said (and maybe also a little taken aback by the fact that Crowley never told him any of this). But oh, isn't the world just that much lovelier when you look at it through shades of yellow and rose? And ignore everything else because if you only look at what you want to look at, both you and the serpent of your dreams are finally free to be together? So, of course! Azirapahle should be so! Very! Concerned! But instead, he is so! Very! Happy!

Both back in actual 1941, after Crowley saves his books, as well as in his memory of the story, aka in the current present day – which we don't get to see until he leaves the Bentley, but then it does show.

And it shows even more while he's still remembering 1941:

Crowley doing an American accent? Oh, that must have been so funny and charming, look at him slapping his thigh, unbuttoning his jacket, leaning back all suavely and watching me– I mean ... the Ladies of Camelot.

There's this excellent meta by @cobragardens I read on the colours of red and yellow in this 1941 minisode as well, which further makes a point of how red is clearly Crowley's colour in Aziraphale's mind – and it's so, so vibrant in this memory specifically. Poor angel has really got it bad for his beloved book-saving demon.

I'd also like to point out Aziraphale's tendency to exaggerate again, both when it comes to others and himself. We see this in the other minisodes as well, and here again, when he seems almost overly-clumsy, dropping those big trick-rings twice, making a tower of cards topple over and then dropping even more things on the counter. This is probably just a bit of a projection how he might have been feeling about performing as a magician: Slightly nervous, trying to overplay it and yet very keen on getting it right.

Crowley seems to always just be watching silently when memory!Aziraphale is acting a little out of character – possibly because there was no actual reaction from him since these slightly overdramatic things weren't actually this dramatic in the first place.

Another thing I would very much take with a grain of angelic memory salt, is one of the Nazi zombies actually walking into the shop while Crowley and Aziraphale are still in there. First of all, that would be pretty bold of him/them, given there's only three people in this tiny shop. And second of all, don't you think it's odd that neither Aziraphale nor Crowley would notice a literal undead person sauntering into the shop? I'll give Aziraphale the benefit of the doubt, since he's currently on cloud nine. But Crowley? How on Earth would he miss that?

Unless the zombie never actually went into the shop, put on silly costumes and rings (because given their track record, in my opinion, goofing around is a very un-Nazi-like thing to do) and it's just what the autopilot of Aziraphale's daydream is playing in the background, to fill in the gap for how the zombie!Nazis figured out where his magic show would take place. Because as we already saw, Aziraphale is a bit, well ... busy in that moment.

This GIF is not sped up, by the way, that is indeed the absolute astronomical speed Aziraphale shook Crowley's hand with when he agreed to pretend to shoot him on a live stage. He's my favourite. Of all time.

Alas, the curtains at the Windmill Theater draw aside, ladies and gentlemen: Enter Fell the Marvellous!

Firstly, I would like to point out that Aziraphale is literally being surrounded by all things Crowley – the red curtain to his back, the red and black feathers to his left and right and, well, literal Crowley in the audience to his front.

Just another little ode to how beautifully this whole minisode is done colour-wise.

If you read Part 2, you might remember me saying that how and what Aziraphale is feeling is actually translating directly to what we, the audience, are shown through cinematographic and auditory clues. And this very same thing happens here too. Its starts around the minute mark of 28:31. Right after Aziraphale realizes that his miracles aren't working and he still announces the bullet catch, introducing Crowley, you can tell that the whole frame starts to shake every so slightly.

At first, it's extremely subtle and you could possibly wave it off as simply being filmed with a hand-held camera. However, the further we progress into the bullet catch trick scene, the more the frame starts shaking.

I have taken the liberty to make a little cutdown of how this intense shaking progresses, so that in case you never noticed it before, I can spare you the time of going back to watch it for yourself.

It might be a trick of the eye but it even seems like the edges of the frame grow blurrier the closer the actual firing of the gun comes. And I don't think I have to tell you what feeling this is trying to convey. Anyone who's ever had a panic attack would probably describe it exactly like that. At least I would.

Everything is shaking because Aziraphale was most certainly out of his mind with fear and adrenaline. He wants to do this, he has to because he needs to show up for Crowley the way Crowley showed up for him at the church – but he's also literally risking being discorporated for good. And once again, we feel his panic, we feel like just like it's our own blood pumping through our veins, just like when we ourselves are shaking with fear. Because this is his memory. And a memory of such a tense and dangerous moment takes a long time to feel less scary.

Once they successfully pull of the trick, the shaking stops, of course. Fell the Marvellous nails his second trick by stealing Furfur's picture, the Nazi!zombies wander off to Satan knows where and we get another one of Shax's memories when we see Furfur not getting his promotion. (Almost makes you feel a little sorry for him, poor bugger.)

I don't have much to say about their romantic red wine candle light boogaloo, apart from the fact that it makes me want to punch holes in walls with how smited smote smitten Aziraphale looks at Crowley the entire time. And also there's this awfully sweet post about Crowley deciding to still sit and drink with him despite not knowing yet that Aziraphale had stolen the evidence picture.

HE IS SO IN LOVE I AM GOING TO SCREAM–

Back to reality, whoa, there goes gravity (as we plummet down to Hell).

Because remember: While most of this was indeed Aziraphale's memory, some of it was Shax's as well. And I'm pretty sure she knows most of what went down that night. After all, Furfur was most definitely the one who caused the rumors of Crowley and Aziraphale being "an item".

So, while Aziraphale was in the Bentley, indulging and revelling in his love-struck memories of the night he almost died* (*discorporated) twice and managed to survive both times because Crowley was there and trusted him, Shax also thought back on all of this since it was the final nail in the coffin that confirmed to her that Gabriel was hiding in the bookshop with Crowley.

So, what's the conclusion that both characters have come to during this very long flashback? It's simple:

Aziraphale loves Crowley. And Crowley loves Aziraphale.

There's only one person Aziraphale would trust with Gabriel – and that is Crowley. And there is only one place that no other demon would have access to except for Crowley. And that is the bookshop. Shax knows this now. Which is why it makes so much sense that once we're back in present day!Hell, she immediately requests a legion to attack the bookshop. Because she knows this is the only place Crowley and Aziraphale both consider safe from the outside world, and the only place Crowley would have access to because Aziraphale loves trusts him. Reflecting back on it, 1941 confirmed to her that they have been and still are the item everyone suspected them to be.

Clever, clever Shax!

As for Aziraphale: It's less of a conclusion, to be honest, and more of a reassurance, an affirmation of sorts. As I pointed out in my horrendously long context introduction, Crowley no longer working for Hell is exactly the push Aziraphale needs to finally feel like it's possible to make his move and confess to him.

And what does that news- and memory-induced realisation look like? This:

Ah yes, what a lovely day to confess your millennia-long love!

Too bad Crowley's not really up to speed yet and Aziraphale's rose-tinted little moment is met with:

... a face-full of plants. Whelp.

It's okay, they'll figure it out eventually.

My final little sidenote: The Jane Austen Ball and why it wasn't about Nina and Maggie

By all means, if you're already sick and tired of my tangents, do feel free to just skip this and end the meta early. I hope you had a good time with it, let me know your thoughts!

And for those of you who are up for a last burst of tinfoil-hatting: My conclusion to all of this is that I am 100% convinced that the whole Whickber-Street-Association-turned-Cotillion-Ball stunt Aziraphale pulls off in the next episode, was never actually meant for Nina and Maggie.

Why? Because up until getting a mouthful of plants once he arrives back in London, Aziraphale hadn't even known yet that Crowley's awning of a new age under the canopy had failed! The last time they spoke was over the phone in Edinburgh which ended with Crowley hanging up on Aziraphale to go make the love mission happen. And yet, Aziraphale clearly already has the whole ball thing planned out once he arrives in Soho, because he already calls it 'a night to remember'.

So, riddle me this: Why would Aziraphale plan this whole over-the-top romantic Jane Austen Ball on his ride back to London to make Nina and Maggie fall in love if he didn't even know yet whether or not Crowley's attempt at it had been successful or not?

It's almost like he meant for it to be his ideal way of a romantic confession for someone else.

'member the pub scene in S2E2?

Aziraphale: "People would gather and do some formal dancing and then realize they had misunderstood each other. And were actually deeply in love!" Crowley: "Now that sounds unlikely."

Resolving a deep misunderstanding like, hm, for instance, your "de facto partner" not telling you he'd been let go by his toxic employers just like you and also your quarrel about you wanting to protect your former-asshole-turned-cottage-core-dad boss from your own former toxic employers? With ✨a ball✨? (And that being, well, really unlikely to work? Oh, deary-dear angel. Oh, Aziraphale. Be still, my beating heart. You're a soldier for trying, I'll give you that.)

Are you goddamn done yet, OP?

Yes. I am. The tinfoil hat defense rests. I'm aware this was less focused on the actual unreliable narration and a bit more on contextualizing memories and feelings with decision making, deductions and actions – but hey, the road to epiphany has many winding paths. Or something.

Once again, here are Part 1 and Part 2 and if you made it this far: Congratulations, you have reached the end! Thanks for baring with me. I hope you enjoyed the journey just as much as Aziraphale did his daydream in the Bentley. And if you and me both feel strong enough for it, I might see you around in a cheeky little Epiloge to this meta series!

(Also: @dancingcrowley asked so nicely for me to tag them once Part 3 came out, so here you go!)

Cheers!

[eoieopda]

aphelion (knj)

aphelion (n): the point in the orbit of a comet at which it is furthest from the sun.

Kim Namjoon was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x AFAB!Reader Type: Flashback Prequel | Genre: Fluff & Angst, Smut | Rating: M (18+) AU: Strangers ⇢ Lovers ⇢ Exes, Lacunaverse (aka Lacuna!AU) Word Count: 19K Content Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST; gratuitously autobiographical; POV switches; Namjoon and MC are both musicians but not envisioned as "idols"; emotional support producer!Yoongi; self-insert!OC, jinseo; panic attack implied (crying, rapid breathing, chest tightness); depressive episode implied (lack of self-care, lack of appetite); a relationship dying in slow motion (ouch.) Smut Warnings: Vaginal fingering, lil bit of biting, implied unprotected sex, reader rides it like she stole it. A/N 1: This is the prequel to Lacuna and its sequel, Redamancy. It takes place over the course of two years (2020 to 2022 — we’re pretending COVID never happened, btw) and will have month/date info. at the top of each vignette. You can read the series chronologically (starting here) but I definitely recommend reading in the order it was written (Lacuna ⇢ Redamancy ⇢ Aphelion) because I think dramatic irony is fun and sexy. A/N 2: Endless thank you's to my emotional support moots, @jihopesjoint and @here2bbtstrash for beta-reading this unabashed entry from my diary. A/N 3: To my "Namjoon" — You were the best thing I didn't get to keep. I hope you found the sun. Suggested Listening: Spotify Playlist. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

2020/7/18; 18:23

As awful as he knew it sounded, Yoongi was grateful to have someone in his life who was equally riddled with social anxiety. That flicker of dread he felt in the pit of his stomach was easier to digest when there was a hand — metaphorical, mainly, because the real thing was the tiniest bit sweaty — to cling to whenever he had to feign extroversion. Before you popped up into his life, perpetually on vibrate mode in the way that he was, he’d ventured out of his studio even less than he did now.

With you, there had always been a silent understanding: neither of you ever wanted to attend the company events that appeared simultaneously on your calendars; neither of you ever successfully shook off the feelings of guilt and obligation that prevented you from bailing altogether; and neither had ever — would ever — consider attending without the other. Co-dependence at its finest, you wore each other like a backpack and held on tight.

One of the terms of this unspoken social contract was that, when it came time to rally for one of the aforementioned, godforsaken label parties, Yoongi rushed over whenever you put up the Bat Signal. Instead of a cartoonish symbol in the sky, it always came in the form of a text — usually with a minimum of six (6) very urgent emojis — declaring a fashion emergency. No questions asked, he showed up on your doorstep every time. Yoongi never had any valuable input to offer, but he could tell you when you looked nice.

You always did, but he tended to keep that part to himself.

When Yoongi finally arrived at your apartment this time, he didn’t bother knocking the way he used to. By now, he knew that part of your pre-party panic included unlocking your door for him whenever you sent out your SOS. So, he let himself in and left his shoes at the door. Immediately, he heard a relieved sigh waft out from your bedroom down the hall.

“Oh, thank god!”

He waited for the blush in his cheeks to fade before he continued his journey to you, willing his standard poker face back into existence before it ratted him out. 

“Do I need to call in a helicopter evacuation?” Yoongi called out to you as he padded off in your direction. “How bad is the avalanche?”

Before he could get halfway to your bedroom door, you poked your head out through the doorway. You had those pink, plastic cylinders in your hair — the ones that looked spiky and uncomfortable, but that you somehow never complained about — and half your makeup done. Even in that cactus-printed bathrobe, Yoongi wouldn’t have been surprised if you wound up with a spread in the next issue of Nylon.

You grimaced. “Admittedly worse than the holiday party, but nowhere near as bad as the Great MAMA Catastrophe of 2017.”

“So…” Yoongi teased with a tilt of his head, “Yes to the helicopter evacuation, then?”

He didn’t have time to emotionally or physically prepare for whatever awaited him on the other side of your bedroom door because you grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him inside as soon as he was within your reach.

Oh, good god, kid.

Yoongi opened his mouth to express how impressed — terrified? — he was by the explosion of outfits littering every surface of your room, but he quickly realized that no words would do it justice. He opted for a trademark, flat-line smile and a quiet grunt. You grimaced a second time, knowing full well what he hadn’t said out loud

Scurrying around him, you tore like a tornado through the immediate area to clear a path for him. You were clumsy enough to trip over every stray shoe but had reflexes — shockingly — quick enough to right yourself before your stumbling could send you to the ground. Once the carpet was sufficiently visible, you gestured to the small opening on your bed with a platform boot you’d unearthed somewhere along the way.

“You can, uh —” You continued waving the shoe in the direction of your bed, searching for the rest of your sentence. Yoongi watched in real time as your train of thought left the station.

More than a little endeared by your scattered brain, he offered, “Sit?” 

“Yes!” You snapped your fingers and pointed a finger-gun at him with a sheepish smile, “That. Do that while I try to find my vocabulary. It’s gotta be somewhere in this blast zone…” 

Voice already petering off, you wheeled back around to your regurgitated wardrobe.

Yoongi dropped into the only open spot on your mattress and leaned back to rest his weight on the palm of his hand. Settled into his usual space and routine, he fished his phone out of his pocket to check the time, as if the answer to that question would make a difference. 

It was half-six.

Ugh.

As always, the pair of you would wind up late; and, as always, that would still somehow mean that you’d be the first to show up. No matter how hard you tried to avoid it — leaving later and later for every party — you were perpetually, dreadfully guests numbered one and two.

“I never know what to wear for these things,” you whined, once again a disembodied head appearing in a doorway. 

When did you even sneak off into your closet? How were you physically able to reach it?

The rest of you reappeared underneath your head. You were clutching a dress in one hand and a skirt in the other, looking like your will to live had been hung up in their place. Worse, you had that little anime pout on, which didn’t bode well for the schoolboy crush Yoongi was secretly harboring, but you didn’t say anything. You just kept looking at him, eyes all pitiful and sparkly.

“Do you want me to ask him about the dress code?” he offered, unsure if that was what you were after but otherwise at a loss for solutions.

The look of mild-to-moderate panic washing over your face caused Yoongi to sigh. He knew you were thoroughly starstruck — he’d heard you gush over Namjoon and his new release for hours by now — but maybe he’d underestimated the extent. Your relief was immediate when he waved you off and said, “I’m not going to tell him that you’re the one asking.”

Yoongi [18:30]: on a scale of sweatpants to tuxedo, how hard do i have to try?

While he waited for an answer, Yoongi glanced back up to check your status. You’d once again disappeared in the few moments he’d glanced down at his phone screen. So damn sneaky. There was a significant amount of shuffling coming from the depths of your closet. Something shifted, then you yelped.

“You okay?” Yoongi called out, primed to get up and dig through the presumed rockslide for you.

Meekly, you popped back into view with one hand rubbing gingerly at the top of your head. You frowned. “I found my snow boots.”

“Sounded like your snow boots found you, kid.”

Yoongi’s phone buzzed in his hand. He ripped off the velcro-grip gaze he held on you and blinked down at the screen.

Namjoon [18:34]: Hyung, since when do you give a fuck about trying? lol

Yoongi chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure what information to divulge: that he wasn’t asking because he gave a fuck; that you were the one who did; or that the only reason Yoongi was having this conversation at all was because you were the one that asked him to. He settled on something vaguely truthful.

Yoongi [18:37]: fuck off, joonie. since i’m bringing someone special and i want you to meet her.

The reply was immediate and three-fold:

Namjoon [18:37]: Call me Joonie again and see what happens 🤔 Namjoon [18:37]: Wear jeans in case I gotta chase you down for that. For real, though, it’s casual. Namjoon [18:37]: Also 👀

Yoongi shoved his phone back in his pocket without bothering to reply. He wouldn’t know what to say if he did, anyway. You weren’t the kind of person he knew how to summarize in a quick text; so he’d have to let your presence speak for itself. It always did.

When he looked back up from his hands, you reappeared in the closet doorway in a flouncy little dress. He had to stop himself from asking if you’d wear it to his funeral when he inevitably dropped dead. Once he succeeded at that, he swallowed thickly and focused on the two pairs of shoes you were holding, one in each hand.

Your face scrunched up while you mulled over your options. Without looking up, you asked absently and borderline shyly, “Did he respond?”

It took a beat for Yoongi’s brain to catch up; sundress season truly was the silent killer. In the pause, your inquisitive eyes flicked up to see if he’d simply ignored your question. He fumbled, pointed to the chunky, heeled sandals in your left hand, and then shot you a thumbs-up.

You rolled your eyes with a snort and knelt down to slip into his choice without further comment. As you did, you triple-checked that the ankle strap was secured and Yoongi didn’t have to guess why: the last time you wore them out, you hadn’t buckled yourself in properly. The thick tread had snagged on a curb; and your shoe didn’t come with you when you stepped up onto the sidewalk. You waited on one leg, the other foot bare in the wind, while Yoongi returned to the street to grab what you’d lost.

When you finished your ministrations, you stood back up to your full height — now with fifteen added centimeters — and brushed your hands against the back of your dress’ skirt. The expression on your face was somewhere between exhilarated and vaguely nauseous.

You clapped your hands together suddenly and sighed, “We doing this, Yoongs?”

He rolled his eyes so you wouldn’t get the wrong idea. He was endeared by that stupid nickname but unwilling to let you know as much. Still, he followed when you led him out of your bedroom; when you grabbed a laughably tiny and arguably useless purse off your hallway console table; and when you skipped out of your front door.

“Who’s driving?” Yoongi glanced over his shoulder at you as he hit the lock button on your door’s keypad. He didn’t need to ask — you had the alcohol tolerance of a newborn baby and couldn’t assume the wheel after more than two drinks — but he knew it made you feel better when he did.

Sheepishly, you pursed your lips.

He sighed with a microscopic grin, “Garage gate wouldn’t open, so I’m on the side of the building.” Then, he shuffled towards the elevator with you in tow. Even with the added height of your shoes, your short legs still struggled to keep up with his pace. 

As soon as the elevator doors re-opened on the ground floor, you threaded your arm around his and handcuffed him to you with your elbow bent. Before he could make a joke at your expense, you raised a manicured finger and said, “Do not start with me, Min Yoongi.”

So, he didn’t. He simply opened his passenger door for you and closed it once you’d slid into your usual place. As soon as he slid into his and pressed the start button, your phone automatically hooked to his Bluetooth stereo; and he couldn’t even whine about that fact because you’d already queued up some song he’d never heard in a language neither of you knew well. True to form, you didn’t let that stop you from singing along as loudly as you could — all the way to the venue.

It didn’t take long for Yoongi to find a spot or to parallel park in it, much to your amazement. It did, however, take ten minutes of silent sitting for either of you to say a word.

“Do we have to go in there?” you asked, damn near inaudibly. 

Where you sat, your left knee bounced at a speed almost imperceptible to the human eye. Yoongi only noticed because his knee was doing the same. He exhaled the breath he’d unknowingly held hostage and glanced at the time displayed on his car’s touch screen. He grimaced. “Shit started an hour ago. How much do you wanna bet that we’re still the first people here?”

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “Even if we are,” you started as you pushed open the passenger side door, “I’m not waiting to start the clock until guest number three arrives.” You shot him a pointed look as you slid out of the car. Adjusting your dress once you’d made it to your feet, you added, “One hour of kissing hands and shaking babies, then we’re out of here, right?”

Yoongi clamped his mouth shut, but it did nothing to ward off the laughter that made his shoulders shake. He nodded firmly, let his feet hit the pavement, then let his car door shut behind him.

“Compensatory lamb skewers, as usual?” He asked once he rounded the back of the car to join you on the sidewalk. On instinct, you threaded your arm through his to keep yourself on your feet, and your feet in your shoes. “But not from that place you picked last time. I’m ninety-nine-percent sure they clean it with a garden hose at night.”

You grumbled something about never being allowed to pick the restaurant before reaching for the door handle and petulantly jerking it open.

The second your respective feet stepped over the threshold, you both froze. It was the social equivalent of rigor mortis, the pair of you standing with locked limbs and gawking at the sheer number of people inside the hole-in-the-wall venue Namjoon had chosen. Clearly, he’d intended this to be as quaint as possible. Even more obviously, management hadn’t given a shit or fuck about that goal.

“This is,” you inhaled deeply as if you’d never get the chance again, and on the exhale, you wheezed, “So much. Oh my god.”

No matter how many times his shaking eyes scanned over the crowd ahead, Yoongi couldn’t find a single person he recognized, let alone wanted to spend an hour talking to. He snapped to look at you in the same moment you turned to him.

“What an hour this minute has been.”

“Lamb skewers?”

“Yes, please.”

Just as quickly as you’d entered, the pair of you turned to head out the door. Yoongi couldn’t grab the handle before a loud voice rang out from behind, “Hyung!”

A hand clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, spinning him around and leaving his emergency exit out of reach.

“So glad to see a familiar face,” Namjoon’s grin took up his whole face, but his mouth didn’t move with his words. They were forced out through gritted teeth, pleading the way his eyes were: If you leave me here, I’ll kill you.

Yoongi glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. He would’ve asked you — not with words, anyway — to make up some excuse to get you both out of there, to grab take-out and watch Naruto on his couch, but you couldn’t answer. Your starry-eyed gaze was aimed above you, and he’d venture a guess that everyone in the room had disappeared.

Everyone but Namjoon.

Damn it.

Somewhere, somehow, Yoongi heard a record scratch.

“Oh, shit,” Yoongi coughed, suddenly aware of his obligation as a mutual friend. Gesturing languidly between you and Namjoon, Yoongi reported for duty. “Joon, this is —”

Namjoon finally seemed to realize that you were standing there with Yoongi. He tilted his head to look down at you, and as soon as he did, Yoongi watched in slow motion as Namjoon’s eyes grew three times their usual size. Your name barely cleared Yoongi’s lips before Namjoon was extending a hand for you to shake.

Somewhere, somehow, the music seemed to swell.

Am I having a stroke?

The next minute that passed felt like an hour, too, and nobody said a word. It was you looking at Namjoon; Namjoon looking at you; and Yoongi’s eyes flitting back and forth between his friends with a kind of bemusement he couldn’t fake if his life depended on it. He’d crashed-landed in the middle of a drama, and he didn’t know what else to do, so he cleared his throat and said, “Uhh — shots, anyone?”

The next hour flew by in sixty seconds, and Yoongi couldn’t wrap his brain around how that could be. He’d lost faith in the concept of linear time, he knew that much. The two people he sat next to were meeting for the first time, but there was a familiarity present that he couldn’t put a finger on. Like you were both saying hello in this life after saying goodbye in a previous one.

Throughout the conversation, Yoongi couldn’t keep his attention on the words being tossed back and forth; not even the ones he was offering up. Huh, he thought, so, this is what it looks like when people meet who they’re meant to.

“Listen —” You smacked your hand down on the tabletop, swallowing down a laugh as you faked incredulousness. You pointed directly at Yoongi, causing him to choke on his whiskey. “I don’t care if I have to read translations on an app, Nas’ lyricism is unparalleled —”

“Facts,” Namjoon chimed in with a tip of his glass. 

The way your eyes sparkled in response wasn’t lost on anyone.

Yoongi rolled his. “Okay, but from a production standpoint, we all know that —”

Simultaneously, you and Namjoon sucked in breaths. The arguments you let loose didn’t match in words, but the sentiment was the same, downright seismic in its intensity.

“Don’t you dare bring Kanye West into this!”

“Hyung, I swear to God, if the next name out of your mouth is Kanye West, I’m leaving my own fucking party.”

The eldest raised his hands defensively. “Fine, fine, fine,” he conceded. Yoongi slumped a little lower in his chair, accepting defeat. He glanced down at his phone to check the time — as if that wasn’t a lost cause — and when he looked up again, you and Namjoon had deviated down some winding tangent about the core of hip-hop being poetry.

It was odd, the way Yoongi’s stomach flipped then. Not jealousy, but fondness. Hunger, too, though that was secondary to the weird glimmer of pride he felt watching a bridge he’d unknowingly built link two spheres of his life together. There was a strange sense of clarity, to top it all off; one that changed all the question marks in his head to periods.

You and Yoongi would be friends. 

Yoongi would be at peace with that fact. 

The slightly sweaty hand that pulled you through that event wouldn’t be his; and he would be at peace with that, too.

Yoongi would grab lamb skewers on his way home and wait for your call tomorrow to hear how the rest of your night had gone without him.

With a signature, flat-line smile, Yoongi slid off his stool and slid his empty glass towards the bartender. Then, he clapped a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. The younger stopped mid-sentence with a start and blinked up at Yoongi, whose smirk immediately dropped, deadpan.

He glanced at you and confirmed that you were too busy ordering another drink to overhear. Then, he leaned down towards Namjoon and whispered, “Don’t fuck this up, Joonie.”

Namjoon gulped. Yoongi could hear it as he turned away, letting that smirk reappear once his back was to Namjoon.

He won’t.

2020/7/18; 21:06

Namjoon’s face hurt.

There was a telltale ache in his cheeks that confirmed it: he hadn’t smiled that much, that completely, in a long damn time. At the rate things had gone over the last two hours, he wouldn’t be surprised to catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror and find wrinkles demarcating just how crinkled his eyes had been. It was a wonder he’d been able to see you at all with the way his laughter leaked over his lash lines. Then again, your grin was burned into his brain already. Given the way you lit up, he was convinced that he’d see you — just you — even in the dark.

“Stop laughing at me!” you whined with your hand covering your mouth. Though you tried to hide it, Namjoon could still see you grinning, even with your mouth full. “I feel very attacked.”

He snorted. “Not an attack, just an observation. Can’t say I’ve ever witnessed someone order a beverage they don’t like just to eat the garnish.”

Quickly, you skewered another blackberry with the end of your straw and guided it under the hand covering your mouth. When you placed the straw back in your drink, the fruit was gone; your eyes were sparkling.

“Are you just jealous that you’ve never thought to do it?” You tilted your head to the side as you chewed. The little flex of your eyebrows made his stomach flip, so he swallowed hard and wondered if you noticed.

“Honestly,” he started with a sigh. He slumped down in his seat, looking as pathetic as possible while he eyed the remaining fruit in your glass. “Yeah. Little heartbroken, too.”

“Oh?” You pouted and Namjoon was on the brink of passing the fuck out.

The hand over your mouth dropped. You shifted on top of your stool, grabbed hold of your blackberry malt, and leaned in as you scooted it across the bar to Namjoon. The smile tugging at your lips was petal soft, though the flash of bright white teeth hit him like high-beams. He was a deer; he was frozen; and he didn’t give a shit if you ran right over him.

Elbows against the bar, you leaned even further. This time, when you tilted your head to the side, your hair gave way and left your bare shoulder in his line of sight. For the first time in his life, Namjoon finally understood why something as innocuous as a short-sleeve or exposed ankle was deemed pornographic a century prior. In the year 2020, he was losing his mind over an acromioclavicular joint and some — smooth, touchably soft — flesh.

“Because I haven’t offered to share?”

Jesus Christ.

He was seconds away from biting down on his fist to keep from groaning. That coquettish, candy-coated voice of yours was a problem in and of itself, but when you looked at him from under your lashes like that, Namjoon was ready to call in a bomb threat to his own party. He couldn’t simply fuck off with you, though — not without an excuse he could sell to Bang Si-Hyuk later.

Namjoon needed an out, now. Unfortunately for him, all he could think about was biting down on that shoulder, following the curve of it with his —

He needed to get a grip. Fast.

Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat. “Exactly. Rude.”

You smirked; he winked. To keep his mouth occupied, Namjoon grabbed the spare straw from your drink and speared a blackberry for himself. Holding his prize out in salute, he nodded his head with a smirk of his own. “Geonbae!”

You smiled sweetly again as you watched him pluck the fruit off the end of the straw with his teeth; but you grinned with all you had when the whiskey-drenched berry hit his taste buds like a punch. Sour, unbelievably potent after steeping so long high-proof liquor. Every part of him clenched at once, prompting you to laugh with your whole chest.

What a perfect fucking sound.

“Shit,” Namjoon sputtered. His face unpuckered and gave way to a grin that likely rivaled yours.

“How are you not tanked right now? Seriously, I’m twice your size and can handle my liquor. That —” He waved his hand towards your glass, “— nearly knocked me on my ass.”

You opened your mouth to respond — to tease him mercilessly, he hoped — but you were cut off by the horrendous sound of Namjoon’s phone vibrating against the bar and his own empty glass. The cacophony rattled in his rib cage. Both of you flinched at the sudden interruption, leaving him to wonder if you also forgot that anyone else existed.

Namjoon glanced quickly at the illuminated screen, then back up to you. He would’ve ignored his texts in a heartbeat — indefinitely, without hesitation — but you squeezed his hand as you slipped off your stool to your feet. With your promise that you were headed to the restroom and would be right back, he gave himself permission to look back down at his phone.

Yoongi [21:43]: you tell her about that comet thing? she’s an unrelenting nerd like you. she’ll be into it.

If he could have, he would’ve kissed Yoongi through the phone for two reasons. The first of which was that, in the time he’d spent talking to you, Namjoon had completely forgotten about the one thing he’d talked about incessantly for the past month: the upcoming appearance of Neowise. The second was that, once again, Yoongi had come in clutch with a reason to bail on a social obligation.

Namjoon [21:45]: You’re a lifesaver and I love you. Yoongi [21:46]: ew

Namjoon was still chuckling when, unexpectedly, he felt playful fingertips trail across his shoulder blades. You, he quickly realized as you walked behind him and sat back down on your stool. He shivered, even after the trace of your touch was gone.

“All good?” you asked with a soft smile.

Yeah, he thought, really fucking good.

Namjoon grinned automatically. He picked up the spare straw he’d used earlier and harpooned another blackberry, not having learned his lesson last time. The whiskey hit his tongue, burned beautifully on the way down, and emboldened him.

Without hesitation, he asked, “Do you wanna get out of here? There’s something I want to show you.”

Your wide eyes blinked back at him, then they scanned the room to confirm that, yes, it was still packed with people — up to and including executives from the label. Yes, he did just offer to ditch all of them for you, consequences be damned.

“Yes,” you responded, as if that was the easiest decision you’d ever made.

Namjoon got to his feet and held out his hand to you. “Not afraid of heights, are you?” His smirk all but dissolved when your fingers interlocked with his.

“Not if the fall would be worth it.”

He didn’t know what to say in response to that statement — one so simple, made so easily as if it was a thought you repeated to yourself often. You’d stunned him, really, and Namjoon was uncharacteristically lost for words. So, you both fell into a comfortable silence as he led you out of the venue, ignoring every wayward stare on the way out. 

Even after he opened his passenger door for you and slipped himself behind the wheel, he couldn’t get over what you’d said. It took root in the back of his brain. In all the years he’d been in this industry, he’d determined that there were only two types of people: the ones who jumped without thinking and the ones who only ever did the latter. You, it seemed, were neither.

Not if the fall would be worth it.

As he drove, you hummed along to whatever played on the radio, gaze taking in the city lights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the neon from roadside signs wash over your face as they passed. Pretty in all colors, he thought, in every light.

Five minutes passed before he realized that you hadn’t even asked where he was taking you. Maybe you’d made an assumption that you were headed back to his place, which, while true, still wasn’t entirely accurate. Or maybe you simply trusted him. Determined that he was one of those calculated risks worth taking.

Namjoon was warm all-over when he finally reached his parking garage and turned into his assigned space. By the time he rounded the back of his car to open your door for you, you were already standing and smoothing down the skirt of your dress.

God bless sundress season.

“Didn’t realize you were a fan of his work.”

He froze. Oh, fuck. 

Swallowing down the embarrassment of broadcasting his thoughts out loud, Namjoon shrugged. The corner of his mouth twitched, threatening to ruin his nonchalance. “Credit where it’s due, you know?” 

He then glanced down at his watch and confirmed that he was running out of time. When he looked back up at you, you were visibly puzzled but you didn’t question him. So, he questioned you:

“You didn’t develop a fear of heights on the drive over, right? Fall still worth it?”

Your response didn’t come in words. To his surprise, you held out your hand and stared expectantly — sweetly — at him until he took it. 

You didn’t have the key code to operate the elevator or any idea where you were headed, but you tugged Namjoon along after you as you crossed the parking garage. It was then that he noticed the sheer height of the shoes you were wearing and how carefully you moved in them. Not like heels were foreign to you, but with deliberate steps as if you expected one or both of them to make a break for it. He made a mental note of it.

After typing in his access code to summon the elevator, Namjoon gazed down at you. Trying to hide his smile again would’ve been an exercise in futility, so he didn’t bother. Without thinking first, he mused, “You know, you still haven’t asked where I’m taking you. That’s a lot of trust.”

“I mean, if my untimely end comes at the hands of Kim Namjoon of all people, my ghost will have a really interesting story to tell.” 

Your snicker made his knees wobble. You stepped into the elevator as it opened, leaving him to stand starstruck outside the doors. 

“Coming?”

When Namjoon finally regained use of his limbs and joined you in the elevator, he pressed the button for the top floor, overshooting his own by three. With every second that passed as the two of you ascended, the centimeters slipped away — overcome by what Namjoon could only assume was a gravitational pull. 

He’d orbit you if he could.

“This way,” Namjoon instructed. He gestured to the door at the end of the hall with a sign that promised roof access.

You stayed close, your hand so near to his that he could’ve grabbed it and held it a thousand times before you reached your objective. He held the door for you and watched you duck under his arm as you stepped through, damn near salivating at the way your perfume lingered in your wake.

The door in question opened to something halfway between an exposed patio and a fire escape. If Namjoon had to venture a guess, none of the other residents knew this place existed; it was exclusively for maintenance staff who needed to access the electrical meters contained in the locked room in front of you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at it, understandably struggling to figure out why Namjoon had brought you to a place like this.

Sensing your confusion, he nodded his head towards a steep metal staircase which led up to the building’s roof. Staircase was a generous description, really. The only difference between those steps and a ladder was the presence of handrails and a slightly more forgiving angle.

When you caught sight of them, your confusion dissolved into surprise. You paused. Anxious eyes darted down to your heels as you shifted your weight from one to the other.

Weighing your options, Namjoon figured. Bare feet or twisted ankles. 

He offered a third and crouched down in front of you, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Coming?” He quoted.

You looked at him in disbelief, like he couldn’t possibly be offering to take you up those steps on piggy-back — but he was, and he was dead serious. He said as much, and you had to bite down on your lips to keep your shy smile to yourself. As had been the case all night, your reciprocal offer was intrinsic trust.

Once you secured yourself on his back, you looped your arms gently around his neck. A quiet giggle immediately flooded his ears. Namjoon peeked at your face hovering over his shoulder and smiled when he saw that you were, too. Your laugh was music, more than anything else.

“This feels like that scene in Twilight.”

Because Namjoon has a sister, he automatically knew what you were referring to, as embarrassing as that was to admit. It was worth it, though, when he bought into your bit. You beamed like the fucking sun when he warned, “Hold on tight, spider monkey.”

He kept one hand on the railing and the other secured over your crossed forearms as he took the steps slowly. When none were left, it was just you, Namjoon, and an uninterrupted expanse of orange and pink. 

“Holy shit,” you gasped, squeezing his bicep.

He took your silent cue and ducked back down so you could return to your own two feet. 

“Beautiful, right?” Namjoon kept his voice low as if he were in a place of worship. 

In a way, he was.

You wobbled, not because of your shoes, but because you were staring straight up, spinning slowly in your spot while you drank in a fleeting, tangerine sky. As the sun continued to sink, bright white stars popped up to take its place. You seemed intent on counting them, but they couldn’t hold Namjoon’s attention — not with you fawning underneath them.

“Reminds me of home, kind of.” You matched his tone like this mattered as much to you as it did to him. “The buildings are always in the way here. After a while, I stopped bothering to look up.”

It felt natural, the way you reached out for his hand to keep you tethered. The same was true when he tugged gently and pulled you closer. You tucked yourself under his arm, nestled into his side. There was heat rising from his chest to his cheeks, but he still shivered.

Trying to keep his focus on the point of all this, Namjoon glanced down at his watch to confirm that the sun’s interference would be gone within minutes. Softly, he dropped his arm so he could place his hands on your waist. You let him turn you until you stood with your back to him; then, you followed his pointed finger with your eyes.

“Keep your eyes on the Northwest, alright?”

Playfully defiant, you turned your head to smirk up at him instead. “I’m admittedly shit at directions.”

Namjoon wouldn’t have noticed if the stars above him disappeared. For all he knew, they’d relocated to the dilated black of your pupils. There was a hint of a challenge twinkling there, too. He wasn’t known for backing down.

“This is the southeast.” Namjoon covered his fondness with a feigned frown and tapped your left hip bone with the pads of his middle and ring fingers. “The sun’s behind you.”

“I know it is,” you acknowledged. Despite that fact, you were still gazing over your shoulder at him. 

Oh. 

His eyes widened when he caught your meaning; yours crinkled at the corners. Namjoon didn’t have a single clue how you could smile that warmly without using your mouth at all.

It’s decided, he thought. Wherever this night takes us, I’m down for the ride. You lead, I’ll follow.

There was a distinct drop in his body temperature when you eventually — belatedly — followed his directions. Instinctively, Namjoon pulled you even closer so he could properly wrap his arms around your waist. Your shoulder blades pressed into his chest as he leaned down to your ear.

This time, you shivered.

“See that up ahead? Under the Big Dipper.”

You were quiet for a moment, likely searching for whatever secret he was pointing out to you. There was no room for doubt when you finally did see it because you gasped for the second time. 

Breathless, you asked, “What is that? A meteor?”

Now visible against inky black, Neowise burned on the horizon. 

“A comet,” he gently corrected you. “A new one — well, one we didn’t know about until March. It’s just now coming out of perihelion.”

At the forefront, its bright white mass led a slow charge down the sun’s gravity well. The tail was smeared behind it as if someone had dragged a paintbrush through the cosmos. Once-in-a-lifetime wasn’t scientifically accurate; and heavenly felt pretentious. Namjoon couldn’t think of a word in any language to describe the way he felt in that moment, but he prayed it would last.

You were equally awestruck. For a while, it was simple, silent wonderment as the two of you kept your eyes on the horizon. Peaceful, despite the faint blare of car horns wafting upwards from the streets below. Namjoon might venture far enough to call it perfect.

“What happens now?” You eventually asked. He glanced down at you when your voice cut through quiet, though your starry eyes didn’t register his movement. Thoroughly transfixed, you stayed still.

Namjoon felt himself frown. The answer was scientific fact, but it sounded like an unhappy ending. 

Like leaving. 

“Aphelion,” he sighed. “It’s headed for the point in its orbit that’s farthest from the sun. All that light you see right now comes from gas made by solar heat, so… it’ll grow colder the farther away it gets. Then, it’ll get so dark that it’ll be more or less invisible.”

You repeated that word quietly to yourself like you were testing the weight of it in your mouth. Aphelion. There was an undeniable heaviness to it. Namjoon wondered if you felt it, too.

He continued, “Not sure if or when it’ll ever be like this again.”

2020/7/18; 23:12

If you could have, you likely would’ve stayed on that rooftop until morning. 

The back of your dress would be even dirtier from sitting down on the concrete the way you had; and your elbows may ache a little more after additional time spent leaning back onto flattened palms, but it’d be a small price to pay. Calm like that was invaluable. Until you stared at that uninterrupted sky, talking through every thought you’d ever had with someone who understood them all, calm like that was foreign to you.

You never had the opportunity to sit still, much less settle. Never got to be quiet, never got to linger. On that rooftop, you received a necessary reminder that your universe was bigger than a schedule full of obligations. Bigger than hotel showers, each less user-friendly than the last. Bigger than drinking boba tea alone in an airport, letting life carry you like a dandelion seed all over the map. 

It was endless.

You wished that moment had been, but the news helicopter hovering nearby had said otherwise. As it turned out, television coverage of the comet was more important than your personal enjoyment of it. The loud chop of propellers against air had been bad enough; the gusts of wind those propellers kicked your way were even worse.

Even though he’d been sitting right next to you, Namjoon had to shout for you to hear him. You’d squinted as if that would make sense of the shapes his mouth had made — it didn’t. You’d heard his voice but not his words.

I need to learn to read lips, you’d thought. The problem with that realization was that the harder you’d focused on his, the more you wanted to nibble on them. And then the urgency you’d felt no longer had anything whatsoever to do with the aircraft. You hadn’t gotten the message until Namjoon stood up and offered his hands to help you stand, too.

Through the climb back down to the door, the walk up the hallway, and the elevator ride to his floor, Namjoon hadn’t dropped your hand. Now, it was taking longer than you imagined was usual for him to unlock his apartment door because the thumb of his dominant hand was still roaming over the back of yours.

“Finally!” 

His sigh was half-exasperated, half-relieved, all swoonworthy when the key — at long last — did what he’d been begging it to do. Namjoon pushed the door open. This time, neither of you had to urge the other to come along.

The second your shoes crossed the threshold into his apartment, you damn near crumpled on the ground they occupied.

Holy shit —?

Less of an apartment and more of an archive, Namjoon’s space was artfully curated. In the literal sense. Everywhere you looked, there was some painting, some exquisite sculpture. All of it was breathtaking — and shockingly breakable, which made you wonder how they’d survived ownership by someone so endearingly clumsy.

He chuckled sheepishly when he saw the way you gawked, open-mouthed, at his collection.

“You didn’t tell me you lived in a museum!” You were dizzy. “I swear, you’re going to have to get security to escort me out at closing time. I’ll stand, and ponder, and muse all day; and I’ll never leave.”

In hindsight, that sounded more like a threat than a warning.

Suddenly rushing so that you could explore more fully, you moved to bend down and undo the ankle straps of your heels. That was, coincidentally, the moment Namjoon attempted to address his own shoes. Your heads collided with a thud that made you both hiss and retract.

“You good?” Namjoon frowned apologetically. As he did, he lifted his hand to run his fingers gingerly over the bump likely forming on the crown of your head. You were too busy vibrating to do much more than nod.

Is one touch all it takes? This doesn’t bode well for you.

As if his goal was to kill you where you stood, he dropped his hand slowly, caressing the side of your jaw with his knuckle and a touch that was barely there. Deep brown eyes smoldered as they focused on you. Then, that husky voice completed the attack combination.

Knock out! Game over!

He tapped your chin with the pad of his thumb and said, “Stay here.”

As if you’d want to be anywhere else.

Before you could wrap your brain around the turn of events, Namjoon knelt in front of you. His right foot remained planted on the ground, leaving his thigh parallel overtop. Thank god for his black jeans. If you drooled at the sight of his quadricep straining against the denim, no trace would be left.

Knees wobbling, you followed his cue and shifted your weight to one foot. The other was guided up to rest against his thigh so he could address the ankle strap for you.

Is your mouth hanging open? Why is it so dry?

Your body shouldn’t have clenched the way it did at something so innocuous. Really, he was being polite. Self-preserving after your eagerness nearly left him concussed. But he must have heard your heart hammering against the wall of your chest because he looked up at you and — no, there was nothing polite about the way his eyes trailed over your body.

Nothing innocuous about his low voice wrapped in velvet saying, “You look like an angel when you look down at me like that.”

It was a miracle that you didn’t break skin with the way you pinched your bottom lip between your teeth.

You must have blacked out after the first shoe was discarded; you weren’t mentally present to notice the other one’s removal. When your soul re-entered your body, Namjoon was back to standing at full height — and he was significantly taller now that you stood barefoot on his doormat.

Incapable of eloquence, you simply peeped, “Hi.”

Either you were going insane, or there really was a faint buzz of electricity humming in the few centimeters between Namjoon’s body and yours. Something was conducting through every nerve of your body, tingling.

“Hi.”

His little half-smile made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say next because the only thought in your head was something between a prayer and a plea.

kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me

When the tip of his tongue broke through the seam of his lips to wet them, the only conclusion you could draw was that he’d read your mind. He didn’t listen, but the glint in his darkening eyes confirmed it: Namjoon knew exactly what you wanted and he was holding back. Instead of his mouth, he gave you his hand. 

Not bad for a consolation prize. 

His fingers slotted between yours like they were the reason those spaces existed in the first place. 

That’s the thing about magnets — they attract what they’re meant to. You didn’t need to look for him to find him. Unpaired electron that you were, you knew it intrinsically when someone was spinning in the same direction you were. Even though it’d been the furthest thing from your mind in every moment leading to the present, you couldn’t deny it now: 

You found someone that clicked.

There was static sparking in the air when Namjoon led you from the foyer into the living room. Every breath was charged, even the one that caught in your chest when you saw the full extent of his collection.

“I feel like I’m walking barefoot through the Met,” You hummed, eyes flitting from portrait to portrait. Traditional, contemporary, modern — all of it chosen thoughtfully and displayed the same way. “What’s it like to live in it?”

He paused and you paused with him. He looked shy for the first time all night. “Like I’m not alone with my thoughts, if that makes sense?”

Perfect sense.

“You’re not coming home to an empty apartment if you’ve got a piece of Yoo Youngkuk’s mind on the walls.” You gestured with your free hand  to a painting hanging to your right. It filled the otherwise neutral space with bright blues, greens, and yellows. “Gotta have some enrichment in the enclosure, or the fishbowl we live and work in will drive us crazy.”

When you glanced back at Namjoon — who was silent and completely still — he looked as if your words had punched him in the chest. Not like he was in pain, but as if the wind had been knocked right out of him. He was silent, though his mouth was slightly parted, and he blinked slowly back at you. You didn’t know what that look in his eyes meant, but it was a far cry from the lust in them before you started rambling.

Now, you had to worry about whether you’d offended him somehow. Fuck. You’d done it again, piggy-backed off someone’s statement to add the two cents no one asked for. Have you ever kept a single thought to yourself? 

You quickly pointed to a different painting.

This one, unlike the abstract pieces you’d examined so far, was earth tones in oil paints. Sitting in the center was a young woman in white, staring down at her bare feet as if one of them had stepped on something sharp.

“What’s her story?” You asked.

Namjoon cleared his throat to reactivate the vocal cords you’d seemingly paralyzed earlier. “That’s Eurydice on her wedding day. She married Orpheus, if his name rings any bells.”

It doesn’t.

“She got bit by a snake on her wedding night, which is — uhh, admittedly not ideal.” Namjoon visibly struggled to hide his smirk when you snorted in response. He continued, “She died, which is even worse, but Orpheus went to the underworld to save her.”

“Did he?”

Namjoon grimaced. “Orpheus was not great with rules.”

“Did Orpheus leave his own reception to chase a woman?” You teased with a raise of your eyebrow.

You watched his eyes darken in real time. Viper quick, he tugged at the hand he never let go of and led you right back to him. To keep yourself from colliding fully with his chest, your free palm flattened against it. His pulse raced at your touch, but you couldn’t pay attention to anything other than the searing warmth radiating off of him.

“I suppose he did.” He leaned down, nose tip nearly bumping yours. “There’s an important distinction here, though.”

Namjoon’s hand left yours, lifted up to rest with his fingers under your jaw and his thumb above it. You were sure that your shallow, useless breaths were fanning over his chin, given how close in proximity his mouth was to yours. His breath hit your lips and left them tingling.

The best you could do was whisper, “And what would that be, Namjoon?”

“Orpheus went home empty-handed.”

You didn’t mean to growl in response the way you did, but he’d awakened something feral in you, and there was no turning back. No caging it in. Just your hands gripping tight to his shirt, pulling him down to kiss you the way you wished he had hours ago. That was primal, too. All teeth and tongue with his fingers threading through your hair, and —

And he laughed. 

His shoulders shook just enough for you to notice. It was the quickened exhale of breath through his nose that gave him away, more than anything else.

“Is something funny?” You questioned him when you pulled back breathless. His eyes were crinkled, swimming with mirth. 

Tease. 

You and your now-unoccupied lips changed targets, dipping down to assault the exposed underside of his jaw. Mumbling against his skin, you urged, “Share with the class.”

He opened his mouth, and for a moment, he seemed to be on the brink of answering. Whatever words he might have found were lost again in an instant when your teeth nipped playfully where his neck met his shoulder.

“All those blackberries you ate — oh, fuck.” Namjoon groaned, even more so when your tongue flicked over the faint indents you’d left behind.

After leaving an opened-mouth kiss on his collarbone, you looked up at him from under a curtain of lashes. His head was thrown back, but he sensed your stare; half-lidded eyes fluttered down at you, transfixed. It was a look you felt everywhere, downright pulsing as it shot straight to your core.

You weren’t ready for the hands in your hair to migrate, and that fact was made abundantly clear by the tiny gasp he stole from you in the process. He reveled in it; the corner of his mouth twitched triumphantly upwards. His left hand resettled on your hip while the knuckles of his right hand brushed over the space just below your belly button.

Namjoon must’ve known he had you spellbound because his smirk was full-fledged when he pinched the fabric of your dress between his fingers. Gently, he tugged what he’d claimed, causing the hem to flutter against the tops of your thighs. You were left damn near liquified. More puddle than person, dripping dizzy under such a torturously soft touch.

He didn’t know you were kerosene until he struck the match.

“If your kiss tastes like blackberries...” He trailed off, head tilting to the side. His right hand dropped further. It hovered, red hot, just millimeters away from your core. “How sweet is the rest of you?”

You erupted in flames when his fingertips finally made contact with your clothed cunt. Clenching your desperate thighs together did nothing to extinguish the blaze, nor did the arousal that slicked the innermost parts of them. Swallowing down the whimper building in your chest, you did your best to keep cool. 

Eyebrow arched, you whispered, “Asking questions won’t get you answers, Namjoon. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

The intention might’ve been to wind up in his bedroom at the opposite end of his apartment, but the execution was short-sighted. The farthest your lip-locked staggering got you was the adjoining, open kitchen — more specifically, the kitchen island. The chilled, marble countertop forced a hiss out through your teeth when the undersides of your legs settled on it. With Namjoon’s hands scorching the tops of your bare thighs, though, you were far from frozen.

Fingers raking through his hair, you let him kiss you stupid — until you couldn’t remember how it felt not to. Whiskey-laced and wanting, you licked into his mouth with a stifled whimper and came to two irrefutable conclusions. They spun pirouettes in your brain as his fingernails scratched up your thighs and under the hem of your dress.

Kim Namjoon was made to be kissed.

Up, up, up, his hands moved slowly until you felt his index fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear. He didn’t have to ask for your help; automatically and eagerly, you dropped your hands until your palms flattened against the countertop and lifted your hips. Down your thighs, off your ankles, tossed carelessly over his shoulder, gone — accomplished with his bottom lip kept as a souvenir between your teeth.

Kim Namjoon tastes like blackberries, too.

He was panting when he finally broke away. Large hands slid under your knees and pulled you forward. Now sitting at the very edge of the counter with Namjoon’s body between your thighs, you could feel him throbbing behind too-tight jeans. You were seconds away from reaching out to touch him, but he was the quicker draw.

The tip of his middle finger slid through your folds, wading through the slick that had pooled there. He moved slowly from the button of your clit to your entrance. That teasing filled your head with static and the silence with obscenity: you cursing under your breath as your forehead dropped to rest against his shoulder; you gushing, though he’d barely begun to touch you.

“All for me?” He hummed. Namjoon’s eyes were locked on your face, as if he was collecting mental snapshots of the fucked-out expression he’d put there. “Sweet thing.”

His lips connected with the underside of your jaw in the exact moment his digit finally slipped inside of you. You were sure he felt the way your mouth fell open, even if neither of you heard your breath catching in your throat. It didn’t take much effort on his part to coax it out of you, though; just a few slow pumps, and then you were whimpering near his ear.

You had to rely on your arm around his neck to keep you tethered. If you let go, you weren’t sure where you’d end up — floating off to join Neowise in its orbit, or crashing down into a heap at Namjoon’s feet. But then he added his ring finger, and you clung to him so tightly that you might’ve wound up in his rib cage instead.

“Oh, s-shit,” you keened as his fingers curled upwards. He’d found his target and attacked it slowly, forcing you to walk towards your orgasm rather than sprint — the way you needed to. The way you were willing to beg for. “Namjoon, please. I n—”

You felt the curve of his smirk against your skin. Before you could finish asking, he murmured low in your ear, “Say less, beautiful.”

The kiss he placed on your temple was the last thing you remember before his increased pace lit the fuse waiting deep in your abdomen. His thumb pressed against your clit, winding quick spirals, and he didn’t let up until he blew your mind sky-high.

When the smoke cleared and your pieces fell back into place, you had to blink to get the stars out of your eyes. “You should’ve warned me,” you panted. Namjoon was puzzled, which only made you beam. “You didn’t strike me as the dexterous type.”

The feigned shock on his face didn’t stick for long; it was quickly replaced by a shit-eating grin that made you tingle for an entirely different reason.

“These hands are good for two things, and two things only.”

You snorted, flexed an expectant eyebrow. “Breaking shot glasses, and…?”

Namjoon shook his head. His fingers were still shining with your orgasm when he brought them to his lips. It was ridiculous how he could still look pensive with you dripping down to his knuckles.

“Making you cum, first and foremost,” he corrected you matter-of-factly, like it was an undeniable truth dictated in one of the many books you’d seen littered around his apartment — and really, it should’ve been. 

He took those glistening fingers into his mouth to clean you off of him; you couldn’t look away from his tongue as it ran down their length. You swallowed hard when he did. Then, he released them with a lewd pop that made you clench around nothing. “And making you cum again.”

You rolled your eyes, as if you weren’t still irreparably charmed by him. Namjoon bit back a grin, like he didn’t already know.

“My hypothesis may be confirmed, by the way,” he mused.

The magnetism you’d felt earlier brought him back to you again. His arms snaked around your waist so easily that you had to remind yourself — over and over — that they were strangers to you, not a home. That this was adrenaline; this was infatuation; this was one night.

You hummed in response, “Is it?”

It felt like home when Namjoon kissed you, softness laced with eagerness. Or like wax pooling on an envelope, the deed now signed and sealed.

“I’ll have to re-run the experiment, of course. Scientific method and all that.” He waved his hand, as if this was obvious. Yours landed a playful swat on his bicep that only deepened the dimple at the corner of his smile. He kissed you again and you let him. Lips still flush to yours, he mumbled, “Your pussy may be even sweeter.”

2020/7/19; 01:04

You should’ve been exhausted. Your social battery — and your physical battery — should’ve been depleted. You, an introvert and a homebody, should’ve been halfway to sleep in your own bed by now, in your own clothes. 

When you left your apartment all those hours ago, you were already prepared to hibernate for twice as long as you’d spent on the outside. That was the way it always worked. A plan you never deviated from; one you never wanted to. But you’d been firmly rooted in the moment — every moment — since you arrived at that party, and you hadn’t spent a second since wishing you were elsewhere.

Your voice cut through the music flowing from the speakers built into his bedroom walls. “I’m not buying it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You twirled at the center of the rug and watched the fabric of Namjoon’s loaned t-shirt attempt to keep up with you. It hung over your frame like a potato sack, leaving a comforting weight as the excess material spilled over your shoulders and landed halfway down your thighs. 

Funnily enough, it fit like the dress it’d replaced.

Pausing to swallow down the last sip of the soju you’d been splitting, you gestured towards him with the empty bottle. From where he sat on his bed, Namjoon raised his hands defensively. That sheepish smile admitted that he knew your offense was justified.

“You’re a musician who is fluent in English. You’re also a human being living in a society,” you huffed. “There is simply no way that you don’t know the words to this song.”

He had to cover his face with his hands to muffle his laughter. Even before he hid behind his palms, you could see the way his mirth made his eyes swim. They sparkled even more in that moment than they had in the thousand other times he’d looked at you throughout the night. Once again, you tried to convince yourself that it was due to the rose-colored glasses you couldn’t seem to shake off. 

A trick of the light.

You were doing it again, and you knew it — conflating relief and hope; confusing the temporary sense of belonging somewhere with the ability to stay anywhere. You weren’t looking for this, weren’t looking for him, because you knew exactly what you couldn’t have. But you also knew that your heart was racing in your chest, and its rhythm was starting to sound more and more like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

Apparently, you’d been staring. Looking at Namjoon for too long made your knees wobble more than your sore muscles did, so you had to avert your eyes when you snapped back to reality. Brushing off that odd flutter in your chest, you brought the empty bottle back to your lips, tilted your head back, and belted out the lyrics you knew he knew.

“Oh, wake me! I'm shaking.” 

You took your clumsy choreography to the next level with an exaggerated shiver. Namjoon watched through the cracks between his fingers, unable to ignore the person coming unzipped mere meters away. Undeterred, you threw the back of your hand up to rest against your forehead.

 “Wish I had you near me now.” Then, you wiggled your hips in time with the ad-lib. It was barely audible underneath the chuckling from the audience. “Uh-huh.” 

His hands dropped to his lap as yours shot straight up into the air, where you held them. The expression on his face was indecipherable when he gazed back at you. Whatever it meant, it was quickly morphing maybe into something more hopeful and — terrifyingly — committal.

“Said there's no mistaking —”

Namjoon said it on an exhale, weightless and without any effort. It sounded natural tumbling out of his mouth and into the space between you. It sounded a lot like: 

“I think I love you.”

Without missing a beat, you reeled your arms back down and set the soju bottle onto a nearby dresser. Head tilted to the side, you crossed your arms and smirked. “How sure are you? Enough to wager on it?”

He didn’t seem at all surprised by the way you bought in immediately. You wondered if you truly expected him to be. After all, you weren’t, even if a reasonably well-adjusted person should have been. Perhaps, you thought, you weren’t one of those.

Namjoon’s response came just as easily as his first admission, a perfect volley. “At least seventy-nine percent sure.” You couldn’t see the way you lit up, but you’d have liked to imagine that it matched the way he did. Quicker still, he added, “And yes, I would. All in.”

There’s that magnetic pull again. 

You skipped back to where he was waiting on the bed and crawled over the mattress to settle in front of him. Up close, you could see the sakura tint to his cheeks; it blended perfectly with the faint freckles dusting over the heights of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You’re beautiful, you thought, and it’s no wonder that the sun found you worth kissing.

Something about his proximity to you made you bold; you didn’t fight it. You simply smirked, “Then let’s make a deal, Joonie.”

Intrigued, he raised his eyebrows but didn’t interrupt. 

“Two years,” you hummed as you tilted your head to the side. Then, with a thoughtful finger tapping at your chin, you elaborated, “If in two years’ time you realize that you were right — and you’re one-hundred percent sure — you’ll win a prize.”

Namjoon nodded firmly. He put his hand out to shake on it, but you sat up on your knees. His gaze followed, leaving him to stare up at you as your fingers slid through his hair. You kissed him to finalize the contract, like all true devils do. 

“Deal,” he murmured against your lips.

It scared you, just a little, how melting into him already felt like a routine. Like you’d done several times already that night, you spilled into his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs. Namjoon’s arms accepted you immediately; they enveloped you, kept you anchored against his chest.

This time, it was you who laughed. 

Namjoon nudged your cheek with the tip of his nose. “What was that about sharing with the class?”

“I just — I’m not normally like this, you know? Completely unable to keep my hands to myself,” you snickered. “Can’t stop touching you.”

To emphasize your point, you removed your right hand from its place at the nape of his neck. Once your fingers were no longer woven through his hair, your fingertips traced light, languid lines, starting at his collarbone. Your eyes followed as your ministrations led you over the slope of his left pectoral muscle, down the bare warmth of his chest. 

“So, don’t.”

When your eyes flicked back up to Namjoon’s face, you got the impression that he hadn’t stopped staring at yours. Right hand trailing further down, you maintained that eye contact and watched his pupils blow when you reached the bulge in his boxer briefs. Experimentally, the pad of your index finger whispered along the length of his cock; you relished the subtle twitch you received in response.

“Is this where you want me to touch you?” You asked.

He was throbbing under your touch, growing hard once again, as if you hadn’t been at this for hours already. That didn’t stop you from driving him further wild. More breath than words, you teased, “Or here?”

With a light hand, you flattened your palm to encompass him more fully and squeezed, prompting him to curse.

“Fuck.” 

Namjoon’s eyelashes fluttered, but he seemed entirely unwilling to let them close. Desperate brown eyes pleaded with you, sending heat straight to your core. 

“Need you, pretty thing. Hand, mouth — doesn’t matter, just fuck me.”

Your fingers slipped away from the base until they resettled at the crown. Even without looking, you could feel the spot where his leaking tip had soaked through the fabric. He groaned when your fingers pulled away, though he stopped in his tracks when he realized where they were headed. 

Namjoon shuddered when your hand dipped under the waistband of his briefs and picked up exactly where you’d left off.

“How do you want it, Namjoon?”

As you stroked him, you pressed your lips to his. Slow, hungry, like you’d die before you’d get the opportunity again. 

To the best of his ability, Namjoon rolled his hips forward with each pass of your fist. And when you redirected that teasing pressure to his balls, he downright jolted, let loose some deep sound from the bottom of his chest. The sound hardly had time to dissipate before you felt the hem of your shirt lifting above your hips. 

Breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head, it was gone in an instant, landing somewhere unseen off the edge of the bed. Ridding him of his briefs was a more concentrated effort. You pushed up on your knees so he could shimmy them down far enough for you to discard them entirely.

“How are your legs, pretty girl?” His palms warmed the tops of your thighs as he massaged his way from your kneecaps towards your hips. 

Dipping his head down, Namjoon nipped affectionately at your earlobe and earned a squeak from you. His low chuckle vibrated through you. He was quick to redirect himself, though the teasing didn’t end at his teeth. 

“You seem to like being bossy, but I can take over if you’re tired.”

You feigned a scowl. “Are you baiting me?” 

The wicked grin on his face answered for him, but it was quickly replaced with wide-eyed surprise when you pressed your hands against his chest and pinned him back against the pillows.

He shrugged, eyes still sparkling with mischief. “Not my fault if you take it, sweets.”

“Never would I ever have assumed that Kim Namjoon is a pillow princess.” 

You pointed accusingly at him with one hand while the other slid into the space between you to line yourself up with his cock. 

Impish grin still locked and loaded, he leaned up on his elbows until your extended finger was centimeters from his face. He kissed the tip of it chastely between his words, like his own tip wasn’t dripping with you, seconds away from obscenity.

“Hook — line —”

You dropped down on his length, and it shut him up immediately. 

Though Namjoon was certifiably, world-endingly thick, you’d acclimated well enough to the stretch of him in your time together so far. He didn’t seem prepared for you to take him to the hilt in one fell swoop, if the way his head crashed back against the pillows could be taken as a hint.

With a swirl of your hips, you grinded down into his lap. Coquettishly, you finished where he left off. “Sinker?”

“Christ,” Namjoon groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, then followed up immediately with a sheepish laugh. “Feel like I can’t even watch you do this. You’re too fucking good — never gonna make it out of here alive.”

Pride bloomed in your chest at the compliment, even though he was prophesying his own downfall between your spread legs. 

You imagined he could feel it for himself: you weren’t any more likely to survive. Not full of him, with your slick spilling down his cock as you bounced. Definitely not with the sick sounds of your ass colliding with his pelvis, squelching with every thrust. 

There was something blooming below your navel, but this time, it wasn’t pride. A tingling heat coiled tight, desperate to snap again. You needed it, but the burn in your thighs was stronger by far.

“Joonie,” you whimpered, incapable of caring about how pathetic you knew you sounded. Your head, previously thrown back, drooped forward to find him and his flushed cheeks fighting to maintain composure.

God, he looked as fucked out as you felt. 

Namjoon focused on you immediately, attentively, and your heart leapt of its own accord. He curled his finger and beckoned you to lean forward. 

“Come here, pretty girl,” he sighed.

Less gracefully than you would’ve liked, you all but crashed into him, sweat-slicked chest to chest. Arms wrapped around you like they were made for that very purpose.

Anchored.

Dangling from the last, frayed thread of your resolve, you were damn near speaking in tongues. Namjoon pushed up onto his heels and buried himself in you — over and over and over — at a punishing pace, hellbent on unraveling both of you at once.  

Your moan was halfway to a sob. All the words you knew had been knocked loose some time ago, leaving only his name and please. They rattled around your skull, alternating as they spilled out of your mouth.

“Say less, baby,” he panted.

There was a kiss pressed to your forehead, and then there were stars bursting behind your screwed-shut lids.

2020/11/2; 07:22

Namjoon sat across from you at his kitchen island with a mug of coffee in one hand and a book he’d forgotten the name of in the other. He’d started it over an hour ago, though the two turned pages might indicate otherwise. Instead, he’d spent his time attempting to read whatever scrunched-up, pensive expression you had written all over your face.

You hadn’t said much since the two of you sat down, just pushed your sliced fruit around your plate with chopsticks that had yet to pass your lips. Every now and then, you’d hummed in response to the random thoughts Namjoon relayed out loud. Ultimately, whenever you’d realized he said something at all, your eyes widened; and you’d blinked your way out of whatever daydream you’d gotten lost in.

He loved that about you, your internal wanderlust. Even if he didn’t always know where your train of thought was headed initially, he’d board it with you regardless, find out on the way.

Eventually, you plucked a blackberry off your plate and popped it into your mouth. Your eyes were still glued to your laptop when you started to chew. Then, he suspected that the tartness of it truly hit your tastebuds. The lightbulb switched on and you were back, beaming across the countertop, warming him like a UV lamp.

“Hi,” you peeped.

Namjoon loved that about you, too. Infinite hellos sprinkled throughout his day at random; feeling like you missed him whenever you looked away, and that you found it necessary to greet him when he finally stepped back into frame. 

He lit up, too. “Hi. Where’d you go just now?”

You swallowed. Whether it was exclusively the fruit or anxiety, too, he didn’t know. That is, until you claimed your bottom lip between your teeth and mumbled, “Got a weird email from the Overlord.”

The sip of coffee Namjoon had taken while he waited for your answer was a bad idea. He sputtered, nearly spitting it out onto that book he couldn’t care about. The would-be spit-take made your brows raise on your once-crinkled forehead; your amusement was palpable, even if you did him the courtesy of not laughing in his reddening face.

“If Bang finds out you call him that, he’s gonna want it on the nameplate outside his office,” Namjoon coughed. Clearing his throat, he bumped his fist against his chest to shake loose any coffee that might be lingering near his airway. “Weirder email than usual?”

You nodded, then you waved him over to you. It was an odd thing to be grateful for, but he was glad you didn’t just turn your laptop around and scoot it towards him to read. You always took any opportunity for closeness.

When he crossed around the island to you, Namjoon threaded his arms around your waist and ducked down to rest his head on your shoulder. The second he laid eyes on your screen, he was paralyzed. You had so many browser tabs open that none had enough space to display what they contained.

Is this what the inside of your brain looks like?

“Jagi,” he started, breathing in deep to keep from laughing with his entire chest. 

It was bubbling there beneath the surface, he could feel it. Begging for composure, Namjoon buried his face in your hair. Vanilla and honey. Instantly calm, perfectly prepared to nudge you further. “How — how did you even find your inbox?” 

Just to fuck with you, he pressed his fingertips against that secret spot on the right side of your rib cage. It was the one place on your body he’d been able to confirm was ticklish.

Eventually, maybe, he’d learn his lesson. Today was not that day.

You squealed, thrashed wildly in his hold until your elbow wound up on the right side of his rib cage. It was hard enough to make your point, but way too gentle to hurt. Still, Namjoon had to capitalize on it. He sucked in a gasping breath and stood bolt upright to clutch his chest like he’d been shot.

With you watching wide-eyed, he staggered backwards — away from you, away from the kitchen — until the back of his knees hit the sofa in the adjoining living room.

At some point, Namjoon would have to shoot up a thank you to the God of Entertainment. Somebody had clearly been looking out for him when open-concept apartments came into existence. His slapstick would’ve been so underwhelming if there were doorways involved.

Flopping backwards, his limbs splayed out across the backrest and cushions. Whatever parts of him didn’t fit spilled over the edge and dangled above the floor. He froze that way, playing dead with his tongue jutting out of the side of his mouth.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

“Hope you watered the plants before you died, Joonie,” you called out. You sounded distant, like you hadn’t gotten up from your stool. “If you left it up to me, they’ll be dead soon, too.”

Joonie.

God, the way his heart still fluttered at that. Coming from you, that nickname didn’t sound stupid, or inspire him to choose violence. It wasn’t patronizing, wasn’t followed by some shit-eating grin. It was soft. Made him soft.

Jooniejooniejoonie.

“Actually, for all you know, I’ve got a tab open somewhere with an article on how to keep plants alive.”

Namjoon heard the faint scrape of the stool as you pushed it away from the counter. Then, the soft pad of your slippers coming his way. The hints were lost once you hit the plush living room rug, and so were you — until he felt your knees slotting on either side of his legs.

You settled down on top of him with your cheek pressed to his chest and your hair tickling his nose. Bravely, he didn’t sneeze.

Hand slipping down to the small of your back, he rubbed spirals into the space between the hem of your sweatshirt and the waistband of your sleep shorts. He hummed, “What’s on your mind?”

For more than a few moments, you were so quiet — so still — that Namjoon had to wonder whether his ministrations had put you straight to sleep. If that was the case, he’d keep going, blow off his to-do list for as long as he could just to keep you like this.

This. 

Neither of you had settled on precisely what this was. 

For nearly four months, this something was one of few constants in his life. Yours, too. It wasn’t a secret that needed keeping, but whatever this was felt too important to share. It belonged to the two of you, not anyone else — with the sole exception being Yoongi, who would’ve noticed the massive, tectonic shift whether or not he’d been the one to kick it off. Everyone else, though? Non-factors, as far as Namjoon could tell.

Until —

“Label’s expanding overseas.” It came out muffled, either because your cheek was smushed against his sternum, or because you really had fallen asleep in the pause. You continued, slightly clearer, “Putting a flagship sub-label in Los Angeles to crowbar their way into the American market.”

Namjoon wasn’t surprised, not really. Si-Hyuk had been daydreaming about this leap for as long as Namjoon knew him. It was only a matter of time before he got his little contractual ducks in a row. If anything, Namjoon was surprised that it took him this long to do it — what, with American money and American awards on the table.

But he knew you, knew that you didn’t give much of a shit about executive decisions, so long as they didn’t get in the way of your decisions.

That was precisely why he knew you were bringing this up for a reason.

“The hard launch is at the end of the month, so Bang is hoping to sign some of us over in the meantime. He’s trying to boost the curb appeal, I guess.”

You sighed and Namjoon felt the rush of air leave your lungs.

Namjoon nodded carefully to avoid knocking the top of your head with his chin. He sighed, too. “To water the plants.”

You didn’t say the quiet part out loud, but he could sense your brain working overtime; damn near hear your train of thought as it picked up speed. He half-expected to feel heat seep from your head to his chest while all your synapses fired off at once. 

The warmth came from your eyes instead. You shifted so that your chin rested in the space between his pectoral muscles; and as soon as your gaze settled on his face, the crease between your eyebrows relaxed. Your pupils dilated, too, blown wide enough for him to notice the shift.

So, that’s what love looks like. 

Not merely a neurochemical reaction or some grand, Hallmark-style gesture. Love looked like you, looking at him, while a wave of patent relief smoothed out the worry digging trenches in your features. And if he had to describe how it felt, well… The only word that came to mind was home.

“Is he asking or telling?” 

Part of him wondered; the other part knew there usually wasn’t much of a difference between the two. 

Even more quietly than before, you responded, “Asking — like, actually asking.” 

The wrinkle in the center of your eyebrows reappeared, informing him immediately that you were split between the answer you wanted to give and the one you felt you should. Namjoon wouldn’t dare to make that call for you — to press down on either side of the scale — so he leaned forward and kissed you in the middle, right on top of that conflicted little crease.

“Joonie,” you started in a tone split three ways. Shy, sad, and sparked with a sense of hope that made you wary.

Bang Si-Hyuk wasn’t alone in his daydream. You brought it up considerably less than he did, but Namjoon sensed that this was because you didn’t want your motives to be speculatively linked with the prospect of profit. That would be the furthest thing from the truth. 

For you, it was about your craft — Namjoon felt comfortable calling it that —  and the million ways you could improve it with new collaborators, new ideas, new experiences.

For Namjoon, it was about you; and hoping that when you dove into life head-first, you never touched the bottom. Wanting everything you wanted to fall straight into your hands like confetti. And, if he could remain just a little bit selfish, he wanted to stick around and watch you catch them all. 

If you wanted him, too, the rest of it would fall into place, one way or another. It’d have to, because Namjoon was struggling to remember how his days passed at all without you laughing through them. Maybe he’d have to reacclimate to sleeping without your knee pressed into his back, but he was confident that he could. 

He could wait for you until this detour was over. 

He would wait for you.

Without needing to think twice about it, Namjoon kissed your forehead and smiled with his lips still pressed to your skin. It was routine, as easy as breathing when he said, “Say less.”

You both stayed there on that couch for a while, though he couldn’t guess how long. Simultaneously minutes and months, but somehow — confusingly — it didn’t feel like the clock was moving at all. He could’ve easily believed that the universe has pressed pause on the moment, but you peeped and he had proof to the contrary:

“I’d be there by Thanksgiving.” 

The realization clearly made you a little bit giddy. If your tiny gasp hadn’t given you away, your pulse would have. Namjoon could feel that hummingbird heartbeat against his own rib cage, and — shit, did that fondness squeeze his heart with a vice grip

You sat up, wild-eyed and urgent. “Is pumpkin pie just for colonizers, or are they obligated to share it?”

Fuck, he loved you.

“Joonie, this is serious.” You pouted and it was all he could do to bite back a grin. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

He nudged your cheek with the tip of his nose and smirked, “Just do what they do.”

“Steal it?” You snorted, devolving into a fit of giggles when he began to pepper kisses down your cheek, then along your jawline.

Eighteen in total, one for every stroke.

Saranghae.

Namjoon hummed in agreement, “Steal it.”

2021/6/19; 04:11

Most people — normal people — were in bed at four o’clock in the morning. You were not most people, though situations like this were becoming more and more normal to you. Unfortunately, you’d been forced to learn that normal and easy weren’t interchangeable. If they were, you’d have gotten used to taking the red-eye by now. 

This was your third late-night flight. Not at all coincidentally, this was your third trip home since you left it for Los Angeles. You’d spent seventy-eight hours in the air, making this trip; flown more than 57,480 kilometers in less than a year.

Seven months, technically, but who’s counting?

The elapsed time seemed to run in dog years, though the calendar maintained that only seven months had passed. At the rate they slipped through your fingers, it felt like seven years of trying your best to take advantage of every break in your schedule. Flinging yourself across a black sky on a semi-regular basis, even if you’d just gotten off a tour of your own. Praying that the odd hours and lack of layovers meant your thirteen-hour trip didn’t steal a second more than was absolutely necessary.

Time, you’d learned, was a luxury you failed to properly budget for. Unable to do much else, you accepted whatever scraps you could afford. Make them worth it, you’d demand of yourself each time you landed at Incheon. Every time, your excuse would follow: I’m trying, I swear, but I’m so tired.

Instead of a bed, you were slumped in Namjoon’s passenger seat, clutching the small bouquet he’d brought you in a hand too exhausted to register the brush of soft, white petals. You’d never lose track of his fingers interlocked with yours, though. His touch was inimitable, and the warmth of it stuck with you long after it was gone.

“Pretty,” you mumbled, gaze zeroed in on the flowers. You lifted your right arm to bring them in for closer inspection. It was futile, mostly, given how bleary your eyes were. You guessed, “Baby’s breath?”

This airport ritual of his combined two of your favorite things: the careful consideration he made in choosing flowers that conveyed messages, and the dimple that appeared on his cheek when you guessed correctly. Gifting you an additional prize, Namjoon raised your clasped hands off the center console. Without taking his eyes off the road for too long, he flashed a sleepy grin at you and kissed your knuckles.

Fuck, you loved him.

He turned onto the expressway, let your hands drift back down between you, and yawned. Automatically, you yawned, too. 

As he drove, Namjoon’s sleep-drenched brain did its best to ask about all the updates you might’ve acquired since your last phone conversation. He asked about the extended play you were writing, the weird leak in your apartment, and the only friend you’d truly made in the time you’d lived there.

“What’s their name again?” He asked, visibly embarrassed that he’d forgotten. “Jisoo?”

With a chuckle, you corrected him, “Jinseo.”

He echoed you firmly under his breath, clearly determined to commit it to memory this time. Word association was apparently part of that process, you realized. Your heart fluttered wildly when Namjoon proceeded to state the first thing that came to mind about her, proving that he did listen when you talked.

“Jinseo’s the attorney who tried to slide into Yoongi’s Instagram DMs,” Namjoon stated, as if he were being quizzed. “He never looks at them. She’s been checking for three weeks to see if he’s even opened it.”

The way he recited this fact made it sound like he’d learned it from a book, rather than overhearing your friend’s complaints directly while he spoke to you on the phone. Still, he glanced at you for confirmation that he was correct. You nodded, proud.

Then, you provided the update he’d been seeking: “For the record, he still hasn’t.” 

You mustered enough energy to laugh along with him, but neither of you was awake enough to keep the conversation going. At least, you hoped that was the case. The alternative — that you’d run out of things to talk about — was worse. It was all you could think about, and now silence crept into the lulls, sitting heavy.

Namjoon was the first to speak again, after a long pause: “It’s lunchtime back home, isn’t it?”

It was an innocent question — a caring one, checking in on you — but it struck like a sucker punch, nonetheless. There might come a day that association didn’t sting, but you knew intrinsically that this wasn’t it.

Los Angeles wasn’t home, even though you’d lived there for the better part of a year. Seoul wasn’t home, either. You had no real roots in either location, continuously jumping back and forth between the two. Namjoon was home, though he was beginning to feel temporary, too.

“It’s so early for you, Joon.” You squeezed his hand. “We can go back to bed, and grab food later. I’m not hungry yet, anyway.”

A lie, but a well-intentioned one. You hoped your stomach kept quiet, kept your secret.

Though he wasn’t looking in your direction, there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes that you couldn’t have missed if you tried. You were sure it matched yours whenever the sixteen-hour time difference made you miss his calls. His schedule lately had made them fewer and farther between.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon sighed. 

He meant it, and he emphasized as much with a reciprocal squeeze of your hand. It stung, knowing that he was apologizing for all of it, up to and including this moment; and that neither of you was at fault for any of it.

“We’ll be back in sync in no time. I’ll —”

You cut him off with a whisper and your best attempt at a smile, “Pssssst.”

Thankfully, Namjoon was stopped at the only red light that still separated the two of you from his parking garage. Otherwise, the way his alarmed eyes flitted in your direction may have had consequences.

“Say less,” you mimicked, like any of this felt the way it did before. He beamed, but his grin left just as quickly as it appeared. 

Namjoon looked away when the light changed, unaware that your face fell before you could catch it. Something that insignificant shouldn’t have had the power to make you that sad; but it did, and you didn’t know what to do with that fact.

The rest of the ride continued in silence. If Namjoon also felt like that silence was suffocating, there were no hints about it in his expression or his posture.

Does this feel easy to you? Am I the one making it hard?

He had to let go of your hand to park in his assigned space, and he forgot to reach for it again when he finished. You knew it wasn’t intentional, but that didn’t make it hurt less. Didn’t make the tears biting at the corners of your eyes any less embarrassing.

For two people as jet-lagged and otherwise exhausted as you were, it didn’t take long to drag yourselves from his car to his apartment. It took even less time for Namjoon to begin shuffling off towards the bedroom. Halfway there, he realized you weren’t still close behind. 

“Where —?” He turned his head to search for you before he turned his body fully. Ultimately, he found you hovering near the kitchen island. The relief in locating you was quickly diluted with concern. “You okay?”

Are we? Is this?

“I think I left my phone in the car.” You patted down the pockets of both your joggers and your jacket, brows furrowed. Then, you picked up the keys he’d just set down on the counter top. “Gonna run down and look for it.”

Too tired to be steady, Namjoon swayed slightly where he stood. You couldn’t help yourself. That magnetic pull tugged you over to him, pushed you up onto your toes, and demanded that you kiss him until that confused frown curved upwards. 

For a moment, you smiled, too.

“Go back to bed,” you whispered, leaving a kiss at his temple. You hadn’t meant to speak so softly. Your voice was caught wherever your breath was, and they refused to cooperate. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

He nodded, accepting a proper kiss before his bedroom-bound shuffling continued. Out of sight, you heard the thump of his lead limbs collapse back into his mattress. You felt it in your chest, which was tightening by the second.

You turned for the door, ready to run, only to stop dead in your tracks. Just ahead of you, tending to a snake bite, was Eurydice. The sight of her portrait hanging on the wall threatened to rip out the sob you’d worked to keep buried. She was all you could think about when you slipped out the door, and stumbled down the hall.

Maybe Eurydice would’ve lived if she’d never met Orpheus.

Shoulders shaking by the time you reached the stairwell, you shoved your hand into your pocket as you crumpled downward onto the concrete steps. You pulled out your phone and gripped it tight, like closing your fists around it could keep you together, too.

With the extent of your tears, you couldn’t make heads or tails of that bright, white screen. You did what you could, though, like you always did. Warbled voice bouncing off the walls around you, you found a loophole and slipped through it. 

“Hey, Siri —” 

The swirling grey, red, blue, and green at the bottom of your screen looked more like a life-preserver than anything else. Automatically, you pleaded, “Call Yoongi.”

It was a fifty-fifty chance, calling him at this hour.

He’d either be awake because he never went to sleep in the first place, or he’d have just drifted off. Either way, you were already sorry for bothering him. When he picked up on the first ring, that was the very first thing you said to him. 

Immediately, his tone shifted from the grogginess of his initial greeting. Now, he sounded worried. You wondered if you’d woken him up, but you didn’t ask.

“Hey — whoa, whoa, whoa — what’s wrong? Your plane didn’t crash, did it?”

He wasn’t trying to be funny and you didn’t mean to laugh, but you did. Sort of. It was some odd, gasping sound that felt wrong as it came out of your mouth.

“I’m fine,” you kept repeating, as if you could manifest the outcome. “I’m fine. I just — I need someone to tell me if I’m crazy, or just doing this whole thing wrong —”

“Doing what wrong?” Yoongi cut you off. “It doesn’t sound like you’re breathing properly, if that’s what you mean. Can you take a deep breath? Count to five on the inhale and on the exhale.”

You did what he said. It helped with what it was meant to, but hyperventilation had been the least of your concerns.

“Sit on the floor if you aren’t already. If you can, lean your back against a wall and flatten your palms on the ground, okay? That’ll help you feel anchored.”

Halfway compliant, you slumped against the metal railing next to you. You threaded your left arm over the lower of the two rungs and held on tight. Part of you wanted to laugh at this, too. It wasn’t much different than the safety bar on a rollercoaster; the way your stomach dropped was identical.

“I can come get you if you tell me where you are,” Yoongi continued. “That twenty-four-hour place has lamb skewers now. We can eat, and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

You didn’t know where to start. All of it, you thought, it’s all wrong.

The answer you blurted out was, “I love him.”

“I know, kid,” Yoongi sighed, and it sounded like an apology. He didn’t need any further explanation. “I know you do.”

Your voice broke when you continued, splintering painfully in your throat. It wasn’t a question you had any conscious intention to ask. It was simply shrapnel flying out of your mouth: 

“Is loving someone supposed to hurt this much?”

2021/11/13; 14:36

Your fourth trip home felt different than the rest. There was something in the air that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. Whatever it was, it’d kept your stomach in knots from the time you left your apartment until you wandered through customs in Incheon. 

It’d only gotten worse when you finally reached the sidewalk outside the airport. Your first instinct had been to cry, though not for the reason you usually did; you’d swallowed that urge with a hastily taken sip of boba. Just like he had for your three previous homecomings, Namjoon was waiting for you, flowers in hand. 

Flower, singular.

Of the two of you, he was the one with encyclopedic knowledge of floriography. Regardless, you knew enough to understand what that lone, white tulip said. It was an apology; and by now, you were well acquainted with those. Even still, you hadn’t gotten any better about accepting them because he still hadn’t done a single thing to be sorry for.

Sorry.

That word had slowly mutated into a punctuation mark over the last year. It’d wormed its way into every sentence, whether or not it had any business being there.

Hi, sorry, I was in the studio when you called. I love you, sorry. I miss you, sorry. I’m so proud of you, sorry, I wish I could have been there.

You heard it even when neither of you spoke, felt it in every bit of quiet. It sat between you on the drive from the airport to that restaurant you used to like — the one by the lake. It filled your unoccupied hands on the walk in from the parking lot, rested like a centerpiece in the middle of your table.

Neither of you ate much. You wished you’d had some semblance of an appetite, if only to fill the pit growing in your stomach. To distract from the way Namjoon’s eyes went glassy whenever he looked at you, or to keep your bottom lip from trembling.

Silent and sorry, the two of you watched the wind force waves; which, in turn, forced anchored row boats to collide with the dock.

Anchored.

There was that word again.

It’d been sitting untouched in the backlog of your vocabulary for longer than you’d care to admit. You knew its dictionary definition, of course, but it’d never been a word you’d ascribe to yourself. Leading up to last November, it wasn’t a feeling you’d knowingly craved, either. If you were honest, you might have hated it and its synonyms, too. 

Rooted. Tethered. 

They were on the tip of your tongue now, finally yours to taste. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that your resistance to them had always been a coping mechanism. Your amygdala trying to intervene.

Until you met Namjoon, stability had been unfamiliar and elusive. It’d outrun you for so long, there’d only been one conclusion left for you to leap to: You didn’t deserve to catch it.

But you did catch it. You found him, opened yourself up to believing that you were the kind of person who got to have roots. For a year, you tried so hard to nurture them, loved the beautiful thing you’d grown in spite of yourself. 

You earned them, so why couldn't you keep them?

Namjoon noticed your breathing pick up. He knew you well enough to see precisely what direction your brain was spiraling in; and that you needed a gear shift. So, he hummed, “Been thinking about changing up my hair.”

“Oh?”

It certainly caught you off-guard, but you figured that was the point. You weren’t sure if you should have — or why you felt you couldn’t — but you reached up to run your fingers through it. Longer than last time, lighter.

“I’m not sure if the blonde has ever actually suited me,” he laughed. “What do you think? And, seriously, give it to me straight.”

You nibbled on your lower lip as you studied him. No matter how many times you stared at his face, you uncovered some new, favorite feature. Today, it was his irises, warmer than you remembered them being. Namjoon became more beautiful the less you saw him, as awful as that thought felt.

“I do like the blonde,” you mused. His cheeks blushed, just barely, but it squeezed your heart to know that was still a reaction you could pull from him. “But I think it would be nice to see Kim Namjoon as he exists naturally, you know? I haven’t met him yet.”

He smiled — genuinely, with his eyes and all his teeth — and it ached. 

“I’ll make a note of that,” he promised with a laugh. Then, he gestured to your largely untouched plate “D’you want a box for that before we go?”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. It slipped out before you could stop it. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”

The corner of his mouth lifted again, less happily than the last time. You knew as soon as you saw it that his half-smile was an apology, too.

2021/11/25; 19:59

Over the last week, Jinseo Kang had spent more time in your apartment than in her own. The spare key you’d given her at the start of your friendship was intended for emergencies, and while this wasn’t what either of you had in mind back then, that was the only word she could use to describe the state of you now.

In twelve months of knowing you, she’d gathered enough trivia about you to fill a memoir. Of the facts she’d collected, two came to mind immediately whenever Jinseo thought of you. The first was that you were a workaholic to a borderline clinical degree; so resistant to rest that the mere thought of being unproductive gave you hives. The second was that, despite the cursed hours you kept, you were never not in contact with Min Yoongi.

Since you’d flown back from Seoul, you’d done neither. 

Jinseo didn’t have to ask to know what happened; you didn��t need to say a word. In fact, you hadn’t — not that she’d heard — since you touched down at LAX, two days ahead of schedule. The only reason Jinseo even knew to pick you up was a direct reply on Instagram that didn’t look a thing like she’d hoped. Worse, the only way she’d been able to recognize you in her passenger seat was by the signature, mint green headphones clenched tightly in your hands.

Immediately, she’d noted the absence of your smile. That was a seismic shift, in and of itself. As was the case with those pastel headphones, that smile of yours wasn’t something you’d ever be caught dead without. Part of you never got off that plane, she’d thought then. Looking at you now, crumpled on your couch, Jinseo knew better. A piece of you was missing long before you boarded that return flight in the first place.

From your kitchen, she glanced over at the heap of blankets, though she didn’t know why she bothered. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t done much of anything since you shuffled out of bed at two o’clock in the afternoon. Still, she had to check for proof of life. Proof that you were still there, somewhere, even buried.

Illuminated by the television screen and underscored by A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, there was movement. Half-hidden by a pile of knitted throws, she spotted the top of your head. Like it did every other time she saw the tangled bun sitting crooked there, her heart sank. I know you’re in there. I’ll find you, I promise.

In the absence of an instruction manual, she’d have to make one. This was a crash course — what to do when love dies in slow motion — and Jinseo was flying by the seat of her fucking pants. Maybe she didn’t know how to pull you out of this pitfall you were trapped in, but she could hold your hand and refuse to let it go.

So, that’s precisely what she did.

Before making her way to you, Jinseo grabbed the dish she’d been preparing off the counter. Spare fork in hand, she rounded the kitchen island and made a beeline for you. You didn’t react when she reached you, unless you counted the way you hugged your knees a little tighter to your chest. Jinseo certainly didn’t; she would’ve sat directly on your feet if you hadn’t cleared the space.

This close to you, she could see the way your jaw was still clenched. Going on eight days now, it was impressive, in some sick way, that the unrelenting pressure hadn’t left you with a mouth full of dust. See? She wanted to grab your knee and shake it, make sure you heard it loud and clear: Look what you can survive!

She didn’t, though. Jinseo simply held out the plate in her hands and stared at you expectantly until you sensed her gaze on you. Red-rimmed and glassy, your eyes lifted to meet her face and she was not going to cry at the sight of you. Nope. Swallowing thickly, she glanced pointedly at the plate, then back up to you. 

You were unfazed, barely conceding a blink. You didn’t even look down.

Please, sweet bean. Please eat something.

She tried again, nudging your knee with hers. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

For whatever reason, that holiday greeting was the only thing to reach you in a week. Finally, you looked down.

Jinseo hadn’t finalized her expectations prior to this moment, but the short list had included an eye roll, a groan, something. Even if you didn’t reciprocate, she would’ve been grateful for a response of any kind. Her list hadn’t included you bursting into tears over a piece of pumpkin pie, but that’s exactly what she got.

Charlie Brown can go fuck himself. There’s no such thing as good grief.

It was a reflex, dropping that plate onto the coffee table like it’d bit her. With her hands now free, she grabbed your shaking shoulders and pulled your limp body towards her until you all but collapsed in her lap. Even then, she squeezed you tighter.

I will not let you shatter. I will not let you slip away.

The two of you stayed there, just like that, for however long it took you to let go of the tears you’d stockpiled for eight straight days. And when you were finally quiet — finally still — Jinseo thought for sure that you’d finally fallen asleep.

“I think I hate him.”

Your voice was weak from lack of use; so much so that Jinseo could barely register that you’d spoken at all. Once she did, she didn’t know where to start.

Quietly, she asked, “Namjoon?”

With your head in her lap, Jinseo felt it shake. Again, you surprised her.

“Yoongi,” you whispered. God, you sound so broken. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and I know it makes me a bad person, but I’m so fucking angry at him. I went to that party because he begged me to. I wouldn’t have — I wasn’t looking for him.” 

Your voice cracked. “I wasn’t looking for him, for anyone. I’ve lost everything, and I don’t know what to do now. I’m so angry that it hurts.”

“That’s grief, sweet bean,” she corrected you gently. You sniffled, glanced up at her from the corner of your eye. “Not anger. Grief is just love with nowhere left to go.”

At this, you sat up more fully than you had in eight days, albeit looking more hollow than you ever had. Face tear-stained and bottom lip quivering, you croaked, “I don’t know what to do with it all.”

“Call Yoongi,” Jinseo hummed as she squeezed your knee. “If you need a place to put all that love you have left, then write one.”

2022/7/7; 00:00

Namjoon couldn’t remember the last time he had a day go the way it was supposed to; and frankly, he was getting sick of his own shit.

That morning had started off fine. 

Scratch that. 

It started off as well as he could possibly expect it to, waking up in an empty bed with no kneecap pressed into his spine. He drank coffee at his kitchen island, alone, and ignored the blackberries he’d unwittingly scooped onto his plate with the rest of his fruit. Dumped them in the trash before he lost his mind over a berry. Read half a book and remembered none of it. 

All things considered, Namjoon was doing just fine.

Unfortunately, things started going off the rails somewhere around sundown. He and Yoongi had wrapped up the last track on Namjoon’s upcoming release; and for once, Yoongi agreed to leave his studio. Agog and aghast, Namjoon dragged his favorite recluse to every sordid bar in that pocket of the city. As he piloted his tailspin, Namjoon repeated one thought, over and over:

Any dive he stumbled into was better than an empty apartment.

As he spiraled, he drank enough to blur the image of you, which was plastered on every television and burned inside his brain — but not too much. Namjoon learned a long time ago that he couldn’t sleep if he went to bed alone, so he made a habit of not doing that. After all, he didn’t have to like himself; he just needed to live with himself.

Whatever her name was, Namjoon only fucked her because she looked like you.

Her presence on your side of the bed might’ve summoned you because, when he finally checked his phone, your name was tied to a missed call. Better — or worse, he hadn’t decided — there was also a voicemail. The thought alone left him dangling precariously between wanting to cry and needing to vomit. Phone in hand, he staggered toward the bathroom before he’d made his choice.

Closing the door behind him, Namjoon leaned back against the wood. Everything was spinning, though none of it could be attributed to the whiskey he’d had several hours prior. This was all you.

You and that gravitational well he couldn’t ever seem to leave, trapped at his furthest point from you and growing colder all the time. Darker, too.

Aphelion, he remembered with a humorless laugh, not sure if or when it’ll ever be like this again.

Fuck!

Namjoon startled himself when he slammed his hands down on the counter, less due to the involuntary action and more due to the fear of breaking his phone. In a panic, he glanced down. It was perhaps the one thing left that he hadn’t shattered.

Typing in the code to his voicemail felt like disarming a bomb, given how urgently his fingers moved. He needed it, whatever it was that you deemed important enough to say to him. Needed you, but this was the closest thing he had, and that was fine.

“Hey, Joonie. It’s me — well, that much is probably obvious, I guess? Uhh — Anyway, Yoongi mentioned that you finished cutting the album today. I just —”  

Namjoon’s racing heart stopped dead in its tracks. You’d paused for so long that he feared the recording stopped there. Thankfully, you started up again, taking his pulse along with you.

“I just wanted to say, congratulations. You’re — I’m sure it’s incredible,” you sighed, “I hope you’re proud, and I hope you’re doing well.”

He was neither of those things. It’d been months, and it still hurt to breathe whenever he thought about you. He thought about you all the time, asleep or awake, no matter what — or who — he attempted to distract himself with. No matter how much of himself he lost track of in the process.

You were all he wanted, all he wants, all he’d ever want.

Namjoon caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Purposefully avoiding his own eye contact, he looked up, just above his crumpled brow. That bleached blonde hair still didn’t suit him, now even less so than when he asked for your opinion that day by the lake. He made a note of what you’d said, just like he'd told you then. It’d been sitting inside his medicine cabinet since the day after his whole fucking world exploded. 

Jaw clenched, he broke the magnetic seal between the mirrored door and that bottle of black dye.

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[dwreader]

iwtv pt 2 book vs. show

in the book the loumand courtship leading up to the sham trial feels like it takes place over a few weeks (???) but now that we know the show is extending that to more like 2 years, there's a lot more space for smaller dramatic arcs that help build to the climax. like in the book we pretty much immediately get one vibe from louis (horny for armand), one vibe from armand (horny for louis, wants claudia gone) and one vibe from claudia (hates the theatre/armand). loumand get together, madeline is made as a consolation for claudia and then the big climactic blow up.

idk what exactly the show's cooking but just from the trailers we've already seen multiple dynamics between claudia and theatre vampires. she's clearly excited watching their show and riding with them in the motorbike/mansion scene (there's also scene where they lift her in a chair and she's laughing some sort of initiation?), then her eventual annoyance with being tasked with dressing up as a doll and giving out flyers, and her diary entry where she's like fuck these vampires. in the earlier motorbike outing she gives louis a cute encouraging nod when he wants to stay outside to flirt with armand so how exactly that develops into the later anger towards them is again, way juicier to explore now that we have more breathing space. [which is again why i hope they don't rush these developments in favor of other less relevant flashbacks]

the feeling i got from the earlier released cafe clip is that claudia has grown a bit tired of louis latching onto her as his only sense of identity possibly because they've become so co-dependent during their harsh travels through europe, which matches nicely to book claudia wandering off alone at times and louis being confused/upset about it. that makes him easier prey for armand. so again how do we go from that to claudia feeling threatened by louis's relationship with armand after the initial encouragement?? this is all a lot more complicated than what's given to us in the book and hopefully a sign of better writing than what AR was capable of.

similarly loumand's courtship doesn't seem as straightforward as just them hooking up and killing claudia like armand basically wants her GONE right off the bat and doesn't wait long to do it. in the show, whatever's happening builds up over the course of years and while there is a clear courtship phase in the show, it also seems like loumand are in a real relationship for a while (and potentially with even a mini break up) before things finally come to blows. the rainy bench and museum bits seem to be the break up/goodbye but somehow these four end up happily drinking martinis before the trial (exact same clothes on claudia and madeline). wtf is going on??? did the break up happen as a result of claudia's accusation that he's choosing armand over her? is the making of madeline a reconciliation between both loumand and louis and claudia (also in book facilitated by armand's mind control)? it's potentially a good way to explore what i felt was an underdeveloped aspect of the book, that is why armand finally decides he has to kill claudia as opposed to just letting her and madeline leave town together.

that's not even getting into how and when madeline gets dragged into it cause the trailers haven't given us a lot of info on that. or what the hell is going on between louis and santiago since we've now gotten multiple hints in the trailers to focus our attention a bit more on that relationship. either way the relationships feel a lot more realistic where they go through sometimes contradictory spells of contentment and conflict rather than just point A to point B.

[subrosasteath]

SPOILERS FOR Jackson's diary 110!

Okay, okay okay okay, Theory time.

David can see Exer's magic now, and I'm pretty sure it's a side effect from Jackson's entry where he wrote that they should protect each other

Jackson specifically wrote in the diary that he hopes David and Exer can be there for each other, and as a viewer we assumed this would mainly affect Exer's magic, because that's the way it's always worked before.

But I went back to read episode 108, and if you read carefully, David does react to Exer's magic in this scene.

It's hidden well, and if I wasn't looking for it, I would have assumed that David was just reacting to Exer "pushing" Kevin away from them.

David never reacted before this, in any of the quick flashback scenes, and the fact that he double checked later in the car makes me certain that this is the first day of David being able to see the magic.

And it lines up just a bit too well with that last diary entry, in my mind.

If David can see Exer's magic now, it means he'll be able to be there easier for when Exer's magic acts up. David will be able to see, and react, and most likely calm Exer down before it gets too far.

He'll be able to protect Exer, to keep them both safe as best as he can.

Also, just a little add on, but oh my god they can do so many cute things with the fact that the magic is visible to David now. Remember the pages where Exer would have little green hearts floating around him? Yeah, well David can see those now. I just feel like there's so much room for cute shenanigans.