#plan international job 2022

[jobpati]

Plan International vacancy for Finance System Analyst

Plan International vacancy for Finance System Analyst

Plan International vacancy for Finance System Analyst: The Functional Area Global Finance Reports to Head of Financial Systems Location Global Hub, Woking Travel required No Effective Date ASAP Grade ROLE PURPOSE Plan International is an independent children’s rights and humanitarian organization committed to children living a life free of poverty, violence, and injustice. We actively unite…

[pepprs]

hi update things are fucking terrible and my eyes hurt from sobbing. lol

[marilynngmesalo]

Plan International Bangladesh Job Circular 2022 | প্ল্যান ইন্টারন্যাশনাল...

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - August 21, 2023

🌊 - Discover the Ocean's Hidden Gem Deep down in the Pacific

1. Massachusetts passed a millionaire's tax. Now, the revenue is paying for free public school lunches.

Every kid in Massachusetts will get a free lunch, paid for by proceeds from a new state tax on millionaires.

A new 4% tax on the state's wealthiest residents will account for $1 billion of the state's $56 billion fiscal budget for 2024, according to state documents. A portion of those funds will be used to provide all public-school students with free weekday meals, according to State House News Service.

2. Plant-based filter removes up to 99.9% of microplastics from water

Researchers may have found an effective, green way to remove microplastics from our water using readily available plant materials. Their device was found to capture up to 99.9% of a wide variety of microplastics known to pose a health risk to humans.

3. Scientists Find A Whole New Ecosystem Hiding Beneath Earth's Seafloor

Most recently, aquanauts on board a vessel from the Schmidt Ocean Institute used an underwater robot to turn over slabs of volcanic crust in the deep, dark Pacific. Underneath the seafloor of this well-studied site, the international team of researchers found veins of subsurface fluids swimming with life that has never been seen before.

It's a whole new world we didn't know existed.

4. How solar has exploded in the US in just a year

Solar and storage companies have announced over $100 billion in private sector investments in the US since the passage of the Inflation Reduction Act (IRA) a year ago, according to a new analysis released today by the Solar Energy Industries Association (SEIA).

Since President Joe Biden signed the IRA in August 2022, 51 solar factories have been announced or expanded in the US.

5. Researchers have identified a new pack of endangered gray wolves in California

A new pack of gray wolves has shown up in California’s Sierra Nevada, several hundred miles away from any other known population of the endangered species, wildlife officials announced Friday.

It’s a discovery to make researchers howl with delight, given that the native species was hunted to extinction in California in the 1920s. Only in the past decade or so have a few gray wolves wandered back into the state from out-of-state packs.

6. Record-Breaking Cleanup: 25,000 Pounds of Trash Removed from Pacific Garbage Patch

Ocean cleanup crews have fished out the most trash ever taken from one of the largest garbage patches in the world.

The Ocean Cleanup, a nonprofit environmental engineering organization, saw its largest extraction earlier this month by removing about 25,000 pounds of trash from the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, Alex Tobin, head of public relations and media for the organization

7. The Inflation Reduction Act Took U.S. Climate Action Global

The U.S. Inflation Reduction Act (IRA) aimed to promote clean energy investments in the U.S. and globally. In its first year, the IRA successfully spurred other nations to develop competitive climate plans.

Clean energy projects in 44 U.S. states driven by the IRA have generated over 170,600 jobs and $278 billion in investments, aligning with Paris Agreement goals.

---

That's it for this week :)

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Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

[easternmind]

The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part II

This article is the continuation of a previous post.

Any comprehensive history of 20th century Hong Kong is not complete without a chapter entirely dedicated to the architectural and urban planning puzzle that was Kowloon Walled City. Quite unlike any other slum in Asia or elsewhere in the world, the extreme conditions under which its inhabitants lived captured the attention of various international journalists and photographers whose reports of this accidental labyrinth, in turn, inspired some of the most remarkable artistic explorations of our time. In this regard, video games did not remain impervious to the powerfully stimulative imagery, as much a reference today as it was when its hardened concrete walls still stood tall.

Kowloon's Gate Suzaku VR - Jetman - 2017

Kowloon's Gate made a most unexpected comeback twenty years after the original episode via the crowdfunded VR project Suzaku developed by Jetman, a studio founded by and composed almost exclusively of ex-SME/Zeque staff. While it is not the remaster many had hoped for, essentially consisting of a walking simulation through some redesigned locations from the original, it does a commendable job in faithfully replicating its instantly recognizable, light-starved alleyways in competent high-definition. It is also the only VR-compatible entry from this list, granting it a degree of uniqueness over its counterparts.

Stranglehold - Midway/Tiger Hill Productions - 2007

Stranglehold is the result of a collaboration with Hong Kong movie director John Woo, developed as a direct sequel to his heroic bloodshed classic Hard Boiled, featuring Chow Yun-fat in the role of detective 'Tequilla' Yuen in his unending confrontations with organized crime. One of the game's most unforgettable levels, Slums of Kowloon, takes place during a particularly rainy day, seemingly in those last days when the zone had been emptied of residents and demolition work was well underway. The visual representation of the quarter is suitably evocative, its buildings in complete state of disrepair, the remnants of local businesses or places of prayer still discernible from under the piles of steel and cement rubble.

Resident Evil 6 - Capcom - 2012

For all its shortcomings, Resident Evil 6 partly succeeds in taking the first two episodes' concept of parallel storylines and realizing it to a much fuller extent. Its choice of different characters translates into entirely different campaigns, locations and playing styles. The very first scene in Chris/Piers' campaign occurs in the fictional Chinese city of Lanshiang, modelled after real-life Hong Kong. The mayhem in the main streets forces the player to take a detour into a location named Poisawan, which bears a striking resemblance to the Kowloon district. Though an unofficial representation, it is among the most skilled replications of the scenery we find in the vast photographic repository of the area. The degree of minutiae with which the district's haphazard electric installation is replicated, alone, suffices to demonstrate a true commitment to authenticity.

Paranormal HK - Ghostpie Studio - 2020

Few would dispute that Kowloon is, itself, naturally conducive to sentiments of dread and anxiety. Paranormal HK is a 2020 made in China production reviving the defunct neighbourhood in a gripping, blood-curdling contemporary ghost story. The player is the cameraman of a paranormal-themed TV show exploring the zone during the evening of the Zhongyuan festival, a scheme suspiciously akin to that of Akira Ueda's 2004 game, Michigan: Report From Hell. As a result of the thorough research work performed by its creators, as well as the impeccable usage of contemporary 3D graphics techniques to achieve accurate lighting conditions, players may momentarily experience the feeling of walking into a photo of the actual city as it existed in the mid eighties.

Sifu - Sloclap - 2022

Notwithstanding of its renaissance during the 128-Bit era, the beat 'em up genre is commonly associated with the arcade games of the late 80s and 90s, the period of time when it flourished and, arguably, reached its zenith. The simplicity of controls and ease of access sufficed to attract players to the arcade cabinet, while the frequently extreme levels of difficulty of advanced levels ensured a steady flow of cash for arcade room owners and game development companies alike. Nevertheless, the genre has but perished and, in many aspects, recent years have indeed elevated it to unforeseeable degrees of complexity. Sifu, by Sloclap, synthesizes the elation of digital hand to hand combat simulation with the real-life complexity of mastering a martial art.

As is the case of previous entries in this list, Sifu makes no admitted reference to Kowloon or Hong Kong. However, the designers left little to the imagination in what pertains to their inspirations when taking on the task of constructing the game's environments. Another notable coincidence stems from the fact that this production was made possibly with the support from a celebrated independent game funding group going by the name Kowloon Nights.

Stray - BlueTwelve Studio - 2022

Stray is one of the most revered independent video games in recent memory, and justifiably so. The long development process yielded many benefits, judging from the consistency and attention to detail that engrossed many an avid player. That the main character is singularly charming feline may have played an equally crucial role. The creators have made no effort to conceal the fact that the notorious Hong Kong district was a pivotal influence to the design of its nameless city. The first indication can be spotted in the game's earliest footage, in which a black cat traverses a street where a particularly conspicuous sign boasted the initials HK. Stray is less concerned with presenting a precise replica of Kowloon than it is about summoning the very essence of its atmosphere. Moreover, in an exquisitely poignant way, its ending lends an entirely new meaning to the term walled city. In the future, robots may well take the place of humans. Invariably, the Walled City is no more. Slitterhead - Bokeh Game Studio - Work in Progress

An sequence of unconscionable mistakes from the part of Sony Computer Entertainment's management galvanized Keiichiro Toyama to part ways with Japan Studio, as it once was, and establish his own game production label. Their debut title, Slitterhead, is described as a grotesque survival horror experience, a genre within which the author moves with matchless ease. Among the few certainties regarding this project is the fact that it will take place prominently - if not exclusively - within the Kowloon City province. A wide variety of aspects included in the preview footage leave the viewer optimistic as to this being one of the most accomplished portrayals of the district ever seen in a video game. Subtle yet telling signs already demonstrate the creator's in-depth knowledge of the quarter's architecture and history. Take, for instance, the suggestive image of the airplane flying mere meters above the top of the buildings. Although the growth of Kowloon was for the most part ungoverned, buildings did not rise above a certain height, even as inhabitants claimed for increased availability of space. This is due to the fact that airplanes landing at the nearby airport would be required to make their descent at relatively low altitude, performing a tight curve as they soared just above the enclave, thus preventing construction from expanding upwards. Another scene shows a child playing on the rooftops of the buildings, which once again is consistent with the documented habits of residents who, starved for sunlight and open space elsewhere within the city limits, had little alternative than to take the stairs all the way to the top.

Warehouse Kawasaki Arcade

I would be remiss not to make some form of allusion to Warehouse Kawasaki, an arcade built to replicate the Walled City with unthinkable detail. Though its ultimate purpose was for visitors to engage in digital entertainment, the venue was scrupulously put together. Point in fact, many of the objects used in the construction of the five floor amusement centre were imported directly from Hong Kong. Like so many other Japanese arcades, it closed its doors in 2019.

In recent years, a rather similar initiative was taken by the Chinese in their attempts to build unique mall spaces. The 文和友 malls in mainland China, found in Changsha, Guangzhou and Shenzhen, attempt to reproduce the walled city aesthetic. Local residents inform me that these are increasingly lacking in foot traffic, for which reason the majority of their stores are closed. Other digital replicas of Kowloon

A number of other videogames set in or deriving inspiration from Kowloon could not be featured in this article. A frequently cited reference in this context is the action/adventure game Fear Effect, one which I emphatically dispute. No doubt remains as to it being located in a futuristic version of Hong Kong, yet I could discern no parallels with the walled city, save for those scattered second-hand visual motifs that were no doubt imported from sci-fi classics such as Blade Runner or Ghost in the Shell.

The Utelek Complex stage of Deus Ex: Makind Divided presents a similar situation, where the overall atmosphere of the futuristic favela bears some resemblance to Kowloon, without meeting the specificity quota that would warrant a more comprehensive exploration.

The 2004 Shout! original Kowloon High-School Chronicle for the PS2 is a unique case, in that it borrows the city's name despite taking place in a massive, Tokyo underground dungeon that is later revealed to be a maze-like Egyptian pyramid. The odd choice of title remains unclear. Shadowrun: Hong Kong game (screenshot above) contains a very direct mention of Kowloon as the place in which an entire episode comes to pass. Another project still in development, Kowloon's Curse (screenshot below), is following the lead of many popular independent horror games in recent memory by using a visual design and structure that elicits memories of the late Playstation/early Dreamcast era. A short prequel episode was made available earlier this year, for free.

Additionally, I refrained from mentioning the Kowloon maps in Call of Duty: Black Ops or Counter-Strike: Global Offensive, as I perceive both games to be insufficiently relevant to merit study or contemplation.

A space that refuses to be forgotten

(China rooftop stage from The King of Fighters 2003)

It would be a gross overstatement to claim that Kowloon is a recurring location or level design motif in videogames. The relationship between digital games and the real life ghetto has been one of sporadic references. What makes the subject so engrossing pertains to the quality of the relationship, particularly that of a small cadre from among the titles featured in this article. Kowloon's Gate was one of the most relevant game creations of the 32-Bit era, a game deserving of reverence and cult following inside and outside Japan. Likewise, Shenmue II is the second instalment of a truly ground-breaking and highly advertised series whose production costs alone were unmatched until quite recently.

Moreover, this is an affair that is far from concluded. The unexpectedly high number of allusions to Kowloon in videogames released or revealed just last yet demonstrates that its aesthetic is still very much present in the minds and hearts of artists and designers working in the field. The walled city lives on as a digital demarcation that is certain to resurface time and again in years to come.

[denimbex1986]

'...Mr. Arnold is tempted into the ball by a Doctor Who Annual and is playing the theme in the music shop scene – are you a fan of Doctor Who in real life? And what was it like making those jokes and references in front of the Tenth Doctor David Tennant?

“I’ve always dipped in and out of Doctor Who over the years since Sylvestor McCoy, who was doing it when I first became aware of it when I was growing up. Even if you’re not a fan it’s one of those shows you can’t really get away from, so doing that particular scene in front of David was really fun, and of course Douglas had directed Doctor Who as well. Apart from the amusing situation of two supposed Doctor Who fans talking about Doctor Who without realising they’re in the company of a Doctor Who, I also seem to remember Michael being the one to suggest that he would deliver his “due to problems at the BBC” line directly to David.

Oh, and I think it was actually my idea to grab the annual off the harpsichord before joining the queue behind Crowley at the end of the ballroom scene (which we’d shot weeks earlier at this point). When we were blocking it out and rehearsing I knew I had to leave my position and get to the front for my “surrender the angle” line, and then later it just felt like I wouldn’t leave without the annual so I ran back through everyone to grab it. Nobody seemed to have a problem with me doing that so I just carried on doing it when we shot it! I do remember it being a fun set with Douglas and the team being very open to suggestions.”

How did you balance filming both Good Omens and BBC Ghosts at the same time?

“Luckily both shows were a joy to work on, and everyone seems to know about both of them. We were shooting them in early 2022 and I also had a little part in an ITV drama called ‘Stonehouse’, starring Matthew Macfadyen. I usually never know when I’m working next so to have three great TV jobs at once was very unusual. There was all this date juggling and I actually almost had to turn down Ghosts due to clashes. Luckily both shows had to move some dates so it worked out. But yes, I spent two weeks up in Scotland shooting all that Good Omens ballroom stuff, then I came back down to London to do Ghosts, knowing I’d be back up to shoot my scenes in the music shop in a couple of weeks. Now, when I found out who was playing my wife in Ghosts I couldn’t believe it: Caroline Sheen – Michael Sheen’s cousin! She was amazing and that was another great set in general. I say “set”, but it’s all filmed in that house which surprised me. I’d worked with Kiell [Smith-Bynoe] and Jim [Howick] before, and Charlotte [Ritchie] was in the Good Omens radio play a few years ago and a big fan of the book. Charlotte’s very musical of course and we got talking about my folding keyboard I had for practising my Good Omens stuff, and she ended up setting it up in the house for us to have a play on!

Now, when we’d shot all our internal scenes there was this big storm forecast, and our external scenes were scheduled for the day of the storm, so that had to be moved into the next week. It meant I ended up shooting those scenes outside the house, then going straight back up to Scotland to shoot the Good Omens music shop scene the next day! When I mentioned to Michael I’d just worked with Caroline he said “ooh she’s in Ghosts is she!” and revealed that she’d texted him about me which was rather surreal. Then later after the Ghosts wrap party Kiell gave me a part in his Channel 4 Blap, so at the time I felt like I was killing it career wise, but the industry quietened a bit after that and my workload eased off over the year so I was in my overdraft by November.”

What are your plans for the future – can we expect to see you in something else soon?

“This year, after a bit of a quiet start, I was very fortunate to work on a Disney+ show called Rivals which stars… David Tennant! I think I’m allowed to say my character is called Brian, and I shot five episodes so that was another really amazing job, and great to work with David again (I told him he must be my good luck charm, although I hope he’s not sick of me). That should be out at some point in late 2024. Other than that I’ve filmed a few other bits I presume will be out next year, one of which is called Truelove on Channel 4 which actually looks really good. That starts early January. Of course now Season 3 of Good Omens has been greenlit, I would love Neil and the gang to have me back on that… but I can only keep my fingers crossed!”

[stuhde]

november 27, 2022

my gap year in photos

hi there! long time no see. it’s been well over a year since i graduated from uni, almost two years that i’ve been with my job since i was a wee intern, and this time a year ago, i told myself i would have applied to law school.

here i am a year later to report i didn’t manage to apply to law school.

the last year and a half has been a series of huge up and downs with the LSAT and writing a personal and diversity statement, on top of working full-time from home, being an involved family member, volunteering, and completing a two-year fellowship.

i did poorly on the LSAT, got pretty sick (a few times), and burnt myself to the point where i had to pause on this lifetime goal and focus on what is most important: myself (and my health).

if i could do this again, i wish that i took a WHOLE year to do nothing (just working) and one year to study for the LSAT.

and that’s exactly what i plan to do. take rest from law school applications, get healthy, re-make my game plan, and come back next fall better than ever to be the best and strongest applicant i can be.

which is why i’ll be back on studyblr regularly to post my progress, hold myself accountable, and get some motivation to get to the finish line. this community was the reason i got through senior year in high school, again in uni, and when i was job hunting.

i feel like being on here again willl be so worthwhile as i see myself in this next year of growth and development. consider this my (re)debut back to the commmunity!

[luxxuriantt]

The journey of 2023 Wonder how 2023 will change you? Choose below.

Pile one- Are you healed or just distracted? nine of sw, ace of wands, the kight of cups, the six of wands Either in 2022 or at the moment reading this, you struggled with anxiety or depression. I think this pile was not feeling good enough or they were too scared about what the future holds. You may have wished to experience more, to accomplish more, some situation in your life, were causing too much worry and keeping you from a good nights sleep. A cluttered and overstimulated mind, overthinking every little moment and being overly judging of your every step. I overall see lots of anxiety,exhaustion and worries. If this is the case, then pile one, 2023 is going to be your phoenix year. I see you regaining your will and your spark, you will take life in your hands again and start living it to the fullest. Through out the year, i see most of you exploring new horizons and making bold moves. Someone is going to start a new hobby or a job that they enjoy and for some i see relocation or starting college/university. Pile one, you will start taking more care of your body, paying more attention to your habits, diet and physical activity, this leading to you really glowing up. This year will make you become more creative and expressive, if you do make art, you will show it more, and for the others, you wont hold back in being yourself and doing/saying what comes to you naturally. Lmao i also feel like this group will put themselves out there and actually attract suitors and possibly some fun affairs and one night stands. Ypu may meet a future romantic partner. At the end of the year you will like you really succeeded,you are now bold, unapologetic, confident and glowing. pile two- Good news the queen of pentacles, the ace of swords,the eight and nine of pentacles

Talk about making money pile two lmao. This upcoming year, is gonna make you really focused on your career, on your studies, self worth and health. I do believe that a major lesson you will learn is what real confidence and self worth feel like. I do feel as tho many of the people who will choose this pile have confidence, but it is not coming from the inside, rather from external validation, so in 2023, you will start feeling comfortable in your own skin, and it is not going to matter with whom you are and where you are. Your mindset for a lot of things will change, you wont come from a space of lack anymore, you will start realizing what you have and feel more grateful. This will lead to more opportunities and it will be muuuch more easy for you to receive the universes blessings. Many will start loving their physical body, start taking more care of it. Skin and hair care, healthy diet and sleeping schedule, outfits that suit your tone and body, being picky with whom you share the space and energy, all that good stuff. Now like i said, there will be a lot of focus on your career and studies and basically anything material or practical that is important for you, so expect promotions, rewards, high scores and recognition. The year itself, i dont feel like it will be a smooth ride, there might be periods of isolation or losses/ feeling lonely, but i dont see you giving up or stopping. You will definitely come into more money and some may even go on vacation or buy something nice that has always been on their mind. At the end of the year, you will feel much more secure and more proud, you will achieve your plans and you will be pleased for reaching your full potential.

Pile three- If you have a tumblr... the death ,the hierophant , the queen of swords and six of swords

This year will change you....internally, a total internal metamorphosis. I think that right now you are carrying many opinions and beliefs that are blockers in your life, they are stopping you from moving forward and being completely in sync with the God in you, you still are not aware of the depths of you and your power. I feel like there is a part of you that is buried underneath and you havent gone thru an ego death. Either some events will happen to you or you will witness something that might shatter your world. Something will happen that will push you to change from your roots. There are some limitations in your thinking process that put you in a box, or somehow limit your being, it almost feel like you arent trusting yourself and are holding back. What will happen is, you will change yout perspective and start viewing the world differently. You will strenghten your relationship with the divine and you will preach what you believe in. Its like purification of the mind, seeing the bigger picture and finding the truth. After this, pile three, you will be unstoppable. Your mind will no longer be clouded easily and i think you will move on from reocuring thoughts or patterns and finally let go. i get a little sad when typing this but believe me in the end you will be grateful.I also feel like i should tell you that you are protected, so dont worry about it.

Thats all, thank you for your attention <3

[hoodharlow]

Prologue: Let Me Make Your Night

AN: this part one of my enemies to lovers fic with Joe Burrow and a latina!OC. diclaimer i know NOTHING about football. i thought this white boy was cute and decided to write about him. and a huge thank you to @heavyhitterheaux and @nattinatalia for letting me bounce ideas off with them ilysm <333

Requested? No

Warnings: smut angsty ending

Word Count: 4.8k words

February 2022

Astrid looked at her dad’s text messages and rolled her eyes. Sometimes she’d forget how much of a die hard fan he was of the San Diego Chargers, not the LA Chargers. In his eyes they don’t exist and the Chargers stopped being a real team until the end of 2016. So the fact that she was at SoFi Stadium, where the team resides now, for the superbowl was sending her dad into a frenzy. She invited him to join her, technically his good friend Guy Fieri invited them, but her dad said no and to be safe. 

“Astrid Romero, over here!” photographers yelled at her as she made her way to the box seats. 

She smiled and waved before nudging her best friend to keep walking. 

“Damn, you’re like famous, famous now.” Amira said in a teasing tone. 

“Oh hush.” Astrid said, shyly.

Astrid Romero was an up and coming actress. She starred in the soon to be released drama ‘The Perfect Family’ for HBOMax alongside Mark Ruffalo, Kid Cudi, Noah Centineo, Eva Longoria, Benjamin Bratt and other known actors. It was her first big TV role. The tv show that got her really started was the three episode arc on FBI where she played the daughter of sicario that got kidnapped on her walk to campus and Maggie and OA had to find her so there wouldn’t be a terf war between the carteles. After that she had small roles here and there. Her first movie role was the year before when she starred in an action rom-com movie with Jacob Elordi and Aaron Taylor Johnson. A lot of people compared the movie to ‘This Means War’ but how it was better because it wasn’t as cheesy and predictable as the 2012 movie.

Acting wasn’t her original plan when she moved to LA. She originally planned to study biology at USC and become a doctor like her mom. After she finished her degree in 2020, she planned on taking a gap year before starting med school at USC. Because she needed a job to maintain herself in LA, she interned with her godfather at Food Network. Guy was friends with her dad and the family restaurant was featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives a few years ago and since then her dad and Guy just clicked. He sometimes is a guest judge on Guy’s Grocery Games. 

Astrid mainly worked with the camera crew. It wasn’t until one day she had to fill in for Hunter, Guy Fieri’s oldest son, for an episode of Guy’s Grocery Games. Since then it was like she was hit with the acting bug and she needed to be in front of the camera. Thanks to her connections to Guy, she was able to book auditions and see what’s out there.

When she booked the movie with Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Jacob Elordi, she was nervous to tell her mom. Mostly out of fear of disappointing her mom that she was briefly going to Seattle for the movie because they had a plan for her to become a doctor. Fortunately for her, her mom was supportive of her and whatever she wanted to do. Both of her parents were very supportive of her and her three older brothers. 

Her two oldest were fraternal twins, Gael and Gabriel. They were four years older than Astrid and her other brother, Esteban, was two years older than her. The twins followed their parents' footsteps. Gael worked as a chef in Hillcrest and Gabriel was doing his residency at UCSD to become a doctor. Meanwhile Esteban played in a minor league baseball team in hopes he'd get scouted into a major league team. 

“J said Drake was able to add us to his list so we can go whenever we want.” Amira said, checking her phone. 

“Okay, I just have to say hi to Guy and get a picture with him so he can confirm to my dad that we were there with him.” Astrid said as they entered the large room. 

She spotted the blonde dip-dyed man and made a beeline toward him, making sure Amira was behind her. She greeted him and his family and got her picture with him. Astrid sent her dad the picture and linked arms with Amira. 

“Is that Martha Stewart?” Amira asked, nodding her head at the older woman. 

“Yes, wanna say hi?” Astrid asked. 

“I don’t know. I never met a convicted felon before.” she said, feigning fear. 

“Ay por favor.” Astrid laughed. 

She pulled Amira to where Martha was and waited a few seconds to greet her. 

“Hi, I’m Astrid Romero, my dad is Enrique Romero. My friend, Amira,  and I just wanted to say hi.” she told the older woman. 

“Hi,” Martha greeted them with both a hug and an air kiss on each cheek. She glanced down to Astrid’s nails. “I love your nails. They’re perfect for spring.”

“Thank you, actually Amira did them for me.” she said. She brought her nails up so the woman could see them better. They were clear acrylic nails, nude at the base, and hand small flowers all over for a spring theme. Her gold rings made her nails stand out more. 

Martha turned to Amira. “You’re so talented.”

“Oh, thank you.” she said shyly. 

Astrid excused herself and answered a text from her dad and left Amira talking to Martha. Amira walked over to her with the biggest smile on her face. 

“Bitch, I’m doing Martha’s nails.” she squealed as they made their way out of the room. 

“Shut up!” Astrid whisper-yelled. “I’m so excited.”

Astrid knew her friend was talented. Amira and Astrid met in their first year at USC. They were assigned to the same dorm. She ran a small nail business in their door to have spending money since her parents only covered her tuition, boarding, and other necessary school expenses. Just like Astrid, Amira got her degree, but didn’t pursue a career with it. After graduation she enrolled into cosmetology school and got her nail technician license. She has a decent following and worked from her apartment until she had enough to open her own nail salon. She also sold press on kits. Amira sometimes traveled with Astrid so she could do her nails for press and for red carpet events. Which was how Amira met her boyfriend, Jack Harlow.

In September Astrid was invited to the Met Gala by Tommy Hilfiger, who did the costumes for the movie she did with Jacob and Aaron. She brought out Amira and she did her nails in the suite Tommy got for everyone he was dressing. Jack spent the whole night asking Astrid about Amira, until she texted her friend asking if she could give Jack her number because he was annoying her. She said yes obviously and they’ve been together for a few months. Astrid also got a lot of compliments on her nails and she was telling them that her best friend Amira did them. From there Amira gained a huge celebrity following. 

The second they entered, Amira and Jack were attached to the hip. Astrid awkwardly sat next to Jack’s best friend, who fell asleep before the game even started. She decided to get up and venture out after getting bored of doing nothing. She tucked her pass inside so no one could snatch it if they walked past her and went to the room next door that was selling team gear and superbowl merch. She decided to get a jersey as a memento of her first superbowl. Knowing her father would drop dead if she bought a jersey from any of the LA teams, she decided to buy a Bengals jersey. She liked tigers and 1998, the year she was born, was the year of the tiger. 

"Good choice." Someone behind her said. 

Astrid turned back and was met with a tall figure, showing him the jersey. "You think so? I only picked this so my dad wouldn't disown me."

"Dang and here I thought you liked the team." The guy said, placing his hand on his chest. 

"We'll see how the game ends." She joked.

"Astrid?" Jack called from the entrance. He angrily stomped toward her. "Your best friend was about to call a search party. You can't just fucking leave like that."

"You two were swapping spit. It's not like I left the stadium." She said, pushing hair behind her ear. 

"Next time take your phone." He said, pulling her phone out of his pocket.

Astrid took her phone, feeling slightly embarrassed that Jack was scolding her like a child. 

"Jack?" The guy said, making his presence known. 

"Yeah–holy shit Joe, I didn't recognize you. What's up, man." Jack said, reaching forward to give the guy, who apparently is named Joe, a bro hug. 

Astrid waited a few seconds for Jack to introduce her to his very cute and tall friend, but the two guys fell into conversation. She got in line and paid for her jersey while Jack caught up with his friend. She sent him a text and returned to where Amira was. 

"Where the fuck were you?" Amira asked in a motherly tone. 

"Next door, getting a jersey." She said, taking off her oversized jacket so she could put on the jersey. 

"Who did you get?" 

"Not sure, I just picked number nine." Astrid said, folding the jersey so it looks cropped. She gestured down to her outfit. "Cute?"

"Yes, it's giving WAG supporting her man at the superbowl." Amira nodded. 

"You think I can be a WAG?" She asked. 

"You could be the Vanessa Hudgens of the NFL. Like people would know you and wonder how an NFL player was able to bag you." 

Astrid laughed at her response. While they waited for the game to start, poses ranging from corny prom poses to thirst trapping ones. Amira's boyfriend came back and the pair went back to overdoing the pda. To keep herself busy she decided to look up the player of the jersey she bought. She stared dumbfoundedly at her phone. 

She bought Joe Burrow's jersey.

That was the guy from the line when she was picking a jersey and began chatting her up. Then she went on Google because she was fairly positive that Jack mentioned him in one of his songs, the name sounded familiar. She was right and copied the lyric onto her Instagram post, adding a few pictures that she took with Amira. While she was on Instagram, she looked him up and without thinking she followed him. 

*

"I can't believe Astrid fucking Romero followed you." Ja'Maar told Joe as they got in the sprinter van with all the other players. After their loss, the team was going to a private party hosted by Kid Cudi. 

"Oh that," he shrugged it off.

In truth, Joe was over the moon. He didn't get a chance to get her name before she left the stand, but Jack said her name and he kept it on the back burner so he could look her up after the game. To his surprise, when he opened his notifications and saw people commenting his @ on her post where she used the line from Jack's song. He was even more surprised to see that she followed him. Obviously he followed her back and liked her post. 

He was going to invite her to the after party but he felt like it was too forward since they only had a two minute conversation. However he found a loophole and invited Jack, telling him he could bring some friends, but to let him know who he was bringing to add them to his VIP section. He was relieved to see her name among the small group Jack was bringing. 

When Joe and the rest of the team arrived at the club, it was in full swing. The dance floor was filled with people dancing and the bar was full. The VIP section Joe had was in the balcony overlooking the whole club. The club provided the team with unlimited bottle service and full access to the private bar in the balcony so they didn't go down where the non VIP guests were. 

Joe looked through the bottles and excused himself to go to the bar. A bartender approached him and took his order. They handed him his drink and went to tend to other people, walking up to the bar. 

"Is this seat taken?" Someone asked. 

He looked up and saw it was Astrid, shaking his head. "It is."

Her face dropped. "Oh, I’m sorry." 

"No, I meant that it is taken now that you're here." Joe corrected himself. 

"Oh, okay." She giggled. 

She took a seat as a bartender asked her what she wanted to drink. She leaned forward, allowing for Joe to take her in. She wore a short sparkly dress. There was a slit down her thigh, but it was fastened by two large, gold safety pins. It was loose-fitting but it knew where to hug her body. The club lights bounced off her dress, making her tan skin glow and the few tattoos she had shine. All in all, she looked beautiful. 

"I'm sorry about the game." She said, crossing her leg. 

Joe shrugged. "We'll get them next time. 

"I know but as a new fan, I was a little sad my new team lost." Astrid pouted. 

"I promise you next time we make it to the super bowl, we'll win just for you." He said. 

"I'm holding you to it." She said, making him laugh.

Astrid and Joe fell into conversation. They were mainly focused on Joe and the teams he played in college. Joe was a bit hesitant about talking about himself because he was used to other people only pretending and not paying any attention to what he said. It was refreshing to talk to Astrid. She was a good listener and knew the right questions to ask him. He was able to relax with her and have a normal conversation with her.

'What a Feeling' by One Direction began playing and Astrid perked up. 

"Do you wanna dance?" She asked Joe. 

"Sure." He nodded. She could ask him to rob a bank and he would. 

She placed a hundred dollar bill to cover their drinks under their drinks and reached for his hand. She led him to the dance floor. They stood off to the side, so they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves. 

Joe was unsure where to place his hands so he kept them at his sides. Astrid brought his hands to her hips while she wrapped her arms around him. They slowly danced, swaying from side to side. For a change of pace the DJ played 'Bouncin' by Tinashe. This time Astrid turned around and pressed her back against Joe. Luckily this time around, he knew what he was doing. He gently pushed her down and kept his hand on her back as he rolled his hips into her ass.  

The DJ was all over the place after the sing ended. They played a bunch of songs from reggaeton to line dancing. After an hour, or what felt like an hour, of dancing, Astrid and Joe made their way back to the VIP section. They ordered some water and sat back on the stools. 

Joe's stomach growled loud enough that Astrid was able to hear it. He gave her a sheepish look. 

"Sorry, I haven’t eaten since this morning." He said. 

"I know this twenty-four hour taco shop. For being in LA they have decent Mexican food. Plus it's super low-key if you wanna go." She suggested. 

"I would kill for a burrito right now." 

"Lucky for you, you won’t have to." Astrid teased. "I’m going to tell my friends that I’m leaving. Do you want to meet here in five?"

"Sounds like a plan." Joe nodded. 

They went their separate ways. Joe went to where his teammates were and told them he was heading out. While he waited for Astrid he ordered an UberLux. Jeff was showing up in five minutes in a Range Rover. 

"All set." Astrid said when she came back.

She went down to the dance floor and told Amira and Jack she was leaving with Joe. Amira reminded her to share her location and if her plans changed to let her know. 

"Let's go." He said. 

There were paps posted and got a few pictures of Joe and Astris, but thanks to security, they weren't followed. Astrid wore a huge oversized jacket that she used to shield her face from the cameras. She also hid behind Joe's tall frame. They reached their designated Uber, Astrid placed her jacket over her so she wouldn't be photographed as paps took pictures of the car. Once they were a few streets out, she pulled her jacket off and fixed her hair. 

The drive was pretty quiet. The Uber driver kept to himself, making small talk here and there. In less than half an hour the driver pulled up to the taco shop. The pair thanked him and made their way towards the door. Joe held the door open for them and let Astrid in first. 

“Hasta que se aparece.” a cook from back told Astrid when they got in line. 

“Tenía unas entrevistas en Nueva York.” She replied back to him. Astrid turned back to Joe. “Are you ready to order or do you need a minute?” 

“Uh,” Joe lost his train of thought watching a server carry a plate of rolled tacos with all the toppings to a table. “What’s that?”

“Rolled tacos. You can pick from chicken, beef or potato. They come with lettuce, guac, sour cream and cheese.” Astrid explained. 

“I think I’ll get some chicken ones.” He said. He looked up to the menu and read the drinks section. “And a Mexican coke.” 

“Noted.” she said.

When it was their turn to order, Astrid ordered for them. She ordered five carne asada tacos and a horchata for herself. Joe was ready to pay, but she stopped him since he paid for the Uber. She got their drinks and lead Joe towards the back where there weren’t any windows, in case anyone walked by and recognized him. There was a group of tipsy young women sharing a tray of carne asada fries, laughing among themselves over some party they went to. They looked over to Joe and Astrid as if they were trying to figure out where they saw them, but they went back to their food. 

A server came by with Joe and Astrid’s food a few minutes later.

“Do you want salsa?” Astrid asked him. 

“I’m good.” He said, sipping his drink.

Astrid got up and went to get some for her tacos. She put some habanero salsa and salsa verde in the small containers and grabbed a few slices of radishes and limes. She was going to sit opposite of him but decided to sit next to him. 

Joe was waiting patiently for her to come back so he could eat. He reached for a rolled taco from the pile and took a big bite. He groaned. 

“This is so fucking good.” he said before taking another bite. “They don't have food like this back home.”

“They don’t have rolled tacos in Minnesota?” Asrtid asked him. 

“Why would I know what they have in Minnesota?” Joe asked her.

“Isn’t that where you play?” 

“No, Cincinnati is in Ohio.” He shook his head. 

Astrid burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh that’s embarrassing.” 

“You’re such a fake fan.” he teased her. 

“At least the states were next to each other.” she said. 

“Minnesota and Ohio aren’t next to each other.” he laughed. 

“In my defense, the only states I’ve been to outside of California were New York, Washington,and Florida.” 

“Maybe you can come catch a game in Ohio.” he said nonchalantly before eating another rolled taco.

“Hm, maybe, but Minnesota is looking pretty cool too.” she sipped her drink.

They ate in comfortable silence. When they finished, they sat there talking about anything and everything. The more Joe talked to her the more was interested in getting to know her. He studied her face, eyeing her lips while she drank her horchata.

“Is there something on my face?” Astrid asked him, reaching for a napkin from the dispenser.

“No,” Joe shook his head. 

“Oh you were staring and I assume–”

“I wanted to kiss you.” he said shyly.

“Oh don’t let me stop you.” she said a little too excitedly, making him snort.

Joe cupped her face and he slowly leaned into her, capturing her lips. The kiss was slow like a test in the waters. Lust quickly took over as their kiss intensified. He held her in place with his other arm as his lips dominated her. She was practically on his lap now. Astrid whimpered into his mouth when Joe deepened the kiss. They pulled away, breathless.

“Wanna know a fun fact about this place?” Astrid asked him.

“Hm,” he mumbled in response, kissing down her neck. 

“It’s a five minute walk from my place.”

*

What was supposed to be a five minute walk turned into a fifteen minute walk because they had to take five minute breaks with each step. Joe pressed Astrid into her door next to the car gate and leaned in to kiss her, but she curved him. She gently nudged him off, so she could press the code to unlock the gate to her condo.

Once inside her place, Astrid gently pushed Joe against the door. She dropped to her knees. 

“May I have a taste?” She asked sweetly as she took off her jacket. 

“I’m not gonna last, it’s been months since I had some.” He confessed. 

“That’s fine.” she smiled. 

She skillfully undid his belt and popped the buttons of his jeans. She slid her hand into his boxers and pulled out his cock. It was much bigger than she planned for, but she was committed to making him come in her mouth. She reached for her liga and tied her hair into a low bun. She pulled down the top part of her dress, revealing her chest to him. 

She stroked him a few times. She pulled away and sat on her knees, still stroking him. Her eyes never left Joe’s as she leaned forward and took him in her mouth. Joe closed his eyes, enjoying her mouth on him. She quietly moaned, slipping him further into her mouth. She pulled away until she only had his tip. She swirled her tongue around his tip and slid down his length once more. 

Eventually Joe opened his eyes. He was able to see Astrid play with herself through a full length mirror she had facing the door. He slowly bucked his hips to meet her mouth. She took him back in her mouth, bobbing her head, just as he came. He cursed a few times then moaned out Astrid’s name, as she swallowed every drop of his release.

“You’re unbelievable.” He said, reaching down to help her up.

“Yeah?” she asked him.

“Mhm.” he nodded, pulling her back into a kiss. 

Without breaking their kiss, Astrid guided him down the hallway to her living room. Joe bent down and picked her up by the back of her thighs, carrying her a large beige couch. He gently pushed her down on the couch as he shedded off his clothes, only staying in his boxer-briefs. She laid on her back while he hovered over her. He gave her hips a gentle squeeze before he slid his hands up to her breasts. His thumbs delicately ran over her pert nipples as she melted into his hands. Joe helped her out of her dress and panties and tossed them to the growing pile of clothes.

One of his hands made its way back to her hips and lazily ran his finger tips around her core, sending her goosebumps all over. With the other, he balanced himself so he wouldn’t squish her.

Astrid gasped feeling his ring and middle finger inside of her. Joe pressed his thumb to her clit and sped up his fingers. She whined and placed her head on his shoulder.

“Eyes on me, Astrid.” He said.

She moaned as his fingers fucked into her at a deliciously slow pace. As if her hips had a mind of their own, they followed Joe’s fingers. In a matter of minutes she was close.

“Joe…” she gasped

“I know, Astrid.” He pressed his thumb against her clit and increased his pace.

“Sh–Joe!” She climaxed.

Joe’s fingers were still in her. He pushed himself up, hovering over her. He deftly rubbed her clit with his thumb as he made his way down her body. His mouth went straight to her breasts. He gently nipped under them, kissing her tattoos while his free hand was on her nipples, twisting and rubbing them. His tongue traced her pert peaks, egging her on.

Astrid whined loudly. She was so overwhelmed, desperate for some sort of relief. Joe chuckled. He pushed himself off her. Pulling her in a sitting position, he knelt down in front of her. He pushed her legs apart and smirked.

“Taste for taste?” 

*

Astrid had no idea how they ended up in her bed or what round they were on, but she wasn’t complaining. She never been so thoroughly fucked. The most the guys she’s been with do is maybe give her an orgasm and if she’s lucky they eat her out before they fall asleep on her. It’s a complete 180 with Joe. Granted he allegedly hadn’t had some in months, but still he had lot of stamina. 

“Oh, fuck, just like that Joe.” She moaned out as he thrusted his into her. 

Astrid was riding him with her back to him. Her legs tucked under Joe’s thighs. She leaned forward and gripped the comforter in front of her for balance as she bounced on his cock. She felt him sit up and press his chest on her back. One his hands wandered down to her clit, slowly drawing figure eights with his thumb while the other played with her nipples.

“Fuck,” she managed to murmur before her climax took over. She repeated his name as she slowed her movements.

“You got one more?” Joe asked. 

“Yes.” she nodded.

“That’s what I like to hear.” he grinned. 

Joe pulled his length out of her and positioned her so that only her ass was in the air for him, so she wouldn't be on all fours. He knew she was exhausted from all those previous rounds. He knelt in front of her and aligned himself to her entrance, slowly pushing himself in her once more. His hands gripped her waist as he slowly rocked into her. As the minutes passed, his thrusts got rougher, and Astrid couldn’t hold back. She begged Joe to keep fucking her at that irritatingly slow and rough pace she loved. He leaned over, his chest against her back.

“Fuck.” Joe moaned out.

His lips kissed all over her neck as he continued to fuck Astrid. She rocked back against him, meeting his thrusts.

“That’s it, take me so good, Astrid.” He groaned in her ear. Joe shifted his hips as he thrusted into her. The new angle hit her in that spot that made her beg for him.

“Please, fuck—”

She pushed back rougher to meet his thrusts. He gripped her hips with one hand while the other went back down to her clit. Joe worked his fingers roughly as he pushed his hips into Astrid. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her sweet spot. Her quiet praises filled the room, egging him on. She quietly whimpered his name, lazily meeting his thrusts before her orgasm took over. Joe’s orgasm followed soon after. He cried her name and pushed himself deep inside Astrid, spilling every last drop in her. 

He plopped next to her, careful not to squish her. He brushed her hair off her face. 

“Was it good?” he asked her nervously.

“More than good.” she nodded sleepily. 

They laid in silence, trying to catch their breaths. Eventually Astrid got up to use the bathroom and clean herself up. She washed her face removing the make up and Joe’s release from when he came on her face a few rounds ago. She exited the bathroom and found it empty. She figured that Joe went to get his clothes in the living room. But she heard a car pull outside her place. She pushed the curtains to the side to get a view and saw Joe get in the car.

Never in a million years did she expect him to leave so abruptly. Obviously it was one time thing and nothing was going to come out of their hook up. But she deserved at least a goodbye. 

[beardedmrbean]

Lawmakers in California are hoping to push through controversial legislation that would ban retail staff from stopping thieves stealing from their stores.

Senate Bill 553, which was submitted by Senator Dave Cortese, has been passed by the State Senate and will now progress to policy committees in the State Assembly. Cortese hopes the proposed law will prevent workplace violence and protect staff from being forced by their employers to step-in during robberies. But some store bosses are furious about the plans, with the California Retailers Association mocking the move as an open invitation for thieves "to come in and steal."

The political wrangling in California comes just weeks after Home Depot security guard Blake Mohs, 26, was shot to death during an attempted robbery in Pleasanton, California. Other cities in the state are also facing their own problems as they attempt to deal with lawlessness.

San Francisco has been gripped by a crimewave that has seen Whole Foods close its downtown location after just a year of business, with bosses saying they were unable to "ensure the safety" of their staff in the city. Nordstrom followed suit by leaving the city this month, but many smaller businesses have had no choice but to remain, despite attacks on their premises.

The proposed new laws come as stores have blamed shoplifting for hitting their businesses, with Target issuing a statement in November blaming "organized retail crime" for an eye-watering $400 million loss in its profits in 2022.

Cortese, a Democrat representing Santa Clara County, told Fox 2/KTVU: "More recently, we've seen another spike in retail violence; [At] Safeways, Home Depots, it just seems to be happening every other day... What we're saying in the bill is it's not ok for employers to take a rank-and-file worker, somebody whose job is really something else... and say, 'Hey, you know, if there's an intruder we're going to deputize you to intervene.' People get hurt and often killed that way."

A statement issued by Cortese's office noted that assaults in stores rose during the pandemic, citing 2022 analysis by the New York Times, which found that assaults in grocery stores increased by 63 percent from 2018 to 2020, and assaults in convenience stores grew by 75 percent. The statement added that workplace violence is the second leading cause of fatal occupational injury.

The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) estimates that workplace violence affects nearly 2 million workers each year, with female staff suffering from higher rates of nonfatal injuries than their male counterparts.

A retail security survey published in 2022 by the National Retail Federal (NRF) also suggested the issue may be getting worse. The annual survey of the retail industry's loss prevention professionals found that "retail shrink is an almost $100 billion problem."

According to the survey, retailers blamed "external theft" for the greatest portion of "shrink" at 37 percent, while 28.5 percent was deemed to be the result of "employee/internal theft." The difference was made up by various factors, including processing and control failures. The survey found that 37.9 percent of respondents replied that no associates were allowed to apprehend shoplifters in their organizations.

The California bill, if enacted in law, would require employers to provide active-shooter training to workers, keep a log of any violent incidents, and allow companies to apply for workplace violence restraining orders.

But Rachel Michelin, president of the California Retailers Association, told Fox 2/KTVU: "This bill goes way too far, number one, where I think it will open the doors even wider for people to come in and steal from our stores."

And she added that most stores already prevent ordinary workers from confronting shoplifters, saying that most hire employees specifically trained in theft prevention for that purpose. "It [the bill] says no employee can approach someone who's shoplifting, so even if someone is trained on how to deter someone from doing that, now they're not allowed to approach someone. So what does that mean? We are opening up the doors to allow people to just walk into stores, steal, and walk out."

Newsweek is attempting to seek clarification on how the law applies to staff such as trained security guards.

Newsweek has also reached out to Senator Cortese and the California Retailers Association for further information and comment. Several large retailers, including Target and Walmart, have also been approached for comment about the proposed law.

The bill is currently subject to adjustments as it progresses through the State Assembly's policy committees.

[kaija-rayne-author]

So, it should be pretty obvious by now that I'm firmly against fans boycotting Bioware and Dreadwolf due to the layoffs. I'll put it in business terms. I've worked for Fortune 500 companies, and I speak from that perspective.

The people who made it are hoping, and have said, that they hope people will love Dreadwolf as much as they do. Even when they were laid off.

It would punish the creatives who made the game far more than it would punish Bioware. They likely can't even talk about it due to NDAs unless/until it's released. Can you imagine not being able to talk about a thing you loved and poured years of your life, creativity, and passion into? I can. It would be heartbreaking.

I don't want to be responsible for harming people who love dragon age enough to make it for us. If I boycott, that's exactly what I'd be partially responsible for. I'm usually very pro-boycott, but in this case, I'm not.

So here's the question... we unequivocally live in a late stage capitalist nightmare world. Do you know how many other companies have laid off employees this year?

This type of behavior has been pro forma for corporate for at least 20 years, probably longer.

So, why would people boycott Dreadwolf and Bioware when they're by far not even the most egregious example of mass layoffs?

In 2022-2023, we've had these mass layoffs.

Meat giant Tyson Foods is laying off about 15% of senior leadership roles and 10% of corporate roles, according to an internal memo shared with CNN.

Y'all gonna boycott meat? I didn't think so.

3M announced significant layoffs as part of another major restructuring plan. The brand behind Post-It Notes and Scotch Tape said in a statement it would lay off 6,000 staff around the world.

Gonna boycott tape? Ear plugs? Sticky notes?

Lyft (LYFT)’s move in November to cut 13% of its workforce, citing fears of a looming recession.

Buzzfeed announced a 15% reduction in its workforce, or about 180 employees.

David's Bridal is eliminating 9,236 positions across the United States but did not specify how many stores would be affected.

Walmart is laying off more than 3,000 workers.

And I know many people can't afford to boycott Walmart.

Meta announced an additional 10,000 layoffs across several months on top of mass layoffs in 2022.

You still use Facebook? I personally loathe it and only keep an account for marketing reasons. I can barely even make it work anymore.

Three rounds of layoffs hit Disney (DIS), announced through a March 27 internal memo to employees. Around 7,000 people will be affected by the move over the next several months.

Amazon (AMZN) said in March it would cut 9,000 jobs, bringing the total number of Amazon (AMZN) staffers eliminated this year to around 27,000.

Indeed.com announced cuts of approximately 2,200 employees, representing almost 15% of its total workforce, the company said in March.

Satellite radio giant SiriusXM laid off 475 people, or about 8% of its workforce, as part of a broad restructuring.

Zoom (ZM) said it will lay off about 1,300 employees, or approximately 15% of its staff, in a memo to employees in Feburary.

Dell (DELL) laid off roughly 5% of its workforce, the company said in a regulatory filing in February. Dell had about 133,000 employees, the company told CNN. At that level, the 5% cut represents more than 6,500 employees.

Gonna refuse to use your computer?

Microsoft said in January it would be laying off 10,000 employees, according to a securities filing.

This was only up to around March of this year. There's loads more.

Point being it's ridiculous to boycott a company and hurt the people who made a thing they love just because they got laid off.

This is what corporations do. There is 0 loyalty to the employee at a corporation. It's all about the bottom line.

Maybe all y'all haven't worked in corporate, maybe people are hopping on the 'I'll boycott too' bandwagon. IDEK.

I honestly don't care if I change anyone's mind about it all, but it’s silly. Just outright ridiculous to expect a corporation to do anything but what corporations do.

It's not right. It's awful. I hate that Bioware basically backstabbed the creatives who made them what they are. But it's not new or even remotely rare. Bioware has laid off roughly 125 employees in the past handful of months.

Every company I named laid off far, far more. And if you think I'll believe you're going to boycott Microsoft, you must have a bridge you want to sell me, too.

Here's the source, if you want it.

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 16

Chapters: 16/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Encountering your mother for the first time felt like a long-held dream finally coming true, and the success of the Fashion Show further underscored that your life was aligning with your deepest wishes. Then, the opportunity for your first international business trip came about, taking you to Florida.

The quiet hum of distant voices reached your ears, steadily amplifying as you gradually regained your senses. Even though your eyes stayed shut, you realized you were lying on the sofa, your father's hand gently enclosing yours.

Bit by bit, their words began to sharpen.

"I told you this was a bad idea," he sighed. "I get that you wanted to see her, but, Par, we need to be reasonable.”

Paregoros was striding nervously back and forth, her voice trembling. "I know. I shouldn't even be here, I'm contravening the principles of my realm.”

“Why now, then?”

"Because she knows. I owe her an explanation.”

Your body was rigid, and despite the urge to stir, you weren't quite prepared to confront them.

"Par, she surpassed all our expectations. Rest assured, she bears no resentment towards you.”

"She's my daughter. This is something I need to do. Not only for her sake, but... for mine as well.”

A deep silence enveloped the room as your father drew a deep, resonant breath. The sound of your mother's heels clicking against the wooden flooring reverberated in the room, halting abruptly as she quietly cursed under her breath.

"Are you joking right now? What's he doing here?”

"Eh? Who's here?" Your father inquired.

"Stay with her. I'll return shortly.”

“Wait, Par!”

The heaviness in your head and the numbness in your limbs signaled that your blood pressure was too low to permit any positional changes. All you could do was patiently wait, giving your body the necessary time to naturally readjust, no matter how long it might require.

The rapid, forceful steps of your mother were followed by the door flinging open and subsequently slamming shut with a resonant thud.

Morpheus stood there, right before your father's dwelling. His face was set in a stern expression, riddled with worry, his hands nonchalantly tucked away in the pockets of his coat.

The moment he caught sight of Paregoros stepping out from the main entrance, he steeled himself for the incoming tempest of fury, her eyes dark and filled with contempt.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing your face here," she snapped. "You deceived me, Oneiros. I put my trust in you, and you betrayed me. I should have known better.”

“I did no such thing,” he retorted.

"Do you take me for a fool? Y/N is aware of my existence now. You assured me she wouldn't be.”

"No, I promised you she would not learn the truth from me.”

She issued a scornful laugh. "How is that any different? You knew precisely what you were doing.”

“Your secret was bringing harm to your family.”

"No offense, but you have no understanding of protecting those you love.”

Morpheus lowered his gaze, conceding that, in a way, she had rightly delivered a hit to his pride.

"Since when do you concern yourself with others and their feelings? The only reason you stepped in was because of your little escapade with my daughter. We both know where this is headed.”

His hands clenched into fists, hidden from her view. "No, Paregoros, you do not know that.”

"Don't misunderstand me, I sincerely wish for you to change. For Y/N. But you won't, you never did.”

How could he make her believe in his sincere love for you? That he would go to any extent to ensure you were the happiest woman in the entire universe?

"You leave destruction in your wake. You may be the King of Dreams, but you can't mold my daughter into one of your creations. She's not a plaything.”

His anger was mounting with each charge she put forth. Though he couldn't completely discount her words as falsehoods, his view of you transcended far beyond the idea of a mere possession.

You were his Goddess, his everything. You were the most radiant diamond amidst an infinite sea of sparkling gems devoid of a soul. You were an angel, his most beautiful dream, one he wished to cherish forever.

Paregoros had no clue of your incalculable value to him. In the end, he grasped the fact that she might never recognize it.

"Please, Dream Lord, just leave. She's well cared for here."

Indeed, you were. But the inner turmoil you underwent when meeting your mother for the first time somehow echoed through the dreamstone, penetrating directly into his realm. It punctured the fragile boundary between the two of you, striking his heart and causing it to tighten.

Nonetheless, Morpheus understood that his presence wasn't required. With your family reunited, even if temporarily, he could afford to step back for a while.

“Very well.”

Without waiting for his departure, Paregoros spun on her heels and retreated back into the house. The door closed behind her, isolating Morpheus on the lonely street just as the first droplet of rain touched his nose.

You couldn't remember a single occasion when you had passed out from a panic attack. Yet, considering the deluge of revelations you had unearthed in the recent months, it seemed reasonable that your mind opted to shut down, swamped by the sheer magnitude of information to digest.

And now, your mother was there, advancing towards you quietly and with visible hesitance, as if she feared shattering you into a thousand fragments.

Eventually, you mustered the strength to hoist yourself into a sitting position. Your father hurried over to you with a glass of cool water, brushing your hair away from your face as you sipped it cautiously, taking small, deliberate gulps.

As Paregoros knelt in front of you, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears and regret, you found yourself at a loss for words. Faced with what appeared almost like an apparition, you struggled to construct a coherent sentence.

Your father gave your wrist a gentle squeeze. "How are you feeling, lovey?”

You were engulfed by shock, confusion, fear, and uncertainty. Expressing all those emotions simultaneously seemed beyond reach.

You wanted to respond appropriately, to greet your mother in the way she had anticipated. But with your complete focus zeroed in on her, your voice involuntarily adopted a chillier tone. "Why are you here, mum?”

Paregoros pursed her lips, bowing her head. "I understand that I'm likely the last person you wished to see.”

Your heart tightened, making room for an instant wave of guilt. "No... it's not that, I'm sorry. I've been wanting to see you, to speak with you at least once since I was a child. And now that you're here with me, I... I don’t really know what to say.”

With a clear of his throat, your father interjected, "Par, it might be best to delay our conversation. After all, Y/N has a significant event coming up tomorrow.”

Despite the evident concern in your father's voice for your well-being, you chose not to retreat now that you had regained your composure.

"It's fine, dad. I can do this.”

Handing him the now-empty glass, you swung your legs off the couch and rose to your feet. Paregoros was so near now, her breath discernible against you.

You needed a private moment with her, to address the situation directly without your father's excessive protectiveness. As much as you appreciated it, this was something you needed to resolve independently.

"Mum, would you accompany me for a walk?”

"But... it appears to be starting to rain,” Your father expressed.

"We won't be gone long.”

Paregoros inhaled deeply, replying with a confirming nod and a wide, relieved smile. Without giving your father a chance to object, you darted for your jacket and snatched an umbrella on the way. Paregoros mirrored your steps as you ventured out onto the street.

The smell of the rain was perceptible, its gradual fall tapping out a rhythm on your umbrella as you unfurled it to cover both of you. You gently extended your arm, and she accepted your gesture, softly intertwining it with hers.

And thus, you began to stride in harmony.

For a considerable stretch of time, you both meandered in utter silence, tracing the sidewalk without any particular destination in mind. It was Paregoros who took the initiative, guiding you under a porch to provide shelter from the falling raindrops. The ambiance was tranquil, with the vacant roads around providing seclusion.

She was noticeably anxious, seemingly uncertain about where to begin. Her eyes were fixed on your face, as if you were the most precious being in the world.

Without a doubt, you were to her.

"I had so many things I wanted to tell you, but it all seems so insignificant now. I abandoned you, Y/N. It was never my intention, but circumstances forced you to grow up without me.”

You folded the umbrella and leaned against the brick wall. Oddly enough, it mirrored the scene you had experienced in your dream, except that this time, you were more than a simple spectator.

"I won't deny that I was deeply upset when I discovered the truth, but I've come to understand why you had to leave us behind. I am acquainted with the laws of the universe and the workings of the other realms.”

Paregoros wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her own form. “I know, but I wouldn't hold it against you if you resented me.”

"I don't, believe me. I only wish it could have been different.”

The rain intensified, creating a cascading curtain of water beside you.

"Just tell me one thing; had I not been human, what would have ensued following my birth?” You asked.

"If you were like me, you would have stayed in my domain.”

“And what about dad?”

She drew a breath, struggling to deliver the answer. "He would have been oblivious to your existence.”

You visualized it all in your mind, your father living out the rest of his days ignorant of his offspring, while you had to grow up in a different place. You might never have met him, Ella, Hob... not even Morpheus. It was only then that you came to grasp the extent of your fortune.

"Mum, despite all the ups and downs, I am genuinely grateful for the life I've been given."

A rumble of distant thunder echoed in the sky.

"When dad fell ill, I lost a part of myself in a way that I thought I could never reclaim. But things have changed. I'm now living the life of my dreams, quite literally.”

“Y/N, about that….”

"Hard times aren't fun, but they have a way of molding us mortals into better versions of ourselves. There's still a lot for me to learn on this journey, but I don’t feel alone anymore.”

“Y/N-”

"And I'm in love, mum. I've found someone who understands me and values me in a way I've never experienced before. All this wouldn't have been possible had I not been human.”

Another bout of thunder, closer and louder than the first, erupted around you, accompanied by a flash of light. Your mother's expression turned resolute as she regarded you.

And the prospects were not promising.

"Y/N, to be perfectly clear, I do not support your relationship with the King of Dreams.”

The way in which she conveyed those words was tinged with anger and disgust, causing an immediate contraction of your nerves. “Why is that?”

"My dear, Oneiros is untrustworthy. Everything he does is driven by self-interest, and he brings ruin to those who dare to associate with him. No exception.”

You could feel the fire building and blazing within you. “That’s not true.”

"You don’t know the atrocities he committed. He completely tore apart his own family, condemning his son to a life of misery and shattering Calliope's heart."

You clenched your teeth, intensifying your hold on the umbrella's handle.

"The agony of having to give you up at birth was hard enough for me. I can only imagine how traumatic it must have been for Calliope, upon discovering her son torn apart due to her husband's deeds.”

You rolled your eyes, uttering a grunt and smacking the ground with the umbrella in a display of frustration. "Yes, it was an absolute tragedy, no one is disputing that. But Calliope was the one who chose to leave Morpheus, wasn't she? It was a conscious decision.”

"And it was arguably the best decision she could have made. What kind of future could she have had with someone who condemned their own son?”

"Morpheus didn't condemn anyone!"

Your voice reverberated through the porch, compelling your mother to take a step back.

"He may have overlooked his son's plea, but how does that make him responsible for his fate? Do you genuinely believe he wanted that outcome? Yes, he was negligent. He trusted that Orpheus would heed his advice. That was the true mistake.”

Paregoros pinched the bridge of her nose, "Y/N...”

You were too riled up to stop. You would not tolerate any disparaging words about the love of your life, not even from your own mother.

"You all label him as some kind of monster, but it seems you conveniently forget that Orpheus was his son too. Calliope lost him, but so did Morpheus. Yet, all the blame is squarely placed on him.”

"Are you aware of the significance of a father picking the head of his son on the seashore?”

The torment he endured, the pain he had to bear alone, with no one else there to offer him support through it all.

"He's genuinely making an effort. He suffered through a century of hell, imprisoned and banished from his realm. I wouldn't be the person I am today if it weren't for him. Can't you grant him at least a modicum of recognition?”

She shook her head repeatedly. "It saddens me to have to tell you these things. Calliope attempted to change him, genuinely believing she could. By the time she realized her efforts were in vain, it was already too late.”

You furrowed your brows. "That's precisely the problem, this thing about others wanting to change him. I can't pass judgment on their relationship as I wasn't even born at the time, but if she truly loved him, she would have accepted him the way he was."

Paregoros parted her lips, barely managing to whisper a simple, "I....”

“Mum, honestly, I understand your perspective. But if you find yourself needing to change someone in order to be with them, it means that you're in love with your idea of that person, not the person themselves.”

She was at a loss for a rebuttal, simply unable to formulate one.

"As the Goddess of compassion, I ask you to extend that compassion to him as well. Morpheus has a heart too. It might appear cold to you, but it’s incredibly gentle and riddled with scars.”

She appeared strikingly taken aback, surprised by your words that reflected wisdom and maturity.

She reached for your hand, enveloping it within her warm, velvety ones and gently caressing the back of it. "It appears there's a lot more of me in you than I expected.”

The feeling of her touch, so soothing and energetically satisfying, somehow compensated for all those years of absence, instantly pacifying you.

"You would make an exceptional Goddess, my dear. Even better than me. You’re so empathetic, so kind and benevolent.”

You shrugged. "I'm not so sure about that. I failed to forgive the men who imprisoned Morpheus for so many years.”

"Do you understand why?”

"They hurt him, murdered his raven in cold blood. Alex Burgess never freed him.”

"That means you cared.”

She let go of your hand, only to grasp your shoulders and plant a tender kiss on your forehead.

How many times had you longed for her lips? To receive her kisses, her embraces, and her words of comfort and encouragement?

"Perhaps I judged Oneiros a bit too harshly. Maybe he does deserve a second chance after all. But Y/N, bear this in mind; he's an Endless and you are human. The law prohibits your kind from engaging in romantic relationships with those entities.”

“I know.”

"Your roots may afford you the opportunity to be with him now, but sooner or later, you'll be faced with a decision. You do not possess eternal life.”

Why did you have to be reminded of that fact just when you were attempting to push it away?

"All I care about is your happiness. And I fear that if you remain with him, it will rob you of the opportunity to build a new life with someone else.”

You grunted. "I've had my fair share of human partners and I'd rather not revisit that. Thanks.”

Paregoros looked crestfallen, her hands moving soothingly up and down your arms. "They're not all the same. Just because you've experienced heartbreak doesn't mean it's bound to recur.”

The mere thought of parting ways with Morpheus for another man was inconceivable to you.

"You don’t understand.”

"Yes, Y/N, I do. I was unable to restrain my feelings for your father and because of that, we’re having this conversation.”

You disentangled yourself from her hold, shifting a little to the side. "Yes, and due to those unfair laws, you were forced to abandon both of us. Again, I'm aware.”

Paregoros withdrew, nervously fiddling with her fingers.

"I know that you want me to be safe, mum. But whether I'm making a mistake or not, it's not up to you to determine it for me.”

While the thunder seemed to recede further into the distance, the rainfall showed no signs of abating.

"I just don't want you to endure what your father had to go through with me.”

You shook your head. "I want to be with him. Please, just accept that.”

Your mother scrutinized you, witnessing your sincere emotions reflected in your eyes, and attuning herself to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Answer truthfully, Y/N. Does he bring you happiness?”

"Like no one else ever possibly could.”

"Do you believe that he loves you? Sincerely?”

"I'm certain he does. I witness that every single time.”

In the end, all she could do was smile, taking in the profound depth of love radiating from your entire being.

"Fine, you win.”

She let go of the tension, easing her stiff body and offering her hand out towards you. This time, she waited for your move to accept it, and you had no reason to refuse.

"Y/N, just know that I've always watched over you, even during times when you felt you were on your own. I witnessed your struggles and efforts, your sorrow and your joy."

With everything crashing onto you, your lips quivered, but you steeled yourself against the urge to cry.

"Never back down and stay true to yourself. Because I know you're going to achieve so many remarkable things in this life.”

Those words you searched for but never found when you thought she no longer existed, may have come to you a little later than you would have liked, but they were as potent and uplifting as you had imagined them to be.

"And pray, sweetie. Pray, and I will be listening.”

It was her way of assuring you that she would be there in spirit, never once losing sight of you.

You let out a shaky sigh, "I will.”

Somehow, she appeared brighter and significantly warmer, swathed in some kind of celestial energy.

"I cannot stay longer," she declared. "Tell your father that I apologize.”

"Will I see you again?”

"Perhaps that could be arranged. Someday.”

A silent tranquility enveloped the two of you. Neither of you appeared capable of letting the other go, awaiting a move that didn’t come.

And then, your mother posed a final question. "May I embrace you?”

Driven by a sense of desperation as her words unlocked a flood of suppressed emotions, you enveloped her upper body in a warm embrace, tightening your hold while inhaling the pleasant scent of honey and lilies emanating from her hair. releasing a soft sob, she reciprocated with equal grief and intensity, whispering soothing affirmations into your ear.

Your fingers gripped the fabric of her cardigan, feeling the soft material inexplicably thin out and transform. As your hug loosened and you lifted your eyes, your breath hitched. She had morphed into the same awe-inspiring Goddess form that you had seen in your father's memory.

There was nothing you could say that would encapsulate the astounding beauty she radiated.

Gently, she let her hands glide along your face, cupping your cheeks with affection and pride. Reaching for her left hand, Paregoros took off one of her golden bracelets, a shiny bangle shaped like a leafy branch. She raised your sleeve and fastened it around your wrist, lightly tweaking the metal for a perfect fit. Excluding Morpheus’ dreamstone you always wore around your neck, never before had you possessed a piece of jewelry so magnificent.

"A part of me will always remain with you," she said. "I know it's not much, but...”

You moved your fingertips over the cool material, tracing all the intricate details of the bracelet. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Paregoros nodded, her lips pursed as she planted a final kiss on your cheekbone. As she left the shelter of the porch, you observed her standing in the rain, shielded by her essence which prevented the falling raindrops from even grazing her.

"Look after your father," she told you.

"He's the one who's always taking care of me, actually.”

"And he does a remarkable job.”

You noticed the melancholy in her demeanor, the anguish in her eyes as she mentioned him.

"Do you still love him?" You ventured to ask her.

Paregoros nibbled her lower lip, clasping her hands together. "I always have.”

Knowing that their love was destined to last until their final breath, going through the torment of being separated and unable to stay together, was just unbearably painful to you.

"Goodbye, my dear daughter. Hopefully, I'll see you again very soon.”

You remained still under the porch, watching as your mother vanished down the serene street, surrounded by the mystical barrier. Remarkably, she went unnoticed by everyone else, the passing cars cautiously navigating the wet pavement, their drivers remaining entirely unaware. In a split second, she had disappeared entirely, leaving you alone and isolated, consumed by your thoughts that echoed louder than the storm.

If only you could travel between realms at your own convenience, not confined by the stringent rules of the universe. Being a mere mortal, you were bound by your limitations and the unbreakable laws you had to follow.

As you mulled over it in defeat, hearing nothing but the rush of water, a mighty figure took shape behind you. Gauging by the sound of his boots and the faint shadow casting on the ground, just like before, it was easy for you to discern his identity.

And your smile was uncontrollable. "Did you hear all of that?”

"No," Morpheus' voice was deep and resonant, immediately penetrating your heart and causing it to melt.

When you swiveled to face him, you were laughing in delight. "You're not a good liar, you know.”

Concerned about your potential disappointment, the Endless averted his gaze, uncertain of how to respond.

Truth be told, it didn't faze you. The knowledge of having him beside you, invisible, ever ready to support when called upon, instilled an unwavering feeling of safety in you.

With a gentle touch on his elbow, you subtly indicated that you had absolutely no issue with him eavesdropping on you. Your only regret was that he may have overheard snippets of conversation that could potentially upset his mood.

Refocusing his beautiful eyes back on you, he confirmed that by saying, "You defended me.”

He sounded surprised and puzzled, considering your reaction to be unexpected. How many times did you need to validate just how much he meant to you? It distressed you to see him with such low self-regard.

"Of course I did. I won't stand for any of that nonsense about you.”

The corners of his lips twitched upwards slightly, indicating his genuine pleasure, perhaps even happiness, at your protective stance. This only fuelled your desire to safeguard him and be the anchor he could depend on, just as he was for you.

Looking at the pouring rain once more, your mind drifted to your father and the worry he must have been harboring for you. In your haste to leave with Paregoros, you hadn't even considered to bring your phone along.

Yet, for an inexplicable reason, you were mesmerized by the incessant splash of water. The rainfall held a peculiar charm, luring you like a siren's enchanting melody.

"Morpheus?”

"My love?”

Sporting a grin akin to a playful child, you began to move backward. "Would it bother you to get wet?”

Morpheus looked perplexed, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What?”

Upon reaching the edge of the porch, you stretched out your arms, the yet-to-be-unfurled umbrella gripped in your hand. Morpheus stuttered out your name, understanding your intentions, but that did nothing to stop you. Whether it was the pre-show adrenaline or the surging cocktail of feelings, you felt compelled to act on a wildly irrational impulse.

And so, you leapt into the rain, allowing its cold droplets to cascade over you. As you looked up at the cloudy sky, you felt your hair and clothes becoming drenched and clinging to you almost instantly.

Morpheus watched in silent astonishment, observing you relish this instance of unbridled freedom. To him, it seemed as though you were washing away all that was superfluous in your life, allowing past sufferings to flow out of you and dissolve into nothingness.

And it was a sight to behold. You were stunningly beautiful, surrendered to your instincts. Wild.

He remained before you, under the porch, pulling his hands out of his coat pockets. You slicked back your wet hair, indifferent to the makeup that was surely smudging and streaking down your face. You knew that he wouldn't fuss over something so insignificant.

The rain was exhilarating and revitalizing, yet something was lacking. Cautiously, you searched for his hand, brushing against the cold fingertips before confidently seizing it and drawing him out to where you stood.

Morpheus offered no resistance, allowing you to draw him into the rain with you. His hair darkened and fell limp against his forehead as it got wet, with trails of water cascading down his face, tracing the lines of his nose, mouth and jawline.

Like the heroine from a movie, you rose on your toes and pressed your lips against his, kissing him with all the passion that was raging in your chest. The contrast between his skin and the chilly water was striking, his tongue warm and coarse. The rain had a slightly bitter taste, but it didn't bother you.

His fingers firmly grasping your lower back served only as motivation for you to persist. Amidst the flurry of kisses, you took brief pauses to breathe. Finally, when you found the strength to pull away, you looked at him, your face filled with adoration.

Morpheus was making a valiant effort to suppress the smile that was steadily emerging, failing to do so. Subsequently, he bestowed upon you another kiss, this one more profound, his arm cradling your shoulders. As he leaned in, your back curved slightly in a graceful arch as he gently bent you over. You felt your surroundings shift dramatically in a quick whirl, the water suddenly ceasing and the temperature around you becoming warmer.

To say you felt like the girl in the iconic Kissing Sailor photograph, captured at the culmination of World War II in Times Square, would be an understatement. Except in your case, there was also an added element of magic. The moment you opened your eyes and he let you go, you found yourself in what appeared to be your old bedroom, meticulously kept by your father for your overnight visits. Your clothes and hair were completely dry and back to their original state, even Morpheus appeared untouched by the raindrops.

Setting the umbrella aside, you started to question the rashness of your actions, perhaps needing a bit more consideration. Yet, Morpheus seemed far from perturbed by it.

"I’m sorry for the impromptu shower," you joked, "I've always wanted to do that.”

"You must take care, my love. I would not want you to fall sick.”

"Fortunately, I have a supernatural boyfriend always ready to rescue me.”

Despite the joyousness of the situation, Morpheus had reverted back to his somber state. He seemed immersed in contemplation, his eyes drifting until they finally settled back on you.

Without saying a word, his hand touched your cheek. He skimmed your skin with his fingers, delicately tracing paths along your chin. How could your mother ever doubt his sincerity? The way he made you quiver with a mere touch, the thoughtfulness he invested in each gesture, every small gift, every compliment and sweet word.

The way he revered both your body and heart. How he gradually tried to share more of himself with you as time progressed.

Engrossed in your romantic moment, you were startled when the bedroom door abruptly swung open. Your father stood there, holding the doorknob tightly, an eyebrow raised as he looked at the two of you. Clearly, he had expected you to return with Paregoros, not a male entity who seemed quite preoccupied with his hands on you.

With a hint of nervousness, you gulped audibly while Morpheus slowly distanced himself from you. Your cheeks flushed as if you were a teenager caught red-handed, and all you could manage was to stutter your words in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"Uhm.... dad, have you been introduced to Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams?”

This was far from how you intended to formalize your relationship to him.

Well, oops.

The Fashion Show was unquestionably the most phenomenal event you had the privilege to participate in. You had always speculated on what it would be like to witness your creations springing to life on the runway and to gauge the attendees' reactions. Now, as you found yourself incessantly answering questions, posing for pictures, and receiving praises from the company's sponsors and directors of fashion magazines, you could affirm that the experience was utterly extraordinary.

That evening, London seemed more beautiful than ever, almost akin to an entirely different city as you took in the skyline from Oliver's car. Your phone vibrated incessantly, filled with excited messages from your father and Hob who had watched the entire show broadcasted on TV, endlessly lauding how fantastic you looked on camera.

Catching your reflection in the window, you contemplated the dramatic transformation your life had undergone in a relatively short span of time. You recalled the weary, desolate, and drained look that used to reside in your eyes during your tenure at the Burgess mansion; the woman you were then bore almost no resemblance to who you were now.

You transitioned from being despondent to the most successful version of yourself. From a state of loneliness and depression to being encompassed by the finest companions and feeling as happy as you could possibly be. Juggling your time between the Waking World during the day and the Dreaming at night, you were essentially leading two distinct lives, each of equal magnificence. You cherished your friends in the human realm just as much as you cared for the ones you made in the land of dreams.

In the succeeding weeks, the workload at Corbyn&Jones had noticeably escalated since the show, with an influx of requests from organizations and influential individuals seeking new exclusive designs for their impending events. This was in addition to the rapid rate at which most of your previously released collections appeared to be flying off the hangers, shelves and mannequins in local stores. Without a doubt, it was the most frenzied period you had ever experienced in your career. But as exhausting as it could be, you were absolutely thrilled and over the moon about it.

And just as Ella had predicted prior to the night of the show, your fame was soaring.

Your name began to surface in various articles and was highlighted in various shops as the leading figure of the brand. Your friend had stayed true to her promise, giving you all the credit and recognition you rightfully deserved. You were incredibly overjoyed to read numerous testimonials from teenagers and adults alike, claiming that your creations had boosted their confidence. The fact that numerous influencers were now donning your company's attires and promoting them on social media only drove an additional surge in sales. Eventually, Oliver had to contemplate launching an official online store, which recorded thousands of visitors within just a day of its inception.

If someone had foretold all this to you just a few months prior, you wouldn't have believed a single word.

As your days became full of non-stop activities, eight months had officially elapsed since the end of the Sleepy Seakness. Eight remarkable months filled with dreams, wonders, and mysteries, eight months of love for Morpheus.

The fact that your father was now aware of him brought such relief to your heart. You lost count of the number of times you had to explain that Dream of the Endless couldn't just accept an invitation for a human dinner at his house. Despite his initial apprehensions about the challenges you might encounter with an eternal being, in the end, your father couldn't resist continually inquiring about him.

It was truly endearing, although you were aware that Morpheus probably didn’t know how to deal with it.

One day, Ella summoned you to her office for a matter of utmost importance. You didn't have time to fret about the possibility of bad news because her radiant smile and gleaming eyes practically blinded you the moment you walked in.

"What's going on?" You asked her. "You seem extremely cheerful.”

"Oh, actually, this isn't about me at all," she responded.

"What do you mean?”

"Y/N, do you recall my college friend, Andrew Rake?”

That name immediately struck a chord.

"I believe so. Wasn't he the one who aspired to relocate to the States?”

Ella nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! We stayed in touch. Guess what? He's now the owner of his own small enterprise in Florida.”

You smiled genuinely. "That's amazing!”

"Right? But here's the best part; ever since he saw our collection on the runway, he's been keeping a close watch on our company, and you in particular.”

You were taken aback. "Me?”

"Yes, sweetie. The fact of the matter is, he wants you on board for a new project he's undertaking.”

"But... Ella. You said he's in Florida. How am I supposed to assist him?”

Ella chuckled, tapping something on her phone which subsequently sent a message to your device. Upon opening it, you discovered a PDF document containing details of a plane ticket, complete with a specified date and time for a trip that had been booked under your name.

“Ella, you can’t be serious.”

"Of course I'm serious! He's an old friend, and I'm more than willing to share your creative talents with him for a while.”

You rubbed your forehead. "We have so much to handle here. Can I really travel abroad at a time like this?”

"You have both Oliver's and my full blessing. The trip is planned for two weeks, so please, consider some of those extra days as a bonus vacation. It's a gift from us.”

"But…”

Ella clapped her hands together in jubilation. "Oh please, just bask in your success! We wouldn't be in this position without you. We can certainly manage to let you go for a few days.”

You couldn't recall the last time you had taken a plane for travel, let alone when you had even left the city of London to venture anywhere else. For at least two years and a half, arguably the longest and toughest of your life, your father had been the sole thing that occupied your thoughts.

Perhaps this blend of work and relaxation wrapped into one trip was precisely the respite you needed to unwind.

"I don't know what to say, really. You guys are the best.”

Ella playfully blew a kiss in the air. "Hush, you are the wonderful one here. So, take some well-deserved rest and start packing your bags; Cape Kennedy awaits you!”

Being on a plane seemed unreal, but you were truly leaving your country and gazing at the white clouds below.

You had always harbored a desire to traverse the globe, and thanks to your job, that opportunity was now within your grasp. Andrew, despite crossing paths with him at various social gatherings, never became a close friend. He was, nevertheless, always pleasant to be around and had an undeniably unique sense of style.

The information Ella provided about his requirements and the project were rather vague. All you knew was that he was in need of your design expertise for a task he seemed unable to accomplish on his own. His business was modest in size, with a minimal workforce. He was the sole brain behind every fresh concept, crafting each new article of clothing, which he would also proudly wear himself and display in public.

You were indeed intrigued by this collaboration, as it marked your first venture working side by side with another creative mind.

Soothed by the tranquil hum of the plane, with the gentle white noise permeating the cabin, your eyelids began to droop as you succumbed to sleep. Your head gently swayed to the side, giving a slight bump against the window.

Your body felt weightless, drifting, until the familiar beach in the Dreaming materialized before you. The sea breeze was as enchanting as ever, with its authentic salty aroma pervading the surroundings. You settled onto the sand, the grains soft and shifting around to create an impromptu pillow for you. Your blue gown shimmered like a starlit sky and flowed around your legs.

You had never seen that dress before, it would be wise to remember such a striking garment for inspiration.

Morpheus was absent, but it didn't bother you. You knew that he was still busy with the final refurbishments of his domain, keeping track of all residents and constructing new areas for the humans to revel in. Even in his physical absence, his presence was felt all around. Your Moonstone necklace glowed once more, illuminated by an enchanting blue light that danced in a rhythmic circle.

If only you had an inkling of what was happening before you, in a dream that seemed no different from any other.

A distant figure began to take shape along the seashore, steadily advancing in your direction with a measured stride. The beach land was a private corner of your consciousness, a fragment of the Dream World that Morpheus had set aside exclusively for you. Never had you seen another entity traverse it, other than Morpheus.

As you became engrossed in the vistas of the ocean ahead, a voice emerging beside you caused you to slightly jump.

“Uhm…. hello…?”

You noticed a young girl with an impressive array of black dreadlocks, punctuated by a few strands in gradient hues of blue and lime, standing right beside you. She was dressed in a long-sleeved black pullover with a striped shirt peeking from underneath, complemented by a pair of dark trousers and white sneakers.

She bore a gentle appearance, her face marked by a bewildering expression that was difficult for you to interpret.

Hi," you replied. "May I know who you are?”

After a brief pause, she introduced herself by sharing her name with you. "I'm Rose. Rose Walker."

Rose Walker? How strikingly human a name for a dream, you mused.

Despite your thoughts, you presented a warm smile. "I'm Y/N Y/LN, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

Rose nodded her head, casting a curious glance around. "Where exactly are we?”

How odd…

"This is the Dreaming. Or at least, a portion of it.”

"Wait, am I asleep?”

Was she merely a strange manifestation of your mind, or had another human somehow intersected your dream?

Regardless, you chose to go along with the unfolding scenario.

"Where do you hail from, Rose?”

"I come from New Jersey, but I'm travelling in search of my brother right now.”

A brother? What was going on?

"Do you have any idea where he might be?”

"I actually do. He’s in Florida.”

Florida, go figure.

"I'm sure you will find him, Rose," you said encouragingly, unsure of what else you could possibly say to a figment of your imagination.

The girl’s eyes lingered on the sea line in the horizon. “We got separated a long time ago… and our mother passed away recently.”

Your heart sank. "Oh no... I'm truly sorry.”

"Thanks. We have a great-grandmother now. She's assisting me in my search.”

There was something profoundly unexplainable about the dream you were experiencing. The tale she was recounting, though it could potentially be drawn from your own familial experiences and anxieties, somehow rang incredibly true.

"Family is the most precious thing, isn't it?”

Rose's lips stretched into a soft smile. "It is. I really need to find Jed. Without our mother, I want to be sure he’s okay, look after him.”

"You know, Rose," you began, "One valuable lesson I've gathered is that your tenacity and determination have the power to lead you to any destination.”

More than anything else, this was a deep self-realization.

"If it's your aim to locate your brother, there won't be any hurdle capable of thwarting your efforts.”

After a moment of evident consensus, Rose exhaled deeply, "Not even foster agencies?”

Despite the peculiarity of your dream, you asserted, "Not if you refuse to allow them.”

The girl appeared to ease at your assertion, nodding and letting out another breath. An uncanny ambiance started to envelop the surroundings, contrasting the usual tranquility of the beachfront.

You couldn't quite put it into words, for when you looked at her, you had no negative perceptions whatsoever.

When she joined you on the sand, you had the sensation that a distant rock split in two, but you dismissed it because oftentimes, elements in your dreams could morph into something bizarre for no apparent reason.

And thus, the two of you struck up a friendly conversation, which effortlessly flowed with random talks, jests, and laughter. A sudden impulse to protect her welled up within you, despite the awareness that she wasn't as tangible as you were. But then again, what if she was indeed real?

You inquired about her dreams and ambitions. She wanted to repair what remained of her family, secure a job to support herself and her brother Jed. She aspired to write, to weave a narrative that was uniquely hers to tell.

You became so engrossed in her life's story, that you quickly grew fond of Rose and the purity of her spirit.

Yet, something was amiss. It was as if the Dreaming was crying out in the distance, rumbling and fracturing.

Then, a chorus of assorted voices started to materialize and reverberate around you, signifying that your in-flight nap was nearing its conclusion.

Rose seemed to hear them too, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked around in puzzlement.

"It's been wonderful meeting you, Rose," you expressed, rising from the sandy cushion and allowing the fabric of your celestial dress to billow and expand. The moonstone was radiating intensely, so much so that you momentarily wondered if it carried any special significance.

"Who knows, perhaps our paths will cross again in my dreams?”

Rose said something, but as her lips moved, you couldn't hear any word. The Dreaming became hazy and remote, almost spiraling before it vanished.

Upon opening your eyes, you saw the flight attendant strolling down the aisle, instructing passengers to fasten their seatbelts. As she passed by your row, slowing down slightly, the man in his 50s next to you took off his earbuds, and you immediatly complied with her request despite your drowsiness. Throughout the entire landing phase, you gazed out of the window, despite the slight discomfort of your ears popping and feeling plugged. It was pleasant to watch the water glistening under the sunlight, a sight that transported your thoughts back to the Dreaming, and your intriguing encounter with a gentle, enigmatic girl named Rose Walker.

But why did you sense such apprehension, with a gut feeling of some looming event? While a part of you was tempted to dismiss it as a byproduct of your travel, you were all too familiar with your own instincts.

No, you couldn't let that cloud your mind before you even set foot in Cape Kennedy. What could possibly go wrong?

As soon as you were able to stand up again, you waited patiently for the queue of people disembarking the plane, retrieved your luggage, and expressed gratitude to the flight attendants for their service. Finding yourself in a foreign country was extraordinary, the thrill coursing through you profoundly invigorating.

You made the choice to release all worries, and the unsettling feeling in your stomach receded, making room for optimistic thoughts and anticipations.

Extracting your phone from your bag, you promptly switched off airplane mode and shot a fast text to Andrew to let him know you'd arrived. Given his kindness in offering to pick you up from the airport, you didn't want to keep him waiting any longer than necessary.

With your attention absorbed in the screen, grinning at the cheerful, amusing emoji Andrew sent in response, you failed to spot Rose Walker in the midst of the bustling crowd.

What was supposed to be a business trip was about to unexpectedly evolve into an extremely perilous journey.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 17 (coming soon) ->

[chirpsythismorning]

I'm not going to say we should take every single thing official Netflix accounts post as gospel, because obviously they are not run by the Duffer Brothers themselves.

But to be clear, these people are hired by Netflix and there's more to it than just random interns scheduling posts. The people running these accounts are not the same people designing the posts made there, just like the people designing those posts have higher ups telling them what to do/not do in terms of the content they are creating. And there are plenty more levels that go beyond that, which eventually does lead to the Duffers and producers of the show, who do have a stake in how the show is promoted on a basic level to best align with their intentions and all the revelations still to come.

It is common knowledge that the Duffers work with Netflix marketing directly on a consistent basis to get their vision across, and that carries out in promotion with posters, merchandise, social media, etc., because it's really important in ST case (with it being a show made by nerds that love easter eggs), that they foreshadow what is still to come outside of the show itself.

When it comes to social media, the core purpose of those accounts is to encourage engagement for Netflix's user base, ideally ensuring they tune in to whatever is being promoted (and more), but it’s also more than that, in that it’s even more based on data and other factors.

What this leads to is the people in those less major decision-making roles, like graphic designers, simply being advised what to create, based on the information and content they are given to work with.

And so these accounts going from promoting byler subtly for years, to blatantly posting about it post-s5, is actually very, very intentional, going beyond a simple Netflix intern. It’s orchestrated by those in management positions, being advised by those in the ST production to do things a certain way, so that when all is said and done, we are able to look back and find tiny little things that point to it.

Byler can't be something they NEVER talked about even once on social media, only to have them end up being endgame with them posting about it forever afterwards when it's all said and done. It doesn't work like that, at least not in ST case. We're talking about a production that costs hundreds of millions to make, as well as being the most talked about mainstream series of our generation.

They have an obligation to make their story feel not only satisfying on its own, but to also promote the show in a way that makes the viewer feel this whole well-rounded experience, outside of the show itself as well.

And so when ST came out in summer 2022 and Netflix Geeked was making posts about it non-stop, that wasn't a rogue, low-paid Netflix intern doing whatever they wanted. That was multiple people with a job given a task and following through with it at their advisers discretion. Regardless of where it ended up, it started at the top with the Duffers informing higher ups in marketing that Byler is something that will happen, along with other revelations that they want to inform marketing about, so they can take the steps to plan ahead and create content that matches the Duffer's vision, most often to act as a foreshadowing device for the story still unraveling.

Remember when Netflix Geeked made a post acknowledging that Will the Wise drawing in El's room back in s3?? A very well known byler easter egg that only we know about??? That wasn't some ga intern watching the show once and them spontaneously coming up with content to create related to that drawing and posting about it themselves. That was very likely someone associated with the show giving suggestions to marketing, with a few of them being very incriminating in relation to byler, but with most being casual in relation to the show overall.

Just like I said in this post about how Noah didn't tweet about byler or mention it multiple times at cons unprompted bc he was feeling quirky. He was being advised to...

And look what Netflix did to that tweet Noah posted that was clearly a stunt in an of itself.? They broadcasted it and made a cheesy ass edit out of it... And it's bc several people behind the scenes were advised to make content like that specifically.

I mean, if you actually look at how social media promotes byler (if and when it does), it's arguably in the exact way that the Duffers want it to be promoted?. Just enough. Not too little. Not too much. I would argue if the Duffers had no say whatsoever in how the show was promoted, then we'd either be seeing byler constantly or we wouldn't see them at all, instead we see social media sort of dance around it, which tells me they are following the exact approach the Duffers themselves follow... because they were obviously given the instruction to.

And so seeing an account like UK Netflix, an account that as of recent has really went all out with posting Queer content since Heartstopper released, has also notably made really incriminating posts about byler over the years, but especially as of recent. And that's in large part because of what I've stated, but also based on data.

If higher ups in marketing at Netflix know about byler, then they are very likely pushing people lower on the payroll, doing more simple tasks like graphic design and social media management, to make connections to ST with other shows like Heartstopper, Sex Education, Young Royals, etc. And this is because if byler IS going to end up being this huge Queer love story, data is telling them to make these connections sooner than later, so that the eventual revelation will be a smooth transition amongst other content just like it. This works in Netflix's favor at the end of the day, which is the whole point of all of this.

Not saying you should take the most casual of Netflix posts as byler endgame proof if that's what you're asking. But to say that these accounts have NO association with the Duffer's and ST directly, therefore we shouldn’t even appreciate anything they post if it points to byler, is sort of over-simplifying things.

It's not like s5 is gonna drop and all of these interns are going to be like OHHH okay now i'm a byler so i'll post about it... Going into s5 they're going to be making some very side eye posts and it isn't going to have anything to do with them being an intern without any say in things, its gonna be about them getting a task list and following through with it bc it's their job.

[oak23]

Fun fact when I went on my first ever international trip in 2022, when I got home, my ex housemate desperately wanted to kick me out of the house immediately after I got back, but my other ex housemate told her to give me a week to settle back in because who fucking does that??

And the fact she used my "weird" behaviour as justification for wanting me to move out when the months preceding my trip was me having long covid symptoms, having surgery, working a full time job in a "post covid" world AND planning an international trip... And then used the fact she let me stay in the house to sort shit out for several months afterwards as a way to justify how gracious she was being when I literally had no money to do anything from, you know, going on a trip she knew I was planning for under a year.....

And all of that was a cap off to literal years of her doing her self centered bullshit and making it emotionally nuclear to live in...

Like sorry I didn't wanna cook and eat dinner at 9pm with an untrained codependent dog and then do the dishes on top of that as she would go to her enormous craft room and watch tiktoks for her mental health....

[free-and-to-none-accountable]

Posted on July 29, 2022 by Jean-Carl Elliott

Growing the IWW isn’t just about increasing the size of our membership, it’s also about increasing its depth. Part of “building the new world in the shell of the old” entails developing the people who will be able to run it once it’s built. We aren’t simply signing up workers from our jobs and industries for their dues. We are signing them up to make them into Wobblies! Being a Wobbly means that we know where we stand in the class struggle, we know the lessons learned from those who struggled before us, and we stand in solidarity with other Wobblies who are continuing the struggle today. Being a Wobbly isn’t just about having a Red Card, it’s about leveling each other up! I’ve met so many Wobblies throughout the years who sign a Red Card and then don’t know what to do next. Without a sense of direction, our members tend to gravitate towards other activist groups or they leave the union altogether. We want to keep workers involved and to give them a sense of purpose in the IWW. This article will be part of a series on how to level up your IWW membership. In this first edition, we’ll cover some ways that individual Wobblies can increase their participation in the One Big Union through developing their skills as workplace organizers. Future editions will focus on branches, committees, and other parts of the union. If you think of some additions to these lists, write them up and send them to Industrial Worker!

Take an Organizer Training

The IWW has two Organizer Trainings: the OT101 and the OT102. In the OT101, trainees learn the basic techniques of starting a workplace organizing committee.  The committee meets regularly and plans direct actions on the job to build power and address grievances. The training is revised every few years based on the experiences of IWW organizers. We keep the stuff that is working and change the stuff that has been falling short. It’s also a really great way to get in touch with other Wobblies who are organizing their workplaces. 

The 102 builds off of the 101. Once you have a committee up and running, you’ll need to learn how to sustain it. Business unions will usually start a committee and then once it’s up and running, they will petition the employer for recognition or they will file for a union election with the government. The IWW is a revolutionary union though. We don’t need or want the government to intervene in order to provide stability. We maintain our momentum through practicing better internal democracy and through recruiting more workers to take part in bigger workplace actions. You should take the 102 early on because it gets more into the details of practicing direct democracy, escalating direct actions, and sustaining your committee. It’s important to incorporate healthy committee practices and strategic planning at the early stages of a campaign. Our greatest weapon is solidarity and these trainings teach the nuts and bolts of Solidarity Unionism.

Start Organizing Your Workplace

There are all sorts of benefits that you and the union can get from organizing your own workplace, even if you just take the initial steps. When you start building good organizing habits, they will start to come more naturally over time. Getting people’s contact information will feel less awkward and you will start drawing your maps in more detail. One-on-one conversations with coworkers will flow more smoothly the more practice you get. And so even if you only make a small amount of progress at one job, you can build off of that experience at future jobs. 

Take Another Training

No two trainings are ever the same! Each time, you will be learning from different trainers and with a different set of trainees. They all bring unique training styles and organizing stories. And let’s be honest with ourselves: each training is 16 hours worth of material. We are never gonna memorize it all after one take, or even two for that matter. Take lots of trainings and have fun with them!

Become a Trainer

Organizer Trainers are credentialed by the union to give our official trainings. You can draw from your experiences to give a personal touch to your trainings. It can be inspiring for trainees to hear personal stories from the front lines, even if it is just you showing a map or social chart from one of your workplaces. When you become an IWW trainer, you will be paired up with other trainers to do trainings and so you get to learn from their teaching styles and experiences. It’s a great way to learn new lessons and to pass along your learning experiences in the union.

The Organizer Training Committee (OTC) can train you to be an OT101 Trainer, an OT102 Trainer and a Training For Trainers (T4T) Trainer. There’s a leveling up system for trainers as well. First off, you can’t become a trainer unless you have taken the training. So in order to become a 101 Trainer, you should have taken the training a few times and put it to use in your own workplace. Same for the 102 and to be a T4T Trainer. At the end of each T4T, you will be reviewed by your trainers and they will decide if and how you will be credentialed. 

At each T4T, you will learn some new training techniques, but it is assumed that you are coming in with some familiarity with the curriculum. This is why it’s good to have taken the training a few times and to have gained some first hand organizing experience. Don’t worry about knowing every single detail; you will get a better grasp the more trainings you do, and when you start as a trainer you will be paired with a more experienced trainer. On the flipside however, if your trainers don’t think you are ready, they aren’t obligated to credential you and they might recommend you go to another training and take another T4T.

Keep Organizing!

The more we organize and train other Wobblies to organize, the better organizers and trainers we become. Sometimes a campaign might only get so far as being able to draw up a social chart, but then you can use that social chart when you train other IWW members to do it! Maybe you participated in a direct action that flopped. You can turn that into a learning experience by debriefing with your coworkers or by writing about it. The more we learn to tackle the smaller hurdles, the better prepared we are to take on the next ones and to bring more Wobblies with us. Keep fighting the good fight and never stop leveling up!

[intoloopin]

A CHAPTER: THE SHARP AND THE BLUNT (PART 1/2).

tw(s): panic attack. dubious consent (haruki is very weird and forward about initiating sex!). alcohol abuse & alcoholism. semi-smut? (there is making out). miscommunication (a warning because I personally think it's constant and frustrating). insinuation and direct discussions of sexual trauma, abuse by a past partner, abuse of workplace power and stalking. internalized homophobia (in part one, a hint). If I missed anything, please tell me! starring: Lee Hanjae. Fukunaga Haruki. featuring: Dylan Hwang / Hwang Chihoon. Their fellow LOOPiN members (old OT10, no Gyujin, a lot of Beomseok). Delilah Franco. Oh Sunyoung. Choi Sangwon. Blonde Bob Piss Girl (a serious character).

timeline: quick flashback to 2018 | early to the end of mid 2022.

word count: 13,405 words. author's notes: welcome everyone to hanruki fuckery part 1 a.k.a the most frustrating and life draining four months in Hanjae's whole entire life a.k.a big sadness, the piece split into two. this one is over 23K long, and was originally intended to be read in one go but! It Got Too Big. The conclusion will be coming out later this week! prepare for a Haruki all in par with the one in the prologue, which falls in between this mess on the timeline. this is a work of a whole month, but it's also a work of two years: a whole central plot, planned and done. title's from this song! give it a listen once you get trought the bigger picture, maybe, for catharsis purposes. stay safe! remember you deserve to be safe, always!

November 12, 2018.

Hanjae had vowed not to cry anymore when he got this job – in the same vehement way he had promised at twelve that he would no longer make a sound if he wailed after school, face buried under piles and piles of unfinished homework, to medium success, just the right amount of it to call it success.

He could still tear up once in a while, if things got though, and that was it; a clause added after his first exhausting week as a trainee. The number escalated to once every two business days after he was shoved to debut on LOOPiN, out of all the upcoming boy groups there were.

There was a story taunting the New Wave Music corridors back then. Someone did something unspeakable to someone else, and it caused an expulsion, followed by the immediate need for a new rapper, a new dancer. And there was Hanjae; a BBC trainee for three months, far removed from the Boy Of The Week gossip, who couldn’t exactly sing but had great enunciation, and had been dancing before he was even walking…

He cried now, openly, defeated. It had been an awful day for LOOPiN 2on1.

Their short lived promotions had played out like a sunset: a big golden start – so much press, so much momentum, so many views on the ‘Baby Don’t Stop’ dance practice video, where he and Haruki were using plain shirts and even plainer jeans – quickly diluting into the darkest of times – the controversies, LOOPiN first ones, and exclusively about them.

A resurrected Facebook photo of Hanjae on his graduation with a bandage around his hand, matched with the lingering traces of his poorly removed tattoo there painted him as a school delinquent; Haruki’s drop out stories reintroduced him as the big drunken failure of KArts’s international program.

They were going to stop going to music shows, the company had decided that day, and Sangwon told them on the drive back that they had just done their last one. They had gone up on stage as a duo for the last last time.

With a strong sniff, Hanjae unburied his face from in between his knees and looked at his hand, at the faint shape of a badly drawn rose on his skin. His dad had been adamant about getting it out the moment he took a look at it, still involved in protective plastic. He used the little money off his college safe to arrange a laser session that Hanjae skipped. A year later, Hanjae managed to schedule another one with the partial sponsor of MBN, the company he was stuck on before BBC. He had to do it in a shady place, at a bigger cost: bad skin scarring.

His mom had been relieved to see it fade even more nonetheless, up until the black tattoo turned into something that almost looked like a peculiar and old scar, if you didn’t give it a second glance; and no one was ever giving Hanjae a second glance.

“Let that be a lesson,” she told him, nose turned up and away from him. “Don’t jump head on into things again, Lee Hanjae. That’s no way to live. Watch yourself, watch your company. You’re not a kid anymore. Do you have no goals? Do you want nothing for yourself? Are you that selfish? Can’t you think, for once, about something that isn’t–”

Haruki was the one who found him, sitting on the floor, small and tense against the laundry machine, waiting for everyone’s clothes to be cleaned – the member’s, Sangwon’s, the cleaning auntie's aprons she had forgotten on top of the dinner table last week. Cleaning was always his scapegoat way of attending to something, even if very small.

Maybe if the company decided to drop him, he thought, Hanjae could still be around as the dorm’s janitor.

“So you’re not from Seoul,” Haruki said, leaning against the door frame with an air of mischief around him, something light on his step despite it all.

It was a statement, not an ask, because he knew this. It was one of the few trivia points they had exchanged during pauses on music shows or water breaks in between choreography practice – ‘What’s your age? What’s your blood type? How many siblings? Oh, none? You’re so lucky, Hanjae, so lucky. All siblings are demons. You aren’t missing a thing.’

Hanjae didn’t even startle; Haruki often popped up at places like that, picking up conversations from days, weeks ago like they were merely put on pause.

Without uttering a word and barely looking up, he still nodded his head no.

Haruki nodded back, a pacifying smile showing up on his face, said, “Cool. Great. How about I show you a place?”

‘The place’, he informed Hanjae, was not all that nice, or clean, and he really shouldn’t wear nice shoes or nice clothes tonight, but at least it wasn’t far, at least they had permission.

“Who’s permission?” Hanjae asked, taking the pile of clothes to the dryer, smoothing wrinkles off them just for something to do.

Haruki waved manager Choi’s front keys in his hand, and Sangwon’s horrendous keychains clanked against each other: a green pine tree and a colorful ball. “The one that matters. What do you say, uh? You’re in? Can I count you in?”

He could count Hanjae in.

[...]

They stopped by a convenience store on the way, some couple of blocks down the dorm, and by then night had already conquered all of Seoul. Inside, the middle aged lady behind the counter rushed to give Haruki a hug, a paper bag and a discount.

“He’s a street cat I found,” she leaned in to explain when she caught Hanjae anxiously looking at him going straight to the back of the store, near the freezers, near the alcohol, with the ease of someone who could do so with his eyes shut. “He’s a good foreign friend.”

“I’m not!” Haruki shouted back, but he was grinning. “Are you not watching the news?”

The noona playfully rolled her eyes, joked back, “What news? You’re not on the news!”

She hushed Hanjae to go catch up with him with an enerved wave, told him to take a look around. “It’s on the house,” she winked. “You’re both so skinny, and you must be working hard, so just take something tasty and leave quickly.”

Trailing a couple feet behind Haruki on the aisle, Hanjae picked up a package of noodles and a modest four-set of Terra cans to accompany his endless Heineken bottles, light green on light green. While Hanjae bagged everything with caution, Haruki slipped a red won note on the balcony when the owner stopped paying attention to them, and off they went again.

Haruki made them walk ten more minutes to the left, and the left, the left again, coming to an abrupt stop in front of an abandoned lot, pure dirt and weeds, the sort that seemed to have turned into an open dump for the neighborhood. It looked no different or less disgusting than the million of others around less central Jungnang; it didn’t look like it could be a spot.

Yet Haruki kept braving straight through the grass without stopping, guiding Hanjae behind him to only step where he was stepping, to keep his eyes glued to the floor and watch out for broken glass. He settled when they were deep into the lot, mere feet away from a big hill. There was a clean view of an uneven street if you looked down, he said, filled with houses that were almost all pretty. Hanjae chose to just trust Haruki’s word on that; he couldn’t dare to come close enough to the drop to peek and see.

Haruki standed the bag of drinks for him to hold, and Hanjae had to do so with both hands. From a spot behind them, he pushed two retriable chairs out of a bulk set against a moldy tree, the metal in them corrupted by rust on the edges, and set them up, sat down, tapped at the other seat with his foot in invitation.

Hanjae took a long and anxious moment to comply. Under him, the chair dangled sideways even if he stayed very, very still.

With the convenience bag back in his domain, Haruki cracked three beers open, and handed Hanjae one, kept the other two: one in each hand, a Heineken and a Terra.

“Never had this one. I heard they’re the same thing,” he said, taking a sip from each and frowning, analyzing them. Hanjae stayed quiet.

He had only drank with his dad and uncles one time, at last year’s Chuseok, and hadn’t been much of a fan of anything. Still, he took a sip of beer.

Haruki at least had grace enough to let him swallow and contain a grimace before asking, with a strange edge to it, “So are you? A bully. A problem child. Part of a gang.”

“No,” Hanjae said, too quickly, too eager. He cleared his throat. “I’m really not, hyung, no.”

“How did it get there, then?” Haruki's look was razor sharp on Hanjae’s once tattooed hand, hard enough to make him freeze. “And why did you remove it? Just to be a trainee?”

Hanjae opened his mouth, but only to take a shaky breath in, swallow a bit more of bitter alcohol. In front of his fleeting eyes, Haruki eased just as quickly as he had hardened.

“Hanjae, we’re teammates now,” he told him. “I showed you my good spot. You can’t give me one word sentences anymore. You can’t lie.”

Hanjae considered this, and considered him from the corner of his eyes. Haruki was the LOOPiN member that Hanjae had come to know best, mostly because they didn’t have a choice, but still, he made an effort, he talked to him; he didn’t let Hanjae fall adrift. And he could have easily turned into an island: from the moment he had been transferred to New Wave, he had been an outsider, a last minute solution to a problem no one would explain to him – who left? Why? Was he worse than them? Was he better?

“You’re better,” Haruki had said, when Hanjae brought it up, late at night while they had dinner alone, in the practice room, sweating and panting – a week until their debut happened. He was the only one who had bothered to tell him so. He sounded like he meant it, too. Hanjae remembers catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over his shoulder, hair bright brown and unfamiliar, thinking even for a fleeting moment: I’m doing enough.

It was fair for him to be the first to know – the first for Hanjae to disappoint.

“I got it removed before,” he heard himself say. It was a secret, so it came out like one: whispered, slow. “Before I wanted to train. I got it with friends– my dance crew friends. It was our logo, or at least, it was going to be, one day. But I… I did a bad thing, and it stopped making sense. It didn’t fit. I didn’t fit, so. It had to go.”

The vagueness did nothing but pique Haruki’s interest. He seated more properly, then less properly; ended up putting his feet on the seat of the chair, slouching with his head supported on his knee, the exact body language of, ‘Tell me, tell me, tell me.’

“My friend– my best friend, from childhood, our team captain. He used to have a girlfriend. A girl from our class, a dancer too, someone he had been in love with forever. Later she became part of the group, and we got close, we turned into friends, and then not. Not quite that. They broke up and one hour later we got together, on the same day. We got caught. It was a mess. Everyone thought it was a shitty thing to do, that it was cheating, cheating on everyone. But I just wanted her to be my girlfriend, back then– Back then, I wanted a girlfriend more than I wanted anything...”

Hanjae felt it coming, again: the desire to recoil a bit more on himself in shame. How pathetic he had been, then; how miserable, how sad, how lonely.

He took a timid peek to the side, ready to see an irk of dismay on Haruki’s face, some justified disgust, and was surprised to not see any of that. Haruki had grown passionate and invested in the whole story, something new in his eyes, a third bottle halfway drained in his hand.

He moved his chin up, as if saying, ‘Go on’, but Hanjae couldn’t. He drained the rest of the beer.

Haruki clicked his tongue like that wouldn’t do. He shoved his chair a few inches closer so he could grab at Hanjae's arm and said, all at once, “We can not– Hanjae, look, listen, we can not be blamed for all the things, the crazy things we do when love…!” He didn't finish the sentence, just amended it into another one: “You were a teenager, you both were, and very, very brave. Very brave to tell her and date her and keep dating her even if. They were just– bad friends. Just bad friends.”

They weren’t bad friends, Hanjae knew; they weren’t the ones in the wrong. But it hurted to say it out loud, to admit what he knew was still true: how easily he burned bridges for attention, for affection, so he never did. He just knew – looked at his reflection on surfaces and knew.

He rolled and rolled the tap of the Terra until it fell off, into the can. “Did you really quit college, hyung?” Was what he asked the wind.

Haruki shifted on his seat; Hanjae could only tell because of the way it creaked. “More like college quit me,” he said, with a sad huff of air that might have been a laugh, and dropped Hanjae’s arm, drank from his bottle too.

Sadness fell over them like a veil from then on. The Terras ended and Haruki didn’t mind sharing all the other stuff he had, and the longer it went on the less shy Hanjae felt about asking. At some point Haruki said, “I guess we really fucked up, uh – with 2on1,” and Hanjae, whipping a foam mustache off his face, “Minwoo’s not talking to me,” and Haruki, almost falling over with laugher, “Oh, my, I bet not! Ha. I bet not…”, and turned reticent, fell quiet.

His eyes, Hanjae had noticed, kept darting to a spot ahead in between conversation, beyond the drop of the hill, dazed. He violently shook his head sideways everytime he caught himself drifting too far away, and ran a hand over his face, rubbing at it in a way that made Hanjae look at him in worry.

Haruki found it hilarious each time. “What is it,” he eventually said, slower than normal, harder to understand, “With you, your face?”

He got up from his chair, a sudden move that sent it falling to the floor, a loud squeak, and walked even closer.

In front of Hanjae, right in front of him, he leaned forward until he got both his hands on his face, and said, pushing the corners of his mouth up, “The mood is so– Bad! So bad! Smile! Big smile! C’mon, give me a big smile!”

There had been dirt on Haruki’s hand, and Hanjae could vaguely taste it, with how close to his lips he was pressing. He still wore his inner braces back then; he kept cutting his tongue on the same spot, never healing, never telling, and he could feel the inside of his cheeks pressing onto that sharp place, about to be pierced through.

For a moment, they stayed quiet, looking at each other head on. Hanjae was not smiling. His heart had picked up a quick pace inside his chest, was drumming – Haruki was so close, and he was so beautiful, a true magazine type beauty, all symmetry, and Hanjae knew this, but not with this much conviction, not with so much emotion.

“Ah, you know what? I like you. I decided. I do like you, now…” Haruki said, and then he grinned, bringing his face even nearer. He took a breath and Hanjae felt it on his own nose, and didn’t know what to do about it; his mind, for a moment, went static. “Nothing will happen to you, friend. I promise it. ‘Will not let it.”

Hanjae’s held breath was a painful thing to let out of his chest. “Was something– Was something going to…?”

Haruki huffed a laugh and gave his cheeks two playful taps, said, with a new found determination, “Handsome guy. Do not get sad. I will fix this for you,” and let Hanjae’s face go.

He straightened his back up and swayed slightly to the side, running a hand over his hair, fixing his bangs back into place. Haruki told him, “Late. No booze. Night over”, and extended that same hand for Hanjae to take – Hanjae who still felt like his face had gone numb, blood rushing to it.

He took the hand, and they made their way back to the dorm that way, hanging close; Like magnets, Hanjae remembers thinking, idly, and then not idly at all. Haruki’s hands were leaving behind a pressure everywhere they touched, a heat that Hanjae couldn’t shake off – he just couldn’t shake it off.

Later, when Hanjae layed in bed, sheet drawn over his entire body, he could still feel it. When he woke up the morning after, nauseated but still in the group, still safe, he could still feel it.

If he closes his eyes now, right now, he can still feel it – the sad sort of burn of a premonition misread.

January 13, 2022.

Los Angeles is sunny in a way Haegon would love to see and pretend to hate – a saddening thought Hanjae had since they landed, and that comes back to haunt him while he looks at the city passing by on the van’s window, sidewalks all golden.

Haegon’s not a loud person in his eyes, but his absence is a loud thing, pouring the life out of everyone, mostly because of the way it had been forced on them.

It had been a horrifying way to open the year: having to come forward right on the first day of 2022 to the press, headlining Haegon’s mugging and the accident, his follow up hiatus and excuse out of their ‘We Do’ promotions in the USA. And then there was having to deal with Haegon in private, angry and disappointed, not wanting to take his pain medicine, shoving his room’s door in everyone's faces, dismissing every checkup attempt with an annoyed, “It’s just a minor concussion, what the Hell! I’m not fucking dying! Get the fuck off me, I’m fine, get off, just fuck off already to the States without me! Go on! Just– just leave me already!”

They’re driving out of some media company studio around the center of Los Angeles, where they filmed two twenty minute videos in a roll, more embarrassing games than actual interviews, and Hanjae has already spent all of his ability to mend English words together.

It could have been more fun, one of their staff said, but they had to pass on the puppy interview format because of Taesong’s allergies, and Jiahang’s been dead set on pretending to be sad about it during the entire ride back to the hotel; crocodile tears and all.

Hanjae has to deal with him from the last seat on the far opposite side of the van, resting his fried blonde head against his shoulder, sighing loudly, because Dylan is also not here to amuse him – he took a bus home to Santa Monica and will stay home until they leave in two days time.

Hanjae doesn’t like provoking Taesong, doesn’t like to spoil Jiahang, but that means very little in the grand escape of the group, that goes about poking fun of Taeng like it’s a sport, that’s stuck in a position where they really can’t say no to J.J, who owns company shares; he shoots the meek figure of Taesong an apologetic look as Jiahang’s act carries on, trying to tell him: ‘I’m not a part of this, I just don’t know how to stop it.’

Thankfully, the hotel isn’t that far away, and it’s a quick torture – up until things takes a turn for the worse.

As they park and start to step out, Beomseok’s long arm blocks the door before he and Jiahang can put a single leg outside of the car.

“Stop,” he tells J.J, harsh enough to make Hanjae stumble a step back. Beomseok points a finger right at Jiahang’s face, and inch from touching his nose, says, “Stop being a fucking problem. Stop.”

It makes Jiahang livid, turns his ears bright red. He takes long stomps to the elevator, and Hanjae has to jog to keep up with him – Jiahang really has the longest legs Hanjae has ever seen on a person.

“He’s got such a stick up his ass!” He keeps on saying, barging into the room they’re both sharing with Dylan and Zhiming – angrily tossing his bag into his ‘cheap dollar store bed with the cheap dollar store sheets’ that made him go into a very similar rant last night. “He thinks he’s the only one who cares about Gon, the only one who can bother. He’s so wrong. I’m fucking worried too! I’m calling him too! I miss him! I’m more of a friend to him than that weirdo is. He’s so weird. He thinks he owns Haegon and everyone and everything, just because he’s older, just because he trained for like, one billion years! Like it’s my fault Starship thought he was too ugly to join NO.MERCY!”

“You were being annoying, Jiahang,” O.z deadpans from the corner he’s tucked in, without looking up from his manhwa.

Jiahang grunts louder. “Yeah, that was the point. Taesong knows I’m just joking around! Everyone knows!”

Zhiming lowers the comic from his face, flipping a page. His eyes have deep dark circles behind his thick glasses, marks that never go away. “Unnecessary.”

Jiahang rolls his eyes, putting his hair up on an ugly bun. He turns his back to Zhiming’s bed and mouths at Hanjae, mocking, ‘Unnecessary’.

Hanjae shrugs at him, and that annoys J.J too. He angrily puts on a movie on the tiny TV, gets a hold of his bed’s pillow and wraps himself around it, mumbling something under his breath still. The tags on the streaming app read comedy, musical. He chews on a poor nail while humming along the first song, and Hanjae tries to humor him with a tiny, “Is that Ariana Grande sunbaenim?”

It doesn’t work. Jiahang shoves his face into his pillow and says, miserable and muffled, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hang around with you, you’re so lame. I miss Dylan so much.”

“He invited you to go with him,” Hanjae says, helplessly. “You said you didn’t want to.”

“Of course I didn’t want to! I would have to sleep on the floor. In a bag, on the floor. And I don’t think his grandma would like me – I don’t think anyone in his family would like me,” he turns his face around, off the pillow. Hanjae can hear clearly when he says, “He needs time alone with them. For the anxieties.”

“The anxieties?” Hanjae asks him, very slowly.

Jiahang presses his mouth shut tight, straights himself up again. He undoes his ponytail, tosses his long, long hair from one side to the other, behind his ears.

He takes a quick look at Zhiming, and Hanjae does too, and they go by uncaught; O.z’s got his big headphones in now, eyes glued to his comic book.

Jiahang is still careful to whisper, “The rest of you don’t get what it's like, when you’re away from your home every day, when you know all the people you’re going to see aren’t all the ones you know – when you got family that’s like, old, and you know that time’s passing. You’re losing days with them. It gets scary, after a while. Dylan’s grandad will be 82 this year, hyung – that’s a terrifying number, that’s a maybe. That’s the anxiety. Mine, his– Zhiming’s, too. Foreign member anxiety.”

Hanjae nods, sharp. Jiahang makes a face at him, brighter – smiles, says like a tease, “Not Haruki’s, though. Haruki doesn’t miss Japan at all, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s not anxious about that.”

Hanjae blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it, blinks again. “I wasn’t going to ask–” 

“Sure thing. Suuuuure,” J.J says slyly, and goes back to watching TV, and Hanjae does too. Gulps, keeps looking at the movie, tries to pay attention.

Jiahang put on korean subtitles for him, yet he keeps talking – explaining everything. It’s a nice enough movie, he says. Good songs, nice enough movie.

They’re reaching the end of it, seeing every main character gather in a protest around town, when Haruki barges into their room.

“Are any of you not gonna rot inside this hotel?” He asks, loudly, quickly. “Is anyone going to do anything? Catch some sun?”

“Hanjae’s supposed to be going out,” Zhiming tells him. He’s also watching the movie now, has Jiahang by his side, explaining to him what he missed.

“Oh?” Haruki says, and looks around the room, eyes a little clouded, until they land on Hanjae. He smiles, and it stretches across his face quick and big, like he’s actually glad to see him, like the effect is instantaneous. Hanjae can’t for the life of him look at it head on. “Perfect. That’s just perfect, I’m going with you, Hanhan, just wait for me to get changed!”

“Okay,” Hanjae says, and hops off the bed too quickly, sits back down. “I– Waiting.”

Immediately after Haruki leaves Jiahang gives him a long look over Zhiming’s shoulder, and Hanjae pretends not to see it.

“You’re too easy,” he says, with a disapproving nod of his head, and Hanjae pretends he doesn’t hear it, pretends it doesn’t sting.

It’s humiliating, being reminded that people know – that they look at him and know, and he’s reminded of it constantly.

“Hanjae’s sad, sad bisexual awakening,” was how Jiahang put it, sing-a-song in the studio, while making this very single they’re promoting now. “Worse, worse than Minwoo’s– Is that a verse? Can we put that on a song, on the album?”

Minwoo said, for the two of them, “Fuck you.”

And there that one time, the one he remembers clearly, when Seo CEO said he wanted to sit down to watch them practicing ‘Love Me Right’ before the big release, and Taesong pushed Hanjae aside, told him, “Hanjae, you– if you need to check the choreo, please look at the instruction video. Don’t look at Haruki like that, there’s no need to look like you–”

There had to be a separation, he realized; he had to get it under control.

So Hanjae made friends with the people Haruki seemed to not stand, which sometimes meant everyone, but mostly meant J.J and Beomseok – two extremes of very opposite lines. He’s built a line of separation, wrapped himself up in Haruki repellent, and he tries to live by it.

It’s a frail line, a shitty line, and it comes crashing down all the time, with the little moments; single minutes where things feel kind between them, different. A bottle of water and a perfectly folded towel passed to him backstage, a group conversation where Haruki eventually says, like clockwork, “And you, Hanjae? What do you think?”; no one else says that. There’s this lingering nearness coming from him, like there's always something Haruki wants to say or do but can’t, something he wants to check.

It makes Hanjae wonder – makes him come back to that one friendly night, hang on to it. The way Haruki had been so near, his exact tone of voice when he said that he liked him, considered him a friend, thought he was handsome, was going to fix whatever was wrong.

[...]

“So what are we doing?” Haruki asks when they step onto the sidewalk.

“Just filming my Loop Log,” Hanjae responds. “Deadline’s tonight.”

“Shit, that,” Haruki groans, taking his cap off to push hair out of his eyes, putting it on again. “I forgot all about that. ‘Haven’t filmed mine either. ‘Think I lost my camera.”

“I can help you look,” Hanjae offers. “When we get home.”

“Well, thank you,” Haruki says, and steps closer, slides an arm over Hanjae’s shoulder, tells him, “For now, I guess we’ll just have to stick tight. LOOPiN 2on1, reunited in L.A…!”

At Hanjae’s timid request, Chihoon made him a list of what he should get to ‘live his best tourist life’, what the fans might want to see him try: pancakes, bacon and eggs, ice cream, anything in the menu that looks like it could have come off a cartoon, any ‘house specials’.

They go into the nearest place listed with the camera on hand, and have to explain with their Frankenstein English that they want to make a vlog, can they make a vlog? They can, a waiter says, but only in a specific area; they get taken there.

Hanjae orders the house special, and it's a crazy looking Banana Split. Haruki settles for waffles, and they decide to start filming when the food arrives.

Any chance of small talk between them goes fully stall when Hanjae asks, right at their waiter steps away, as the opening topic: “Have you talked to Haegon?”

Haruki’s dangling hand on the table stills. He smiles weird, notices it looks weird, drops it: “Ah, no. No…” and goes silent, makes Hanjae go silent too.

The food comes, they start filming. Hanjae’s meticulously trying to extract a tiny piece of strawberry from a block of ice cream, all while only looking through the camera’s lens, when Haruki’s phone jumps to life, ringing.

He takes it out of his pocket, places it screen flat on the table without looking at the receiver once, mutes it with one hand, adds a mountain of maple syrup to his food with the other.

“Not important,” Haruki reassures Hanjae when he catches him looking at the buzzing phone, an inch away from falling off the edge. He forks the food and stands his hand across the table, says, with his Idol voice, “Wanna try?”

It’s good sweet food, all of it. The camera goes back and forth between them, hand to hand. Haruki makes him pretend they’re shooting a commercial, at some point, makes him do a different pose with every bite, and Hanjae tries to not lose control of his face with all the wooing, all the praise.

It’s fanservice, and Haruki’s good at it. It makes for good content. Everything: good.

Outside, bill paid, they take shelter from the sun and check the recording; thirty raw minutes of footage.

“Hanjae,” Haruki says, looking up after skimming the video, solemn. Hanjae leans a bit forward, eyes a little wide.“The Log will turn out very boring if this is all we do.”

It is, indeed, not the best vlog Hanjae’s ever made. Not that he’s ever been any good at them, or at anything on the media side of the job outside of music covers or choreography making. He’s seen the views on his solo variety content, Sangwon walked him through them all last month, said: nothing special.

They barely talked in 30 minutes – Hanjae didn't initiate a single conversation with him.

Quickly, Haruki’s eyes narrow as he scans the area around them, and Hanjae tries to keep up. He looks for a long moment at the barracks of food, at a man selling balloons, and finally lands far ahead, on a group of kids running on the sand. The leading one trips on air and falls face first on the ground, immediately wails, and they let out matching startled, horrified laughs.

Haruki jogs until he’s in front of him, and turns to walk backwards, closer to where the sidewalk gives into the beach.

“You wanna do that?” He arches a perfect eyebrow. “Run around on the beach with me. Like we’re in a movie.”

Hanjae steps on a stone, lands his other feet on the ground wrong. “I– No.”

“No? Well, I’m doing it! It’s what the vlog’s missing! Trust me, if we do this, it’ll fix everything,” he says, and before Hanjae can even think of what to reply, turns around and starts running on the sand, straight ahead.

Haruki’s already bent over near the ocean when Hanjae catches up with him, folding his jeans until they stop at his knees, barefoot. He insists: “Let’s go, let’s do it, you’re already here, it’s going to be fun, the fans will like it, let’s do it, let’s do it!”

With a resigned sigh, Hanjae unties his sneakers.

Haruki approaches a family nearby and asks for a beach chair, gets a yes. They place the camera cautiously on it, set it with a big zoom ahead. Haruki leaves his phone there, too, with a careless toss, and Hanjae can hear it announcing another call as he steps away, trailing exactly behind him – footprint over footprint, back near the ocean and then on the ocean.

“I thought– Hyung, I thought we were going to just walk,” Hanjae says, stopping. The salt water is a chill foam around his foot.

“Yeah,” Haruki flashes him a smile over his shoulder. He’s about to be knees deep, is taking his Hawaiian shirt off, Hanjae realizes now, with a flush. “We’re walking. Into the water.”

Hanjae catches the shirt when he throws it over his shoulder, looks at it, up at him. He takes a step closer. “Manager Choi’s– Haruki, he’s going to complain!”

“Fuck him!” Haruki tells him with a laugh. He says, with meaning: “Fuck him, fuck New Wave, let them complain, I’m going for a dive and no one can stop me!”

And then he dives, swims, disappears under the water for a long moment. Hanjae stays planted where he is, at a loss of words. When Haruki reemerges, pushing a curtain off black hair off his eyes, and walks back splashing water at him. By the time they’re side by side again, it looks like Hanjae took a dive, too.

“Are you…” He starts to say, eyeing Haruki worryingly, but then the family from before calls back to them, says they’re leaving, they need the chair back, and Haruki claps him on the shoulder, smiles widely, races him to reach them.

“Look,” Haruki says when they’re checking the footage, back on the sidewalk, showing Hanjae a clip: the two of them, a little blurry, walking. “We even got your good smile.”

“My good smile?” Hanjae echoes.

“Not to imply you have a bad one, because you don’t have a bad one,” Haruki says, and bumps their shoulders together. He has just put his shirt back on, is wearing it unbuttoned. “You just have one that’s relaxed, easy. A rare one.”

“Hm,” Hanjae responds, looking away, rolling a rock under his feet.

The walk back to the hotel is calm, windy. The sky’s cotton candy pink and it all looks like a movie, Hanjae thinks. He looks down, and their hands are loose, hanging close, like it would be in a movie.

The end credits roll when they get in the hotel’s lobby, and find Sangwon there – just right there. He catches sight of them immediately, like an alert dog; a quick jump off his seat, a stall near.

He seems to consider them like an equation, frowning: he takes in their wet hair, the wet clothes, the leftover traces of sand, solves it, fumes.

“Do you have any idea,” he says, and he’s struggling to look at the two of them, to not just gawk at Haruki – to not bare his teeth to Haruki only. “Any idea, you two, of how irresponsible this whole stunt was? You’re out on a foreign land. You know no one – no one. When I– The company, if the company calls, you pick your phone. It’s how it works. Pick your phone, immediately.”

Hanjae checks his own phone, a quick glance: no calls.

“Choi-nim,” he says, not looking directly at him, because he lost the ability over the years. Sangwon’s gaze now makes him incredibly anxious. He takes the camera out of where its hanging around his neck, stands it. “I notified– On the calendar, I added– We were just filming–”

“No need to explain, Hanjae,” Haruki interrupts, and puts a hand on Hanjae’s shoulder, steps in front of him, puts himself between him and Sangwon. “Go up. You did nothing wrong. It’s okay. Hyung’s going to solve this with the manager.” He turns straight to Choi-nim and bows, so pristine, so polite: “I take full responsibility for today. It was all me. I’m really sorry if I caused you stress.”

Sangwon considers him for a long moment, taking in the bend of his elbows, like he’s trying to measure his sincerity – there’s almost none of it, Hanjae can tell. He sighs, and then he adjusts his shirt, picks at the cufflinks of his uniform, breaths – his nostrils taking over his entire face.

“You’re dismissed,” Sangwon tells Hanjae, icely, with a corner of the eye glance.

“Sir, I–”

“Dismissed.”

“Go on,” Haruki encourages him, giving Hanjae’s shoulder a firm tap. And then he runs a hand over Hanjae’s hair, messes it up until his wet bangs are glued to his forehead, which he’s never done before; not with him, not with anyone, as far as Hanjae’s aware.

Hesitantly, Hanjae steps away, goes to take the elevator. He keeps looking at them over his shoulder, watching them trail away with growing uneasiness. Haruki keeps looking back at him until he can’t: Sangwon gets the door of the hotel open, shoves him by the shoulder out.

Up in his hotel room, Hanjae showers for a long time. There’s sand on a spot on his elbow where Haruki gave him a tap, and it takes him a while to notice.

He comes off the shower and goes straight to laying down. Zhiming, who had been awake when he came in, is also in his bed now, fully still.

He turns over once, and then again, goes back on his side. “Zhiming hyung?” Hanjae whispers. “You’re awake?”

When Zhiming finally responds, it’s with a minimal grunt, a tiny quick of his socked foot. “What.”

“Do you,” Hanjae chews on the words, “Do you think I have a good smile?”

A pause, a loud sigh. “You’re an Idol. You should hope so.”

“Okay. Okay, so what about– What about me do you think, what looks bad?”

Slowly, very slowly, Zhiming raises his upper body on his elbows. His air is a mess, recently dyed from gray to black too quickly. Without his glasses, he’s forced to squint at Hanjae, even this close, with their beds separated by a very narrow space.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

Hanjae takes in a sharp breath, and nods – puts a hand over his eyes, nods again. Stupid, so stupid.

“Nothing,” He says. “Nothing, just– Forget it. I’m sorry, just– Sorry.”

Zhiming goes back to laying down with a loud ‘oof’. He says, a crude whisper, “Don’t go out alone with him if it’ll make you come back like that.”

And with that Hanjae decides he must sleep, immediately, and end this day already.

It was just a day, he tells himself, rubbing at the scarred spot on his hand; a flower in eternal bloom, once. Just one good day. Drop it, forget it, erase it.

February 15, 2022.

“C’mon, you guys, c’moooon! On a scale of one to ten–”

“Na Seungsoo,” Minwoo’s voice rings out like a warning; an elastic pulled far above its limit, about to snap back into place, hard. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

“She’s right there,” Haegon adds, equally as ultraged. “Are you dumb? Do you want to die?”

“Light up, you two. We’re just talking hypotheticals. I’m not actually gonna fuck our mananger,” Seungsoo says, crossing his arms, raising his chin high – his posture the embodiment of a practical joke about to take action. “That would be desperate and unprofessional, and I am none of these things.”

“You’re extremely unprofessional,” Jiahang laughs at him, a little mean – all his laughs have something a little mean about them, Hanjae can’t help but notice, when Seungsoo’s involved. “And extremely desperate. You just fucked our sound assistant. We no longer have a sound assistant, because you fucked her.”

“So did Jimin!”

“A fluke,” Zhiming defends himself. “Not happening again.”

“It’s never a fluke with you, Seungsoo. You’re such a man whore. A man whore for staff. Even Sangwon could have pulled you when he was around if he had a pair of tits,” Haegon notes, and Seungsoo gasps, mutters, scandalized, ‘You bastard!’, raises a fist up as if he’s going to hit him, and everyone’s laughing. Hanjae contributes with a grimace. “You’re that gross, you’re really that disgusting, all it would take–”

Behind them, Dylan begins to violently choke on a bite out of his granola bar, hard enough for the whole photo studio to freeze.

Taesong stands up immediately to check on him, and so does Jungwha, their three day old manager, Choi Sangwon’s definitive substitute and the topic of Seungsoo’s most recent infatuation: she rushes forward to aid alongside an assistant, a cup of water materialized out of thin air on her hand, like a trained lifeguard.

It’s too early for any of them to get a good read on her, but Hanjae has working eyes, so he will admit Junghwa is good looking in a mature sort of way, a bit above the ‘K-Pop staff adequate’. She’s not far from Seungsoo’s type, given the fact that he pretty much doesn’t have one. Hanjae has seen him flirt with Seo CEO’s third ex-wife, the second ex-wife, all of Minwoo’s half sisters and, in a disastrous attempt, Dylan’s mom. ("She's just so young, Chihoon! I thought she was your cousin!"

"I don't have a single cousin and you know that! You went for my mom, you animal, the least you can do is own it!")

“Holy shit, Chihoon,” Seungsoo says, tapping him on the back with one hand, fanning him with the other. “You’re alright?”

“My bad– False alarm, guys, my bad–!”, Dylan mutters, still coughing, watery eyes quick in their attempt to scan the room for something, someone.

Hanjae follows their frantic trail until they land on the quiet figure of Haruki by the coffee machine, his back to them, shoulders rigid and on display – wearing the same suit outfit Hanjae has been put on, his in a shade more close to purple than blue.

It fits Haruki splendidly, as must things do.

“Alright, boys, hey, boys!” Jungwha calls out when Dylan’s lungs go back to normal, clapping her hands one loud time. “Break’s over! It’s the real deal, now! So let’s try to have a good day at work today! Fighting!”

They’re set to scatter in trios and duos, the old unit formations, except for Haegon, who’s still on hiatus, still has stitches all over the crown of his head. He only made it because Haruki insisted, and he’s always insisting, lately: “How can we do well without our cheerleader,” he told Haegon in the morning, “Our cute, adorable cheerleader, my very favorite little brother–!”

“Hi,” Hanjae mutters, tapping Haruki gently in the shoulder. Haruki jumps, catching his breath, and Hanjae drops his hand, shoves it behind his own back. “Ah, sorry, if I– I was just going to say we should–”

But Haruki is turning and splinting in front of him before all the words are out, growing out of earshot, out of hold, entering a hallway on the left.

Hanjae, embarrassed, follows.

They’re supposed to go to room 4, but Haruki walks right past it. Hanjae calls back to him from the door, says, “Hyung, that’s not the–”, and then his voice falters, dies out.

Haruki’s already quick pace has grown even quicker, and he’s now running towards the door at the end of the corridor, the one with a red sign written ‘TERRACE’ over it – really running, to the point his body almost slams against the metal when he stops. The door handle makes a loud noise as he tries to push it open, can’t make it, tries again, harder – manages to step out with a strong shove. Hanjae goes after him, frowning, worried.

Outside, the terrace is a gray space, almost the same tone as the sky – rain’s a strong promise on the horizon, a reasonable fear.

Haruki’s standing right at the center. He tries to take in a big and loud gulp of air, can’t, makes a choking sound, lets out a hiss. Hanjae can feel the acute panic coming off him like electricity, gluing itself to his very own skin. He reminds himself to breathe.

Haruki stands an arm out and that’s the distance between them, that’s the nearest he’ll let Hanjae get.

“What’s– What’s happening, what’s wrong, what–?”

“Just,” he’s trembling bad. “Leave, I need– Leave.”

“Now?” Hanjae asks, and he’s making himself bite down on the trail of: ‘But the shoot’, ‘But the gig’, ‘But the job’ so hard, he’s actually got his teeth sinking on his lip.

Haruki nods, sharp and final, and Hanjae feels himself nodding back, frenetic. “Okay, stay– stay here, okay, you’ll leave– we’re leaving, just stay here.”

Hanjae walks back into the building with his head very low, tries to not walk too quickly to bring attention to himself, feels like he’s falling; feels like the whole world is looking at him. He holds his breath while sneaking back into the room they’re using as a closet, picks his and Haruki’s things like a thief: pushing everything into their bags without folding, eyes anxiously looking behind his back, flinching at every outside noise coming through the door.

Haruki’s phone is the last thing he grabs. He only becomes aware of it because it starts ringing. He looks at the screen, a quick run of his eyes. The contact name reads: ‘Don’t Answer Don’t Answer Don’t Answer.’

On the roof, Haruki’s sitting on the floor, resting his forehead against the wall. The back half of an air conditioner hangs close to him, and the leftover water pools near his feet, turning the hem of his pants dark.

They put on the yellow raincoats, plastic hood all the way up, and make a clumsy escape out the studio; Hanjae babbles something at the receptionist about there being equipment in the van, and the woman gives them a distracted ‘go ahead’ nod, an empty courtesy smile.

They walk without a plan, enter on the first bus that stops close: Haruki on the lead, completely reticent, Hanjae only following. There’s still a trail of glitter going down his neck, shiny with sweat, red from stress, Hanjae notices when they sit down. He’s still crying, still whipping at his runny nose with the expensive fabric of his shirt.

Hanjae looks down at his own clothes, the suit vest with no shirt under, a design piece New Wave doesn’t own – he’s wearing eyeliner, a strong smokey eye. They look expensive, and to an outsider, probably peculiar, weird. They don’t even have masks on…

Maybe, Hanjae hopes, trying to hold on to any trail of optimism possible, they could pass as very dedicated cover dancers, maybe–

The sound of Hanjae’s phone ringing makes them both jump in their seats. Haruki comes out of his state of anxious inertia to put a hand on his knee, pressing on it to get his attention. He says, through his teeth, “Do not– Hanjae, do not.”

Hanjae lets the phone ring out. He looks at the receiver: Uhm Junghwa (Manager).

Haruki’s peeking at it too. “Off,” he says, and it’s off.

It’s raining when they step out of the bus. They get maybe five feet down the sidewalk when a phone rings again – this time, Haruki’s. He comes to a sudden halt, and Hanjae bumps into his back and gets a close view of how, in an act of blind rage, he throws it hard on the floor.

“Fuck!” Haruki says, and steps on it once, twice, cracks the screen then the whole device in half. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Hanjae looks at him, wide eyed, mouth hanging open, and watches him pace around, a tense moment, until he loses all steam, goes sit by the closest wall.

Haruki stays for a long time there, one hand gripping the fence, the other pressing over his face, being rained on. Cautiously, Hanjae slides his raincoat off, squats down, close to him, and stands it over both their heads. Rain drips directly into his shoulder, makes a cold path down his neck.

“I hope your–,” a hiccup, a sniff, a faint and unconvincing attempt from Haruki of laughing them both off, “your fantasy’s still– still up.”

“My…?”

“Can you not,” Haruki says, a hiss, “Not look.”

Hanjae complies, doesn’t look. Behind them, a car runs close to the sidewalk, splashes a wave of rainwater on their backs.

“Sasaeng?” Hanjae tries, “Is it a sasaeng, or…”

Haruki lets out a bitter snort. “Imja,” he says, and it makes more sense that he means ‘owner’ rather than ‘marriage partner’; Hanjae can’t hear anything else, can’t connect anything else to something he knows and decode it.

His throat has gone dry, sandy. He clears it, and still, his voice comes off clipped. “Your…? Ah. Ah, I didn’t know– Didn’t know you have someone you were–”

“You know him,” Haruki says. “For years. You– you’ve known him. He gave you your job– Made your job happen.”

It takes a long moment for it to click, for the shape of manager Choi to come to Hanjae’s mind. Haruki’s looking at him like he’s expecting Hanjae to do something horrible: mouth set for a fight, eyes so red they look like they’ve been painted over.

“Hyung,” Hanjae breathes. His voice is an even quieter thing, afraid. “Do you mean– Are you being serious?”

“Am I! Am I serious?!”

He’s up again, quick – Hanjae loses his equilibrium and falls back on the street. Haruki doesn’t wait for him to get up to resume stomping.

It takes two street turns for Hanjae to understand they’re detouring from the dorms.

They sit on another bus stop bench, hop on another bus. A quiet and tense drive, this one. Haruki’s no longer crying, just grinding his teeth.

They go to the front gates of a tiny building, their final destination, and Haruki tells the security guard an apartment number, wais to be buzzed in. He does soon, and Hanjae, yet to be told to leave, goes up with him on the stairs.

Delilah gets the door he bangs on, and Hanjae’s stuck blinking at the sight of her, who shouldn’t still be in Korea. Haruki barges into her place like a hurricane: shoes still on, pushing her a little back, closer to the wall.

They both stare at the spot he occupied on the corridor a second ago, a held breath.

She recovers much quicker than he does. Deh tucks a long lock of her caramel hair behind her ear, greets him with an awkward, “Hanjae, hi. Hi...”, and Hanjae gets overwhelmed by too many things at once; how glad he is to see her, the shame of how they had parted. Her sad face when she told everyone she couldn’t stand to work with them anymore.

“You’re back.”

“I am! I am back!” Deh says. “How could I not! Europe’s too gray for me. The food’s too bad, and...” She sucks air through her teeth, takes an anxious look behind her, back inside. “... And all that.”

Hanjae shakes his head, agrees – agrees to all that even though he has no idea what all that is. There’s a pool of spit on his mouth, and he has to concentrate on gulping it down, has to try more than once.

“Hanjae, baby, look– I’ll send him on his way later. Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Just…” She trials off. “Please don’t tell the others we met, okay? I don’t want Seungsoo looking for me or asking around. I don’t want to see him again, ever.”

Fair, Hanjae thinks. After everything, fair.

Deh flashes him a final grim before closing the door, still awkward, and it doesn’t last. She drops it for a split second, fully drops it, looks instead concerned, anxious.

Hanjae waits a moment, then moves before he knows it. He presses his ear against the shut door, closes his eyes and hopes to catch anything. A creek of wood. A vacuum cleaner being turned off. The sound of someone channel surfing. Deh saying what might be, “Haruki, what do you want me to do? I can’t know, love. I can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

Another sound drowns everything, nearer. Someone from the apartment on the left starts to unlock their door, it’s about to walk out, and it leaves Hanjae panicking, it makes him jog all the way out of the building, nonstop.

He makes the inverse way back home, alone. His own phone is a hot thing in his back pocket. When he gets to the dorm, Chihoon is the first person he bumps into, planted right beside the shoe rack. Hanjae’s seen him in this set of clothes, short shorts and a knockoff Pokemon shirt, more than he’s seen his own dad’s face these last few years.

Dylan grabs at Hanjae when he notices it’s him, pushes him back out quickly. He puts a finger in front of his mouth – quiet.

“I’ve given you some cover,” he whispers. They’re circling the house, Hanjae realizes, going to the backyard. “Said you were not feeling well. It won’t fly with Minwoo or Taesong, so think of something. And you're not gonna get paid this month, because of the clothes. Neither of you will.” He looks around, eyes sharp in a way Hanjae didn’t think they could be. “Where is he?”

“Deh’s,” Hanjae blurts out, and remembers he promised not to speak of her, grows meek.

He’s tired, deep in the bones tired, from all the walking, all the running. The socks inside his sneakers are still wet, his fingers have gone cold.

“Good,” Dylan says, remarkably unsurprised. “That’s good enough.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. In Hanjae’s head, a pinned image every time he blinks: Haruki’s eyes, red like a bruise.

“Chihoon hyung, I think– I think there’s something wrong with–”

Dylan’s grip on his arm is steady, but no longer comforting when he says, “Hanjae, listen, yes. Yes. Something’s wrong. Too many things–” He shakes his head, clicks his tongue once, and again. “No need for you to worry about it, because there’s nothing you can really do, okay? It’s been too long, now. The time for anyone to really do anything, over.”

He looks like he doesn’t want to be saying it, like all those words taste bitter, bad.

“So just keep being nice,” Dylan concludes, and his voice breaks at the end. “Be nice with him right now, alright? And patient, and normal, just like always, and…”

Dylan doesn’t say what else. He looks down, and Hanjae follows. Near their feet, a trail of black nicotine ash and tiny bits of paper; someone’s worry, someone’s wait.Kind, maybe, Hanjae concludes on his own. Maybe kind was what he was going to say.

March 12th & a Bit Of 13th, 2022.

Sunyoung immediately strikes Hanjae as someone who’s never held a small house party before, and it’s a bit painful to see her try.

She greets them at the door, a little overdressed: Chanel earrings, Chanel bag. “Is that everyone?”, she asks, craning her neck to peek behind them, and when they mumble ‘yes’ she visibly withers.

Taesong steps in front of them to give her a gift – a flower vase so yellow Zhiming had to look away from it, rubbing at his eyes.

She stares at it for a minute, frowns hard, then composes herself, says, “Ah! Thank you so much, oppa! This is so– Yeah, thanks! But you didn’t have to! Gon, baby! I said they didn’t have to!”

“I told you they don’t listen to me,” Haegon mutters. There’s a dark cloud over his face and Sunyoung seems to not mind it. She squeezes his arm when he passes her by, smiles at him prettily. 

She checks the corridor one more time, and for a moment Hanjae thinks she looks sad; that she looks angry.

The party is a housewarming party for the brand new double storey apartment in Nine One Hannam she’s sharing with her BombShell leader Yoorim, who strongly opposed herself to throwing anything. Hanjae catches a glimpse of her looking displeased and bothered behind the kitchen aisle, and bows his head a little – she rolls her eyes, turns her back on him, disappears behind a small group of people.

Beomseok refused to come, decided to take the afternoon to go grocery shopping, the night to visit family he can’t take Haegon to see; the side that calls him a parasite. It had been a clear jab, right at Haegon’s face. Even Minwoo thought it was insensitive, and his response to the invite had been nothing but a disgusted face that spelled out ‘no’.

Hanjae watches him move through the living room, greeting some people. Haegon’s been here yesterday, and the day before that, and if Hanjae’s not cautious, he’ll stay over despite their early shooting tomorrow.

“That old man put you on babysitting duty, eh, Hanhan?” Seungsoo leans in to whisper to him, a drink in hand already – white wine. The smell of his cologne is probably stuck to Hanjae’s bottom up by osmosis.

“He’s just concerned. It makes sense to be concerned.”

On their first day back from L.A, Haegon had announced over dinner that he now had a girlfriend: they met last week, and had been dating for three days. The situation had driven Beomseok crazy. Haegon asked if him if wanted to meet her every day for two weeks straight, and he said: no. He eventually got around to meet her and said with even more conviction: no, break up, now.

It’s an age gap, even if very small, but she’s about five years his industry senior, he told Hanjae. And Sunyoung’s from YG Entertainment, the face of too many brands. She’s going to eat him alive, spit him out, leave him heartbroken and Beomseok is going to have to deal with it, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with it.

“She can just like him. People can just like him,” Taesong tried to intervene, high pitched, and Beomseok cutted him off right away, said, “No. No, there’s something– Be serious, Taesong. No.”

The front door dings again, and it takes a long minute for Haegon to untangle his arms from Sunyoung’s waist and let her go get it. Hanjae watches her walk across the house, a firm walk of a supermodel, of someone important, and gets embarrassed with how bad he is at this, how obvious.

Another glimpse her way, and the person with their two feet planted on the ‘welcome home’ carpet is Haruki. He also said he wouldn’t come but gave no excuse, yet: here, dressed nicely. He’s got the same convenience store from years ago under one arm, the one from a memory.

They talk, talk, talk, and he still won’t leave the entrance. Haruki makes her laugh, the most genuine thing Hanjae’s seen Sunyoung do all night. He sees her look at him, look around, then lean closer again: point upstairs and give Haruki a thumbs up as he finally makes his way in, into the stairs and out of sight.

Sunyoung’s back on the couch, to Haegon, and Hanjae makes himself look. They’re fine, they appear very fine, holding hands, he doesn’t have to watch them all night, there’s no need to watch them at all, and–

Hanjae goes up the stairs, which he knows it’s technically off limits. He tries to not let his eyes wander to the photos on the walls, the books on the shelves tucked next to an award behind protective glass, a big shiny plaque framed above it.

There’s only one door with light peeking through, right at the end of the corridor. He taps at it three times, and waits. Another three taps, slightly stronger.

“Occupied,” a voice says from the inside – a tone he knows. “All night.”

Hanjae can’t think of what to say: can’t think of anything at all, for a second. He gives the door another hopeful tap, waits more, and he lets out a sigh of relief when it creeks open. He goes in, closes it quietly behind him, and looks down.

The room’s a bathroom, straight out of a home decoration magazine, all black and white. Haruki seems to be setting up an improv bar on the floor, in the big space between the bathtub and the sink. There’s a bottle of something Hanjae can’t read, blue and half empty, tucked in between his legs like a treasure.

“Ah, you,” he waves at Hanjae’s vague direction, not looking up. “Hello, you. I’m just– Don’t mind the mess. Someone made me something once. ‘Trying to put it together.”

Hanjae hums. He can’t make his hand ease its grip on the doorknob.

It’s been weeks since they abandoned the shoot, and since then Haruki’s been avoiding him constantly. Looks at him from across rooms and seems pained, constantly, and Hanjae hasn’t had the heart to come near.

“What is happening?” Haruki asks, suddenly, and tries to land a smile. He blinks a lot and then not enough looking up at Hanjae. “Down. Down there.”

“Nothing much.”

“How is he?”

“Haegon?” Hanjae asks, and Haruki nods at him loosely, mouths the name without making a sound: ‘Haegon’. “He– Uh, he seems alright.”

“Great couple, yes or no? For our maknae, is she great?”

“I– I don’t know.”

Disappointment flashes vividly through Haruki’s face, and it lands on a sad shagrin. “You don’t know,” he says, to himself, and goes back to emptying his bag with a slouch to his shoulders.

‘Be normal’, Dylan had said that day, his only instructions: ‘Be nice.’

Hanjae lets go of the door and goes to sit in front of him, legs crossed like his are. “What’s it supposed to taste like? The drink.”

There’s no humor in Haruki when he says, “Acid.”

He offers a thermo bottle to Hanjae filled with the failed replica. Hanjae takes a tiny sip and can’t swallow it, feels like his tongue is on fire, and it makes Haruki huff a laugh. “More disgusting than that.”

He makes more combinations that demand more tasting, and Hanjae at times struggles, at times doesn’t – Haruki empties a Soju bottle and refills it with Somaek, calls it ‘Hanjae’s palette cleanser’. He also makes Hanjae go downstairs to grab things they don’t have: more cups, ice and fruit juice, if Sunyoung has any, which she does – too many options.

Hanjae comes back from the trip and sets all his findings at Haruki’s feet, then feels weird about it, exposed about it, and pushes some of it closer to himself.

The bottle opener, they notice a minute later, has disappeared. Hanjae thinks he took it with him to the kitchen and abandoned it on the counter. Worry not, Haruki says; worry not!, because he knows how to open them with his front teeth. It’s a hidden skill, a secret talent.

Haruki asks him to hold a bottle close to his face so he can prove it, and Hanjae does so, but it’s a frail grip, not good. Haruki puts a hand over his to make it steadier, makes it worse. Another hand, a shove closer until their knees are touching. Hanjae adds his free hand into the pile, the lonely hand, and Haruki looks straight at him – looks like he’s saying, ‘Bet?’

It takes a second, really. A pop and the lid comes off in the company of an enormous foam eruption. Haruki gets both his hands away, does a smiley flourish: ‘ta-da!’

“But you shook it! Too much, you–!’ He laughs, and can’t stop laughing. Hanjae’s still holding the bottle and tries to hand it to him, but Haruki shakes his head ‘no’. “For you. It is for you.”

It’s bland beer, he takes notice when he drinks it, but somehow it tastes sweeter.

From the corner of his eyes he catches a glimpse of metal in a corner, and it’s Haruki’s new phone, exiled.

Hanjae is surprised to hear himself ask him, “Are the calls– the calls still coming? The ones from–”

“Always,” Haruki responds, eerily nonchalant. “Always will.”

“It’s not over, then? You still–”

“It is. It is over. It is over the way it can be over.”

“What wouldhe,” Hanjae closes his eyes, reiterates, “If it’s over, what would he still want with you?”

“What do you think,” Haruki asks, staring fixedly at the alcohol going from one bottle to the other. A bit of it it’s running straight to the floor. “What do you think people want with me?”

It’s said– weird. Something in his uncaring tone makes a lump of sadness form in Hanjae’s throat.

“Hyung, you know that, if you everneed to talk to anyone about anything. Me and the guys, we all– We all listen. We would listen.”

“Anything?” Haruki pretends to be impressed. “Big. That is big.”

“Seriously. I’m being serious.”

Haruki looks up at him. Even more alcohol spills to the floor.

“Okay. Okay, anything. Anything…” he hums, dropping the bottles, mimicking being in thought with an obnoxious pout. His mouth is now a purple dot, and his eyes a shiny brown daze...

Hanjae often catches himself wondering if he just knows. If he looks into a mirror and just knows that he’s beautiful in a way that looks hand drawn, that looks meticulously planned: a subject of equal envy and admiration. If Sangwon ever told him that, and if so, how many times, had it come close to enough, had he used the right words to say it, did Haruki believe him when he said it, or if he didn’t – what did it make him feel? What exactly did he make him feel?

Hanjae always thought he was so mean, so bitter. He can’t remember ever hearing him say anything nice to anyone about anything.

Hanjae’s staring, he’s realized, and his eyes hurt. He makes them look down to where Haruki’s got a firm hold around the slim of a bottleneck, tapping a weird rhythm into it, impossible to decipher. He has long fingers with hard skin on them, which isn’t something you would expect. He used to paint, used to do calligraphy; used to go to a prestigious arts academy during high school, all boys.

Hanjae’s still starring, and he’s too close to drunk to properly command himself to stop. He hears Haruki huffs an unheard laugh, suddenly, short and maybe frustrated, maybe not that, and Hanjae’s head snaps up to his face to meet it.

He’s being stared at, too – is being analyzed, too.

“I thought of something. Something I want to say, a thing,” Haruki announces. The grin on his face suddenly looks very, very sharp, like there’s something tugging the corners of his mouth up. “I will whisper to you. On your ear. ‘Gimme your ear and I will tell.”

And with that he comes forward, a sudden and ungracious movement, and doesn’t stop when they’re front to front, an inch apart. He climbs Hanjae up – actually climbs him up, his legs around the middle of his body, cageing him in.

Haruki grims again and it’s lazily, in slow motion. He puts a hand on Hanjae’s chin, tips it high, says, “Not your ear.”

He turns his head to the side. His nose rovers near Hanjae’s head, and Hanjae tries to escape it in reflex, but they’re all too slow, drowned in alcohol.

Into his ear, lips touching skin, Haruki says, “I know you like me. For a very long time. Since that one time. Ever since we went out, we got drunk, that one time.”

“Sorry,” Hanjae mutters, hushed.

“‘Sorry’,” Haruki laughs again, like that’s the funniest word there is, like it’s the meanest. It rings so loud, it has an echo. “Now you sorry?”

Hanjae sinks more into the floor, almost laying down, and Haruki follows, saying, “Are you going away? This close? I am this close, and you going away?”

They’re kissing before Hanjae fully processes how, and it’s a weird kiss at a weird angle; Haruki won’t bend his body all the way down, and Hanjae has to keep craning his neck to meet him midway, his elbows pressing against the tiles, hurting.

He feels a hand slide up his shirt almost immediately, and Hanjae understands, with drunken horror, that he’s being undressed – quickly.

“Ah, wait–” He says, and then can’t get out anything else: Haruki shoved a thumb inside his mouth, in between his teeth, as he goes for the spot where Hanjae’s shoulder and neck meet.

“You smell like home here,” he says, a goosebump. He buries his face there, opens his mouth above it, bites and sucks hard enough to make Hanjae jump  – for him to know it’ll leave a pinkish mark, evidence–

It’s exactly then and there that someone bursts in through the door, says a curse loudly, startles the two of them slightly apart, knocks the air out of their lungs.

“Close your eyes! I need to pee right now, right now, close your eyes!”

It’s a tall woman, this one – Hanjae sees her quick rush to the toilet and closes his eyes tight shut.

“If any of you try to act funny and take a single peek, I’ll fucking castrate you both– Hey! Hey, you, back on the floor, don’t come near, I’m fucking serious, I’ll kill you, you fucking–!”

The door clicks shut, and it takes Hanjae a moment to take in the lack of heat above and around him, to correlate the two: Haruki’s gone, walked out, left him.

From the side, he hears an instrident, “Can you at least cover your fucking boner, dude?!”

Hanjae rolls to his side, facing the opposite wall to where the toilet is; he pushes his knuckles into his shut eyes, for good measure. He waits for the girl to finish peeing, and tries not to have an anxiety attack or a heart attack or a nerve attack about everything that happened in the last ten minutes: Haruki on top of him, Haruki no longer on top of him, having to hear a stranger peeing.

“I’m done,” she announces, and he turns back to the same position as before.

There’s little dots of light in his vision, dancing. The girl’s using the sink now, and she has a blonde bob, so blonde and so short. It follows the shape of her mouth and up, even shorter at the back.

“Not a word from you, ever,” she warns, drying her hands on her skirt, pushing it down more, back in place. She gives him a pointed glare that makes Hanjae look down at the state he’s in, at his busted open shirt, a single button in the middle holding it all together. “Not a word from me. Now get the fuck out, please. People need to use the bathroom.”

And she gets going too, without closing the door all the way. The hum of the party downstairs carries over.

Hanjae inhales, looking at the bright ceiling light. His fingers have gone pruney where they were holding him.

[…]

Eventually Hanjae has to get out of the suite, and do a walk of shame back to the housewarming party. He takes down with him all the glass and cups he can manage, not a lot of them, goes straight to the kitchen sink, and begins to wash them, it’s done with them, goes for all of Sunyoung and Yoorim’s dishes.

Around him, the kitchen has emptied out – on the front the living room, mostly emptied out, too, except for little clicks. He spots J.J right in the center of the one installed in the couch, gesticulating enthusiastically, telling someone some story until they make eye contact. He stops, excuses himself, rushes near.

Up close, Jiahang looks at him, up and down, bug eyed, and Hanjae understands he didn’t do a good job of piecing himself back together.

He got a glimpse of his face in the mirror before walking out: lips glossy, bangs far apart and sticking up, somehow, not all the buttons of his shirt tucked in the right cases.

“Hanjae, oh my God. Dylan, Dylan, look!” He calls out, and Hanjae sees Chihoon appear on his left, face slightly dazed. “Oh my God, Dylan! Hanjae!”

“You fucking animal!” Seungsoo, coming out of nowhere, slaps him on the chest hard. “Who? Who who who who?”

They’re all too close, too soon, and Hanjae can’t look anyone in the eyes for too long– he just can’t.

He catches a glimpse of Blonde Bob Piss Girl in a corner, looking bored, on her phone, and stares at her for a moment too long. Everyone follows, looks at her too, and his bandmates erupt into enthusiastic ‘Eeeeeeh!’s. Someone, proprably Seungsoo still, raises his soupy arm up so he can be given high fives, and Hanjae doesn’t know what to do – to let the lie linger or to kill it. What can he even say? What can he say if not that–

Hanjae finds himself grabbing Dylan’s sleeve and tugging at it, leaving behind a damp. He feels like a little kid that broke something, suddenly – overwhelmingly so. “Where ‘d Haruki go?”

“Dude, I didn’t see him. You sure?” Chihoon asks, and Hanjae’s not; he’s not sure.

“Whaaaaat? Haruki came? Haruki’s here?”

“Great. Another one to hunt down. We’re never gonna leave this fucking place in time,” Jiahang whines. “Yoorim noona’s going to delete my number.”

Hanjae asks all of them at once, “We’re leaving?”

“Yeah, you didn’t hear? Sunyoung and Haegon ditched,” Seungsoo says, and Hanjae’s stomach drops. “It’s her house and they ditched, disappeared, poof! Yoorim’s pissed, told everyone to leave. And Taeng’s freaking out! Someone broke his little vase, someone spilled something on him. I think he’s gonna snap. We need to get that freak home.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, Hanjae,” Seungsoo laughs. “Old man was right, after all… Shit.”

[...]

They do a small search around the apartment, the balcony, and conclude: no Haruki anywhere, so they group everyone they have to leave, go wait to be picked up on the sidewalk in front of the Nine One Hannam gates.

“You just dreamed him up, Hanhan! Wouldn’t be the first time,” Seungsoo jokes. It’s a bad joke. O.z shoves him in the chest hard about it, tells him, “Quiet.”

Hanjae looks straight ahead, not at them. In front of him J.J keeps bouncing on the wheel of his feet, saying, ‘I’m going in the front, I’m passenger seat, forget it, it’s me me me me,’ even though no one’s putting up a fight about it.

Minwoo pulls up soon enough on the curve in one of the two black company vans, and downs the window just to give them all an open scowl, then a frown. “I’m only seeing seven of you.”

J.J circles the car to get to the front door, struggles a little to get it open. “Hyung, you’re not gonna believe.”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Jiahang.”

“Shut up, you do. You really really really really do. You were–,” and then he becomes aware of the slouched figure of Hanjae trailing behind him, turns and frowns. “What did I just say!”

“No, I’m…” Hanjae looks at Minwoo looking at him, one eyebrow raised, says, “Sorry.”

Minwoo pinches at his nose, hard. “Just get in the goddamn car, Hanjae, Jesus Christ.”

Hanjae thinks, out of everyone who has a driver’s license, Minwoo drives the shittiest. He needs glasses, he never wears them, he grumbles curses at every slow driver and every rush driver and every driver, in general.

On the way home, he stops the van only once, by popular demand. Taesong steps out to vomit, and spends the rest of the ride jittery about it, cracking his knuckles even when they make no sound.

“We’re so fucked,” Chihoon says when they park inside the dorm’s garage, rubbing his eyes. “It’s 3AM. We’re so fucked.”

While everyone rushes to their rooms to piece pajamas together and form a long row to shower, Hanjae’s elbow to elbow with Dylan, going up the stairs to the second floor as quietly as they can.

He and Haruki have, by far, the best room in the whole house: spacious, with a nice window. It used to be Haruki and Sangwon’s up until he got fired – some excuse about rooming with the manager to learn Korean quicker, about making sure Haruki wouldn’t sneak beer into his room. It makes Hanjae sick now, seeing it, standing so close to it.

Dylan tries the handle once, and the door doesn’t budge, only makes a stubborn click – locked.

Hanjae dries his hand on his jeans, still wet, somehow, asks him, “Is he– He’s in there? Or…?”

Chihoon rests his head against the mahogany and sort of sighs, sort of laughs. “Yeah, definitely home. He’s the only one with the key to lock me out. Classic. Just classic.”

“Get my bed,” Hanjae says – implores. “Use mine, you can– mine, I’ll couch.”

“You’ll couch?” Chihoon looks at him with the trembling smile of someone who’s about to laugh. It falls off his face quickly when he takes in the guilt Hanjae knows he’s wearing openly on his face.

“Hyung, I–” It’s out of his mouth before Hanjae even knows it. “Tonight, something – Something has happened, and I think, think I should– say.”

Dylan’s giving him an analytical once over, and he stops at his moving hands, on his marked neck, looks at the door again – locked. 

“Hanjae,” he says his name like it’s an insult, and for a moment Hanjae feels like it really is – his name, an insult.

He crumbles. “I’m sorry, so, so sorry, we just– I didn’t mean to– It was just, just a kiss, I think, and I– I–”

“You kissed him?! ‘You think’? What does that mean? What do you mean ‘you think’?!”

Hanjae looks around and then down, behind him. “Dylan…” he manages, airy, and doesn’t know what he wants the rest of the phrase to be, where he’s trying to take it.

Chihoon’s mouth hangs open, a painful disbelief, and then slowly shuts.

“You know what,” he says harshly, but not angrily – he sounds more disappointed than anything, more tired than anything. “I don’t want to know. Not now. I’ll know, just– Not now. But fucking Hell, Hanjae, you. You just had to, didn’t you? You saw an opportunity and you just had to.”

Hanjae’s breath catches. Dylan is a figure in his eyes, growing blurry.

“I’m taking your bed,” he announces. ”Eveytime he kicks me out from this day on, I’m sleeping on your bed.”

He storms off, his bare feet on the floor a sound until it isn’t anymore.

Hanjae knocks on the door, a small tap. Nothing.

He thinks of saying it again: sorry. But no one’s around to hear it, no one’s around to accept it. There’s no point.