#okay NOW i'm on a mental health break

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Okay, I lied. One last post before I take that much needed mental health break.

A post that I always swore - back before you could turn off reblogs and mute comments and basically make the lives of would be trolls very pointless, because you will never see what they say - I would never be stupid enough to make.

I leave you with my essay on…

Why Sparkly Vampires Make Perfect Sense, Stephanie Meyer Just Went About It All Wrong

Let's face it, humans don't always know what we're looking at. As an example, I was reading a book about poison use in royal courts. In the section on cures, in the subsection on unicorn horn (alicorn, for the technical term), it mentioned how the people who procured this rare substance were somewhat baffled by the fact that at the end of their lives the unicorn (which lived in such places as Africa, Persia, India, etc.) would migrate to the far north to die on the beaches of the arctic sea. Now, in their defense, it's very unlikely that any of these individuals would be well traveled enough to have even the opportunity to see both a live unicorn and a dead one. If they had, they might have had an easier time realizing 'these are two different animals!'. But the point still stands.

Humans don't always know what we're looking at.

Now, if you go through folk lore and mythology, you will, of course, find horrible blood sucking fiends that drain innocents of their life. Vampires. You will also find lots of entities which emit an ethereal luminescence or radiant glow, entities which possess powers beyond mortal understanding, who can be benign or terrible, and who are known to abscond with humans, although we're certain these humans are safe and happy on Olympus or under the green hill, not dead like they'd be with those blood suckers.

No one who had not seen both Apollo, God of the Sun, and the horrible vampire who chowed down on the neighbor two doors down would realize: they're the same entity.

To make it even harder for the poor mortals (and easier for the vampires!), vampires look different in different lighting conditions. After all, something that sparkles in the sunlight will also sparkle in the moonlight, the firelight, etc., it's just a matter of degrees. So some vampires would hang out in moonlit glens, for that 'fairy of the moonlight' feel, while others would set themselves up in temples with a many fires as they could manage. I mean, if you're going to call yourself Apollo, God of the Sun, you had better be all sparkle all of the time! Top all of this off with mind reading ability that lets traveling vampires fit into the local not-vampire-vampire mythos and yeah, the humans don't stand a chance.

It's great! Things are wonderful! Even if someone does see you devour a hapless victim and run screaming 'vampire' in the town, you can always just eat them next. No big deal. Only the stupid and careless are in real danger.

And then…

CALAMITY!

The head of the Roman Empire, that militant mass of well armed testosterone (and a bunch of less important people), converts to Christianity and proclaims there's only one god who is…not you.

Well shit.

Of course, if you're a lesser known vampire you can pass yourself off as an "Angel of the Lord" in a quick pinch, as long as you're talking to a peasant who's too illiterate to realize you're lacking in the eye and wing department (good news - this is most everyone), but you can't do that too often. And if everyone knows you as Apollo, God of the Sun?

Sucks to be you. You now have a bunch of very militant fundamentalists armed with sharp, pointy implements of destruction chasing after you with cries of 'demon' and 'false god'. Even with your supernatural speed, getting away from them is made far more difficult by the fact they can see you glittering from the other side of the market.

This is where vampires went nocturnal, since moonlight is less sparkle inducing than the sun. Then, since even that gets risky, they slowly moved into caves and cemeteries and the occasional creepy old castle that no sane person would enter without an explicit invitation to dinner, or for a real estate job. Something like that.

The next millennium was pretty dire. The millennium after that was…okay, also pretty dire, until suddenly, at the end of the twentieth century, a miracle! A remarkable shift brought about a change that would once again free vampires from their castles and cemeteries and allow them to walk safely among humans!

But they wouldn't go creeping off to the sun starved, water logged boonies of the Olympic rain forest. Oh hell no! They would go to the cities, to Soho, to Broadway, to places where they could strut proudly down the street to the envious stares of mortals and cries of "Damn, I wish I looked that good in body glitter!"

[entirelysein-e]

Please don't go to my moots asking where i am / if I'll be back 🥹

I said I'm not doing okay and that I need time for myself right now and I kindly ask to respect that.

The mental health isn't mental healthing and living with bpd next to a chronic depression is hell on most days. The good days are rare atm so I need to focus on myself in order to help myself to feel better. I'm in no state to be on here and act all happy and cheerful when I contemplate admitting myself to the hospital just to stay alive a little while longer.

Next to that we have a family situation with my mom in a critical condition and I'd like to be there for my family and help where I can.

I don't want pity or anything I just thought I let you know what's really going on behind the scenes since it's apparently necessary to ask numerous mutuals when I'll be back and what not just because I haven't been online for 3 days.

As of now I don't know when I'll be back. A lovely mutual of mine will come visit in 2 weeks and we move right after. Maybe I'll be back next week, maybe in a month. Perhaps I'll just pop in for 2-3 days and disappear again. Please be patient with me, I'm trying my best to heal.

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[littleapocalypsekitten]

One of the saddest things in my life I have discovered of late is that I make my therapist nervous. My therapy-session yesterday: Had me going on one of my most frequent topics (after health-issues / worrying about the partner and money-stuff) - politics. The cool thing about her is that, while this is usually a taboo-subject for most people, something one might not even talk to one's therapist about, I have a therapist who agrees with me that Trump is a horrible person who is horrible for the country, and all his ilk. (She's expressed fearing Desantis to me in the past). Anyway, I've talked about recent events - mostly the fear that certain event might rocket asshole to a win, also public violence is scary. I go on about my fears of potentially living under Fascism in the near future. This woman is supposed to help me with my anxiety, depression, mania and whatnot. And she does, mostly. However, it feels like there are just things she cannot do. The world is just like that, I guess. There are some things that even the people who are paid to help you cope are limited in helping you cope with. I told her I plan to vote, and, well, she concurred with me "That's all that we can do." She told me to limit my news-intake and said that is what she does because she "tries not to think about it, because it makes her anxious, too." Apparently, I'm the only client who brings this stuff up to her - I really thought she'd have almost everybody. I wonder if I'm the only client *she* trusts with political bull-sessions? I'm in a situation of "How is therapy supposed to help me with one of my current MAJOR issues when my therapist is just as scared as I am?!"

[nexus-nebulae]

odd thing we've noticed. the less okay we are the smaller our active system gets

[yangjeongin]

.

[c0smiccom3t]

I'm going to be a little honest with you.

I've had some deep thoughts last night. Yes, its about Pocket Adventures, but not only that, it's about IRL stuff as well. I've been trying my best to find a school for september (either in another country in the EU or in Germany) and ive been trying to pay close attention to finish pocket adventures as well. So... here's the thing.

I'm thinking of taking a break from social media.

Yes. It's not only due to personal reasons. But it's also about how i want to not distract myself and want to work on D.D full-time. Which means i'll work like everyday off social media until P.A production has wrapped, so we can take a 2-month or longer break from working on d.d content and just focus on drawing art pieces. I don't want to stress myself or anybody else out, so from now on 'll try to get a decent sleeping schedule so i can wake up early to have breakfast, stay hydrated and work on d.d.

Sure, it's tough. But that's the indie creator thing for you. Not to mention, I'm a newcomer, so i still need to be taught and know how things work in the community. Especially for webcomics. (I'm not in animation yet, i am used to making comics, but once i finish animation school and get a degree i might as well start making indie animations as well.)

You all as well have to keep in mind that content creators and artists have a life outside of the internet, they have irl stuff to do and serious stuff to do as well. And right now, if i don't get enough money to go to Canada, i'll have to think of a Plan B, which is, find a school in another country part of the EU. It's challenging, but i'm trying.

In conclusion, i want to tell you all the truth. I think it's about time i take a break from social media. I've been active on socials for like, years! (2016 in my g+ era to 2023, today.) and i think it's about time i take a break. working on d.d full-time is important for me, but self-care and handling IRL responsabilities is even more important.

Now, if i DO end up going on break from socials, you can always find me on Discord, however, i'm not going to be available to talk all the time. mostly because of working on Dimension Dyfenders. The reason why i'll use discord is to contact the co-creator (aka Alex) in case we work on scripts for the next minisodes and think of ideas and work together and other stuff about d.d. Another thing is that... I'm the only illustator on the comic. However, i would LOVE to get some more people to help me illustrate for P.A and future comics as well, But i can't, i'm still a kid, and I can't do this whole indie thingies yet. (I'll be able to do it once i hit the big one-eight and/or get my own bank account with a lot of money, hopefully... Remember, artists and people who work on indie projects deserve to be paid and get breaks for all of their hard work)

Thank you all for everything. I am glad to have been in a place in where i could feel safe, happy, and included. This whole break thing is not going to be a Good-bye. It's just a See you next time. So, yes, if i stay inactive from socials for a while. this whole post is why.

[TL;DR: I'm thinking of taking a break due to IRL situations and wanting to work on Pocket Adventures full-time, if i end up taking a break, i am available on discord and just discord, working on d.d is important for me, but self-care is even more important. Thank you all for your support <3]

[aftermathing]

I'm in so much pain it's embarrassing. I'm going to look back on these memories of me writhing alone too afraid to sleep biting my knuckles crying about nothing and laugh.

[thegeekyartist]

Fuck I feel ill

[edgybutnotveryedgy]

Haha just impulse bought a shirt

[astonmartinii]

match my freak | yuki tsunoda social media au

pairing: yuki tsunoda x fem rugby player reader

there's only one person who can match the yuki tsunoda radio freak...

MAIN MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

.・゜゜・ part of the aston martini summer olympics ・゜゜・．

yukitsunoda0511

liked by pierregasly, danielricciardo and 384,098 others

tagged: yourusername

yukitsunoda0511: spa was fine i guess, time to spend my summer break in france (ew) supporting the love of my life (yay)

view all comments

user1: 'fine i guess' as if we didn't get YOINTS

user2: tbf if my gf looked like that, points also wouldn't matter to me

pierregasly: FRANCE (EW)??? DID OUR HOMOEROTIC TENSION MEAN NOTHING???

yukitsunoda0511: oh so when i diss france we had homoerotic tension but when i said we were boyfriends i went too far 🤨

pierregasly: diss me all you want but not the homeland?

yukitsunoda0511: fine, i will from 5pm tomorrow

pierregasly: ???

yukitsunoda0511: because y/n will be there and therefore it will be the ONLY country in existence

pierregasly: i give up

user3: i need a man this down bad for me asap

user4: maybe it's time to lower my height requirements :(

yourusername: it's not how tall you are but how you are tall

user5: idk what the fuck that means

yourusername: IT MEANS SHORT KINGS PUT IN A LOT OF EFFORT WHY DO I HAVE TO SPELL OUT EVERYTHING? WHERE IS THE MEDIA LITERACY? THE READ COMPREHENSION?

user6: okay i think i now know ^^ why y/n and yuki are so good together

user7: i need someone to edit together their most iconic on field and radio moments together please for my mental health

yourusername: that's a crazy coincidence because the love of MY life will also be in paris 🤨

yukitsunoda0511: well i bet i love my love of my life more than you love your love of your life

yourusername: NUH UH

yukitsunoda0511: yep :PPPPPPP

yourusername: u wanna fight?

yukitsunoda0511: yes actually!

yourusername: well soz babe i can't get all hot and bothered before competing 🤷‍♀️

yukitsunoda0511: BORING

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, pierregasly and 318,905 others

tagged: yukitsunoda

yourusername: seeing yuki again: 10/10 ... realising he's not allowed in the olympic village and there's only cardboard beds anyway -100,000/10

view all comments

user12: so i suddenly understand why they give out so many condoms at the olympics

user13: why do they all go so feral?

yourusername: have you seen my man?

yourusername: AND THAT'S A RHETORICAL QUESTION TO SHOW OFF MY HANDSOME LITTLE MAN NOT AN INVITATION FOR YOU BITCHES TO THIRST

user14: noted 😔

pierregasly: i'm the one with a bad digital footprint but you're out here being just as horny as me on main

yourusername: i am allowed to ?

pierregasly: and i'm not allowed to?

yourusername: no

pierregasly: so fuck me i guess?

yourusername: let me be a woman in a male dominated field (being gross online)

yukitsunoda0511: yeah pierre stop trying to minimise womens' voices

pierregasly: how am i the bad guy again?

yourusername: man ❤️

pierregasly: yuki is a man?

yourusername: he's MY man which means he's been closely vetted and is basically one of the girls now

user14: i know visa cashapp rb or whatever the fuck they're called hate to see them coming

user15: it's the fact she's taller than most of the mechanics and she is always watching over them

yukitsunoda0511: i missed you so much but i can't wait to watch you beat the shit out of the competition

yourusername: for you, anything

yukitsunoda0511: a gold? so at least one of us can be world champion 🥺

yourusername: i'll win gold for you and then schedule in a friendly visit to see helmut

yukitsunoda0511: i think your mere presence could give him a heart attack

yourusername: oh well

user16: so real of her

olympics

liked by yukitsunoda0511, landonorris and 1,209,678 others

tagged: newzealandrubgy

olympics: the women's rugby final saw gold go home to new zealand!

view all comments

user17: okay yuki i am SEEING THE VISION

user18: i watched this game to see her and i am a changed woman

user19: i am no better than a man

danielricciardo: my personal favourite moment was when y/n clotheslined that poor girl, laughed in her face and said if she tried to get past her again she'd make trinket dishes out of her knee caps

yourusername: why thank you, i think my wit is my least appreciated part of my game

danielricciardo: i think we should honestly get you in the commentary box

yourusername: i'd make mince meat of crofty, he'd never say anything about yuki's radios again

danielricciardo: can you tell them to stop telling me to retire while you're at it?

yourusername: sure, i'm feeling generous

danielricciardo: a gold medal will do that to you

user20: so they weren't joking when they said that her and yuki are just the same person in different fonts ?

user21: my commentary team apologised about 20 times for her swearing on the broadcast but then they kept bursting out laughing whenever she said anything

yukitsunoda0511: HOLY FUCKING SHIT

yukitsunoda0511: GOAT GOAT GOAT MY GIRLFRIEND IS THE GOAT

yukitsunoda0511: i'm so proud, i love you y/n 🫶🏻🥹❤️‍🩹

yourusername: i love you too boo

yukitsunoda0511: can they let me in the room now? i'm getting withdrawal symptoms :(

yourusername: of course, i can't celebrate properly without you

yukitsunoda0511: 😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄

user22: picturing yuki waiting outside the team room is so cute

user23: the nz team instagram posted a pic of it on their story he had flowers and balloons (∩˃o˂∩)♡

yukitsunoda0511

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 893,401 others

tagged: yourusername

yukitsunoda0511: she matches my freak :)

view all comments

user25: oh believe me we know

user26: i'm like a confusing mix of scared AND turned on

yukitsunoda0511: you keep that to yourself

user27: okay sir 🤨

yukitsunoda0511: you can look but you can't touch :P

yukitsunoda0511: actually don't even look

yukitsunoda0511: don't even think about her ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡)

user28: this man is insane, i love him

yourusername: you LIKE HIM YOU APPRECIATE HIM FROM AFAR YOU MAYBE HAVE A PARASOCIAL RELATIONSHIP YOU DON'T LOVE HIM THAT'S FOR ME AND ME ONLY

user29: oh they weren't joking about matching each other's freaks

yourusername: there's no one else i'd like to be a lil gremlin with :3

yukitsunoda0511: gremlins forever with you <3

yourusername: sounds like paradise to me !!

yukitsunoda0511: i'm on it ✍🏻

user30: is he going to propose ???

user31: hopefully (ㅅ •᷄ ₃•᷅ )

pierregasly: yeah i guess you guys are kinda cute

yukitsunoda0511: kINDA?

yourusername: i know this man ain't speaking on us

yourusername: kika is the face economy in that relationship

yourusername: her back must hurt from carrying the style in this couple

francisca.cgomez: well 🥹

pierregasly: WHAT ? HOW ?

yukitsunoda0511: don't call my girlfriend kinda cute then 🤨

user32: good lord

fin.

note: she's back !!!!!

[i-cant-sing]

Okay but I need yall to help me figure out the character(s) for the following scenario:

Imagine a romantic yandere falling for reader, and ofc reader isn't in love with yandere for obvious reasons like red flags. Maybe they did try dating, Yandere is a charmer, comes from a rich family, he's smart and hardworking and oh so head over heels in love with you. He's always taking you out on best dates, HAS to get you the largest fucking bouquets (excellent taste in flowers) and buys you expensive but well thought out gifts.

But for whatever reason, things dont work out and you break things off hastily and most likely over the phone before leaving the country. And yandere just- breaksdown. I mean my man does not have a good mental health as is, but you leaving, actually leaving him just breaks him down and he has a full blown panic attack.

I'm talking about yandere falling to his knees, clutching his chest and gasping for air, tears streaming down his face as he screams your name like a mad man. His family, they love him, they adore their son/brother/grandchild sm, it pains them to see him in such a miserable state. Yandere man is so delirious that he has to be sedated, tranquillised by medical professionals because he's just losing his fucking mind, babbling your name over and over again like a mad man. His condition only worsens as time passes, and so his family decides to take drastic measures because they can't see their beloved son/brother/grandkid so fucking dead and depressed and a shell of a once bright man. They love him so much, they only want ti see him happy, so they use their money and influence to track you down and try to convince you to return and take yandere back. When you refuse, they take the high way and force you to come with them, dragging you kicking and screaming to their private jet and fly all the way home, where yandere is.

You're in a dishevelled state, tears running down your cheeks as you struggle to free yourself from their grasps as they take you to yandere. And when yandere sees you... for the first time in months, his family sees the light return in his eyes as the yandere reaches out for you, scared that you're just his mind playing tricks. When he finally touches you, he is immeadiately pulling you into a hug, arms tightening around your body like a gilded cage as he cries into your shoulder and thanks his family for bringing you back. His family only smiles with tears in their eyes as they lock the door behind them when they leave, so that you don't go running away. Meanwhile, yandere has pulled you into his lap and he's looking at you with such sad eyes, staring at each feature of yours over and over again as if to memorise it all again. He can't help the tears that continue to slip out of his eyes, maybe he's crying that you're finally here, or maybe he's crying for all the time that's been lost when you weren't here. You fall asleep soon due to exhaustion, but yandere doesn't sleep a wink that night because he continues to stare at you and play with your hair very gently, finally closing his eyes when morning comes and he wraps his arms around you and traps your legs with his.

By now, you guys realise that the yandere's family is not only yandere for their son/brother/grandson but also for you. They are yandede for you too, but they're not allowing you to leave them or their son or even make him unhappy ever again. Some members are willing to let all you "tantrums" slide, while others are not so kind. BUT one thing is for sure, you're ALWAYS safe with yandere s/o, no matter what.

Now, for the characters I've had in kind for this scenario are:

Halim Mehmet Shah and the Shah Family (my ocs)

Dabi/Shotou and Todoroki clan (I am the OG creator of Yandere Todoroki Clan)

I wanna say Naoya or Toji but the Zenin clan hates them both....

Dick Grayson/Jason Todd and Batfam

What do you guys think?

Mood board for this scenario^^^(I love Pinterest)

[muniimyg]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jk (16) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist request closed

note: please prioritize your mental health and peace if the following content is too heavy for you. this portion of the plot has a lot of angst, and arguing. overall contains sensitive topics. thank you all for waiting so well for the break-up reveal!

tw: mentions of anxiety/stress/insomnia/ and postpartum depression,, early pregnancy loss (5 weeks), and self-neglect.

🏷️ permanent taglist:

@joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

//

"so... jungkook moved back in, he bought you a new car, and this entire time you've been broken up—you've been sleeping with him?"

it feels stupid to confess everything to your therapist.

you’ve been avoiding this for 9 months now. 

today it has to be settled. 

it has to be over. 

this feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes you want to throw up over and over again until you have nothing left inside of you. your lips tighten at the way your therapist blinks at you. you've never really been able to read her, but maybe that's what you like so much about her.

sometimes, it's nice not to know and just to take what people say as they are.

"he's not actually moved back in... he just has more closet space."

your therapist notes something down on her pad. then, she looks at you and simply comments, "i see... is that all you think it is? more closet space?"

"y-yes? n-no... no. okay, it's not like we're not back together though..." you begin to explain yourself.

"but you've been sleeping with him the entire time you guys have been broken up?"

you make a face.

your therapist tilts her head and lets out a light sigh. 

"i'm not judging. you two are adults. you both have needs. you both need each other. you both love each other. i'm just clarifying that—"

"okay, yes," you yield. "i have been sleeping with my babydaddy but haven’t gotten back together with him... i mean—we kind of are? to be fair, the break-up wasn’t a real break-up... it just grew into one. i take the blame for the dumping because i was the one who pulled away. so inevitably, i can't help but feel like a villain in all of it... am i? am i the villain? zion had this whole thing about what family is like, a home with another kid from his daycare, and it... it made me feel so guilty. jungkook and i talked about it and worked on it... i know he doesn't blame me, but every time i bring myself closer to... what do i even call this? ... forgiving him? forgiving myself? i d-don't know... all i know is that... every time i want to move on and just be happy—with him. with zion... with my life—i can't find it in me. i pull away, and it hurts everyone around us. sometimes, i wonder if they know it hurts me too."

"what does that mean?" she asks, her tone soft and curious. "good job getting that off your chest. you're doing great, ___."

mumbling a 'thank you,' you sigh and shrug your shoulders. honestly, you can’t think. your mind goes blank. she then sits up, fixing her posture. leaning forward, she makes her observation.

"___, you broke up with jungkook 9 months ago because of the circumstances. sure, he was supportive and understanding, but sometimes, when everything gets too much, the only person who can fix you is yourself. ___, it was a lot. it was heavy. one thing I've noticed about you is that you think and speak as if everything has to be this big thing. you know your emotions are bigger than the problem, yet you suppress them. it's okay to feel them because when you don't, you start to lose yourself. sometimes, it sounds to me like you want to burn the room down for people to empathize with you... for people to see you. for you to see yourself even."

"i don't want to burn anything down—"

"it's an analogy," she explains. "the truth is, for you, being burned out isn’t a thing until you can’t get out of bed. burnout is as simple as not wanting coffee anymore. sometimes, it's losing yourself to stress and anxiety... and people see that. jungkook, your friends, and your parents saw it. you don’t have to prove it. ___, you can’t keep pushing yourself until you can’t run anymore. you have to slow down. you have to let yourself be tired and learn how to rest."

you nod, agreeing with her take. then, you make another confession.

"i understand that," you take a deep breath. "but it’s like… before i knew it, i was upset and unfit for our relationship. i screwed up too early. that's why i broke up with him... but now... i don’t know. the guilt and blame keep pointing in different directions. i don’t know what i'm doing, and i can't do that. i can't not know when it comes to the father of my child and the love of my life."

your therapist purses her lips and offers you a small smile.

"then, ___... is it possible that things are better now? that it's more than his clothes in your home? that the room isn’t burning anymore? is it that maybe... finally, you’re realizing that being tired and burnt out is a part of life? ___, you’ve done nothing but get everything right since your childhood... to let your feelings—good or bad—be true and big isn’t a flaw. it’s you being human."

her words hit you, but not enough to stop your insecurities. with shaky eyes, you ask her, "w-what if i do it again?"

"do what again? burnout?"

"what if i fuck up everything about my life again? my career? motherhood? jungkook and i’s relationship? it hurt so bad... to wake up next to my family and not feel anything. it was so fucking hard... i couldn’t even pretend that i was okay. a-and when i asked for some air... he wasn’t even mad at me. he packed his bags and lost his breath from crying so much. at the door, he asked me if i was sure... and even though i wasn’t; i said yes...." you explain, your voice growing quieter with each word.

suddenly, everything feels so heavy. 

if there was ever a time to understand and relate to the feeling of the world being on your shoulders... this would be that moment. taking a breath, you compose yourself.

"i can’t do that again," you vow. "i can’t change my mind."

"you can’t change your mind again or you can’t hurt like that again?"

you pause.

"9 months ago, my mind kept going back and forth whether or not jungkook cared about me," you confess. "but i recently realized he does. he has. he always will... i just don’t know if i can trust him the same as before... i think i’m a horrible person for thinking that. weird, right? especially with how fucking horrible i am to him now."

"that’s not true." your therapist disagrees. "___, it was traumatic. you went through a lot—"

"—and i will never understand how he held himself together. when he was accused of plagiarism at his company, i took those accusations and sued until jungkook’s name was spotless. it was hard on both of us. he didn’t want me to go that far because they were his coworkers—his ‘friends’—but why... why was he so pathetic then? those people were out to ruin him. they quit the company and went to jyp. they proposed work that belonged to jungkook... it was a conflict of interest! when jungkook launched his work with hybe, jyp accused him of plagiarism. hybe cut ties with him and his company gave him so much shit for losing hybe. and i, his girlfriend and mother of his child, risked my career to focus on his case instead of my clients. i chose him. i did everything to fight for him. then, he told me he wanted to settle and stay at the company... i couldn’t believe it... he had his reputation on the line—his career! mine was too and all for what? because he didn’t want to embarrass his friends? because he didn’t want to cause the company more trouble? then, what about me? what about us?"

your therapist looks at you with sincere eyes. she nods, taking your words in. 

"___, does he know you’re still upset with his decision?"

"yes," you sigh, recalling how betrayed you felt. "w-we don’t talk about it. how do we? it felt like i wasted 2 months of my life and we lost our—we lost."

your therapist reaches over and offers you the tissue box. you didn’t even realize you were crying... but the silence between you two and the ache from the words that you just said begins to sting your chest.

after a few moments, your therapist softly tells you, "___, i don’t think you left him because you didn’t love him... i think you left because, despite everything, you did. that hurt because it meant loving him and putting him before yourself... on top of that, you were at a state where you should have been put first."

you gulp.

she purses her lips and makes her hit.

"___, do you resent yourself for the loss?"

you clench your fist as your therapist rubs salt into your open wounds. "the self-neglect? the stress? the post-partum depression? the insomia—"

"i resent myself for the loss," you admit. "... and i resent jungkook for losing me."

when you arrive home, jungkook is in the kitchen cooking. 

you didn’t expect him to be home. he was supposed to be picking zion up at this time and you were looking forward to some alone time. clearly, you have a lot to think about. as you take off your shoes, jungkook turns his attention to you.

“hi honey,” he smiles brightly. 

truth be told, he had a long day. he was running late this morning and had rushed out the door. as he drove to work, he got annoyed with himself. 

he forgot to kiss you before he left. 

so you can imagine just how excited he is to see you now… especially with all he has planned for tonight. 

“we had a meeting today and it ended early. it went really well so i have some news! also, i picked zion up right after my meeting. took him out for a little father-and-son afternoon... then, i dropped him off at your parents—”

“why would you do that?” you snap, putting your things away.

jungkook chuckles. “uh, maybe because i wanna ask you something tonight…”

your body stiffens.

“but we’ll get to that later! do you want to eat first? i’m cooking your favorite—”

“please stop,” you shut your eyes and take a breath. “jungkook, i had a long day. i’m glad yours was good and you got to bond with zion. i appreciate the effort—i just don’t… i don’t like that you dropped zion off at my parents after picking him up early from daycare. why didn’t you just take him home? and thank you for cooking... but i had a late lunch today, so i’m not hungry.”

“is it so bad i want to spend time with you alone?” jungkook asks, his smile fading. 

jungkook isn’t stupid. 

he knows you’re not in the mood, but he can’t help but push your boundaries a little. besides, communication is always good, right? at least, that’s what he’s been told. 

“it’s okay if you don’t want to eat... as long as you ate today. what did you eat?” he attempts. 

you move past jungkook as he asks you the question. taking out your phone, you check for any missed messages. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow as you ignore him. he catches your waist and guides you against the kitchen counter. grabbing your phone from your hands, he puts it aside.

“woah,” he pouts. “what’s up? why are you acting like this?”

you look at jungkook and hate yourself. his eyes are so kind and full of love. 

you know it. 

you feel it. 

it hurts so bad.

“what’s with the mood?” he asks, more gently this time. 

jungkook moves his hands from your waist to wrap around you. he nuzzles himself into the crook of your neck and hugs you tightly. “if you’re mad at me about something, that’s okay... but be angry here. don’t ignore me. being angry together is better than not being together at all.��

his plea makes your eyes tear up.

this isn’t easy for you either, but to be honest... it’s now or never. tonight, your heart feels especially heavy. you can’t blame it. some people say time heals all wounds—perhaps, this is it. 

this is the time limit.

“can i tell you my news?” he asks, partly trying to stall the conversation and partly because it was good news. 

“sure.”

“i got a job offer,” jungkook says. “i’d have to do an informal interview but it’s basically mine if i want it. they’re setting up a branch in new york. they want me to go there for 3-6 months and help start everything up. guide and mentor the visual director there—”

“that’s amazing—”

“i don’t want it,” jungkook chuckles. “they told me to sleep on it and make my decision in a month. until then, they offered me a raise! isn’t that great?”

your smile drops. 

all of the feelings you’ve been trying to regulate since you stepped out of your therapist's office today feel like they’ve gone out the window. was he serious? he declined such a big step in his career—for a raise? 

“jungkook,” you croak. “do you know why we broke up?”

he pulls away. 

what a fucking switch up. he doesn’t understand. 

for a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. does he reach out to hold yours or keep them by his side? he’s caught off guard. he doesn’t know how to answer you and frankly, he fucking hates this question.

“uh, why are you asking me—”

“what was the other thing?” you ask, already suspecting it. “are you going to ask me to marry you tonight?” you blurt. 

he shoves his hand in his pocket. 

“jungkook, are you asking me to marry you tonight? yes or no?”

he blinks at you. 

his heart is prepared more than ever; “yes.”

“don’t.”

jungkook’s heart drops.

“don’t because you’re saying no or don’t because you want a better proposal?” he attempts to lighten the mood with a smile. he takes his hands out of his pocket and reaches for yours. you don’t let him take it. instead, you shake your head.

“don’t because you don’t even know why we’re broken up.”

instantly, the tension between you two increases. it’s through the roof, actually. it feels like one wrong word, one wrong move, one wrong recalled memory—everything crumbles.

everything fails.

everything faces the end.

“___, i can’t answer your question because i’m not prepared to. honestly, i wasn’t prepared for the break-up. it just happened. it grew into one. ___, you never said, ‘jungkook, it’s over. we’re broken up.’ ... no. you said, ‘jungkook... i can’t breathe anymore. i need air. i need space from us,’ — that’s what you said. but to hell with that, right? we’ve been sleeping together and it’s not like we hate each other. you love me. i know you do... so i really don’t understand why you won’t marry me despite knowing the simple truth—”

you move away from him.

god, it’s so hard to be next to him sometimes. 

heading to the cabinets, you take out a glass and pour yourself some water. drinking it, you hear jungkook sigh and groan in frustration.

“are we really going to fight tonight?” he asks, annoyed.

you shrug and put your water down. “shouldn’t we? it’s kind of overdue.”

jungkook scratches the back of his head. his lips tighten and his mind is already dizzy as he asks;

“___, why did you break up with me?”

a beat.

“i wanted more from you.”

he looks at you confused. “the fuck does that mean? sex?”

you shake your head.

“jungkook, i was moving up with my career. you were constantly annoyed that i was overworking myself and that i only cared about zion. you were always mad at me when i brought up work—especially about yours. you didn’t want more. you refused the promotions and all the different leadership roles. you refused more hours—you refused to grow… just like now.”

jungkook huffs. “is this about money again? we’ve never had issues providing for zion and this lifestyle.”

“again?” you chuckle. “honey, it wasn’t about the money. at least to me, it wasn’t. i love you and would have married you regardless of my career path and yours—”

“then why won’t you marry me? you always say you will but you say shit like this. you know it fucks me up, right? this isn’t fair. you can’t keep changing your mind.”

“it’s not that i don’t know what you are to me and what i want,” you take a deep breath. it feels painful to be right. “it’s that marrying you isn’t going to make any of this easier. at least, not right now.”

his eyes are filled with hope. 

hope that maybe the reason is childish and not what he knows it really is. he hopes it’s because he left one too many socks inches away from the laundry hamper in your bedroom. he hopes it’s because you got tired of him always queuing his karaoke songs in the car before yours. he hopes it’s because (not really) you actually took an interest in nam joon or something.

most of all, he hopes it’s not what he knows it is.

“jungkook, we were disagreeing on everything. you thought i was greedy for wanting more for myself—for our family—”

“so it’s about whether or not i accept the job offer? i still have a month to think about it. i can’t just leave you and zion. you get that, right? i don’t just leave.” jungkook scoffs in disbelief. “and you act like i didn’t just get promoted. i accepted it, didn’t i? i did so to impress you because i love you. i did it to win you back because i love you.”

“but why didn’t you do it for yourself?” you fuse. “why can’t you want more for yourself?”

“___, i love you—”

you hiss, taking a step away from him. “stop saying you love me when you—”

“when i what?” jungkook steadies his tone. “when i made a decision that you didn’t like? ___, i made a practical choice back then. what other option did i have?”

“you chose wrong,” you cry. “is that what you’ve been waiting for me to say? jungkook, you chose wrong because you were afraid! it wasn’t practical. it was safe. you took the settlement, forgave those friends, and looked stupid while doing it. meanwhile, i risked everything. i fucking fought for you! for what? jungkook, it ruined us.”

jungkook shifts, taking a step closer to you. he runs his hands through his hair and groans.

“___, they have a family too. they fucked up and they apologized. i didn’t go through with the lawsuit because regardless if they deserved it—their families didn’t. their children didn’t. for fucks sake, one of them has a daughter zion’s age—”

a sob escapes your lips. 

jungkook’s shoulders slump as he lowers his head. you lower yours too, feeling your tears roll down your cheeks.

“jungkook, i love you,” you weakly admit. “i swear to god, i have never loved anyone more in my life than i have ever loved you. you’re the kindest man i’ve ever met. you empathize with others and put them before your needs. you chased me around like a fucking dog for the last 9 months, completely disregarding any self-respect. truth be told, you gave me a purpose to live. you made me zion’s mom and the love of your life. in so many ways, i don’t deserve you… but i also don’t deserve this. it feels like even when i can't trust you—i still do. it ruins me, jungkook.”

angry, jungkook disagrees.

“what are you fucking talking about—no. don’t say shit like that.”

“you kept me together for so long that i don’t know how to fall apart if you’re not around. jungkook, i had to fall apart. i was so tired then. i was so unhappy and everything you did to hold me together only angered me. it lit this fire inside of me and i felt like i couldn’t touch anything or anyone… why couldn’t you just be sad with me?”

“you fell apart before i could even process what happened—” he recalls, tears threatening his eyes. “___, i was devastated beyond belief. i was sad too. i was afraid too. you don’t think i wanted to cry in bed all day with you? i had to get up. i had to take care of zion and i’m sorry if i held onto you tighter than i should have—but i had to. there was no other way i could’ve lived if i didn’t hold on to you like that. you’re my air. i love you, ___ and in case you didn’t know; it hurt me too. losing our—h-holy fuck. i love you. ___, i love you. please, i love you so much—”

you sob.

you don’t even try to hold yourself together. a heavy cry escapes your lips and jungkook instantly lifts his head and comes to you. he wraps you in his arms as you cry into them.

“i love you,” you whimper. “i don’t blame you for it—really, i don’t. b-but why did you stay? i worked so hard and you chose to stay. i stressed myself out and couldn’t sleep. i felt so betrayed and i wasn’t eating—”

“i know, i know,” he murmurs, holding back his sobs. “i hate myself for it. it was my fault—”

“don’t—”

you pull away and hit his chest. 

your eyes sting from all the crying and your throat feels dry. yet, every fiber inside of you feels like it’s on fire. it feels like you’re burning down the room and all jungkook wants to do is slow dance in it.

“jungkook, when you settled, it took something from us. something beautiful—our second—our time.” you slow your breathing to gather the courage to say it. 

to say everything. 

to say it all and maybe, save it all.

“honey, i d-destroyed and hurt more than you did... and i know you don’t blame me; but am i ever going to stop blaming m-myself?” you sob. “i’m pushed into t-this... corner where it’s all my fault—and it is, you know? if i hadn’t stressed myself over your case and just f-focused on making partner at the firm—if i had just i-ignored the f-feeling of the knife you twisted—it was supposed to be this time around.”

jungkook’s heart breaks.

“9 months...” you say, voice trembling.

“don’t say it like that,” jungkook begs. “my love, i didn’t forget.”

that’s just it.

he hasn’t forgotten either.

yet, his body doesn’t ache like yours does. as much as your heart wants to forgive and find beauty in this tragedy—your body hasn’t healed. all those months ago, when you focused on jungkook’s case and stressed yourself to the bone—you made a mistake. you neglected your health to prioritize everything but yourself.

your breath hitches as you recall everything. a part of you feels relieved to have said it all aloud, but inside, it feels like something has burnt up—like a part of you has died.

you reach for him, cupping his cheeks in your hands. jungkook’s tears spill over, and you gently wipe them away with your thumb.

his body collapses into yours. his sobs wrack his chest as he buries his face in your arms.

jungkook cries for the break-up.

for the hurt that’s grown between you two.

he blames himself even though deep down he knows it’s not his fault.

the ache in his chest feels unbearable. you tighten your hold on him, bracing yourself for what comes next, but before you can speak, your body gives in.

everything does dizzy and you hold your breath.

suddenly, your knees hit the floor, and you collapse in front of jungkook, the weight of it all too much to bear.

“i’m s-sorry,” you choke out. "i can't—fuck. i'm so heartbroken, jungkook. i can't—"

jungkook drops down beside you, pulling you into him. as you cling to each other, you feel his heart racing, his breath catching in his sobs, mirroring your own. he holds you tighter, as if he could take all your pain into himself. if he could, you know he would.

and somehow, in the midst of this overwhelming pain, you feel the strangest thing.

this has to be the most painful moment in your entire relationship, but it’s also the most healing.

after nine months of distance, you finally grieve together.

the grief overwhelms you two.

after what feels like an eternity, you manage to compose yourself, pulling away from his embrace. meanwhile, jungkook is still crying heavily. you reach up, cupping his face in your hands again, wiping the tears from his swollen eyes. he leans into your touch, his lips pressing softly against the palm of your hand, his breathing slowly calming down. but then, he moves closer, and you know what’s coming next.

jungkook tries to kiss you.

you push him away gently, your heart breaking all over again.

“... i think you should go home,” you whisper, your voice tired and cracked.

"___, please—"

"we fought enough tonight. i don't have anything left in me, jungkook... just go."

for a moment, silence hangs in the air, thick with everything left unsaid. there's still more. he swears it. he knows it because his heart races with so many more confessions. so many more things he has to tell you.

like the fact that when you cleared his name, he never felt so loved in his life.

like the fact that when you stressed yourself over him and got upset with his decision—he wanted to take everything back.

like the fact that when he let you cry in bed all day over the loss, he cried as he held and fed zion in the living room.

but now is not the time.

now, the hurt aches and he has to let it. he has to let you fall apart. he has to feel this too because if he doesn't—then he misses it all. he misses everything and he can't do that.

he needs to know.

he needs to learn.

he needs to love.

jungkook swallows hard, his voice barely a whisper. “okay… whatever you want.”

you both stand, your movements slow and heavy. you watch as he gathers his belongings, guilt and disappointment twisting in your stomach. at the door, he pauses, eyes closed as he takes a deep breath.

“what about me?”

his voice breaks the stillness. you feel your heart sink.

“what about you?” you ask softly, though you already know the answer.

“___, i don’t want to go,” he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. “i… i can’t do this. not again.”

“what do you mean?” you force a weak smile. “this is our first break-up.”

“for real?”

you let out a sad laugh, though it holds no real humor.

“for now.”

jungkook takes a second to compose himself.

“i’m gonna pick up zion and have him sleep over at mine... and it’s okay if you’re still full… just eat a late dinner,” he murmurs softly, eyes cast downward. then, turning toward the door, he looks back one last time, his voice soft but filled with emotion.

“for the record, i thought i was home… but if air, space, and time is what you need, so be it. just know, i hope i’m it in the end. i hope i’m what you need.”

they say the 3-year itch is when the sand timer runs out. it takes two people to flip it over and restart the clock. at your 3-year itch with jungkook, suddenly your careers were where you two scratched.

then, the plagiarism accusations came along. as horrible as it was, you thought this was the perfect opportunity to show jungkook how much you love him. how much were you willing to do for him, and how much could your career benefit you two? at the peak of all this, you didn’t know it.

you were carrying more than just work.

at 5 weeks, 1 week after jungkook settled—time was up.

jungkook sits in his car, crying and staring at the ring that should be on your finger. he can’t help but feel all the sides of it. he shoves it back inside the box and opens the glove compartment. throwing it in, he continues to reflect. 

was he insensitive? was he so wrong about not wanting to take the job? the proposal was ill-timed, but was he crazy? weren’t you two doing better? … were you hurting all by yourself this entire time? of course, he hurt too. he was just grieving differently… does that make this his fault? he doesn’t know. he doesn’t care. in the end, losing something is still losing something. 

truth be told, it’s no one’s fault. 

yet, jungkook hits his steering wheel and continues to sob. he wants to blame something. he needs to. as he searches, his heart screams out;

time.

[taegularities]

you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance. 

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the  lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair. 

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But… 

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause. 

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex. 

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too. 

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right. 

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When They Accidentally Bring Up an Insecurity |Hyunjin

The evening was quiet in the shared apartment you and Hyunjin lived in. The air was filled with a gentle hum from the city outside and the occasional flicker of streetlights casting shadows on the walls. You were sprawled on the couch, your laptop open in front of you, surrounded by papers and notes. A mountain of work and a looming deadline had you feeling overwhelmed, and the pressure was building up inside you.

But you couldn't manage the stress and just sat there, letting it ruminate in your mind that you had these deadlines.

So while you were getting some work done, it was getting done really slowly, and you were utterly exhausted.

But all your life you had been told you were lazy; so work ethic had been engrained in you, and you felt like sometimes it was all you knew how to do.

The deadlines making you stressed, but the stress not allowing you to work on the things that were due. But your deep seeded insecurity making it so you pushed yourself to work even when you weren't in the mental state to do so.

Hyunjin entered the living room, fresh from a dance practice, his face flushed and his clothes slightly damp with sweat.

His dark hair was a little bit stringy with perspiration, a testament to the amount of work he had put in.

"Baby, I'm home."

He greeted you with a warm smile, but his eyes quickly took in the scene of scattered papers and your furrowed brow. “Hey, you look like you’re buried under a lot of work. Everything okay?”

You forced a smile and tried to sound upbeat. “Yeah, just a bit of a tight deadline. I’ll get through it.”

The tall(ish) boy cocked his head at you and set down his duffel bag, opting to walk barefoot rather than put on the matching house slippers you guys had.

Yours were kicked off somewhere in the kitchen.

Hyunjin sat down next to you, glancing at the mess around you. “You know, you don’t have to take on everything at once. Maybe you should take a break or get some help.”

You shook your head, trying to push the frustration down. “I’ll be fine. I just need to power through it.”

Hyunjin’s gaze softened with concern. “I know you’re strong, but it’s okay to admit when you’re struggling. You don’t have to handle everything by yourself.”

"Hyunjin, I said I'm fine."

He huffed. "You're not fine Y/N. I see your obviously struggling."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Hyunjin stop-"

"No. Take a break."

"I need to get this done."

"Your mental health comes first." He stated firmly, collecting your papers.

"Hyunjin stop-"

"Not until you eat." He said collecting your papers. "You need to step away from this for a second-" He grabbed multiple piles of papers that were obviously separated and you let out a noise as Hyunjin put the piles together, then adding it into another pile of other papers.

"Hyunjin what the fuck?!" You exclaimed as you rushed up from the couch and started sorting through the papers. "Shit..." You groaned, feeling tears brim your eyes in anger and frustration and exhaustion. "Are you kidding me right now Hyunjin?" You grit out looking at him.

Hyunjin stood resolute. "No, I'm serious Y/N! You're mental health is declining! You're focused on work so much that you don't even have time to focus on anything else! Even taking care of yourself, are you seriously okay with that?!"

His voice was loud, and you logically knew he wasn't yelling at you; he didn't mean to yell, he wasn't angry he was concerned but you didn't want to process the reality of the situation.

So instead you burst out into tears.

Hyunjin's eyes immediately widened, thinking you were crying because of him.

"Baby- no, no, no, baby don't cry please...please..." He said making his way to you. "No, I didn't mean to make you cry...I'm sorry...baby...I'm sorry..."

You fell limp into his arms and he held you, his chin resting on top of his head as you cried into his chest.

His sweet nothings became silent when he realized you just needed him to hold you.

You felt secure in his embrace, his scent adding a level to that security.

It seemed that you two stood there forever, until Hyunjin looked down to see you had fallen asleep.

Hyunjin knew something was up as he moved you over to the couch, running his hands through your hair.

He let you sleep there, as he looked at your laptop, screen filled with things that he didn;t understand, but knew were of importance to your job.

He sighed and wished he could do something to help, looking at the pile of papers and realizing that he had probably messed up something based on your reaction.

You woke up, and the lights in your living room were still on, but the clock in it showed that it was 4 in the morning.

"Jagiya?" Hyunjin said quietly, rubbing his eyes as you sat up from his lap.

You noticed he was still in his practice clothes.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

Hyunjin shook his head, looking at you with tired eyes. "Are you okay?"

You blinked.

"Are you truly okay?" He asked quietly.

You swallowed and shook your head.

"Can you help me at least understand? Help me understand why work is so important that you set aside your needs?"

You opened your mouth, it felt dry but you spoke.

"I just have to." You said, not wanting to discuss things further at the moment.

Hyunjin was tempted to ask you to continue, but he knew you would come to him when you needed.

The next day went buy in a flash, as you spent most of it sorting out what Hyunjin had mixed together.

That evening, as you both settled down for bed, the tension from the previous day seemed to linger in the quiet space of your room. Hyunjin lay on his side, scrolling through his phone, while you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling.

“Hyunjin,” you said quietly, breaking the silence. “Do you ever get overwhelmed with things, but keep going to make other people happy?”

He looked over at you, his brow slightly furrowed. He set his phone down and turned his body to you. “Do you?”

You hesitated before responding, your voice tinged with vulnerability. “I'm tired but...I don't want to be called lazy. I've spent my entire life being labeled that and I came here to start over. Yet...I feel like...I'm not measuring up. Maybe those people were right to call me lazy. I'm stuck in a cycle of wanting to quit, because I'm tired to the point of tears Hyunjin, I'm tired.” You licked some of the tears off your top lip and gulped for air. "But I don't want people to think I'm quitting because I'm lazy I just don't know if I can handle it anymore."

Hyunjin’s expression shifted from curiosity to concern. He sat up, turning to face you fully. “Did my comment hurt you?”

The vulnerability in your voice had clearly affected him. He reached out and took your hand gently. “I don’t want you to think that it was meant to hurt you. Rather, love, I'm sort of disproving your insecurity...not invalidating but disproving. Because I think you work too much, love. I see you day after day work yourself until you can barely move. It hurts me to see you disregard yourself for something like work.”

You felt one tear escape as you looked at him, trying to keep your emotions in check. “It’s just hard when that's how I've programmed my brain."

Hyunjin’s expression softened further, and he scooted closer to you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “I want you to know that it’s okay to lean on me when you’re feeling overwhelmed. You don’t have to go through everything alone. Your struggles are valid, and I’m here to support you.”

You nestled into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his presence. Letting yourself completely go. “I'm tired, Jinnie. I can't take it anymore.”

Hyunjin stroked your hair gently, his voice soothing. “Do you love me?”

You sniffed and nodded.

"Then, can you stop hurting the person I love most and let me take care of them?" He murmured while brushing your hair back from your face so it wouldn't stick to the tears.

You couldn't even reply, but by the way your fingers tightened their grip around his shirt he took it as enough of an answer.

The room was filled with a sense of calm as you both lay there together, the weight of the day slowly lifting. Hyunjin’s reassuring words and the comfort of his embrace helped to ease the anxiety you had been carrying and quickly lulled you to sleep.

In the months that followed, Hyunjin worked silently to make sure that you didn't have to feel stressed. He made you use up your vacation time- weeks upon weeks that had piled up due to your refusal to use them.

And the week before your vacation ended, Hyunjin came to you, squatting down in front of you as you sat on the floor of his art studio, covered in paint and splattering it everywhere in abstract expression. You had a real smile on your face as you looked up at him, a bit of red paint streaked across you making it look like you had a unibrow.

"Hi, Jinnie!" You exclaimed rubbing the paint onto your pants. Hyunjin smiled and spoke.

"You're happy." He stated.

"I am, it's...been really nice. Not having to work..." You bit your lip. "I go back next week."

Hyunjin licked his bottom lip. "How about you don't?"

You stared at him wide eyed.

"Come work with me. I talked to the company and explained everything. They're okay with you coming to work for us. You've always liked taking pictures, so they're willing to offer you a position as a photographer. It'll only be about 30 hours a week because of our other photographers; and you might not have to anything other than really be at the photoshoots to help out the others, but they're kind and you can still stay around us when you're not working. Or, you can help script some of our videos. Or my personal favorite is you just travel and hang out with me and let me invest all my money in you." His head was tilted slightly as he looked at you.

"Do...Can I really do that? Work for you guys? You won't think I'm lazy?"

Your hopeful and amazed tone broke Hyunjin's heart slightly, that the opportunity to work a less cumbersome job was something so foreign to you that you were that excited.

"Of course, baby." He said so quietly it was almost inaudible.

You nodded enthusiastically, looking for your phone. "I need to write my two weeks and-"

"No, baby. Just quit. Don't worry about the repercussions or anything. Let me take care of you. No one is going to call you lazy. I won't allow it. Because taking care of yourself is a job within itself. A never ending one at that."

He placed a kiss on your cheek.

"So, don't let that be an insecurity anymore. Let me take on your workload. Take all your effort."

He smiled.

"And put it into you, because you're the priority now."

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

[coff33andb00ks]

American Idiot - LS

American Idiot pairing: Logan Sargeant x reader summary: rule #1: don't fall in love. rule #2: don't break rule #1. rule #3: you broke both rules didn't you? word count: 3567 warnings: smut (18+ only), not proofread, Logan has a bit of a frat guy attitude in parts, mentions of past sexual assault (non explicit) {your mental health is more important than any engagement I get on this, so please don't read if that is a triggering subject for you ❤️} a.n.: here I wrote a happy thing for logan

"Yes, baby, just like that," he moaned, gripping her hips tighter. He wanted to watch her but his eyes slipped shut and he dug his fingers into her skin. "Gonna make me cum."

Y/n suddenly lifted off him, causing his eyes to snap open. Her face was screwed up and at first he thought she was in the middle of cumming, but she let out a pained whine and he decided that couldn't be it.

"What," he gasped, wincing when her knee slammed into his hip as she collapsed next to him.

"Cramp," she whimpered. She lay on her side, almost perfectly still, leg bent at the knee while she lightly punched the mattress. "Fuck."

Logan exhaled harshly and dragged a hand over his face before shifting, sitting up. He could see her calf muscle clenched, lightly spasming under her skin and winced. "It's okay, I've got you."

"There's nothing you can – ow!" she cried out when he gently grasped her ankle and extended her leg. Immediately she was trying to bend it back but he kept it straight. "Logan, no, it hurts!"

"Relax, let me rub it out," he said softly, cupping his other hand over her calf. He began to massage, keeping his touch light at first while she pressed her face into the pillow and nearly screeched in pain. "Y/n, just breathe—"

"Fuck you," she whimpered. "I'm never riding you again. I always get a leg cramp."

"Because you don't stretch," he pointed out, applying more pressure.

She just turned her head and looked at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, just waiting for you say you expect me to stretch you."

"I thought it went without saying."

She tried to kick him, hissing and tensing at the pressure it put on her cramp. "It's not working, Logan."

"I've been doing it for thirty seconds," he sighed. Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. "Please just relax, okay?"

She exhaled slowly. "It hurts, Logie."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'll never ask you to be on top again," he assured her, feeling the cramp starting to loosen. She whined and he was quick to shush her. "Breathe, baby."

She did, slowly and deeply, occasionally groaning in pain as he manipulated the muscle. "Sorry for ruining the sex."

"We can try later," he said with a shrug.

"Maybe I have plans."

"Do you?" he asked. He would be surprised if she did. She tended to stay in on a Saturday night, getting her drinks and partying done on Fridays so she could enjoy the weekend.

"No," she mumbled. "Do you?"

"Only thing I'm doing tonight is you."

She laughed at that, humming when he bent and straightened her knee. "Were you really about to cum?"

"Yeah, but it's fine." It wasn't as though she'd leave him hanging. It was the whole reason behind their arrangement: neither party leaves a meeting unsatisfied.

She'd typed out the agreement in full legalese. Then she'd presented it to him as though arguing a case in front of a jury. Complete with a sexy suit that had only encouraged him to agree and sign so they could get to business.

"Mm," she moaned.

"Better?" He already knew the answer. Her muscle was fully relaxed now, though he was sure it would be sore for a while. She nodded and he kissed her cheek again before sliding off the bed to throw away the wasted condom.

"Thanks, Logie," she murmured when he rejoined her in the bed. She scooted over, hissing softly as she lifted her leg to drape it over his. "Just give me a few minutes."

Her few minutes turned into an hour long nap but he didn't complain. Content to lie with her, he smoothed her hair while she slept, a little amused. She'd been his friend for years, and if anyone had told him even two years before he'd be sleeping with her regularly he would have laughed in their face. But here he was, and as he reached for the covers to pull over them it occurred to him that if he couldn't have sex with her when she woke up he wouldn't be too upset.

"You're so busy with racing, you can't spare time to make an emotional connection with someone enough to sleep with them. I'm busy with work and I'd rather kiss a frog on live tv than let some loser I meet at the club fuck me. It makes perfect sense."

It did, so he'd agreed. Maybe she caught him in a lonely moment, or an extremely horny one. Maybe she'd caught him during a dry spell. Either way, he'd agreed to become platonic lovers with her.

Friends with benefits.

Fuck buddies.

Booty calls.

She'd been right, it was beneficial. He was usually so sexually satisfied that when he met someone he could see as a potential mate, he could focus on actually getting to know them as opposed to getting them in bed. And, having met her coworkers and more than a few of the losers that went to the clubs she did, he knew he had to be a better option than what she had around regularly.

"No falling in love. We're friends, nothing more. No jealousy. If you find someone to love I'll be over the moon, and if I find someone you'll be happy. No unprotected sex. I don't want to be a mom before I'm 25 and you're not ready to be a dad. We both agree to regularly get tested if we sleep with other people. And, lastly, if one of us wants to end the arrangement we end it. Most importantly, we remain friends."

At first it had been amazing. Guaranteed pussy whenever he wanted or needed it? He'd been sold on the idea before she'd even finished the suggestion. If he was away for a race he could just call or FaceTime her for a quick phone sex session?

Amazing.

No pressure. No worries. He didn't have to deal with the girlfriend stuff. He didn't have to remember important dates or to pick up something for her on his travels. She didn't expect him to be her date to work events or to go around pretending to care about the stuff she wanted to buy.

And they still hung out. Sometimes before, sometimes after. Nothing had changed at all in their friendship. She still called him out for being a douchebag, he still insulted her music taste, they still laughed while watching stupid movies.

It was, he thought, like having a girlfriend without all the work.

Until, suddenly, it was different.

He didn't know why he'd bought the stuffed animal in Miami. Probably because she'd said she liked eagles. And it had an American flag shirt on which made it even better in his opinion. But he'd bought it, he'd shown it to Oscar, who'd groaned and laughed and called him painfully American, he'd packed it in his suitcase for the trip back to England.

And he was watching her take it out of the gift bag now, a big stupid grin on his face when she began to laugh.

"Oh my god I love it," she said, hugging it to her chest then hugging him.

That was why he'd bought it, he thought a few minutes later when she was on her knees, staring up at him with pure lust in her eyes. And then he noticed that she kept it on her bed.

She went to Switzerland for something work related. He didn't know what, because she'd told him right before going down on him. They FaceTimed when they could during the two weeks she was out of the country, and when she got back she had a gift for him.

A cuckoo clock.

He loved it and laughed every time it went off, and felt a little rush of warmth because she'd thought of him. It turned out she hated it, because it had a knack for cuckooing loudly just when she was about to come, but he made up for that. At least, going by the way she'd murmur yay when he went down on her.

"So today marks the anniversary of the worst day of my life," she announced one summer afternoon as she walked into his place.

Logan grunted when she pushed her shopping bag at him. "Which worst day?" he asked, closing the door. "When you got dumped by that dickhead Dave?"

"No, that was in November."

"When you caught your boss cheating?" He peered into the bag and set it down, following her to the sofa.

"That was January, and that wasn't a worst day, just a weird day. Like, bad because he can't keep it in his pants but also good because I got a raise." Kicking off her shoes, she flopped onto the sofa.

He racked his brains, going over as many of her worst days as he could recall. The time she'd gotten food poisoning in Brighton? Apparently that had been in March. The time a guy got sick on her in the club? October, how could he forget? The asshole had ruined her costume. Groaning, he threw his head back in defeat, realizing he was rubbing her feet. "You gotta help me out, babe."

"Wow, you did forget." She sighed dramatically, throwing an arm over her face. "And I thought you weren't like other guys? Do you even love me, Logan?"

"I'm rubbing your gross feet—"

"They're not gross I just had a pedicure this – Fuck you," she snorted when he laughed.

"I'm rubbing your amazing feet," he corrected with a roll of his eyes. "The most beautiful feet in the world—"

"Ew, don't make it weird." She lowered her arm and sat up. "But really? You don't remember?"

"No… Wait, was it that time the guy came before you could put the condom on?"

"No, it's – Actually that's next week. Do you know I saw him a few days ago? He pretended he didn't know who I was."

"You made the guy cum in seconds, y/n."

"Okay, and? I made you cum in a minute thirty and you still talk to me."

"You…" He tipped his head. "You timed it?"

"It's my personal best. Aside from Preemie Pete but he doesn't really count because I didn't even do anything to him except grind on him—"

"What's my nickname?" Logan asked suddenly.

"Logie?" She looked confused. "Logie Bear."

"No, no, my nickname. Preemie Pete, Dickhead Dave. You called that guy you met at the store Sainsbury's Steve and the firefighter was Fireman Fred. What do you call me when you talk about me with the girls?"

"That's classified information. I'm not at liberty to discuss it with you, as you are not one of the girls."

"Bullshit, because you've told me all the others," he pointed out. "Go on, tell me."

"Logie—"

"I'm not like Car Guy am I? Because that—"

"Wishbone."

He stopped rubbing her feet, fully turning to face her. "Wishbone?"

"Yeah. Wishbone." She swung her feet to the floor and moved to stand. "We still doing dinner?"

He grabbed her arm and dragged her back down. "Why Wishbone?"

"It's stupid," she groaned, pretending to fight against his hold. "All the nicknames are stupid, they don't really mean – When I first told them about you we'd just met and I said I wished the stupid American would bone me, okay?"

He let her go, even more confused now. "But I have."

"Yes," she said slowly, getting to her feet. "Many times."

"Then why am I still a wish?"

"Well they don't know you're fucking me." She shrugged, grabbing up her bag and heading to the kitchen.

He let that marinate in his brain for a minute before getting up to follow her. "Why don't they know?"

"I don't tell th… Right, I do tell them everything. But they know I was super into you back then and if they found out that you're the only guy I'm sleeping with they'd never stop teasing me. Chicken or salmon?"

"Chicken." She'd been into him back when they met? He tried to remember, to see if he could recall any obvious signs she'd wanted him then, but couldn't. Could only remember her rolling her eyes and looking annoyed when he talked about anything.

But he did remember—

"Oh, y/n," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"I'm okay," she said quickly. "It was years ago. I'm pretty much over it."

"Don't lie to make me feel better." Because she did. Especially when it came to that. Pretty much over it. Rarely think about it. So far in the past it's hardly worth mentioning. But it was the reason she still slept with a light on. The reason she never went out alone at night. The reason she was wary of new men entering her life. The reason she was hyper aware of her surroundings in public, always mapping out an escape route if needed. It was one of the reasons behind her need to joke and laugh about everything, because she had to keep people liking her. It was the reason she spent so many of her precious days off working with the sexual abuse charity, willing to tell her horror over and over again so girls with similar cruelties would feel seen and understood.

He hadn't known her then. Would never know what she'd been like before her innocence and faith in humanity had been fractured. He only knew her as the woman she was. Fierce and protective and stronger than anyone he would ever know. He often wished he didn't know what had happened to her on that horrible night, but felt honored that she trusted him enough to share that side of her life with him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly. She shook her head.

"Can we cook together?" she whispered.

"Of course." He hesitated, finally reaching to squeeze her shoulder. She lifted her head and he saw the tears shining in her eyes. She may not have wanted to talk about it, may have wanted him to just step away and wash his hands or whatever, but he pulled her to him, tucking his chin on her head while he held her, keeping silent while she let herself cry.

Wishing he could meet the monster face to face for just ten minutes.

He held her until her shoulders stopped shaking, until she sniffled and let go of his shirt. Pressing a kiss into her hair, he let go and offered to turn on music, making sure to pull up the playlist of songs that were cheerful and lighthearted. They cooked, or rather she cooked while he stood to the side to hand her things and clean up, and ate on the couch, watching her favorite movie.

And he realized it was his favorite movie now.

She stayed the night and he didn't care that she didn't want sex. Didn't care that she pulled her stuffed eagle out of her bag and held it close while he got ready for bed. Didn't care that the lamp was on. He was just happy to be there for her, to hold her while she fell asleep and then lie there watching her sleep. Even rocks needed support sometimes.

And it struck him – a full two months later – that he looked forward to just seeing her more than he looked forward to the sex. She'd become more than his best friend, more than his hookup, and he panicked constantly that he'd somehow let on that he'd broken the first rule of their arrangement.

But he had the feeling she knew, especially when he went straight to her office after flying in from Singapore to see her instead of going straight home to sleep off the jet leg. Her eyes lit up and she smiled brighter than the weak sun ever could, and when she hugged him tight and told him she'd missed him he knew she meant it.

"Dinner tomorrow?" he asked before leaving. The answer was yes and, no longer exhausted or feeling mediocre as he sometimes did after a race, he went home with a smile on his face.

She showed up at his door with that bright smile and oohed and aahed over the candles and the flowers. Teased him for being a try hard for wearing a suit and kissed his cheek.

Dinner might have tasted divine. Or it might have tasted like sawdust. He would never know.

"Logie?"

God, she was beautiful. Always had been, he realized, wondering why he'd been so blind until just recently. But tonight, in her light blue dress and her eyes sparkling in the candlelight, she was stunning.

Heartbreakingly so. Because she would only ever be his friend.

"Yeah?" he finally murmured, realizing he was staring.

She stood up and left the table, coming back with her purse. Pulling out some papers, she sat down and bit her lip. "We need to talk."

Never a good thing when a woman said that. Swallowing hard, he took a sip of water to push down the lump in his throat. "About what?"

"You remember this?" She held up the papers and he nodded, seeing the contract she'd typed up and printed out for them both to sign.

"You want to end it?" he asked, anxiety curling in his chest, embarrassment heating his face at the way his voice cracked mid-sentence. Had she met someone?

"I think we need to," she said with a frown.

"Wh-why?" God, she'd met someone and hadn't told him and even worse, she'd fallen in love and now he'd be alone—

"I broke rule number one," she blurted.

"We don't have to end it," he said. "Rules get broken all the time. We can work it out—"

"Logie—"

"I can't go back to random meaningless hookups anymore. I can't go back to models that don't know their ass from a hole in the ground—"

She let out a sharp giggle at that, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Logan!"

"I can't do it, y/n. Not when I've had the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I'm not even talking about the sex, it's just… We've spent more time together and I know I wasn't supposed to but I did it anyway because my heart's stupid I guess. I can't just go back to nothing with you—"

"Do you even remember what rule number one was?" she cut in, staring at him with wide eyes.

He froze, blinking slowly. "The one about protection, right?"

"Oh my god," she groaned, slapping her palm to her forehead. "No, Logan. Of course you don't remember. But you do, because you always remember everything, like how I need to sleep with a light on and can't watch horror movies after dark and that I only like white wine even if I'm eating red meet. You play the part of a fucking idiot so well because it shields you from people wanting to get too close and knowing the real you, like you're not the greatest thing America's made since chocolate chip cookies. Like you don't have a heart bigger than Texas."

"Um, y/n—"

"Which is exactly why I broke the stupid fucking rule that I made, because how could I not?" She threw the papers down and covered her face with both hands. "I didn't do it on purpose, you know? But I fucking did it, I fell for you, because the only bad thing about you is your annoying American pride."

"Y/n—"

"And it took everything in me to tell you this, but at least now I know you don't want to change this. You're happy just being fuck buddies and I have to be okay with it because I was the goddamned idiot that wrote the rules—"

"I love you too," he blurted.

She stopped. Lowered her hands. And stared at him.

"I love you," he said softly. "Always have, I think. I just… Never realized it until I wasn't supposed to."

"When did you know?" she whispered.

He sighed, shrugging one shoulder. He couldn't tell her. It would be embarrassing to admit he'd been holding it in since—

"Miami?" she asked.

"Oh come on, how could you know that?"

"Logan Hunter Sargeant, you brought me a stuffed eagle. You hate stuffed animals!"

"Yeah, but I love you."

She stared at him for a few seconds. Then, to his confusion, she began to laugh.

His favorite sound, followed very closely by her moan.

"Oh god, Logie," she giggled.

"When did you know?" he asked once she'd stopped laughing.

"When you left for Miami and I cried because I couldn't go with you," she said.

"God, we're both idiots," he muttered. Then he sat up straight. "Wait, hey, you said… You love me?"

She laughed again, nodding, and stayed laughing while he grabbed the papers and ripped them in half. And was still giggling when he pulled her to her feet and caught her in a sweet kiss.

"And we did break the protection rule," he whispered a lifetime later when they pulled apart.

"You pulled out, doesn't count."

"That's not in the rules."

She rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around him. "There aren't any rules anymore, Wishbone."

~end~