#should i write all my fics without caps letters it looks so pretty i know thats a trend

[pen-observing]

request: baker mc with barbatos. + how you came to know and bicker with the man that looks like love.

MASTERLIST

People find joy in doing the things that they love and, right now, your joy is waking up earlier to see the sun’s rays against the counter of the bakery. They’re so beautiful to bask in and so rewarding once you remember all that it took just to be able to come into such a place. It takes real work.

However, the sun’s rays on this particular morning touch something else. They shine upon a sleek black envelope that was placed right in the middle of your counter.

How did it get here? You’ve always locked your door out of responsibility. Surely nobody managed to break in or something similar? Everything looks in order and nothing is stolen. With this, there is simply no reason for you not to open the little ‘gift’ that was there. Right?

Being a famous baker meant that sometimes you did receive letters but never in such a manner or such a style. They were usually in pastel envelopes; written by little kids with lots of doodles, sprayed with some overwhelming floral scent. And, they were charming indeed but this was allure inside of mystery.

You sit down at the table close to the window and open the envelope carefully. Sometimes you think that anyone who works in your business and actually manages to succeed has to have some childlike innocence. When kids are the only ones writing you such letters it makes sense.

You lay the delicate piece of paper and start to read.

Allow this letter not to alarm you in the slightest. I have come to notice some others on your counter a few days ago and deemed this to be the best way to approach you with an inquiry. Please, read it completely before you make your final judgement.   Do you happen to believe in the afterlife? Do you happen to be religious yourself?   Even if the answer to these two questions is a resounding no (which I have no way of knowing, I assure you) - please consider this offer.   You have been chosen as someone who can help create a bigger order amongst the three realms. We, my young Master in particular, believes in the power that can bring about a more harmonious coexistence. We have already had humans come to our domain but expansions have started because of that previous success. I hope this manages to assuage your initial feelings and any possible fear you might have. We are demons, I must say. I believe there is no use in lying or manipulating you because we are approaching you with a noble idea and goal that you can help come to fruition. We are inviting humans that are experts in their fields to teach us even more and you have been chosen as one of them.   If you hold any interest, please proceed to sign your name at the bottom right of this paper. If, however, you are not interested or are afraid – please place it back inside the envelope and it will automatically become ash.   Discard it carefully. I urge you not to get hurt.

Now you wish that this letter was full of doodles with a cupcake in the middle of the sun. Who was pulling such a prank? Was this a lousy attempt of the baker 2 streets down to intimidate you for the upcoming cake contest? You have to give him credit for his imagination at least.  

Who does he think he is to challenge you? Did he assume you would be afraid? Perhaps, you always were a bit too spiteful for your own good. And with that spite growing – you signed your name at the bottom right.

No need for fire and ash. No need to be scared of anything that this foolish letter stated. Right?  

“I would like to extend my outmost thanks for signing the letter.”

What? What was that voice? Fucking hell, how big is the joke the other baker is playing? You will be sure to leave him a 2 star review because only his cookies were decent but all you can do right now is turn around to the direction of the deep voice.  

10 steps behind you, and next to your entrance door, stands a man that reminds you of the moon. He has perfect posture and an overwhelming presence. He holds a hand over his chest and looks at you with eyes that cause reminiscence – you always wanted to get lost in such a magical sea.  

He is smiling at you but once he notices the shocked expression, he stops and raises one eyebrow. You’re both quiet. Well, this certainly is not that annoying baker. So, maybe, perhaps, possibly, in some way: the letter was not a joke?

“Please don’t tell me you did the same impulsive thing as the human that is a writer. Did you, by any chance, sign this letter thinking it was a joke?”  

Obviously, you fucking did. I mean come on?? Three realms?? Demons?? Who would believe such a thing? Really, your spite got the best of you.

“You are not answering and I suppose that much is an answer in itself. Before you express a desire to cancel it out, I have to let you know; that is a legally binding contract and if you try to break it the punishment will be severe. When I say legally binding, I mean by the laws of hell itself. But, do not be alarmed. Please.”

The personification of the moon asks if sitting at the table would be okay and begins to explain to you all of the things in detail. He does it with clear words and you can’t help but believe that this idea seems promising. And this man, while cold and collected, does not seem like a threat.

Truthfully, you have achieved such a big success already. Baking is art and as an artist it was always the main goal. Learn more. Consider yourself a student as long as you live. Be sure to take any opportunity because it means growth. After all, you’ve gotten this far using those ideals. Wouldn’t it be a shame to throw them away now?  

“And rest assured. You will be completely safe in the Devildom. I have been personally tasked with assuring your safety.”  

You’ve come to learn that his name was Barbatos – meaning philosopher in some old book you’ve read. It is so odd that someone new seems so dependable. Because of this you ask him the question any sane person would.

“Would you like a cupcake?”  

Yes, that indeed is the question any sane person would ask in your field. You already know there is no way to back out of this; not unless you wish to endanger your life. So, why not start an adventure if you already must?

You give Barbatos a cupcake and turn the sign to closed before going back behind the counter. The sign won’t change in the following year until you are free from the damned contract. You get overwhelmed with the realization that the sun’s rays will seep in but have nobody to actually greet once you leave. You realize how much you are going to miss this place. How are you supposed to leave it behind just like that?  

You touch your pocket and take out your phone. If you must leave and abandon this, then so be it – but you will have some tangible memories of your dedication. You need to have some tangible memories of this glowing morning.  

You start to take photos. Of what?   The bowl of small chocolates that people can grab on the way out and bring to others that they love. The door decorated with flowers. The very counter you stand behind and the rays of light that are on it. The seating arrangement, the wall with your achievements, clippings from magazines, newspapers and reviews.   Yes, you even take a photo of the child’s drawings with a cupcake inside of the sun. How ridiculous. And, oh, how much you’re going to miss this.  

The very last photo you take is of Barbatos. He is sitting at the table, looking outside the window. Maybe you shouldn’t but – he looks like he belongs here for whatever reason. And, deep down, you wish to remember him like this. Inside of a peaceful moment. You press the click and he turns around. He doesn’t say anything – he offers a slight smile. In that moment you freeze and realize that in his peaceful moment the smile reminds you of childlike love.  

Perhaps the following year will not be so bad after all.  

-

“They call you the best in all of the three realms?” “Indeed.” “You put lemon-honey- syrup in your baklava. I refuse to believe you deserve it.”

Just because he reminds you of the moon and the deep waters; just because he gives you peace – it does not mean that professionally you will allow yourself to be inferior to him. Finding comfort with slight bickering became your idea of heaven and light in this place of darkness and hell-fire.

[omg-just-peachy]

soft stevetony rec list

today is soft wednesday for @cap-ironman rec week! my favorite genre and one for which i have many recs to share 💖

anything? by halfasgoodatanything

steve misses tony when he's on a business trip, so he drinks a flask of asgardian liquor, and plays with dum-e. tony comes home early, and confessions and cuddling and cuteness ensues.

i who only love you by talesofsuspense

Steve’s sick on their anniversary, but Tony is adaptable.

quiet worship by sidium

He should let him sleep, really, he knows this. He should go back to sleep, or carefully get up, maybe make a cup of coffee, or a million other things that would allow Steve to stay in the position he’s in, peaceful and dreaming.

bring some peace by blossomsinthemist

Tony is tired, Steve is affectionate, and they spend some time together. Pretty much pure relaxing fluff.

santa won't you bring me the one i really need by quidhitch (i cannot make a rec list without this fic okay? okay)

Although Tony typically makes it a point to avoid anything that could be reasonably classified as Pepper-approved self-betterment, he will be making an exception this year in the form of a list of New Year’s Resolutions. —Well, not so much a list, exactly, it’s more like one very loud, very obvious, very critical proposition. He’s gonna write it down, put it on his calendar, say it to Jesus, and do whatever the fuck normal people do to make these things happen. In fact, even though they’re only halfway through December, it’s already emblazoned in his mind in big, flashing neon letters: STOP SLEEPING WITH EX-HUSBAND.

someone reaching back for me by festiveferret

Steve is sickly, unemployed, broke, and homeless.

All he has left is a business card with a rather hard to get phone number on it.

lovesick by royal_chandler

The depth of the flu aisle in the pharmacy is substantial, overwhelmingly so, and Steve is half-convinced he needs to return to the front and trade his basket for a full-on cart.

the warmth of your cheek against mine by blossomsinthemist

Steve's hurt. Tony looks after him. Established relationship.

teddy bear status by tazziebubbles

In which Tony almost dies (yet again) and a certain supersoldier becomes awfully touchy. Not that he minds.

how to win affection without really trying by annie d

Tony almost dies saving Steve’s life, but that’s just part of being an Avenger. It’s no reason for Steve to get all weird and intense around him afterward.

for this, i am thankful by corsets_and_cardigans

Newly divorced Dad Tony spends Thanksgiving with his attractive new neighbor.

uncharted waters by ironswordstarshield

TL;DR: Tony helps Steve shave off his grief beard (and things are all /wriggly arms).

even iron bends by muscalluna

Steve's been in Washington over a week.

hold me close by naxa1818

Steve gets de-serumed and is insecure about it. Tony makes him feel better.

indoor thoughts by picturecat

Tony is on some very effective painkillers, so he can't really be blamed for freeing some of the thoughts he usually keeps locked away. Maybe they're not so bad, anyway.

i'll turn hours into gardens by nanasekei

Every week, a plant arrives.

you make me wanna slow down by me!

one self rec for the road: Steve starts falling asleep in Tony's workshop.

[tintinwrites]

i have loved you too much | Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Fem!Reader | Part One

A/N: You guys liked this idea I think so here you are with part one!! Please remember that Reader ends up pregnant from this one night stand and that’s the focus of this series.

Rating: 18+

Warning: This fic is going to deal with pregnancy in the future, please be aware! Naughty words. P in V sex. One-sided Frankie x Reader. Reader yells Frankie’s name I’m warning you bc I was embarrassed just writing it lol. Pining. Meaningless sex wrap it before you tap it please even if you won’t get pregnant protection is IMPORTANT.

Word count: 3,413, apparently!!

Summary: You’re in love with Frankie and it’s the day of his wedding to a woman who is not you. You and a lonely Santiago find solace in each other.

GIF credit: damerondjarin

Tags: Since this is a series, the taglist is OPEN for those who want to read more rather than me tagging everyone from my general taglist. I don’t want to tag people in a bunch of parts who might not be interested, so let me know if you are!

                                         ---------------------

Frankie always made your heart flutter.

When you were fifteen and it was your first day of high school in a new town, and your first impression of dropping a bunch of papers in the hallway was not so embarrassing when a young boy in a backwards cap rushed to help you pick them up.

When you were seventeen and your prom date walked out with the girl he really wanted to take who happened to be your best friend of two years’ date, and he awkwardly asked if you wanted to dance to stop you from crying.

When you were eighteen and you were clinging onto him as he was about to go off to join the military, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek and promised to send you letters.

When you read every letter as you sat in your dorm, even as you entered your twenties and the letters became few and far between.

And then, when he came home when you were just shy of twenty-eight, you found out that Frankie could make your heart sink, too.

Like when you ran to hug him and he told you he wanted you to meet someone, and he introduced you to his fiancee.

Or when he announced the wedding date would be in a year and a half from that date.

There was also when you were twenty-nine and he asked you to be his ‘best man’, and asked you to help him pick a few things out.

And now here you were, a few days from thirty years old, and seeing Frankie all dressed up in a tux without a hat on his head made your heart flutter and sink at the same time.

How did he do that?

You were sitting on the arm of a chair that Benny was sitting in, your dress matching the ties and pocket squares that he, Frankie, and the other boys were wearing, as you watched a slightly nervous groom who wasn’t used to big celebrations look at himself in the mirror. You’d been introduced to the other men when they came into town to see Frankie and became fast friends with all of them.

“Why’d she have to choose bow ties? I can barely tie a normal tie,” he joked, trying for the third time to figure out how to tie the fabric.

Will seemed to be the only one who knew how to tie it and he gestured for Benny — who’d been fiddling with his for quite a bit now — to walk over so he could help him.

You stood after watching Frankie for a moment longer and stepped between him and the mirror, taking hold of the bowtie so you could do it up for him. “Can’t believe you’re all grown up.”

He chuckled, leaning over a bit as you tied the bow so he could glance at himself in the mirror again.

“I look like a dork, but you know...she’s worth it. Fuck, I love her.” He didn’t notice the way you looked down, fixing a piece of errant hair that fell from the style his wife-to-be wanted most.

“There you go, sweet Frankie.” It was a name you’d called him since you met him because you’d never met anyone as sweet and gentlemanly as him.

Still hadn’t.

And you’d never met anyone as handsome or as funny or…

“I’ve never worn one of these fuckin’ things,” Santiago grumbled, and you turned your attention to where he’d tied his bowtie into a knot.

“Where would you guys be without me and Will?” You bumped your hip into the man in question as you walked by him to go to Santi. “Come on, let me see it now.” You batted his hands away and grimaced at the tight knot, starting to pull at it delicately.

He watched you closely as you fixed the bowtie and, though your eyes were downcast to focus on the work at hand, he’d seen the tears in them. “You doing okay?”

You looked at him in bemusement for a moment and then you realized that he was rather blurry, and you quickly looked back down as his question made your tears threaten to spill.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just, uh...you know, weddings...so emotional…” You tried to laugh it off with a teary chuckle, hurrying to finish up with the tie so you could step away from him.

He stopped you before you could by pulling his pocket square out and holding it to you.

“Santi, that was perfectly folded!” You’d spent hours with Frankie’s almost wife, helping her with last minute decorations, and the pocket squares needed to be folded in the right design.

She was so nice and you couldn’t blame Frankie for falling for her.

“Sorry, fuck!” Santi hurriedly shoved it back into his breast pocket and did his best to make it look like it did before, but there was no time as the bride’s father knocked on the door to let you all know it was time to head down.

The wedding was being held entirely in a hotel so you left the room you’d booked for changing and headed down to where the ceremony was being held, hooking your arm through Santi’s despite being the best man as there were only two bridesmaids and Frankie requested that his two best friends walk in together.

A hand gently squeezed your side and you looked to see Frankie smiling at you nervously, before he walked down the aisle.

You didn’t think you would be crying again just from walking down the aisle, but all you could think as you looked at the man you loved was that his eyes were looking past you, waiting for the woman he loved.

That woman would never be you.

                                          -----------------------------

You were always able to tell when Frankie was embarrassed.

And, yes, he was a really sweet guy, but slow dancing in front of all the wedding guests was very clearly embarrassing him.

Though his eyes would flutter to his new wife’s face and he’d look all dreamy, a big, dopey smile forming on his lips at the mere sight of her.

She was beautiful and very kind, and she deserved someone as wonderful as Frankie.

You knew that.

You knew you were being ridiculous with your jealousy over this.

Yet there you sat, your chair turned away from the table so you could watch them, half-smiling and half-crying because they were beautiful and Frankie was officially never going to look at you like that.

A hand holding a glass of champagne blocked your vision and you sat up a little straighter, looking up to see Santi standing there with a gentle smile. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Oh, yeah, weddings always make me emotional…” It was the same excuse as before as you took the glass from him and forced yourself not to down the whole drink in one sip.

“Mm,” he hummed like he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t press as he grabbed the vacant chair next to you and turned it around to sit.

The song ended and the couple kissed each other sweetly, and you were so occupied with staring at Frankie longingly that you didn’t notice Santi watching them with a bit of sadness in his eyes too.

Frankie smiled at you with more giddiness than you’d ever seen as he walked past, and you quickly reached up to swipe away the tear that fell down your cheek.

Not fast enough; Santi regarded you with realization and then sympathy.

He thought for a long moment, then drank the rest of his own glass of champagne and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Listen, I, uh...I don’t dance, but you’re really pretty tonight and someone should dance with you.”

“Santi…” The song that was playing was slow and you knew he wasn’t the type, but then he was extending his hand to you and you reluctantly took hold of it.

“No complaining if I step on your toes.” He yanked you towards the dance floor and you laughed as you stumbled into him, letting him guide your hand to his shoulder as his moved to your waist.

There was something about swaying with him that was only working up your emotions more and you were breathing deeply, doing your best not to cry, but a few tears started to fall and Santi quickly pressed your head into him to hide it.

Why did it have to hurt so much? Why couldn’t you just not love him?

You really hoped Santi thought you were just sobbing against him because weddings made you cry.

You forced yourself to calm down so he wouldn’t read much into it, just closing your eyes and letting him lead you in a way that was surprisingly decent considering he didn’t seem like the type to dance.

“You okay? You need to step out of the room for a minute?”

“I’m fine. It’s just—”

“Weddings make you emotional?”

“—yep. Yeah.”

You swayed with him silently for a couple moments, your emotional mind with its unrequited love taking the time to really think of how kind it was for him to dance with you, of what he said when he asked you…

You pulled back to look at him. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” He raised an eyebrow.

“That I’m pretty tonight.”

“I mean, yeah, but you’re pretty every night.”

You stared at him for a moment and then you leaned forward to press your lips to his. He stayed still in shock for maybe two seconds before he was eagerly kissing you back, his hands lowering from your waist to your hips.

You blinked at him slowly when you pulled apart, tilting your head slightly. “Would you like to go up to the hotel room with me?”

“I would love that.” He let you take his hand, noticing that you look around as if to make sure no one was watching before you pulled him out of the reception hall.

The walk to the elevator was quiet, but you were on Santi the moment the doors closed, seeking comfort from your broken heart in his lips.

He could make you forget about this.

Even if it was just for ten minutes or so, you wouldn’t think about Frankie for those ten minutes.

You weren’t thinking of Frankie now.

Or how sweet he looked in his tux.

Or how you would never be his, never know what it was to make love to him or come home to him or have a family with him.

Fuck, you were thinking about him, so you quickly reached between Santi’s legs and cupped him through his pants.

“Shit, baby! We’re almost to the right floor and I’m not gonna be scolded again for using the emergency stop for this.” He smirked at your raised eyebrow, but pushed you into the hallway as the doors opened.

The hotel was the first door to the right of the elevator and you had the keycard on you since you were the ‘best man’, sliding it through before pushing open the door as the man behind you hurried you in.

He barely kicked the door shut and then you were kissing again, hands roaming all over each other in search of buttons and zippers to undress each other as fast as possible.

Your dress loosened and was falling off your shoulders when Santi pulled the zipper down, and he sneaked his hands under the fabric both to push it down and to grope your breasts.

You stepped out of your dress, only in panties now since the style didn’t really allow for a bra, and you pulled away with a teasing smile as Santi reached for your breasts with a groan, making your way towards the bed.

The clothes Frankie had worn to the hotel before changing into his tux were on the bed and you paused when your eyes landed on them, thinking of how it wasn’t him you were going to bed with and now it never would be.

Santi opened his mouth to ask you why you stopped, only to see the clothes and know immediately that this had something to do with the way you were staring at Frankie and crying at the reception; he was no idiot, and the more pieces he put together, the more he realized that you thought of him as more than a friend.

He could tell you would probably cry again if you looked at the clothes for too long, so he reached over and shoved them right off the bed.

You blinked, looked over at him, and then let out a laugh before wrapping your arms around him and pressing your lips to his.

He wrapped one arm around you and let his fingers roam over your bare back as he guided you closer to the bed, watching you flop down when the mattress touched the back of your knees.

His bowtie was undone and his tux jacket was unbuttoned by you when you were entering the room, and he quickly took them both off and then started on unbuttoning his shirt. “Your tits are probably the nicest I’ve ever seen.”

“I can tell by just looking at your stupid, beautiful face that I’m going to enjoy the rest.” Your eyes followed his movements until he was letting his shirt fall off his shoulders, showing off a torso that was decently toned from his work.

“Wait until you meet Santiago Jr.” He was sexy enough that naming his penis didn’t make you want to run, laying there with lust in your eyes as you watched him open up his pants.

“Oh,” you gasped out when you saw him spring free, barely acknowledging his lack of underwear as you sat up to admire him.

You’d been with a few men, but you could admit that you’d never seen a dick quite as pleasing as Santi’s; dicks were not pretty and his was...well, it was nice, and you might’ve wanted it in your mouth if you weren’t just trying to forget somebody else.

“I showed you mine…” He cocked an eyebrow, stepping forward at the invitation of your opening legs and slowly running his hands up your thighs, teasing along the hem of your underwear before he started to tug it down.

He groaned at the sight of your pussy and immediately moved between your legs so he could kiss along your inner thighs, but you quickly grabbed onto his hair to pull his head up.

You just shook your head slightly because you wanted to be fucked even though the idea of Santi eating you out was tempting, and you gently guided him up until his hips were nestled between your legs.

Maybe you weren’t letting him use his mouth on you, but he still moved his hand so he could stroke over your clit, wanting to be certain you were wet enough to take him before he tried to put his cock inside you.

You were decently wet just from kissing and thinking about having sex with him, so he merely stroked you until you were squirming and moaning underneath him before he took hold of his cock.

He pressed his tip against your entrance and looked at you for your consent, slowly pushing forward when you nodded and letting his head drop with a moan at the way your cunt stretched to accommodate him. You took every fucking inch like you were made for him and he was able to enter you almost to the hilt, his hips jerking as he let out a low moan.

His cock filled you so well that you were moaning along with him, one of your hands moving to play with and tug at the hair at the nape of his neck which only turned him on more.

“Fuck,” he panted, laughing softly and leaning down to kiss you.

“I know.” You pressed a few kisses to his lips as you enjoyed being full and he enjoyed something so tight hugging around him, then you bucked your hips. “Move for me. Please, Santi.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” He pulled his hips back and then thrust forward again, doing that a few times as you moaned your approval before he found a rhythm that allowed him to rock into you smoothly.

Your legs tightened around his hips as he fucked into you, and you moved your hands so your fingers ran through his curls, ruffling them up a bit when you tugged on them.

This only made him groan and move even faster into you, the springs in the bed started to creak a bit the harder he fucked you.

He was grunting and panting and you were practically mewling each time he’d fuck against your G spot, but one of your hands slid down between your legs to touch yourself.

“Hell no.” He growled, shoving your hand away to replace it with his own so you wouldn’t have to pleasure yourself, rubbing circles on your clit.

Now as Santi was practically pounding into you and offering your clit the stimulation that you needed, your moans were growing into loud cries of ecstasy, your hands moving to press your nails into his shoulders.

Santi only moved his hips harder and faster as he sought out his own orgasm, grunting and groaning with every thrust back into your wet, tight pussy.

You knew that you were going to come by the way your clit tingled and your cunt fluttered around his cock and you could tell that he knew too as he moaned, his fingers keeping their movements on your clit consistent so he could push you into your climax.

You clenched down tight around him before your walls started pulsating on his cock and you screamed out, “Frankie!”

His hips stuttered and he stared down at you for a brief moment, but he didn’t want to embarrass you by making it awkward, and he knew he was just so you could forget about Frankie anyway, and he was so close to coming that he didn’t really care.

He continued thrusting into you as he lost a bit of that rhythm, pushing himself as far inside you as he could go as he came with a loud groan.

The only sound was your panting as he collapsed on top of you and nuzzled against your neck.

You tapped on his arm and he rolled off you, watching as you slid out of bed, redressing like his cum wasn’t still dripping out of you.

“Thanks, Santi. That was...really great,” you said as you pulled your panties on, then you walked over to the door where you put your dress on and stepped into your shoes before you paused, looking over your shoulder. “I’m sorry about the—”

“It’s fine.” He quickly waved off your apology for saying Frankie’s name, but it was still a little awkward, so he moved out of bed to redress himself.

He looked up when he heard the door open and shut, not certain what emotion it was that made him almost sad at how quick and detached that was; maybe the same emotion that made him look at Frankie and his wife with jealousy even though it was thanks to his bouncing from woman to woman that kept him from finding that happiness.

Not that it mattered, really, because he knew this was just a quick fuck and that you had eyes for somebody else, and he couldn’t really say he’d ever thought of you beyond friendship and sex. It wasn’t the fact that it was you that was making him sad, just the fact that this was all he was ever going to be.

You walked away from the hotel room with tears falling down your cheeks because you would never be with Frankie, and you might’ve forgotten about him for a few minutes, but you still said his name as you were having sex with another man.

You enjoyed yourself and you knew being distracted by Santi was only going to make you forget about longing for Frankie for those few minutes, and now you were right back to wanting him as much as you did before. Santi was just a moment of solace. Nothing more than that.

[goldenretriever-nicknelson]

New beginnings [P.P]

A/N: I guess I’m unofficially back or in other words I got too excited that I finished a fic and wanted to post it. I was inspired by the picture of Tom in a graduation cap and I really wanted to write Peter’s graduation which hopefully we’ll see in the movies. Anyway enjoy and now I’m gonna go hibernate until I can actually write the next chapter of tale as old as time. 

I’m also looking for a new beta reader for my fics so please let me know if you’d be interested! 

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

WC: 2.9k

Warnings: some angst and tears but mostly fluffy fluff

Peter took a deep breath as he looked at himself in the mirror. It almost felt like a dream version of himself staring back as he looked at the black robes and graduation cap that sat on his head. He’d dreamt and wondered about this day for so long and now it was finally here. His high school graduation. 

His eyes flickered over to the photo frames that stood on his dresser, two men stared back at him and Peter imagined their proud faces. He wished with all his heart that they could see him walk across that stage or give his speech. 

“They’re still here with you and they’d be so proud Peter.” 

Peter turned as he heard his aunt’s voice from the doorway. He sniffled and nodded, not realising that tears had started to form in his eyes. May wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close. He melted into the familiar comfort and hugged his Aunt just as tightly back. 

“Thanks May.” 

She pulled back and adjusted his cap, smiling proudly at her nephew. He’d been through so much even death and yet here he was, valedictorian of his class and ready to graduate. 

“I’m proud of you too.” 

Peter could sense May began to cry and he quickly shook his head with a laugh. “If you cry, I’m gonna cry and then neither of us will get to the ceremony on time.” 

She gave a watery laugh and patted his cheek, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m gonna go get the car ready.” 

“Thanks May!” He called after her as she left his room, closing the door behind her and leaving Peter once again to his thoughts. He rehearsed his speech again and then again, nerves growing in the pit of his tummy. 

Just as he was leaving his phone buzzed. He worried that it would be an alert of some kind but Peter was pleased to see your name staring back at him with the words “Good luck!” and a dozen heart emojis underneath. He smiled wide as he headed to the car and met May, suddenly feelings less nauseous than before. 

May tried to speak to Peter on the drive but he could only focus on one of two things: you and his speech. He imagined what you would be wearing and the smile that could instantly make him feel better as it lit up a room. May noticed a pink tint forming on Peter’s cheeks and smiled to herself as she saw you waiting for him outside the school.

“Ready?” She looked over at her nephew and smiled, sighing softly. May couldn’t believe how much Peter had grown and how far he’d come in such a short time. He wasn’t the scared kid she knew anymore, he was braver and stronger and he’d faced everything that life had thrown at him. He deserved this moment of happiness. 

Peter nodded and took a deep breath, his hands tightly clutching the cards on which his speech was written. 

“You got this.” May encouraged with a smile. “And it looks like it’s not just me cheering you on.” She nodded to where you were standing, waiting patiently for Peter. He looked over and the smile that broke out on his face was wide enough to squash all his fears. 

You were wearing a pretty mid-length dress under your gown with a pair of sneakers and your hair perfectly styled underneath your cap. You looked beautiful. He told you so as he walked up to you, both of your eyes lighting up with happiness as Peter hugged you, practically picking you up off the ground. 

Peter always made you blush with his compliments and he’d love it when your cheeks went red because of him. He thought it was the cutest thing. Even on your worst days, Peter would always tell you why he loved you and why you were the best thing that ever happened to him. 

You and Peter had been dating for a little over a year now and there wasn’t a moment you would change. Even through the hardships and the fights, every moment with Peter was worth it. The biggest challenge had been college acceptance letters. 

Peter had got accepted into Empire State University and you had chosen to go to Columbia. Luckily it was only a 25 minute drive but even you both knew how crazy college would probably get. You’d heard about relationships, not even just the long distance ones failing because of the workload of college plus with Peter’s spidey duties there was added stress but you had both made a promise to try your hardest to make it work. You couldn’t lose each other, not after everything you’ve been through. 

He was always amazed by how perfectly your hand fit into his as if it were made to be held by him. You noticed as you walked closer to where the ceremony was taking place that Peter’s grip became tighter and his palms became sweatier. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay.” 

Peter looked at you and took a deep breath, nodding. He smiled as you cupped his cheek, leaning into your touch as it comforted him. 

“Thank you princess.” 

He leaned in and captured your lips in a sweet kiss, letting himself get distracted by the taste of your lips and the way they moved against his own. As he held you close he felt his nerves fade away and he felt he could take on anything. You were his anchor as his whole body felt on edge. 

Peter had never been one for public speaking. Sure he would give speeches as Spidey when he needed to and even though he was still awkward and nervous, he was hidden behind a mask and no one would be able to make fun of him the next day. 

As if you had read his mind, you placed your hand on his arm and kissed his cheek. “Pete, it’s the last time you’re gonna see most of these people so who cares what they think. Just keep your eyes on me, you got this.” 

Your words brought comfort to Peter as he held onto the cards for his speech. He could feel the kiss on his cheek lingering and it made him feel stronger to know he had you to support him. You took his hand in yours once again and smiled before leading the way to your seats, right next to MJ and Ned who both gave Peter a thumbs up.

He waved at May a few rows behind them and smiled, remembering to focus on his breathing as the time drew nearer. He tried not to focus on how many people there were or the different sounds that made him on edge. You knew that when Peter was nervous his senses started to make him feel on edge so you squeezed his hand and leaned into his side. 

Peter noticed your small gesture and focused instead on you; the smell of your perfume, the hum of your heartbeat and the way the sun was catching your face in a serene way. He calmed down almost instantly but it didn’t last long as soon after his name was called by Mr Harrington. 

“I’d like to welcome your class valedictorian, Mr Peter Parker.” 

The crowd of people applauded and it took Peter a moment to process as you pushed him lightly onto his feet. With one last squeeze of your hand, he pulled away and gave you a nervous smile as he walked up the small stairs to the stage. 

Peter stood behind the podium and placed his cards down, his eyes fixated on them for a moment before he looked up at the audience. He took a deep breath, trying to stop the shake of his hands as he gripped onto the podium. 

“Woo Penis Parker!” 

It didn’t take two guesses to know who was shouting in the crowd but Flash was quickly shut down by MJ who kicked him in the shin. Peter smiled at that before his eyes found yours and he felt the anxiety in his mind quieten just enough for him to start speaking. 

As he spoke and delivered his speech about gratitude and learning, his eyes rarely left yours. He rambled a bit off text as he thought of funny anecdotes to tell about his time at Midtown and he noticed the proud smile on your lips as well as the tears that had started to gather in your eyes. 

“My time at Midtown has been interesting for sure. I’ve done things in the past 4 years that I would never have dreamed of and at one point I wasn’t even sure if I’d make it here.” 

You sniffled, remembering when Peter had gone to space and left you and May worried and how the blip had almost threatened to tear you apart. You remembered the night that you first saw Peter after the battle, his face was bruised and the marks of cuts still lined his face but he was more broken beyond that. The emotional scars he’d suffered were far worse than any physical ones. 

He used to lay in your arms and cry most nights and whenever he slept he’d wake with terrible nightmares. Sometimes he’d space out or have flashbacks that left him shaking but you held him through it all. 

“I wouldn’t be here without my friends,” Peter gave a subtle nod to MJ and Ned who smiled back at him. “My family,” He looked over at May who was wiping her eyes with a tissue and Happy who was smiling back at him. “And my love.” His eyes finally met yours once again as he smiled wide. You felt a tear slip down your cheek but you didn’t even care as you smiled back. 

“I am proud to be standing here as your valedictorian and you should all be proud of yourselves too. Part of the journey is the end and tomorrow will mark the start of the new ones we take wherever they lead.” 

Peter smiled as he finished his speech, being met with loud applause from the crowd. You made sure to be extra loud and even gave a whistle which made Peter laugh. His cheeks were red but his smile was brighter than the sun as he walked off of the stage and came back to his seat. You wrapped your arms around him tightly and kissed his blushing cheek. 

“I’m so proud of you baby.” You whispered as you both sat back down, Peter’s smile widening at your words as he took your hand and squeezed. 

The rest of the ceremony went by slowly as you both waited for your names to be called. You watched MJ sigh as she went to grab her diploma but you could tell she was excited and that there was the hint of a smile playing on her lips as you, Peter and Ned all cheered for her. 

Ned almost tripped up the stairs as he got his but quickly laughed it off and happily accepted his diploma. His family cheered just as loud as his friends and Ned walked off the stage with a wide smile, being careful not to trip again. 

When it was your turn, you could feel the pace of your heart pick up, every nerve in your body was tingling. Peter kissed your cheek before you got up and made you blush as you went to accept your diploma. You swung the tassel of your cap to the other side and did a little bow which made Peter and your supporters in the crowd cheer even louder. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry more as you walked off stage. 

Peter almost looked startled when they finally read his name. He got up quickly and walked up onto the stage, feeling more confident than he had before his speech. He smiled at the teachers and members of staff as he passed them before shaking hands as he got his diploma. He smiled out at the crowd focusing on you and May as you both cheered him on. 

Peter wished he could freeze the moment, the two most important people in his life smiling proudly at him and he knew that if Tony and Ben could be here they would be too. And for the first time in a long time, Peter was proud of himself as he stood on that stage. 

Soon enough all the names had been read and the ceremony was coming to a close. There were so many mixed emotions as the principal said the last words of his speech about moving on and wishing luck to all the graduates. It felt strange, like a dream. This chapter of your lives was really ending. 

Peter watched all the graduation caps being thrown up into the air, it almost felt like slow motion as they fell to the ground signifying the end of his high school years. He was grateful and sad and happy all at once. Yeah there had been bad times but the good times far outweighed them. 

He smiled as stole a kiss from you as you parted to go be with your own families. Peter headed towards May and Happy, accepting hugs from both of them. 

“You did so good, honey!” May ruffled his curls, making Peter roll his eyes fondly. “Happy cried too.” 

Happy gave May a look before looking back at Peter with a laugh. “Your speech was really good Peter.” 

“Thanks, both of you.” Peter smiled at them, he owed a lot to both of them especially May who had raised him. She hugged him again tightly and kissed his head before noticing you walk up to the three of them. 

“Congrats Y/n!” May pulled you into the hug with Peter, making both of you laugh. Peter was the first to pull back, his cheeks almost bright red as he gave his aunt a knowing look before asking if he could go with you. May nodded but not before kissing his cheek. 

You swung your hand with Peter’s as you walked away with a giggle. Peter lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it, making you blush. You smiled and giggled with Peter as you walked away from everyone else, soon stopping at a nearby tree which you instantly recognised. 

When Peter had first asked you to be his girlfriend, you were sitting under this tree reading as you sat between his legs on a warm summer day. You remembered the small shake in his voice as he asked you and how his smile had widened as you said yes. It was as easy as answering your own name.

Peter showed you a little tool knife which had his uncle's initials engraved and smiled. “I thought we could officially make this our spot.” You smiled wide and nodded, squeezing his hand before he started to carve both of your names with your help. 

You both smiled proudly at your work, Peter tracing his fingers over the carving of your names with forever written underneath. “It’s perfect.” He turned to face you and cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “just like you.” 

You blushed and leaned into his touch, smiling softly at your boyfriend. Both of you felt so lucky to have each other especially after the blip. You never wanted to take each other for granted and you made sure you never did. 

Peter’s hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out a small box, looking like it contained a ring. You looked at him with wide eyes in shock. 

“P-Peter, I- are you-?” 

Peter furrowed his brow before realising what you were saying, his eyes going as wide as yours. He quickly shook his head and blushed with a laugh. “N-no. Maybe one day but no I’m not proposing.” 

You smiled at the mention of the future you hoped with Peter and let out a small sigh of relief. After all, you had only just graduated high school. That was a big enough life milestone for today. 

“This is a promise ring.” Peter spoke as he opened the box, showing you a beautiful silver ring that was engraved, For me, there is only you. “I love you Y/n, i don’t know what i’d do without you and I don’t want to be without you. These past few years have been crazy for sure but you’ve been my anchor through it all. This ring is to remind you that even though we might be in different places and we might not be able to spend as much time together as we want, I will always be yours. It’s only you, always has been, always will be.” 

You sniffled and wiped away a tear that escaped from your watery eyes. “Pete I-” You shook your head, feeling speechless as you held out your hand and Peter slipped the ring onto your finger. You didn’t know what to say so you said the only words that made sense in that moment. “I love you.” 

“I love you too princess, so much.” Peter caught your tears before pulling you in for a kiss, locking his lips effortlessly with yours. 

Peter knew that he’d lost a lot in such a short time and the pain of those losses might not ever go away but he had you and May, his friends and a new journey ahead of him that he was ready to take. Saying goodbye to a chapter of his life was hard but he had to focus on what laid ahead. After all, as a wise man once said; part of the journey is the end.

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[wincore]

summertime | wong kunhang

pairing: hendery x reader, side xiaocas

words: 4.5k

genre: childhood friends to lovers!au, first love, hs reunion, practically idiots to lovers, fluff, angst

warnings: none

a/n: warmup-ish fic. i don’t know why it’s so long either. loosely inspired by this. also hendery sweetest boy so i had to write something cute for him !! 

When Wong Kunhang had hit you in the face with a volleyball coated in sand, you knew it was one way or the other with him. You were either going to fall in love with him or hate him for the rest of your life, and nothing in between.

It’s a little more complicated than that, you realize at twenty-one.

The neat asphalt is now a cool grey, not as pretty and dark as it used to be when you were in eighth grade but still clean and maintained. The stone walls on either side are certainly better off, marking the houses of the beachside town your school trip led to every goddamn year. Not that you were complaining, shining blue seawater has always been a favourite sight of yours. Kunhang was just the smiling bonus you held on to.

The road slants uphill till you can see the sunlight shimmering against the vast blue of the ocean across the horizon, dotted with the tops of palm trees and pastel buildings. It’s mostly at this point you realize that Kunhang’s been talking the entire way, and that you should nod along to add to the pretence, that you’re listening to him and not the loud drumming of your heart against your chest.

But Kunhang’s not here today. You don’t even know if he’s coming.

“Hey, (name), are you listening?” Yukhei asks, steadying the surfboard in his arms when you stop. “Are you thinking about Kunhang?”

The tone of his voice is teasing, but it’s as if you’re still thirteen, trying to come to terms with the first crush you’d ever had. Your cheeks grow hot and you scoff at him, snatching your tote bag from his arms and striding faster down the road. Kunhang can come, not come—you don’t care. For all you know, he’s enjoying his new life out there, as curious and fun-seeking as he is—was. He might even have found himself a lover, you realize as the bitter taste grows on your tongue.

Kunhang has always been special. Summer after summer, he’s only grown better at that.

Your parallel lines started growing distant somewhere in the first year of college. The daily facetime calls to describe the baffling wonders of adulthood slowly turned into weekly phone calls about the strain of assignments and projects and eventually, into faded texts you still look over on your phone. He’s just a friend, so you shouldn’t be expecting any more, right? It’s only ordinary that friends will grow apart. The city downpour that was slowly erasing his voice made you long for summer even more.

When you were twelve, Wong Kunhang had hit you in the face with a volleyball at the beach you always visited as part of the school trip. Somehow, with his weird sense and cutting enthusiasm, he’d offered the corner of his shirt to rub the sand off your face instead of a towel he’d find lying just about anywhere at the beach. (“The towels were definitely covered in sand! There’s no way beach towels aren’t sandy.”) And somehow, with your poor foresight, you’d felt an audible thump in your ribcage, the kind that only comes once. It was fitting, almost.

When you were thirteen, the thump grew into an entire orchestra. They settled in before you knew, and you realized you could neither accept them nor reject them. You suddenly couldn’t comprehend sitting beside him in class without nervously bouncing your legs, or laughing a little less enthusiastically at his jokes. You felt the turbulence of your pulse every time your hands touched as he passed you an eraser or a pen, or when his face split into a grin at you struggling to unscrew the bottle cap—it’s almost as if it were the end of the world whenever he breathed near you. You were painfully honest, so easy to see through and even Yukhei caught on to the fact that you had a thing for the weird yet lovable kid and his ridiculous smile. Kunhang, however, was probably in need of prescription glasses. 

When you were sixteen, Kunhang learned how to play the drums and if anything, it made the heat bloom in your cheeks even faster. When you saw him play at the summer festival before the school trip, you wanted to stay there forever, just watch him do what he loves. Focused in the way he breathed and looking incredibly handsome for a stupid crush, you’d wanted to tell him then and there. 

You’d made up your mind, or at least part of it, that this summer trip wouldn’t go to waste. Even the short-lived love of a young boy, you wanted to see it reflected in his eyes. That summer, just like every school trip, Kunhang had passed a volleyball to you in the outline of an inside joke that doesn’t get old; and you’d swallowed harshly, choking suddenly only for him to rub his hand over your back in the same gentle manner he did most everything.

When you think about it, you can’t seem to get over how much of an idiot you were back then. Kunhang was almost an even bigger one.

“I wish I’d get better at the drums quickly,” he’d said beside the campfire, tapping his foot impatiently. 

It was only the two of you immersed in the night and if that weren’t reason enough for your incoherent thoughts, his knee was touching yours in a way oblivious to him—and the look of complete serenity over his face made you rethink your confession.

“You’re already good enough,” you huffed in disbelief.

“I can play two, er, three songs!” His voice was enthusiastic in the beginning but it hummed out to a mellow ending. He’d added in a determined whisper, “I need to practise so I don’t embarrass myself.”

Before you knew it, you’d let out a short laugh. Wong Kunhang, afraid of embarrassment? It was almost unheard of. You’d never met anyone so open before, so happy to share even the rougher, less tangible parts of himself.

Kunhang only gazed at you wordlessly, and when you met his eyes, the butterflies were let out of the cage in your stomach again. You wanted to lean in a little, kiss him right then and there, the image itself slowly curling around your head in haunting wisps as if something taboo. It didn’t make sense to you, to feel so immensely submerged in adolescent feelings—yet be comforted by his presence oh so easily. You know you weren’t the only one harbouring clandestine feelings. You’d seen them confess, you’d seen the few perfumed letters in his locker asking to meet after class.

Kunhang had turned down all of them. It didn't take solving quantum physics to realize he’d probably do the same to you. And you’d both end up losing a friend.

You’d swallowed whatever garbled confession that might have come out of your mouth that night. It’s better off this way, you told yourself, and you believed it for quite a while.

You wanted to hate him when you turned eighteen. You were going away to start a new life all on your own, and yet there he was, pretending that everything was going to be the same. Did he have to treat you so special? It wasn’t real, after all, the full wave of attention he gifted you, the adoring laughter and the occasional awkward head pats. 

(And yet, every time you close your eyes, you wish it was.)

You wonder if Kunhang knows summer the way you do—sand against bare feet, having ice cream under a beach umbrella and most importantly, the scent of young love coating you in a thick layer of nervousness. Knowing him, he probably didn’t even notice the way you struggled to keep your wide grin secret every time he offered you the coconut flavoured ice cream. You wonder if he’s forgotten summer by now.

Yukhei catches up to you just before the narrow stone steps that end in the beach sand. You stop for a second, careful of the rock you always trip over (and the memory of Kunhang there to steady you with a laugh, unless he was the one who tripped face first into the sand) as you breathe out heavily. This is your high school reunion. You don’t have to think of your awkward  teenage love right now. You can enjoy the coconut flavoured ice cream all by yourself.

You step onto the sand, taking a sharp breath at the full strength of heat that hits you. The towels and umbrellas are spread across the area, candy blue stripes everywhere your eyes visit, till your name is called by a frantic Dejun trying to get your attention. Summer feels hotter than any year you’ve visited and even sunscreen can’t protect you from the inevitably dazzling view you face.

After all this time, you thought he’d go away but the waves come crashing after all.

Kunhang has grown into a messy sort of handsome. His hair is longer since the last time you saw him, unkempt in the way it falls over his forehead yet still strangely neat. Even under the shade of the giant umbrella, there’s an unmistakable calm over his features—the look he often had on his face and no one would be able to tell what he was thinking, his own respite in broad daylight. The contrast between him and the blue around is crisp, like a sunlit field of pink tulips floating atop blue ocean water. It’s hardly been three years and he looks older, a bit more mature. 

Kunhang beams when he notices you, the effect of it almost crushing as you try not to acknowledge the tidal wave of pent-up emotions.

“(name)!” he grins wide, jogging up to you. “I didn’t know you were coming. You didn’t reply to any of my texts!”

They vanished. Your words vanished again. Fidgeting with your fingers, you abruptly clear your throat before you can respond.

“Yeah. I, uh, I changed my number.” You bite your tongue softly at the lie.

He frowns. “Oh. Well, give me your new one.”

“I- I- I forgot my phone. At the- the hotel.”

You feel yourself cringing at your voice. It’s so...so embarrassing, every rise and fall. Kunhang blinks a few times before shrugging.

“Ah. I’ll get it later then.”

You almost immediately excuse yourself and beeline to Dejun sitting by the cooler, trying hard to hold a coconut larger than his hands as he raises a suspicious eyebrow at you. Of course it’s natural you’d go straight to the guy you see everyday at university instead of visiting the boy of your unrequited affections. It’s completely normal. What’s the point of a reunion anyway?

What you don’t expect is to be sandwiched between Dejun and Kunhang, the latter enthusiastically summing up each and every point of his life at university, the lack of control over facial expressions still prominent and you try not to let your heartstrings pull too hard. Dejun hums in intervals beside you, sipping at the coconut water he so struggled to get as Kunhang skilfully ignores the growing tension. 

God, he really is an idiot. You feel like telling him you’ve been in love with him for eight years just so he’d shut up.

But after all this time, Kunhang has managed to remain himself. You smile. The sand in your hourglasses might not be flowing so differently after all. He’s still talking about most everything he finds fascinating through the smallest of details and you’re still willing to listen to the sound of his voice for hours. The scent of the ocean breeze that made you think of him, so you kept it safe—it’s overwhelming now.

Your vision is suddenly blocked by a pink paper cup, the spotless white ice cream in it already starting to melt. You turn your head to Kunhang trying hard not to make a face at you, biting onto the edge of an empty paper cup.

“You didn’t listen to anything I said, did you?” he asks with a click of tongue, after taking his cup in his hand. 

You can’t help your sheepish laugh. “I lost you when you started talking about the campus cats.”

Kunhang scratches the back of his head, smiling. “I couldn’t get a volleyball today. They increased the rent rates by ten!”

“What, you were planning to rent a volleyball just to hit me in the face with it?”

Kunhangs face breaks into a grin, positively glowing from his eyes to the line of his nose to his lips. Maybe you don’t hate this feeling so much. 

Dejun suddenly clears his throat beside you, springing up. “I’m- I’m going to go help Yukhei,” he declares, discarding his coconut somewhere over the sand.

“Help with what?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

Dejun coughs uncomfortably before shrugging and speeding off to Yukhei trying very hard to plant the wet surfboard in the sand. Somewhere in your mind, you already know the reason why he ran off. 

You turn to Kunhang with a worried look, but there’s no sign of realization over his face. You almost sigh but catch yourself in the moment. Is it pitiful? He probably can’t even imagine you that way, maybe that’s why he hasn’t caught on. 

Is it bad that you hate it? That you’re not satisfied with the friendly touches, the innocent smiles. You don’t want to keep it so pure after all—you want to run your hands through his hair, you want to twine your fingers through his, you want to feel the touch of a kiss with him.

Your gulp nervously once Kunhang’s features come into focus, still talking about something vague and nodding along to it at an uncertain rhythm. The sound of the waves come gently crashing, just as they do to the shore and the buzz of this place reminds you of all the time you spent here. What has been, what could have been.

“Kunhang,” you interrupt and he whips his head to you, eyes curious. You take a deep breath.

What value is there to words that you’re desperately trying to throw away?

“I- I’m going to go to the water,” you say, trying to cover up your nervousness. If it wasn’t any other summer trip, it’s not going to be today. It’s not going to be, at all.

If you can’t put it into words, will you be alone? You’re only chewing over your memories hoping they fade.

Kunhang springs up just as you stand, his sudden movement surprising you. 

“I…” He begins but shakes his head with a subdued smile. His voice comes out softer than you expect. “Yukhei’s that way, if you’re looking for him.”

You blink back your confusion. “Ah, um, thanks!”

The more you try to lie to him, the less you understand yourself. But if you stay any longer, you might just spill the archived secrets, the words you should have burned in the campfire that night. You can fall out of love. It’s easy, it’s easy, you tell yourself—then why couldn’t you have done it earlier? Can you even do it now?

“What are you doing here?!” Yukhei asks, furrowing his brows as he gets up from the sand. “Where’s Kunhang?”

“I- I don’t know! Why would I know everything about him?” you grumble, hugging yourself.

“You are so stupid,” he states in response.

“That’s- That’s not something you should be telling me!”

Yukhei grabs your shoulder, shaking you hurriedly. “You should go back to him! The beach is one of the top ten romantic places, come on.”

“What makes you think I still like him?!” you hiss, trying to get his hands off your shoulders.

Yukhei stops abruptly, tilting his head to greet Dejun, who makes you jump out of your skin. You move apart from Yukhei, facing him with a sigh.

Dejun tries hard not to pull a face, notifying that your other classmates are here, and it’s a lot more likely some of them are still heart-eyed for Yukhei. The two of them seem to share an inside joke as they laugh and you raise an eyebrow, not even bothering to decode the situation. 

The brunch idea was probably Dejun’s, considering how smoothly things run. The whole renting out half a bar idea was probably Yukhei’s, considering how much of a wild mess it is. The place is perfectly snug, warm and just enough for a former high school batch, right by the beach where the sand meets asphalt. The laughter and conversations overpower the low jazz undertones of the music playing through the speakers and you find yourself smiling when someone or the other reminds you of all the high school ventures you’d had under the teachers’ disapproving eyes.

“Remember when Yukhei stole the rabbit from our school garden?”

“That wasn’t even worse than when he accidentally fired the water hose at Mr. Liang!”

“Oh my god, you remember putting on makeup in between classes without getting caught?”

“Or trying to steal lunch from me, you big bully?”

Really, seeing old faces after so long and then the same faces hammered only a few hours later might just be another one of the ‘fun’ things you’ve been missing out on.

There’s Shuhui, Lunmei and Linlin—girls you didn’t get to talk much with during school, but you remember Shuhui’s face from middle school. There’s Yukhei’s friends, Shihao and Taishun, who you think you exchanged a whopping total of sixteen words with throughout high school. Yet now, with everyone gathered here, it feels like some sort of a haven of reminiscence, like you’d known each other all your life (which, to an extent, you did). It’s comfortable and warm, the blanket of old connections.

You take another sip of the punch. It’s not enough to get you drunk but it's enough to shift the gears in your ribs to begin the steam engine you can’t find the brakes on. Your face is hot, Kunhang finally not the reason behind it, and you sigh as you glance around the room slowly.

It would’ve been quieter if Yukhei somehow hadn’t started this chain of confessions. Dejun is still struggling to keep him seated, a warm blush over his face when he has to wrap his arm around Yukhei yet again while the others continue chanting “confess! confess!” to the next unlucky victim guilty of harbouring an unspoken teenage crush.

You shake your head at the whole scene, sighing once again as you lazily swirl the remnants of your drink in the glass. The night will be over soon, and you’ll go back to your own paths. For now, you can pretend it’s all just another summer adventure.

Yukhei clears his throat, everyone’s eyes turning to him instantly. “I’m sure there’s one more confession left!”

There’s a bunch of cheers and you feel your heartbeat quicken when Yukhei shoots you a knowing smile. Your eyes widen, your throat suddenly feeling dry and you turn your head to meet Kunhang’s eyes. He looks at you with no hint or clue about the reality and you look away before it fries your nerves out.

“You’re going to thank me after this, Kunhang,” Yukhei calls, a teasing lilt to his voice and the boy in question simply shakes his head, grinning in polite confusion. 

You look around in panic, from Yukhei to Kunhang and wonder if you should open your mouth. You take a breath before a roar of cheers interrupts you.

Shuhui stands up, rosy-cheeked and wobbling at the knees. You catch Yukhei blinking with furrowed eyebrows but nodding anyway, as if the decisive president in a heated debate. 

“Wong Kunhang!” she calls before coyly confessing. “I like you! I’ve liked you since eighth grade!” 

Is it the alcohol? Or the cruel realization that your mother was right when she said summer makes people fall in love? There’s another round of cheers and applause as you get up discreetly, sneaking out the door a few steps behind you. You don’t think you can stomach the sight of someone else’s arms around Kunhang, his loving attention drawn to them. 

The night air is cool, the bushes lining the sidewalk buzzing with cicadas as you step over onto the soft, warm sand. The campfire has been reduced to blazing embers, no one there to kindle it as the night progressed. You hug yourself as you walk, the calm over you strange, uncharacteristic. 

Even if it’s not you and him after all, you should have said something. You’re only a coward, slow and naive in a world too fast-paced, unable to face a reality that’s your own. You couldn’t even stay in that room a second longer. If only your chest didn’t waver so easily, your heartbeat didn't grow erratic.

You walk closer to the water, waves lapping quietly against the sand, a hush over them as if they do not know what to say to you. What do you say to someone on the verge of heartbreak? Consoling your friends at university taught you next to nothing, your own seeming beyond your help.

“(name)!”

You feel your breath hitch, hesitant in turning around. There’s a moment’s pause and when you don’t turn, Kunhang tugs at your wrist, pulling you to him.

It’s getting so that your heart can’t even flutter anymore.

Gentle and kind, and so willing to give, Kunhang could never really leave you alone, could he? He looks at you with wide eyes, almost like a puppy lost on the streets. His pale pink overshirt is hanging loosely over his shoulders, unbuttoned all the way over his white T-shirt, his hair tousled by the wind and words yet resting on his lips. You forget to breathe for a few seconds and when you inhale sharply, the onslaught of your feelings comes toppling over you.

“I hate this,” you choke on the words. “You should be in there.”

“They’re still celebrating. And drunk.” He shifts nervously.

“I hate you,” you say, not finding meaning in the words. “I hate you so much because of how stupid I was- how weak I was.”

Kunhang’s eyes shimmer with something unfamiliar, lips quivering before he steadies himself, drawing nearer.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. 

You purse your lips. It isn't fair—who are you to blame him? He doesn’t deserve the vomit of emotions from your popped balloon of a heart. You bite your tongue before you can spit out the poison-infused words. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, voice hoarse and still angry, “I wish I told you earlier. How much I liked you. How much I wanted to be with you.”

Kunhang stays quiet, hand not ready to leave your wrist yet, the part where his thumb rests searing hot.

“I thought I could pretend I never liked you at all,” you say, biting your lip. “I thought that if I faked it then it would go away but Wong Kunhang, I- I’ve liked you for so long that I don’t know what it’s like if I don’t.”

Why are you crying? It’s like the emotions you’ve hoarded all these years have somehow found an opening to burst through, in a stream of colours that paint you in embarrassment. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and nose, as you vigorously rub at your eyes so the tears don’t escape in so obvious a manner.

“I- I tried going on dates, I tried- I tried all those stupid blind dating apps, I tried to focus on my major and making new friends and- and still…”

Doesn’t the rain fall in times like these? Yet there’s only the hot blanket of summer, with its swaying sea wind and calling cicadas resting in the vibrant bushes.

“I didn’t want to force all of this on you. I’m so—”

It’s only fitting that the stupidest sequence of words would leave his lips.

“I thought you liked Yukhei,” he says quietly.

You pause, uncertain of what to do and breathe out in annoyance. “Kunhang, for the love of god, where did you even come up with that?”

His cheeks colour ever so slightly and he clears his throat. “I don’t kno- I just- I kept giving myself excuses too. I’m sorry.”

The wind makes his hair sway lightly by his eyes, the stars glowing cool blue in them. Whatever the ebb and flow of your feelings were, they’re crashing against the sand, violent and sorrowful at first till the moon tames them into something warmer.

And then it happens again. Kunhang smiles, shoulders relaxing. There’s a moment’s pause.

“I- I’m not good with this.”

When Kunhang presses his hand against your jaw and leans in a little, eyes waiting for confirmation, the drumming in your veins is so loud you can barely comprehend the movement of his actions. You shut your eyes almost instantly but Kunhang accidentally bumps your noses a little too hard. The two of your wince, your hand flying to your nose as a muffled cry of pain escapes your lips and he looks at you worriedly, his fingertips pressing against your cheek softly.

You choke back a laugh but it bubbles up anyway, his own following after an embarrassed pause. 

“I think- I think I was a little nervous,” he admits, looking down and then back up to you.

“We can...we can try that again,” you hum, biting back a smile.

Kunhang’s hair is in fact softer than you’d expected, and when you run your fingers through them, he smiles into the kiss, his hand at the small of your back pulling you closer. Nothing’s like you daydreamed of and yet everything is in place, the shared warmth growing with each passing second. 

It’s blissful for a few moments before you’re interrupted by a drunk Yukhei to “get it” and you jump apart from each other, flushed hot in the cheeks. Dejun apologizes for his boyfriend, waving at you guys to continue whatever the hell you were doing before tugging Yukhei along with him.

You clear your throat awkwardly before plopping down on the sand, face buried in your hands. Kunhang follows slowly, legs outstretched towards the ocean. You peek to see him smiling at the sky, leaning back on his hands and the look you love seeing on him.

“Kunhang?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Even if you didn’t like me back then.”

Kunhang turns his head to you, eyes earnest as they trail across your face.

“You don’t have to be brave.”

He reaches out to fix the hair from your eyes, a gentle touch to them as ever, but this time there’s a stronger meaning to it, almost as if he’d kiss you again right then. The two of you smile, twining your fingers somewhere along the night as he tells you to rest your head on his shoulder. The waves sing softly to accompany Kunhang’s chatter, the feeling almost unreal when you feel his pulse against your thumb. 

What has been, what could’ve been—they’re barely a breeze to what really is.

[marvelslut16]

Almost lost him

Pairing: James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes x Stark!reader 

Synopsis: Tony’s little sister had always had feelings for one James R. Rhodes. She’s kept it a secret for years, but will everything come out after he is injured during the fight against Cap?

word count: 2.4k+

Warnings: Brief cannon violence. Angst. Mentions paralysis. Swearing. Age gap. Also I have a specific age for the character mentioned. 

A/N: This has been sitting in my WIP’s for over a year because I loved it so much and I didn’t want to end it poorly lmao. I know no ones gonna read it since he isn’t a popular character, but oh well. I love this fic and I love Rhodey so that’s all that matters. 

Tony and (Y/N) Stark have saved the world from terrorists once again.

“Can you believe this title?” you laugh showing Rhodey the article on your phone. 

“I was there too,” he says gruffly. 

“You just aren’t special enough,” you tease, sticking your tongue out like you’re five and not thirty-six. 

“Not everyone’s lucky enough to be a Stark,” Tony, your annoying but lovable older brother, enters the compound’s kitchen.

Tony took you under his wing and raised you since your parents died. It was a lot for a twenty-one year old to handle, no one he knew had to take care of an eleven year old. Especially one with newly discovered powers. They weren’t much, but when emotions would get overwhelming you would have white colored beams come from your hands. This later helped Tony come up with the idea for the repulsors on his Iron Man suit, which you helped him build.

As the years passed, you got a better hold on your new found powers. The more you and Tony dug into your parents past, you started to think that your dad had either given you something when you were a baby or your mom was given something while pregnant to make you like this. Your Dad always called you special, but you never thought you were this special.

“Any progress with Steve?” you ask hopefully. You know how much Tony values his friendship with Cap, he just won’t admit it. Especially because he’s hurt. 

“No,” he grunts, but tries to brush it off like he doesn’t care. You and Rhodey give each other unamused looks, clearly not believing the bullshit Tony is trying to feed you.

“I think you should try to reach out to him again, you clearly miss him Tony,” you frown at the dark haired man in front of you.

“I agree with (Y/N/N),” Rhodey speaks up from behind you. He’s closer than you remember, and you shiver as you feel the little licks of his breath on your neck as he speaks. 

“You love birds can shut up now,” Tony rolls his eyes, he leaves the kitchen without anything. 

Heat immediately rushes to your face and you can’t look Rhodey in the eye as you stutter out an apology for Tony’s actions. You quickly leave the kitchen before he can respond, wanting to put distance between your blushing self and the man you had been in love with for years. 

-- 

You had hoped that the conversation in the kitchen would have convinced Tony to reach out and make amends with Steve and half of the Avengers. But things only continued to escalate, where it seemed a battle between friends was unavoidable. So that's how you ended up in Germany, with your newest recruit Spider-Man, facing off against the people you cared most about in this world.

“Rhodey!” you scream as you watch him plummet to the Earth. Time seems to slow to a near standstill and all you can do is watch, too far away from him to be able to help somehow. Your knees buckle and you hit the ground at the same time his body does. There's a scream that’s so loud it rattles the windows of the airport hanger, a scream you weren’t even aware left your own lips. 

Vision tries to approach you, but you let out a sound that's between a sob and a scream as he gets closer. You’re angry, and scared, you can feel a rush of something in your veins. You ball your hands in fists, bringing them to your chest as you curl into yourself. 

The sound of metal crunching together pulls you from your rocking back and forth on your knees. You see a white glow, one that you're extremely familiar with, dissipating from around two shipping containers, now crushed together where vision was hovering. If he had stayed solid, he would have been crushed. You’re shaking even more as you stare down at your hands, you had never been able to move objects before. You could have hurt somebody. You can’t dwell on it too long because Peter runs to your side, telling you that Rhodey had a heartbeat and help was on the way. 

It had felt like hours since Tony, Peter, and you had landed back down in the states. Dr. Cho was working with a spine specialist and a neurosurgeon to figure out the extent of the damage. After a while, they had updated you three, telling you that Rhodey broke his spine and they were taking him into surgery. Tony had left to go fiddle with one of his suits, his coping mechanism. He left the kid with you because he didn’t want you alone. 

“How did you two meet?” Peter breaks the silence.

“Hmm?” you look away from the painting in front of you for the first time since you sat in the waiting room chair, to look at the boy. 

“Mr. Rhodes, how did you two meet?” he clarifies. 

“That’s a long story,” your eyes glaze over as memories start to come flooding back.

“I have time,” Peter gives you a small smile, you can really see what Tony see’s in the kid. The kindness that his Aunt May has taught him is abundantly clear, you know he’s only asking for your benefit.

“He met Tony when they went to MIT together, he somehow found a way to put up with my brother's antics. I didn’t meet him until two years after Tony graduated, so I was eleven,” you let out a little laugh as you realize just how long the older man has been in your life, and in your heart. “He came to my parents funeral for support for Tony, but he became my support system. Everyone seemed to ignore me and go straight for the golden boy, but Tony became too overwhelmed quickly. He introduced me to Rhodey who was the first one, besides Tony of course, to ask me how I was. He ended up spending the entire wake and funeral with me, giving me support and effectively distracting me from my pain.”

You look over at the younger boy, who seems to be staring at you with fascination. He sees the pain on your face when you stop talking, reaching over he grabs your hand loosely. Testing the waters to see if you’ll pull away from affection like Tony has with him. You give him a thankful smile and hold his hand before continuing your story.

“He joined the military not long after that. At first I would send him care packages and letters so he didn’t feel alone when he was deployed. One day when I was writing a letter one of Tony’s flings came into the kitchen and called me a pathetic child because I was crushing on Tony’s friend after I explained what I was doing. He never got that letter, or any after that. We didn’t really talk much after that, if he came to visit Tony I’d be pleasant before locking myself in my room. I guess I was embarrassed over my school girl crush. Years passed, lots of years, before Tony went missing, James was the one that told me what happened. And in those following months he would rarely leave my side, he wanted to make sure I was okay. We were finally both adults, and we gained a real friendship.” 

“That sounds like more than a friendship,” Peter sends you an innocent look. You furrow your eyebrows at him in response, Rhodey definitely doesn’t like you back. “I’m just saying, if Liz was like that with me I would be ecstatic that she liked me back.”

“He sees me as a little sister, Peter,” your heart breaking a little more knowing that you’ll never be able to be with the man you’ve loved for years. Before Peter can refute you, Rhodey’s Neurosurgeon walks into the waiting room- some guy named Dr. Strange. 

“How is he?” you jump out of your seat, Peter quickly following suit, his hand falling from yours at the movement. 

“He’s out of surgery Miss. Stark,” his voice coming out as cocky and full of himself, like he’s overly proud that he did this surgery. “But the recovery will be the difficult part.”

“What happened? What’s still wrong? And when can I see him?” you’re shooting out questions faster than the surgeon can answer.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you Miss. Stark, and you can’t see him until he’s out of the ICU,” the smug look is still on the surgeon's face, making you grow angrier with each word that leaves his mouth. 

“Excuse me?” Peter looks between you and the surgeon with wide curious eyes. 

“You aren’t family,” he states matter-of-factly. “Therefore I can’t tell you and you can’t see him.”

Your eye twitches in anger as your body starts to warm, your powers start to react to the strong emotion. You take a deep calming breath, keeping you from accidentally lashing out at the surgeon. 

“I suggest you rethink that answer,” you say deathly calm, Peter stares at you in awe as you talk back to the man. “And consider who paid for all of the new state-of-the-art Stark technology and equipment you have in this hospital. Things I’m sure that you used in that surgery, that I donated to this hospital through the outreach program that I created. Technology created by both me and my brother.”

“Is there a problem here?” a man’s voice comes from behind you, he sounds irritated that someone’s making a scene. You turn around to face the man, who is wearing a badge that says medical director on it. Perfect. His eyes widen as soon as he recognizes who you are. 

“Actually there is,” you frown. “My colleague, my friend. My favorite person after my brother really, he just had a pretty big surgery, but your surgeon here won’t tell me any details or let me go see him. So yes, we have a huge problem.”

“I’m so sorry Miss. Stark,” he exclaims. “Why don’t we go update you in private.” 

“Did I sound like a bitch?” you frown, whispering to Peter as the two of you follow the MD and the surgeon. He nods a little with a smirk adorning his face. 

“But it was awesome!” you grin at the young boy, remembering the excitement you felt when you saw Tony use his name to get what he wanted for the first time. 

“He’s paralyzed,” the surgeon throws the statement around like it isn’t a big deal as soon as the four of you enter a separate room. “From the waist down. There was nothing we could do.”

Your heart and your lungs seem to stop working at the same time. Peter discreetly uses his super strength to catch you as your legs give out at the surgeon's words. Tears start to pour down your face as you realize all of the things Rhodey will never be able to again. Like never being able to help defend his country again, or chase after you when you steal the last cookie that he wanted. 

You can’t help but feel guilty. If he had never met you and Tony he would be fine. He would still be able to do what he loves. He never would have been put in that situation. He’ll never be able to walk again. He won’t have the opportunity to dance at his wedding or chase his children around if he decided to have either of those. 

“I know it’s a lot Miss. Stark,” the MD’s voice is muffled. “But there was nothing we could have done-”

“When can I see him?” you cut the doctor off. 

“I could take you to him now,” he glares at the surgeon. “He won’t wake for at least a few more hours.”

“Peter, go call Tony and tell him the update,” you look at the young boy, he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading back to the waiting room. 

The surgeon and the MD both ramble on about Rhodey’s condition but their voices sound muffled- like you’re underwater. You feel like you're suffocating in all the pain and grief you feel for the love of your life. He’s lying on the bed, oxygen tubing up his nose, at least ten wires connected to him, and the disgusting beep of his heart monitor reminds you how lucky you are that he’s still here with you. 

The two men quickly leave you with Rhodey, but not before the MD promises that he’ll be under constant supervision and he’ll receive the best treatments they offer. Not that you're shocked to hear that with the scene you cause in the waiting room. You grab Rhodey’s hand, careful to avoid yanking the IV in it, pulling his hand up to your mouth to give it a feather light kiss. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stare at his still body, you were so close to losing him today. 

The tears have stopped by the time Tony shows up close to an hour later, he had dropped Peter off at home before coming up to the hospital room. Your older brother looks as distressed as you feel, although he seems to be tryin to hide it more than you are. 

“How is he?” his voice is quieter than you imagined, like he’s afraid any louder will make you crumble. 

“Stable,” your voice is monotonous, and you refuse to tear your eye’s from Rhodey’s face as you respond to Tony. “About as good as he could be I guess.”

“How are you?” he cuts you off as you go to respond that you're fine. “And don’t bullshit me (Y/N/N), you’ve been in love with him since you were eleven. How are you feeling?”

You don’t respond, not with words at least. Instead you do crumble, letting out a quiet sob as you grip Tony’s hand that he was about to place on your shoulder. Tony runs his free hand through your hair and down your back, trying to soothe you like he used to when you would have nightmares after your parents deaths. 

“We almost lost him today Tony, I almost lost him-” another sob racks through your body. “And now he’s paralyzed. He can never walk again, can never defend his Country again. And for what? A disagreement between you and Steve? We could have lost him Tony for something so fucking stupid.”

Before Tony can respond, a muffled voice breaks through the tension in the room. The voice is gravely, but one you love so dearly, it’s Rhodey’s. “(Y/N)?”

Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always​

[aiimaginesbts]

Eternal Summer (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Loads of Angst | Fluff mixed in between | Smut | Childhood friends to lovers AU Warnings: Language | Alcohol | Masturbating | Rough sex | Public sex Word Count: 39k+ words

Disclaimer/Copyright

Summary:  Breaking up with my boyfriend leaves an empty spot on the overseas vacation that I had been looking forward to for a long time. I’m torn between abandoning the trip or going it solo when someone offers to tag along. However, having Jimin, my best friend go with me may not be the best idea — since my crush on him has never gone away.

Author’s Note: This is my fic for the ‘The Summer Bucketlist’ writing event hosted by @jamaisjoons​ with ‘Go sightseeing on a vacation’ as my prompt.

This grin just can’t be wiped off my face. While I’m aware that people passing by me are shooting me weird looks thanks to my humming, I don’t want to stop for their sake. I can barely hold myself from skipping down the street, lined with leafy trees on one side and boutique stores on the other – I’m that excited. The merciless rays of the late sun are welcome on my skin after weeks of slaving away even more than usual at work just so I can enjoy this long awaited vacation. It has completely paid off, since I’ve managed to settle everything I needed to with one day to spare. Everyone – myself included – expected me to be toiling away until the last minute. I even packed my luggage in advance, little by little, whenever I could, since I didn’t think I would have time to do it. So, with everything ready and time to spare, I head towards the only place I could think of going when I don’t know what to do with myself.

After making a stop at Se Hoon’s favourite restaurant to order take-out for dinner, I continue on my way towards his apartment. Since I plan to make this a surprise visit, he might still be working. Still, another glance at my watch convinces me that he will definitely be at home. Se Hoon prefers to work from home, so unless there’s work that he must settle at the office, he’s usually home by this time, even if he has to continue working there. It might mean that I’ll be shooed away while he finishes, but I don’t care. I’m content to just watch him as I eat my dinner. As long as I’m with him. We’ll be going together on vacation the day after tomorrow, but there’s no harm in starting early, is there? Plus, I’ve been too busy to see him lately. And the few scant times I could manage to get some time off, he would be busy instead. It seems like we’ve been missing each other for a while now, and I just miss being with someone.

Another fifteen minutes of walking and an elevator ride to the eighteenth floor later, I arrive in front of Se Hoon’s dark brown apartment door. I hesitate, wondering if I should let myself in or announce myself first. It has been a while since I’ve arrived here on my own, but recalling the times he got grumpy because he was interrupted to open the door for me way in the beginning of our relationship, I pressed the keys to unlock his door. No sense making him stop whatever he’s doing and come for me when I can open the door on my own.

Although I’ve been telling myself that I’m perfectly happy just to be in his presence this evening, my lips purse into a disappointed pout when I notice a pair of unfamiliar women’s black pumps at the entrance. It’s rare for Se Hoon to have visitors to his house, other than myself, but I suppose it’s safe to say that he isn’t done with work. At least his co-worker is willing to come over, so he doesn’t have to stay in the office. Otherwise I’d have arrived at an empty house.

Not wanting to interfere with his work by calling out, I kick off my similar, but lower, heels next to hers and start making my way inside. It has been a while since I’d had time to visit, but the surroundings are pretty much the same as I remember it from last time. Neither of us are the type of people to periodically arrange furniture, or make any changes at all, for that matter. Some people may find it boring, but I’m comfortable in its familiarity.

However, just a few steps in and my eyes land on an unexpected sight. A dark blue tie, adorned with a tiny white diamond pattern, lying on the floor. Se Hoon’s tie. I remember giving it to him for his birthday several months ago. Then a light pink shirt that I don’t recognise – I don’t pride myself on knowing Se Hoon’s wardrobe inside and out, but this shirt is way too small for him. My feet slow to a stop, but my breathing becomes laboured; like I’m running a marathon. Even though I scream in my head in denial, telling myself to turn around and not to continue looking, my eyes betray me by straying ahead, following the trail of clothes into his bedroom.

“Se Hoon?” I call out without thinking, but my voice comes out a croak, volume barely a whisper. The world I thought I had built solidly enough is crumbling under the soles of my feet. Familiar comfort no longer.

“Looks like our plane is here.”

Although my eyes are wide open and the world is bright, blinding even; the light from the sun is relentlessly shining through the gigantic glass panes of the airport, everything looks like a blur to me. I see vague shapes moving inconsequentially in my field of vision, but I can’t make out anything. The world hasn’t righted itself after it got thrown off its axis just yet. I’m dimly aware of where I currently am, of what brought me to this point. And yet in my mind, I’m still frozen in Se Hoon’s apartment two days ago.

While words cannot describe my feelings at the moment, I’m sure whatever combination of letters that the dictionary can come up with won’t be anything good. It doesn’t help that the voice that calls my name repeatedly in attempts to bring me back to reality is noticeably higher than Se Hoon’s. No, it isn’t even that. I wouldn’t be this bothered if it were anyone else’s voice. However, my best friend’s insistence that I return to Earth and get ready to board the plane throws my emotions into a jumbled mess. Forcing myself back to the present time, the surroundings gradually come into focus, like a camera lens finally being adjusted properly. “People are still getting off the plane, Jimin,” I grumble, sinking myself further into the chair in the waiting area petulantly. Maybe I don’t want to board this airplane after all.

This empty feeling has seeped in from yesterday. After a fitful sleep, I’d gotten out of my bed to stare at my luggage, all ready and packed for the next day. I wasn’t sure what time it was then; I’d rolled out of bed onto the floor and turning back to look at the small clock on my nightstand had felt like it would have consumed too much energy. All I knew was that dawn had not even broken yet, as the light blue curtains of my room, so useless at blocking even the smallest bit of light, were still dim. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and started to trace the royal blue strips lining the white canvas, I’d thought about the times I’d chucked the things I wanted to bring into the bag. When I’d seen a shirt that Jimin had said looked good on me, I’d thrown it in there. The cap he’d bought me on a whim after he’d dropped by my office for an impromptu lunch. A pair of socks that Jimin had insisted matched with the pair that he’d bought, just because both pairs have a striped motif. Earrings that he’d helped me choose because Se Hoon couldn’t make it for our date that day. Perhaps he couldn’t make it because of that woman, and not because of work, like he’d claimed.

Hours must have flown by as I’d sat there brooding. Not even sure what I was thinking about – was it really all about Se Hoon? My mind feels empty, but I couldn’t believe that I’d just been blankly staring at the luggage in the corner of my room for so long. And yet I must have had, because when the sound of my vibrating phone grated my ears, making me jump out of my reverie, the room was already bright despite the drawn curtains.

Groaning from grumpiness and the aching of my back and ass from sitting in one spot for so long, I’d braced my right palm on the still-cool floor to twist my body and reach for my phone. “Ugh.” My fingertips had brushed against it, causing it to move forward and teeter off the edge of my nightstand. The next round of vibrations had led to a losing battle with its balance, but thankfully I’d managed to catch it before it made contact with the hard floor. The scramble to play hero to save my phone had left me on both my elbows, horizontal against the floor. By this time, the call had become a missed one. Probably gone to voicemail, but that hadn’t stopped me from glaring at the offending device.

Before I could even look at the screen properly to check who had called, I heard the sharp beeping of my front door lock keypad, quickly followed by the chime indicating a successful breach and the softer click of the door opening to the intruder. Then a call of my name greeted my ears, betraying the identity of the visitor and setting my frayed nerves at ease. In a split second, however, my shock had melted away, leaving mild irritation in its wake. At first I didn’t want to answer him. Let him search the whole place, I’d thought pettily, even while knowing that my bedroom would have been the first place he’d check, then changed my mind. “In here.”

Trust him to hear me even though I’d hardly raised my voice. His chipper, “’Morning!” had reminded me that he didn’t have a clue to what had transpired the previous evening, leaving me torn between two choices; remain in my miserable mood and risk him prying for the reason behind it, or put up a cheerful front. I’m supposed to go for the vacation I’d been looking forward to so much, after all.

In the end, my “’morning,” had come out as a sullen reply. Simply couldn’t be bothered with pretence when this guy was concerned. With my partner for the trip automatically cancelling less than twenty-four hours ago, he was going to unearth the source of my moodiness sooner or later, even if I’d pretended there was nothing wrong.

“What’s wrong?” He’d immediately quipped at my tone, joining me on the floor.

I’d narrowed my eyes at the luggage I’d refused to tear my eyes away from. Still, it was always annoying when Jimin would zero in on me like that.

“Just.”

Jimin had rested his back against the side of the bed next to me, keeping mum instead of answering. I’d always hated that he knew exactly how to handle me at times like these. Several minutes had passed as I’d stewed in silence, then inevitably worked out what I’d wanted to say, like he’d known I would. I’d let one or two more minutes go by, just to spite him, but in the end I’d relented with a resolved sigh.

He’d taken the cue to open his mouth. “Wanna grab brunch?”

Is it that late already? I’d thought, unwillingly softening just a bit more when he didn’t automatically repeat his first question. “Not now.” Holding fast onto my vast – though slowly depleting – reserves of gloominess and fury, I’d willed my stomach not to grumble just then. Under strict orders from my highly distressed brain, my stomach had cowered and obeyed, even as his question had evoked pangs of hunger. Another sigh, then, “I don’t know if I’m going tomorrow,” I finally gave in to the inevitable need to confess, if not my need to eat.

“What? Why?” He’d leaned forward in surprise. I’d wished he hadn’t. Despite not having shed a single tear, I’d had no idea what sort of expression I was making, or whether I had any control over it. Thoughts had been racing through my mind at uncontrollable speeds. Obviously I hadn’t used the time I’d had to think this all the way through. Should I tell him that I’d broken up with Se Hoon?

I hadn’t wanted to.

“Se Hoon has urgent business to attend to and can’t make it.” Ugh. Even uttering his name had made me want to spit and brush my tongue with a scrubber. Bringing my legs up, I’d buried my face in my knees, unable to bear the sight of Jimin’s brows furrowing with concern. Aside from the guilt I’d felt about lying to my best friend, the mix of emotions roiling inside me were – and still is – muddling. There was overwhelming outrage towards Se Hoon, which was not surprising. However, endless hours of pondering had made me realise that the nature of my grief was befuddling.

There had been no tears. Even after the shock of seeing Se Hoon in bed with another woman had worn off as I’d trudged all the way home, walking for about an hour instead of taking the subway, there had been no heartbreak over our failed relationship. When I’d finally reached home and collapsed on my bed, no burning tears had even threatened my eyes. Later in the shower, the only wetness had come from the metal pipes. I didn’t care about losing him. No, I’d thought, with Jimin’s presence solidifying my belief, I’m sad because I’m alone. Even when I was with Jimin – actually, because I was with Jimin – I’d felt so lonely. He made me feel hopeless. He made me feel like a loser. Especially now, I’d felt like I was worth nothing. No, I’d always felt like I was worthless when I was with Se Hoon, or with any of my other exes. That’s why I’ve always chased after a relationship. Because otherwise, I would be worth less than nothing.

It had made me all the more desperate not to let Jimin find out. Better to have him think that Se Hoon was being a jerk – which he was, and still is – by ditching me for work instead of finding out that we’d broken up. Jimin was sure to take great umbrage at Se Hoon – never mind that I  was the one who did the dumping – and would definitely demand to know the reason behind it. To tell him that I wasn’t even worth being faithful for… that would just take the ugly, miserable cake that is my life, wouldn’t it? I’d much rather die than come clean, so I’d pressed the truth as deep down as it could go, took a deep breath and turned to rest my chin on my knee, facing that frown painted on his adorably worried features.

“It’s work. You know how it is. Can’t be helped.” Tossed words accompanied by a cavalier shrug; hopefully passing it off as a small matter that I’d wanted it to appear like. There. It gave the impression that I had a responsible boyfriend, and I was being a magnanimous, understanding girlfriend. Plus, this way I could forge ahead with unloading my immediate problem to Jimin without seeming too pathetic. “But I don’t know if I want to go alone.”

“Hey, what’s the point of riding business if you’re going to zone out and queue with the people in economy?” Jimin’s irritated complaint as he swats my arm knocks me back to the present. Still in a daze, I let him grab my hand and pull me up and towards the air stewardess waiting to check the customers’ boarding passes without complaint, only having the presence of mind to hold my camera bag securely against my side. True, I was really torn between going on the trip alone or cancelling it altogether, but when I’d voiced my indecision to Jimin yesterday, I didn’t imagine that it would lead to this.

We zip past the long queue of people waiting to be allowed to board, all the way to the front. The sweet-looking stewardess takes a look at our documents and smiles, complimenting her rosy cheeks, made up carefully to look perfectly natural, ushering us in. As we stride towards the door to the aircraft, I can’t help but look at our connecting hands, then up towards his slender, but comforting back. Never in a million years would I have thought that he would actually offer to accompany me. In all actuality, ‘offer’ is too mild a word for what he did. After calling in to take a week off of work, then buying flight tickets while I’d showered, did he really think he left me with any choice?

He might have been right that not going just because Se Hoon couldn’t make it, after I’d worked my ass off to get a holiday, paid for the tickets and hotel, would be ridiculous. But I maintain that what he did in a span of less than thirty minutes – because it couldn’t have taken longer than that for me to shower – was the more inane of the two.

However, as we step inside the plane itself, past another stewardess welcoming us onto the flight, the reality of this finally starts to sink in. For the first time since I’ve become single, my face relaxes, and I can feel my whole body relaxing with it. While the cause of this current situation is unfortunate, the outcome is quite fortuitous. After settling in my window seat first, I glance towards Jimin, trying to get comfortable in the next seat over. I’m very aware that allowing myself to enjoy this, or even think about this, is idiocy of the highest degree. That it will just bring me more pain down the road. I know. Years of suffering had taught me that really well. Yet still, being the fool that I am, I don’t deny the giddiness of having Jimin come with me, instead of Se Hoon. Not to myself, at least. If it’s going to hurt me either way, might as well milk whatever joy I can get out of it, right? My future self will probably hate my current self later, so I apologise to her in advance in my head.

“Everything okay over there?” Jimin leans over the wide armrest to ask.

“Mm-hmm,” I answer simply, still half-lost in my thoughts. Sometimes I want to roll my eyes and laugh at myself. Whatever am I thinking, while Jimin is just trying to be a good friend? Imagination running wild can inject a really swift and powerful dose of euphoria, and goodness knows that my spirits need a bit of lifting, but prolonged daydreaming will not do anyone any good. Jimin is just a friend. Just a friend. Indulging in idyllic notions will just burn me in the end.

The process of achieving resolution is interrupted when the plane begins to move. It isn’t very obvious at first due to its size, but I notice it backing out into the runway. As it begins to pick up speed, I forget everything else; from depressing thoughts of being single, to silly fantasies. Turning to Jimin, I whisper excitedly; “My favourite part is coming!”

Before I can start to explain what it is, Jimin laughs and nods. “I know.”

Sitting back against the chair, I absorb the fact that Jimin remembers that I’ve told him before. It’s such a random piece of uninteresting information, but I suppose that’s what best friends pick up over the years. I’m sure I subconsciously collect seemingly useless information about him, too. Not wanting to miss it, I don’t comment any further, instead just grinning at him before shifting my attention towards the window. My heart rate picks up as the vehicle accelerates so rapidly that I feel myself getting thrown back into my seat, gaining momentum until it finally lifts itself up into the air. Sighing contentedly, I told Jimin; “It’s such a rush when the plane moves like that. Like our journey is truly starting, and we’re running towards it with all our might.” He just shakes his head with a chuckle at my childish delight. We’re already high enough that the view outside displays the landscape of Seoul city of buildings and cars. On any other day, I’d be down there somewhere. But not today. And while this may not have turned out exactly as I’d expected it to, I have no complaints about the arrangement now.

As though he’d picked up on my uplifted mood, Jimin asks jovially, “So, remind me, why did you choose to go to Malaysia?”

I remember telling him that I was the one who’d picked the holiday destination. This time, it’s not surprising that he remembers; the way my excited gushing about the trip had escalated as it had approached bordered on annoying, even I will admit that. “It’s a multicultural, multi-racial country, so there’s a diverse variety of things to explore,” I begin to explain, sounding like a tourist brochure, pause to consider, then confess. “Actually, we’re going to Penang, which is famous for having the best food.”

Even though his lips curl down, the way Jimin bites his plump lower lip and holds his shuddering body is a tell-tale sign that he’s not frowning; in fact, I know that he’s trying to hold back from laughing out loud. “Why am I not surprised?” Guffaws escape alongside his words, and I smack his shaking arms playfully.

“Shut up.” Although my pretense at affront is a tiny bit better than his attempt to keep a straight face, it’s impossible to hide the mirth dancing in my eyes. With impeccable timing, one of the stewardesses appears by our side to inquire about our choice of lunch. Ever a fan of chicken, I order without hesitation, whereas Jimin chooses pork as his protein.

“Mmm,” – is Jimin’s way of articulating the tastiness of his meal. “What’s the name of the place,” he picks up his boarding pass to sneak a peek at the name of our holiday destination before returning it into his seat pocket, “Penang food better top this.”

Of course, I have never been there, so I can’t guarantee anything. “If their food is that well known around the region, I should think that it’s better than airplane food.”

Both of us know that I’ve made a sound justification, and Jimin doesn’t have any comebacks. The journey grows quiet soon after, my full stomach encouraging my already heavy eyes to shutter closed. Our transfer in Bangkok, Thailand via Suvarnabumi Airport is a short, uneventful one, and from there, it’s a quick flight to our final destination. Watching the evening sky serving as the backdrop for the sun making a dramatic exit for the night is breathtaking. By the time we land, streaks of orange are all that remain of the sun’s waning presence, and a light smattering of stars twinkle, not to be outdone by the numerous city lights.

“So, are we going to take a taxi to the hotel?” Jimin wants to know our next move after retrieving our bags from the baggage claim carousel.

“Yep, but we won’t be using a taxi.” Armed with the WiFi device I’ve rented in advance, I breathe a sigh of relief as my phone connects to the internet successfully. Sometimes I feel a little ashamed by it, but I can’t stop the feeling of unease whenever I’m cut off and unreachable by phone. I keep imagining the worst things happening. “There’s an app people use here to call for a driver instead of using a taxi. It’s cheaper and easy to use.”

“Oooh.” As I open said app, Jimin looks at the screen of my phone over my shoulder curiously. Compared to Incheon and Suvarnabumi Airports, Penang Airport is very small, which I suppose is befitting of the size of the northern island. It makes the place seem especially busy, and we stand slightly away from one of the exits, doing our best to keep out of people’s way. There must be a lot of drivers on the app service, because one immediately takes our request. Ride secured, we make our way out of the building, looking out for a white car with the specified plate number.

Soon our luggage is secured in the trunk of the car, and we speed away from the airport. From the handy app, I find out that our tanned driver is a man named Hisyam. His fatherly manner and gentle way of speaking reinforces my instinct that he seems to be in his late forties or early fifties, a deduction I’d made upon seeing him. Our friendly responses when he’d initiated the standard questioning – where we’re from, and our purpose of coming here – encourage him to strike up further conversation. From my simple research about Malaysia before coming here, I know that being able to converse in English is enough to communicate with the locals, but I didn’t think that it would go so smoothly. I’d thought that it would be only mostly youngsters who are able to speak fluently in English, but despite his age, Hisyam sounds comfortable talking to us in the language. A comment on this from me has him explaining that many Malaysians can speak English well enough to be understood at the very least, which is a relief. It’s nice to feel so welcomed, especially since he has an eager and easy answer when I wonder where we should get our dinner aloud. “There’s a place that’s famous for its char kuey teow that’s not far from here. You have to try it!”

“Char kuey teow?” Jimin hasn’t eaten anything after our lunch on the flight earlier, and the mention of food, however foreign, quickly piques his interest.

“It’s stir-fried noodle,” he explains. “But the noodles are flat and made of rice. It’s a really popular dish around this region. I’ll drive you there first, if you want.”

Sneaking a glance at Jimin, I can see that he is also in favour of this. “Is that okay, though? Do we need to call another driver after we’re done?”

“I’ll just take some other requests until you’re done, then I’ll come back for you. There’s always people calling for service in this area,” he assures us. “This shop’s reputation is rightly deserved, I promise. So, don’t worry about me and enjoy yourselves!”

Good thing Jimin and I are able to decide on taking Hisyam up on his offer so quickly, because he really isn’t kidding – the restaurant is a mere few turns after that. It’s a place next to the large road, with most of the dining tables spread over an open space past the low fence enclosing the area of the restaurant. I suppose the cooking is done within the small building to the side of the restaurant. The tables and chairs are purposeful rather than decorative, but I know that sometimes a simple, humble place can serve better food than fancy ones. With Hisyam’s phone number saved inside my phone, Jimin and I take a seat at a table in the middle of the place. It has barely gotten dark, but more than half of the tables are already occupied by people who look to be locals. A good sign.

Thankfully the restaurant is well-staffed, and in less than five minutes, we’ve gotten our order in. “Smells good,” Jimin comments hungrily, eyeing the plates on the tables around us. I grin and stop myself from teasing him with the old ‘I told you so’ before I actually try the food. It arrives quickly, although I’m not sure if it’s soon enough for Jimin, who starts to dig in without even waiting for me. “Mmm!” His smiley eyes widen, with an extra twinkle as he swallows the char kuey teow.

If my reaction upon tasting it didn’t mirror his so much, I would have laughed at him. However, our driver’s recommendation has given us a great start to our trip – the char kuey teow tastes much better than I expected. Strips of rice noodles that look like a very thick piece of paper that had gone through a coarse shredder are coated with sauce. This dark sauce isn’t paste-like, yet not runny, either. It’s rich; probably infused with the flavours of the prawns and cockles that accompany the dish. The noodles slide down my throat easily, but chives and bean sprouts mixed in provides a contrasting, crunchy texture.

Our silence during the meal says everything about it. Neither of us are interested in talking; we’re too busy enjoying the food. Only after I finish the last bite do I come up for air to confirm what I already know. “How was it?” But Jimin can’t hear me with his body twisted away in his plastic chair. Even if he could, he’s too concentrated in his effort to attract the attention of one of the waitresses to pay me any heed.

Once the young girl has acknowledged Jimin’s call, he turns back to me. “I’m ordering another one. Do you want anything?”

Looks like Jimin had definitely enjoyed his meal. I did too, but my appetite is nowhere as big as his, so I add another order of milk tea to drink while I wait for him to finish his second plate. Less than half an hour later, we’re back with Hisyam, who is happy that his suggestion is getting rave reviews. “Your hotel is in the center of Georgetown, so it will take about thirty minutes to get there,” he informs us, explaining that Georgetown is in the northern part of the island, while the airport is somewhere down south. The three-story building that he points out sits at the end of the block, and he turns from the main road into a smaller one to let us off. He looks at the hotel in approval. “You chose a good place to stay,” he comments. “The last tourist couple I drove booked a famous hotel, but they didn’t know that it’s known for being haunted.” The corners of his lips twitch while his eyebrows scrunch in the middle, as if he still isn’t sure whether to laugh or sympathise with the poor people’s misfortune. “It broke my heart to tell them.”

“Oooooh, which hotel is it?” Pretty sure that I didn’t come across this morsel of information when I was searching for hotels to stay in, I wanted to know. However, Jimin protests, saying that he’d like to get some sleep tonight. He’s already going to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, and hearing a ghost story just before that is not going to help him sleep easier. Hisyam and I whisper conspiratorially, arranging for a private story time via message while Jimin unloads our bags from the trunk of the car.

Unfortunately for Jimin, this isn’t going to be our first disagreement for tonight. Not ten minutes later we’re standing at the front desk, arguing over sleeping arrangements while the staff looks on patiently. “I should get my own room,” Jimin insists again, his tone riding the line between firm and incredulous at my disagreement.

“Why should we?” This is not the first time I’ve said these words in the last few minutes either, but I’m unwilling to back down. “The room is huge, and,” grabbing his arm to turn him away from the listening employee, “it’s really expensive.”

“I just won’t take a suite, then,” Jimin says with finality, accompanied by an eye roll.

Truly upset now, I let my lower lip jut out in an infuriated pout. “Even a normal room is expensive, and our rooms won’t be close to each other’s, then,” I inform him. “Is sharing a room with me really that bad? I thought it would be fun. Plus, I already feel bad enough for making you come here with me without having you spend even more.” Even though I know that Jimin can easily afford whichever room he wants, even the suite that Se Hoon and I had decided to splurge on to enjoy together, I’m not exactly sure why I want Jimin to share a room with me so much. The reasoning that I’ve given him are all true. Having him spend so much money, on top of messing up his work schedule to go on an impromptu trip with me makes me feel really guilty, even if he’d done it on his own accord. I just hope that’s the main reason I’m so adamant that we share the suite, more so than the fear of having my crippling insecurity issues creeping up on me alone in the room I was supposed to share with Se Hoon.

Since Jimin and I have had sleepovers when we were kids and had even shared a tent when we went camping with friends in high school, I didn’t think he would mind. So when he’d neglected to ask which hotel we would be staying in, I didn’t bother to book another room. In hindsight, perhaps it was just an oversight on his part. He did only have less than twenty-four hours to prepare to go overseas, after all. However, if he’s this against sharing a room with me, perhaps he does feel uncomfortable about it. Sighing, I decide internally that forcing him to share when he isn’t willing would eat at my conscience even more, so I face the staff again as my hand reaches inside my bag, rummaging for my purse. “Could you give us another room? As close to mine as possible, please.”

“Fine, fine, let’s share.” This isn’t the effect that I had intended – I’m fully prepared to pay for his room – but surprisingly, this made him finally give in. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded.” Now that Jimin has agreed, I find myself at odds, feeling like I’d coerced him into saying yes. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I could just get another room if you really don’t want to share.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Nah, I just thought you’d feel awkward since you’re supposed to be here with Se Hoon. Are you sure he won’t mind?”

Oh. So that’s why Jimin had put up such a fight. The realisation makes me feel a little disappointed. I guess I’m a fool for expecting something else. Jimin had never been attracted to me, after all. Why would he care about sharing a room, other than concern over causing trouble in my relationship? If only he knew that he’s worrying about a nonexistent problem. “I’m sure. No worries.” Funnily enough, Se Hoon had been the one sharing his bed with another woman while we were still a couple, not me.

“I guess he thinks I’m a robot, too.”

“What?” I’m in the middle of confirming with the now-thoroughly-confused man at the front desk that we’re definitely not adding any extra rooms to our booking, so I’m not sure if I heard Jimin’s mumblings right.

“Nothing.” He dismisses me, taking our luggage and wheeling them towards the lift, leaving me behind to take the room key.

“Hey, wait! Oi!”

“Here are your room keys,” the young man at the front desk calls for my attention, and I turn around to take the two sets of cards from him. His, “I hope you enjoy your trip,” sounds more heartfelt rather than obligatory, sending embarrassed heat to my face. He’d obviously gathered that things are not hunky-dory between his guests… wait, he probably thinks we’re a bickering couple. At first I open my mouth, automatically about to launch into my go-to explanation that we’re friends, not a couple like I usually do back home, then I close it. There’s no longer a boyfriend who might find out that someone thinks that Jimin and I are in a relationship, and Jimin, that jerk, went ahead without me so he didn’t hear it. What’s the point of clarifying such a trivial thing to a stranger in a foreign land that I probably won’t ever see again anyway?

“Thanks.” Still slightly sheepish over our argument in front of the man, I quickly scatter away towards the lift. “Thanks for waiting,” I repeat the sentiment – but this time in a very different intonation that borders on the churlish – towards Jimin when I reach his side.

“Mm.” His non-committal reply doesn’t indicate whether he missed the sarcasm in my greeting or heard but doesn’t care to respond. It does nothing to improve my mood. I narrow my eyes at him, but he carefully avoids my glare, instead pressing the button to summon the lift, then keeping his gaze locked on the red digits changing from 2 to G. His reaction jolts me away from the displeasure I’d felt when he’d left the counter without me, back to the root of our argument. Uncertainty and guilt replace my ebbing anger.

“Sorry that you had to come all the way here to keep me company,” I begin my apology by addressing the sacrifice he’d made for me. “If it really bothers you, I don’t mind taking two rooms. I’ll pay for it. It’s the least I can do, after all.”

The lift doors open just then, and Jimin goes in without acknowledging my words, dragging both our luggage with him. I follow in and press the first-floor button. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not about to push it any further. I’ve said my piece. Of course, I’m still upset, but Jimin can be scary when he’s truly angry, and I’m not in the mood to deal with that right now. Not that I ever actually want to take on an incensed Jimin. But then, the lift has barely moved when he shifts to face me, his features not quite frowning, but nowhere near friendly, either. “Do you really not care about sharing a room with me? Se Hoon as well?”

“Yes, really.” Well, I really prefer it that way. Se Hoon doesn’t have a say in it, but there’s no reason to tell Jimin that. “No sense wasting money on another room when we’ll only use it to sleep, anyway.”

“You booked an expensive suite in a nice hotel just to sleep?” If I were still with Se Hoon, Jimin’s pointed question would have made me blush. However, all it made me think about is how Se Hoon fucked another woman two days before our vacation. There’s no doubt that there were other incidents before that that I’m not privy to. My blood boils at the thought.

“Well, right now I’d rather get herpes than touch him.” I reply acidly. Jimin might have done a lot for me, especially since I broke up with Se Hoon, but there’s just so much my self-beating, bruised heart can take. This time Jimin is the one doing the following, walking just behind me down the corridor until we reach the door to the suite. Holding the key cards up, I ask him one last time, “Are you sure about this? There’s still a chance to get another room.”

“No need, since you’re so sure,” his reply is slightly curt, but has lost most of the venom. I belatedly realise that he thinks I’m furious with Se Hoon for bailing out because of work, which must have had him softening towards me again. In reality, I’m far more pitiful than that, but I’ll take what I can get. Under his breath, Jimin mumbles again, “I’ll be sure to conduct myself like the saint you both think I am.”

The light musical notes of the door unlocking mask Jimin’s murmuring, so I only register his earlier response, taking it as a reconciliation. Opening the heavy wooden door, I fumble the adjacent wall for a switch, and upon turning it on, white light bathes the space to reward us with a very welcome sight. The entrance stretches and opens up to a spacious living room, decorated with black wooden furniture enhanced by splashes of red – small red cushions and red drawers. Simple white walls provide a nice contrast to the beautiful dark, polished timber floor. While I was looking for a place to stay while we’re here, I had seen some photos of the room, but seeing it in front of my own eyes is just breathtaking. From behind me, the sound of Jimin’s long inhale is audible as he takes it all in with completely fresh eyes.

Excited, I bounce further in towards the bedroom. On my left is a wooden door matching the ones I’ve walked through so far. The walls sandwiching it are also wooden with carvings, but the whole expanse is covered with glass. A peek through it reveals the bathroom, complete with a jacuzzi tub that had been promised in the hotel website in addition to a shower cubicle. The bedroom itself is as beautifully decorated as the living room. Majestic four-poster king-sized bed dominates the center of the room, matching the ornate tables and wardrobe well. Sliding glass doors lead to the balcony, and a large stained-glass window on the other side of the bathroom facing the bed completes the luxurious room.

“I’d be happy to just hang out here until the end of the trip,” Jimin comments in awe as he enters the room.

“I know,” I agree breathily, then compose myself before sending him a firm look. “But there’s food to be eaten.”

My honest statement invokes a helpless laughter from Jimin. “You’re not even pretending that you want to see the sights!” Just like that, all the animosity from before melts away completely. Jimin’s giggles must be infused with magic, drawing out a grin from me effortlessly every single time.

Finally, we collapse on the bed – Jimin resting completely on the left side of the bed, while I lay down partially on the side closest to the balcony with my lower legs dangling over the foot of the bed. If I let myself lay down properly, I know that it’s just a matter of time before I’m knocked out cold from the exhaustion of the journey. A bath in the tub sounds really nice, but it’s too much of a hassle for me now. I just want to sleep; but not with the day’s journey sticking to my body. After some time resting my tired muscles, I let out a loud groan and pull myself up. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Mm.” From the way Jimin lazily acknowledges my announcement, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already sleep-talking.

“Do you want to take one too, or are you just going to stink up the bed the whole night?” Poking the sole of his right foot sharply with my finger, I try to verify this with him before I lose him to sleep completely.

“Mmph.” This time he rubs his face against his pillow, perhaps in an attempt to give a more intelligible answer that fails. Opening up his eyes a crack, he asks, “Together?”

I’m not sure if he’s really lucid or not. But I refuse to let him – and myself – entertain the idea for even one minute. My honest answer isn’t good for the health of both my mental state and our friendship. “I’ll wake you up once I’m done.” Jimin responds with another vague hum that I take as a ‘yes’.

Just a little over twelve hours later, I’m sorely wishing for a nice soak in the jacuzzi tub, followed by a nice afternoon just chilling in the hotel room being blasted by the air conditioner. Jimin echoes my innermost thoughts, as if he can read them; “I swear I must have sweat out all the water in my body,” he complains. “Why did you choose such a hot place to go for a holiday? Don’t people run to cool places in the summer?”

“I think it’s the opposite,” I muse out loud. “People go to hot places to escape the bitter winter.” Right now, the freezing winter sounds good to me. It’s slightly past noon and the sun, which has been slowly creeping up on us since about an hour ago, has become downright menacing. Mentally I congratulate myself on forcing an early start this morning, despite both of us being too lazy to get up several hours earlier. The sky had just been kissed by the sun when we set out from the hotel, using the app to get another driver to bring us to Beach Street.

Despite the name, the street is a few blocks away from the jetty. We started our Penang street art hunt here. The UNESCO World Heritage Site is home to numerous street arts, painted by international and local artists. From what I’ve read, there are some very popular pieces that still survive thanks to restoration, but the art scene changes frequently as the old murals fade with time and new ones take the spotlight. Thankfully, the ones I’ve really taken a liking to haven’t disappeared. An early start gives us some advantages – not having to compete with other people for photos, and most importantly, cool weather for a pleasant walk.

Trusty digital SLR in hand, Jimin and I enjoyed searching for the murals, snapping pictures with them as trophies. To my delight – and Jimin’s amusement – many of these artworks on the wall are interactive. The bicycle that a pair of painted siblings ride on is an actual bicycle that you can sit on, similar to the swings a bit of distance away. Jimin declared that the painting of a realistic little boy walking a very-cartoonish dinosaur as his favourite, until he finds out that the artist, Ernest Zacharevic later made a series of paintings he called the ‘101 Lost Kittens’ project. Whilst indulging him in his renewed vigour to find all the lost cats, I noticed that the street art isn’t all that the capital of the island, George Town, has to offer. Narrow streets snake around terraced store fronts and as the morning aged, some of them started to open. Most of them look old, but many retain an interesting charm unique to each one, be it tiles with beautiful patterns covering the doorstep of the store, or windows and doors carved in cultural patterns that hide a rich history that I’m not privy to.

Dotted between these cramped stores are various eateries, cafes, bakeries and bars, many whimsically decorated, just waiting to surprise us as if saying ‘peek-a-boo’! It wasn't long before our stomachs were rumbling, and we chose our breakfast stop. We managed to get roti canai, a flatbread eaten with curry, which was one of my goals for this trip. Jimin tsk-tsked upon hearing that my goals are food instead of attractions, but even he was mesmerised by the sight of the cook twirling the bread dough expertly in the air. “Okay, this is good,” he relents after taking a bite of the savoury bread.

After filling ourselves up, we resume the search for Jimin’s kittens, but I don’t think we managed to get even halfway before we’re reminded that Malaysia is a country that has sunny and rainy days instead of four seasons. And today is definitely sunny. My trusty cap might be protecting my face, but it’s not doing much against the unforgiving heat. “Korea isn’t this hot, even in the summer,” Jimin insists.

“It’s more humid here,” I explain as my eyes rove about the walls, looking for cat paintings. The grey cat surrounded by red fortune cats has been my favourite so far, but Jimin got more excited about the giant depiction of Skippy, the orange cat.

“How come real cats don’t come in this size?” One would think that Jimin’s wish was an adorable one, but I imagined if it came true, and was horrified at the thought.

“They would eat us whole!” Terrified, I eyed the painting up and down, trying to gauge its size. It must be twice as tall as I am. “It would be worse than a tiger!”

Jimin had laughed at my seriousness, but it isn’t long before I’m ready to call it quits, and he’s right behind me. “Summers are probably more bearable in Korea because we’re in the air conditioning most of the time, while we’ve been out in the sun all morning here.” As if granting my wish, I spy blinds hung over a shop with white lettering written across it. A peek underneath tells me that this is probably a café, since I see wooden stools and tables taking up the storefront space. Without hesitation, I grab Jimin’s arm and lead him towards it. I don’t know what sort of store it is, but I know I could use some shade right now.

It turns out that it really is a café, thankfully. Jimin doesn’t need much persuading to agree on grabbing a bite to eat; it’s lunchtime anyway. We snap up some seats inside, where the air conditioning graces us with its mercy. The menu quickly tells us that this place specialises in bagels. Our bagels are perfectly toasty and crunchy after being reheated over a wood fire in an oven, and I take complete delight in the sour kiwi slices coated in honey topping yogurt in an adorable glass jar. Since I don’t eat as much as Jimin, I opt for a lighter salmon and cream cheese bagel. Although I’m doubtful of the bagel’s ability to satisfy Jimin’s appetite, he insists that the bacon and egg served with his bagel is enough to tide him over.

As Jimin inhales his food, then orders more after giving me a sheepish shrug, my attention keeps straying to one corner of the eatery where I watch a group of young girls snapping pictures amidst raucous laughter. Grabbing the opportunity to catch Jimin’s attention when he looks up from his plate, I gesture towards the corner with my chin. “Look, look. We have to take a picture there.”

By the time we’re done, the girls have gone, so I pick up a piece of white chalk on a nearby table to write on the small chalkboard they’d left behind. “Name… Park Jimin.” The texture of the chalk isn’t pleasant to my skin, but I ignore it to fill in Jimin’s height and the date, chuckling when I think about what to write in the last space. “Charge… laughing too much.”

“What?” My best friend states his incredulity as he lets loose the same charming laughter that I’m charging him with. “Laughter brings joy to the world! How could that be a crime?”

“Shh,” I ignore his weak protests, shoving the board into his hands and nudging him against the wall. He guffaws as I lift up my camera and snap pictures of him against a lineup board to take his mugshot. He then declares that he’s good to go for another search for the lost kitties. But it has been a long day, and with our energy already been sapped by yesterday’s journey, the afternoon is spent in more leisurely walks instead, with Jimin quietly indulging my sweet tooth by popping into trendy and yummy cafes instead of religiously keeping an eye out for more murals. I silently appreciate his thoughtfulness but don’t comment on it, knowing that it’ll give him a golden opportunity to tease me for eating so many sweets. Of course, it might just be him wanting to escape the heat without admitting it, even though the sun’s power seems to have diminished as it slips to the west. Yeah, that must be it, I think to myself, refusing to read more into it.

We’ve just exited another café, the bitter taste of coffee tampered by milk and sugar still lingering on our tongues, when Jimin points out something unfamiliar on the road. “Look, what’s that?” It’s a small cart, just big enough so that two people can sit on the seat underneath a grey shade. Behind it is a bicycle with one wheel, attached to the cart to drive the small cart with two more wheels on its side – like a tricycle – forward. I’ve never seen one in Korea, but I do know that this is a mode of transport in several Asian countries.

“It’s a rickshaw,” I tell him, miraculously pulling the name from my memory.

“Huh.” Jimin eyes it with interest. It doesn’t take a genius to see where this is going. “Wanna try riding it?”

At this point, we don’t even know where we are. It has thankfully cooled down now that it’s late afternoon, but my feet are weary from walking so much. Still… My eyes move from the empty cart, where the two of us can sit comfortably and give our feet much needed rest, towards the back, where the driver is sitting. “It would be nice to support his livelihood, but I’d feel bad asking him to bring us around.” I turn to Jimin, unthinkingly placing my heart in my eyes as I entreat him to reconsider.

Taking in the thin, old man resting his forearms on the bicycle handles as he waits for the traffic light to change, Jimin nods his agreement. “You’re right, I can’t in good conscience hire a man at least twice my age to do that.”

So it’s with mixed feelings that I open the map on my phone to determine where we are. When the phone loads, I sigh with relief. We’ve somehow walked all over Georgetown to end up almost next to our next destination, Chowrasta Market, which is in turn a mere 5-minute walk from our hotel. The large three-storey building looks ordinary from afar, but when we get closer, my eyes widen at the selection of goods in the shops on the ground floor. “Oooh.” Lines and lines of pickled fruits and local titbits remind me of some of the stalls in Korean markets. The vibrant colours of the pickled fruits match the packaging of the snacks, making me go crazy trying to decide what to buy.

Sensing that a lot of time is about to be spent choosing snacks, followed by a lot of money traded, leading to him carrying a lot of things, Jimin interjects. “Why don’t we check out the other floors first? That way we don’t have to carry our purchases everywhere.”

“Okay,” I agree readily, but also absent-mindedly, and he has to take me by the hand to lead me further in towards the escalator. The first floor of the market is nowhere near as exciting as the ground floor to me at first glance. There are some clothing stores, which don’t manage to catch mine or Jimin’s interest. However, as we walk towards the back of the building, a familiar musty smell greets my nose, putting me on alert. Even as we walk in its direction, I start to lean forward, trying to get a good look as soon as I can. “Are those… books?”  

They really are. Several tiny stores filled to the brim with second-hand books – so many that we can barely walk between the shelves. Some people may find the air stale and stuffy, but I see it as staunch, ancient guardians protecting hidden treasures. And some of the books are real treasures; with the help of the shopkeepers, we unearth books in every topic under the sun, some of them a little worse for wear, but the newer releases – like the Harry Potter series – look practically brand new. I don’t find any books in Korean, which isn’t surprising, but I do discover a first edition of a title in the Lord of the Rings series. It isn’t in the best condition, sadly, but it makes me wonder what else I could find had I had the time to thoroughly comb the enormous collection of books. We barely made a scratch before Jimin cautions me against bringing home too many things.

Since I know I won’t be able to decide which book to buy, I decide to not get anything. Pangs of regret echo silently within me as we leave, but then I remember that a plethora of food stalls are supposed to line the few streets next to the market. Picking myself up, I grab Jimin’s arms with an excited grin. “Hey, why don’t we walk a bit more to the food stalls?”

“More walking?” Jimin despairs at the thought.

“It’s just a block or two from here.” As we go down the escalator, I pull him towards the exit by his arm, boding no arguments.

“What about the snacks you wanted to buy?” Digging his heels in, Jimin gestures towards the goods in the small shops we’re passing by, desperately attempting to keep further steps at a minimum.

Sadly for him, I already have a plan of action in mind, and there’s nothing he can do to dissuade me. Shaking my head, I explain to him the logical steps that we should take. “We’ll be passing by this place again on our way back to the hotel. We can buy them then.” As an answer to Jimin’s subsequent whine of protest, I tell him, “Shopping on an empty stomach will make you buy more than you should. So we need to get some sustenance before we buy these.”

Jimin may be following my lead out of the market and opposite the direction we came from prior to arriving at the market, but his mouth isn’t about to admit defeat so easily. “How can your stomach still be empty after eating so many sweets??”

It doesn’t alleviate his disbelief when he’s informed that I’m looking for one stall in particular – a famous cendol stall. When his question of “What is that?” is met with my answer of “It’s a local dessert,” he scoffs in incredulity.

However, as soon as we cross to the next block, both Jimin and I are easily distracted by the shops lining the ground floor. At first the t-shirts with Penang’s attractions, including the murals printed on them as well as the colourful clothes draw our attention. As I start to thumb through some trousers with unusual prints hanging on a rack, Jimin ventures inside the shop then quickly calls me over. I suppress a groan. The shops, with their open fronts, are not air-conditioned, and while the temperature has become much more bearable now that the sun is starting to set, I’d rather stay where the wind isn’t just coming from the fans affixed to the walls. But it is worth it. Even though it’s just your typical souvenir – magnets, miniatures of the country’s famous buildings, and other memorabilia – for me it shows what the country’s people are most proud of. An insight to the people’s minds.

There are also bags and purses of different sizes, some bearing similar patterns to the clothes, while some are woven. “Is this what you want, of all things?” Having Jimin’s heavy arm suddenly drop around my shoulder as I examine a beige bag with red square markings makes me grunt and sag a little.

“What’s wrong with wanting this?” To be honest, I don’t actually plan to buy it, but now I’m tempted to, just to be contrary. Jimin really brings out the childish part of me sometimes; a side that I feel is too immature to show others. My head swivels around to stick my tongue out at him for good measure, but then I notice how close his face is to mine. I can just move my head forward a little and kiss him. Alarmed that this thought is the first that comes to mind, I look back down at the bag so quickly I get whiplash.

Jimin doesn’t seem to notice my reaction to his extremely close proximity, because I can feel him shrug nonchalantly at my verbal response. “Mmm, well, if you like it that much, I won’t stop you.” He ruffles my hair affectionately, earning an angrier “Hey!” than I would have normally given him had I not been so flustered, before I saunter back towards the entrance of the shop, right towards the pants that I’d been browsing when he first called me in.

Sensing a possible sale, or, in hindsight, an opportunity to play the responsible cupid, the shopkeeper who has been watching our shenanigans quietly all this while sidles up to me. “That is a good choice, miss. You should ask your boyfriend to buy it for you.” The woman is very young; probably a few years younger than I am, and her speech sounds a little different than Hisyam’s. I sense that she isn’t as fluent as our driver the night before. However, I can understand her perfectly well, and that’s all that matters.

Or perhaps it would have been better if I couldn’t catch her words, because they made me even more agitated. But before I can tell her that Jimin and I are not a couple, she grins brightly and takes my hand in hers, pressing something small into it. “Here, I’ll give you this. Stay safe!”

Curious, I open my hand to see what she has given me accompanied by that suspicious, conspiratorial look. Eyes widening with surprise and hackles raised, I panic; “No no! You–“

“What’s going on?” Jimin walks over, making me shriek in horror and push the condom back into the shopkeeper’s hands then cover them with the bag I’m holding. I’m not sure why I’m so perturbed. It’s not as if I’m the one suggesting that Jimin and I have sex, but damn it, I want to. And I’m deathly afraid that my best friend would somehow figure out my secret, inappropriate desire.

But of course, my startled and over the top reaction only serves to drum up Jimin’s interest. “What are you hiding there?” It isn’t difficult for him to push my hands – and the bag, my only saving grace – away and uncover the little ‘gift’ that the owner thought she’d thoughtfully given to me. What is up with her, anyway?! I thought this is a conservative country! Looking back towards the winking shopkeeper, I decided that she must be a really forward woman, or a foreigner, despite not knowing enough to tell. Either way, the cat’s out of the bag now that Jimin has seen it. Blinking several times blankly at the small packet, Jimin then looks quizzically at me, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh God.” My mortified groan is muffled by the bag that I’d stuffed my head into, unable to bear the embarrassment.

Needless to say, we don’t buy anything from the shop. The steps we take forward are sluggish and unsteady, just like my emotions. Although Jimin had laughed it off as he’d simply told the shopkeeper that we’re all good the whole time he’d dragged me out of the small shop, his silence now clues me in on the awkwardness that he’s feeling, too. After the row we’d had the night before, I really don’t want this to go on. Must keep my feelings hidden. How hard can it be, right? I’ve done it all these years. No one had ever questioned my friendship with Jimin, so it must have looked easy on the outside. I hope no one would ever find out how torn and beat up I am on the inside.

“Sorry about that,” I broach the incident carefully, wanting to put it behind us instead of making it worse. “She suddenly shoved the… it into my hand.”

“Ah, no worries.” Scratching his head like it doesn’t matter to him, Jimin smiles, but he doesn’t quite look me in the eye. “She must have been desperate to make a sale.”

“That must have been the weirdest tactic I’ve ever seen.” I roll my eyes with a chuckle. Good. This may have started out forced, but it’s sounding more natural to my ears now. Just ignore that the woman had thought that Jimin and I are a couple, and more importantly, how much I want it to be true. We’re really close friends, it’s normal that strangers would think that we’re more than that. Just laugh it off and things will go back to normal. They always do.

Shrugging, Jimin tries to give her some credit. “At least it’s a fresh approach!”

I start to shake my head, but we reach the other end of the building, greeted by the sight of a long line running along the side of the next block, starting at a small, humble stall. “There it is!” I exclaim in excitement, recognising it instantly from the photos I’ve seen online. Jimin’s grunt when I grab his arm to join the line goes ignored, but he doesn’t complain once we’re there, even though I can’t even see the stall from where we’re standing.

Thankfully, the line moves up pretty rapidly. Once we approach the stall, we see why; the green droplet jellies and red beans are already laid out and ready to be scooped into the small bowl with the white coconut milk and brown syrup. The only wait time is caused by the man making shaved ice from the initial blocks with a green machine that takes up almost half their workspace. There isn’t much allowance for chairs and tables by the roadside, so after paying, Jimin and I join the other customers in standing while downing our sweet treat.

“This is sooooo good.” My compliment is backed up by my tilting the remnants of the bowl into my mouth.

“Want to get one more?” Jimin says gamely, and I grin at the offer. Obviously he’d enjoyed it as well, but I shake my head.

“I’d love to, but there are more treats for us to try,” I explain, motioning with my chin away from the direction of the cendol queue. Sure enough, just walking down the road has us stopping every hundred meters or so to check out what this stall or that restaurant had to offer. And not just the local cuisine either! We even come across a Harry Potter café that serves more than just Butterbeer. Penangites sure love their trendy cafes.

It isn’t surprising to hear a local complain over the prices of some of these delectable goodies though. “This much for sotong kangkong?!” A woman about my age gasps after paying the waitress for two plates of some squid dish. I simply listen to her talk to her friends one table away as we skewer our own squid and water spinach, enriched by the dark, savoury sauce that has my taste buds dancing with joy.

Jimin, who is eavesdropping on their conversation too, remarks amusedly, “Looks like we got conned.”

“Not surprising. This place is well known after all. I’m sure they marked up the price since tourists come here a lot,” I muse, unbothered but interested. “It would be nice to have a local show us the good and cheap places. I’m sure there are many that are unknown to us tourists.”

“Hmm,” Jimin hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything else. For a few moments, I watch him in silence, waiting for him to express his train of thought out loud, but he doesn’t continue. By the time we start making our way back to the hotel, we’re so full that the walk is more than welcome. Not as welcome as the stop we make at the Chowrasta Market to buy some snacks – for souvenirs, but I admit to Jimin honestly that I can’t promise that at least half of them might be gone by the time we’re going back to Korea.

The food coma that we fall victim to continues into the late morning the next day, but it’s very well worth it. Both of us sleep so soundly that even the blazing glare of the sun can only make me moan tiredly, trying to shuffle into a better position to continue my slumber. Which is when I come to a realisation that jolts me wide awake.

Jimin’s arms and legs are wrapped around me.

No wonder I feel so snug and warm. It isn’t just all the food breaking down in my stomach. Jimin has hugged me on countless occasions before, but this feels different. More like what a couple would do, while I’ve always thought of our hugs as friendly. Or perhaps I force myself to think that way. I would use all my willpower to make myself pretend that this is the same as well, just for self-preservation. He’s just cuddling me in his sleep after all. It’s not like it’s intentional. Right?

I might have convinced myself, if I didn’t feel a definite, insistent hardness pressing against my butt. Yes, even that is unintentional I’m sure, but my dumb body can’t help reacting to it. Closing my eyes, I stifle another moan – not a sleepy one this time – as I feel how wet I’ve already become in reaction to him.

Against my better judgement, I arch my back, leaning forward and shuffling as subtly as I can into a better position. Tingles that spark like tiny electric shocks when my covered slit comes into contact with Jimin’s clothed morning wood has me stifling a wanton sound of pleasure. I’m not sure if he’s fully hard, but he feels like a good size. Any size would be good, as long as it’s Jimin. My hips rock back and forth, years of depravity leaving me utterly shameless. Unthinking about how wrong it is to take advantage of my unassuming best friend while he’s asleep.

My right hand dives down past the waistband of my shorts and into my panties, seeking the nub that would multiply the pleasure. “Hnn,” I bite my lower lip in an attempt to stop any further sounds from spilling past, while letting my eyelids flutter shut. The better to enjoy this — it is no longer a fantasy I indulge myself in when I’m pleasuring myself. If only I could have more. Deft fingers toy with my clit as I rub my pussy faster against Jimin’s cock. It’s undoubtedly growing bigger. It almost feels like it wants to pierce through the fabric separating us. Even though I’m really just dry humping him, moving by myself, it already feels incredible. What I wouldn’t give to have it inside me, giving my weeping pussy just what it’s craving. If only these fingers were his; flicking the stiffened bud while whispering in my ear, telling me to come for him...

As if answering my obscene prayers, a deep groan from behind startles me into a frozen statue. Belatedly realising the gravity of my actions, I yank my arm up and out of my shorts. Shit, what the hell am I doing??? However, taking a look at my hand; fingers soaked with my arousal, flowing all the way to my wrist, I have to gulp down another wave of desire. No, this is just too risky.

Heart beating deafeningly in my chest, I stay deathly still for a minute or two, hoping that Jimin hasn’t awoken and realised what I was up to. If he has, I don’t even know how to explain myself to him. Hell, I don’t even know how to explain myself to myself. Thankfully, he seems to be in a deep sleep. Even luckier for me, he just loosens his hold on me, turning onto his back with a deep sigh. Like a rabbit sprung free from a trap, I scoot out of the bed as fast as I can without waking him up. Once I climb off the bed, I spin around to look at him, making sure that he really is asleep. His face is positively angelic in his slumber. It would be painful for me to look at it if it wasn’t such a contrast to the tent that his hard-on is making out of the pristine white sheets. Sheets that would no longer remain unsoiled if only he had any interest in having his way with me. They would turn near transparent – if I’m already this wet from brushing against him and touching myself, what state would I be in if Jimin is the one touching me? If he’s the one rubbing against my clit frantically? If there was nothing separating us, if he’s actually inside me, stroking my inner walls with his hard cock? The beddings will be soaked through.

These traitorous thoughts make me whine out loud without thinking. The way I’m looking at him now is no way someone would look at a best friend. No; as much as I’ve convinced myself that I’ve been keeping my emotions in check, I haven’t been looking at Jimin as just a friend for a very long time.

And if he wakes up to find me drooling and mewling for him, there won’t be hiding it any longer. His breathing isn’t the long, calm ones of one in deep slumber. He could wake up anytime. So I hasten to the bathroom, willing my eyes not to stray towards his obvious yet unintentional arousal.

After swiftly divesting myself of my clothes, I hop into the shower, blasting it on full force. Two seconds later, I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from screeching and cursing at the temperature of the water. Somehow I’d managed not only to set it on full force, I had turned it on at the hottest temperature as well.

The cold shower I give myself after hurriedly changing the settings doesn’t do much to clear my mind. My body is crying from rebuffed desire. Clearly this sharing-a-room thing isn’t working out in my favour.

As a compromise to my physical needs that allows most of my pride to remain intact, I turn off the shower and get into the bathtub instead. Reaching for the hose, once again I turn it on full force, but this time only after checking the temperature. Uncaring if it’s shameless to do this when my best friend is asleep on the opposite side of the wall, I open my legs and direct the head between them. The intense pressure of the water hitting my pussy awards me with immediate relief from my pent-up frustration, immediately followed by building pleasure that had been denied from me in the bed just now. Keeping the steady jet continuously hitting my sensitive nub with my left hand, I reach down with my right to trace my slit. It’s completely drenched, and I know that it’s not all from the water coming out of the faucet.

My middle and index fingers slip past my entrance easily. Scooting down the tub to get into a better, lower position with only the upper half of my torso resting against the wall of the tub, I begin to move my fingers in and out of my warm depths. Pretending that it’s Jimin’s cock that I’d felt against my pussy, the memory still fresh, I burn the sensation inside my mind to last me for all time. Soon I’m panting and moaning, though still of sound enough mind to be careful not to utter his name out loud, but unable to stop the aroused sighs that fall out of my mouth at the thought of him doing all of this to me, and more.

The fantasy brings me to a climax in record time with a loud cry that I hope is masked by the sound of running water and thick stained glass. Just in case Jimin is awake, I try to clean myself up as fast as I can. If I’m lucky, maybe he’d still be asleep.

When I step out of the bathroom, he’s still on the four-poster, turned onto his side with his back facing me once more. However, I can see movement underneath the sheets that tells me that he is no longer asleep. Is he… masturbating? Even though it’s covered, I can see his right arm moving rapidly, almost desperately. His breathing is unsteady, just like mine was right before in the bathtub.

A part of me that must be sick and perverted wants to watch him. I stand rooted on the spot with my hand on the doorknob, fascinated, longing to see him pleasure himself. Dying to help him do it. Already my center is reacting again. I’m so ready for him. I’ve been ready for him for so long.

But before I can rationalise continuing to watch my best friend masturbate like a total creep, unthinkingly I release my hand from the door of the bathroom, causing it to close shut with a sharp click. Jimin immediately stills, confirming to me that my suspicions were right. The sound also brings me back to my senses. What should I do now?

In the end, I opt for the safe option, the one that I’ve chosen over and over and over again. Striding past the bed, I greet him as normally as I can. “Hey, wake up, we’ve already wasted half a day just snoozing.”

I’m sure that Jimin is going for a sleepy grunt, but it came out sounding more like a horny groan than anything else to my ears. To keep things from becoming awkward, I pretend not to notice it. Instead, I open the wardrobe in the corner of the room, giving him a chance to hightail it to the bathroom with my back turned to him. He grabs the opportunity readily. As he showers, I dress quickly then let myself out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind me. It’s so much easier to tell myself that he hadn’t heard my shameless moans while I was inside the bathroom if I don’t hear him making them either.

Since he doesn’t comment on it, I assume that he either really didn’t hear me in the bathroom, or that he’d rather not say anything in case I saw him and return the favour. I’m more than happy to just pretend nothing had happened. Especially the fact that I used him to get myself off, although I’m pretty sure he’s oblivious to that. Otherwise I doubt he’d let me go on for as long as I did. Masturbating is something normal, he’d probably spare me the embarrassment even if he hadn’t been caught doing it himself. But using your best friend for your own orgasm is something else entirely.

So, with me neglecting to say anything about sorting out his morning wood – which is completely understandable – and him either not knowing that he wasn’t the only one who got off today, or choosing not to mortify me by saying that he does, the afternoon is spent in peace at Batu Feringghi. It doesn’t cost us much to get a driver to bring us to the long stretch of beach less than half an hour from Georgetown. Going there on a weekday means that we’re spared from the throng of people I’m sure would flock the tranquil strip of sand and sea on weekends. The salty wind is refreshing on my skin; perfect after a proper rest the night before.

Even more perfect than the breeze hitting my face and whipping through my hair is having Jimin by my side, leisurely walking in a more or less straight line marked by the water kissing the sand. We’re close enough that the gentle waves wash over our feet every few seconds, but not too deep into the sea that we’re wet past our ankles. I want to go on like this forever, strolling next to Jimin, feeling like a real couple.

It isn’t long before the blissful walk morphs into a food outing though, as it has always been on this trip, when we spot a stall further up the beach and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as he asks me if I want to check the food out. He knows me well, so I can see how he immediately thought that’s what I wanted. However, this time, I’d really rather just spend some quality time with him. No words or anything else needed. Just basking in his presence, soaking in the happiness I feel simply by having him here with me. Once we get back to Seoul, we’ll get caught up in the flow of our own lives again. With people we know all around us, we will truly go back to being just best friends. He will get a girlfriend, and I’ll probably find another boyfriend to fill in the emptiness that can never be satiated by anyone other than Jimin. Is it wrong of me to want to continue this make-believe game of being his girlfriend a little bit longer, even if it’s only in my head?

Of course, it’s not as if I can tell Jimin any of this out loud. Plastering a smile on my face instead, I jokingly praise him, “Wow, when did you learn to read my mind?” and start off towards the stall ahead of him. His, “Oy, wait for me!” is met with laughter, but it rings hollow in my ears. I bounce and skip along, but it’s hard to do so and maintain a steady foothold on the ground thanks to the soft sand giving way underneath my feet. My body feels unbalanced, struggling to remain upright despite – or perhaps because – of the jolly movements I’m forcing upon myself, parallel to the emotions I’ve been keeping inside me for so long. Always on the verge of crumbling, threatening to fall into the unknown, even as I put up a front of being Jimin’s happy best friend.

Blinking back tears, I clear my throat as I stop in front of the stall to read the menu. “What is this?” Pointing to a foreign word on the small white board propped in front of me, I ask the young guy, barely a man, manning the stall as Jimin steps up next to me, bumping my shoulder on purpose.

“Oh, uhm…” he looks visibly flustered, eyes moving all over the separated goods on his workspace as he tries to find the words in English to answer my question. He must be taking care of this place for someone. He seems new and a little inexperienced with customers. I feel bad for him, but I still want an answer, so I wait patiently, flashing him an encouraging smile.

Jimin is quick to take pity on him. “Well, all that matters is that it tastes good, right?”

Given an out, the young man breathes a sigh of relief, obviously feeling more at ease. “Miss, pasembur is a mixture of all these things,” he makes a sweeping gesture towards the ingredients laid out on the table in front of him, “covered with peanut sauce. Can you handle a bit of spice?”

Placated by his effort to explain, I lean forward to look at the dry stuff he has sorted out in different containers. Some shredded cucumbers and turnips, bean sprouts, fried tofu and a fried pancake-looking thing that looks crispy. “Yeah, I love spicy food!”

The ingredients just need to be put together in a large plate, and soon Jimin and I are sitting at one of the tables propped up around the stall under a leafy tree. Both of us take the chairs on opposite sides, so we can enjoy the view of the sea as we sip our coconut juice straight from the fruit. Halfway through our afternoon snack, Jimin muses, “I wonder how much weight we’ve put on since we’ve been here?”

His question makes the mouthful I have in my mouth hard to swallow. “Ugh, must you think about that? We’re supposed to enjoy our holiday with no worries!” I wag my fork at him grumpily, reaching for a glass of ice I’d asked from the boy to wash down the food with the cool, melted water.

My chiding rolls off of him like water off a duck’s back. “If I’m going to continue going with you for more food after this, I’m gonna have to make some space,” he says playfully, getting up with a gesture towards the small building that houses restrooms a few hundred meters away.

“Ew!” After sending a chuckling Jimin off by flinging what’s left of the ice in my cup at him, I turn back to the remnants of our food. The peanut sauce is only mildly spicy, but still very enjoyable. We’ve found out that the fried pancake-like thing is actually prawn fritters, but I like the turnip the most. Coupled with the heavier peanut sauce, the juice that flows into my mouth when I bite the turnip provides a refreshing, contrasting taste that reinvigorates my senses. As I try to pick out the turnip strips among the few other toppings left over, a man I haven’t seen before pulls the stool next to mine.

Confused, I give the surroundings a quick glance before turning back to him. Only one other table is occupied. The rest are empty. Even while sitting, I can tell he’s taller than many Malaysians I’ve seen so far. He’s fair-skinned, and although he looks Asian, he doesn’t look quite like a Malaysian – I’ve seen many of the main three races of Malaysians; Malays, Chinese and Indians – and I’m no expert, but there’s something about him that tells me that he’s a tourist, too. “Excuse me, why are you sitting here?”

“So I can take a better look at you, cutes,” he responds arrogantly, turning me off in a split second. Trying to find someone to hook up with on his vacation, I suppose.

Frowning, I pointedly continue spearing one of the small nuggets of the pasembur with my fork, uncaring of what I choose to pop into my mouth in a show of blowing him off. “Well, I don’t care to look at you, so please leave.”

As expected, he’s not going to give up so easily. “I came over ‘cause you look really bored, sitting here alone by yourself. The name’s Charlie. Why don’t you come with me? My room is just over at that hotel,” he points towards one of the ritzy resorts by the beach, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction by looking at it. “I’ll show you a fun time.”

“No, tha–“ I start to turn him down again, but he grabs my hand, uninterested in my response.

“Hey! Ah, uhm…” Before I can put up a struggle to get myself free, we’re stopped by the boy taking care of the stall. From the way his words are coming up in short stutters, it’s clear that he’s scared out of his wits. Yet he’s still standing up to the much bigger man for my sake. “The miss has a boyfriend!”

“Eh?” Charlie looks from the boy to me, then scans the open space. “Where is he then?”

“Uh.” Great. What am I supposed to tell him now?

But before I can think of a reply, he shrugs indifferently. “Just ditch him, then.”

Again, I start to pull away from him, but this time it’s Jimin who stops us in our tracks. “What’s going on here?” His tone is light, but I can sense the undercurrent of what I’ve named the Angry Jimin; the quiet man who speaks in a soft voice, hiding a dangerous persona that can cut a person with one cold look. In all the years I’ve known him, I can probably count the number of times I’ve seen Jimin like this with the fingers on one hand, but the departure from the usual Jimin that I know is so drastic, there’s no mistaking it when he’s truly furious like this. Even though I know that I’m not in the wrong, he has me shaking in my flip-flops.

Charlie, on the other hand, does not recognise the cue signalling that he’s in hot water. “Who are you?” Then, making the same assumption as the boy, “what, are you her boyfriend?”

Afraid of what Jimin might say and its consequences – not just about Charlie, but I selfishly can’t bear to hear him say that he’s not my boyfriend, either – I wrestle away from Charlie’s grip, rushing forward towards Jimin to link my arm around his. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.”

My unexpected move confuses Jimin, earning a bewildered expression from him, but Charlie doesn’t seem to care either way. “Tch. Look man, don’t be such a spoilsport. I just want to borrow her for a couple of hours. Or do you wanna come join us too? I hate sharing, but I’m sure we can find someone for you, too. If you don’t mind ‘em ugly,” he laughs nastily, reaching out for me again.

However, Jimin snaps out of his bafflement quickly, and snatches Charlie’s wrist in a firm grip before he can get his hand on me. “Do not touch her.” Jimin’s icy voice intimidates Charlie, I can tell, as the latter hesitates for a moment. But he waves away the warning.

“Aw, c’mon. I–aaaaaaargh!” Charlie’s flippant tone hikes up several notches as his knees buckle, attempting to wrench out of Jimin’s grip, which has tightened so much that his hand is starting to bend at an unnatural angle. Once he manages to get out of it, he backs up several large steps, staying clear out of Jimin’s reach. “What the fuck, man! I thought we were cool! If you’re going to be such a stick about it, you could’ve just said something!”

Now that his switch has been turned on, Jimin is in no mood for any tomfoolery. “I told you not to dare lay a hand on her. Now. Fuck Off.” His words still come out composed and almost unaffected, but his normally smiling eyes now have a malicious glint to them, and even Charlie has learnt his lesson.

We leave the place soon after he does, after I thank the boy for standing up for me. Both Jimin and I know where we’re heading to next; I told him our plans before we headed out a few hours earlier, and I think that we’re walking in the right general direction, but neither of us are checking if we’re going the right way. When the heart is lost, does it matter where the body goes? I’m not sure what’s going on with Jimin, though. He isn’t checking if we’re going the right way, and he doesn’t seem to care, either. I’d ask him what’s bothering him if I wasn’t so preoccupied myself. Having him protect me like that made me ecstatic, even though I was also scared back there. But the aftermath is excruciating. Having him act like he’s my boyfriend, as short-lived as it was, only makes it more painful to face reality. He will be that for another lucky girl, one day, forever. But that girl isn’t going to be me.

While I’m musing on the thoughts that I’ve been burying for ages and plan to do so until the end of time, Jimin isn’t planning on taking the same approach. I should never have worried about asking him what’s wrong – he’s going to address it himself without any prodding from me. “You could’ve just told that ass that your boyfriend is back at home.”

Frayed nerves and a permanently broken heart immediately fuel the ire that rises inside me at his comment. Is that really important? “Do you really think he would have left me alone if I’d said that? He was trying to take off with me even with you there,” I bite off bitterly.

Jimin sighs, unable to argue with the validity of my statement. “I guess that’s true. I just wish I didn’t have to pretend to be your boyfriend to chase him away.”

“Why, is the idea of being my boyfriend that horrible to you?” No, wrong thing to say. I shouldn’t lash out like this. I’m only inviting trouble. But I can’t stop. Jimin might have not done anything wrong, but I still can’t help being resentful towards him for this. I can’t stop hating myself for still being hung up over him. He might not have meant anything hurtful by it, right now and back then, but it doesn’t stop it from eating away at me, turning me into an ugly monster inside.

At least he has enough wits to recognise that he’d put his foot in his mouth. “No, I didn’t mean–“

“Just stop.” I don’t want to hear it. I can’t bear it. His meaning is crystal clear. It always has been. Jimin just doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend. However, if I hear the exact words, I don’t think I can handle it. All of me wants to run far from him, but I can’t do that without appearing even more suspicious than I am now. So I settle for increasing my walking speed just short of a run, surprising Jimin as I leave him behind to cross the road. The few seconds it takes for him to wait for the cars to pass and lengthen his strides to return to my side grants me a bit of time to furiously blink my tears away, clearing my throat. I hope he’d missed the way my voice cracked just now.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Jimin pulls me to the curb, holding me by the shoulder to face him. “You’ve been acting weird. I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just–“

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I throw out fake words meant to reassure him, using my phone as an excuse not to look at him. “Just checking the direction for the night market.” My thumb shakes with the rest of me, making it difficult to type, but I will myself to make it steady. I can’t break down now. Not after all this time, in the middle of the road in a foreign country, no less.

“No, you’re not.” It isn’t the same Jimin that had dealt with Charlie earlier, but I can tell that I’m trying his patience. Still, I can’t tell him. If I do, not just this trip; everything will fall apart. And I need Jimin more than I need air. If I can only have him as a friend, then I’ll take it with the heartbreak that comes with it.

“Just let it go. Please, Jimin,” I plead with him, finally tilting my face up towards his concerned one. The annoyance on his face crumbles when he sees the raw agony I know I can no longer hide. My watery eyes that betray a world of pain, even if he doesn’t know why. His hold on me loosens, then releases me, his arms falling limply to his sides. The last thing I want is to see him like this. It’s even worse because I’m the cause. But there’s nothing else I can do. “I’m sorry.”

“If you think it’s best for you, I’d do anything,” Jimin says, not asking for an explanation. “Just know that you can come to me about anything. Anything at all. I would always be there for you.”

I nod appreciatively, thinking to myself that he can’t be the medicine to the disease that he himself has created. “Thank you,” I whisper. We stand like that for a while, ignoring other people walking by us, some peering curiously at two foreigners just frozen there. Wiping my tears as discreetly as I can with him watching, I take a few deep breaths, determined to return to my normal self again – as normal as I can be, anyway – and get this day back on track. It has been a roller coaster so far.

The night market spanning along the main road and beyond are made of countless makeshifts stalls that light up the descending night. I can see just about everything I can think of here – from the standard souvenirs, to traditional clothes and bikinis, knockoff bags and watches, to paintings. Normally I would have soaked up the atmosphere, growing so excited that I’d border on crazy just trying to decide what to buy and ending up with more goods than I could carry, but somehow I can’t quite muster up the energy. It isn’t the fault of the vendors, who are friendly and inviting, but not too pushy. Nor is it because I’m turned off by the prices; although I do notice that things here are a little overpriced compared to some other places I’ve been to so far. As desperate as I am to return things to how it was before, I can’t get over Jimin rejecting me as a girlfriend. If he doesn’t even want to pretend to be my boyfriend, I can only imagine how much of a turn off it is to him to have it become a reality. And while I’ve known all along that this is how he feels, I’ve spent so long denying it to myself as I pretend on the outside that I’m all good with it. Without anyone knowing, I’ve allowed myself to fantasise being his girlfriend for too long. It’s just daydreaming, I’d thought. Just a fantasy. I know what’s real, I’d told myself. But I didn’t realise that it had made me hope that it would someday come true, and to be forced to face reality like that – it left me in a state of shock. Things are even worse, because I’m here with nowhere to run from him.

It certainly doesn’t help matters that many of the vendors assume that we’re a couple. While not surprising, it makes the air feel more awkward between us, and drives the knife deeper into my heart. I don’t need to be reminded that Jimin doesn’t see me as girlfriend material, no matter how much it may seem differently to everyone else. Every “No, no, we’re just friends,” I tell every friendly seller is a cruel admittance to the fact that I’ve been denying since we were young. Like a punishment for thinking that I can one day have more than I deserve. I couldn’t have been more wrong. And this whole day is just full of occurrences driving the point home, over and over and over. I want to cry my heart out in anguish. I want to scream my lungs out in frustration. And I want to run, to the ends of the earth, and fall off to a place where I can hurt no longer.

I’m sure Jimin knows that something isn’t right with me, but he doesn’t say or ask anything. While I really appreciate that he’s giving me space and keeping his distance so I can lick my wounds as best as I can in such a crowded place, a foolish part of me still hopes that he cares. His suggestion that we call it a night and get an early start tomorrow after popping for dinner at a food court wedged among the stalls is a very welcome one. At this point I just want to sleep and forget all this ever happened. The latter might be too much to ask for, but I can’t imagine that some rest would make anything worse than it already is.

 “When I said an early morning, I didn’t mean this!”

Jimin’s whining is ignored, although he doesn’t notice me giggle softly at his dismay. I’m glad that a few hours’ sleep is enough to restore the normalcy between us. At least that’s how it looks on the surface. My own feelings for him, now escalated to an irreversible state, have been repressed back inside me, where they have been kept carefully under lock and key for as long as I’ve realised them. And I tell myself that I’m okay with this. I’ve always known that Jimin will forever be my best friend, and only that. It was just my stupidity that kept embers of hope burning within that it might somehow change. As long as I can extinguish my impossible wishes, I can hold onto what I have – Jimin’s friendship. That is more than enough. It has to be. The alternative is to confront him with the truth, and lose him.

So I choose to maintain this delicate equilibrium. What happened yesterday should never come to pass again. I was careless, foolishly allowing my real feelings to surface. That mistake should never be repeated. Hopefully Jimin would think that I’m just still upset about Se Hoon, and leave it at that. Jimin has never been all that keen on talking too much about my boyfriends. The time we spend together has always been for just the two of us. We may chat about our partners once in a while, just to check in on the other person, but we never delved into it. I never cared to talk about my boyfriends when Jimin is the only one I truly wanted, and perhaps Jimin has never had much to share about his relationships, either. It would just be frustrating if I had to listen to him talk about them, so if he doesn’t say anything, I’ve never asked.

Addressing him from the front on the narrow dirt path, I point out, “It’s not that early, you know,” then yelp as I almost stumble over a root jutting out of the ground.

“Look out!” Relying on his animal-like reflexes, Jimin rushes forward and seizes me by the arms before I tumble to the ground. Wrapped in his arms, his sweat and slightly heavier breathing from the exertion of our exercise should be anything but romantic, but as I look up into his soft eyes, filled with concern, I can hear my heartbeat pounding erratically in my ears, and I know it’s not because we’ve been navigating this leafy terrain over the past half hour. Even in this awkward, uncomfortable position, with most of my body weight resting on him and both of us smelling way less fresh than daisies, I can’t help but notice how inviting his lips look from this close proximity. I’d give my whole fortune to be able to kiss them.

No. I’m letting myself fall into the same trap all over again. Before I do anything I will regret later, I clear my throat and extract myself from his embrace. Jimin lets me go readily. “Sorry,” I mumble to hide both my embarrassment and disappointment.

At first, Jimin looks as stunned as I feel, but my movements and apology snaps him out of it. “I told you that hiking is a bad idea,” he takes the opportunity to chide me for my choice, in the aggravating I-told-you-so manner only a childhood friend can manage. It automatically incites an immature response in me, pulling me away from my years-old worries, if only for a moment.

“It so isn’t! Just wait until we get there. Besides, it’s the perfect way to burn off all the food we ate.” Finishing with a loud huff, I turn around and continue on the narrow trail towards Monkey Beach, a stopping point on our way to the Muka Head lighthouse in Penang National Park.

We arrive at the beach just a little under an hour later. It’s already midmorning, and the sun has begun its work warming the sand and the water. I had my fill of the beach yesterday, and there’s still more hiking to do before we reach the lighthouse, but I can’t resist running my hand through the clear water and then splashing an unsuspecting Jimin who’d crouched down next to me. “Hey!” He scolds me indignantly as I erupt into laughter; my first uninhibited one since only yesterday, but it seems like forever since I’d last felt such unadulterated joy. The world just isn’t right when things are not going well with Jimin. It makes me more determined to keep everything just as they are. A life where I’m on the outs with Jimin just isn’t right.

If either of us thought that going to Monkey Beach was tiring enough, we’re in for an unpleasant surprise. While the trail to the beach was slightly challenging, it was mostly flat. From the beach to the lighthouse is a far less forgiving climb – one that would have knocked me out if I were in a worse shape than I’m in. Jimin, the fitter one of the two of us, insists that we would have gotten to our destination in less than forty minutes if I hadn’t stopped to catch my breath, but I pretend not to hear his annoying remark, choosing to roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him when his back is turned.

Despite the journey that was more tiring than we’d bargained for, it’s well worth it now that we’re here. The lighthouse is an old one; there’s nothing really remarkable about its appearance. Our climb is really rewarded by the view that we see from the top of the lighthouse. Jimin makes his way up first, then calls out to me excitedly, and I give up on regaining my strength at the bottom of the lighthouse to join him. The narrow walkway surrounding the lighthouse peak offers us a fantastic view of the islands surrounding this one, and we stand there for a while, just taking in the endless stretch of the blue sea, trying to figure out where it meets the azure sky in the horizon.

The climb down from the lighthouse is significantly easier compared to going in the opposite direction, and we find ourselves back at the beach in no time. “Do you know that we can see turtles here?”

“Where?” The possibility of this gets Jimin on his toes at once, excitedly looking around the beach for any stray turtles wandering around. I can’t help but giggle at his enthusiastic response.

“I don’t know. I read that you might see them here. Maybe we’d have a higher chance to see them at one of the other beaches in the park. It’s a nesting place for the turtles, and the season is right about now.” My clarification disappoints him, and his shoulders sagging makes me want to pull him into a tight hug. “Do you want to go there and see if we can find any?”

At first he brightens up at the idea, then looks at me sceptically. “How far is it from here?”

“Uh…” As much as I like playing tour guide, I’m not actually sure of the answer to his question. “A little far, maybe? The way there uses an almost completely different trail, I think.”

That draws an easy response from him; “pass”. By the time we’ve walked all the way back to the park entrance, had a tasty lunch and got back to our hotel to shower, it’s already late in the afternoon. “The day just flew by,” Jimin remarks as we sit in the car, on our way to our next stop.

“I know, right? But this isn’t bad.” We’re on the main road, surrounded by buildings on our left and right, but we must be on the edges of the island, because I can see glimpses of the sea and the reddish-purplish dusky sky as the car zips by the gaps between the buildings. “It’s kind of relaxing when we’re not rushing from one place to another.”

“I wouldn’t call a morning hike relaxing though,” Jimin mumbles under his breath, earning a playful smack on the arm from me.

The easy-going mood and light banter continue even after we get to Straits Quay, a beautiful marina enclosed by a shopping mall. Perhaps too easy-going, as we indulge in some drinks after dinner. Having western food is definitely a departure from the norm after several scrumptious Malaysian meals, but I don’t mind the change very much. Especially now that the alcohol has made its way into my system – losing my inhibitions is making me tap into my repressed emotions more deeply than usual, and it’s confusing me. While I’m happy that Jimin is here with me, I’m also tired and angry at him for rousing my irrepressible hopes once more.

Without thinking, I’ve downed more than I can handle. I’ve belatedly realised that Jimin is keeping a modest pace, not imbibing even half as much as I have, but at that point, I’m beyond caring. “You should slow down a bit,” he warns me, and only then I put my mug down with a sigh, heeding his advice. “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Although I’m starting to feel a little woozy, I still have a bit of wits about me yet.

Jimin stares at me, trying to judge if I’m still of sound mind. He must have been aiming for the delicate balance between loosening my tight lips and inability to think coherently, and I’ve fallen neatly into his trap. “Is everything going well with Se Hoon?”

“Why, do you think there’s trouble in paradise?” My answer is sharp and bitter out of sheer anger and defensiveness, instinctively seeking to protect myself even when I’m not in the best state to do so.

“I’m just concerned. I know you’re pissed because he bailed out of this trip at the last minute, but you seem more… prickly than I thought you would be,” Jimin hedges, expertly opening my precious treasure box of jealously guarded secrets. I’ve always worried that Jimin knows that I’m keeping something from him. He could always tell when there’s something I’d rather not tell him, and he usually manages to make me spill everything out. Everything… but my real feelings for him.

“And whose fault do you think it is?” I ask testily, not thinking that there can be more than one answer to this question.

“Se Hoon?” Jimin’s wrong answer makes me want to slap my forehead. At this point I’m not sure who’s the stupid one; him or me. Of course he would think Se Hoon is behind my irritable behaviour, but should I have clued Jimin in on my troubles in the first place?

“Not any longer.” His clueless answer bursts the balloon of fury blowing up within me, and I deflate in my seat. How can I expect him to put all the pieces together when I’m withholding so much of them from him? Jimin can’t possibly know that I’m hopelessly in love with him. Not when I’ve done everything that I can to hide it from him. But I’m tired of concealing things. I’ve gotten sick of it for a long time, and it has risen stealthily to the surface, slipping through my defences, biding its time until an opportunity comes for it to spill forth. Like right now. “We broke up just before we came here.”

“Oh.” His response is quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s indifferent, or sad for me, or feeling awkward from the sudden news bomb. “So it wasn’t some business thing that made him cancel the trip?”

“It was business, alright. A meeting with his colleague on his bed.” Funny, I should feel more upset about it, but I’m not. Whatever Se Hoon has done during the course of our relationship has never affected me much one way or another. Naturally he did please me and annoy me at times, but nothing he ever did got to me the way Jimin does. It’s the same for all my past relationships. I’m aware of that. But what else can I do but accept these pseudo relationships, since I can’t have the one I truly want?

Jimin’s brows shoot up upon hearing this, then crash down in a frown, accompanied by some colourful curses under his breath as he processes the information. “Sorry about that. Never liked the smarmy guy anyway. You can do way better,” he rattles off the typical sympathetic words that don’t do anything to lift up my spirits. “You could have just told me though,” he mumbles, almost as an afterthought, but I can tell that he’s offended that I kept it from him. Far from making me feel guilty though, his expectations that I share anything about my half-hearted relationships only serves to stab another wound in my already well-punctured heart.

“Guess I don’t want to feel like an even bigger loser in front of the guy who rejected me before I could even tell him how I feel.” A large lump lodges itself in my throat, obstructing my air flow, but the words come out anyway.

“What do you mean?” Leave it to Jimin to be stymied even after being told outright. “Who are you talking about?”

I don’t know what else I would have blabbed to him if a wave of dizziness didn’t strike me right then. Finally, something – alcohol in this case – saves me from my stupidity, even though it was precisely the same thing that led to my foolish confession in the first place. “Whoa!” Jimin reaches out to steady me, almost upsetting the glasses on the table in the process. “Okay, I think we’ve had enough.”

I’m not sure when or how Jimin paid for our drinks, but he must have somehow, because we made it out of the shopping mall and down at the seafront without anyone hounding us to pay the bill.

It’s hard to believe that this beautiful place is this quiet when the night is still young, but I suppose we have the weekday to thank for that. The sea breeze does wonders to whip me awake, and although I remain tipsy and a little unsteady on my feet, I manage to convince Jimin that I’m up to the night-time stroll without any danger of falling into the sea unsupported in no time at all.

The yachts lined up along the marina give the place a luxurious feeling, while the lights from the high-end apartments above the shopping mall illuminate the scene behind us against the darkness of the night and the mysterious sea before us. A white lighthouse marking the end of the yachts is clearly much newer than the one we visited earlier today. What it lacks in character and history, it makes up in pristine beauty, befitting the dreamlike scenery we’ve found ourselves in. While I’m not exactly in a romantic mood that this setting is obviously perfect for, I can still appreciate the atmosphere. Well, as much as I can while focusing on putting one foot in front of the other without losing my balance.

We turn right at the lighthouse, following the wide walkway past white houses surrounded by greenery; surely a picture-perfect setting had we seen it during the day. Lamps glow softly above us as we walk unhurriedly to the end of the straight path, both unwilling for the idyllic time to end. The silence between us is a companionable one. Jimin and I have never felt the need to fill them with idle chatter if we have nothing to say to each other. Or even when we do, sometimes, like we do now. I’m slowly becoming aware of the fact that I have said something I never should have, but I’m still buzzed enough to not care about the consequences.

However, Jimin, the more sensible of the two of us at the moment, isn’t content with letting things be. By the time we turn around to head back towards the shopping mall, I start to feel the weight of the empty air, filled with burning questions on the tip of Jimin’s tongue. In my heart of hearts, I don’t want to do it, but I look at him nevertheless; a silent permission for him to go ahead and say what is on his mind.

“When you were talking about the guy whom you couldn’t confess to, whom did you mean?”

Somehow I just knew that he’s going to zero in on that. “Does it really matter?” I sigh.

“Of course it does! I want to know who is stupid enough to reject you before you could tell him anything.” He pauses, trying to make sense of the whole thing. Of course he doesn’t know. He isn’t even aware that I know what he said, so long ago. Heck, he probably doesn’t even remember – people don’t tend to remember things that aren’t important to them, anyway. I want to snort in derision at his comment. He doesn’t even know that he’s talking about himself.

I shake my head; partly in mild disbelief, but mostly in hopelessness. The events of yesterday had solidified reality and brought me back down to earth. “It’s not gonna happen, so I’m trying not to think about it. Even if it’s just pretend, I just want to feel cherished, by the right guy, for once.”

Jimin stares at me intently, both of us standing so still we could be mistaken for statues but for our hair and garments swaying gently in the calm breeze of the night sea. I can tell that he wants to say something, to offer me words of comfort, but the agony that I’ve suffered for years must be showing on my face. A pain so deep that nothing he can say can make me feel better. Yet I wait. Hanging onto foolish hope that the source of my sickness can provide me with the remedy I need. An eternity passes by, and I know that there’s nothing he can do. So I give up, and step forward, alone. Perhaps this time I really can leave him behind.

But of course, my feet somehow get tangled with each other, and I start to trip. “Whoa!” Jimin’s quick reaction saves me in a very similar fashion to what happened less than an hour earlier, pulling me back against gravity. “Oof!” Like a big oaf, I stumble heavily into his arms, almost causing him to topple over. He manages to stay upright though, leaving me in a very awkward position; a heart-thumping position that I’ve always longed to be in, and also one that is counter-productive to my aim of forgetting him. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm.” I’m not. Intoxicated, the closest I’ve been to outing myself in ages, in dangerous proximity to the man whom I can never have. Carefully, trying not to lose my balance again and to avoid making it look like I’m pushing him away, I extract myself from his embrace. Immediately my body cries out for the warmth of his body. It isn’t that cold, but my desire for his nearness transcends physical needs. Best to get out of this situation before I start daydreaming again. “Can we go back? I’m not feeling so good.”

Without protest Jimin agrees, helping me call for a driver this time, and soon we’re back in our hotel room. We take turns showering, the motions almost feeling like a routine at this point, like we’ve been living together for years instead of this being only the fourth night we’ve shared a room consecutively. Ever since the ride back to the hotel, we haven’t said much to each other beyond short, necessary things, like, “I’ll pay for the ride.” Rather than awkward, the silence is heavy. Jimin seems lost in his thoughts while I’m just trying to clear my head for the most part. When we lay down on the bed together, I’m more aware of his nearness than ever before.

Skin prickling and thoughts all jumbled up, I shift to rest on my side, facing away from him. Perhaps I can try to get some sleep like this, I try to convince myself even though I’m hyperaware of his presence behind me. Why is this so damn hard? Tears well up behind my eyelids at the futility of it all. Jimin is just a guy. Okay, he’s an amazing guy, and the greatest friend anyone can ask for, but he is still just a normal human being. With flaws. He irritates me at times. We get into arguments and fights. So why is it that I can’t let him go? Why do I still pine for him? Why can’t I fall in love with someone else? It’s not like all my past boyfriends were assholes like Se Hoon. There have been decent guys. Nice guys. Men who are just as good as Jimin. Maybe even better. Why am I not with them? Why didn’t those relationships work out?

A wet sob makes its way out involuntarily, inducing one more, then another. I hope Jimin is asleep, so he doesn’t hear me. Slowly, I begin to slip out from under the covers, trying to keep the pitiful noises wedging in my throat contained, at least until I can make my way to the balcony where I can cry my eyes out. However, before I can reach the edge of the bed, Jimin grabs hold of me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. “Shh,” he whispers soothingly into my ear, stroking me softly without demanding an explanation.

His gentle encouragement eases me to let myself go, drawing up the white blanket up to my face, cupping it as I cry in earnest, drenching the quality cloth with my tears. Although Jimin doesn’t know that he’s the cause behind my sadness, it doesn’t make his tender brand of solace any less comforting. For me, Jimin has always been able to evoke the most extreme emotions within; the highest bliss, the deepest pain, the best comfort. And even though I can’t let it go – perhaps I never will – the overwhelming agony eventually subsides. Tendrils of exhaustion begin to creep in on the edges of my consciousness, as they always do after a good cry. My eyes will probably be bloodshot and puffy tomorrow.

After finding a dry spot on the blanket to wipe them, I twist around in Jimin’s arms to face him again. None of the lights are on in the room, but the pinpricks of light from the lamps outside shine dimly through the thin inner curtains that have been drawn over the glass doors, softly illuminating the room like faraway stars. I can make out Jimin’s kind expression as he looks at me, plump lips curled into a tiny smile. “Thank you.” My gratitude comes in a soft voice, even though I can’t return his smile.

“Anytime,” he answers lightly. The arm that was wrapped around me lifts so he can caress the side of my face tenderly with his hand. His touch feels like heaven, and my eyelids flutter shut, wanting to savour and burn this kind warmth into my memory so I can relive it a million times in the future.

When I open them again, my sight is clearer than before, with all the moisture previously clouding them washed away like they have been wiped by the windshield of a car. Jimin looks so close. Over the course of our friendship, I thought I’ve seen all of Jimin, but this is different somehow. He has never looked so attainable. I’ve never wanted him as much as I want him now, right at the cusp of cementing the determination of letting him go forever.

Against my better judgement, I shuffle closer to him, but he doesn’t move away even though he’s now just a hair’s breadth away from me. We’re so close, our breaths are mingling together. His palm is still cradling my cheek. Perhaps I’m deluding myself, but he’s looking at me as if… as if he actually loves me. I’m not sure what came over me, but I lean forward, doing what I’ve always wanted to do but never had the courage to in all the years of knowing him;

I kiss Jimin.

Even though I can feel his surprise from the way his body stiffens and his lips part in astonishment, I keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut, afraid of his reaction now that I’ve taken the plunge. I don’t know what’s possessing me to make such a rash move after holding back for so long, and I’m sure I’ll live to regret it. Either from the embarrassment of being rejected, or from losing Jimin’s friendship. Maybe both. But right at this moment, I don’t care. If I’m never going to have him, the least I can ask for is one kiss, and savour it as much as I can before he pushes me away.

However… he doesn’t do anything of the sort. Quite the opposite, actually. Once he’s gotten over my unexpected move, his arms wrap around me once more, but this isn’t the tender hold meant to comfort me. No, Jimin is squeezing me with a strength that I’m not even aware he possesses, his hand cupping the nape of my neck so he can kiss me more passionately. His tongue teases my bottom lip; not making its way into my mouth, but rather content tracing my lips, as if getting to know every corner of it before going further. It’s like he’s turned the tables on me, leaving me in shock. But not for long. It’s impossible not to react when Jimin’s soft lips are melding into mine, his breaths fanning across my face, the sensations too real for it to be a dream.

It gets even more vivid as his body, much like his mouth, brushes intimately against mine, and I feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire against my stomach. My own body jumps to life immediately. I can feel my blood heating up with need, my leg hugging one of his so I can press my aching pussy against it, and I moan into his throat wantonly. The sound rouses Jimin from his trance, and finally he does what I’d expected him to do from the very start. Sitting up, he breaks the kiss, leaving me disappointed, befuddled and breathless. I hadn’t thought about how I would feel about his reaction – or rather, I didn’t expect that he’d only push me away after reciprocating my kiss, and thus have no clue what to think of it – but his fierce scowl has me trembling in fear. What have I done? Why is he like this?

 “Why did you do that?” Jimin’s voice is rumbling and low, a sure-fire mark of seething anger, and this time I’m on the receiving end. I open my mouth to explain, then close it again. No words will come out. How am I supposed to explain myself? Even if I’m honest with him about my feelings, I already know what his answer will be. While I’ve gone and done the stupidest thing possible, I still can’t bear to hear the rejection from him as he looks straight into my eyes. Seeing that no answer is forthcoming, he bites out, “Do not test me like this.”

He extricates himself from me none too gently, almost kicking my leg off of him so he can get out of the bed. Still trying to gather my wits, I sit up, wanting to call out for him, but he looks back at me, his eyes narrowed in fury as if anticipating what I will do and daring me to do it. I draw back like a frightened deer and let him leave the room. The door closes shut softly, but in the silence of the night following what had transpired, it’s as loud and final as a booming thunderclap in the sky. As much as I want to go after him, I know that’s not a good idea. Especially when I don’t know what to say. What did he mean by testing him? Me kissing him might have been a stupid decision, or even a drunken mistake, but it certainly wasn’t a test. I can’t figure him out. Heck, I can’t even figure myself out.

Even though I should be tired, sleep eludes me tonight. I can’t stop thinking about my unrequited love for Jimin, what happened tonight, the incident that occurred so long ago and all the time in between. With my exhausted body and my overloaded brain wrestling for control, I slip in and out of consciousness several times during the course of the night, but when the darkness is lightened by dawn, I’m still no closer to figuring anything out than I was in the beginning.

Jimin hasn’t returned to the bed, either. A blessing, perhaps, because I can’t face him right now. I’m not sure if I can look at him in the eye ever again. After taking a quick shower, I get dressed and make my way out of the bedroom. As expected, I see him passed out on the sofa in the living room. Guilt hikes up my conscience. I should’ve been the one to take the couch, not him. He hasn’t done anything wrong. But instead of waking him up to tell him to sleep on the bed, I tiptoe out of the room, praying that he wouldn’t wake up.

Yes, I’m running away like the coward I am.

At first I wanted to just leave, but I remember that we’re not in Korea, and my disappearing without notice could cause real panic. So I scribbled a simple note saying, ‘Going out for some fresh air. See you later.’ and left it on the small wooden table next to the couch Jimin was sleeping on before slipping out. It doesn’t diminish my guilt for abandoning him on a trip like this, but it does lessen it somewhat.

Not enough for me to enjoy the time by myself, though. Even though the nasi lemak highly recommended by locals and tourists alike hits all the spicy and yummy levels on the scale, the rich coconut rice accompanied by fried anchovies and peanuts, slices of cucumber, boiled egg and fried chicken – talk about decimating two generations in one go – is only enough to fill my stomach, not my happiness meter. I stay long after my food is gone, sipping the milk tea absent-mindedly until late morning, when I figure some of the touristy places must be open by now.

Using the handy app, I get drivers to take me around a temple and a museum, but as interesting and beautiful as they are, I’m unable to get myself to enjoy them. After ending up walking aimlessly and failing to take anything in, I accept the fact that I’m just wasting my time. Resolving to find a way out, I pop into the first café that I see. With a clear aim in mind, I try to focus, forcing myself to push past the dense fog of self-loathing and denial.

Yet still almost an hour later, I can’t think of anything to say to Jimin. Is there any excuse for acting as moody as I have been, lashing out at him, then getting stupidly drunk and making a move on him like that? On top of that, I even walked out while he was sleeping. He has every right to be royally pissed off at me. Knowing Jimin though, he’s too kind to be mad at me for long. He really is more than I deserve. Looks like I’ll have to be angry at myself for the both of us. And I think that I’m doing the job quite well on my own.

In the end when I pull out my phone, instead of a long explanation that Jimin deserves, I type, ‘Jimin, I’m really, really sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind. Please let me know how I can make it up to you.’

Before I can close the chat, a reply from Jimin appears on the screen. ‘When will you be back?’

I hesitate, wondering which answer would be the right one. Does Jimin want me to come back, or is he so angry that he wishes not to see me, at least for a little while? ‘Do you want me to go back now?’

While waiting for Jimin to type out his answer, I fidget in my seat, belatedly weighing my choice of words. Did I sound like an errant child who is being questioned by her parents about her whereabouts? Or did it sound like a desperate admirer finally being given the time of day? The latter is probably closer to the truth, I laugh deprecatingly at myself. Jimin’s reply, however, doesn’t fall within my expectations;

‘The sooner the better.’

Curiosity filling me to the brim, I quickly make my way back to the hotel. Why on Earth would Jimin want me to come back as soon as I could? Does he not want to do anything touristy by himself? Or does he want to scold me? Or… does he want to continue where we stopped last night? I shake my head in disbelief at my foolish dreams. As if he’d want to do that. Pushing me away and sleeping on the couch made his rejection painfully clear.

Heart threatening to burst out of my chest in anticipation and fear, I pause for a minute to take a deep breath before opening the door to the hotel room that Jimin and I share. “Sorry I–“

“There you are.” Jimin greets me with a smile that has my pulse racing. Memories of last night flood my mind just at the sight of him, but somehow Jimin is acting like nothing had happened. I should be relieved, but for some reason I feel dismayed. Did the kiss mean nothing to him after all? After pushing me away and going so far as to sleep on the couch, I thought my coming onto him had an effect – anger, frustration, befuddlement – something. Anything. I’d risked everything for that kiss. And for a second, I was sure that he’d kissed me back. It doesn’t seem like something that can be swept under a rug. I was expecting a severe scolding. A less sane part of my brain feeds to the hope that he would pull me into his arms and kiss me, just as passionately as we did last night. However, he’s just walking around the room, collecting things as he speaks. It feels anticlimactic.

“Have you had lunch?”

I shake my head. I’ve only had a cup of coffee at the café while I agonised over what to say to him. I haven’t given a thought about lunch. Looks like all that effort was just a waste of time.

“Good. Are you ready to go? Let’s grab some food together,” he says, swiping up keys from the small table where I’d left the note for him this morning.

“Uh, okay,” I reply stupidly, not really being given a choice, as Jimin strides past me to get the door. He is acting slightly weird, but at least he doesn’t seem outwardly angry at me. I’m not sure if this is better, but my instincts tell me to go with the flow, so I follow him out of the building without protest.

“Where are we going?” Instead of waiting at the hotel lobby to call a driver, he leads me to the parking lot next to the hotel. My bewilderment deepens when he presses a button on the set of keys and a silver sedan unlocks with a flash of lights and a friendly beep. “How did you–?”

“Rented it,” Jimin answers simply, opening the passenger door and beckoning me in. In my state of confusion, I thought he wanted me to drive, but then I remember that here the driver’s seat is on the right, not the left. “It’s not that hard to find, and I can just leave the key at the hotel lobby for the owner to collect later.”

“Okay…” It doesn’t really answer the question I have in mind, but I’m not even sure what I want to ask, so I suppose this answer is as good as any.

“Buckle up.” Before I can follow up on his instructions though, he reaches over my seat to pull the seat belt and strap me in. When his body brushes against mine, all the air whooshes out of my lungs, like I’ve been hit in the stomach. He may be able to do it but no, I can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. But I want to remain friends with Jimin more than anything else, so I don’t comment on it, even if I can’t act as nonchalantly as he is.

He has no problem driving on the opposite side, easing out of the parking and making his way down the small alley to join the busy main road with no issues. The only thing that might clue anyone in that he’s not actually from around here is his phone on its holder on the dashboard, displaying the directions to our destination on the navigation app. It says that we will take about forty minutes to get there, but not the actual location we’re headed to. “Where are we going?” I repeat my question from earlier. “Is it too far to get a driver to drive us there?”

“Hmm.” Instead of answering me, Jimin glances at the screen of his phone. “It’ll take us a little under an hour to get there, so I guess it is kind of far, or maybe too expensive?”

“Uh.” I’m not sure what to say to that. How am I supposed to know how much it’ll cost us to get there with a driver, or how far is ‘far’? A question better kept to myself, because I’m sure Jimin would find it ridiculous if I voice it out loud. Why ask when I’ve no idea what I want to get out of it?

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Jimin continues, seemingly knowing what I want to say when I don’t even know it myself, as usual. “I’d like to spend some quality time alone with you, just the two of us. It’s not the same when there’s a driver here.”

“Oh... okay.” My dead heart sputters weakly to life, but I tell myself not to read too much into it. Isn’t that what always gets me into trouble and hurts me in the first place? “It does feel a little awkward to chat between the two of us when there’s someone else there.” Yeah, that sounds like what a friend with no romantic feelings would say on the matter.

Laughing, Jimin nods, agreeing with my statement. “I totally get you! Even if we’re not speaking in English, I feel really guilty when we don’t include them in the conversation.”

“It’s the worst when the driver is totally quiet and unfriendly!” Relieved, I catch Jimin’s jovial, cheerful energy and run with it, happy that this car ride isn’t going to be as awkward as I was afraid it would be.

“What about those who play awful music?” Jimin challenges.

“No, no, that’s still not as bad as the ones who don’t play anything and won’t say a word!”

In this vein, we continue merrily all the way along the coastline of the island. “Look, Jimin, there’s an island over there!”

“Hmm?” Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, he briefly looks in the direction I’m pointing at. “Oh, that’s pretty close, isn’t it? I wonder what island it is.”

“Yeah, there’s a ferry making its way over there,” I inform him as I figure out the keywords to type into my phone to find out about the island. “Turns out it was a leprosarium, then became a quarantine station, and then a prison, but now it’s a resort.”

“Yikes, that’s weird.” Jimin cocks his head, unsure whether to laugh or disapprove. His sentiment echoes mine.

“I know, right?” Casting a look at the cluster of buildings I can see from inside the car, I try to reason the decision behind building a resort there. “Maybe there’s something that still draws people to it, even with its history.”

“Maybe.” His concentration back on driving, Jimin simply agrees with my assumption. “Maybe we can check it out next time.”

Next time? Just two words can make my mind race with endless possibilities, but I force myself not to think about them. It’s probably Jimin making polite conversation. I watch him steer the car smoothly out of the exit, gliding onto the spacious bridge that spans out almost ninety degrees away from the island. “You’re really good at this.” Grasping for a topic that would take my mind off his vague invitation to come to the island again, I comment on his superb driving skills on the left side of the road.

“Oh, yeah, it’s not my first time.” Even though he tries to play it off coolly, I can make out the smug smile yanking at the corners of his lips. It’s so easy to make Jimin happy — just a praise and he’d be on cloud nine. Like a cute puppy. I try not to laugh at the imagery. “Several of the countries I’ve been to also drive on this side.”

“Oh... really.” Just like that, the wind is blown right out of my sails. Are these the trips that he’d invited me to, but I couldn’t go either because of work or because I thought that going on one with him would be too much for me to take? Whom did he go with? Were other girls there with him? My jeans are too unforgiving for me to grab, so I clench my fists around nothing; the dull pain of my nails digging into my palm feeling like a punishment I very much deserve. I don’t have the right to ask or even think of any of this. The more I ponder on it, the more pain I’ll put myself through; I know this, I’ve told myself countless times, yet I still can’t stop myself from doing it.

Thankfully, just then, Jimin’s stomach roars past my troubled thoughts. “Have you eaten anything?” I ask him guiltily, remembering that I’d left him to his own devices just this morning.

“Yeah, just something light near the hotel.” He grins sheepishly, his right hand leaving the steering wheel to push his hair back to cover his embarrassment. Somehow he melts my soul with his cuteness when he makes such an expression, and when he concentrates on driving again, he makes my heart thump hard from how cool he’s become. Feeling flustered on my own, I whip my head to the left to turn my attention out the window once again. There isn’t anything out of the ordinary to capture my attention this time, so I’m left to the mercy of my self-deprecating line of thinking until Jimin’s poor stomach rumbles again.

“Maybe we should stop to get something to eat.” Really, I don’t need any more reminders of my childish behaviour from last night to this morning. I don’t know if I can feel any worse than this.

Chuckling apologetically, Jimin reassures me, “It’s fine, we’re going to a place where we can eat.”

Slightly irritated that I have to ask this a third time, I grind out, “and where would that be?”

“You’ll see,” Jimin says teasingly, darkening my mood, but I don’t retaliate — I shouldn’t be cross with him.

“Well, I hope it’s not too far from here.” Giving in, I simply cross my arms petulantly. “If I hear your stomach growling one more time, I’m gonna go deaf.”

As Jimin promised, it’s not too far after we’ve gotten off the bridge. “This is still Penang, you know,” he informs me as he veers left to exit the highway. “It’s not just the island; part of Penang is also on the mainland.”

“Really...” It’s interesting that he’s playing the tour guide now. All the top Penang attractions I saw on the Internet are on the island, so I’d missed this fact. I wonder what Jimin has found that makes it worth driving all the way here. It doesn’t look to be a bustling city like Georgetown. While not exactly rural, the town seems more relaxed, with two-storied shops and houses filling the landscape instead of towering buildings. After only a few turns, we enter an even less developed area, this one a village. Brick houses are mixed with ones made out of wood, with trees growing all over the place, lending the scenery on both sides of the road a more natural appearance, different from the carefully structured planning of the city.

Shortly after, Jimin turns right and pulls over by the side of the road. I peer over the dashboard to see what’s in front of us — it’s a dead end. “Are we here?”

“Yup,” Jimin quips happily, getting out of the car, and I follow suit. It really feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere. Especially since we’re at the end of the road, facing a river with a very narrow bridge that’s only wide enough for pedestrians and motorists to cross, giving the impression that there’s no way out.

However, the small shop on my left at the end of the row catches my attention. I can tell that it’s been there for years and years; there’s an air of homeliness, like it has blended completely with the surroundings, and it’s filled with people. Most of them are much older than Jimin and I — probably around our parents’ age, or maybe even older than that. From their relaxed, casual dressing, they seem to be villagers. A few men are chatting excitedly over white cups of coffee, but the other patrons are all eating, despite it being slightly late for lunch. Jimin and I sit at one of the two tables just beyond the threshold of the shop, which is the only one available. I shift in my seat a little, looking around for a menu. They’re usually displayed somewhere on the wall, or given on the tables, but I don’t see any. “Ah, you’re the one who called earlier, yes?” A middle- aged man comes over to our table, all smiles as he greets us.

“Oh, you remember me?” Jimin’s obvious surprise at being remembered has the man chuckling good-naturedly.

“Of course, we very rarely see foreigners all the way out here,” the man, later introducing himself as the owner, explains to us. “It’s not exactly a touristy place. There’s a university campus close by, and I bet not even half of them know about this restaurant!”

Neither of us know how to respond to that, but the owner seems more than happy with the customers he has. And from the lack of empty tables, I’m guessing this place is actually a local favourite — with the villagers, if not the students of the nearby campus. Small and out of the way it may be, but this restaurant has a certain charm to it. The menu turns out to be very simple; freshwater curry prawns, fried fish with three-flavoured sauce and stir-fried cabbage. We forgo the fish in favour of the prawns, which were caught just this morning, and is the signature dish, as well as the cabbage.

Thanks to the simple and limited menu, our food arrives at our table quickly. The owner recommended that we get bread to accompany our prawns instead of rice, and I’m glad we’d followed his advice. The slices of white bread are perfect for soaking up the curry, and the concentrated flavour married to the sweetness of the fresh prawns is nothing short of bliss. In his state of hunger, Jimin had ordered a daunting kilogram of prawns, and although it takes us a while to finish them, it’s not as gargantuan a task as I was afraid of when I first saw the plate. Washing down the food with some homemade sugar cane juice, I smack my lips happily at Jimin. “How did you find this place?”

“It was just a stroke of luck. I was scrolling through the phone while waiting for you to come back when I saw it.” It might have sounded like Jimin was trying to make me feel guilty if he didn’t say it with a nonchalant shrug and follow it with, “I was hoping to help you take your mind off of things.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. It seems like I haven’t made such a blunder last night as I’d thought I did. He was so angry when he’d pushed me away then, even though he’d reciprocated the kiss for a bit. I’m sure I hadn’t imagined that. What was that all about then? Something tells me that it wouldn’t be a wise decision to ask, as much as I’m dying to find out. The last thing I want to do is to sour the mood once again, after Jimin had gone out of his way to make me feel better. It’s more than I deserve, after the way I’ve treated him. So I decide to just play along, ignoring the stronger feelings and questions burning away at me, like I always do. As long as I can keep being by Jimin’s side. The momentary lapse in judgement last night could have destroyed our friendship, but somehow we’re still here, eating and talking and laughing like nothing had happened. The enormous burden that the fear of losing Jimin had pressed on my chest eases off of it, now that I’m assured that things are back to normal. Although the niggling desire for something more remains there. Always there. “Thanks, Jimin.”

Jimin’s smile at my appreciation is more dazzling than the late afternoon sun behind us. The sight of it cements our friendship, now back to equilibrium. Our passionate kiss is to become a hazy, slightly drunk mistake, and will be swept under the rug to be forgotten forever, except in the innermost secret corner of my heart, where I tuck in the sweetest memories of myself with Jimin. Tiny, insignificant instances that are surely nothing to him, but are the most precious jewels of my life, to be taken out and admired whenever I’m at my lowest and loneliest. Or sometimes even when I’m not. 

A belly full is one of the easiest ways to make Jimin happy; next to praising him, and seeing him happy is definitely the simplest way to make me happy in turn. How can I not be, when presented with those bright giggles that eat up his whole body, always leaving his position on any chair in precarious balance, and scrunching up his face so adorably? Before I get lost in my thoughts of him again, I snap myself out of it by asking, “So, where to next, Mr. Tour Guide?”

My impromptu title for him jolts him into an upright position in his red plastic chair, immediately assuming a serious, business-like mien that has me in stitches. “Ahem,” he glares at me warningly, wanting me to play along. “Looks like we have–“ he takes a peek at his watch “–a bit of time left before dusk. But I think we should go soon.” Indeed, we had been sitting there for way past an hour, and the place is completely empty of other customers now. I wonder if the owner is keeping the shop open for our sake. Clearly Jimin is thinking the same thing, because he thanks the owner profusely as he pays for our meal before we leave the premises.

As Jimin skilfully manoeuvres the car out of the dead end, he playfully manoeuvres his way out of answering my increasingly insistent questions regarding our next destination. His refusal to tell me only digs my hole of curiosity deeper and deeper, however, I can’t help but laugh and wish that he doesn’t give in to my badgering. For Jimin to be this happily secretive; it must be a pleasant surprise, right? Despite myself, I’m starting to really look forward to the unknown evening plans.

Instead of going to the mysterious location, though, he drives us around the small town. As expected, there isn’t much for visitors to be interested in. “There is supposed to be a haunted mansion somewhere in here,” Jimin interrupts his tour-guide-like speech by breaking into an evil grin, the picture of the very devil with the dark orange and red hues of the sky colouring the background behind him. “Wanna go and see it?”

I don’t have to look at the rubber plantation on our left to imagine the horrors that await beyond the rows of rubber trees. “NO!” Finding Jimin’s raucous guffawing grating on my indignity, I pout petulantly at him. “Hmph. You laugh at me, but you don’t want to go either, do you?”

That was effective in getting him to stop. “You got me there.”

“Really, what would you have done if I’d said, ‘let’s go’? I bet you’d pee your pants!”

“No I wouldn’t!” It’s Jimin’s turn to be affronted. I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from bursting with laughter. “I’d just say we don’t have enough time to visit it, because I’ve already made other arrangements.”

“Oh, have you now?” Every opportunity to tease him is a chance that cannot be wasted. “And is that really true?”

“No,” he admits unabashedly, drawing chuckles from both of us. Just like Jimin knows I’m not the greatest with ghosts, I’m perfectly aware of how easy it is to scare him. “The house has an interesting story to it though. It’s supposed to have ninety-nine doors.”

“Really?” Scaredy cat I may be, but I always love a good story regardless of the genre. Horror stories are always great – as long as I don’t have to watch, or heaven forbid, experience it myself. “I wonder how big it is, to have that many doors. It’s such a specific number though.”

Jimin shrugs, not knowing the answer to that and seemingly not caring enough to find out. “A witch doctor is supposed to be staying there now.”

“Oh?” Since Jimin has turned the car around, I peer at the trees now on my right, trying to catch a glimpse of the mansion in vain. “I wonder what happened to the owners.”

“Murdered, supposedly.”

With a shiver, I tear my gaze away from the shadows of the trees that had been hypnotically pulling me in. “Okay, let’s stop talking about it. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“Aww, sorry if I scared you.” Letting the car move at a snail’s pace along the empty road, Jimin strokes my hair gently. Normally my instinct would be to swipe his hand away, perhaps with a warning to not treat me like a child. However, his touch is oddly soothing, so I simply sit back in my seat, enjoying the comforting touch. It’s not often that Jimin would treat me as preciously as this. Better set aside my ego and make the most of it.

In no time at all, we’ve arrived at a parking lot next to the river. I don’t see the curry prawn restaurant anywhere, and I wonder if we’re currently on the other side. I’m pretty sure we crossed a bridge at some point. Jimin leads me out of the car and up some narrow steps to a small jetty. Sitting down along one of the edges with our legs hanging over the side, we settle down to gaze at the beautiful sunset. “I was going to book a sunset cruise, but I wasn’t sure if we’d get here in time for that.”

“Sorry,” I apologise again in a small voice. Although it isn’t Jimin’s intention to make me feel bad, I can’t get over my guilt. I’m sure if the tables were turned, I’d be completely livid with him. So to have him treat me this kindly makes me feel doubly worse. “I don’t know what came over me.” At least that’s the truth. After managing to reign my feelings for Jimin in for so long, to have it all spill in the span of one night was beyond careless. It’s unbelievable.

Lucky for me, Jimin remains mostly oblivious to the whole thing. “It’s okay. I’d be out of sorts too,  if my girlfriend did to me what Se Hoon did to you.” Jimin tries to lay his hand on my shoulder, but I move away.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I mean, hypothetically.”

“Oh.” My idiocy knows no bounds. I settle down again next to him, trying to play it off like I was just surprised that he had a girlfriend that I didn’t know of. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s had one, but he had always told me about them. It pained me to listen, every single time, but I did anyway, because in a perverse way, I wanted to know about the girls that Jimin is into. Not that any of it matters. Nothing would change the fact that he isn’t interested in me. Even after everything that had transpired last night; after I’d told him that he’d rejected me before I could even tell him how I feel, after that kiss – especially after that kiss – he still doesn’t realise. That’s how little thought he has given to having me as someone more than just a friend. Zero thought. He just thinks that I’m unstable and vulnerable after a bad breakup and is trying to be a good friend. My wandering hand finds a small pebble on the dusty and less than clean jetty, and throws it into the river with all my might. That’s what I need right now. A good friend. Yeah.

All in all, I suppose I have to be grateful. At least things haven’t become awkward between us. I can even almost enjoy the gradual darkening of the sky as the wisps of colour dissipate into the overwhelming dark blues and blacks. Not far behind us, lights from the building next to the jetty battle against the darkness, illuminating the river and trees beyond. “What’s that place?” I wonder aloud.

“A café,” Jimin replies, catching me by surprise. I didn’t expect him to know. Peering at the two-story building curiously, I see waiters seating some customers at a table on the space on the first floor, which is left open to the elements.

“It looks nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.” There is a note of relief in Jimin’s voice. “I booked a table for us, for dinner later.”

“Didn’t we eat just a few hours ago?” Trust Jimin to want to eat again so soon. I can still taste the thick curry on my tongue as I laugh and shake my head at him.

“No, no, you got it all wrong.” He levels his serious gaze at me. “I believe it’s already been a few hours since we last ate.”

Trying not to spray saliva all over him, I curl my lips down in an effort to hold in my mirth. “Is that why we’re here, then?”

“No, actually we – oh! Speak of the devil.” His words are interrupted as our space is invaded by a man who looks like he hasn’t slept in a year. Despite his tired appearance, he’s still all smiles. “Mr. Jimin?” He inquires.

“Yes, that’s me,” Jimin confirms. “I was starting to worry that you’re not coming.”

“Sorry for being late! My wife was supposed to wake me up from my nap, but then between cooking and our son, I was forgotten.” Jimin and I exchange amused glances. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who thought that the man could do with some sleep. “But that’s okay, since it’s just the two of you today, I’d say we’re right on time. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” I whisper to Jimin as the man leads us down the jetty and into a boat, which can easily accommodate at least six people, but will apparently only bring the three of us tonight.

“You’ll see,” Jimin sits next to me and squeezes my hand, determined to not give anything away. If I was told that I’d be getting in a small boat with a stranger in the middle of nowhere, shrouded by the cloak of darkness a few days ago, I’d be alarmed. However, Jimin’s presence changes the experience into an exciting, mysterious adventure.

And we’re off.

The boat glides away from the jetty and the lights of the café, further and further into the ghostly arms of the shadows, barely making any noise. Soon, the river widens, and we can no longer see any signs of civilisation. Only the moon, a whisper away from being full, and the glinting stars offer any glowing relief to the endless blackness, made even darker by the trees lining the riverbank. “These are mangrove trees, called berembang,” our tour guide gestures to the crowding trees clustered together, shielding everything on land from view. I doubt I would be able to see anything but branches and leaves even if we came during the day.

But we’re here at night, and a different sight awaits us.

Our guide steers us close to the riverbank, and stops the boat. “Anytime now,” he informs us cryptically, and I take a look around. What are we supposed to see? With the meagre illumination from the moon and the stars, most of the trees remain in eerie shadows. I silently hope that we’re not on some ghost-hunting expedition. For a split second, I feel panic rising within, but then I remember that there’s no way Jimin would want to go for such an experience either.

Then I see it. A blinking light, so soft and unworldly that I thought I’m seeing things. Before I can pull on Jimin’s shirt to ask him if he saw what I’d seen, I see another small, flickering glow. And another. And another. Suddenly we’re surrounded by them; tiny lights that shine brightly, suddenly from seemingly random locations, making the trees around us glitter like Christmas trees. “Wow!” I whisper in awe.

“Fireflies,” Jimin breathes into my ear, his hushed tone pulling me in against him, unthinkingly wanting to be close to him in such a magical world that we’ve been suspended in. Their light joins the reflection of the stars in the river. Our very own stars on earth. With Jimin’s arm holding me tightly and the ethereal scenery all around us, it’s hard to tell if I’m awake or if I’m  in the most amazing dream I’ve ever had. The same gentle light from the fireflies that juxtaposes with the inky blackness of the night also casts an angelic glow over Jimin’s features, taking my breath away. There’s something in the atmosphere that makes me feel closer to him than usual, and that makes the whole experience even more dreamlike. My hand stretches out to touch the marvels of nature, but even if I can reach them, I can’t bear to actually brush against them for fear of hurting such minute, wondrous creatures, or bring myself back to the real world. So we watch them in silence for a while, until the tour guide breaks the moment by asking if we’re ready to go back.

It feels like time has stopped while we were on our journey, but in reality, only about an hour has passed. Part of me wanted to stay there forever, surrounded by glimmering lights, where real life feels so far away. To be with Jimin, just the two of us. The lights from the café next to the jetty, while not exceptionally bright, are jarring in comparison to the gentle twinkling of the fireflies. I almost refuse to get off the boat. However, all good things must come to an end, and I let Jimin help me out of the boat and lead me to the café.

“Are you hungry?” He asks after we’re seated at one of the tables on the open first floor.

“Mmm, not really,” I muse as I thumb through the menu. Majority of the food here is of the western variety, and although I do enjoy it, I’m still full of the prawn from earlier. Mostly I’m eager to hold on to the memories of the boat ride. Irrationally, I’m afraid that having a meal would distract me and cause the warmth of Jimin’s embrace as well as the magic of the fireflies to slip through my fingers.

“Neither am I,” Jimin sighs with regret, clearly wishing that he could fit some more food into his stomach. With an eye roll, I tell him that I’m not surprised – he ate the lion’s share of the prawns, and there was way more than what two people could normally eat. “Maybe we can share a cake.”

“Ooooh, cake!” His suggestion is met with enthusiasm on my part. Although I’m loathe to share my dessert with anyone, Jimin is – a very, very occasional – exception, and my stomach is panicking at the thought of being stuffed with more food, so I relent. The burnt cheesecake we choose makes me regret having to share a little. It’s downright heavenly; I can probably eat all the slices available if I don’t mind the button of my jeans popping right off. Thankfully, Jimin is fuller than I am, and gives up after about two small bites. “Are you sure you don’t want any more?” This is a treat that warrants opening up that extra stomach I know we all have for dessert, but at the same time, I slyly hope that he doesn’t take me up on my offer.

Shaking his head, he gestures for me to finish it. Quick as lightning, I pull the plate towards my side of the table gleefully. Now that I don’t have to share it with anyone, I can take my time to savour it. In my excitement, I don’t sense Jimin’s intent gaze on me until I’m about halfway through the slice. Realising that I must look like a complete and utter glutton, I pause and smile at him sheepishly, trying to wipe off any crumbs as inconspicuously as I can. Trying to cover my embarrassment, my mind races for something to say. “Thank you for such a great day.” I can’t believe I didn’t think about telling him this until now. He must have put a lot of thought into this, and at the last minute, too.

Those words bring the most tender expression I’ve ever seen grace Jimin’s face. My breath stills for a moment to give my brain a chance to process and commit the sight to memory. “Everyone needs to feel loved once in a while, right?” This is the first time I’ve heard him say such a thing so seriously, without it sounding like an off-handed comment. He always makes these sort of statements like it’s an insignificant matter, sometimes literally waving the words away with his hand in the air as he says them. However, the look in his eyes is intense, as if I’m the only thing he can see. It helps his words come across — I do feel very loved. Maybe not in the way I’m hoping from him, but loved nevertheless. At least that’s what I think, until he continues, “And if I could, I want to cherish you always.”

This is the problem I have with Jimin. Biting my tongue to keep from asking him to elaborate his statement, I try to not get my hopes up. He’s forever uttering things that make me feel special, while I know he doesn’t mean anything by them. His rejection from years ago is as clear in my mind as if it happened yesterday. Yet to this day I still can’t get over him, even after being forced to hear the bitter truth ages ago. “Thanks.” Lowering my gaze towards my plate to hide my tears, I stab at the cake. Suddenly the delicious dessert doesn’t look so appealing anymore. “You don’t need to go this far just because you feel bad for me though. I’m a big girl. I can handle a breakup or two.”

My statement, heavily injected with denial, is met with complete silence. Nervously, I lift my head, chancing a glance at him out of curiosity. His soft features have been rearranged to one of... anger? Frustration? He’s taking deep breaths, as if to calm himself down. At the moment, he’s about to burst into a tirade, which occasionally happens when I do something stupid that warrants a scolding from him. But this time, for some reason, he’s trying to hold it in. While I’ve never relished being reprimanded like a child, no matter how much I deserve it, funnily enough, I find myself eager to find out what he’s trying so hard to keep in. “I didn’t do any of this because I feel bad for you,” he grinds out between his teeth — even after cooling down somewhat, he’s unable to completely contain his vexation. If this is his tempered down version, what had he originally meant to say? “It’s only because you’ve broken up that I can do this. I’ve always wanted to indulge you. All the time if I could, but you’ve always had a boyfriend, haven’t you? I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

Okay, this is seriously maddening. How am I supposed to get over him when he frequently sends mixed signals through his words and actions? Sometimes I really want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him hard and demand him to treat me like a friend since he only sees me as one. I like to tell myself that he treats me differently than his other female friends when I watch him interact with them, but I cannot convince myself that this is true. I know I can’t look at them objectively. What if I’m fantasising by myself, fancying that he treats me better, when in reality he behaves similarly towards everyone, and I’m just seeing him with rose-tinted lenses? I really hate myself when I’m like this. When it comes to Jimin, my logic lays down the hard truth mercilessly, but my wishful side can never fully accept it, encouraging me to indulge in useless visions of us together. 

Out of reflex more than anything else, I laugh self-deprecatingly. If imagining being with Jimin would bring me the most pain, then I’ll just focus on everything else. Even if that may hurt me as well. Nothing can be as bad as being rejected by him. And thanks to my brain reminding me that he doesn’t want me everytime I fantasise about us, I’ve felt the pain of rejection again and again, even if it’s all replayed memories in my own head. “Being single sucks,” I try to make it out as a joke, stabbing at the cake, picturing Se Hoon’s face there and maiming him repeatedly. It’s nowhere near as satisfying as it would be to do it to the real thing. He’s the reason Jimin is here now, so close to me for such a long duration while I’m single and vulnerable. Fucking Se Hoon. “It just reminds me that I’m not good enough for the guy I really want.”

“That guy must be the stupidest person on Earth,” Jimin quips loyally at once. I keep my head down so he doesn’t see me roll my eyes at his ignorant statement. How can he be so dense? The most devastating moment of my life, doled out by the person I love most, my best friend, and he doesn’t even remember that he was the one who’d said that.

Jimin and I have known each other since we were in kindergarten, but I have no idea how long it has been since I fell in love with him. It’s just one of those emotions that builds up gradually, so subtly that you don’t notice until one day; BAM! You realise that you love him and there’s no turning back. But even back then, before the rejection,  we’d grown really close, and I wasn’t sure if it was wise to jeopardise our friendship by coming clean about my romantic feelings for him.

It turned out that my hesitation was for the best, because Jimin made his feelings for me crystal clear in our second year of high school. He doesn’t know that I’m aware of it, though, since I’d heard my name being mentioned by one of his friends as I was approaching, and quietly hid against the wall around the corner to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Jimin’s then-new-girlfriend was with the group, being harassed by one of his friends, Ji Woo. Although I can’t remember who she was, or even her face, I do remember feeling some satisfaction over the fact that Jimin’s friends didn’t like her. It was a feeling that I shared. “I’m surprised you’re with her, Jimin,” Ji Woo had commented, not at all caring that she was right there with them. “When there’s already a perfect girl for you.”

“Really?” Jimin had pressed the button on the vending machine, and I’d heard the loud clanking sound of his drink being dropped into the hatch. “And who is it? Must have walked right by me.”

“He means your best friend, you dumbass,” another one of Jimin’s friends, Ha Rim, had filled him in. His then-girlfriend had made an outraged sound at hearing Jimin’s friends promote me to replace her, but no one other than Jimin seemed to pay her any attention. They were acting like only thin air was present where she stood, which was a good indication of how annoying she was. I never understood what Jimin had seen in her. True, she was extremely pretty, but other than that, she had no redeeming qualities. Peeking out of my corner, I’d seen Jimin rub her shoulder placatingly as he’d chuckled.

He’d said my name in a disbelieving tone, as if the idea of me being his girlfriend was so ridiculous that it was out of this world. The way he’d said it echoed in my mind for many weeks after that. I could still hear it in my head sometimes. “She’s one of us, yeah? You don’t fuck a bro, that’s gross.”

“I don’t know if she’d appreciate you treating her like one of the ‘bros’, Jimin,” Ha Rim had rebuked him gently, but it didn’t change Jimin’s mind. He’d just shrugged, not willing to get into an argument with them.

“Whatever it is, she’s just not girlfriend material.”

I hadn’t stayed to hear anything else after that, since I’d fled from the scene, afraid that my sobs would break out and they would discover me. Since then I’d done everything I could think of to get over him, but nothing had worked. All my boyfriends were just distractions, temporary fixes to the gaping hole in my heart that could never be filled.

“How I wish he knew that,” I say cryptically. A savage laugh bubbles up my throat, hearing Jimin unknowingly call himself stupid, but I refrain myself. My rage over his befuddling attitude still manages to sour the delectable dessert, and I shove down the rest of it. Before the day is completely ruined, it’s better if we return to the hotel. 

Being the dense dummy that he is, Jimin doesn’t notice that anything’s amiss, and we get into the car to drive back without incident. The bridge back to the island isn’t too far off from the small town and soon we’re on it once more. “There’s another bridge connecting the island to the mainland, you know,” Jimin breaks the more-or-less comfortable silence with this little tidbit of information.

“I know. You can see it from this bridge.” It makes me look to my right, past Jimin in the direction of the first bridge, just to double-check if I can see it from here. I’m sure I saw it during the day, but it’s a completely different scene now that it’s nighttime. The orange lamps overhead lighting our way along the second bridge are dull, but the same ones appear romantic and beautiful after a stretch of darkness in between the two bridges, illuminating the first bridge. Is the view of the second bridge just as pretty if we were to look at it from the first one? I’m not sure, but I’m content with enjoying the view from here.

“Then do you know that this is the longest bridge in Malaysia?” Jimin’s voice draws my eyes back from the distance to the man being outlined by the scenery I’ve been staring at. Unlike the flickering glow of the fireflies, the bulbs shine relentlessly from afar, never giving up on irradiating Jimin’s face. While not quite the same view, these lights make him look just as dazzling as he had in the boat. A halo of soft backlight, juxtaposing against the night to bathe him in their radiance.

Although I’ve been staring at him like an idiot, or perhaps because I’m proving myself a veritable one, only when he calls my name does it dawn on me that we’re having a conversation. Well, sort of. I’m not really in a chatty mood, but he has been making stabs at sparking up a discussion. “Uh,” I grunt without thinking, then mentally hit myself for pushing myself further down the ‘being a dummy’ road.

“What does that mean?” Jimin laughs, sparing me a quick glance before turning his focus back on the road. The windsocks are blowing merrily in a perpendicular direction to the mostly straight lanes, and Jimin is taking care not to drive too fast. It’s hard for me to ensure that we’re not speeding when there are hardly any cars around to compare our speed to. I can almost believe that Jimin and I are the only ones in this world, on a never-ending road surrounded by the sea. “Do you know or not?”

“No.” My eyes shift away as I answer, since I have no idea what I don’t know. Which is a fair answer – either I didn’t hear what he’d asked me, or I simply got distracted and forgot. Both sounds highly likely. Sensing a risk of him further probing me on whatever topic it is and figuring out that I haven’t been paying attention, I roll down the car window, hoping some fresh air will clear my mind.

Boy, is that a wrong decision. A strong, unrelenting gust of wind immediately blasts into the car. Jimin’s surprised yelp is barely heard over the loud howl from the sea, exacerbated by the speed we’re going at. Before the window has even reached halfway down, I pull the tiny lever the other way, quickly closing it back up.

“What was that?” As soon as soothing quiet fills the car again, Jimin demands to know the reason behind my inexplicable actions. While he doesn’t sound angry, it’s obvious that he’s genuinely concerned. I can’t blame him, after everything that’s been happening since last night. “You’ve been acting really weird.”

My reflection on the window on my side of the car shows a frowning woman with mussed hair chewing nervously on her bottom lip, brows fused together in confusion and frustration. “I feel out of it. But I’m not sure why.” This much is true. After suppressing my feelings for Jimin successfully since I was in school, why are they surfacing now? If I’ve known that we will never end up together for just as long, why is the pain becoming unbearable now? How can one kiss cause my world to implode? The emotional roller coaster has wrung me out and left me completely bewildered. Everything is so jumbled up inside my head that I’m not even sure where to even begin unravelling the mess.

At first Jimin doesn’t respond, which is understandable. I wouldn’t know what to say to such a vague statement either. We eventually reach the other end of the bridge. The scenery morphs from a dreamy wonderland to cold reality, with factories lining up the side of the road, replacing the endless sea. “Who’s that guy?”

“What guy?” This time I’m sure I haven’t been wrapped in my own thoughts, yet I still can’t make the head or tail of whatever Jimin is asking. Maybe I’ve lost all my wits for the second night in a row, even though this time there isn’t a drop of alcohol in me.

“The one that you want,” he clarifies bluntly.

What am I supposed to answer? ‘It’s you, stupid’?

Not wanting to make the rest of the ride more awkward than it is, I shrug. “Just a guy.” Just the kindest, perfect, heart-warming, densest guy.

Up until he parks the car next to the hotel, Jimin attempts to wear down my defenses, unwilling to leave his curiosity unsatisfied since I don’t fly off the handle or directly ask him to stop. Truthfully, the urge to tell him is becoming stronger by the minute. The dam holding my feelings back has become strained without my noticing. Just one more drop of persuasion threatens to loosen my tongue.

After making sure that I’ve gotten out of the car safely and closed the door, he locks the car. However, when he starts walking towards the hotel, I follow him at a much slower pace, lagging behind. Alternating between looking at the ground and his lean back. It doesn’t take long for him to notice that I’m getting farther and farther away from him; my slowing and fainting footsteps are a giveaway. Unsurprisingly, he turns back, wanting to return for me. However, his approach only heightens my nervousness. “Do you really want to know who he is?” I blurt out when he’s about a meter away from me. If he gets any closer, I don’t think I’ll be able to gather the courage to say it.

Thankfully, he stops at my question. Sensing my vulnerability. Like a bewildered, terrified animal, wary of anyone getting closer. “Of course, if you’re okay with sharing with me.”

Before I can change my mind or rethink my decision, I take the plunge. “It’s you.”

“Huh?” Why is he acting shocked? I think angrily, unfairly. He has no right to be surprised by this. This is not supposed to be news to him. “I’m the one? That you’re not good enough for?”

“It’s you, Jimin. You’re the one I want to be with.” Damn it, my voice is already cracking. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. All the things I’ve bottled up inside have become hot and angry from the constantly added pressure of being kept secret for so long. At this point, I might hate myself more than I love him. I hate myself because I still love him. “Isn’t it laughable? Even though you already made it clear that I’m not good enough for you from the beginning, I still can’t move on.”

Horrified by the words rushing like waterfall from my mouth, I try to escape, but Jimin catches my arm as I stride past him. I would have stumbled if his grip wasn’t so strong. In contrast to his strength, the street lamp is enough for me to see that all colour has drained from his face. “I would have never said such a thing. When did I say that?” His challenging words come out in an intense whisper, like he can’t believe he ever did such a thing and yet unsure if he hadn’t.

“I don’t know. High school, maybe?” It’s too late but I still play it off as if it isn’t a big deal. Like I don’t remember every detail of that excruciating incident vividly. “I’m not girlfriend material, and you made sure Ji Woo and Ha Rim know that too. And.. someone-or-other girl. Whoever it was you were dating back then. Can’t remember her name.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Jimin to grow paler, but he does, and his hold on me loosens as well. Not wanting to hear an insincere apology years too late, or worse, an encore of how I’m not girlfriend material, I yank myself out of his grasp and practically run into the safety of the building.

Once I’m ensconced in the relative safety of our room, I sit on the edge of the bed and take three deep breaths before panicking. What have I done?! It doesn’t look like Jimin pursued me inside, but he’s going to come in sooner or later. What will I say to him then? How will I ever face him again?

Sighing, I let my body slump dejectedly. I shouldn’t have said anything. Ever. I’ve always known that, but all the pent-up emotions have accumulated for far too long, and under constant continuous stress on this trip, they finally spilled over. And I had to choose the worst time and place to do it — in a foreign country where I have no place to run to. Just as I’m berating myself for that particular bit of foolishness, I hear the outside door to our room open and close. Belatedly realising that I should have searched for a place to hide before agonising over my recent mistakes, I get into a frenzy, whipping my head around every which way, desperately looking for a hole to crawl into.

That’s how Jimin finds me with my arms stretched wide, holding the doors to the wardrobe open, and one of my legs inside the furniture. “Uh.” Not the first time a dumb monosyllable is all I can think of today, but still, way to go.

“What are you doing?” Seeing my crazy antics, Jimin’s tortured expression rearranges into a befuddled one.

“Uhm, nothing.” Climbing out of the furniture, I pretend that I walk out of closets every day of my life. It doesn’t help ease the awkwardness after I close the doors and lean on them, though. I don’t trust myself to not say any more stupid things, and it looks like Jimin doesn’t know what to say either. But he does have something to say, if the way he opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again is any indication. Seeing this, I keep quiet, waiting for him to figure out where to start. I’m not sure if I’m going to like anything he has to say, but short of jumping out of the balcony, I don’t see any way to escape from him. I cast a longing gaze at the door leading to it, wondering if it’s at all possible.

After what feels like an eternity, Jimin hesitantly hedges, “Uhm, can we… talk?”

I nod, still not trusting my verbal communication skills.

Jimin walks further into the room to take a seat at the edge of the bed, less than two meters from the wardrobe, and I have to fight the urge to distance myself from him. He inhales deeply, loud enough for me to hear, and finally starts. “Look, I’m really sorry about what I said back then. I didn’t even remember that it happened.”

“Of course you didn’t. It didn’t happen to you,” I bite out. Even though I can see that he’s beating himself up over it, I can’t help but drive the nail a little deeper. It has been a wound that has always festered under the surface, never healing.

“You’re right.” Jimin’s ready admission makes me feel slightly bad for being mean over it. “I have no excuse. It was a horrible thing to say. And it wasn’t true at all.”

“It wasn’t?” Damn it, I’m not supposed to be happy about it! Getting my hopes up over just a few vague words is only going to screw me over again, but I can’t stop myself from being elated. Did I mishear him? Did I misunderstand him somehow? So many lessons and I clearly haven’t learnt anything at all.

With a shake of his head, he explains; “Back then I was a dumb kid with raging hormones, and all I could think about was fucking everything that moved. Heh.” He lowers his head and scratches the back of it sheepishly, aware of how immature and shallow he was. Involuntarily, I soften at his words and actions, with his hair getting messy from his vigorous haphazard brushing. “You’ve never been someone that I want to simply fool around with. I might not have been smart enough to realise how special you are back then, but I knew that much. I must have said that to get that girl to go out with me. You, not being good enough for me – that’s ridiculous. If anything, I’m not good enough for you.”

“Oh.” Despite wishing for something like this, now that it has become reality, I can hardly believe it. “So me not being girlfriend material–“

“Was not true at all.” Jimin leans forward to take my right hand, securing it in both of his. He turns up his eyes at me, silently pleading for me to understand. To forgive him. And my defences against Jimin have always been paper-thin. “Is still not true. God.” He hangs his head again in defeat, slightly pulling me towards him as he sags against the bed. “It can’t be more opposite than that. You’re the one I’ve been in love with for the longest time.”

“What?” I try to breathe, but the air is lost somewhere in my lungs.

Instead of answering, Jimin stands up. The sudden movement startles me, especially as it puts him just inches away from me. The warmth is not just from our connected hands now, but I can feel it radiating from his whole body in the coolness of the air-conditioned room. His words coupled with his nearness make me even hotter – probably even more than the scorching outdoors in Penang during the day. When he reaches up to softly caress the side of my face, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I can’t be sure that I haven’t self-combusted. “You’ve become more than my best friend for ages. I might have even loved you since we were in school. Hell, I don’t know.” Taking another step forward, he closes the little distance left between us to lean his head against my shoulder. Facing this completely unexpected progress, I stand there stiffly, not knowing what else to do except trying not to lose my head. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but you’ve always had a boyfriend hanging around. Every time I swore I’d tell you once you broke up, but before I could work up the courage to say anything you’ve already found a new one. You never considered me, so I thought you just didn’t think of me that way. I guess I know why now.” Lifting his head, he stares into my eyes earnestly. I can’t look away even if I wanted to. His face is etched with regret, and yet I can see hope buried in his eyes. It mirrors the hope I’ve always felt. I just didn’t know that he felt the same way. “I’m really sorry for being a dick.”

A bubble of horrified laughter bursts out at hearing him describe himself as such. Trust Jimin to mend my bruised heart so easily, and break such a heavy moment by sort-of-playfully bashing himself. He deserves it, but now knowing that I’ve put him through similar anguish, I can’t stay mad at him for long. “It’s okay,” I say with a teary smile.

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. I love you.” He cocks his head, then asks, “You’re single now, right?”

Another string of gleeful laughter fills the room. “I am,” I confirm.

“Would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend, then?”

“I would.”

“Finally,” he sighs in relief, and my next round of giggles is lost somewhere between our lips as Jimin kisses me. If our first kiss was incredible, this one is a hundred times better. With no more doubts plaguing my mind, I can give all of myself into my love for Jimin. Just as he’s giving to me. At first he cups my face in his hands, tilting his head to deepen our kiss. In the hazy air of passion, it’s unclear who started to open up beyond the joining of our lips. I know he traced the line between my lips at some point, but I also sucked on his full bottom lip that has always, always caught my attention. Among his many flattering features, it’s the one that has always struck me as striking. A guy shouldn’t have such seductive, plump lips that no woman can resist.

Soon his hand is pressing me to him from the nape of my neck, like I’m not close enough to him. He needs to bring me closer. Our tongues dance with each other, within our mouths like they’re dark, dangerous ballrooms, before things get more intense, and these caverns morph into wet, sweaty arenas, where we wrestle out our lust. In a match that is a win-win for both players, where the energy only heightens, never ending. The palm covering my cheek moves so his arm can wrap against my waist, crushing me against him. Every part of my body is touching his, sending tremors of excitement from outside in. I huff against his mouth, out of breath, but past caring. I just want Jimin. More of him. All of him. And then some more.

From the looks of things, Jimin doesn’t want to let me go either. A tell-tale bulge is impossible to miss, but when I feel it pressing against me, a modicum of sense nudges against my muggy brain. Regretfully breaking the kiss, I pant out, “We should… take… a shower,” in between fighting my lungs for air.

Jimin’s groan ends in a whine that usually gets him what he wants. “Do we have to?”

“We should. I’m all sweaty.” Being outside most of the day has left me sticky. It’s one of those things that you can’t forget or ignore once you’ve noticed it, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. What’s going to transpire between Jimin and I is a no-brainer, and I don’t want my first time with him to be when I’m smelling of sweat.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to sweat either way.” Unwilling to stop for something as trivial as cleaning up when we’re bound to get dirty again, Jimin slips his hand under my shirt, attempting to get me to agree with him.

However, I will not be deterred, even if my moan at his palm stroking the side of my body doesn’t sound very convincing. “Please, Jimin. It would make me feel better.”

This time Jimin’s groan is one of defeat. “Fine.” Honestly, I’m surprised that he relented so easily. I never really noticed how much he normally gives up for me. Perhaps I only notice when he’s whining like a child on the occasions where he really doesn’t want to give in, so I thought that he always gets his way. But if I really stop to think about it, he rarely pulls such an act – most of the time he actually listens to what I want, or outright asks me, and goes along with whatever I wish. Heart swelling with renewed affection, I nod without hesitation when he tugs against the hem of my shirt. “May I?”

Baring the tops of my breasts by removing my shirt, he can’t seem to stop himself from ogling them in my bra. Pushing so my back is against the closet, he dips his mouth against the skin available to him as his fingers fiddle with the clasp of my bra. Once the garment is loosened, he all but pulls it off, tossing to the floor, so he can move on to my nipples. “Jimin!” My cry for him is from pleasure, but he mistakes it as a warning.

“Just… for a little bit.” My right nipple pucker under the ministrations of his tongue, growing stiff more quickly than it takes for him to unbutton and unzip my jeans, dragging them onto the floor with my panties. It’s all happening so fast. I haven’t even processed the fact that I’m now completely naked before him, in the dimness of the room filled only by a lone lamp in the corner I’d switched on when I came in. He slips his knee between my legs, spreading them apart. What his words cannot achieve; lowering my defenses, is being threatened by the difference between the texture of his jeans and the smoothness of my bare legs.

And Jimin, that devil, knows this very well. Propping his leg up against the sturdy wooden wardrobe, he brings it into contact with my exposed center. The friction draws a moan from me instantly, and without prompting, I begin to rub against him like a deranged nymphomaniac, seeking traction from the rough material against my pussy. He hasn’t even touched me there, yet I’m already wet enough to lubricate my movements against his muscular thigh. Each stroke stimulates countless sparks that shakes my body like electricity. I know I should stop, but I can’t. Latching on to his upper arms, I lift my head up to look at him imploringly. “Jimin… please.” Right now I’m not even sure what I’m asking from him.

There must be something on my face that makes him look at me with blazing fire in his eyes, before swooping down to brand another soul-searing kiss on my lips. How am I supposed to hold myself back when he’s holding me so closely, when his hard muscles encourage me to move my hips even faster, when he takes my lips like he wants to inhale my very soul into his body? It hasn’t taken much, but I’m already trembling with my impending orgasm. “Fuck,” Jimin spits out, abruptly wrenching himself away from me. My feet land flat against the floor as I howl in protest at having my high yanked away from me.

He doesn’t listen to my objections. Instead he grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction of the bathroom, his free one working furiously to tear his own clothes off. His haste almost makes him trip at the threshold of the bathroom as he attempts to step out of his jeans. My horrified chuckle at this is met with an impatient, don’t-you-dare-laugh glare, which makes it even harder to hold back my mirth.

“Get in,” he growls so ferociously that I stumble backwards, laughter gulped down as my body follows the motion of his chin. Predatory eyes burn holes along my body, suddenly making me self-conscious of my nakedness, but not for long. My own gaze is fixed on him as he moves forward, the clumsiness from a second ago replaced by panther-like steps, only pausing to take off his underwear in a far smoother move than he did his jeans. For the second time, I gulp; on my saliva this time, upon seeing his erection spring out from its confines. While his length looks average, his girth has me excited and apprehensive at the same time. He steps into the glass cubicle, backing me up against the wall, and closes the door separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom behind him. The shower is spacious enough for two people to fit comfortably inside, yet I somehow find myself cornered like a trapped animal. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asks edgily. “You wanted to shower, didn’t you?” He reaches around me to turn it on.

A stream of cold water hitting my skin makes me gasp, forming goose bumps that are soothed away once it warms to the temperature that Jimin has set. As incensed as I am by the unexpected shift in our relationship and Jimin’s enthusiasm, I’m comforted by having the grime and sweat of the day being washed away.

Jimin’s mind isn’t as easily distracted though. Pressing me up against the wall facing the shower head, he envelops my lips in another fervent kiss. I’m more than happy to give in to it, wrapping my arms around his neck, but instead of holding me, he extends his reach towards the soap, pumping a generous amount of viscous liquid into his palm. “Looks like I’m going to have to help you wash if I want to move things along,” he mutters against my lips.

His soapy palms move slowly down, from my neck, branching outwards along my clavicles then dip down to cup my breasts. My breathing grows heavy as he massages them. Moans start forming in the back of my throat when he begins paying attention to my nipples, flicking them almost playfully with his thumbs. He doesn’t remain there long enough for me, one of his hands continuing down my stomach to the apex of my thighs. “Funny, I’d say it’s wetter here than my whole body.” He rubs his fingers against my folds, as if inspecting them. I can’t argue; even though most of the shower water is hitting his back, my pussy is arguably wetter than he is, and I’m pretty sure it’s not from the pipes.

Without warning, Jimin pushes his index finger in, eliciting a startled gasp from me. “So wet,” he crows delightedly at how easily it slips in. “Do you think you can fit another one in here?” He doesn’t wait for my response before cramming another finger in, making me whimper in pleasure. “You like how it feels?” I nod, turning my face away in embarrassment. It doesn’t deter Jimin. He simply whispers in my exposed ear, “You want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

Yes. I want it so badly, yet to say the words is mortifying, so I nod again. Jimin tsk-tsks disapprovingly at my refusal to vocalise my answer. “Communication is key to a relationship, you know,” he teases, pushing his fingers in up to his knuckles, but refusing to move them any more. “How am I supposed to know what you want if you won’t tell me?”

This cruelly taunting side of Jimin is new to me. I can’t say that I hate it. Not when it’s turning me on so much. “Please Jimin,” I plead with him. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

Tilting his head to the side, Jimin puts on a show of considering my plea. Then he shakes his head, and I know that he never intended to do it in the first place. “No, I don’t think I will.” Leaning forward, he nibbles at my earlobe, telling me, “I’d rather taste you instead.”

Getting the full brunt of the jet of water from the shower when Jimin suddenly kneels at my feet, I sputter in surprise. Jimin uses my momentary confusion to spread my legs even further apart so he can bury his face between them. “Oh!” My hands fly to grasp at his wet hair, holding on for dear life as he goes all out from the get-go. Easily capturing my clit between his lips, he sucks hard, making my knees buckle and my previously unfulfilled orgasm rush back with a vengeance. “Jimin!!” He’s relentlessly alternating between flicking the tiny bud with the tip of his tongue and trying to suck it right off, and I can’t withstand his attack. Flick, flick, flick. And then suck, as hard as he can. In less than a minute I’ve lost completely, making him bear my weight as I cum violently. If he isn’t holding me up by the waist, I probably would’ve collapsed, maybe even slipped in the wet cubicle. Without missing a beat, he releases my clit to run his tongue along my slit, lapping up every drop of his victorious spoils and prolonging my orgasm.

Standing up, he maintains his hold on me, which I appreciate because I still don’t trust the strength of my legs. “You okay?” I can barely register his question in the hazy aftermath of my orgasm, but I manage to nod. Jimin pumps more soap to wash me with as I recover, then swiftly washes himself. Once he determines that both of us are clean enough, he turns the water off. “Can we go now?” He asks, wrapping his arms around me so he can rub his dick, which has grown slightly soft, against my belly. It’s unfair that he’s pushing his advantage like that. Just doing this is getting me aroused again.

As much as I want to get out as soon as we can, there is unfortunately one thing that we need to do first. “Jimin, we should dry our hair. Otherwise we’ll catch a chill.”

Relenting after letting out only one dissatisfied huff indicates that he agrees with me. It doesn’t mean that he’s happy with it. I smother a smile at his adorable childishness, which is a stark contrast to what he was just doing to me in the shower, and what he wants to skip all these small details to do to me in bed. By the time I’ve wrapped myself in a towel, he’s already by the socket next to the sink, hair dryer in hand. “Hurry, hurry,” he urges, pointing the device on full blast to my face.

“Ooof!” Instinctively squeezing my eyes shut to protect them from the powerful gust of warm air, I blindly swipe in his direction, hoping to smack Jimin for his immature prank and the mischievous guffawing that comes with it. Once Jimin directs the nozzle back towards his own hair and out of my face, I fix him a glare, which he returns with a Cheshire grin. He rakes his fingers through his hair roughly, anxious to be done with it. Sure enough, he finishes in record time. “Come on, let’s do you.” He tries to turn me around, but I refuse the offer, giving his messy job, with soft strands sticking up every which way, a pointed look.

“I’ll do it myself, thanks.”

Wisely deciding that handing me the hair dryer will be quicker than trying to argue with me, he relents. Then he leans against the wall next to the sink. With only a towel around his waist, looking like he has all the time in the world to just watch me do something as mundane as drying my hair. I turn towards the mirror, mentally instructing my eyes not to look at him. However, they’re not keen to follow orders, and flick towards his reflection every few seconds. It’s impossible for me to calm myself down like this. Especially not when I can see the obvious tent in his towel, threatening to part the cloth that’s barely covering him. It must have grown harder from the friction against my stomach just now, as well as the anticipation of what’s to come.

 “You can go ahead and wait outside.”

“Eh?” He starts to protest but stops when he sees my entreating look. “Okay,” he yields in a wounded puppy pitch. “But hurry, okay?”

I nod, only turning towards the mirror again after I see him closing the door to the bathroom. I’m glad that he’s giving me this bit of space to think. Even though I’m ecstatic by this turn of events, there’s so much to process that it’s overwhelming. And I’m hesitant to go all the way with Jimin without sorting it out. To me it’s a monumental thing. A really huge step. My sigh is drowned out by the loud whirring of the hair dryer, but the sound has become white noise.

So the incident that has plagued me for so many years turned out to be a misunderstanding. While it doesn’t excuse Jimin from what he’d said, there was never any truth behind those words. It had always baffled me that Jimin would think, much less say, such a thing. Even if he wasn’t interested in me, it doesn’t seem to be in line with Jimin’s personality to measure a girl’s worth so much as to label her something as horrid as ‘not girlfriend material’. The most is he’d think someone isn’t his type, and just move on. He’s one of the kindest people I know, but he isn’t perfect. I’m aware of that. We were young back then. It makes more sense that Jimin was only thinking about getting a girl in bed with him rather than weighing the consequences or fairness of saying something so hurtful.

Switching the electric device off, I gaze at myself in the mirror one last time, finding resolution. What matters now is the future. Am I ready to go forward?

The first thing I notice when I enter the bedroom is that Jimin has gathered all the pillows on his side of the bed, and is resting against them. Before I can wonder what he’s up to, he notices my presence and sits up, like a puppy waiting for his master to come home. It would have been heart-meltingly cute and endearing if he wasn’t gripping his erection in his right hand. Was he masturbating while waiting for me? The thought of it is more arousing than I’d have thought. Maybe there is something wrong with me. “Come here,” he beckons me over, and I approach him a little warily. He helps me atop the bed, manoeuvring my legs so I sit astride his lap.

This puts me face-to-face with him, but more importantly, he’s holding me so I’m sitting right atop his cock. I can predict a very speedy loss in focus. “Jimin,” I begin to ask, then moan when he grinds his hips against mine. “Jimin, are you sure about this?”

“A hundred and ten percent,” he responds, but his attention isn’t on me. Even in the semi-darkness, I can see his eyes are narrowed in the direction of our lower bodies.

Exasperated, I try again, wanting to make myself clear before anything happens that I may regret later. Damn, I’m cockblocking myself, but I know that I’ll be in a world of hurt if this turns out to be a temporary thing. I may be asking for too much, but I can’t do it. Not with Jimin. “No, not just this. I mean… are you sure about… going into a relationship with me? What if…”

Jimin looks up, his expression turning serious, and places a finger against my lips. “Stop that. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I think I know you pretty well.” He briefly stops, waiting for confirmation, and I nod. No one knows me better than Jimin does. “You always overthink things, and when you’re not doing that, your head is filled with thoughts of food.” Even though his assessment is accurate, it doesn’t stop me from hitting him in the chest indignantly, but he only chortles. “It doesn’t matter what you lack. I still love you after all this time, and I’m confident that I won’t stop, no matter what happens. And about what I said back then…” Adopting a sober mien, he brushes my cheek lovingly, leaning closer to gaze into my eyes intently. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” I concede tearfully. There’s no one else who can put me at ease so easily. I wouldn’t say that the years-old scar has magically healed, but his touch soothes away all the pain. Closing the scant centimeters between us, I give him a quick peck. An innocent move, which Jimin changes immediately by drawing me into his arms, pulling me back in for a far more intense kiss. He pulls on my towel, already loosened by my movements, exposing my body to his touch. It’s like there’s fire in his fingertips, setting me aflame wherever he touches – from my hip, to the side of my waist, up to my breasts. Devilishly zoning in on my sensitive spots, sweeping back and forth over the stiffening tips of my chest. All night he has been giving me pleasure, and I want to return the favour.

Ignoring both the loss of the heady sensation from being in contact with his cock and Jimin’s growl of protest, I shift myself down towards the foot of the bed. Taking his half-hard erection in my hand, once again I marvel at its girth. Already I can’t wrap my hand completely around it. The thought of having it inside me is making me shiver in anticipation. Wanting to get a feel of it, I slide my hand up from the base, taking care not to be too rough with my dry hand. It’s enough to get Jimin to moan, the wild yet melodic sound instantly heating up my insides with lust. I want to make him feel good. I move down even further, lowering myself to do just that, but Jimin stops me halfway. “Wait.”

Surprised that he would keep me from sucking him off, I glance up at him, tucking my hair behind my ear so that it doesn’t obstruct my view. “Hmm?”

“Plenty of time for that later,” he exhales restlessly. Grabbing me by my waist, he lifts me up slightly, getting me off of him. Then he wiggles down the space between me and the mattress, comically moving to lie down on his back. It’s hard not to snort all over him.

“What are you doing?” Just how many times is he going to make me laugh while we try to get it on tonight?

“Getting what I want,” he pants, and I’m guessing it’s due to the exertion of his completely unnecessary action rather than being horny. Jimin is such an idiot sometimes. He ignores my eye roll though. “More importantly, are you ready for me?”

Instead of waiting for me to formulate a verbal answer, he reaches down to find the answer for himself. I jolt forward with a moan when Jimin swipes his fingers over my slit, then immediately rams two inside me. I’m sure I dried myself off after getting out of the shower earlier, but somehow I’ve gotten wet enough for his digits to slide into me without much resistance. “So wet already,” Jimin answers for me, even though the mortifying squelching sounds coming from my pussy makes it pretty clear that I’m ready for him. “I want to fuck you. Right now.”

Even though Jimin’s fingers are wrecking the best kind of havoc in me, I want the same thing. More than that, I want to make him feel good too. Before I can put my plan into action though, Jimin slaps the bed angrily. “Shit. I’m clean, but I don’t have a condom.” Scowling, he runs his fingers through his hair angrily, following it with a longer string of curses than I’ve ever heard him utter in my presence. I bite the insides of my cheeks so I can swallow the bubble of laughter back into my throat.

“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “I’m on the pill.” Although I haven’t slept with Se Hoon for ages, I kept taking them. Maybe I’ve continued doing so out of habit. Or maybe I was always unconsciously hoping for something to happen between me and Jimin, as far fetched as it seemed. Well, it’s clearly not as impossible as I’d thought.

“Thank goodness,” Jimin collapses back onto the sheets in relief, amusing me to no end. He doesn’t miss it, and shoots me a look that tells me he’s aware that I’m finding him funny. “I don’t think I can hold back at this point,” he warns me darkly, and I take it as a cue to continue. Bracing my hands on his chest, I sit up shakily. Reading my mind like he always does so expertly, he removes his hand so I can move my hips along the length of his dick. Up and down, up and down, covering him in my juices. I don’t know how he became this hard when I’ve barely done anything for him. But I’ll pleasure both of us now. Lining the tip of his cock with my pussy, I take a deep breath as I feel the bulbous head poking against my entrance. Then I face up to find that Jimin is staring at me with such scorching fire that I can feel my skin blister from the heat. He might just want this more than I do, although I can’t imagine a yearning any stronger than mine.

“Hnng,” I groan as I lower myself down slowly. Belatedly I attempt to figure out the last time I had sex in my head. Even before breaking up, Se Hoon and I hadn’t slept together for a while due to our busy schedules. I didn’t think much of it back then, and had thought that he didn’t mind, either. It turns out that he didn’t mind, but only because he was satisfying his urges with someone else. But I don’t want to think about that now. Not when Jimin’s cock is parting my flesh, its girth pushing my walls aside to make its way in. It’s not even halfway in yet I’m already breathless. The burn feels amazing, even if it’s making me mewl from the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Jimin asks through gritted teeth. “Go slowly.”

Unable to voice an answer, I bob my head in acknowledgement. Taking my time descending on Jimin magnifies the sensation of his cock stretching me out. By the time I’ve sheathed myself over him completely, I feel ready to burst. I’ve never felt so full and I tilt my head back as if to absorb the feeling. But I’m not the only one adjusting to this. Jimin’s grip on either side of my waist is slightly painful, betraying a strength that I wasn’t aware he possesses. “Fuck, so tight,” he grinds out like he can hardly stand the pleasure. “Fuck.”

After giving myself a few seconds to get used to having him inside me, I begin to lift myself up again, then sit back down on him, making both of us groan. I don’t know if I can ever get used to this. Still, I repeat the motion, impaling myself over and over his cock, hips accelerating as I get a sense of the rhythm. Jimin’s unconcealed moans spur me on; knowing how good I’m making me feel drives me to take it higher. But I’m not the only one determined to bring pleasure to my partner.

Even as I bounce on his cock, Jimin manages to reach for my clit, capturing it between his index and middle fingers in a ‘V’. Helped by my rapid movements, he pulls up, exposing my clit to the air. Tongue licking his lips, he looks at it like a delicacy that he’d love to devour. However, unable to do that, he makes do with his thumb. He alternates moving it in circular motions around the nub and grinding against it, all the while pinching it with his other two fingers. My hips stutter from his ministrations, but I don’t want to stop. I can’t, even if I wanted to. Not when he’s stimulating me like this. But I can feel the end approaching me rapidly, faster than I want it to. “Ji—Jimin, wait.”

I should’ve known that he’s not going to do as I say this time. “Give me a good reason to wait,” he challenges.

“I can’t take it.” My body is already shaking from its proximity. I’m about to crest the high, but I want to last longer. “Please, Jimin, or I’m going to come.”

“All the more reason for me not to wait, then.” Jimin takes my reasoning and tosses it out the window. In direct contrast to my request, he teases my clit even more, pushing me forward so I can’t stall it any longer. The knot growing inside me shrinks into itself, compressing impossibly before exploding like fireworks. With a cry of his name, I catch myself from collapsing completely on top of him by bracing my hands on either side of his torso. Jimin releases my clit to grab my waist, pushing me down against him, moaning as he feels my muscles contracting around him. “You’re so sensitive,” he remarks as I start to recover.

There’s nothing I can say to his comment. There’s nothing to say, really. I don’t recall ever being this receptive to someone else’s touch. It has been a while, I think, not wanting to admit that my sensitivity might have been caused by the person touching me, rather than the duration I’ve been deprived of such attention. Burying my face into the crook of Jimin’s shoulder, I inhale his scent; the perfect home to come to after falling down from my high. The realisation that I must be crushing him with my weight comes suddenly. I jolt up to move off of him, but he tightens his hold on my waist, halting me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, I must be heavy, and I–“ Jimin doesn’t give me the time to inform him that I can barely move, returning me back into place right above him and whispering;

“I’m not done yet.”

Digging his fingers in so deep I’m sure he’ll leave me with bruises, he pulls out of me, all the way to the tip. My sigh at the loss becomes a shriek midway when Jimin slams back all the way in without so much as a warning. He doesn’t stop there; in fact, that’s the speed that he’s setting for me. Pounding into me from underneath without mercy, without hesitation, without pause. My relaxed legs quickly grow tense again, as his rapid thrusting stokes a new fire in me. “Jimin, Jimin!” I call out for him in between gasps, every thrust knocking the air out of my lungs and every shred of intelligible thought out of my head, until his name is all that remains. My feet curl inwards, trying to withstand the pleasure but in futility. If he isn’t gripping me so firmly, I would have ended up sprawled over him. However, I have nowhere to run. Forced to take every single one of his hard thrusts. Each one making my lower body wrap tighter and tighter around him.

“Close.” Out of breath, Jimin manages to utter only one word, but he slips a hand between our bodies, closer now that I’ve crumpled over him under his rough pounding, leaving no question as to what he means when he pinches my clit between his fingers again. My body contracts until there’s no space left, and I can’t breathe. Whether my brain is hazy due to the lack of oxygen or because I’m on the verge of cumming, I don’t know. One moment later I climaxing again. Jimin doesn’t need to be told that; my cries of ecstasy and squeezing walls are enough to clue him in. He wraps an arm around my waist and seizes my right shoulder, holding me even more securely in place as his hips accelerates to a speed beyond my imagination. Panting and moaning, I latch onto his shoulders so I can receive his rough thrusts, each one knocking me several inches upwards. Unlike before, Jimin doesn’t give me time to recover, too focused on using my tightening muscles spasming around his cock to reach his own high.

It doesn’t take long, but I’ve regained enough sense of mind to register him sinking his face against my neck as he comes. Each of his grunts accompanying every deliberate, deep thrust, pumping his seed into me is so close to my ear, I can feel the hot air that comes with them. There is an odd feeling of being the one to comfort him as his body quakes. It’s like he trusts me to keep him safe at his most vulnerable, and I immerse myself in the feeling proudly for a while.

By the time Jimin rolls me over to the side, I’m starting to get drowsy. My legs twitch when his limp dick slips out a little, and my eyes flutter open to find that he’s staring at me. “What is it?” Absurdly, I feel a little shy. This is just Jimin after all. On the other hand, I’ve never been with Jimin like this before.

“Nothing. I just can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”

The relatable statement makes me grin. “I know. Me too.”

“It seems like such a waste to just… go to sleep.”

No way. “What do you mean?”

“You know, just…” He shrugs with all the innocence of a toddler, but it doesn’t fool me for one second. Especially when he nuzzles against my neck, then almost immediately switches to kissing and sucking the sensitive flesh. A pressure within makes me moan, feeling myself getting fuller as Jimin grows hard again. “I spent four nights in bed with you and I couldn’t even touch you. Do you know how difficult that was? I was about to go insane.”

The dawn of the following morning is slightly chilly, but that’s what makes it refreshing. Even though I greet the day with a yawn as I rest my forearms against the railing of the balcony, I’m feeling very content and reinvigorated. A light mist shrouding the garden before me gives it a cool, dream-like quality. Each plant has bountiful leaves – it’s always summer in Malaysia, after all – and each one is heavy with morning dew. I wish I could reach and touch the moisture with my fingers.

With time, my brain starts to function more efficiently, and I begin to think about the events of last night. Of course I’m ecstatic about finally being in a romantic relationship with Jimin, the man that I’ve been pining over for so long, but I’d be lying if I say that I don’t have any doubts. I’ve been so focused on getting over him that I never stopped to think what it would mean to have my best friend as my boyfriend. The obvious question is: what if it doesn’t work out between us?

Like Jimin said last night, he has known me for many years now. There aren’t many flaws of mine that he isn’t aware of. I’m quite confident that I know most of the things I need to know about him too. And just like Jimin, none of it has made me fall out of love with him. If anything, his imperfections make me love him even more. I can’t think of any reason that would make us break up, but it’s always a possibility. What would happen to our friendship should the worst come to pass? I hope we can still be friends somehow.

Just the thought of it is depressing enough to make me heave a sigh. There’s no point in speculating about the future. I already know that I can barely endure not being with him. It was torture to watch him with girlfriends when I so desperately, so selfishly wanted to fill that role. Now that my wish has come true, we just have to go forward and do our best. If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m not delusional enough to think that everything will be perfect from now on, but I hope for every rainy day we have to suffer through, there will be a sunny one that will balance it out. Smiling to myself, I enjoy this blissful feeling I never knew I’m capable of feeling. With Jimin, I’m sure my life will be full of happy days, like an eternal summer.

“What’s up with you?” A teasing, rhetorical question comes from behind, making me jump in surprise. I turn around to find Jimin leaning against the frame of the glass door, looking cool as a cucumber. But I see the laughter dancing in his eyes. “One second you were sighing, and the next you were grinning like an idiot.”

Feeling blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment at being caught entertaining my thoughts, I spin back to face the garden. “Nothing! How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to want to get a closer look at you.” Jimin approaches and hugs me from behind. He wastes no time sniffing against my neck like a little puppy. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmhmm.” How could I not? After that second round, I was ready to nod off, but he’d recovered by then and had asked me if he could take me up on that earlier offer to give him a blowjob. How could I say no? And he wasn’t content to finish up in my mouth, either – no, he wasn’t as rough as he was the first time, but he still finished inside me. It left me exhausted and I went out like a light afterwards. I’m not sure what made me wake up so early, but I do feel well-rested, though quite sore.

“I’m glad.” I can feel and hear him smiling against my ear rather than see it. Although I’m not sure if he’s glad because I’ve gotten enough rest, or because the stiff shaft I can feel pressing against my back needs some attention. Given that he’s already tracing the crevices of my ear with his tongue, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.

“I’m beginning to think that you’re a monster.” My complaint doesn’t sound very convincing since it’s followed by a keening moan. He’s quick to slide his hand up my thighs and under my bathrobe, discovering that I’m not wearing anything underneath. His sharp inhale lets me know how aroused he got from that revelation.

“I’m not usually this horny,” he admits, leaning me down to rest my upper body against the railing so my ass juts out. I can hear the shuffling of his slippers as he moves back, but before I can turn around to see what he’s doing, I feel his tongue running all the way from the bottom up to my asshole. My back arches from the unexpected jolt of pleasure, hitting me like a bolt of lightning down my spine. “Maybe we need to make up for… what, a decade’s worth of love-making?” Despite being sore, my pussy clenches at the ridiculous notion. A whole  decade? “Fuck, you’re so wet already.” The loud, wet sounds his tongue makes as he laps against my slit doesn’t leave me any room to argue. I only let out a whine when he reaches around to press against my engorged nub. “You’re swollen,” he says concernedly, contrasting with his unrelenting ministrations. “Are you okay?”

“If you’re worried–mmmnn–“ Against my better judgement, I push myself back against his mouth, craving for more. “Why are you doing this?”

Jimin’s reply is lost somewhere within my folds, but once his tongue pushes past my entrance, I stop caring about his answer. It’s amazing how easily Jimin unearths my most sensitive spots. Not just how putting pressure against my clit stimulates me more than circular motions, but also how a feather-like touch along the side of my body makes me tremble or that lightly nibbling my nipples makes me buck beneath him. However, a night of thorough attention has made all of me super sensitive, and I’m already on the verge of tears while my head is screaming for more. “Jimin, please,” I beg. “I need you now.”

Those words are all the encouragement that Jimin needs. Standing behind me, he lifts the lower part of the bathrobe up so he can press his insistent hard-on against my entrance. “No, wait, Jimin.” Remembering where we are right now, I begin to panic. “Let’s go inside.”

Of course, Jimin has never been one to listen to orders. “No one’s up yet,” he overrides my protest, and cuts off any oncoming ones by slamming his hips against mine, pushing his thick cock all the way inside in one stroke. Tears fall from my eyes and my scream breaks the stillness of the morning at the brutal insertion. “Shh,” he comforts me, raining kisses all over the side of my neck and shoulders as I sob. “Someone will hear us if you don’t keep it down.”

“Damn it, Jimin, you’re the meanest – ah! Ah!” I can’t even finish reprimanding him. How can I, when my body reacts to him so easily, and the fact that anyone passing by can see us, or other hotel guests can hear us turns me on even more? Taking a little mercy on me, Jimin grabs my chin, directing me to look back so he can kiss me, somewhat effectively swallowing my moans. The intense kiss matches the force of his thrusts below; slower than last night but with more strength. He lowers his hand to slip it inside my bathrobe, groping my left breast, using it as an anchor as his cock drives me to oblivion. Everything he does intoxicates me, making me drunk to the point I don’t know up and down, so that I no longer give a damn about anyone seeing him pounding into me in broad daylight. All I can think about is the tingling sparks of friction from every stroke of his cock sliding in and out of me, the tiny pinpricks of pleasure and pain like scorching embers feeding a bonfire growing more and more out of control within me. “Jimin,” I gasp when he releases my lips for air, “coming.”

He kisses me, then pulls at my lower lip. “Come,” he coaxes me with his fingers pinching my nipple, making me mewl, and with the short words his brain can muster in his state. “With me. Now.”

After several hard thrusts, Jimin brings me to my climax and follows me right after. He holds me tightly, supporting me so my shaking legs don’t suddenly give way from under me, although I can tell from his quivering body that he’s having trouble keeping himself up. The sturdy railing provides the support we both need, and we cling to it as we catch our breaths. A few minutes later, we’re still panting, but Jimin slowly sits down on the floor, guiding me to sit across his lap. I’ve hugged Jimin countless times before when we were still just friends, but I think after sex might be the best time for cuddling with him.

His comforting arms almost lulls me to sleep, but the gradually escalating heat of the rising sun brings me back to my senses. Opening my eyes, I ask drowsily, “What time is it?”

Jimin shrugs. “Who knows.”

Resisting the urge to follow his devil-may-care attitude, I climb out of his lap to crawl towards the table where I’d left my handphone. My eyes widen when I see the numbers on display. “Jimin! There’s less than three hours before our flight! We need to go, now!”

We get ready and packed in record time. Soon we’re begging our driver to drive us as quickly as possible to the airport, both of us still huffing and panting, but this time for a completely different reason compared to this morning. The young driver shakes his head in disapproval, but accedes to our wishes, driving at a speed I’m not sure is legal, expertly zipping in and out between cars. We earn a few honks, but I try to detach myself from the chaos, leaning back against the seat to try and calm my racing heartbeat.

“This is all your fault, you pervy animal,” I hiss at Jimin under my breath. “If we can’t board our plane you’re going to pay for both our tickets back home.”

Jimin’s smirk is charming and utterly unrepentant. “Worth it.”

Thank you for reading! As always, comments/asks/likes are very welcome :)

[marvelsmalfoy]

prove them right w/ron weasley

summary: granger!reader with the help of Ron, goes to a muggle shelter to do some charity work

a/n: so it’s my first fic, and im sorry if it’s not that good. regardless, thsi is for day 27 of a very harry potter christmas ( from @jamilelucato and @whack-ed), girls i know im little late, sorry. oh, and thanks @jamilelucato​ for the tips on how to write a fic.

it was Hermione’s idea to reunite the friends for somewhat of a muggle charity work. it was the first Christmas season after the war, and she said that you needed to be around people that were happy and hadn’t gone through a war like the rest of you.

you loved your big sister, but sometimes she had some crazy ideas that not even you were able to understand. nonetheless, there you were, three days before Christmas, waiting for everyone to show up at the entrance of a muggle elderly shelter, almost freezing.

“oh, hi, y/n,” said the (not officially) main reason for you being there.

Ron Weasley was standing next to you, wearing a jeans jacket with a jumper, with a cap that covered almost all of his ginger hair, except for the front part that was growing more than his usual hairstyle would allow.

“hi-i,” you had no idea if you stuttered because of the cold or because of the boy, but it was something in between.

“where’s Hermione?” he asked, placing his hands inside the pockets of the jean jacket.

“she wanted to get more food,” you told him, slowly tilting your head towards him, not even noticing you were doing so. “I don’t know why she didn’t already have more — it was all her idea after all.”

“maybe she changed her mind,” said the ginger, “she does that quite a lot.”

there was something about this habit of Harry and Ron that they’d talk to you about your sister like they knew her better. you supposed they knew her in ways you didn’t, but that could not possibly make them comprehend her better.

“where’s everybody?” he asked again, this time, though, the question hurt you a bit.

you had a crush on Ron since Hermione introduced him to you. well, actually, you fancied him before you even had a face to go with the name. when Hermione send you letters about her adventures with the ginger, your heart just melted a little. and you were only ten.

your feelings for him only grew greater with time, and it didn’t help that he was always around you and your family. you were also always around his family — becoming best friends with Ginny Weasley can do that to a person.

but it was just a platonic thing. Ron didn’t know about it — at least you hoped to have been discreet enough.

so, of course, it probably was uncomfortable for Ron to be alone in a cold street alone with you and a bunch of presents that you held in the bag your sister prepared.

“dunno,” you shrugged, “Harry and Ginny were coming together — it was what Ginny told me anyway.”

Ron turned to face you, and you felt your cheeks turn redder than the cold was painting them already.

“uh, I asked if she wanted to come with me,” you didn’t know why you added that information to the conversation, but something about Ron’s eyes always made you speak more than needed.

“they don’t appear to be comin’ any time soon, so maybe we should just get in?” he suggested, raising his shoulders even though his hands didn’t move out of the pockets. “it’s getting real cold out here.”

“guess we should get in,” you agreed, biting, slightly, your lower lip, “I’ve got the presents anyway.”

he laughed at your terrible attempt of sarcasm, and suddenly all the cold in London wasn’t able to take the warm in your heart away.

he walked in first, but not before asking if you wanted help with the bag of presents.

“it’s enchanted,” you said.

“of course it is,” he sighed with a resemblance of a smile.

it felt like the whole thing was an internal joke you didn’t understand, and there were you getting (again) jealous of your sister for being best friends with this gorgeous ginger.

the elderly in the shelter were like angels on Earth. not that you had much experience with angelic mythology, but you suspected angels were kind and smiling beings, just like the elderly you and Ron presented with gifts that night.

must add that you did all the charity on your own, because your sister, Harry and Ginny did not show up. in the first few minutes, you were worried about your friends, but it soon became clear to you and Ron that they probably didn’t want to come up.

to you, something else was pretty clear — they knew. the whole Christmasly situation, with charity work and hot cocoa, along with Ron felt like the type of situation your sister would scheme for you.

not that you had asked — before this night, you thought Hermione had no idea about your feelings. and now, even Harry knew.

oh, Godric, even Ginny knew, and she was, like, Ron’s little sister!

“it’s so nice of you two to give us presents,” said one of the old ladies, sitting by the fire. she had the most beautiful black eyes you had ever seen, so dark but also very tender. “it’s rare to spend a night with the visit of such a young couple.”

your eyes widened immediately, and you didn’t know where to look. instinctively, you glanced at Ron, who gazed at you with the same expression you presumed was on your face.

you raced to explain, “we’re-we- Ron and I are not a couple.”

the granny smiled, her black eyes going from you to Ron.

“such a pity then,” she sighed, “you two would have adorable babies.”

you gulped so hard and so fast, it felt like you swallowed your tongue.

“I suppose Ron’s still gonna have cute babies without me,” you commented, trying to sound superior and evolved, but just covering up the fact that the idea of making babies with Ron crossed your mind now and then ever since you learned how to do it.

the old lady watched as you and Ron interacted with curiosity.

“why do you say that? the very reason our babies would be cute is you,” Ron protested, getting closer to you and sitting by the fire over the rug.

you turned your neck towards the ginger, completely surprised with what he said. you didn’t know if he understood what he was claiming — that you were cute — but you were gonna take it as a compliment anyway.

“me?” you echoed, resisting the urge to place a hand over your heart, “come on, Ron, your babies will be ginger. can you imagine how cutesy?”

“yours will have your pretty big eyes,” he replied, leaning his head.

the conversation dragged on, you two so invested on it, that you didn’t even notice when the old lady responsible for the topic disappeared. later you supposed the woman had intended to be discreet.

within laughs, Ron confided something on you.

“sorry we had to do all the work by ourselves,” he said.

“it was no worry at all,” you replied, swallowing the rest of your laugh, “I didn’t think I’d like it here, but somehow I do? these people are nice.”

Ron noticed how slightly you tried to change the subject, but something was telling him if he wanted to let it out, it was now or never.

“but we shouldn’t have to do it all alone, especially because that was not what we agreed on.”

“hey, Ron, it’s not your fault they didn’t show up,” you stared deep into his eyes, trying to sound as sincere as you could.

if anything, it was your fault. you were the one with a crush.

“well, it actually kind is?” it sounded like a question, but that wasn’t the boy’s intentions. he breathed in and out before continuing. “Harry sat it up. I didn’t ask for it, but he probably thought he was doing me a favour.”

you stared around, taking in the place where you sit. not many old people were around anymore since it was a bit late already.

“a favour? you needed to be in touch with the elderly or something...?”

Ron giggled at your innocence, inclining his head away just a little before completely leaning in.

“I needed some time alone with you,” he explained in a seductive tone.

“oh,” was all your shocked face let out, completely intertwined in Ron’s gaze.

this new information was definitely a three-day-earlier Christmas gift. you never thought Santa Claus was actually gone give it to you, but here you both were, only centimetres away from each other's mouths.

“Harry must’ve asked everyone to not show up,” Ron continued, unsure if your response was positive or not.

“I thought it was my sister the one with the plan,” you said.

“Hermione?” he seemed surprised, “can’t see her helping me get with her little sis.”

you giggled at his mockery.

“she wouldn’t be doing it for you,” you elaborated.

“oh,” he gasped, his mouth forming a pout.

you smiled, “yeah,” and you turned your gaze away from his.

there was an awkward single minute of silence before Ron leaned in again, this time seemingly more confident.

“you know, this only leaves us with two choices,” he said.

“which are?” you opted to not look at him yet. something inside you told you that he wouldn’t be able to finish his sentence if you stared at his eyes.

“prove them wrong,” he said this part with somewhat of disgust, “or prove them right.”

you smiled, finally turning to face him.

“as much as I’d hate to prove Hermione wrong,” you leaned on your knees instead of simply sitting with your legs closed, “this will only be our fault really.”

“yeah? why?”

you placed your hands over his shoulder, suddenly brave enough to do what you always dreamed. but, before, you had to gaze away from him and stare at something above the two of you.

“is it really because of them we kissed if sitting under a mistletoe was our fault?” you teased, smirking pleasurably.

he smirked two, finally moving to place his hands on your waist, and lifting your weight from your knees to his chest.

“our fault entirely,” he played, teasing you before the kiss, “I like the sound of that.”

“me too,” you fluttered your eyelashes at him.

“so...”

“kiss me already, Weasley,” you demanded, and it was all that echoed in the room as the last old lady left to bed, smiling at the young couple.

[gwoongi]

acts of love

bts / reader, all members / reader genre: best friends au, fluff + crack rating: general words: 9.6k warnings: platonic relationships, smoking, so much fluff you might need to book an appointment with ur dentist for tomorrow morning ASAP a/n: if u want 2 be bts’ best friend, raise ur hand *thousands of hands raise*. this fic fuels my genuine need to be their bff. i saw this post last night + wrote this immediately. hope u love it like i do :D 

➸ As long as you’ve got a good group of friends, anything is possible. Thankfully, you’ve got the best group you could ever ask for.

(01) taking pics of ur friends without them asking u to bc they looked so pretty in that exact moment

“Well, at least the views not so bad. Honestly, I thought it would be a lot worse.”

Beside you, at the top of the bleachers that surround the large football pitch below, Taehyung huffs and kicks his feet up onto the empty row in front of him. It would be easy to just move rows, considering the game’s due to start in ten minutes time, and there’s plenty of empty seats closer. But, he’s bought these seats, and by the looks of things, Yoongi and Hoseok are already comfortable where they are, sharing a big bag of sticky popcorn between them. Casting a look to the right, you notice that Sana and Seunghee are making their way up, dressed in jerseys and caps, and you suddenly feel very out of place.

“Tell me why I came again?” you ask, not looking away from the pitch below. The grass is bright green, and every wandering body down on the pitch is just a small speck.

“Because,” Taehyung starts, unlocking his phone and checking his messages. You snoop- one missed text from Jeongguk and two off his Mom, which makes you smile. Taehyung’s always been a Mommy’s boy. “You love me, and you know that I worked my ass off for two whole months saving up for these tickets. And, since Jimin’s sick and couldn’t come, you decided to be a good friend and take his place.”

With a frown, you look back towards Taehyung. “I don’t know shit about football.”

“Cheer when we do,” Taehyung suggests honestly.

Yoongi perks up, patting your arm roughly. “Do what I do, and cheer for the team with the prettier uniform.”

“Don’t!” Taehyung hisses, grabbing you back. “The other team have a prettier uniform, but if you cheer for them on this side of the stadium, you’re going to get mobbed. Hey, Yoongi, don’t tell her that, she doesn’t know any better.”

“Just football,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Just football…” Taehyung scoffs and shrinks back down in his seat.

You laugh quietly, petting Taehyung’s leg with faux sympathy. As you move your body to glance around the stadium, strangely anticipating the start of the match, a flash out the corner of your eye makes you look over in Hoseok’s general direction. Hoseok holds his phone up, taking a photo, and then smiles as he checks it on the screen.

“Jung Hoseok, delete it now!” you gape, realising what he’s done. “Oh my God, I bet I look so ugly...you could have warned me.”

“Sorry,” he laughs sheepishly. He then shows you the screen, “you looked pretty! And it’s your first live match ever, we had to document it. Yoongi, look. Wow...I’m sending this to Jimin for proof that you’re having fun.”

“What if I’m not having fun?” you ask.

He glances up, “you are.”

Well. If he says so.

(02) randomly giving tiny gifts (a comic book that ur friend likes, a heart-shaped piece of paper with a sweet message on it)

“Can anybody here share the exact chemistry behind Elephant Toothpaste?”

Chemistry is the absolute bane of your life. It’s only been a few weeks, and you’re already regretting taking additional classes in it. Technically, it was Jimin’s fault you were here in the first place. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jimin was afraid of enrolling into classes alone and therefore had guilted you into taking advanced chemistry with him, then you wouldn’t be here. You sigh for the fourth time in the last ten minutes and shove your chin into the palm of your hand. The clock above Professor Han’s head seems to be still, taunting you with zero movements.

Can boredom kill you? You wonder about that, letting your mind wander as Professor Han continues to quiz the front two rows on the exact chemical formula of the affectionately named Elephant Toothpaste. You’re so close to finding the answer when you feel somebody poking your upper arm. The finger that pokes belongs to Jimin, and you angle your head to look at him with a questioning glare.

Jimin smiles, his hair falling into his face. Like you, he rolled out of bed this morning and tried his best to look semi-presentable; if you counted borderline pajama wear and a serious case of bed-head to be presentable and acceptable for a 9am lecture. Jimin says nothing, just smiles and pushes something towards you with two fingers. The sound of the paper sliding towards you brings your gaze down, and as you look away to stare at it, Jimin returns his attention to Professor Han. Bare in mind, his notebook is empty, save doodles of Yewon on the front row, occasionally losing focus and staring around the room for long periods of time.

What Jimin has pushed before you is a small little piece of paper, smoothly cut into a heart shape. Now the sound of scissors makes sense… It’s just scrap paper from the back of his notebook, decorated with tiny stars and circles, a pathetic hand drawn galaxy on the front like a book cover. You slowly pick it up, more interested in this than the lecture. You turn it over curiously, your heart thumping endearingly and a smile picking up on your face as you read what he’s written on the back.

you and me have some serious chemistry. love u

Jimin refuses to make eye contact again. He’ll say something along the lines of, “you’re taking it too seriously” when you’ll no doubt ask him about it later, but really, Jimin’s just a softie, with the sudden need to tell his friends that he loves them. You’re not complaining.

(03) handwritten letters with cute stickers

Something’s been left in your shared kitchen, something with your name on it and closed in an envelope with a small Gudetama sticker. You set your cup of tea to the side, sliding up onto a stool near the breakfast bar to read it. The front is in a bold font, in handwriting you don’t really recognise. Careful of the time and effort put into the appearance, you carefully open the envelope and take out the contents.

Y/N

Good morning. I hope you slept okay - when I came home last night after judo, you were actually passed out on the couch in the common room so I piggy backed you up to your room. Hehe, your room is so dirty though...I think I definitely tripped over a plug that connected your fairylights, so sorry if that doesn’t work anymore. Anyway. I left this morning and left you some nice tea and some tablets (Yoongi said that I should put them in your bathroom, so I literally just left them on your sink). I know you haven’t been having a fun time with midterms and you need to take care of yourself! If you get too sick and can’t do anything, then how will we eat?? You’re our uni mom!!! We need to live too!!!!! D:

I also rented out Harry Potter for later. I know you get really sad and lonely when you’re stressed out, and so we can watch it together when I’m home after my shift at work :D

Hehe, feel better <3 Just remember that Jeonggukie loves you!!!

Drink tea and stay warm :)

Lots of love, Jeongguk :D

The paper is signed with Jeongguk’s messy handwriting, like he ran out of time as he was writing it. The page is littered with tiny Gudetama stickers and the sight of it makes you smile. Along with other little notes Jeongguk’s left for you over the last few months, this one earns a spot on your cork board above your desk.

(04) remembering what ur friend likes or dislikes

You were so late.

Almost getting run over by a bus in the process, you sprint across the small road that separates your flat and the University central campus, missing a deep puddle as you step up off the road and onto the pavement. It pours, your hair soaked and makeup no doubt running and staining your cheeks. Holy fuck, you were so late.

Every Friday, without fail, Flat 6 (aka the large and slightly stinky flat you share with two of your best friends) host an annual movie night, inviting literally all of your extended friendship group which definitely is not allowed, but who cares? You noticed Namjoon’s car pulled up in the car park next door and curse again, knowing you’re the last one to arrive to a movie night you’re technically hosting.

You rush up the stairs, since the elevator is still down for maintenance, and burst into the flat with an announcing groan. From somewhere in the living room, Jeongguk looks up with happy surprise and jumps up off the couch, approaching the hall.

“Y/N! You made it.”

You wince, smiling as you hang up your coat to drip dry on the mat near the door. “Yep. I made it. To my own movie night. That I’m technically helping host.”

“No sweat,” Jeongguk shrugs. “It’s okay. Here, I’ll dump your bag in the closet. Get changed, I think Yoongi’s still preparing snacks, anyway.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jeonggukie.”

He gushes, smiling and raising his shoulders cutely. “It’s okay, Y/N.”

Jeongguk swiftly takes your bag from your clutches, faking the weight with the droop of his knees just to hear you laugh, and then he turns to shuffle down the hall to quite literally toss it into the shared storage closet. You’re not too worried; on days like today, in which you have one 1 hour seminar to attend at 5pm and nothing else, there’s nothing inside your bag worthy of being broken by Jeongguk throwing it to the ground. As he does this, you shudder out of your shoes and make your way to your bedroom, to change into something warm and comfortable for the movie.

The sound of laughter makes you hurry to change, one leg out of your damp and cold jeans whilst simultaneously fishing for some old jogging bottoms out of your bottom draw, a jumper from Yoongi that he thought he lost left for you to grab on your bed. What he doesn’t know and will find out in five minutes won’t hurt him. (Yoongi also doesn’t care, because he’s a whipped best friend who lets you do what you want, including steal clothes he actually needs and can’t really afford to replace. Oh well, sharing is caring!).

Your hair is still soaked, and you move towards the single bathroom squeezed between two bedrooms to ring it out in the sink. Once you’re done, and your hair is thrown up into a scrunchie-decorated pony, you pace back towards the kitchen where, rightly so, Yoongi stands with his back facing you, filling up a glass with Pepsi.

“I thought we threw that shit out,” you announce as you walk in. “You know this flat is Team Coca Cola, those are the rules.”

Yoongi sighs, not looking up. “Yeah, I know, but Namjoon is a monster.”

“He’s so annoying...why can’t he just admit that Coca Cola is better?” you sigh, moving towards Yoongi to see the small bowls of snacks he has ready to be taken into the living room. It’s full in there, people stuffed onto the sofas and the floor where a bed of blankets lies like a mattress.

Yoongi’s outdone himself; the bowls are neatly organised by colour and ingredient, and you smile. Yoongi was a lot of things, one of them a secret perfectionist. Even when it concerned bowls of snacks. God, you love to love him.

“Namjoon’s a man of unpopular opinions, I mean, he really thinks the live action of Attack on Titan is good, like, who actually thinks that?” Yoongi rants, and then he glances to the side towards you, is silent for a moment, and then asks, “is that my jumper?”

You look down at it with a smile. “Yep. It’s comfy.”

Yoongi hums, like he’s bored. “Whatever, looks better on you than it did on me. Who the fuck lied to me and told me dark green was my colour...?”

“Every colour is your colour,” you say, patting his back and reaching for the bowls. “Should I take these in?”

Yoongi then nods, humming again. “Yeah. Yellow bowl is for you, by the way.”

You look to it. “And why is that?”

“Cause I know you don’t like the barbeque flavour chips that are in the red bowl, but everyone else does, so I went out and got you the salty ones. Oh, and there’s a bar of Galaxy in the fridge. Don’t tell Jeongguk, cause he’ll get pissy about how I didn’t get him something.”

As Yoongi tells you this, your heart flutters. You had told him that when you first met, after he offered you some of his chips noticing you were the only person not eating.

“You remembered that?” you wonder, and Yoongi looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“I’m a good friend,” he states, as though it were obvious. “Don’t get it twisted, though. I only did it because I don’t want to hear you complaining about it all night.”

You’re sure that’s a lie, but if it makes him feel better, you’ll accept it. You’ll also ignore the embarrassed tinge of red on his cheeks.

(05) inside jokes

[15:16PM] jeongguk: alright fuckers 🔪😡 [15:16PM] jeongguk: who left the kitchen window open all damn night [15:17PM] jeongguk: there’s three spiders in the sink and it rained so the work surface is all wet [15:17PM] jeongguk: [1 Image Attached] not happy bois [15:23PM] jine: i dont even live with you why are you asking the gc this [15:24PM] jeongguk: yoongi has the flat gc muted and idk how else to yell at him [15:28PM] y/n: blame me,,,,i have failed u,,,,,,,im sowwy [15:29PM] jeongguk: hehe its ok ❣️💘💕💓 i’ll clean it up 🥰 [15:32PM] haseul: eye….. [15:39PM] jimin: YALL LMAOODIUGJFKDSLJ [15:39PM] jimin: guess what TF just happened in my maths class [15:41PM] jimin: i forgot that on one of my assignments me and y/n had drawn a camel in the library on the back and he saw and asked me 2 stay behind after class so he could have stern words with me or smthn…..anyway so i go to the front of the class at the end and he’s like “mr park what the hell is this camel doing here” [15:42PM] jimin: and i said sir thats not a camel [15:42PM] jimin: thats my WIFE [15:43PM] y/n: HA HA HA… [15:45PM] yoongi: IF YALL DONT STOP [15:47PM] taehyung: THIS IS THE THIRD TIME YOU’VE MADE THIS REFERENCE AND I DONT KNOW WHAT IT MEANS [15:47PM] taehyung: this inside joke stinks….someone explain to me please what this means 😭😭😭 [15:48PM] hoseok: i hate this damn gc

(06) long phone calls

[Incoming Facetime Call From: Seokjin 👪]

“Hey.”

“Hey. Y/N, are you sitting down because I have some major tea on Professor Kwon and Professor Kim and I’m not supposed to be saying anything and it’s killing me.”

“Oh shit.” Audio shuffles. “I’m lying down now, bitch. Tell me everything.”

“Okay. So…”

[Five Hours Later]

“I’m still in shock about Kwon and Kim.”

“Me too. What’s Kim gonna do, lie and say she had heat rash on her titties?”

“Hopefully she doesn’t get them out for people to see.”

“Literally. God, I hate how our life has resorted to teacher gossip. Are we those students?”

“Yup. Two students bitching about teachers at...like ...midnight?”

“Oh, shit, it’s midnight already??”

(07) facetiming while ur both doing something else (study dates like that are on another level of intimacy)

Jimin’s had the same cold for about two weeks now, and nobody knows what the hell’s up with it. He walks around his flat, according to Hoseok, wrapped up in a blanket and surrounded by a necklace of matted tissues. To be honest, it’s not as bad as he’s making it out to be, but he’s a guy, and so anything that involves a slight stomach pain and a blocked nose instantly translates to man flu, which is almost as bad as the plague.

That being said, Jimin’s set himself under “house arrest” and is therefore glued to his bed or desk chair, still managing to move his sore and aching joints to write a few words on his lab report. With the first round of finals creeping up, Jimin actually wants to go to the library, but, man, what with his man flu and everything, he just can’t seem to do it.

On the other hand, he has you to set the mood for him. After snagging a corner table in the library near the big windows, you make a barrier out of your bag and books to watch the sunset, Taehyung opposite using minimal space with his laptop and headphones, watching a documentary he’ll need to cite for his essay. Jeongguk naps next to you, having exhausted himself from his shift last night that ran into the early hours and Sana secretly paints her nails, blowing them dry as she takes a break from writing.

Once you’re settled and comfortable, you reluctantly peel away the slice of tape covering your webcam (because Black Mirror has forever scared you into thinking 4Chan are watching you and will hold your endless hours of Games2Girls dot com against you) and open up Facetime, ringing Jimin who waits patiently back home.

After a few rings, Jimin’s bright and tired face pops up on the screen and you both silently wave. Jimin has his mic muted, but yours is on, allowing the ambience of the library trick Jimin into believing he’s actually there. It’s not quite like an ordinary study date, but for now, it’ll do. He opens his textbook and starts to work, comfortable and happy now that he’s listening to his friends discuss work, like he’s there. He smiles, occasionally glancing up to see your face working or Jeongguk unintentionally leaning into frame. It’s comforting. He works well.

(08) cooking something for ur friend

“Merry Christmas, Tae. Oh, wait, I have something for you.”

Taehyung is hosting a Christmas party this year, in the apartment he shares with some of the girls in your group and Namjoon. His flat is lit up with lights, draining the electricity, the tree sparkling like diamonds in the front living room that looks out onto the Seoul city. The sound of Michael Bublé sings out festively and Taehyung leads you through to the kitchen, out of the loud madness of the party that’s getting into full swing. In one hand, you have a big bag of presents that both Jeongguk and Yoongi kindly left for you to haul all by yourself to Taehyung’s flat, and in the other, you balance a box across your arm, the corner sharp on your inner elbow.

“Cool. Your gift is under the tree,” Taehyung says.

“Oh, yeah. No, this is an early gift.”

“Just for me?” he asks.

You set down the box. “Well, you can share if you love us all a lot. But, it’s for you.”

Taehyung wastes no time in opening the box, a smile widening across his face as he reviews the contents. The box is stuffed full with cookies, baked big and crumbly for his tasty pleasures. They’re decorated too, because you love him so much and you know he liked them last year.

“Last year you ate nearly all of my batch, so I just decided to make you some of your own this year,” you tell him casually. It’s really no big deal, but Taehyung feels like he might actually cry because the thought is so sweet. You notice this, the glassiness of your eyes. “Ew, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m touched!” he exclaims. Taehyung turns on his spot and wraps an arm around your neck, pulling you in for a hug. With your arms wrapped around his torso, Taehyung smiles with a thrilled sound and kisses the crown of your head. “Thanks, Y/N, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

(09) sending texts when u randomly think abt them

[11:15AM] namjoon 👨🏼‍🚀: i stopped by at kyobo’s today and found a cards against humanity add on pack that was harry potter themed and i thought of u lol [11:15AM] namjoon 👨🏼‍🚀: i bought it for u btw 😊

(10) listening without judging

When the front door slams shut, you know that something’s wrong.

Having opted for sitting in the natural light of the living room to finish your lab report, the sound of the door echoes loudly throughout the empty house. It’s only you home, since Yoongi has volleyball practise until six this evening, which means it’s Jeongguk who’s home and apparently, not in a very good mood.

Jeongguk doesn’t realise you’re in the living room until he enters it, stopping suddenly in the doorway when he sees you cross-legged on the carpet near the coffee table. His eyes are red and swollen, his nose shiny from where he’s been crying and sniffling. The sight makes your stomach churn with an indescribable feeling, and you immediately rise to your feet.

“Jeongguk? What’s wrong- did something happen?” you ask him, not stepping forward until you know he’s okay. 

Jeongguk’s sensitive, the baby of the friendship group, and sometimes you forget to go easy on him. He sighs loudly and drops his backpack to the floor with a thud. His books curl inside loudly and he drags his feet across the floor to get to the couch. He moves as if he’s going to sit down and then stops, turning to you. His bottom lip curls like he’s about to cry, and then he opens his arms for a hug. You immediately move forward.

“Oh, Jeonggukkie,” you coo, stroking his hair and moving to sit on the sofa. Jeongguk comes down with you and you rest his head on top of your breasts, granting him this once in a lifetime opportunity and he doesn’t even register it. He just cries, loudly and comfortably, his arms around you as he sobs. “Oh, my baby. What happened?”

Jeongguk hiccups. “Do-Doesn’t matter. It’s dumb.”

“No, it’s not. Something hurt your feelings, and your feelings aren’t dumb,” you tell him seriously. Stroking the hair out of his face, you peer down at him. “Come on. Tell me, I won’t judge or tell anybody else. You can trust me.”

He sniffs loudly, but you don’t cringe. He blinks, tears falling and he embarrassingly wipes the tears away, nodding. “Okay.” And then the words come out like vomit.

“I just. You know how I liked Sooyoung, right? Well, we were talking- everyone knows we were, but still, we were talking, and I just really liked her and wanted her to like me. I did all this stuff for her, planned all these dates and got her flowers. I thought she liked flowers, girls like flowers. I know we joke that you’re one of the guys, but even you liked those flowers I got for you. So, I got her this pretty necklace with an S on it and was going to give it to her and so I went to her practise room. She does dance, you knew she does dance, right? Yeah. And so I went to the room and was in the room talking to her when the door opens and this guy comes in and he comes up to her and they kiss and I just. She. She told me she didn’t want to rush into dating and that she liked me, and then she suddenly started dating someone else and I’m just really hurt and confused. Did I do something wrong? Am I ugly? Am I annoying, I just...I don’t know what I did. I really liked her.”

You don’t say anything as he talks. You just listen intently, nodding against his head with a low hum and stroking his hair gently.

“I know it’s silly and stupid that I’m crying over a girl, it’s just…” He sighs. “It hurts.”

You sigh, too. “It’s not silly and stupid. What Sooyoung did was really shitty and it’s natural that it hurt your feelings. You did absolutely nothing wrong, though. The flowers were pretty, and you didn’t force her into anything, and you were so kind and patient. Any girl would be lucky enough to have you as a boyfriend. Sooyoung missed out! You’re so good, Jeongguk, one of the best guys I know. And you’re not ugly! That’s an insult to actual ugly people! If you’re ugly, then what are we?” He laughs shyly and you smile, “Huh? What are we?”

“Okay, sorry,” Jeongguk laughs, pressing his cheek into your torso with a wide smile. His hands loop together behind your back, meek and timid, and he sighs, this time less sadly. “Maybe I’m destined to be alone forever…”

“You’re being dramatic, now,” you sigh. “The right person is waiting for you. Just give it some time.”

Jeongguk thinks about that for a moment. “Wanna date me if I end up alone and single aged thirty?”

Loudly, you let out a laugh. “Yeah right. You know what, fine. Even though I know you won’t be, if we’re both single by thirty, I’ll marry you. How about that?”

Jeongguk hums. “Cool. Is it safe to have kids after thirty?”

You let out a wheeze, taken aback by Jeongguk’s question. “Woah there. I said I’d marry you, not birth your children! Besides, you’re acting like thirty is ancient! Lots of women have kids aged thirty.”

“Okay, sorry, I didn’t know! My Mom was only young.”

“I can’t believe you just asked me to have kids with you when we’re thirty…”

“Might as well make our marriage interesting,” Jeongguk shrugs.

You quite literally have nothing to say to that.

(11) making someone laugh so hard that their whole body shakes

“Ow- stop! I’m going to pee!”

You don’t think you’ve seen Seokjin laugh at a joke that’s not his own in quite some time. Tonight, across the table in the retro diner that’s been converted and opened in town, he has surprised you. The entire booth shakes with laughter, from all sides and directions. Seokjin leans up against the window, clutching his side with Jimin, Mina and Yoongi all stuffed next to him on the skinny one seater. Next to you, on either side, is Hoseok and Taehyung, with Jeongguk and Namjoon at the counter ordering more drinks.

“What?” you ask, laughing. You’re not laughing because it’s funny, but more so because you have no idea what it is you did to make him laugh so hard. “What did I say?”

Seokjin can hardly get his words out, choking halfway on air and having to reach for his drink which shakes in his hand. He sips and gasps for air: “Just-your...face!” Then he cracks up again, like it’s the literal joke of the century. You just don’t get it.

“What did I do?” you ask. “What’s so funny?”

Seokjin can’t breathe.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi comments, smiling with disbelief and covering his mouth as he laughs. Mina’s french fries are stone cold as she laughs and leans into Yoongi’s side for support.

“Fuck. Y/N, you’re so funny, I love you so much,” Seokjin cries. Cries, literally; there are tears pooling out of his eyes, and he wipes them, sighing loudly as he laughs a few more times.

You’re going to take the compliment happily, and move on. To this day, you never found out what was so funny…

(12) hanging out in furniture stores and testing every couch there is

“Take a picture of me so we can pretend this is our house for Instagram.”

You sigh, taking out your phone and snapping a photo of Taehyung, lounging his legs apart across a lime green sofa that looks like it’s been hauled out of a 70’s magazine. One of the best things about Taehyung is that he’s easy to please, eccentric and adventurous just like you. Taehyung could be taken to a junkyard for a first date and somehow he’d still find it fun. He didn’t watch Bottletop Bill and his best friend Corky and leave not taking some inspiration on what to do with scrap junk.

It slowly became a tradition to go to the weirdest places with Taehyung as your date. On weekends or free weekdays you shared, you’d text Taehyung and get him to come with you to somewhere new. On today’s list, IKEA. It’s not totally crazy, or weird or wacky, just something you don’t think you’d do with Yoongi for fun. Taehyung loved the idea.

Taehyung’s making it a mission to sit on every bit of furniture he can find. As he takes a ride up the elevator to the first and main starting point of IKEA, he immediately notices the display couches and stares at you excitedly: “Let’s pretend we’re about to buy our dream house and test all the couches.”

Your eyes light up. “Yes! We can pretend we’re on a TV show reviewing them.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Taehyung more excited. “Oh my God, yes!” Then he grabs your hand, tugging you towards a cream themed living display. “Let’s go, wifey! Time to review.”

(You very nearly leave IKEA with a bright red sofa that looks like it’s been handmade and the bottom pillows are patterned with tiny cherries. Sadly, you’re both broke and you don’t have a car to take it home.)

((Taehyung’s devastated.))

(13) deep conversations when it's deep in the night

Sometimes, Yoongi stays awake until the early hours in the living room and kitchen. On days where you can’t sleep, you can hear him pacing around, softly grunting as he walks, something he does without really realising and something you love about him. On occasion, you join him. Like tonight, for example.

Yoongi’s curled up on the kitchen counter when you wake up and leave your room to find him. He sits with his back up against the cupboards, the kitchen window open with a cigarette out the window. Catching your gaze wide-eyed, he moves as if he’s going to put the cigarette out but you stop him.

“I told Jeongguk I’d stop,” Yoongi explains. Inside, he’s just grateful you’re not Jeongguk tonight. The cigarette lets off steam. He doesn’t smoke as often as he used to, just when he needs to. Yoongi looks away from the window as you pick yourself up to sit on the cupboards parallel to him. A bottle of wine is out, and you quietly take off the top and take a large swig.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you tell him honestly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell Jeongguk, too. There’s a new air freshener in the cupboard under the sink. Use that when you’re done.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”

“Why’d you go back to smoking anyway? Didn’t you tell Jeongguk that you were stopping because you didn’t want to die, or something?” It’s a joke, Yoongi snorts in reply.

“You know how he feels about it. I do too, and I guess I just felt bad about it. It was bad enough for him growing up and at home, and he told me about his brothers asthma attacks because of it and how he almost died, and how his parents smoked religiously and it made them act a certain way.” Yoongi sucks in his breath, like he’s realising what lighting the cigarette means. “It’s not weed. Not what his parents did, but. Still, fuck.” He decides to put it out.

For a while, you don’t say anything to Yoongi. Staring at him is telling enough, and you watch as Yoongi regrets what he’s done so much that he pales, his eyes watering.

“I don’t want to let him down,” Yoongi admits truthfully. “He’s like my little brother. I don’t wanna hurt him, fuck.”

He rocks his head back, sighing into the night. Down below the window, over the small little cliffside that he can see from his window that looks down onto the freeway behind the flat, he watches the lines of traffic whiz by, like long white lights, the honks like ASMR in his ears.

“If you’re going back to bed, can you go in my room and take the rest of my cigs out? Don’t wanna feel tempted by them. Toss them out or something, will you?”

You nod immediately, taking another drink of wine. This gulp stings. “Course. Yeah, I’m gonna go now actually.” You hop down off the counter, handing the bottle and placing it next to Yoongi. “Don’t stay up too late, mkay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You shrug in reply, Yoongi frowns. As you walk towards the doorway that separates the kitchen and the hall, you turn around and look back at Yoongi, calling his name. Yoongi looks over and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Love you,” you tell him. A smile follows, and Yoongi blinks tiredly.

“I love you too. Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches as you disappear into the darkness of the hallway and then faces the nighttime again. The smell of cigarettes lingers, and his stomach churns. Yoongi reaches for the air freshener you mentioned and sprays it generously, sniffing and then turning off the lights to the kitchen. Jeongguk will wake up and complain about the window being open, and might even notice the ash on the windowsill, but, like you, he still loves his big brother regardless.

(14) holding hands while jaywalking so that u Both get hit by a car

“Now!”

A squeal leaves your mouth as Jeongguk grabs a hold of your hand and literally pulls you across the road. A car that speeds down the road presses the horn loud enough to turn a few heads and Jeongguk grins boyishly, raising his hand as if to say sorry even though you’re far enough away to not get hit. Jeongguk’s motto for jaywalking is We Hold Hands, Because We Go Together Or We Don’t Go Down At All, or something. You know he stole half of it from an All Time Low song, but it works, and the song slaps.

From across the road, on the side you and Jeongguk are running towards, Hoseok gapes at the both of you and his eyes bulge out of his head.

“You two have a death wish!” he yells.

“But we lived, bitch!” Jeongguk replies, raising a gang sign to which Hoseok pulls a face at.

“I literally cannot stand you,” Hoseok seethes, walking away even though he’s supposed to be going out for dinner with the both of you. You and Jeongguk share a look that ends in a burst of giggles and run after Hoseok, capturing each of his arms with your own. He complains all the way to the restaurant, even though he loves it.

(15) randomly buying a flower for someone

“Delivery.”

Namjoon’s voice lifts your head. He stands behind the reception desk of your flat complex with a small bunch of flowers in his left hand. If he didn’t already know that you were working your two hour shift today, then he’s lucky he caught you. The sight of a bouquet of wildflowers makes your heart soar curiously.

“For someone special?” you wonder. Maybe he’s delivering to someone in the complex. Namjoon’s a sweetie like that.

Namjoon blinks. “Yeah. You.” He holds the bouquet outwards, with a bright smile. “They were for sale outside as I got off my subway. Thought of you, again. Happy early birthday.”

“My birthday’s in, like, seven months,” you say.

“That’s why it’s for your early birthday,” Namjoon replies.

You don’t know what to say. “They’re so pretty, thank you. Hey - can you go up to my flat and put them in a vase? I’ve still got an hour here, they might dry out if they’re kept down here.”

Namjoon nods instantly. “Sure. Gimme your key?” You slide the key across the desk towards Namjoon and he takes it swiftly. “Cool. Glad you like them. Enjoy your shift, Y/N.”

“Unlikely,” you groan. “Thanks, Joonie!”

He smiles as he reaches the door, sticking his tongue out to you as he prepares to climb the stairs. That elevator needs fixing urgently, and all you can think about is how much you love your friends.

(16) letting ur friends taste ur food and also tasting theirs to the point where u basically ate a fair amount off of each plate on the table

“What do you mean you’ve never tried a steak before?” Yoongi sighs so loudly that it turns a few heads. “Okay. Take a bite, it’s called charity and I’m generous. Come on.”

Yoongi even cuts you a slice and leans over the table to let you taste it. Beside you, Namjoon cringes when you close your teeth around the fork and pull the steak off, taking several bites and widening your eyes with wonder a Yoongi. You have just unlocked a taste sensation!

“Like it?” Yoongi asks.

“Mhm! It’s so easy to eat,” you observe. You look at Namjoon, “try his.”

Yoongi sighs. He willingly shares his food out. You glance down at your own meal, a pretty pasta dish that Jeongguk looks at from next to Yoongi.

“What is that? It looks good,” Jeongguk asks.

“Spaghetti Al Pomodoro,” you quote from the menu. Jeongguk laughs, because who goes to a restaurant and orders spaghetti? “Stop, I don’t know the menu, I played it safe!”

“Lemme try,” Jeongguk invites himself to try the taste, twirling his fork around the pasta and sucking it up like a scene in Lady and the Tramp. This sets off a sequence around the table, something you can’t help but snigger at. Namjoon lets you try some of his curry and Yoongi tries Jeongguk’s burger. By the time everybody on the table has tried everybody elses meals, you finally look back at your plate and notice that literally half of the meal’s now gone. Yoongi has about one bite of steak left, and Jeongguk could easily finish his burger in one bite.

“I hope everyone enjoyed my meal,” Yoongi says sarcastically, and he angrily chews his last piece of steak.

Namjoon looks up with a bright smile. “Yeah I did. Thanks!”

(17) "give me that I'll carry it for u"

Sometimes, Hoseok stops by at the reception to help out, especially during finals or midterms when you could really use those two years of monitoring an empty email inbox to study. Today, one of the newer residents, Somi, is on the desk and is playing Club Penguin on the computer, and you’re shoved into the back storage room with Hoseok, filing everybody’s mail and parcels.

It’s so messy in here, and looks like it hasn’t had a good clean out since it was first built, which might sound ridiculous, but have you seen all of this dust?

“Can you guys take out the trash?” One of the other workers, Siwon, pokes his head into the back room.

“You only just asked us to do this, though,” Hoseok points out with his hands on his hips.

Siwon shrugs, “Okay. And? Get to work.”

He turns and leaves as Hoseok gives him the middle finger, groaning as he arches his back to relieve pain that’s developed from being hunched over for too long. The trash bags are enormous and bulky with weight, shoved into a single room that absolutely honks. Hoseok grimaces as he opens the door and drags some bags out, deliberately ignoring a suspicious juice leaving a trail behind one of the ones he’s just brought into the back room.

“That literally stinks,” you complain.

“Yep.”

While Hoseok continues to haul bags out of the trash room, you take it upon yourself to drag the bags out to the back, towards the giant tip that’s collected by the bin-men the following day. After two or three trips, Hoseok steps out of the room and notices you struggling to pick a big bag up off the floor over your shoulder, like Santa’s sack.

“Give me that, I’ll carry it for you,” Hoseok offers, already stepping forward.

“No!” you protest stubbornly. “I’ve got this.”

“You’re so full of bullshit,” Hoseok howls. He ignores you and snatches the bag out of your hands. You’ll never admit it, but it feels good to not have the twisty material burning your fingers. “Sit down. You’ve worked hard.”

“Don’t patronise me,” you scold.

He giggles, “sorry. You’re too cute. Keep filling in those forms, kill two birds with one stone?”

You wait until Hoseok’s out of the room to cradle your fingers. Fucking hell, that hurts.

(18) helping ur friend decide what to wear while also reminding them that they look amazing no matter what

“You’re not going to the Met Gala, Jimin. Just wear jeans, my dude.”

“No. No, no, ignore him.” You throw a glare in Jeongguk’s direction and shift on your stomach, watching Jimin frantically search through his wardrobe. “This is important. This is serious. He’s going to see a potential employer, Jeongguk.”

“Yeah,” Jimin taunts, “so go be jobless and broke somewhere else.”

Jeongguk snorts, “I have a job, though…”

“Okay, get out of my room. Y/N, help me.”

“You looked good in the last four outfits,” you say to him honestly. “What’s wrong with this one, hm?”

You stand up, moving to one of the outfits laid out on the floor. It’s a pretty combination of clothes; a patterned white shirt that’s both formal and casual, with black trousers and brown shoes.

“I don’t like the shoes,” Jimin mumbles, continuing to search.

“Okay...Why don’t we just…” You crouch, moving a pair of black shoes from outfit number three to outfit number two. Now the shoes are black, and the outfit looks great. “Do that? What do you think?”

Jimin looks down at it, biting his bottom lip. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, totally,” you nod with enthusiasm. “It shows your personality whilst also remaining professional. And you looked super handsome in it.” Jimin faces you with a shy smile, “Trust me. It’s the one.”

It takes some reluctance and convincing, but Jimin eventually settles on outfit number two. All it took was some convincing and abuse of his praise kink.

(And he got the job.)

(19) being involved in every bad hair decision (dyeing ur friend's hair grey in between playing with their switch)

Three games into Mario Kart, you realise that you urgently need to email Nintendo and play I’m-Karen-Let-Me-See-The-Manager. Nintendo Switches are so dangerously addictive that Seokjin has you watching him play as grey hair dye bleaches his scalp. You can’t help but watch as he wins race after race, a streak of ten to beat tonight with King Boo as his racer every damn time.

“Fuck, your hair!” You must have said that so many times that Seokjin’s bound to get sick of it. He glances up at his reflection and eyes the sight on his head.

“Looks fine,” he shrugs.

“Let me remind you that it looks fine because the colour’s okay at the front. It looks kinda...patchy at the back.” You reach for the dye, “We’re low. Seokjin, we’re in trouble.”

He shrugs again. “Whatever. We can make a new trend.”

“Hell no. If it looks shit, I’m paying for you to get it done professionally ...which, you should have just done in the first place. I'm not a hairdresser!”

“And thank fuck for that!” Jimin steps into the living room and laughs nervously. “That looks hideous!”

This time, Seokjin’s eyes raise icily.

“It’s not that bad…” you mutter. “It’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

“The only way to save your hair is to just sacrifice it all,” Jimin sighs. “You know what, I’ve got a razor in my cupboard, let’s bring forward bald Seokjin.”

“I’ll take the patchy scalp,” Seokjin threatens.

“It’s really not that bad,” you pout quietly, attempting to fix the mess at the back of his head.

Okay - you’re lying. It’s awful. It’s a total disaster. But when Seokjin gets a good look at it, and he does take a good long look, he just shrugs and puts down the mirror.

“It’s a trend,” he decides. Mario Kart resumes and you’re rendered absolutely speechless.

(20) paying attention

When forced into a group of friends outside of your own, you always had a tendency to stand out in the worst ways possible. It’s not as if you stood out for being different, or funny or pretty. No; outside of your close circle of friends, you were the obvious outsider. You stuck out like an imposter, like a red flower amongst white ones.

This get together hosted by one of Jeongguk’s other friends, Joshua, takes place in his crazy expensive lake house in the countryside, owned by his parents and left to him when he turned eighteen. It’s remarkable that you got invited, to be honest. But, when Jeongguk’s your best friend, you get vouched for, granted permission to stay for the weekend in the one of many rooms, with the exception of sharing a room with two other guys. Jeongguk doesn’t mind sharing a bed for the weekend with Jimin, as long as you’re comfortable in your own.

And you’re not blind - it’s not hard to figure out why a big group of girls who had managed invitations were clinging to your circle of friends. You had lucked out in a way that ensured your entire group were visuals, everybody stunning in their own unique way. Joshua and his friends are here too, obviously, but their eyes are only on a certain segment of the group. From this angle, one of the girls who made her way over to the sofas sits with her back in your general direction, and it sort of feels like primary school all over again where you were the odd one out.

You try not to let it bother you, though. As the guys play polite and laugh when needed and talk casually, something slips up in conversation: “Well, actually-” One of the girls is talking, blinking repetitively in Namjoon’s direction with a sweet smile, “I think I have more guy friends than girls. Girls are so hard to talk to sometimes.”

“Right?” one of the others says with a sigh. “I wish I had more male friends. I want to move in with some in the future.”

You inhale. This is a good conversation to jump into. “Same,” you say. The girl in front of you turns around slightly, perhaps only just remembering that you were there in the first place. “I’ve been friends with these guys forever now, and living with them is so…” You notice after a short ramble that the girls turned back around, and she’s not even listening. You trail off, looking bored, “who am I even talking to?”

But from across the coffee table on the other couch, Yoongi furrows his brows and sets his glass down. “Y/N’s right,” he announces, and you look up at the same time as the other girls. Like they’re confused, they look at the group and then back at you, as if wondering the connection. “You know, guys are always told being friends with girls is impossible, but Y/N’s the glue that keeps us together.”

Jeongguk nods, “Mhm, exactly! You know, they said that it would be hard being friends with girls because you’d catch feelings, but Y/N’s so repulsive that it’s not even that hard...”

You glare at him, “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Trust me,” Chaeyoung pops up, having been sat silently in between Taehyung and Mark for the past twenty six minutes, “it’s not all that.” The girls look at her, “Men are disgusting. I don’t know how Y/N does it. These guys are the repulsive ones...I was in their flat for five minutes and I think I caught three diseases.”

“Hey, don’t drag my apartment into this,” you pout. Yoongi shakes his head with a smile and watches you, happy that the frown that was once on your features had disappeared into a smile. Hey, in a weird way, this was a good conversation to jump into! 

The girls around you share glances, as though they’ve just clocked on to how important you are to these guys and how ignoring you won’t make them like them more, and eventually, you’re included in the conversation. You make a mental reminder to thank the fuck out of Yoongi for paying attention to you, even when you’re silently in the background.

(21) being aware and understanding of someone's financial situation ("dw I'll pay for u")

“We all need matching ones. Look, one each!”

Jeongguk excitedly crouches in front of one of the display cases, marvelling at the sight of tiny little charms on foam boxes, smiling up at you all. It makes you weak seeing how childlike Jeongguk actually is, how he gets excited over shiny things like a little magpie. Today is one of those rare afternoons where you’re all miraculously free, and it had been Namjoon’s idea to go out somewhere and hang out. Seoul is filled with beautiful and secret places to explore like a tourist and he takes up the opportunity.

This shop is dinky and in a weird place between an ice-cream shop and a fish market, probably scammy and has definitely seen better days. But Namjoon likes it, and Yoongi vouches for it because he’s been here before with Namjoon when they brought a watch for Jimin. Okay, yes, it was a designer watch, but it was way cheaper from this shop and, wait, who cares if it’s fake? Nobody noticed until now.

You stand behind Jeongguk, peering down at the charms. They’re all so cute and cartoon-like, each charm you view immediately reminding you of another friend. For Jeongguk, the rabbit. Taehyung could have the paintbrush or camera, Jimin definitely could have the apple because of the fact that his new favourite thing to say is An Apple A Day Keeps The Demons Away. It makes no sense, but he learns to roll with it.

“They’re cute,” Hoseok comments, smiling widely.

“They should be cute, for thirty dollars a charm!” you gape, pointing out the price. “I thought this was a shop that sold things cheaper?!”

“They’re usually around sixty,” Namjoon shrugs.

“For why?” you exclaim.

Nobody hears that, or if they do, they ignore it. With a sigh, you turn away from the case and start looking at something else. Thirty dollars for a small charm is insane, and you don’t have that kind of money. As Taehyung and Jeongguk start picking charms for everybody, your heart rate quickens. 

How can you tell them that you don’t want a charm because you can’t afford a charm without disappointing them and sounding like you’re asking one of them to buy you one? In your panic, Seokjin worms his way up behind you and rests his arm up on your head like an arm-rest.

“Have you picked a charm?” he asks, and you look away instantly. “Hey,” he says, noticing that, “what’s up, buttercup?”

You sigh reluctantly. “I can’t afford to get one of those…”

Seokjin blinks and frowns slightly. “Oh. Well, that’s okay. I’ll pay for you.”

“No way!” you hiss at him, poking a finger into his chest. “Kim Seokjin, don’t you dare-!”

“Hey, I owe you, it’s cool,” Seokjin assures you.

“Owing me because I paid for your McDonalds is not the same as spending thirty dollars on a tiny charm.”

“They’re friendship charms,” he explains. “It’s symbolic for our friendship. Look, stay silent and pretty and let me get you something nice. Please?”

In this one instance, Seokjin doesn’t take no for an answer and invites himself into the small huddle of guys around the charms and picks one out for you. Seokjin picks you a love heart, because he knows that no matter what, there’s a love between the guys and you that nothing can pull apart.

(22) looking stupid in public together (dancing in stores to overplayed pop songs)

You hear it at the same time as Jeongguk.

One thing you don’t mind that much about Korea is that the sound of random K-POP groups follows you around everywhere you go. You actually kind of like it, because the songs are catchy enough and Jimin and Hoseok like it for the dances. But, my God, if you have to hear Momoland’s Bboom Bboom one more time, you might explode.

Over the hum of the refrigerators in the small GS25, where you and Jeongguk are examining the surprisingly large collection of flavoured milks, you hear those guitar strums and just as the horns roll in, you and Jeongguk share a glance and immediately do The Thing.

The Thing is recreating the entire dance routine to the song, which you had both decided to learn when you were bored and procrastinating during midterms. Everybody else in your friendship group deems it the single most embarrassing thing that you and Jeongguk do in public next to jaywalking, and maybe you can see why. The chorus rolls by and you’re both shimmying, pointing finger hearts to each other, and it’s rolling to an end when one of the cashiers turns the corner with a big tray of iced coffee in her arms.

She pauses and so do the both of you, in an intense stare off until she cowers and scurries to put down the tray and carefully shelf the drinks. Jeongguk looks at you with the urge to laugh and picks a random milk off the shelf, urging you out of the aisle to pay. When you’re outside and free from the judgement of the cashier, Jeongguk laughs on the floor for about five straight minutes.

(23) looking stupid in public together (singing loudly in ur car)

“JUST GO AHEAD AND HATE ON ME AND RUN YOUR MOUTH!”

“So everyone can hear!”

“HIT ME WITH THE WORST YOU GOT AND KNOCK ME DOWN!”

“Oh, baby, I don’t care.”

“KEEP IT UP AND SOON ENOUGH, YOU’LL FIGURE OUT!”

Both of your voices: “You wanna be, you wanna be, A LOSER LIKE ME!”

In the backseat, Yoongi shrinks further down until his bum is hanging off the chair, in the footwell where his knees are. “Please kill me.”

(24) hugging people when u say hi and goodbye to them

Hoseok is one of the best friends you could ever ask for. One, he’s friendly. Two, he’s funny. Three, he’s cute. Four, he hugs you when you arrive somewhere and again when you leave, and you absolutely love it.

“Y/N, hi!” His voice is the first to call out to you when you walk into the Open Day fair at your Uni. You look awful, overslept and still half asleep, but he comes towards you with a smile and engulfs you in a hug. “You look cute. Sleep well?”

That’s not to say the other guys don’t hug you, because they definitely do. But, Hoseok’s always the first.

(25) being there for someone even if u can't help them

“Go ahead. Laugh at me like everybody else.”

Jimin and Jeongguk are the ones who are unfortunately tasked with dealing with a tragically grieving Y/N. It’s unfortunate to you, but they don’t mind one bit. The last thing they expected to see when they came back to Jeongguk’s apartment to watch more episodes of Mindhunter on Jeongguk’s TV, was you curled up on the window seat with red eyes and a runny nose.

“Why would we laugh at you, baby?” Jeongguk asks, rubbing your back. He’s sat next to you and Jimin is by your feet, rubbing them and your legs with his soft hands.

You sniff uglily, but none of them say anything. “Cause. Cause it’s just a fish, I guess.”

“It was still your pet,” Jimin points out sadly. “Susan was a great fish.”

You sniff again, crying some more. “I just feel like a bad owner. Maybe the bowl wasn’t big enough, and maybe I didn’t feed her enough...I don’t want her to have died because of me.”

“Hey, now,” Jeongguk assures softly, “I’m sure she died peacefully. You were the best fish Mom ever. Susan’s in a better place now.” He glances over at Jimin nervously, “Like, fish heaven?”

For a moment you don’t say anything, and Jeongguk thinks maybe that was too much. But then you turn to him with a hopeful expression. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jeongguk replies.

“Susan’s still with you in your heart,” Jimin adds. He’s not too great at the comforting thing. “You were so good to her. If I was a fish, I’d want you to be my Mom.”

Jeongguk looks at Jimin with a deadpan face. Maybe that was too much, but you smiled, and that’s something to Jimin. Even if he doesn’t know what to do to help, the least he can do is be there for you.

(26) "this reminded me of u"

[03:15AM] namjoon: hehe [03:15AM] namjoon: this reminded me of u ^__^ [03:16AM] namjoon: [1 Image Attached]

[03:20AM] y/n: there r no words….

(27) allowing people to be human, with everything that this entails

University truly has been the best years of your life. There’ve been rough spots financially and mentally, but your key support system has been the circle of friends you’re proud to love and live with. Even when they’re a little bit chaotic, sometimes really annoying and loud and tiring, you still love them, and every quality that comes along with loving them.

[the-omni-princess]

How Do You Take It?

Author: @the-omni-princess​

Summary: Crazy things happen in coffee shops at 5AM, especially when Steve's favorite coffee shop is closed.

Word Count: 3.4K

Pairing: Shrunkyclunks (Cap!Steve x Modern!Bucky) Soulmate AU!

Warnings: Cursing (I think), fluff a sprinkle of angst but pretty chill

A/N: Surprise! I’m your Stucky Secret Santa! Hope you enjoy @wolfiejinn​ (though I know you saw this on A03 first)

Ya like AUs so my brain screeched Coffee Shop and Soulmate AU and I couldn’t help myself.

My first Stucky fic so I hope you like it!

-

[Masterlist]

The mission went longer than expected. Tiring, time-consuming, and way too damn long. Afterward, Steve showered then simply crashed on his bed. On the bright side, Tony and Natasha theorized that Hydra was almost fully gone, and Steve no longer would have to worry about late-night missions to take down yet another Hydra base.

Now, all he had to worry about was the stupid words on his wrist. Soul marks. The very first words his soulmate would say to him.

Steve’s Soulmark had turned into an inside joke in the Avenger’s Tower. In pretty cursive dark blue writing on his right wrist were the words “How do you take it?” Tony pretty much had a field day when he found out Steve’s words. Multiple jokes and a myriad of jabs and innuendos in passing, even Sam had teased him about his Soulmark when he moved into the tower and officially became an Avenger.

Never did he think those ridiculous words would come up again… at 4:50 in the morning.

Steve had been asleep for hours, and had woken up way too early, and was now standing in front of his favorite coffee shop… which was closed for another hour. “Well, shit,” resigned to drinking shitty coffee from Clint’s broken coffee machine, Steve made his way back to the Tower.

A glint of metal caught his attention, a girl with dark unruly curls, struggling to get a café door open as her arms were wrapped around a mountain of boxes. Ever the gentleman, and with his ma’s voice in his head scolding him for not moving faster, Steve quickly held the door open for her. Bright blue eyes looked up at him in surprise. “Oh! Thank you!” The woman disappeared inside, and glanced back at Steve, noticing the slight shiver he gave at the cold. He didn’t want to admit how the cold seemed to affect him more since he was found in the ice. It gave him flashes of icy cold water and choking and drowning before his world went black. “Why don’t you come inside, sweetheart? You’ll catch a cold out in that weather! Buck will make you a cup of coffee, least we can do since you helped me out,” the girl looked like she couldn’t have been older than twenty, yet she went a mile a minute, pulling new decorations from the boxes she was carrying as she spoke towards Steve.

Suddenly he found his voice, stepping inside the quaint café as he realized the woman in front of him was offering coffee, offering warmth. “Please, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he quickly said. He didn’t want to explain how it usually took more than a handful of shots of caffeine for him to feel anything. Thanks to the serum, coffee was more of a luxury of warmth.

“Nonsense, we’re opening in-“ she glanced at the clock on the wall, Steve following her eyes as he started to take in the relatively small café. “Almost an hour, really isn’t too much trouble. Bucky!” She called out louder, aiming her voice towards the back door, just past the small counter and glass display case already half full of pastries. “Mind making a cup of joe for this kind stranger that helped me out this morning?”

Steve stayed close to the door, taking in the details of the shop, a few tables along the wall, a handful of older seats, the pastries in the display case all had small bits of steam rolling off of them, fresh enough that Steve could smell the honey and butter off of the croissants. So wrapped up in looking at the new decorations the girl placed on a shelf, Steve didn’t really notice a new person enter the room, placing a new tray of what smelled like blueberry muffins into the display case.

The metal of the tray clanging against the metal edge of the display caught Steve's attention, his eyes taking in the newcomer. Baby blue button-down long sleeve shirt, black apron covered in flour, wearing oven mitts. Matching dark curls to the woman he helped, and icy eyes that were complemented by the shirt he was wearing, Steve felt his heart lurch uncomfortable, almost a past reminder of his heart murmurs before the serum. “Good morning- oh god you’re hot,” the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, making his face light up in pink blush, easily spreading up his cheeks and down his neck.

He turned towards Steve, raising his eyebrow just a hair answering without much thought, as if an automatic reaction, “How do you take it?” The three people in the room froze, and Steve thought he could hear this man’s heart skip a beat of two.

“Wha-what-“ He coughed lightly, trying (and mostly failing) to gain his composure. “What did you just say?” His eyes were locked onto this man, getting lost in his features, the dimple in his chin, his shorter curls falling just above his eyes- God those eyes.

“How… How do you take it?” He gulped, eyes just as wide.

“No fucking way,” The girl spoke that time, eyes fluttering back between the two.

The world seemed to slow, Steve’s racing mind quickly trying to do what he did best: strategize and make a plan. “Well… “ He finally broke the silence, giving the man, Bucky, if he remembered the girl’s words correctly, a small and shy smile. “I feel like I should apologize for the words you have. ‘Oh god you’re hot,’ probably sucked,” despite the tense surroundings and his cheeks still a very noticeable shade of pink, Steve attempted a joke.

Bucky couldn’t help but burst into giggles, grinning back at him. “Apologize?! Please tell me ‘How do you take it?’ isn’t the words you have, otherwise, I should start with the apologizing,” he shot back.

Steve stepped forward, rolling up his sleeve, showing the cursive letters of his mark. Bucky moved past the counter, pulling his sleeve up and tossing his right mitten off to expose his own mark. Steve couldn’t help himself, gently taking his wrist in his hands, his calloused fingers running over the mark. The words were in deep red, like dripping crimson blood, edged on the softest skin Steve’s ever felt in his life. “You’re really it?” Steve hated how vulnerable his voice was, but of all the things he thought would happen at 5 am, this was probably at the very end of the list. “My soulmate.”

“Hi,” he responded in kind, giving Steve the brightest smile, he’s ever seen in his life. Oh fuck, he was already whipped for this man, wasn’t he? “I’m James Buchanan Barnes, but most people call me Bucky,” he introduced. “And that trouble maker, and my new favorite person, is my sister Becca.” He nodded towards the girl, still staring up into Steve’s eyes, which he most definitely wasn’t going to argue about.

“I’m Steve…” he murmured breathlessly, caught up in the very steel in his soulmate’s eyes. “Steven Grant Rogers.”

He noticed Bucky’s eyes immediately go wide. “No way. You get Captain fucking America as your soulmate?!” Becca sounded off beside them, making Steve go red again as he stepped away from Bucky. Both instantaneously regretted the move, instantly missing the other’s touch but keeping silent about it.

“Sorry, miss. Turns out, I did intrude your morning,” he said sheepishly.

“Intrude whenever you want,” Bucky mumbled, Steve’s enhanced ears hearing it easily. He couldn’t help the grin from his face, looking back towards his soulmate- his soulmate!!- noticing how red he looked.

“Why don’t you stay for breakfast?” Becca quickly took control of the situation, seeing both boys flustering near each other, it was painfully adorable truthfully.

“But the muffi-“ Bucky tried to argue, his gaze finally leaving the safety of Steve’s blue eyes to look at his sister.

“I’ve got those, sweetie. Exchange numbers and talk with your soulmate,” she drawled the word as if it was scandalous, taking the boxes with her as she rushed to the back.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Bucky looked back towards a starstruck Steve.

“Yes!” He stumbled over his words, more blush rising in his cheeks. “I’d… I’d love to.” He added, following Bucky to the table in the back corner, sitting on the side facing the door, a habit of his.

“Never answered my question, ya know?” Bucky moved gracefully to the other side of the counter, starting up the coffee machine.

“Oh! Sorry, got a little caught up is all,” he smiled sheepishly, making Bucky rolled his eyes playfully.

“Well? How do you take your coffee?” He started pouring two mugs.

“Well… I usually add like ten shots to actually feel it. Serum and all,” he wasn’t sure why he felt nervous admitting that out loud.

“Ah,” Bucky clicked his tongue faintly, pressing a few buttons on the machine before making a new mug, dumping one of the old ones in the nearby sink. “How much sugar and milk?” he called out, moving around the side, grabbing said materials from a shelf.

“As much as you’re willing to put in it and still call it coffee,” he smiled warmly, feeling strangely happy as Bucky grinned back at him.

“A man with a sweet tooth, no wonder we’re soulmates,” he teased, pouring a fair amount of milk into both mugs before pouring a staggering amount of sugar in both. Bucky grabbed a few muffins before placing the mug in front of Steve, and two muffins, chocolate chip, and blueberry. He sat across from Steve, quick to sip on his coffee.

“I lived in the Great Depression and war, I’m currently trying to compensate for all the sugar I never was able to have as a kid, Sweetheart,” he tried to joke, the pet name slipping in easily as he started to relax.

Bucky went red again at the pet name, making Steve wonder how much Brooklyn drawl bled into his words without him trying. “Well you’re welcome to your sugar fix here anytime,” Bucky smiled back.

“Is that from the pastries or from you?” Steve teased, happy all of Sam’s jabs at his flirting have helped him gotten better at it. Poor Bucky didn’t know what was coming.

“Either works for me,” he shot back, a cheeky grin lighting up his features. The rising sun of New York lit up his body from the window behind him, and Steve’s mind couldn’t help but memorize it immediately to sketch it the second he got back to the tower.

“Don’t tempt me, I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’ll let you hold whatever you want against me,” Bucky’s grin was infectious, both boys wearing matching goofy smiles as they continued to joke and share breakfast.

By the time Becca came back down to the shop with more pastries, both men were completely enamored by the other, unable to stop smiling and teasing the other as they learned more of each other. By the time Steve had to leave, he knew he was completely and utterly in love with James Buchanan Barnes.

---

Whistling and smiling, Steve practically skipped in the Tower’s main communal living room. Three different pairs of eyes looked at him baffled, confused as to the sudden change in their Captain.

“Either you got laid, or Fury gave you a vacation. What's up with you, Capsicle?” Tony looked up from his Stark Tablet, no doubt working on his latest technological advance on his suit.

“Not much,” he shrugged, grabbing his tablet from the counter before sitting on the couch, opening reports to finish.

“Yeah, I believe that,” Sam gave him a look, sarcasm laced into his voice. Steve didn’t reply, only grinning at his phone as a notification lit up his screen. He quickly responded back, the smile never straying from his face.

“Something’s wrong with Cap, he’s smiling for longer than five minutes.” Tony put his tablet down, slowly getting invested in this new mystery.

“Five bucks says it’s because he found his soulmate,” Natasha spoke up, sitting on the countertop, tilting her head with a smug smirk. “What are your bets, Clint?” She called out.

“Oh, you’re definitely right.” A voice from above stated.

“Clint, we’ve talked about you and your obsession with my vents,” Tony groaned. Steve merely ignored the comments, continuing to text Bucky.

“So? Tell us about her?” Sam pipped in, moving closer to Steve on the couch.

Steve sighed softly, “Not going to let this go, will you?”

“Nope!” Clint’s voice rang from the vent above.

“Him…” Steve’s voice was small, unsure how they would take the news. “I met him today. His name is Bucky…”

“What sorta name is Bucky?” Tony’s face scrunched up. “Of all the soulmate names, yours is named Bucky.”

“Tony-“ Steve tried to defend.

“Oh, come on, you can’t tell me his name isn’t weird! Either way, happy you found ‘em, tell us all about him,” Ever the nosy little shit, Tony tossed his tablet down and launched at the sofa to get comfortable, curling up beside an equally as excited Sam. Even Natasha moved closer, her smirk just a little bigger.

“Should I even try to ignore you three?” Steve glanced at his phone before putting it down to look at his teammates.

“What about me?!” Clint called out again.

“Sorry, Four,” Steve amended, all three Avengers in front of him giving him looks. “Okay fine. His name is James, he works at Barnes’ Café in Brooklyn, the son of the owners. The usual place I go to over there was closed but his sister, Rebecca, let me in early and that’s where I met him.” His face softened, a smile on his face as he started to tell them all about his Soulmate. His teammates could see just how whipped he was for the barista after one meeting. Sam and Natasha found it sweet, Tony, however supportive, was also shocked how in love Steve looked already. He knew how fast you could fall for your soulmate, but the man looked ready to fight wars for his soulmate.

“So when will we meet him?” Tony smiled, already making plans in his head to look into this ‘James.’ Call him over-protective, but Tony would make sure anybody his teammates loved was worthy of that love, a few background checks wouldn’t hurt too much.

“Well, I’ll ask him, but Tony,” Steve looked at one of the few friends he had made since appearing in this time, knowing him better than he thought he did, “Let me explore this before you scare him off.”

Tony held up his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright, but if you want to know a single detail, just ask Jarvis.”

---

Over the next few weeks, Steve made it a habit to stop by the Barnes’ Café almost every morning. Through constant visits and an equally enamored soulmate, Steve learned a myriad of details about Bucky. He knew his coffee order, a caramel latte just as sweet as Steve liked it, he knew his family, growing close with Rebecca whenever Bucky was busy in the kitchen. He knew that Bucky loved experimenting with baking and couldn’t afford to go to cooking school like he wanted so he went to NYU on a scholarship and received a bachelor’s in business, helping his parents and three younger sisters run their café. Steve knew Bucky’s favorite Avenger (other than Steve of course) was Natasha, because, and he quote, thought it was “really cool the way she told the government to fuck off.”

Now, a month later, it was finally happening. Bucky was in the elevator, hand in hand with Steve, about to meet the other Avengers.

Steve also knew on another important thing about Bucky, he was an amputee. Not that it made Steve love Bucky – oh my god he loved him – any less, but it was an important part of him. And now, Bucky was honestly nervous it would make the Avengers hate him. He knew it wasn’t that likely, but all the looks other people had given him when they saw his prosthetic had been ingrained into his head.

“I’m right here, baby, no matter what,” Steve promised in a soft voice, his grip on Bucky’s hand tightening slightly.

“I know, but what if they don’t like me-“

“Buck, we’ve been through this. They’ll love you, doll.” He kissed his head sweetly, Bucky’s face lighting up red as the elevator doors opened.

“Alright… let’s do this.” He smiled shyly as Steve led him to the communal living room where Tony, Sam, Natasha, Bruce, and Clint (finally out of the vents) stood, joking around until they saw the couple come in.

“Hey everyone, this is Bucky,” Steve spoke, gently nudging the man in front of him, Bucky only responding with an awkward wave.

“H-hi-… I mean hi!” He smiled bashfully at the quartet in front of him. “Nice to meet you all.”

“I have one very important question, James,” Clint stepped forward, narrowing his eyes at him. “Who’s your favorite Avenger? Choose wisely, and you can’t say, Cap.”

“Widow,” he responded instantly, earning a grin and a pat on the back from Clint.

“He passes all my tests!”

“Clint, honey, everyone passes your tests,” Natasha sighed softly, quickly signing something to the deaf archer.

Clint merely waved his hand, responded just as quickly before grabbing chips from the pantry and jumping onto a sofa.

“One down, four to go,” Steve joked, Sam rolling his eyes.

“I’m Sam. That birdbrain was Clint. You probably know the other three idiots trying to act intimidating, so I’ll just sit down.”

“So, Bucko,” Tony finally stepped forward, making Bucky gulp as he tried not to back right into Steve’s arms. Steve. Steve would protect him. Right? “Wait, what’s that?” The billionaire looked intrigued, pointing towards Bucky’s left hand.

“Oh! It-it’s nothing!” He quickly realized his mistake, attempting to hide his hand behind him again.

“Is that a metal prosthetic?” Tony took another step forwards, Bucky taking one back, crashing right into Steve.

“Y-yeah… lost my arm in a motorcycling accident when I was in high school, got this a few years ago-“ Tony didn’t respond, already crowding into Bucky’s space.

“Holy shit, the metal plating on this thing is incredible!” He looked back up to see the man’s terrified expression. “Oh, where are my manners?” Tony visibly softened, “We’re all pretty chill here, more curious then anything as to who the Universe decided was the perfect soulmate for Capsicle,” he explained.

The explanation calmed Bucky a bit, but the Black Widow moving closer to him, Bruce Banner at her side, made his anxiety spike again. “So? I’m your favorite huh?” Was that mirth in her voice?

“Because you told the government to fuck off,” Steve supplied, much to Bucky’s annoyance, a goofy grin on his face.

Bucky could have sworn he saw an actual smile from the assassin. “Well, welcome to the family, Bucky. It’s movie night, and we’re watching ‘Ratatouille,’ Steve’s never seen it.” Nat didn’t even glance he was as she and Bruce, who gave a small hello to Bucky as well, both sat on the couches (well Natasha and Clint sat on the floor, the soulmates once stating the rug was more comfortable) with the rest of the Avengers.

“You’ve never seen Ratatouille?!” Bucky cried out, turning on his soulmate, who had the decency to look bashful.

“I’ve been a little busy with saving the world, doll,” he tried.

“That’s no excuse! Sit your butt down, Rogers,” Bucky gave him a look, finally starting to relax for the first time since he came to the tower. Steve obliged, sitting in a love seat and pulling Bucky beside him, placing a possessive kiss on his cheek.

“Oh God, he is whipped,” Tony muttered, already trying to get Jarvis to start the movie.

“Oh, shut your mouth Tony, like you’re not the same with Pepper.” Steve teased, earning a pillow thrown at him, which he easily swatted away.

Just like that the movie began playing and everyone began to feel comfortable. As the movie started, and the music began to play, Bucky slowly curled up into Steve. Maybe this was what a soulmate was supposed to be. Not just someone you could be yourself and be just right for them, but someone you could be yourself, and be accepted and loved by their family as well. Born into, adopted, or found. Family was everything.

-

Tags:

So, this is a Stucky so I tagged my Bucky tags as well :D

If this isn’t your thing, that’s fine! Don’t worry about it <3

Permanent Tags:

@minetticatinwonderland​  / @lumar014​ / @maniacproffesor​ / @gollyderek​ / @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ / @avengerstones​ / @momc95​ / @loving-life-my-way​ / @agentpeggybarnes​ / @marvelmaree​ / @thefridgeismybestie​ / miraclesoflove  / hello-fanfiction-goodbye-grades  / deathofmissjackson

Bucky Tags:

@cassandras-musings​  / @darkness-doughter​ / @novaddictx​​ / @thedancingnerdmermaid​ / @mood-pancakes​ / @gracethegeek9902​ / @ravennightingaleandavatempus​ / @sunkissedbarnes​​ / @annavega333​ / @im-not-an-armrest-im-short​

For a tag, just reply/comment, if I don’t see it, just message me. Tell me what you think! Literally, any comment makes me happy! Like, comment, reblog, interact <3

[morelikesin]

Security

Welcome to the first chapter of my self-indulgent kiss fic! My first Apex Legends fic, as well!

This fic has five chapters, including an intro (you’re here!), an ending, and three middle chapters that focus on a specific relationship each within my self-indulgent polyamorous ship of Bloodhound-Octane-Mirage-Caustic. This is like my take on the start of their romantic relationship 💕

I have to put a disclaimer, for I know not too much about the Apex lore, and have been playing for only a little more than four months as of now - so my characterizations and headcanons are purely based on what I think from seeing them in-game. I hope Apex veterans will still like my take (⺣◡⺣)♡* 

For quick reference, not that it truly matters to the reading experience, I wrote this fic with certain character skins in mind - Caustic has his Blackheart skin, Bloodhound has their Flamingo skin, Octane has his Original skin, and Mirage has his Fiber Optics skin.

Sidenote: There’s a lot of language other than English within these chapters, regarding dialogue - Old Norse, Icelandic, Spanish, and French being what they are. I have not included translations, but many of them are able to be understood with context. I also write dialogue based on how they actually speak, rather than readability. Words containing “r’r” represent a roll of the r, and missing letters represent the character skipping over them because of accent or dialect. Everything else should be self-explanatory! Any questions regarding this sidenote can be asked through the notes of any of the relevant chapters.

Below is the chapters in order.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Intro (You are here!)

Chapter 2 - Mirage

Chapter 3 - Octane

Chapter 4 - Caustic

Chapter 5 - Ending

Without further ado, Chapter 1 below the cut!

The dormitories abruptly filled with stumbling footsteps.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” Mirage spoke uncomfortably as he eyed the team’s best hunter.

Bloodhound swatted away any hands that came to touch them - not meaning to come off as rude, but rather in their discomfort of general intimacy. The other legends were aware of this, but the natural urge to touch someone’s arm or back in comfort arose stronger now than in previous encounters, despite the hunter’s visible unwillingness to accept such an offer. In the middle of battle, it was often too risky to offer physical forms of affection even for a moment in terms of someone ambushing them, but even when the chance presented itself Bloodhound was always one to dismiss their hurt and assure their other teammate(s) that they were fine.

“Quite,” started the hunter, their ever-so-slightly-shaking fingers fiddling with one of their prominent jacket pockets, “I’ll be fine. Don’t treat this as such a dire issue.”

“Compadre, of course it’s a big issue,” Octane assured Bloodhound with his unwavering hand resting on their arm, much to the latter’s dismay. “Che needs to at least see it-”

The man’s purring voice was cut off by one deeper and more grainy.

Caustic pulled at his sleeves and turned to check the emergency medicine cabinet by the door - giving a bitter “I’m thinking if someone didn’t use an illegal play, then you’d not be wounded. I know a particular subject who despises common etiquette,” referring to Revenant.

Bloodhound gave a reassuring “Don’t tr'rouble yourself finding someone to blame. I’m fine, thank you.”

All three men seemed wanting in terms of disputing how fine Bloodhound really was (not to mention faulting the obvious perpetrator of their wound), but mutually abstained for civility’s sake.

“Cabinet’s bare.”

“Think I got some supplies left in my own stash,” Mirage offered as he hastily turned to go up the stairs to his room.

As he left, the hunter walked to the left side of the kitchen they were all standing in and leaned against the counter - looking down and tapping a hand against the granite. The motion gave the two men with them a quiet sign of how they were trying to ignore the pain.

“Where is it exactly?” Octane questioned as he came to stand in front of them, “Face, neck-?”

“Face,” they confirmed. “The pain feels centered on my right.”

Octane went to say something before Mirage had come back down - carrying in his hands a few items of aid.

“Got some antiseptic, some cotton pads, and a thing of g- a thing of- ah- some bandages.”

Octavio was quick - obviously - to take the pack of cotton pads, roll of applicable gauze, and travel-sized bottle of antiseptic. Before Mirage could question it, Octavio purred to Bloodhound, “If you need help with it, compadre, I’ve gotten five star reviews on my medical care.”

“From who, exactly?” Caustic quipped, “Last we were teamed, you could hardly administer a syringe to me without missing the vein two times first.”

“I’m thorough, what can I say?”

Bloodhound slightly reached out a hand to take the supplies, “Thank you for these, Mr. Witt. I think I’ll be fine to administer these myself, really-”

“Oh, it’s no big deal!” Octane assured, pulling open the bag of cotton pads as he spoke, “It’s better when you got someone else to look over your heridas - más cobertura.”

Bloodhound swallowed. The offer was tempting - knowing Octane was right in that - but they’d never taken their mask off in front of anyone in terms of the other legends. They trusted them, of course, but it was still a strong desire of theirs to keep their physical identity hidden. There’s been occasions they’ve seen their hands or their hair, but their face was something they were always careful to hide.

Taking in a sigh, they decided against their better judgement and slowly raised their hands to unclasp the few straps holding their mask in place behind their head.

“Just be quick about it.”

Octane half-expected Bloodhound to decline the offer, take the supplies, and head to their dorm - and yet they didn’t. Blinking, he popped open the cap of the antiseptic bottle and doused a cotton pad, “Sure thing! Sorry if this burns any.”

Bloodhound shook their head a bit, “I assume it will - no need to apologize.”

The next few moments felt so slow - Mirage and Caustic consciously looking elsewhere as to give the hunter a bit of privacy where it was due, Octane setting down the rest of the supplies on the counter beside Bloodhound until he needed them again, and all accompanied by a small clink from them unbuckling their mask.

They visibly hesitated to pull it off, gloved hands grasping the sides of the mask timidly, and had their gaze pointed downwards.

Nothing was said when they fully pulled the cover away and looked up - heterochromatic eyes looking to their left at nothing in particular just to avoid eye contact.

Octane, being the one to have been looking at them the entire time, would have been the first to find that they were so pretty - gorgeous, even. A slightly angled jaw, warm olive skin decorated with scattered beauty marks, blushed lips, a large angled nose, soft brows - not to mention the scars. One dragged from their right to left cheek horizontally, across the bridge of their nose. Another was smaller, and trailed vertical from their right brow to their cheekbone - the same side as their grey, presumably blind, eye. The last was a gnarly horizontal across the fully shaved part of their head - just below where their deep black hair began and trailed much past their shoulders.

Octane figured they wouldn’t want anything to be said about their appearance, which fought with his want to compliment them, but ultimately he went with the former idea. Raising the cotton pad to clean the notable fresh wound, an abrasion scuffing the skin beside their chin and just above their jaw, Octane pressed it against the scrape gently.

Bloodhound made a muted wince.

It was then that, as goes human curiosity, the two other men looked over - finding themselves at the same conclusion as Octane had just seconds ago-

Bloodhound was damn pretty.

It felt rude to stare, but it was hard to look away - Caustic being the first to reluctantly move his gaze towards the floor, followed by Mirage looking down and fiddling with a random pocket on his suit.

Octane tossed the used cotton pad into a nearby bin. Picking up the applicable gauze, he unwrapped it and began to line it up with Bloodhound’s wound.

“I think it’ll heal up just fine,” He assured, “Doesn’t look like anything that’ll leave a scar behind.”

The hunter gave a hushed “Thank you” as Octane pressed the bandage against the wound and made sure it was secure. As the man pulled his hands away, Bloodhound felt the urge to cover their face over once more - though as they’ve already seen it, they simply held the mask in their hands.

“..Þakka fyrir,” they spoke quietly, “All of your concern is appreciated.”

Given they seemed comfortable enough to leave it off, Mirage glanced back over prior to lifting his head up a bit. “It’s nothin’, really. Gotta’ look out for one another, you know?”

Bloodhound gave a nod.

“..I’ll retire to my room. Thank you all, again.”

Caustic gave an assuring “Our pleasure.”

With that, they made their way to the stairs and left - leaving behind a trio of men who suddenly needed time to think.

That was a week ago.

The opportunity to discuss the event came in the form of an early Monday morning - the beginning of the work week regarding games.

Caustic was a known early-riser - him or Lifeline always being the first to brew a pot of coffee in the morning. He and Mirage sat at the dining table making seldom conversation - the scientist drinking his coffee black while Mirage had poured in a concerning amount of his favourite pumpkin-flavoured creamer into his own.

Mirage wasn’t known to wake up quite this early, it being seven, but he wasn’t late to do so either - that title belonged to Octane, an infamous sleeper-till-three-or-four-in-the-afternoon. Considering that, it was a shock to find the man coming down into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Octane quipped prior to yawning and scratching his lower back. Unmasked, his baggy grey sweatpants and violet tank-top looked freshly wrinkled - most likely having just woken up.

Unperturbed by most things at this point, Caustic gave an unwavered “Good morning,” though unlike most days he sounded a little tired. Come to think of it, so did Octane.

Mirage returned the greeting with a playful “Aren’t normally up this early - special occasion?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

Octane took a seat beside Caustic, in front of Mirage - rubbing the back of his head and messing his hair a bit. The silence wasn’t necessarily awkward, but there was an obvious something between them not being said.

Knowing Mirage nor Caustic were going to say anything, Octane felt it his responsibility to break the tension.

“¿Qué pasó? We’re not gonna’ just forget about what happened last Monday, are we?”

Caustic furrowed his brows and hesitated to speak - taking a drink from his mug before responding, “I’m unsure what you mean.”

“I know you know what I mean, Nox,” Octane chortled, “and you aren’t free from this talk either, Elliott.”

Elliot gave a scoff. “I’m.. abstaining.”

“Really - can we talk about it?” Octane leaned back in his seat, putting his hands in his lap. The three of them haven’t been able to talk alone throughout the week, and any conversation with Bloodhound was the same as before that Monday afternoon. Octane continued, “Say what you want, compadres, but I have a feeling we’re all thinking the same thing.”

Octane’s intuition seemed to carry some weight when neither of the other men said anything - Dr. Nox hesitating before taking another drink and looking away while Elliott set his cup down.

The latter ultimately gave in with a sigh. Looking between Dr. Nox and Octane, Elliott spoke a little sheepishly, “Well, I…” He paused, “Look, promise you it’s not new - been.. liking Bloodhound for a while now.”

“How long is a while to you?” Octane teased before being reprehended by Dr. Nox.

“How exactly did you come to the conclusion this was the discussion you wanted to have?” He spoke while lifting the mug to his lips.

Octane scoffed and bore a smile, “I can’t be the only one who felt that tension after they left - I’m not dense.”

When the remark was met with no defense from either of them, Octane felt safe to assume they were now on the same page.

“..For what it’s worth, I’m fine with however we wanna’ go about this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elliott questioned with furrowed brows - though after a moment or two he quickly cleared his throat as the statement clicked. He put his elbow on the table and propped his head up in his hand. “Scratch that. Gotta’ say - would’ve taken you as a jealous type, Octavio.”

The comment earned an amused, short exhale from Dr. Nox.

Octavio spoke with playful surprise in his tone, then put his hand on his chest, “Me? Jealous? Estoy dolido.” He put his hand back in his lap. “Pero, I really don’t mind. I know I’m one of the least serious people here, but I’m talking about it because I’m trying to be for once.”

Dr. Nox set his mug down, his attention assumedly fully taken now.

“I’m just saying I’m interested in them,” Octavio finally confessed in concise terms. “And maybe I’m not as good at reading people as I think I am, but last week I felt something there. And I know nothing about your preferences,” he looked to the scientist, “Pero I wanted to.. how do I say this?”

Elliott looked focused on something, with his eyes narrowed and looking away. When Octavio found himself at a loss on how to convey his thoughts, Elliott spoke up in hopes he got the gist of what he was going for.

“What, like polyamory? I am, if it means anything - but, I’m.. sure you already knew that.”

Octavio gave a snort, “A huevo - yo también.” He then looked back to Dr. Nox and gave a quick nod of his head, “You?”

The man took a moment to answer - almost as though he’d never really thought about it before. Hell, he never expected to be talking about something like this. “..Might be. I’ve never given it much thought.”

“With what I’m proposing,” Octavio wanted to confirm, “You’d be okay with that? All of us having permission to pursue them, I mean.”

“I’ve yet to reject your offer,” Dr. Nox replied with a tinge of surprise in his own statement - definitely never before questioning this about himself.

The discussion seemed over on that note - an odd feeling of mutual relief lie between them. They knew Bloodhound had no obligation to accept any theoretical advances, but the first step was to make sure between themselves that they could do so in the first place. Octavio relaxed a bit and slouched in his seat, finding his once restless mood fading and, for the first time this week, ready for some proper sleep without anxieties occupying his mind. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head as a sort of cushion. Elliott took a quiet sip of his coffee. Dr. Nox kept his gaze elsewhere, in thought, and proceeded to pick his mug back up.

It was silent for a long while - the three  enjoying the company, in a way.

Upstairs, alone in their room, Bloodhound sat on their bed. Their hands clasped together, they couldn’t keep their mind off of something in particular - having kept them up for a few hours now.

Since last week, the hunter had been slowly becoming more comfortable with showing their face around the other legends - albeit for short periods, at times they’d been having a communal meal, but it was still progress. Last week had encouraged them to be a bit more open about the idea of doing so, but something about then still bothered them.

Bloodhound couldn’t tell whether it was fortunate or not that the three people they’d taken their mask off in front of for the first time were the exact three people they’d found themselves attracted to for months now - maybe the circumstances were the Gods’ sense of humor.

[bigskydreaming]

I mean, here’s the thing....

I’m more than capable of writing positive Batfam posts, meta deep dives that don’t dwell overlong on negativity, serious content, light hearted content, content about each and every one of the Batfam....anyone familiar with just a few different samples of my posts knows I do not lack for topics to happily ramble on about for absurd lengths. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s a direct correlation where like, the less negative emotions I have about the content I’m writing, the LONGER it ends up being.

So its not like I particularly need or want to be the ‘loud angry scary adult cis white man yelling at kids’ to have something to say or talk about. Or that I particularly like that state of mind. I’m certainly not unaware of my privileges or that I can be off-putting or not someone everyone wants to be around on here. Its actually something I put a lot of thought into regularly, as personal accountability is such a big deal to me, and that certainly includes my own. There are times where I’ve looked back on something and thought yeah, I definitely could’ve dialed it down there.

But not gonna lie, given that personal accountability is kinda My Theme and I DO put a lot of time and effort into being self-aware and taking care not to cross certain lines, whether you believe me or not or agree with where I draw my lines or not....

Its more than a little obnoxious to regularly see my positive posts and my emotion-neutral meta posts and even my negative critical of canon posts take off and get hundreds of notes in just a couple of days....

But without fail, any time I so much as suggest that fandom’s perpetuating some of the very same toxic tendencies I criticize canon for, with the extension of that thought being hey fandom, unlike canon and how its written, we actually can do something about how we write these very same matters and slowly but surely normalize reader resistance to canon still perpetuating those ideas in the future, and maybe someday even they might buy a vowel and realize hey, our audience does not like what we’re selling here.

*Shrugs* Or maybe not. But even SOME changes to how specific problematic tropes and dynamics are being written in fandom currently could still only be an improvement, is all I’m saying.

Except, every time, without fail, no matter HOW I go about saying it, how polite, mild, civil, non-accusatory....its either crickets or immediate heels dug into the sand as often the very same people who commented on my neutral meta with variations of ‘this is pretty insightful’, like at the mere SUGGESTION its worth taking a more critical look at their own content to see what they might unknowingly be perpetuating and like....the very idea of asking fic writers to be more accountable for what toxic tendencies we perpetuate within our own creative works, even just among our own far more limited platforms....

Its like... HOLD UP! I AM BEING ATTACKED! WITHOUT CAUSE! WHY DO YOU HATE THE FANS? WHY AREN’T YOU SAYING ALL THIS STUFF ABOUT THE ACTUAL COMICS???

And its just like....uh....I did. I do. You were there. You were saying I was making some really good points. But without calling any individuals out or making specific insinuations or personal attacks....I am suddenly just the most unreasonable of the unreasonables, because I dared say “hey, we can’t do anything about what canon writes, but we can do something about the things we write, and actually transform some of the more problematic tendencies and dynamics from canon into things that benefit all the characters and all the fans.”

But nah. Without exception, those posts either get nada or they get vitriol, no matter my own linguistic volume....and meanwhile, posts I made just before them and just after them are now hitting the thousand notes mark. So I kinda can’t help but wonder, is the problem really that I magically lose all ability to grasp supremely basic concepts and start spewing irrelevant gibberish anytime I’m critical of fandom specifically? Or.....just spitballing here....is it at ALL possible that maybe I’m not as much of the problem there as you want to make me about to be?

Like, say what you will about how toxic my more negative, angry posts can be, but personally, I think artificial positivity is just as toxic....plastering a ‘I see nothing wrong here’ sign with a smiley face over a bunch of mold doesn’t actually accomplish anything but allow that mold to fester and grow even further, without notice, until it becomes too widespread to ignore anymore at which point its usually rooted so deep its impossible to get out.

So yeah. I get angry, the all caps come out, and the volume level of my posts on those subjects rises. Its something I’m aware of and something I’m okay with and stand by with certain posts and that I decide I’m not okay with and keep an eye against repeating with certain other posts. Its a process, it doesn’t have an endpoint or finish line, and I’m okay with all of that.

What I’m NOT okay with though, and never will be, is the heat I draw for that and the condemnations and criticisms of my behavior and how toxic and unpleasant I make fandom with those posts....as though the tendencies I’m pointing out in them, by virtue of already being present throughout fandom, don’t already make it toxic and unpleasant in a lot of ways, for a lot of people.

But for all the times I have someone respond to me or call me out specifically for one of my angry posts that very deliberately are made with no specific individuals in mind, just generic references to fandom wide tendencies as a whole....there’s a whole lot of ‘helpful advice’ for all the things I should do different or better to avoid making fandom a more toxic place.....and not a hint of awareness that there’s anything at all they could be doing differently to make fandom less toxic than it already is in various ways.

So just saying, I’m kiiiiiinda not super keen on being lectured for my shit by people who are committed to the belief that their own shit doesn’t stink....WHILE AT THE SAME TIME, I have a good half a dozen positive or neutral meta posts still making the rounds through fandom and consistently picking up notes that according to the tags, generally seem to be viewed as adding positively to fandom in their own respective fashions.

Which basically from my perspective, makes things look like this:

Me: regularly contributes positive content that’s received positively by lots of different parts of fandom, not just the Dick Grayson stan corner of it, with zero negativity attached to these posts....regularly contributes meta content that’s deemed insightful and adding fresh viewpoints by lots of different parts of fandom, not just the Dick Grayson stan corner of it, again, with zero negativity attached because it doesn’t rely on putting down any other characters to make whatever points I’m after.....

....but then contributes posts that are critical of certain specific characterizations and viewpoints within fandom itself, without actually having a twelve step powerpoint presentation attached detailing ALL FANS MUST DO THIS INSTEAD....and instead I usually just include a spectrum of possible alternative takes.....

But wait! Nooooow comes the pushback. Which usually sounds like various forms of this:

Stop trying to police us! La la la la can’t hear you over the sound of your moral superiority complex! You just want us to do exactly what you want us to do which is gaslighting and the very same abusive behavior you talk about which makes you abusive!

And also, a bunch of changing the subject or avoiding addressing various points I raise completely.

Maybe you see my issue? I don’t need tips on how to be a positive fandom presence, I actually don’t have any trouble creating positive content or meta, a large amount of which is deemed insightful and humorous and otherwise well received....but the second I make a criticism of fandom and suggest there’s things fans could be doing differently to address the toxicity existing around various characters in various respects, instead of just keeping everything about DC’s flaws which none of us including me have any kind of platform to even reach DC with......

Suddenly I have ZERO idea what I’m talking about, I clearly don’t get the point of fandom, period, I’m obsessed with my own moral righteousness, and am like, so out of the ballpark misguided its not even funny, and I need all of this explained to me like a five year old, because everyone obviously should get that ‘we’re just fans, why are you blaming us for things we write specifically instead of DC who are getting paid as if that’s even the point?’

So yup. I get ticked off, I make more posts venting about being ticked off, rinse and repeat and my volume goes up.

And that’s it by the way.

You’ll notice, that’s kinda the worst that ever happens, because I literally have never done anything but....type posts with lots of capitalized letters. I don’t target specific individuals, I don’t harass people, I don’t @ specific fics or fic writers or urge people to flood their comments or ask boxes with callouts. I’ve never called anyone in this fandom names or made personal attacks other than the posts various people have felt targeted by because my description of specific tropes or tendencies I have a problem with apparently made them think I was talking about them I guess? Hmm. Weird.

So what’s the point of this post? Idk. Nothing really. Not trying to accomplish anything, just putting my thoughts out there as a way to work through them because like....that’s literally what I have this blog for, lmao. And FYI, I super don’t appreciate the tactic of condemning me for my quote unquote rage issues and framing all this as me yelling at kids on the internet....kids, specifically, and oh right, just screaming at people rather than addressing my own abusive behavior.

Since abuse is a hugely personal and important topic to me, let me just say accusing me of abusing generic fandom in general (since again, I haven’t actually made any of this personal about any individual with my fandom criticisms)....like, I’m quite willing to consider and address flaws in my own behavior when raised, but I’m not a fan of being called abusive in a context that demonstrates a complete lack of awareness as to what abuse actually is.

You don’t like me yelling on my blog? Fine, you don’t have to like it, or me. But abuse is the exploitation of a power differential, taking advantage of power one person has over the other, or that the other person just doesn’t have period. The fact that I am an adult cis white man does not make me aggressively capitalizing stuff in my own posts the same as “the same triggering position of the cisgender man who screams and makes kids feel scared and wince and hide from your posts.”

Like, lol, nice. Classy. I mean who cares right, that yeah, even acknowledging that we can legitimately sense tones and moods through even written text.....a person ranting on their internet blog is not remotely interchangeable with the physical presence of an adult cis white man loudly screaming in your face and with the potential for immediate consequences and harm. Does that mean the tone of my posts is above criticism? No. It means exactly what I said. The one is not the same as the other. 

Secondly, the repeated insistence on me yelling at kids...and this person I’m quoting isn’t the only one who’s done this, FYI, and its crap. Am I unaware that there are a lot of minors in fandom? No, I absolutely am not. Its why I make a point to check the blog of someone I’m replying to heatedly before I respond, to make sure they’re not a minor, and if they are, I don’t engage. So that I can categorically state, with complete certainty, I have never yelled at a kid in this fandom. Do my generic yells about ‘fandom’ not include kids then? Yeah, you could say kids are included there, though again I’d have to question why my criticisms of specific handlings of specific subjects somehow equates to me yelling at specific individuals, whom apparently are all kids and only kids. Like, framing my posts as being all about me screaming at kids specifically is a deliberate choice with a clear aim of making me look as bad as possible. This isn’t subtle.

Third, as an abuse survivor I’m keenly aware that doesn’t exempt me from being abusive myself, but it does mean I find it really fucking gross to be labeled abusive because my posts make kids feel scared and wince and want to hide from my posts. As someone who as a kid absolutely had to hide from their abuser in fear, I really, dearly would love to know what exactly it is about the capitalized sentences written by a man who couldn’t even pick a stranger’s URL out of a lineup, that’s so scary that kids, specifically, want to run and hide from the big bad posts. No, seriously. Go on. Please tell me what exactly it is about my screaming rage issues as conveyed by my posts, which pose any kind of threat or even the potential of threat for someone who I’ve never interacted with and only feels personally attacked by my posts by virtue of associating themselves with the behaviors or tendencies I’ve centered in those posts as the things I’m specifically angry about.

I also apparently am abusive because that’s what you call it when I gaslight or attempt to gaslight a fandom....which is apparently what you call it when my fandom policing tries to get everyone to do exactly what I want them to do. Which again is pretty interesting to me given that I’ve literally never told even generic ‘fandom’ at large to do anything in specific other than....’hey this thing I think is shitty and thus am criticizing shouldn’t be a thing, stop doing it.” Oh wait, I’m sorry, I also ask people to consider their creative impact and not insist on pretending everything we write exists in a vacuum and has no potential to carry harm, and just keep this in mind when making our creative choices. Still not sure how that’s demanding everyone do things exactly the way I want them, since the only clear and actionable request or demand in all of that is...omg....HE ASKED THAT WE THINK ABOUT THE STUFF WE WRITE, HOW COULD HE???

Like, literally, that’s the furthest any of my angry, rage-borne DEMANDS have gone: I’ve asked people apply more personal accountability to their own creative works and not take their potential impact for granted just because they’re a fic writer rather than a published one....and oh yeah, not engage in perpetuating certain tropes or dynamics I consider toxic.

Now, anyone is certainly welcome to disagree with my take on any or all of those tropes, tendencies or dynamics being toxic....but to do so, like, you need to actually DISAGREE AND MAYBE EVEN TELL ME WHY. But the overall refusal to engage with any of my posts criticizing certain fandom tendencies regarding the characters, other than to make it about my overall toxicity and RAGE.....like, that means that I keep making posts that include specific examples for what I’m describing and why I think they’re toxic, and nobody’s actually made any kind of case for me being wrong in any of those posts? So.....its not actually gaslighting to try and convince people these things I bring up are toxic....when I’m actually including reasons and examples of the things I’m talking about in order to convince people, and I’m not actually ignoring, evading or misconstruing counter-arguments....because nobody’s actually making counter arguments in the first place!! That’s not fucking gaslighting, that’s called EXPRESSING MY VIEWPOINT ON A MATTER.

And for the record, like I said earlier, abuse is the perversion or exploitation of a power differential. Try all you want, but you can’t claim I have power over myriad specific individuals I don’t even know EXIST without them interacting with me directly....power that I’m then exploiting just by yelling at stuff on my blog. Yes I’m aware of my overall privileges as a cis and white man. But none of those change a damn thing about the fact that I’m not actually yelling at anyone in specific and people reading my posts have to decide for THEMSELVES whether the thing I’m pissed about is a thing they do before they can even CLAIM to feel at all ‘targeted’ by my RAGE (with me still not being able to tell from that who any particular individual this might apply to is, and also, THATS NOT EVEN THE POINT OF ANY OF MY POSTS)....NOR do any of my privileges negate the fact that every single one of you exists in varying physical distances from me, unknown to me, and I have ZERO power to compel you to even read my posts in the first place, or to keep you from exiting your browser or app or even just going ahead and blocking me to be sure you’re ‘safe’ from the big bad abusive boogeyman and his posts of Gaslighting and Rage.

Me venting on my own damn blog, even knowing that other people can see what I post and share it if they want, is NOT the same thing as screaming in your face and making you want to wince and hide, no matter WHO you are. It just literally isn’t. Doesn’t mean you can’t have a problem with my posts or my tone, it just means what it says. Its not the same thing, they’re not interchangeable or even comparable, because NONE OF YOU ARE A CAPTIVE AUDIENCE. There are NO possible consequences to ignoring, disagreeing with or just scrolling past my posts, firstly because THERE’S ZERO WAY FOR ME TO EVEN KNOW THAT, IF I EVEN CARED. Nobody, kid or adult, can ever HIDE from my posts, because that would first require MY POSTS EVER BE ABLE TO FIND THEM. Whatever the hell THAT even means.

You’re not my prisoners. You don’t have to be here. You’re not even ACTUALLY HERE. Nobody owes me an audience, and honestly, the lack of one wouldn’t change all that much because I babble on all the time about shit none of my followers actually care about, because I post for ME first and foremost, and people from there are welcome to do whatever they want to do with my content, or do nothing with it at all. I literally don’t care, other than thinking its shitty that so many people find my content worthwhile except and until I get critical of fandom behaviors at which point they only engage with it to make it all about ME and MY toxicity instead of anything I actually posted about. Which I then...gasp...vent about. How dare I be angry in the space I cultivated for myself online and other people chose to look in on by their own choice because rather than being threatened or bullied into doing so, they found at least something I’d said interesting enough to be worth listening to hear what else I might say.

I HAVE ZERO POWER OVER ANY OF YOU. At most my posts hold some weight for the people who think I generally have interesting or insightful things to say, but that’s literally it, and that’s the result of me having said things they find interesting and insightful overall. I can’t MAKE anyone do anything, if I’d ever even tried to make anyone do anything other than actually LISTEN to what I ACTUALLY am saying on certain subjects and CONSIDER IT. So if we’re going to throw words like gaslighting around so carelessly, we might want to hold that one up next to the phrase ‘fandom policing’ I so often get accused of....as though I’m any kind of actual authority with actual power to actually enforce any actual agenda I even actually have.

Which brings me to the last thing I want to touch on, which is my supposed moral righteousness, that oozes all over everything I post and drowns out any good points I have to make, which again, apparently is just in terms of fandom criticisms, since every other point I’ve ever made in fandom seems to come through just fine.

Like.....tbh, I don’t really know what to do with the many times I’ve heard people say I’m self-righteous and obsessed with my own moral righteousness. Considering like...I’m not shy about acknowledging my flaws, I know perfectly well I can be loud and angry and aggressive in my posts and have talked plenty before about not being super proud of that, I’ve never claimed to be a saint and I don’t think my actions and choices are the gold standard everyone should adhere to. In fact, the only time I make a point to state what *I* do or did or what *I* think or believe....is when its directly relevant to something critical I’m saying.

And you think that’s because I want everyone to be aware of how moral and righteous I am? Fucking please, if I were as self-absorbed as you people make me out to be when giving me shit, I just wanna know when you think I’d have time to squeeze out 10K of random Batfam meta every other day, instead of being busy finding new things to say about myself.

Literally the only reason I make a point to bring up my own behavior or choices when criticizing others is because PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY IS THE CORE THEME OF LITERALLY EVERYTHING I SAY IN THIS REGARD.

And you know what personal accountability requires? A willingness to acknowledge and address your own behavior. Which is why its kinda hilarious the consensus seems to be I’m too up my own ass to even be aware of my own behavior or actions, given that the literal actual reason I bring up examples of what I did or think when making posts about personal accountability....is to stress that REGARDLESS of what those things were, I think its important to not just be talking out of my ass. But rather to emphasize I hold myself to the same expectations I’m asking other people to consider, I’m putting it out there and on the record, here’s what I did relevant to this matter I’m talking about and why I made that choice....see, I’m not asking anything of anyone else that I don’t expect to be held to myself. ITS NOT ABOUT TRYING TO IMPRESS PEOPLE WITH MY MORAL RIGHTEOUSNESS, ITS LITERALLY JUST ME TRYING TO ESTABLISH I’M NOT LOOKING TO BE A HYPOCRITE IN THIS REGARD, SPECIFICALLY.

Like, is maybe that unnecessary and counter-productive? Could be, its something for me to think about some more, but gotta tell you, its a little hard figuring out what will and won’t work when I’m STILL waiting on the first time someone actually engages me on an actual criticism I’m actually voicing about fandom.

*Shrugs* Whatever. Like I said, I don’t even know if this post has a point beyond just getting this all out of my head, so whatever. Make of it what you will. People will likely still just keep viewing me however they already do, for better or worse. Oh well. C’est la vie. Its not the end of the world anymore than any other post I make is, no matter how much RAGE I imbue it with. As I’ve always said, that’s literally the only reason for any of the posts I make ever...I’m just getting them out of my head and down on paper, so to speak, in whatever mood I’m feeling while thinking about that topic. Yeah, I phrase things for a generic fandom audience most of the time, other than when I’m talking to someone directly, but never have I made a post with an entitled and expectant belief that people will take every word I say literally and regard it as a directive for what they should do and how they should live their lives. Since, y’know, I don’t actually think I should be the ruler of everyone’s choices. 

Over and over I keep repeating, I just want people to put more THOUGHT into their choices, and keep in mind various contexts that yeah, I think are relevant to certain topics, sue me. Because the vast majority of creative choices I take issue with, I actually fundamentally believe are just the result of a lack of thinking critically or with a broader awareness of various implications or repercussions. Shocking though this may seem, I’m actually a big believer that humans are inherently good or at least have the capacity to be.

The thing that amps up my frustration and ticks me off so often is how much time and effort I end up wasting trying to get people to address the actual things I’m asking them to consider, instead of dancing around it and evading it in every way possible, not even like, as an attempt to counter it, just willfully refusing to let it be about the topic I ACTUALLY raised.

And yeah, just FYI, to whom it may concern, since this is so often relevant it seems.....gotta say, I find it particularly odious that WITHOUT FAIL, the very same people who carelessly throw out ‘don’t like don’t read’ as the catch-all solution to every issue anyone ever might have with something in fandom, as though its that simple.....

Time after time demonstrate a COMPLETE refusal or inability to take their own damn advice, since NONE of this would ever even come up if the loudest advocates of that system actually APPLIED it themselves. 

And simply....didn’t read my posts.

I fail to see why I’m expected to do what they don’t consider worth doing themselves, to spare themselves the aggravation (or fear) from reading my posts. Let alone interacting with them.

But whatevs. When do I ever know what I’m talking about anyway, lol, on account of all this RAGE I’ve got mucking with my head and objectivity.

Oh well, gotta go. KALEN SMASH!

[eloarei]

About the process of creating a book (the not-writing part)

I was asked recently about if making a book was easy or tedious or whatever, and I realized that was actually something I’d like to talk about. I’d never done it before (and still I only have a little experience), but I’ve been teaching myself and it’s been... fun?  Behind the cut (that’s still a thing, right?), I ramble about formatting, PDFs, fonts, and some other stuff. (Also pictures, though most of them are the same as the ones I posted yesterday.) 

First of all, I had to pick a Print-On-Demand (POD) website. That was easy for me, because finding the website was actually what made me want to make the book. I used Lulu.com, which has worked very well for me the two times I’ve used it. (It has a bunch of bad reviews, but honestly I got just what I paid for both times. They apparently offer editing and marketing services; I can’t vouch for those because I only used the POD service. But personally I wouldn’t trust anyone to edit or market my book, let alone some randos on some website. They’re a POD site. That’s what they’re good at, so that’s what I use.)  It would have been almost too easy if they just let me copy-paste the text to them, but understandably they wanted a PDF. PDFs are kind of the bane of my existence, but I downloaded a template from them (for a 6x9 inch novel, with appropriate margins) and then copy-pasted my fic into it using LibreOffice. (I’m so-so about LibreOffice, but it does create PDFs reasonably well.)  From there... well, then I had to go through the process of reformatting it. I’d copied the text from my AO3, and that meant that it had spaces between every paragraph and no indents, which is how AO3 fics are typically formatted. It was a lot of Tab-Left-Down-Down-Down-Backspace-Backspace-Enter-Repeat. For 140k words, it took a few casual days.  After the bulk of that was done, I realized the indents/tabs looked... weird? They were too big. ^^; Luckily there was a setting in LibreOffice to change them all automatically. I almost cried at the thought of having to do it manually haha.  Adding data to the headers and footers came next. I chose to only add the page number to the footer, and nothing to the header. Normally people will have the author’s name on one side, and the book’s title on the other, but I skipped that for the time being. Not sure if I’ll do it for the ‘official’ release.  (Somehow my footer ended up being too small, so that’s something I need to look into.)  Next I had to pick a font and a font size. I decided to do something a little gimmicky: I have alternating chapters that take place in modern and historical times, so I chose different fonts to represent those chapters. For the historical chapters I chose “Century”, which is a serif font (meaning that it has little embellishments, like “Times New Roman”), while for the modern chapters I chose “Verdana”, a sans-serif font (meaning that it is sans/without the embellishments, like whatever font Tumblr uses).  It’s typically agreed that novels are best in serif fonts, because it’s easier to read them for a long session. The embellishments make the letters blend together into visually recognizable words, which is apparently how we read, as opposed to looking at every letter individually. However, because I wanted to be quirky, more than half of my book is in sans-serif, which I’m just hoping doesn’t annoy people.  I used Verdana size 11 and Century size 12. Even so, the Verdana still looks too large to my eye, so I’ll probably change it again.  After that was mostly aesthetic formatting, which was the actual fun part. I tabbed down I think about 10 spaces at the start of every chapter, then went back up a space or two, increased the font size and changed the font to something slightly fancier and wrote the chapter title (which for me were just “Chapter Five”, etc).  (UPON FURTHER SCRUTINY, apparently not all of my first chapter pages are tabbed down the same amount. ugh. ^^; They’re close but not identical. How messy.)  Under the chapter titles, I simulated “drop caps” on the first phrase of the chapter, because I didn’t have a good drop caps font. I just did this by retyping the whole phrase in caps, and then changing the first letter to a slightly larger font size.  Next were a few easy things: a title page, a few silly “praise for” pages of reviews I got from online readers (these probably won’t be in the “official” version; they just make me smile), a mock-up copyright page (mock-up because I don’t actually have a copyright or anything yet), a short dedications page (mine was just one sentence), and then an empty page so that the story text starts on the right, which is standard. I have bought another self-published book which otherwise looks pretty good, but it starts the story on the left page and it’s just so jarring.  At that point, the PDF was pretty much done. I added a few other little touches, like some little fancy dagger icons during in-chapter scene transitions. I ended up with the “the end” page being on the left, which, again, is really awkward, so I found a chapter that only had like two lines on the last page, and went back in and deleted a handful of words in the chapter so that it would end on the previous page instead.  THEN came the fun but agonizing part, as I’m not as much of a graphic designer as I sometimes wish. I had to make a cover. The other self-published book I bought looks really nice with a beautiful illustration on the front, but the spine and back had just tiny white text, and didn’t even include a synopsis. So I downloaded a template for a 6x9inch wrap-around cover, tossed it up in Photoshop, paint-bucketed it black, and went to work. I pasted in my synopsis in off-white sans-serif font about the same as my internal font, and bolded some of the key words for... ease of skimming and/or funsies? At the top I added a short dialogue exchange from the first chapter that I thought represented the story as a whole, chose a different font that stood out, and gave it a red shadow so it would stand out more. For fun I added some faint red blood-splatters behind the text.  For the front I chose a big bold block-letter font in off-white, then gave it a red and a yellow shadow so it would stand out. I rasterized the font (turning it into a picture), and then used the tool to highlight the letters, and splashed some red blood-splatters on them. I did the same for the spine. (Though really what I should have done was copy the logo from the front and resize it. Silly me. Now the two logos don’t match.)  I used Unsplash.com for a few free photos that I quickly manipulated into a passable cover art. Ultimately, I would like to have something either professionally photographed, edited, or drawn, but what I found was vaguely similar enough to what I wanted that I figured it’d do for now.  Maybe the last thing I had to do (besides uploading it all to Lulu) was decide on a pen-name! I ended up going with L.A.Rayborn, instead of my legal name. I used my legal first two initials, but chose my birth surname (which is twice removed from my legal name, since I was first adopted and then married). To be perfectly honest, the reason I chose not to use my legal name is mostly because I don’t want to associate my in-laws with possibly-sensitive content that they probably wouldn’t like.  SO. Then it was done, and I uploaded it to Lulu, and chose a few options on the site, such as cream pages instead of white, and matte exterior finish instead of gloss. (I highly suggest the cream for novels, but the matte is really just personal preference.) I paid them (I ended up getting it printed and shipped to me for under $20), and then about 2 weeks later I had the 400 page darling in my hands, ready to be eviscerated with a set of neon hi-lighters!  After this current round of edits, I already know there’s a ton of stuff I’m going to have to fix (and this is to say nothing of the story).  1. The font is slightly too large, but could probably use a 1.5 or maybe 1.2 spacing between lines. I’ll have to fiddle with it, and see what others do.  2. The back cover text is too close to the edges to really look good.  3. The page numbering just looks odd for some reason.  4. Figure out how to get the page numbers to stay off the copyright and dedications page, etc.  5. MORE THAN ANYTHING, I need to change the... I’m not even sure what to call it? I need to make the text space out evenly so that it creates a block on each page, rather than creating messy ridges on the right margins. I didn’t even think of this until I got the book and started comparing it to professional books I’ve read and enjoyed. It seems like a very rookie mistake. 

(lol I’m in the process of changing the main character’s name, which is why the crappy MS Paint edits.)  PHEW, that was long. But hopefully my journey was at least a little insightful. Please do let me know if you have any thoughts, questions, or suggestions about how I could better format the book for the “real” printing! 

[breanime]

Start Over

I’m so sorry it took for me to get this, but here it is! This is more of a drabble than a fic, but I hope you like it!

Request: from @eversonaive  Hi. If you have time could do a quick fic about billy at the baseball field and he runs into an old teammate/foster sibling. They try to convince him how losing his memories is a good thing, he can start over and leave the past behind. But he is stuck on his detruction revenge path. Super angst if you dont get around to it/ its not original enough that's fine. I can only imagine your getting flooded with ideas :) thanks!!

*gif not mine* (I’m upset because I wanted to use a gif with the brown cap, but this is all I could find using the gif search tool)

Billy Russo had been the only good thing in your otherwise shitty childhood. He’d been tough and cool and badass when you could only manage to cower and cry. Billy had taught you how to defend yourself, how to use your intelligence to get what you wanted, how to manipulate people—but more than anything, he taught how you to survive.

You’d gotten the impression, growing up, that Billy didn’t bother to grace most people with his presence—and you were right. You’d never been able to decipher, as the years went by, what made you special in his eyes, but you were damn grateful to have been. You lost contact with Billy once he’d left the Group Home. He joined the military as soon as he was able, and he wrote to you pretty regularly, but you’d lost touch by his second tour and your moving away from New York. Every now and again, you’d think about him, but you figured he’d forgotten all about you. So when you did move back to New York, you didn’t bother trying to link up with him, thought you did look him up and found out that Billy had become quite notorious in the time you’d been apart.

According to Google (God bless Google), Billy had been the owner of a lucrative security company called Anvil and had been one of the city’s most eligible bachelors…that was, of course, before the Punisher gave him a glass shards makeover. Apparently, Billy had gotten into some shady dealings that led to mass murder, bombings, and not a small number of serious federal crimes. Even though you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in years, it still made you sad to see what had become of him. You had always thought that Billy was destined for greatness, that he would rise above his poor beginnings and make something of himself.

In a way…you were right.

So, one cool evening, you found yourself at one of your favorite childhood spots—the baseball diamond—thinking of your old friend. You could still him in your mind’s eye; dark, tousled hair, almost black eyes, a scowl on his handsome face, bruises on his knuckles. He used to wear this brown skullcap that you hated and leather jackets—even if it was warm out. He had three pairs of shoes when you knew him, two pairs of ratty white sneakers and his brown loafers he had to wear whenever he had to go to court (Billy was a regular in the juvenile court). You thought about the way he would look at people, a sneer on his face as he got talked down to by adults, the smirk he got whenever he flirted with the best-looking person on the bus… You remembered the letters he wrote you—hell, you still had them somewhere in your apartment—and felt a familiar ache go through you. You missed Billy. You missed who he was and felt sorry for what he became. You wrapped your coat around you, shielding yourself from the brisk wind, and sighed. There was no one around you for miles, and the only sounds were the whistle of the wind and the soft sounds of traffic in the distance. Staring out at the field in front of you, you could practically see Billy—grinning from ear to ear—as he waved to you from home base. Hell, you could hear his voice, loud and clear as a bell yelling “This one’s for you, Y/N! Look Y/N! Y/N!”

“Y/N.”

You practically jumped out of your skin when you heard a deep voice say your name. You turned to see Billy Russo standing behind you in the stands, hands in his pockets. His face was littered with scars, but otherwise he pretty much looked the same. He was even wearing the same beanie cap.

“Hi,” he said, lifting a hand up as a greeting. You could see the bruises, dark red, even from where you stood.

“Billy,” you gasped out, your breath coming out as a puff of air in the dark, “I… What… What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sitting down beside you. “I was trying to…to remember some things. About me, about a friend of mine…I ended up here.” He glanced over at you before looking straight ahead again. “Do you know what I’ve done?”

“I… I read a few things,” you answered carefully, “I read that you were locked up.”

“I was,” he said coolly, “I got out. Escaped.” He rubbed his hands together in front of him. “I ain’t goin’ back I…” He shook his head. “I lost my memories,” he said, nose twitching in annoyance, “not…not the old stuff, I… I remember you,” he glanced over at you again, “I remember the home….remember Arthur.” He cracked a smile at the look of disgust that came over your face. “Yeah, I see you remember him too.” Billy cleared his throat. “But the uh, the memories I lost, they’re from… They’re from after that. Way after. I woke up and this,” he gestured to his face, “is the first thing I saw. I couldn’t remember what happened or who did this to me…”

“You should get out of town,” you said, leaning over to make eye contact with him. His eyes looked hollow, nowhere near as lively or deep as you remembered them. “The—the cops are probably looking for you, it’s not safe. Shit. You shouldn’t be here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, voice calm, “Cops can’t stop me now. This…What this is, what I’m doing here, it ends with me.” He stared off into the distance, face hard. “I’m gonna take ‘em all down,” he promised, “every last one of ‘em who had anything to do with what happened to me.”

You stared at him, eyes wide. “But…But you said your memories were gone…”

“They are.”

“And… and you’re a wanted man, right?”

He smirked. “What else is new?”

“But the—the NYPD hasn’t caught up with you, the Feds, whoever—you’re still here, you’re free,” you turned to Billy, heart pounding as you looked at your old friend, “Billy, you can leave. You can get out of the city and start over. You—you can move on without all the baggage, without all the pain—”

“No,” his jaw was set, “I can’t.” He turned to you, and his eyes were suddenly burning. “I have to do this. I have to kill them.” He licked his lips. “Kill them all. Everything I had, everything that mattered to me, they took from me, Y/N.” He stood up, shaking his head as he did so. “Nah. This ends with them dead or me dead or both. There’s no other way.” He looked down at you, and you struggled to look back through the tears gathering in your eyes. “This… I’m glad I ran into you, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting to this, but… It’s nice to see that…at least you haven’t change.” He leaned down and pecked your forehead. “It was good seeing you, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone.

***************************************************************************************

So this was my first time writing a truly gender-neutral character, since the request didn’t specify. Thanks for reading!

TAGLIST:  @floralpeaceofmind​ @delicatelilyflower​ @dylanobrusso​ @ladyblablabla​ @banditthewriter​ @something-tofightfor​  @starsfragments​ @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​ @hisgirlwednesdayaddams​@fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta​ @sadnessxvodka​ @ymariejp​ @sunnycolors​ @moonlightsay​ @its-all-o-kay @damagelove​ @keyeluh @itsmylife98​ @funerals-with-cake​ @littlemermaidprobz​ @teacuplotus​ @king4thesirens​ @mrsjaxtellerfan​ @thebabblingbook​ @tartelette-aux-fraises​ @madamrogers​  @charlylama​ @iaintnofurry​​ @k-buggz2001​​ @whitewolfslittlesilverfox @drinix​ @elanor-of-imladris​ @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @julliiaaq​ @holamor​ @ymariejp@shadowhunterscloset @songtoyou​ @anabella-baby @sssilverssserpent​ @heyitslexy

[kaspbrak-tozier-reddie]

The Band of Toziers

Click title for ao3

Send a quote and I’ll write a fic

Anon:

Storis, Mileven and Reddie story where Boris, Richie and Mike are cousins, brothers or something. Up to you. I don’t really care about the plotline. Go crazy. Thanks 😁

I chose to swap Mileven for Byler, sorry anon 😬😬

Summary:

Just a fluffy fic of Richie, Boris and Mike meeting each other and going on a road trip together before they all go to college.

Richie Tozier has a twin, Mike Wheeler, and a cousin, Boris Pavlikovsky. His cousin was adopted as soon as he was born and sent to Russia while his twin was sent to Maggie's sister, Karen, a week after birth as Maggie and Wentworth couldn't afford to look after another child.

After an upsetting hour down in the clubhouse, Richie drives back up to his house only to see a strange car and woman in the house talking with Maggie. Little did he know he'd get the best shock of his life.

*********

Straight after graduation the Losers Club head down to the clubhouse, beers and weed in hand. They run through the dense trees and shrubs. The crunching of fallen leaves beneath their feet echo through the thick green forest on the outskirts of town. All thrilled to finally get out of the hell town that is called, Derry. Ben reaches the hatch first and pulls open the wooden door waiting for everyone to enter into the bunker before making his way down the metal ladder and closing the hatch.

For once in 10 years, the Spring is scorching. The Losers had spent more time down at the quarry than ever before.

Between the odd jobs and studying for finals, they all managed to spend an hour or two down in the dirty water of the quarry with a bunch of other teenagers. Not once had the quarry been so popular, it had taken the 7 of them by surprise. But since people in Derry didn't have swimming pools, kids had started to migrate down to the quarry. But the barrens? The barrens are just for them. Nobody goes down into the forest.

*

Bev's the first to open the cooler that Richie and Mike carried down together from Richie's truck. "Anyone else?" She asks the 6 boys, only Richie and Bill raised their hands and passes them both a beer. Eddie hands Richie a bottle opener from his fanny pack that he tossed under the hammock.

"Thanks, Eds," Richie says cracking the lid off the bottle and taking a swig from it. Eddie repositions himself in a more comfortable position so that Richie's feet aren't digging into his side. Eddie stopped cursing out the nickname a year ago because no matter what, Richie will always call him 'Eds'.

They all sit in silence, not knowing what to say to each other since they're still processing their graduation.

None of them knows what each other's major is or college they're going to. Richie came up with the idea the week before their college responses came out. He suggested that they should wait until after graduation to share the colleges they're going to but the 7 of them are quiet. In the deafening silence, Eddie decides to reach for Richie's beer to take a quick swig from it and immediately cringes at the taste. "Bev, got anything else in there besides this piss?" Eddie asks.

"I got lemonade and a bottle of vodka," Bev replies.

"I'll go with that." Eddie watches as Bev mixes him a drink and hands him the cup. He feels the burn of the alcohol and slightly cringes but it passes within a second.

"How about we do what Richie said a few weeks ago?" Mike suggests.

"Or we can guess, write down the college and major and we pull one out at random," Ben says. They all agreed and Stan gets up to grab his note pad, pens and a shot of vodka. Even though they know each other's writing, it still would be fun.

Eddie leans right back and brings a leg up to lean the paper on, immediately writing down 'NYU: Business'. When Eddie had received his letter, he wanted nothing more than to rave about it to Richie since he knew that Richie wanted to study Arts at NYU. But little to his knowledge, Richie accepted the California State University letter, instead of the NYU letter.

As Eddie tosses the paper into Bill's graduation cap he notices a remorseful look on Richie's face. It's subtle and only there for a split second before it changes into a laugh. "Come on Stanley Urine, read out the paper," Richie says in a British accent, Eddie has to admit, it has gotten pretty good over the years.

"Princeton, English," Stan reads, "Bill no way! You got the scholarship?!"

Stan's the first who rushes to Bill to hug him before everyone else steps in and hugs him. It wasn't a secret that Bill was applying for writing scholarships to the big Ivy League schools. Even though Havard and Yale had turned him down, there was still hope for Princeton. When Princeton accepted his application he was quick to respond, not wanting to waste any time. Though this is one of the biggest secrets that have been kept from the Losers Club; the top one being, Richie's crush on a certain hypochondriac.

Bill reads the next one, "CSU, Arts." Eddie chokes on the vodka and lemonade, looking directly at Richie, his eyes wide and filled with shock, while Richie looks at him with repentance.

Everyone knows that the two planned on going to the same college or university, but as soon as Eddie broke into a coughing fit, everyone knew that he was not going to the same school. Eddie doesn't know how to live without Richie. Richie's the only person he needs that will support him alp him through a panic attack. The tall brunette is his rock, his 'brother' and the only person whose opinion matters to him. Even though the two are opposites, neither boy can live without the other.

"It's not too late to change, I can - " Richie starts.

"Rich, we'll just call each other once a week or something," Eddie says sadly and gets up and leaves the clubhouse.

The Trashmouth tries to follow Eddie out, but Stan holds him back. If there's anyone else who knows Eddie as well as Richie, it's Stanley.

Stan, being very observant with a keen eye for detail, knows more about each of the Losers than they know themselves. It's moments like these that Stan's talent comes in handy when Richie's impulsivity and emotional thinking clock over his rationale. Richie in his normal state would opt to give Eddie his space. However, repentance and years of pining together basically equal a mess.

"I think I'm going to go home," Richie says and is met with a stern look from Stan, "chill, man, I'm only going home."

****

Once he pulls up to his driveway, Richie notices a car, that he hasn't seen before, parked out the front of his house. He decides to sneak in through his bedroom window and climbs the apple tree that is coincidently directly out the front. It's the very tree that lets him sneak in and out, at the ungodly hours of the night, to go hang out with Eddie, without being caught. Because if he was ever caught, he'd be grounded for at least a month at most 3.

He throws his bag on the ground and hauls himself through the opening, accidentally ninja rolling as he gets his long lanky legs and rest of his torso through. The soft sounds of laughter echo up the stairs, making the curiosity take over Richie's cerebellum. He finds himself gravitating towards the stairs, the sound of laughter getting louder as he walks toward the kitchen. "Oh, Richie, honey!" Maggie exclaims. "I didn't here you come in."

"Yeah, I just got back," Richie replies sadly and turns towards the stranger. "Hi, I'm Richie," he holds his hand out for the woman to shake.

"I'm your Aunt Karen," the woman replies shaking Richie's hand. "Your brother is just in the bathroom, he'll be out in just a moment."

"B-b-brother?"

He doesn't have a brother and his mom doesn't have a sister. His grandparents died before he was born and his parents are both only children. There's no way that his mom has a sister and there is certainly no way he has a brother he doesn't know about. He's 18 and has no recollection of ever having a brother.

A tall brown-haired boy walks into the kitchen from the guest toilet downstairs. Richie's eyes widen, as he's faced with a young boy that looks almost identical to him. The only difference is, is the fact that he doesn't wear glasses. How is that possible? How is it possible that he has a brother that he didn't know about until today?

"Mike this is Richie, Richie this is Mike," Maggie says to the boys. "Mike's going to Cali too."

"Ma, I don't know if I wanna go to Cali, Eds he - " The strength, that he had upon leaving the clubhouse, left, his eyes start to tear up. "I can't - "

"You want to go to NYU for a boy?" Karen says surprised.

"Those two have been joint at the hip since they were 3, Eddie is like another son to me," Maggie says standing up for Richie and pulls him into a hug. "It's your decision baby. Nobody is forcing you to go to Cali and nobody is forcing you to go to NYU."

Richie nods and excuses himself to his room, he apologises to his brother and tells him that if he wants he can come up too. Mike turns down the offer, wanting Richie to be alone while he thinks things over and stays downstairs to talk with the adults.

*

"AHHHH! Fucking Hell Edward!" Richie screams placing a hand on his heart.

"RICHARD, ARE YOU OKAY?" Maggie yells.

"YEAH! EDDIE JUST SCARED ME!" Richie calls back down and quickly closes his door. "What are you doing here Eds?"

"I wanted to talk to you about college," the hypochondriac says.

Richie nods and slowly advances towards his bed, sitting down beside Eddie. The boy beside him turns so that he's now facing Richie. Eddie brings his legs up to his chest, and Richie takes it as a symbolic safety barrier.

"I know that it's your decision - "

"Eds, I made my decision. I thought about it all the way home. NYU has a better program. I chose CSU because I wanted to be close to the beach and didn't give two shits about the actual program." Richie explains. "Besides, I want to be with you."

"That's so gay Rich." Eddie laughs.

"Yeah well, I am gay so seems kinda fitting and I am madly in love with you - " He clamps a hand over his mouth, Eddie moves off the and slowly makes his way to the window.

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck!

"I am so so sorry, this wasn't how - fuck!" Richie states.

Eddie, finally realising what he's doing, stops himself from making another backward step toward the window. "Eddie, please say something," Richie mumbles but Eddie can't. It's like he's frozen, only his chest can move to breathe but other than that he's stuck in time, frozen in a shocked state. "Please, I can't lose you Eds."

"I like you too 'Chee but as I said, I'm not going to make you change to NYU," Eddie says.

"I'm going to make the phone call and try to get us a dorm together."

Eddie nods and watches as Richie phones both universities. Eddie can tell that Richie's on the verge of having a panic attack but manages to hold on to his sanity for the full half-hour that he was on the phone.

Once he is off the phone, Richie sets himself up on the NYU dorm site and waves Eddie over to the computer. Eddie walks over and helps Richie pick out a dorm room that has an ensuite. Sure it's a little more expensive, but it's better than contracting some sort of illness from a total stranger. Richie quickly books in for the room with an ensuite before their all occupied and requests to have Eddie Kaspbrak room with him.

*

"Oh before I forget, I need you to come downstairs with me," Richie says.

"What did you do?" Eddie asks. Richie shrugs and pulls Eddie down the stairs to the kitchen.

Eddie's a little concerned when he sees a woman and a boy. He's never met them and Richie has never spoken about a boy that looks identical to him

"Eddie, this is my brother, Mike and my Aunt Karen," Richie says, "I just met them today." Richie's essentially bouncing up and down with excitement as he introduces his boyfriend? Yeah, boyfriend, to his family that he just met 1 hour ago. "Aunt K and Mike, this is my boyfriend Eddie."

"Boyfriend?" Maggie asks, "when? Does Sonia know?!"

"Literally half an hour ago. No Mrs K has no idea," Richie replies.

" I don't think she will ever find out," Eddie replies and laces his hand in Richie's.

Maggie simply nods knowing to never ask Eddie about his mother's intents. She made that mistake once and the poor boy ended up crying. He had begged her to not call social services or the police but witnessing the distraught and panic that the 14-year-old boy had, it left Maggie no other option but to phone the police. However, Sonia was clever, she had managed to convince the officer that had shown up at her door, that there was no such issue. The pharmacist and the doctor all stated that there was nothing wrong but under the watchful eyes of Richard, Maggie and Wentworth Tozier, there was a lot wrong with Eddie's treatment. All three Toziers vowed to treat Eddie like he's part of the family wanting him to feel the right love and affection that he should've been getting from his mom.

And on this occasion, it's the same, but with Eddie now being 18, he doesn't have to listen to his mother. So he decides to talk to Maggie alone, taking her out to the back yard of her own home.

"Mrs Tozier, you don't mind if I stay here until college, do you? I am happy to stay in the guest bedroom." Eddie says.

"Of course not! You're 18 now and out of school," Maggie says. "If you think it's unsafe for you to be at home, you're more than welcome here." Eddie quickly says 'thanks' to her and is about to head back inside when she stops him. "And, please, we're on a first-name basis here Eddie, you've known us for 15 years!"

*

When Eddie comes back inside, he gets Richie to take him to his house to collect a few things. Richie begs Mike to come along so that he can drive him around town, to show him around. Mike agrees and laughs at Richie's enthusiasm. Richie darts out the door towards his white beaten-up truck, with his keys rattling in his pocket. Eddie laughs as Richie fumbles to unlock the truck. He honestly has no idea how Richie is so energetic all the time when the kid never gets enough sleep. He can only assume it's the coffee and energy drinks on top of his ADHD.

"Seat belts kids!" Richie sings as all three boys buckle up and Richie puts the car in reverse and sure enough, they're heading out down the street.

"You left the clubhouse early?" Eddie says quietly.

"I made you upset, I was going to follow you but Staniel stopped me," Richie replies. "How about we continue this later?" Eddie nods. Richie is quick to take Eddie's hand in his and runs his thumb over his knuckles.

It doesn't take long before the three of them make it to Eddie's house. "Mike, do you have your license?" Richie asks and his twin nods in response. "I will explain everything, but, as of right now, I need you to be our getaway driver."

As Richie gets out, Mike climbs over to the driver's side and gets behind the wheel.

Richie and Eddie climb up the tree that grows outside of Eddie's bedroom.

"Eds, take all your necessities," Richie whispers, knowing full well that Sonia is downstairs. Eddie grabs two backpacks and starts chucking clothes in them. He takes his soap and shampoo as well as his toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant and two bottles of cologne from the bathroom. Richie watches as Eddie grabs his stash of playboy magazines from underneath his pyjamas and shoves them into one of the bags, the tall brunette gulps loudly with nervousness.

Before he knows it, Richie is following Eddie out the window and racing towards the car. They jump straight into the back seat and Mike's driving off down the road.

Richie asks Mike to pull over when they're a few blocks away so that Richie can take over. "So why was I a getaway driver?" Mike asks.

"Eds' mom is ... how would you put it, babe?" Richie says.

"She's overbearing and smothering. She made me believe that I was sick up until I was 13." Eddie says.

"Sorry about your mom," Mike says.

"Don't worry about it. I've got a family that loves me." Eddie takes Richie's free hand in his, smiling up at him.

That's true, Richie thinks to himself. The Losers are always there for each other. Even though Eddie never disclosed the information about his mom to the Losers, they knew that he was afraid. Especially when he came out a year ago. Sonia tried to use her reason against him but Eddie knew better. Everything she ever told him was a lie, his illnesses, most of his allergies, the way the world was. She wanted him holed up in his bedroom for the rest of his life, only showing her his love and affection, nobody else.

But now he can run away and she can do nothing. He left a note on his door for her to read and that's that. The rest of his life begins now, and now he can do whatever the fuck he wants. "Rich, can we go down to the store? I want to bleach my hair," Eddie says. "We can show Mike around town too."

Richie smirks and takes a sharp turn towards the heart of the town.

**** By the time the three of them come back, with ice creams in their hands, there's another boy in the kitchen. Richie and Mike look to one another, there's no way that they have another brother. "Boys this is your cousin, Boris," Maggie says. Richie just about faints. This is all too overwhelming for the poor boy.

He just graduated today

Found out that the boy of his dreams is not going to the same university

He finally got the boy of his dreams

He changed universities and scored a dorm room with that said boy of his dreams

He met his twin for the first time

His boyfriend is running away from his mother

And now he's meeting his cousin for the first time. Add that to the list of crazy things that happened today.

"Hello, Richard, Michael," Boris' accent runs thick, he embraces the two tall curly-haired brunettes. "Nice to meet you both."

"Nice to meet you too Boris," Mike says and Richie just grumbles.

How is he meant to react? It seems odd, meeting a cousin and a twin brother, for the first time in 18 years. "Nice to meet you too, man," Richie finally says. "Why don't we go up to my room?"

Mike and Boris follow Richie and Eddie up the stairs.

It bewilders Eddie, seeing how there are now 3 variations of Richie.

Richie, the only one with glasses, will only wear Hawaiian shirts or flannels, jeans and converse. He changes into accents whenever he's telling a story or a joke just to make it funny. Not to mention his potty mouth where almost every sentence has a swear word in it.

Mike wears a bright coloured polo shirt with shorts. In Eddie's opinion, he looks like Stan but with brighter coloured clothes. He seems more logical and certainly isn't impulsive like his brother.

Boris is dressed in pure black. Black shirt, black pants, black socks and black shoes. Carries and umbrella and talks in somewhat cryptic sentences with a thick Russian accent.

Eddie watches as the three of them interact, and he can already see that Richie is the happy middle of the three. He's got the logic and intelligence as his twin but the badass and wit as his cousin. It's kinda funny but creepy, all at the same time. "Eds, why don't we invite the Losers over?" Richie suggests.

"Is that wise? Your family is probably overwhelmed by your egotistical persona," Eddie says. Richie gives him a look, "oh come on, you've talked yourself up all afternoon!"

"You don't think that do you?" Richie asks the two boys. Boris shakes his head but Mike hesitates.

"It's okay Mike, I found Richie very overwhelming, when I first met him."

"I don't mind meeting your friends. If they're anything like Eddie, I'm sure they're great," Mike says.

"Oh brother dearest, that is by far the overstatement of the year." Richie pauses for the dramatic effect (like he always does). "Eddie's the second loudest and second most annoying, Loser," Richie says.

"Who's number one then?" Boris asks.

"You're looking at him," Richie says, pointing to himself.

Eddie laughs and texts the Losers, telling them to bring themselves over to the Tozier household.

[mischiefandmagic6]

A Favor Only You Can Do

Well, fuck. I was so ready to finish a bunch of days and the motivation machine broke. On another note, my family is almost done with binging GoT. All we have is season 7 left. Now to the fic. As always, it is on AO3 with the rest of the month prompts.

Marinette frantically ran around her room. She had no clue if her design was to fit on a person. All her mannequins were female shaped and not male. If she were to push herself, then she needed to not make only women clothes. An idea formed in her head and she picked her phone up sending a quick text.

Ten minutes later, Adrien burst into her room. “Are you okay?” he asked,  out of breath and searching over her body.

“Yes,” she said, wondering why he looked frantic.

“What’s the emergency?”

“Oh,” It clicked in her mind, “not a literal emergency. I have a favor that only you can do.”

Adrien took a deep breath. “Okay, what do you need?”

“Can you help me model my clothes? I don’t have male mannequins,” she asked him.

“Sure, what do you need me to do?” He asked.

“Just to put this on as I make any adjustments.” She handed him a jacket to try on.

Carefully, Adrien slipped the jacket on. The pins were in securely, but it’s better safe than sorry.

The next hour and a half was spent with Marinette directing Adrien to move certain ways as she adjusted each part of the jacket. It wouldn’t have taken as long if Adrien hadn’t kept making faces or ridiculous poses.

“So who’s the jacket for?” He asked after he took the jacket off for the alterations.

“Right now, it’s for no one,” she said. “I’m just expanding my skills. Instead of making clothes for women, I’m attempting men’s.”

“And as you said, you don’t have a male mannequin,” he finished the statement.

“Correct,” she shook her hand when she poked a finger with the needle. “Thank you for helping me.”

Adrien sat down on her chaise. “It’s no problem. I was lucky that Father hadn’t scheduled anything for me.”

“Did you happen to drop what you were doing and run?”

“Possibly,” he said.

She gave him a look. “What did you drop?”

“Nothing important,” Adrien dismissed. “How are the alterations going?”

“Right now, they’re good. I’ll need you to put it back on after I finish so I can see if I got it correct,” she said as she turned her sewing machine on.

Since Adrien knew she got in the zone when she sewed, he messed around on his phone. She knew that he was watching cat videos.

It took an hour of sewing for her to finish the project. When she had told Adrien that the jacket was for no one, she lied. It was actually for him. He had complained that he didn’t have a jacket that could keep the cold out.

Marinette stood up with the jacket in hand. “Now for the final test: seeing if the jacket fits.”

“I’m sure it does,” Adrien said as he stood to put the jacket on.

The next few minutes were spent tugging and flattening the jacket, much to her embarrassment. There were some parts that needed more fine-tuning, but it worked well considering that she didn’t have his measurements.

“Seems like you did a good job,” he praised. He took the jacket off again, careful of the few pins on it.

“Thanks, I needed a challenge.” She set the jacket down and turned to Adrien. “How was your day before I pulled you here?”

“Eh, boring,” he plopped back down on her chaise. “Being here is way more enjoyable than the piano.”

“I wish I could play the piano,” she said. “Or any instrument really.”

Adrien shifted to face her, his face was lit up. “I could teach you if you want.”

“I don't want to trouble you any more,” Marinette tried to counter.

“Think of it as a favor for me,” he said. “I help you, you help me.”

She tried to figure out how that made sense. “How is you teaching me piano helping you?”

“It would make it more fun,” Adrien flipped on his back. “That's how you would help.”

Marinette hummed. “I guess I can’t argue with that logic.”

“I’m going to pretend that you actually meant that.”

“What should I learn first?” she asked through her giggles.

He sat up, said, “bring a notebook and pencil real quick, please,” and patted the space next to him.

She followed the instructions and turned to an empty page before handing it to him. He took it and drew ten lines spaced apart.

“What I’m going to show you is a scale,” he said as he drew dots and vertical lines. At the beginning of the scale, he drew an open brace and on the top set of lines, he drew what looked like an ‘and’ symbol and on the bottom set, a backwards ‘c’ with a colon next to it.

“This symbol is called a treble clef,” he tapped on the top line, “and this one is a bass clef,” he moved the pencil down to the bottom line.

“Why are there two clefs?” She asked, mentally taking notes.

“With the piano, you use both hands,” Adrien held his hands up. “The left one is for the bass and the right is the treble.”

“That makes sense,” Marinette took the pencil out of his hands to make a few notes on the paper. “So, why the open brace?”

“That makes it a grand staff,” he took the pencil back to write it down. “It joins the two clefs to make one piece of music. It’s also the harder notion to use.”

“I’m kind of getting this,” she said, leaning forward. “And I think I should probably learn the easy stuff first.”

He grinned sheepishly. “That would probably be the best and once you understand it, it does get easier in my experience.”

“Okay, now I know there are notes,” she smiled.

“There are,” he gave her a look. When she looked back at him, he turned back to the paper. There he wrote one set of lines on a new paper with a treble clef at the beginning. “Each note represents a letter. E,F,G,A,B,C,D,E,F.” Each letter was written down next to each note.

“I’m not going to be able to remember that,” she admitted. Sure, it was the alphabet but it all seemed to mesh together.

Adrien laughed. “There’s a saying that helps. Every good boy does fine and face.” He wrote it down on the paper. The first of each word on the first saying was capitalized and the word ‘face’ was in all caps.

“Oh!”

“It definitely helped me when I was beginning,” he said. “This is pretty much all I can teach you without an actual piano. The reading part kind of goes along with playing and the rhythms as well.”

“Good, my head was starting to swim,” Marinette joked.

“Oh, har har.” Adrien set the notebook next to him. “Soon enough it will make sense if you want to keep up.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He opened his mouth to say something when his phone went off. He held a finger up and went to the other side of her room to answer it.

Marinette stood to clean up the mess. She had placed the jacket on her desk when Adrien came back over.

“That was Nathalie,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have to go home.”

She sighed. “Thank you again for your help.”

“It’s not a problem. It was a favor,” Adrien reminded her.

With a smile, she lead him downstairs. She picked up a few pastries to give to him. “Don’t let Nathalie see this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Adrien winked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before he left.

Her hand rose to her cheek. She may have to call more favors.