#so the pencil strokes don’t transfer

[myokk]

“Class, today we’re going to repot the baby mandrakes because they’re getting a bit too big for their current homes! Aren’t they cute?”

[chibrary]

title: "seb and charles on the monza sp2" source: ferrari magazine, photographed by amy shore format: article season: 2019, f1

For Sebastian Vettel and Charles Leclerc life isn’t all-work-and-no-play. In May the two Scuderia Ferrari piloti were at Maranello for a meeting with Team Principal Mattia Binotto and the team’s engineers. When their official business was finished the two drivers chanced upon a brand new Ferrari Monza SP2 and asked if they could take the car for a spin. Getting up front and personal with a Monza SP2, with its magnetic appeal, isn’t something that happens every day. The Monza SP1 and SP2 are the very first models in an extremely limited series - only 499 will be built - baptised Icona and inspired by the most important and iconic moments of Ferrari history.

The car that Vettel and Leclerc got to drive was an extraordinary example, a brand new SP2 ‘dressed’ in a livery celebrating the 290 MM driven by Juan Manuel Fangio in the 1956 Mille Miglia. The two piloti took the Monza along the undulating roads snaking their way through the rolling countryside around Maranello. The atmosphere was relaxed and humorous. When the drivers stopped for some photographs and to swap seats we snatched the opportunity for a quick chat about what racing for the Scuderia, which celebrates its 90th anniversary this year, means to them.

"I think that part of what makes driving for Ferrari so special is knowing you are one part in this incredible story,” says Vettel, who is in his fifth year with the Scuderia’s Formula 1 team. “When you put on an overall with the Prancing Horse on its breast, you know you are more than just a driver, you are an ambassador for the brand and that makes you even prouder still.”

Leclerc, a Ferrari Driver Academy graduate whose title win in Formula 2 in his maiden season in 2017 was followed by an extraordinarily powerful debut in Formula 1 in 2018 that earned him the second seat in the SF90 – couldn’t agree more: “My adventure with the Scuderia has only just begun,” he says. “But from day one, I realised it was a genuinely unique team with an unparalleled history. It’s hard not to get a shiver down your spine when you get behind the wheel of a Ferrari.” Leclerc also explained how his personal life has been affected since he joined the Scuderia: “People stop me in the street now to congratulate me and I have to say it’s really great.”

Vettel is a huge fan of the marque’s history and well versed in all the facts and figures. He is impressed with how Enzo’s passion and inspiration “are qualities which are still alive in Ferrari today with the great pride, care and attention with which cars – road cars and our F1 cars – are built. There is a unique, emotional connection with Ferrari, whether you work in the factory, are a Ferrari owner, or a driver for the Scuderia, where one is always aware of the responsibility that comes with being associated with the Prancing Horse. It is a responsibility I am privileged to have.”

Back at the Gestione Sportiva, Leclerc shares his impressions of the Monza SP2. “Getting into this Ferrari is a bit like diving into the past: it’s extreme, uncompromising, but bursting with technologies which, as is so often the case, were tested in competition. I don’t think anyone can match Ferrari in terms of the huge technological transfer from its racing cars to its road cars.” The car’s design also sets it apart. Designed by Maranello’s in-house Centro Stile, the Monza SP2  - boasting incredibly pure and elegantly minimalist forms that started out as little more than a single pencil stroke - stops time by uniting tradition and cutting-edge technology in the name of Ferrari, just as the Scuderia’s Formula 1 drivers do when they mix speed with genius in the Prancing Horse’s name.

[penkraft123]

Warli Paintings: Exotic form of simple art

A Picture is a ballad without words. The Warli Art shape is the pictorial dialect used to speak to the tribal people craft of the early tribes of Thane area, Maharashtra.

It portrays the dancing, chasing and development of land with the tribal hovels made in a dark, mustard yellow or the white foundation. Keeping in mind the end goal to educate these structures to the understudies, we embrace a particular showing strategy, so that even non-craftsmen can paint the lovely warli. All these and more can be investigated about the antiquated India.

The word “Warli” originates from “warla” which implies a real estate parcel or a field despite being in such closeness of the biggest city in India, Warli tribesmen are as yet not urban. Warli Art was first found in the mid-seventies. While there are no records of the correct beginnings of this workmanship, its underlying foundations might be followed to as right on time as the tenth century AD. Warli is the distinctive articulation of day by day and get-togethers of the Warli tribe of Maharashtra, utilized by them to enhance the dividers of town houses. This was the main method for transmitting fables to other people who are not familiar with the composed word.

These works of art don’t portray fanciful characters or pictures of divinities, however delineate social life. Pictures of individuals and creatures, alongside scenes from everyday life are made in a free cadenced example. Painted white on mud dividers, they are entirely near pre-notable buckle artistic creations in execution and as a rule delineate scenes of human figures occupied with exercises like chasing, dancing, sowing ,collecting, going out, drawing water from well, drying clothes.

It fundamentally comprises of geometrical examples

1. Circle: speaking to the sun and the moon

2. Triangle: triangle got from mountains and pointed trees

3.Square: showing a consecrated walled area or a land parcel. So the focal rationale in every custom painting is the square

These geometric figures are consolidated to shape lovely examples .Like two summits of triangles are combined to frame a human figure.

Warli canvases on paper have turned out to be exceptionally prevalent and are presently sold all over India. Today, little compositions are done on fabric and paper however they look best on the w alls or as colossal wall paintings that draw out the tremendous and otherworldly universe of the Warlis. For the Warlis, convention is still clung to however in the meantime new thoughts have been permitted to leak in which encourages them to confront new difficulties from the market.

Learn this simple art, find designs & explore the world of warlis at Penkraft through our workshop.

Penkraft conducts classes, course, online courses, live courses, workshops, teachers’ training & online teachers’ training in Handwriting Improvement, Calligraphy, Abacus Maths, Vedic Maths, Phonics and various Craft & Artforms — Madhubani, Mandala, Warli, Gond, Lippan Art, Kalighat, Kalamkari, Pichwai, Cheriyal, Kerala Mural, Pattachitra, Tanjore Painting, One Stroke Painting, Decoupage, Image Transfer, Resin Art, Fluid Art, Alcohol Ink Art, Pop Art, Knife Painting, Scandinavian Art, Water Colors, Coffee Painting, Pencil Shading, Resin Art Advanced etc. at pan-India locations. With our mission to inspire, educate, empower & uplift people through our endeavours, we have trained & operationally supported (and continue to support) 1500+ home-makers to become Penkraft Certified Teachers? in various disciplines.

[trickslong]

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[oh-mother-of-darkness]

“Can I see?” asked Tim.

“No,” said Damian, angling his pad of paper even further away. Tim resisted the urge to walk across the room and force a look; he wasn’t in the mood to fight.

“Fine. This isn’t me asking again, but… why can’t I see? I’m just curious.”

“It’s personal,” said Damian shortly.

“All your art? Or just that drawing.”

“All of it.”

Tim waited. Damian went back to the kind of pencil strokes that scratched against his paper. Tim itched at his own knee in sympathy.

“I feel,” said Damian, unprompted, “like my artistic choices are transparent. The things I choose to draw, the ways I choose to draw them— they say too much about my thoughts. I don’t like that.”

“They’re good drawings.”

“Of course they are. That’s not the point. I’m not insecure about my talent.”

“So what’s the insecurity?”

Damian glanced up, flatly. “There is no insecurity.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m simply drawing myself. Myself is private.”

“Self-portrait?”

“Not literally.” Damian rolled his eyes. “Everything I create is— is some version of me, whether it’s of me or not. I don’t think that made sense.”

“It didn’t,” Tim confirmed.

“There’s a certain amount of relief in making art that reflects the way you, the artist, feel.”

“I guess.”

“But what if I, the artist, feel badly?”

“Oh.”

“Do I want people to see the bad? Do I want them to feel badly too?”

“I get it.”

Damian nodded, one hand flipping through pages. He turned the pad around just long enough for Tim to catch a half-glimpse of a Boschian jumble of distorted figures. “What if the unfortunate parts of myself transfer best to paper? The worst angles make the most interesting art.”

“I guess.”

Damian set his pad aside. “So no, you can’t see.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“To make,” said Damian. “I love the things I create in a way that doesn’t happen otherwise.”

Tim thought about that. “There must be a more… straightforward way to love yourself.”

“I never said that I—”

“Didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did.”

They sat there for some time.

“I don’t know it,” said Tim.

“What?”

“The straightforward way.”

-----

demigodscum said: A conversation about the purpose of art <3

[babyboy-cody]

HI ALYSSA!!! 😃 What you wrote for grayson was beyond BEAUTIFUL. can you write something where they’re in a new relationship and she gets introduced on the podcast??? 🥰

i’m gonna try really hard to not go overboard this time 😭

The atmosphere was lighthearted and playful. Since 7am to the early afternoon, you’ve been extremely nervous and fidgety. Grayson recognized the early signs of an anxiety attack and made to bring out one of your sensory toys, the ones that make the popping and clicking sound. He brought you to a secluded corner of the house, away from everyone and all the noise, and blocked them with his body until you calmed down. The scent of him, the overall height of him, the gruffness of his voice, and the soft teddy bear vibes Grayson was giving off had you feeling more at ease.

“What if… What if they don’t like me, Gray? I mean, I’m not like the other girls you’ve hooked up with before. I’m not some insta baddie or a bad bitch. I’m me and they’re gonna hate it,” you quietly rambled to him while frantically popping and clicking your sensory toy, all the while keeping your eyes on your hand movements. Grayson allowed you to rant, not stepping in until you were fully finished. “I mean, Kris is different because she’s perfect for Ethan and she never really got any hate - not that I know of. She’s like a soft baddie, I’m not even 6% of a baddie.” This made Grayson smile as he crossed his arms and stared down at you. “Like, I’m not Tyson and it just… sucks feeling like this.”

“Look at me,” he told you, his voice low enough for only you both to hear. When you nervously peer up at him, no longer using your sensory toy, he places his large hands on your warm cheeks, thumbs gently stroking back and forth. “You’re not Tyson and that’s why I’m in love with you. You think I care about insta baddies? You’re the fucking queen, you hear me?” When you start looking down again, he quickly lifts your head. “Aye, I’m not done talking to you. You’re nothing like those girls and that’s what made me fall for you. Your kind soul, pretty eyes, and good vibes made me feel so comfortable that I always wanted to be around you 24/7. Ask Kris.” He smiles at the sound of your soft giggle and the way your eyes crinkled at the corners. “If I love with all my heart, the people who support us and want us to be happy will love you too.”

“Yo,” Ethan called out from across the room. “You ready?” He was looking at you, more so worried about your reputation than Grayson’s. “There’s no going back.” His tone was teasing and his eyes held no malice. You looked up at Grayson and he gave you a small nod and grin, as if telling you, ‘You got this.’ When you gave Ethan an enthusiastic nod, he excitedly claps his hands. “Lets do this shit!”

When you followed them to the room where they do their podcasts, you felt that anxious wave crash over you again. Grayson, being the extremely observant man he is, made sure you had your sensory toy in your hands as he rubbed your arms gently. He pressed soft kisses to your cheeks that felt like butterfly wings fluttering against your skin because of his growing beard. Kristina shot you a thumbs up from her spot in the kitchen as she ate some avocado toast. You felt more at ease as Grayson and Ethan shot playful jokes at each other back and forth. You took your spot beside Grayson on the swivel chair and took the headphones he hands to you. After setting up the mics and cameras, you got yours comfortable and sat a foot or two away from Grayson so that they’re able to do their intro without you in the frame.

“It’s now or never,” you quietly mumbled to yourself.

“Good evening, everybody!” Grayson enthusiastically speaks into the mic. “Welcome back to Deeper with the Dolan Twins. I’m one of your hosts, Grayson.”

“And I’m your other host, Ethan. If it’s a little harder to tell who is who, I wore white today and Grayson wore black,” Ethan states confidently. “Grayson is always wearing his greasy ass trucker hat.”

“It’s not greasy, shut up.” Grayson sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes, sending a look to the side as you covered your mouth to stifle your laugh. “So, today we are doing things a little bit differently.” You sat up straighter in your seat. “As all of you know, we had Kristina on our podcast to furthermore introduce herself as Ethan’s girlfriend.”

“And today,” Ethan rubbed his hands excitedly. “We have a very, very special guest. We are introducing… drum roll, please…” Grayson quickly tapped his fingers against the table. “Grayson’s very own girlfriend, Y/N!”

Grayson was quick to pull your chair closer to his as you held the mic and laughed quietly as they both cheered loud and clear. “This is my very lovely and very beautiful girlfriend, Y/N. Say hello to the audience.”

“Um… hello,” you awkwardly said, causing Ethan to snort. “Shut up, E! I’m nervous.” You shyly covered your face, groaning when Grayson pulled your hands away and placed his hand between yours. You immediately started playing with his fingers; a sense of calm washing over you. “Well as nervous as I am, I am extremely excited to be a guest on your podcast and I hope it receives good reactions.”

“On a lighter note, lets dive deeper into how the relationship between you and Gray… developed,” Ethan said and got comfortable in his seat.

“You tell the short story and I’ll tell the long story,” you told Grayson and lightly patted his shoulder while looking at him with such love-filled eyes that even Ethan can see from across the large table.

Grayson cleared his throat and never once move his hand from between yours. “Well we met a few years ago and started fully dating, I’d say, almost a year ago. And we met through Kristina because you’ve been really good friends story.”

“Okay, guys, people that are listening and watching,” Ethan interrupted. “Remember to get very comfortable because this story is going to be a fucking rollercoaster of emotions.”

“Oh god,” you facepalmed. “Now, for the long story. I’ve been really close friends with Kris since our childhood. I moved to Australia at a young age with my dad after my mom passed away, and we were just two peas in a pod. The way you and Grayson are with each other is the exact same way Kris and I are with each other.” Grayson leans his chin on his hand and never once looks away from you. His attention was all on you… and your lips. “And then, back in 2017 is when she started telling me about Ethan. And she had mentioned that you had a younger brother-”

“Younger by, like, 20 minutes,” Grayson interrupted with a scoff.

“Younger brother,” you emphasized a little louder, causing both twins to laugh. “And she had asked Ethan stuff about Grayson, to which she transferred back to me. So, she was like a bird messenger.” You giggled as you said that, causing a big grin to form on Grayson’s lips. “And then no sooner after that, we started talking more frequently and getting to know each other. And it just.. grew after that.”

“Didn’t Gray ghost you?” Ethan suddenly asked. Grayson groans loud beside you and covers his face embarrassingly. “I remember you freaking the fuck out because of it.”

“Yes, the motherfucker did ghost me for a few weeks. Wanna explain why, hm?” You teasingly asked him with a raise of your brows. Grayson blushed fiercely.

“So within the first three months of us talking, that was when I fully started developing strong feelings for you. And at the time, I had been fucked over so many times by so many people and was never really able to hold a long relationship. And I partially blamed myself for that because I tend to.. rush things, if that makes sense. I’m a romantic and when I fall for someone, I fall hard.” As Grayson passionately spoke and opened up his feelings, your eyes went from his eyes to his lips to his hands and back and forth. The way he spoke with his hands made you hide a smile by biting your lip. “And I was terrified because I automatically assumed that I was gonna fuck it up one way or another. The only way for me to cope was to push my feelings aside, and it just effected us both so negatively.”

“Yeah, from past experiences, it can be really difficult for someone to come to terms with the true emotions they felt. I was the same way with Kristina, you know. It felt like I had to walk around eggshells out of fear of fucking up the one thing that was good for me.” You and Grayson nodded in agreement. “I remember when we came to Australia after what happened and Gray was running back and forth, just writing what he wanted to say to you and he almost cried because his pencil broke.”

You quickly looked at Grayson. “Really?” You weren’t teasing him, you were shocked. Your voice was soft and you had a pout on your lips that he kissed away. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Nooooo!” Grayson yelled out and threw an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side.

“That’s so sweet!” You whined and pouted some more. “I never knew that, Gray. I know that in the past, there were some hardships that we were able to overcome and the way we communicated with each other, it just made our relationship stronger.”

The conversation ranged from topic to topic. Your life growing up, the death of your mother, your dad’s rescue farm in Australia, your college degree, and some moments between you and Grayson. You felt so comfortable and carefree that Grayson noticed a changed. You laughed more and spoke louder. You playfully bantered with Ethan and provided your own insight on serious topics regarding the negative effects of social media and about mental health. He’s so sure in his heart that people who love and support him and Ethan are gonna love you the same.

[scarofthewind]

Hi I was wondering if we could get a short story, where Michael and his s/o get caught on Halloween night and transferred to diff mental hospitals and then Michael breaks out and goes to find his s/o and break her out while all hell breaks loose cause he’s slaughtering anyone to get to his s/o. ( sorry if this is too much ) bonus points if there’s smut at the end when they get home :)

A/N: I didn’t add the smut, I apologize. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. This is L for my masterlist under Michael Myers. 

Warnings: Gore, fluff

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈

You shivered as the cold metal of the cuffs grazed against the skin of your ankles. The van you had been loaded up in was heavily armed and beyond freezing. The jumpsuit you wore wasn’t helping brace for the cold and you opened your mouth to say something, only for a guard to shake his head at you. “Not so chatty now huh?” One guard chuckled, watching your eyes flicker to his. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you. That lug nut of a boy toy you had with you won’t be around to interfere, not that he could with the beating he got.”

“You’ll shut your mouth if you knew what’s good for you.” You spat, jerking forward in your seat, only to have a few guns pointed at you.

“Sit down.” He sighed, with a bored expression. 

“He’s going to find me and when he does,” You leaned closer, feeling the barrel of a gun at your head. “I’ll make sure he rips your spine out from your mouth.” You smiled. 

The guard scoffed and smacked his elbow against your nose. You jerked back in your seat, hot blood pouring from the wound. “Like I said, we’ll take good care of you.” He smirked and you felt your stomach twist. The ride took forever and when the van finally stopped, you waited as the guards got out before grabbing you. They made sure the cuffs on your ankles as well as your feet, were tight before they hauled you through the front doors of what you assumed to be a mental hospital. “I’m not crazy.” You said aloud and one of the guards shoved you forward harshly. 

They ushered you down a long hallway where a few other patients were being taken care of, all of them looking as though the life had been drained out of them. You found yourself being placed in an office where a woman sat behind a desk, pencil in hand and focused on the papers in front of her. When you entered, she looked up and smiled. “Room 421. She gets this,” The woman paused, handing a guard a straight jacket. “And two of these a day. It keeps the hallucinating down.” She grinned, also handing over a bag with shots in it. The needles made your eyes widen at how large they were. 

“I don’t hallucinate.” You said, sniffling from the blood that still trickled down your nose. 

“Not yet. You’ll find that solitary does things to you.” She turned to file the papers she had been writing on and you were taken from the room and thrown into your own. The guards roughly strapped you down in the straightjacket and before you knew it, you were alone. 

That’s when you cried. Where was Michael? Was he dead? You replayed the last thing he said to you before you were separated, in your head, “I’ll find you, I swear on it!” You sunk to the floor in the corner of the room, burying your head in your knees and wishing that it would be soon. 

The problem with staying in a fully lit, white walled room with no windows to the outside world, was that you had no idea how long you’d been in there. You’d had twelve meals delivered to your room, all of which you rejected. Those large shots that were administered to you via your neck, made you sleep more. Still, you didn’t know how long it had been since you had been taken from Michael and each day, you slowly felt your sanity being drained from you. 

This place was making you a zombie. 

The buzzing sound from your door being unlocked, made you open your eyes and watch as two men in white scrubs moved you to your feet and walked you out of the room. “Where are we going?” You asked, your eyes barely staying open. 

“There is a new treatment and you are the first to try it. Thank you for volunteering.” You frowned at the man’s words and tried your best to get out of his grasp. 

You entered another room, this one had a chair in the middle of it and a a contraption that made you nearly cry out in panic. “Don’t please!” You screamed as they strapped you to the chair and let the doctor lady hover above you. “I don’t want to do this! I’m fine, I swear!”

“I’m sure you are.” She smiled that fake smile, sticking something in your neck that you only assumed was another shot of some sorts. “Bite down on this please.” She said, putting a leather strap between your teeth and watching as you bit down before placing various dotted stickers on your head. 

“Each one of these sends electric pulses to your brain. It’s painful but by the third treatment, it should wipe your memory clean. Including all the bad things you’ve done.” She snapped one of her gloves and tilted a bright light down on you. 

“Charge to three hundred.” She said to another man in scrubs who turned a dial to the number needed. The switch was too close to his hand for your liking. “I’m going to cure you, (Y/N).” The doctor lady said, stroking your cheek before looking to the man and nodding. 

No matter how much you screamed and cried, they were all unfazed and you could feel your heart break. You didn’t want to forget Michael. 

Just as the man touched the switch, red lights started going off, followed by the sound of a loud siren. You widened your eyes and spit out the leather strap. “Michael!” You screamed, watching as the people in the room around you scrambled to leave. “Wait, get me out of this!” You shouted, struggling against the restraints to no avail. You looked over to the doctor lady who stood in the corner in fear, the screams from outside the room were enough to make the toughest man cry in fear. “You! If you don’t want him to kill you, let me go!”

“I can’t do that, I’ll get in trouble.” She shook her head.

“But you’ll be alive!” You snapped at her and she nodded, running over and unstrapping you from the chair. Leaping up, you grabbed the pencil off the counter by your case file and stabbed the woman in the eye. “I didn’t say that I wouldn’t kill you. Bitch.” You spat, watching her fall to the floor before running out of the room.

The hallway was earily quiet when you entered it. There was blood everywhere and you didn’t find a single person who’s body was on the ground, alive. “Put your fucking hands up!” A familiar voice shouted to you and you turned around, your eyes meeting the guard who had hit you in the van. “Hands up you crazy whore!”

“You’d better run.” You grinned widely. “I told you what I’d have him do right?” You approached the guard, backing him up until he hit a large, solid chest. Michael grabbed his gun and threw it down the hallway. 

“Oh come on, we were just talking.” The man gulped when he watched Michael grab your face, looking at it to make sure you weren’t hurt. You’d taken a beating from the guard as well as various puncture wounds to the neck and he didn’t like that at all. He stiffened and turned to the man, grabbing him roughly. 

“Now what did I say I was going to have him do?” You taunted, laughing when the man wet himself in fear. “Oh, that’s right.” You put a finger in the air and stood on your tippy toes to whisper to Michael, “Ripe out his spine the best way you know how.” 

The man tried to beg but by the time he managed to find a single word to say, Michael had shoved his fist in the mans mouth, breaking his jaw along the way. His fingers found his spine and grabbed it, pulling harshly and kicking the body away. His hands held the spine with the head still attached. Throwing it to the ground, Michael turned around and grabbed you in a bone crushing hug. “I thought I was too late.” He let out a shaky breath and you stroked his back. 

“I’m okay, Michael. We are together again, that’s all that matters.” You felt him press his lips to your forehead before placing a longing kiss on your lips. 

“Did you kill everyone?” You asked as you both walked out of the hospital. 

“On all four floors.” He nodded and you felt your heart race. He noticed the blush on your face and smirked. “Let’s hurry home. I haven’t touched you in a week and I need it.” You laughed at his comment and nodded, making sure to take one of the cars from outside. 

[rabenschrei92]

the notebook

characters: Micah Bell x OC, Sean MacGuire type: fluff, short oneshot  summary: Bonnie just wanted to draw him. But things took a turn. 

notes: I wrote this story in german and translated it into english. I also published it on AO3. 

Bonnie sat by the campfire, leaning her back against a tree trunk. She had drawn her knees up slightly so she could lean her notebook against them. Micah Bell had been sitting in a chair across from her for quite a while. He held a piece of wood in one hand and his knife in the other. More and more wood chips were accumulating on the floor in front of him, forming a small pile. At first she had wondered what he was carving. But now she believed that it was simply an occupation against the boredom, that sometimes overcame one here in camp. The piece of wood looked more and more like a stake.

Bonnie was about to draw his hand that was wielding the knife. Oh, how she would’ve loved to get closer to him so she could scrutinize the veins, scars and imperfections of his skin. She liked her pictures to be as detailed as possible. She wanted to capture every little detail and transfer it to the paper. Only Micah wasn’t someone who volunteered to be drawn. She hadn’t asked him, but her gut feeling rarely deceived her. He reminded her of a mountain lion that stalked its prey for hours, just waiting for the right moment to strike. Maybe, she thought, maybe he also had something of a rattlesnake. She knew the stories. She knew about the “little” incident in Strawberry. She kept looking up from her drawing, eyeing him as inconspicuously as possible. She squinted her eyes slightly, as if that would miraculously improve her vision. A soft sigh escaped her. God, she just wanted to take his hand and look at it. She wanted to stroke his skin, wanted to know how it felt. Suddenly he looked up and their eyes met for a split second. Bonnie lowered her head and stared at the drawn Micah. She bit the inside of her cheek, not daring to lift her head or even breathe. Hesitantly she put the pencil back in place. Did the blade of his knife have an engraving? What did the grain of the wooden handle look like? She felt a tingling in the back of her neck that soon took over her entire body. She could no longer look away. She had to know what he was doing. But at the moment she was about to lift her head, small stones crunched under his boots. Two heavy steps in her direction and then his shadow cast itself over her. He bent down and reached for her notebook. He grabbed it so that his thumb was between the pages. Bonnie couldn’t react quickly enough.

As he stood back up, Bonnie literally jumped up and stumbled forward. “Don’t!”, fled her lips and she reached out. But Micah half turned to the side and held his arm up. A grin settled on his lips. “What?” He looked at her. She sighed deeply and then jumped up, but he just kept turning away. “Come one! Please… please! It’s mine!” He lowered his arm a bit and waved the book in front of her. “I just wanna know what you’re up to.” “No, please! It’s… it’s unfinished.” Her hand shot forward, and she almost had it. But he was faster und jerked his arm back over his head. “Let me be the judge, darlin’.” He turned his back to her. Bonnie’s heart was pounding in her chest. He really wanted to open it! She grabbed his arm with both hands and yanked him around. And Micah actually let her spin him around and Bonnie realized that her efforts were too late. His face told her even before a word could leave his lips. She heard her blood pulsing in her ears, her whole body on edge. Micah held the book out to her silently and she tried to make sense of his gaze. But before that could happen, someone reached over Bonnie’s shoulder. “What’s so exciting?”, she heard Sean’s voice behind her as he grabbed the book. She clenched her hand into a fist and turned to face him. “Sean!” For days he had been trying to get a glimpse of her drawings. But she decided who she showed the picture to and who she didn’t. Sean looked at her, grinning broadly and held the book in the air, taking a few steps away from her. And for the second time of the day Bonnie felt like a complete idiot. “Oh come on, lass!” He opened it without further ado and wrinkled his nose. The corners of his mouth twitched downward. “Are ya serious?” He shook himself, then laughed. “You're drawing him?” Micah’s arm shot forward, and he grabbed Sean by the collar so tightly that Bonnie expected him to choke him out. He pulled the Irishman closer, and his fingers clawed tighter and tighter into the fabric of Sean’s shirt. “Give it back to her!”, he hissed, and she had to remember the image of the snake threateningly sounding its rattle. This was Sean’s first and only warning. If he took one more step, the snake would strike. Sean raised his free hand defensively and pressed the boo against Micah’s chest. “I was just kidding…” Micah loosened his grip on Sean’s collar and pushed the younger man away. “Get out of here!” He didn't have to tell Sean twice. Sean shook his head and muttered a few silent curses as he took off. Bonnie almost felt sorry for him. Micah turned to face her and gave her the book. “Thank you.”, she said, pressing the book against her chest. He walked past her without saying a word and sat back down on the chair in front of the campfire. He pulled out his knife again and picked up right where he left off. “What are ya waitin’ for?”, he said without looking up from what he was doing. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. Did he really want her to finish the picture? Was she really allowed to draw him? Bonnie sat back down and opened her notebook.

[hyukmoon]

Class trip.

Synopsis | you're a teacher going along on a trip for a week with your class and a colleague you despised for a good amount of time now. Things turn around and you don't know what to think about him anymore.

Teacher!Xiaojun x Teacher!gn!Reader

warnings | kissing is the most rated things happening in this, all over awkwardness from you, terrible humor, pretty much just fluff and a there's only one bed situation

word count | 2.2k

things to note | this is the first thing I wrote here, so I'm open to constructive criticism, also [P/A] means prefered form of address bc you're a teacher and all that (not proofread yet)

Let’s preface this. You never really wanted to go onto this trip. You genuinely loved the children in your class, but to go onto this trip for an entire week seemed to be a compromise in the least. Neither were the other teachers your preferred ones nor was it your say where the class trip was going to take place. To be honest, you even found the colleague you were going with a bit annoying.

“It can’t be this bad, you might even enjoy it there. Our fellow colleague is pretty to look at and the worst that could be happening on that trip is that one of the children puts their finger into a pencil sharpener again.”, your friend Yasmin and also, teacher said. Your tired face was working, she shut up. Of course, your fellow colleague was incredibly handsome.

You would and could never argue against that, yet every time you heard their kind and expressive voice you felt like you were blinded by the sun. He just seemed to exude everything you lacked. It is not that you weren’t a good teacher, every time you were out of breath or already done with everything only half through the day, he almost smiled compassionately at you sometimes even winked for that matter.

Xiao dejun, who also went by Xiaojun was the topic of your discussion, a man that handsome you wouldn’t be able to make up in your dream and smart enough to make up for every “inconvenience” you faced with him.

Well, he was that smart to bring you coffee every morning into teachers lounge, share his chewing gum with you and sometimes write you notes if you seem stressed. “Jeez, what’s your problem in the first place? I’m kinda sure he is into you. Every time he looks at you, he literally has heart eyes and bringing you coffee every morning? Please.”, she rolled her eyes at you.

“I don’t think so, I just subbed some of his classes a few times. You know how nice he is.”, nervously you now shy away from looking into Yasmin’s eyes.

Xiaojun didn’t like you, you would feel terrible if he did. Tweaks of shame overcame you; this trip was not going to work out.

Fully packed and all over suspiciously you started counting again the fourth graders on the bus while also having a very good view of the chocolate brown hair of the teacher going along on the field trip. This time his hair didn’t fully cover his forehead, his glasses eyeing you as well. Suddenly his hands tapped on the seat next to him. Heat rose up to your cheeks gradually making it harder to move forward to sit next to Xiaojun. “Mila’s parents called me, she’s sick so don’t worry about her. Just sit down [Y/N], I brought some tea.”, he smiled while pointing at his thermos can. “Uh, sure. I have some cookies with me if you want.”, the last sentence closely sounding like a question as you quietly took the seat next to him.

Not only were you now stunned about the fact that there was a possibility for him to view you in a light like this in spite of you being so passive towards him in the past. Yet there is still the lingering feeling far, far up in your head that you were only imagining things and Xiaojun read everything wrong. “Are you feeling well? We can also sit farther in the front if you feel better there- “, he worriedly stroked your shoulder. “No, it’s completely fine. Just fine.”, you interrupted his ramble and put up your mouth into a cramped smile. His eyes returned that favor, crinkling up into a smile as well.

The bus drive didn’t take as long as you might have thought, your counterpart on the excursion was more than enough to keep you on your toes. Casual glances along a few accidental brushes over your hand kept you in your seat. Now counting again all the children in the lobby of the youth hostel you anxiously eyed Xiaojun again. The amount of children matched up, so your job was done for now, you were most likely only seeing them for dinner. The only thing to do for you now was to go up to your room and contemplate how to not have a physical reaction every time your favorite colleague called your name. Very obvious, you had of course no crush on him or anything like that. He was just blessed with beautifully shaped eyebrows and a voice that could make the worst words you knew sound like a ballade. You moved up from the hotel lobby with some of the grade schoolers to the elevator.

"[P/A] [L/N], do you think when I make Lasagna with my mum it’s the same as cake?”, Xia, a girl from Xiaojun’s music class asked while her classmates giggle about her question. A few loud no’s were to be heard with the occasional high pitched laughs from her friends. “That is a very good question I have never thought about before”, you stopped for a second, what exactly does it mean to be a cake? It is still baked in an oven with layers and contains the tomato sauce as frosting? “I am pretty sure it is. Even though I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow though, I am not a baking expert. I promise I’ll look it up for you, yes?”, you were pretty content with your answer. “Hmmm. Okay. They wanted me to ask.” Xia answered while pointing at the three boys in the back of the elevator which earned her some distraught faces from her classmates. The familiar sound of the elevator bell ringed. “Anyways, if you have as burning questions as these please come to me or …, we’re happy to help. Also, if you feel homesick or sick, I’m always in my room, just knock.” As soon as the last syllable was said stormed the children to their respective rooms and left you there looking at their body shaped dust cloud remembering the cartoons you watched at their age.

You walked down the long corridor towards the light brown lacquered door which showed in golden numerals written the 420. Your shoulders visibly sank down, finally you were able to take a nap. The door opened and closed maybe a millisecond later. Seeing a wide back heaving some shirts on to the rooms ear chair made you catch your breath. His glasses missing and his usually kempt hair was now chaotically drifting across his forehead into separate directions. More importantly though, he was most likely about to put on a fresh shirt, and you stood across the dark brown carpet in the door with a perplexed face.

“Sorry!”, you yelled and closed the door to just sink down with it in your back. Xiaojun packing out his suitcase along his pullover wasn’t what you were expecting to after talking about lasagna and wanting to fall asleep for at least good 30 minutes to then decide if it’s worth it to start to watch a movie. Yet you were barely discussing the fact that he was in your room. Neither did it make sense nor were you able to really comprehend the situation right now.

The door opened and you jumped up onto your feet. “[Y/N]? Why were you in my room?”, Xiaojun quiet voice slid through the gap of the door. “I swear there’s an explanation to this. I think they might have given me the wrong keys or something like that, I didn’t look at you or anything-”, he interrupted your nervous chatter to push the door open and face your confused state. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out together.”, the usual quirky smile you normally saw when he was trying to cheer up one of his students appeared on his face. Your breath stopped at the together while a comfortable warm feeling churned in your stomach.

“Then let’s go downstairs and work it out with the staff!”, he gifted you another wink which not only gave you the final confidence to grab onto his arm before heading again into the elevator but to for the first time give him a wink back.

“The school only booked one room for the teacher. I can’t really do that much about it, most rooms are already full and other guests will arrive tomorrow, so I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”, the hotel worker returned to the computer in front of them. “What are we supposed to do now?”, you sighed and gazed at the visibly pondering man. “Honestly, no idea. There isn’t much we can do, so I guess we could talk about it in my room?”

The walk to his room had to be filled with an uncomfortable silence, neither you nor he were able to say something that made the current situation less painfully horrendous. Almost as if the newly gained confidence left your body, you didn’t even dare to make more than an unfunny joke about your nonexistent room or more like transferred room for another alone soul. His room was already coddled with the scent of freshly washed clothes along his close to quiet cologne. “So here we are.You take the bed and I’ll sleep on the ground.”

“This is so inappropriate, dear god.”, you started to sigh again caressing your temples. “Also, no, please take the bed, the school probably forgot to book another room because I said yes to this trip so late.” Even though Xiaojuns throat seemed to struggle a bit with his next proposition, it was still loud and clear what he said. “We can also share the bed... We’re two grown adults.” He laughed awkwardly; you were pretty much speechless.

“Yeah, of course. Two adults. Nothing to worry or think about.”, you tried to brush off any thought you could possibly have about your opposition. No thoughts about his warm breath in your neck while holding you loosely in his sleepy state to waking up to his beautifully messy bed hair in the morning.

“I’ll take a shower if you don’t mind, some of the children were kinda fussy today and I just need a few minutes.” You nodded and unpacked your suitcase, followed by changing into some comfortable shorts and large shirt.

The second you were done; you sank into the still cold sheets of the large bed. He didn’t make you wait for him very long, barely noticeable however his eyes rested on you when he entered the small apartment again.

Neither did it take too long to sit along with you on the bed. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with us doing this?”, his soft voice hit you unexpectedly. “I can also sleep on the floor, or we switch everyday to do it.” You shook your head simply and crawled up the bed to make yourself comfortable under the duvet. “I’m so tired, just don’t steal the blanket, okay?”, barely able to keep your eyes open you sank even more into the mattress.

You really thought it would be easy to sleep next to him, yet the thought of holding his face in your hands didn’t leave your mind. Even asleep he had a stunning presence around him. “[Y/N]? Do you like me?”, Xiaojun turned around to see your surprised expression. “Of course, I do. I just thought that because you were so good at everything, you did all of these things just to spite me.”, you quietly confessed. “[Y/N], I wanted you to like me. You’re a wonderful teacher and I really admire you. You’re so funny with the other colleagues and generally so, so gorgeous.” Xiaojuns eyes lingered on your lips. They stayed there.

“Can I kiss you?” You nodded. His lips brushed softly across your bottom one. You took the opportunity to gain closeness to his warm side before shifting your hands onto his back. Slowly you began to pepper small kisses along his jawline resulting in a small whine from his side. His hands started to wander across your waist to rest on your lower back and pull you in even closer.

Not a lot longer after he started to skim your neck with his teeth. You rested your head now in his freshly scented neck. Again, his lips on yours moving over to just behind your earlobe, nipping on it and breathing into your ear: “Do you want me to continue?” Still resting his soft lips on your ear goosebumps rose up your spine. Waiting for another hint of pressed lips against your skin your arms lethargically crawled up and grazed his cheeks.

“Ah right, the children.”, your voice hitched he was still so close to you. “We could discuss this maybe on a date?”, he looked almost hopeful when his dark and strangely staring eyes met yours in the dim lit room.

“Us kissing and almost doing the deed? Sure. I’m much better at physical presentations though.” You pressed a delicate kiss against his lips. “Since when so provocative?”

“You bring it out in me.” “I’m glad it’s me and no one else then.”, he smiled into the kiss he gave you now. Not long from this you actually found the peace and quiet to fall asleep in his embrace.

[penkraft123]

Do something Creative everyday

Creativity is important in whatever field you are in.  But how do you start thinking more out of the  box when you work in a very “uncreative” career?  Look no further���we’ve scoured the web for some of  the best advice on how to think more like the designers and innovators of the world, and how that  thinking can help you out in all aspects of life. I’m a research analyst, so the most creative I typically get in my day-to-day work is, well, that’s all!

5 ways to be more creative in a “no- creative” job:

1. A tiny notebook for your personal use: Not for planning out things or for a scratch. But solely reserved for jotting down quotes, stories, experiences, or anything that will make you stand still and read.

2. Schedule some time to be creative: It is just like scheduling time to meditate or gym. In other words, schedule it into your week maybe 15 minutes in an entire day! But carve out some time when you allow yourself to think wildly and freely, do some handiwork, or wander around somewhere especially inspirational.

3. Surround yourself with inspiration: If you’re feeling a lull in your creativity, maybe it’s time to get offline and create a physical space for inspiration. Just drab cubicle walls are a great canvas for this. By creating an environment that’s full of ideas, you’ll find it easier to come up with your own, without having to spend more time staring at a screen.

4. It’s time to change your routine: You remember commuting by train today morning, why not take a bus up a bus today. By creating an environment that’s full of ideas, you’ll find it easier to come up with your own, without having to spend more time staring at a screen.

5. Quell out the word “NO” from your thoughts: Next time your boss asks you to do something you’re not sure about, avoid the temptation to say no. Instead, push yourself to fake it until you make it and give it a try. Putting yourself outside your comfort zone will force you to get creative with tackling new challenges, and it may just open up doors that you would never have thought possible. Not to mention opportunities for promotion!

You don’t need to be an Artist to be creative. Just try out these simple ways to be more creative and see how your life takes a turn around.

Penkraft conducts classes, course, online courses, live courses, workshops, teachers’ training & online teachers’ training in Handwriting Improvement, Calligraphy, Abacus Maths, Vedic Maths, Phonics and various Craft & Artforms — Madhubani, Mandala, Warli, Gond, Lippan Art, Kalighat, Kalamkari, Pichwai, Cheriyal, Kerala Mural, Pattachitra, Tanjore Painting, One Stroke Painting, Decoupage, Image Transfer, Resin Art, Fluid Art, Alcohol Ink Art, Pop Art, Knife Painting, Scandinavian Art, Water Colors, Coffee Painting, Pencil Shading, Resin Art Advanced etc. at pan-India locations. With our mission to inspire, educate, empower & uplift people through our endeavours, we have trained & operationally supported (and continue to support) 1500+ home-makers to become Penkraft Certified Teachers? in various disciplines.

[justabstractthings]

Wisteria | Shinso x Reader

Pairing: Shinso Hitoshi x Reader

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Hello everyone! I’m super late but here it my part for the Flowers bnharem server collab! Please don’t forget to check out everyone’s pieces because they are amazing and everyone worked really hard on them! I hope you enjoy every single one of them!

Wisteria signifies obsession, passionate love, longevity, and immortality.

The Wisteria Maiden: Fuji Musume (“Wisteria Maiden”) is a famous classical dance from Japan. The story begins in Otsu, a city famous for its painting. People would stroll along the streets admiring the artisans’ paintings. A painting of a wisteria maiden caught the eye of a male passerby. The Wisteria Maiden became infatuated with him. She became so infatuated that she came to life and stepped out of the painting. She wrote letters to her love; however, they go unanswered. Eventually, sadness and despair take over the heartbroken maiden and she returns to her painting.

Pebbles crunched under your feet as you trekked through the never-ending tunnel. Parents pulled their children along the path. Old and young couples strolled hand in hand. Most visitors had their phones out, taking pictures of themselves or the enchanting scenery. Nobody paid any mind to your meek form as you hugged your crossbody bag close to your heart.

Your eyes trailed up the sides of the tunnel until it reached the lavender and lilac hues that dangled and covered the entire structure. A deep breath introduced a sweet familiar scent as it wafts through the air. It provided a sense of calm through your body as you continued your journey through the fairy tale like surroundings. 

With a smile on your face, you reached into your bag and pulled out your weapons of choice: a sketchbook and a pencil. When inspiration strikes, you are not one to back down from a challenge. Most people prefer to capture their inspiration with their phones, but it never compares to the brush of a pencil as you transfer the beauty of nature from reality to the sketchbook on your arm. 

Even with the crowds of people walking along the path, this was where you were most at ease. Surrounded by the blossoming flowers as they dangled along the ceiling. Their white, lilac, and lavender colors promised tranquility as you continued to sketch a life-like portrait of their beauty. 

Unfortunately, you were forced out of your reverie. A sharp jolt from your back caused you to drop your tools, your calm mind forced into a state of surprise and fear. 

“Oh sorry,” a deep but weary voice caused you to turn, sketchbook forgotten for just a moment. He looked confident but unsure. His shoulders squared back and hands buried in his pockets. Caring but aloof eyes diverted away from your face. But what stuck out to you the most was his unruly hair. His deep purple locks stood out in contrast to the shades of lavender that surrounded him like a halo. 

Another sight to capture. 

Your heart hammered against your chest. Hands shaking as the need to sketch overpowered your initial surprise. Before you could reach for your fallen sketchbook, the boy leaned down and grabbed the book off the ground.

Anxiety washed over you like waves violently crashing against the shore at the thought of another person seeing the sketches you had hidden in your book. But he never gave a second glance as he promptly placed the book in your hands and silently continued his stroll.

It took you a second to jump back into reality. Without another thought, you quickly grabbed another pencil and furiously sketched the boy. Afraid that a few more seconds would cause you to forget his features. With each stroke of your pencil, it was like the boy never left your sight. Details ranged from his gravity-defying deep purple locks to the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes. Here he was. Brought to life against the soft surface of your paper. Immortalized through your art.

A soft breeze blew through the tunnel causing the flowers above your head to sway to and fro. Your eyes trailed toward the direction that the purple haired boy disappeared. The whispering wisterias softly promised against your ear. You would see the boy again. One day. But for now, you had your sketchbook nestled against your arm.

The next day, you found yourself sitting under the towering form of a wisteria tree. Its looming branches and hanging flowered vines created a lavender curtain between the enchanting tranquility and the never ending harsh reality of the world.

Last night, your sketches ranged from the wisterias to the mysterious boy. Your wrist ached, evidence of the multiple completed sketches contained in your book. Shades of purple occupied your mind. Usually, your mind would stop racing after a few sketches throughout the day. Since the day before, your thoughts never diverted away from the purple-haired boy. 

You flipped through your book until you found another sketch of the mysterious boy. It was a bit difficult but you tried to imagine what he would look like with a side profile. His purple eyes stared off into the distance with wisterias blowing in the background. You captured the inquisitive look in his aloof eyes. You ripped the page off the book and flipped it towards the back blank page. You scribbled a few words.

Enigma. An uncaring presence on the outside, but with a thoughtful and kind heart. An enigma.

As an artist, you understood the importance of being able to capture the very essence of your piece even with just a short amount of time to study it. Under your eyes, they become an open book. However, he was a puzzle. And you spent all night piecing him together to understand how his outside appearance contraindicated his inner thoughts.

But it would do you no good to dwell on him further. Today was another day of enjoying the wisterias blooming around you. You flipped to a new page on your sketchpad as you studied the tree’s hanging flowers above your head. They waved at you as you began to sketch their beauty.

“That’s really good.”

Your head shot up. You clutched your sketchbook close to your chest as you stared into the same tired and weary eyes from the day before. The purple-haired boy was crouched less than a foot away from you. His eyes trailed from the clutched sketchbook to your wide-eyed face.

“Sorry I scared you.” His baritone voice surrounded you like a warm blanket during the chilly winter. His small frown sent a pang through your heart. A deep need to see him smile overcame your previous alarm.

“It’s ok,” you murmured as you clutched the sketchbook tighter against your chest.

“Can I take a look?” 

Before you could even comprehend your next actions, you let out a small squeak, grabbed your belongings, and hurried away. Small droplets of water streamed down your face as the fear of revealing yourself became quite apparent. 

When you found a new wisteria tree, you leaned against its strong trunk. Your heart felt like it would burst out of your chest at any moment. Your chest tightened as you tried to catch your breath. You gulped down the fear that shook your very core. Eyes burning as the last few tears threatened to release themselves. 

You ruined your chance with the purple-haired boy. 

Fear overpowered your desire.

You dropped down onto the floor as your shaky hands grabbed another pencil from your bag. When you opened a blank page on your sketchbook, your eyes stared into the white abyss of the paper. Your hand immediately stopped shaking as you began to sketch out the boy’s face once more. He was so close that you were able to find more features to include in your sketches. His dark circles were deeper than you first thought. A bit more muscular but still lean. When he asked a question, he titled his head slightly towards the right. Almost like a cat. 

A light smile adorned your face as you looked into the unblinking dark purple eyes . You didn’t notice before, but he had white pupils. Enchanting just like the wisteria hanging above your head. 

“One day,” you whispered as a light breeze flew through the air. 

After a few minutes of rest, you decided that it was time to return home. As you flipped your sketchbook closed, you realized that one page was missing. The ripped page. You must have left it after running away. You quickly shoved all of your belongings into your bag as you hurried back. 

When you returned to the wisteria tree, the boy and your paper were nowhere to be seen. You searched around the area and there was no trace. Dread covered you like a blanket as you began to imagine the worst kind of reaction if the boy found your sketch of him.

Would he think you were a stalker?

Would he ever speak to you again?

Was that the last time you would see him?

You gulped down your fears as you began the trek back home. Sadness washed over you at the thought of the mysterious purple haired boy. Another inspiration lost in the wind. But now it seemed like you were the cause of his absence. 

Inspiration has never hit you this hard. Your heart raced everytime you sketched his feathers. It took all of your concentration to keep your hands from shaking as you brushed vibrant purple on the page. Finally, your breath hitched in your throat as you stared at the finish piece. Your cheeks reddened under his unblinking gaze. He never said a word. Never judged you. Never left you.

You passed through the never ending tunnels once more. It was later in the day so there were less people enjoying the wisteria blossoms. It was quieter. You listened to the whistling breeze as it blew through the tunnel. You reached above your head to softly caress the dangling flowers. 

They provided a calm presence to your aching heart. They would always be there. Forever and always.

When you turned the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks. There he was. The boy was still here, leaning against the cage wall that separated the tunnel from the endless greenery behind it. But what stuck out to you the most was the paper. That was currently in his hand. That he was currently studying.

You watched as he flipped the paper back and forth, going from the drawing to the words. A deep pang of fear pounds on your chest with each flip.

Then you saw it.

A smile.

You felt your cheeks reddened. Even though you’ve only met him twice, this was a rare sight to see. Every time you tried to sketch a smile on his face, it was tricky. It never looked right. Always looked out of place. It seemed that your creative mind could not even fathom what a smile would look like on his face. 

That is until now.

It was small. Anybody else would have thought he just stopped frowning. But you could see a small lift up the corners of his mouth, a crinkle on his nose, and a twinkle in his dark purple eyes. His face looked more relaxed. Still tired, but more serene. 

This was the last piece of your puzzle. Everything made perfect sense. Maybe he wasn’t much of an enigma as you first thought. 

But just as fast as his smile appeared, it vanished. The purple haired boy folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. He was gone once more.

You let out a deep sigh as you tried to control your fluttering heart. You pressed your hand to your face as you tried to hide your reddened cheeks and wide smile. 

He smiled. 

Your painting made him smile.

He liked your painting.

From that moment on, you vowed to yourself that you would see his smile once more. 

Your initial fear of revealing your art disappeared. It was overpowered by your desire and passion to see the purple haired boy smile and enjoy your paintings. You rarely shared your works with others, afraid that they may judge you or deem your paintings hideous. But he changed that. Seeing him smile at your painting made you want to show him more and see his reactions. 

Inspiration struck you once again. 

The very next day, you found yourself sitting under the same wisteria tree. Your eyes focused on the sketchbook sitting on your lap as you drew the crowds of people walking along the gardens. A young girl pulling her mother towards the hanging wisterias and pointing eagerly at them. An elderly group of ladies slowly walking through the path and enjoying nature’s tranquility. A young couple strolling hand in hand as they smiled at one another. 

As you were finishing up your outline, you felt a familiar presence standing above you. From the corner of your eyes, you saw him take a seat to your left as he silently waited for you to finish. You smiled as you studied the page. All it needed as a splash of color, but that could wait.

You looked up from your lap and gave him a small smile. 

The boy visibly gulped and looked away from your face, the familiar deep frown adorning his face. “Sorry about yesterday and the day before.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled as you reflexively hugged your sketchbook against your chest. The need to run enveloped your whole body, but you forced yourself to sit and stay. You didn’t want to ruin another chance with him.

He let out a grunt and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it towards you. “I think this is yours. I found it after you left.”

Your eyes blinked owlishly as you stared at the piece of paper. Your mind immediately thought back to his smile from yesterday. You shook your head. “Keep it.”

He nodded and shoved the paper back into his pocket. “It’s really good.” You look up at him in confusion. He coughed into his fist. “Your painting. It’s really good.”

You smiled down at your lap as you slowly released your constrictive hold on your sketchbook. “Do you, um, do you want to see?” With shaky hands, you revealed your latest sketch. However, you immediately regretted your decision. You bit your lip as you eyes trailed over the hideous mistakes that marred the paper. An awkward stance. An ugly smudge. An unfinished piece. But it was too late. Your sketchpad was already in his hands. You prepared yourself for the negative comments you knew would come your way.

“You’re really talented.” Your eyes widened in disbelief as you looked at the purple haired boy. While he appeared to give off an aloof presence, his enchanting eyes held a different meaning. What an enigma.

You smiled at him and quietly thanked him as you took your sketchpad back. You flipped to another page and ripped out your finished painting of the wisteria tunnel. He raised a brow as he watched you scribble something on the back of the paper. You folded the piece of paper and shoved it into his hand. 

By the time he opened the paper, you had your sketchpad nestled in your arm and bag slung on your shoulders. It was time to go. 

“Wait!” You turned back around and felt your heart skip a beat. There it was again. His smile. The wind blew a light breeze that caused the hanging wisterias to wave back and forth around both of you. But your senses were solely focused on his smile and that way it made your heart flutter once again. “Shinso. Shinso Hitoshi.”

You smiled back at him and made your way back into the garden. A silent promise was made under the hanging wisteria vines. A promise to see each other once again. 

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Hand-Me-Down Words

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1639

Summary: A publisher wants to print the Beth Harmon story, but Beth doesn't know how to go about writing a book. Luckily, she knows someone who does.

They want her to write a book. With triumph over Borgov behind her, Beth requires a new challenge, and with the payout from Moscow, she doesn’t need to enter any American tournaments for the time being. Tedious car journeys and rough hotel sheets combined in trips that end in prizes of piddly amounts aren’t in her future unless she wants them to be. Victory means control. Writing, writing should mean control too.

Except that Beth’s never done anything like this before.

Numbers are the Harmon language—hers and her mother’s. Expressions, equations, calculations, and chess. Even Alma made sense of life through budgeting. Beth’s first thought after meeting with the agent she selected to represent her and the acquisitions editor at the publishing house is, Thank god I’m already in New York, because she needs help here. She needs somebody who’s done this before.

Unsure how quickly or if they’ll fall into their old pattern of sharing the bed, Beth informs Benny that she’s buying him a couch. A couch which will really be for her. She rejects even the remotest possibility that she’ll ever again sleep on that stupid inflatable mattress, pretending not to get a cramp in either her calf or the arch of her foot (or both) when she had to work the damn pump every night to avoid his gloating smile, to perpetuate his mistaken understanding of it being a situation of him providing her with something instead of the opposite. She maintains that he did promise a couch and is therefore a boldfaced liar. Which she should have seen because, liar? Yes, of course. The man plays chess for a living. A face that can alternately frighten and reassure an onlooker is a necessity. Come stay with me at my apartment in New York while we’re both aware of your attraction to me. Frightening. Don’t worry, you’ll sleep on the couch and this arrangement will keep things platonic and focused on your chess training. Reassuring.

“I’m buying a couch for your living room.”

“No.”

Well, fuck him. Beth leapfrogs her original scheme and buys an entire apartment. Not a nice one—she still has the Lexington house to caretake and eventually reinhabit—but it is above ground. She insists it’s hers, a good investment, a base in New York for all of her future meetings with her agent and editor, until Benny gives her a look that has her raising her palms and halting her excuses. She never asks him to give up his place. When he walks into hers one day with the key she had made for him dangling from his finger and a box of possesses under his arm, she just scrapes her chair back from the table and shows him the space she left for him in the closet.

She thinks they might have sex the day she comes back from a publicity event (they’re drumming it up before she’s written a single coherent page) to find Benny napping on the couch with his hat over his face like a cowboy, instinctively pulling her close when she knocks it away and startles him awake. Or when he suggests that she begin carrying a knife too and jokingly taps her thigh when she asks where she’s supposed to conceal it. Or when he stumbles blearily into her room in the early morning because she’s crying tears of frustration over her typewriter and he wordlessly gathers her into a sleep-warmed embrace. Or when they quit acting like he’s a guest and he calls it “our apartment” for the first time.

Beth wants to charge through the book. She’ll write for hours at a time, answering questions only as they occur to her, the way she’s danced back and forth with her true competitors on the chessboard. But Benny has the wisdom of a published author here and ruthlessly edits these pages—verbally, never picking up a pencil. He pushes her to compose the questions ahead of time, allowing her to address them with equal weight. Also, to come up with certain themes or trains of thought that are vital to the forward energy of the book and capture the spirit of her play, which is really what she’s made this deal in order to describe. People are hungry to see chess through her eyes. They’ll pay good money for it.

Whenever they’re on the brink of an argument because Beth is hammering away at the typewriter while Benny’s trying to get to sleep, or Benny is being as pushy and transactional as her editor while Beth’s desperate for a little encouragement, one of them inevitably suggests a match.

Playing at home is helping to break his habit of wagering on games. She never says anything directly; progress seems to come more easily for him when he doesn’t feel watched, which she gets, from having people voice their concern over the tranquilizers. It’s been… well, since the night she decimated him and his friends at speed chess, that he thought he had a failproof method for beating her. He can’t afford to lose every game—he has to contribute to the household finances.

They play three games at once, on three separate boards. They play without a board, swapping moves as they eat lunch and people-watch on a park bench. They play blindfolded until they get into a fight because Beth isn’t familiar with the shape of one of his sets and thinks she’s been moving a bishop when her fingers really stuttered over the pieces to land on a pawn. (They remove the blindfolds after checkmate to see that pawn ‘checking’ the king from a diagonal across the board and Benny discounts the entire match as illegal.)

They play games that last a day or more, leaving notepads beside the board like they do at tournaments and checking each other’s over the hours for new moves before responding with slides and taps and exchanges of their own. During one of these, when Benny’s been taking forever to take his turn (because Beth has him pinned and he’s being stubborn about conceding), she comes into the kitchen to start dinner and sees him sitting at the table, staring at the board, still not making a move.

“You can get out of it,” she comments, standing next to his chair with her arms folded. She doesn’t really believe that and he knows it; she watches him shift irritably in his seat.

“I think I would’ve done it by now.”

His refusal to even try while she’s standing there watching (yes, she still loves to watch him play) makes her just as determined to beat her own white pieces back as she was formerly determined to beat him. She studies the board harder and it does take several minutes. Finally, she spots the move.

Without thinking, Beth drops down onto his lap and says, “Here,” as she reaches out and drags the king onto a new square. “It looks like an exposed placement, but it’s really the perfect bait to get white to rearrange its offensive, opening things up for a comeback by black. See?”

She turns her head and her heart swoops as Benny’s gaze strokes unhurriedly up her neck to her face. He blinks twice, quickly, like seeing her here is a surprise and a dream. Gently, he shifts her hips back a little, until she can feel the firmness at his groin. He stops sleeping on the couch.

With trimming and factchecking and too much coffee, her book is suddenly in its final draft, pressed back into her hands by the editor who’s probably really, really tired of reading about chess. Regardless, the woman still loves the book. Vibrantly, aggressively. The house’s whole staff does, the way they can only love something they’re publishing in a frenzy, before interest in the young female champion wanes. Beth is amazed to find that she loves it too. It has a lot of heart, she feels, between the numbers that have defined her career; though it isn’t one of the sections she’s been requested to rejig for this last edit, she finds herself flipping back to a page near the beginning, where she writes about going to her first tournament unrated. Though journalists have always been curious about the morbidity of the car crash and her orphanage upbringing, she doesn’t give up too much of that. The highs and lows of Methuen—Jolene’s resilience and the green pills’ quicksand—will go unprinted. Readers will have to search for the personal. It’s in the brimming praise of Mr. Shaibel that Beth fought to include, and the passages of effusive respect for Alma, who learned to both manage and mother her.

It’s in the dedication.

Beth carries a copy home from the first box of the first printing. For the moment, it’s precious, but soon those boxes will be shipped out to bookstores, where employees will stack and shelve and shoppers will recognize her name on the spine and go, “Oh, isn’t she the one who…?” She smiles to imagine it.

“Benny?” she calls into their apartment. “You home?”

She curls around him from behind when he raises a hand from the couch. He’s reading but he puts the book down to transfer his complete attention to her and she kisses him with her mouth so full of the delight of her accomplishment that they almost get carried away. Breathless, she draws back, then hands her work over. She watches eagerly as Benny turns the pages, stopping him before the introduction.

His name isn’t the only one on the list—compiling people worth dedicating her book to was an exercise in recognizing the luck of her life—but it is the last. The endgame.

…and to Benny, it reads. Let’s set it up. Let’s think it out.

[meowthefluffy]

Hi! I adore your art stile very very much and was wondering whether you could give some tips on coloring? I'm pretty good with a grafit, but give me some colored pencils and I'll mess up everything XD

Oh there’s a few ways you can color things with colored pencil !

First you can use line art (you can use pretty much any pen for this if you get a little creative) then fully erase the sketch(don’t color over regular pencil it doesn’t end well) then color it on top of the lineart. What you’re gonna wanna do when coloring with colored pencil is start coloring in one direction softly and go over it multiple times at different angles to get a more even look. Colored pencils are really good for pastels but it can be pretty tricky to build up a lot of color with them. So the layering method above is the best way I’ve found.(also keep each stroke really close together so it looks more even)

You can also go line less(tho this is a bit harder) by going over your sketch again on all the important lines again while pressing down very hard with your pencil so it indents the paper, then you erase all of the lines and go over the indents you made with colored pencil (this can make things look super soft and can also be really good for transparent things)

If you’re nervous about messing it up you can always make an easy copy of your sketch to color by covering the back of the paper in graphite and placing it on top of another paper, then you trae over your sketch while pressing pretty hard and the sketch will now be transferred onto new paper and you don’t have to mess up the original!

I hope this helps!

[mortedeveles]

Love Marks.

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend Shinsou Hitoshi begins to grow worried when you show up at school with scars and scratches on your arms and decides to confront you. 

PAIRING: Shinsou Hitoshi x gn!reader.

THEMES: humour, fluff, slight angst. [ONE-SHOT]

TW: brief mentions of self harm and abuse

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles.

REQUESTED

a/n:  thanks for request, sweet anon! i made this more like a one-shot, hope you enjoy! just a friendly reminder that my REQUESTS ARE OPEN! feel free to request any time! they’ll be closing in 17 days. as always, please leave a like, reblog, follow and/or comment if you enjoyed! 

''Morning!" you greeted Shinsou. He looked like he hadn't slept all night- which was probably true- and murmured a greeting back.

Your second year at U.A was nearing its end- Shinsou had transferred to the hero course a bit over a year before- and you had quickly befriended him when he joined Class 1B. Your friendship had slowly blossomed into a romantic relationship and you were proud to say that Shinsou had been your boyfriend for a couple of months. 

''G'morning,'' he replied in a low but raspy voice. Smiling, you pressed a kiss on his cheek and he wrapped an arm around your waist. The two of you walked together to class. Conveniently, your seats were next to each other so you bonded during class. 

It was summer and the strong heatwaves were seeping inside the classroom- you could feel sweat arise under your arms and on your forehead. 

You quickly shook off your school blazer- diverting Shinsou's and your attention from the lesson. With a content sigh, you leaned forward in your seat and returned your attention to the class. You didn't notice how Shinsou's eyes were pinned on your form, trailing over your scarred arms. His eyebrows furrowed. Both of your arms and hands were littered with small scars and scratches-  some old and others were still raw and fresh.

Concern and confusion flooded his mind- were you being abused at home? Or worse, were the injuries on your arms caused by self-harm? His heart dropped to the floor. How could he have known you for nearly a year and hadn't noticed you were suffering in silence? God, he felt like the worst boyfriend in the entire history of boyfriends.

The next classes flew by quickly- you had been so caught up with your studies that you didn't notice the abrupt change of your boyfriend's attitude until it was lunch. 

As usual, you sat at one of the tables with Monoma, Shinsou, and a few others from Class 1B, chatting and munching on your food.

The purple-haired boy's hand was in yours, clasped together on your lap. You unconsciously rubbed your fingers on his knuckles, chatting away with Kendo, oblivious to the dark and serious aura that surrounded Shinsou.

It wasn't until you laughed and playfully swatted Tetsutestsu's hand that your boyfriend snapped. The grip on your hand tightened painfully and you glanced at Shinsou. His jaw was clenched shut and his eyes were directly on you.

You swallowed nervously. Had you done something to anger him? The rest of your friends didn't seem to notice and continued blabbering. Silently, you slid out of the seats, tugging Shinsou and muttering a small 'excuse me' to your distracted friends. 

You lean towards him, caressing his cheek with your hand. 

The two of you walked silently towards a silent hallway. You swiftly inspect your surroundings and once you don't see anyone else, you let out a heavy sigh.

Shinsou is standing in front of you, motionless with a scowl on his face. His attitude his making your heart twist with worry. 

''Is everything okay?''

He closed his eyes and leaned into your tough. His hand wraps around your wrist as Shinsou exhales loudly. 

''Are you okay? Where-where did you get these scratches and scars from? Is everything okay at home?'' his eyes are swarming with concern and you can't help but giggle loudly. He stops his rambling and stares at you with slightly parted lips. Confusion takes over his features.

After a second or two, he opens his eyes and lowers your arm- but keeps his grip firm on it.

He gently turns it around and blatantly stares at the scars.

''No, I'm okay!'' you grin brightly and press a soft kiss on his jaw.

''These scratches are from my baby kitten, Jojo. We adopted him a few weeks ago and he's an absolute angel, although he's very playful and I end up with a lot of kitten scratches.'' There's a toothy grin on your face and Shinsou can't help but melt into your touch, sighing with relief. 

''Good,'' he presses his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. ''I'm sorry I overreacted. I was just worried.''

You smile and press a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. His eyes remain shut but a smile blossoms on his lips. 

''Don't be, 'Toshi,'' you softly stroke his purple indigo hair. ''Thank you for caring about me. Even though it wasn't necessary, it means a lot to me that you reached out.''

The two of you stand together in the empty hallway for minutes and Shinsou is the first one to pull away. There's a lazy smirk on his face- the lazy smirk that makes your heart race.

''You mentioned a kitten,'' he started. ''I think I'll need to see the little gremlin, just to make sure.'' 

You laugh softly and nod. Shinsou tugs you closer and pulls you into a delicate but invigorating kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist and he's pinned you against a locker, and you smile between kisses, spreading your legs and wrapping them around his waist. His arms lower to your bottom to hold you up against the locker. 

The kisses become sloppier and more intense by the minute and sent tingles towards your intimate parts. 

''HEY! Lovebirds! Lunch is about to be over, get back here! 1B cannot arrive later than 1A!'' Monoma's loud voice booms in the hallway and the two of you jump apart. You can feel your lips swollen- Shinsou's are in the same state as yours. 

''Okay!" Shinsou shouts in reply. He pulls his arms away but clutches your hand, shooting you a brief smile. 

''We'll be there.'' 

''You can come over after school to meet Jojo,'' you smile. ''That is if you're free today.''

Monoma huffs, shaking his head in disapproval as he walks around the corner. You burst into giggles and Shinsou's deep but warm laugh echoes with yours.

The two of you quickly rush down the hall, following the blonde.

Shinsou's hand squeezes yours. ''I'd love to.'' he smiles softly and there's a glint of excitement and adoration in his purple eyes that makes you smile widely.

                                     ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

After greeting your parents, you quickly tug Shinsou towards your room- where Jojo awaits for your arrival. You swing the door open and smile widely. 

''Hello baby!" you cooed, picking up the striped kitten in your arms. Jojo mews softly but his gaze quickly focuses on Shinsou, who's standing behind you. 

You giggle and pass Jojo to him and he quickly cradles him softly in his arms, smiling as the kitten meows again, his small paws reaching for Shinsou's face. There's a serene smile on his face- as if being with cats is being in his element- his comfort zone.

''You really like cats, don't you?'' Hitoshi shoots you a soft smile and nods, caressing Jojo's soft and furry face between his fingers. The kitten lets out a soft chirp and closes its eyes.

''C'mon, we should get started,'' you beckon him forward. The two of you walk towards your bed and pull out your school supplies- Shinsou doing so while a sleeping Jojo purrs in his lap.

''Hey 'Toshi, what did you get on question five?'' you nibbled on the eraser of your pencil. 

Shinsou raised his eyes. ''Oh, you got this wrong,'' he pointed towards your answer. ''See, what you have to do is...''

He continued talking but all you could focus on was his bright purple eyes- beautiful and rare like a precious rock. You didn't even notice he asked you a question until he placed a hand on your shoulder.

Shinsou laughed throatily and dropped his notebook, leaning towards you and softly kissed your jaw. You giggled at the sensations.

''Y/N?'' he repeated. A soft smile played on his face. ''Were you listening to me?''

With a sheepish smile, you shook your head. ''Got distracted looking at your pretty face.''

''Is that so?'' he murmured. ''Well then, I guess that you won't mind my pretty face kissing you.''

You laughed softly and buried your fingers in his wild hair. ''Not at all, 'Toshi.''

haven’t been writing lately ‘cause i’ve been tired, however i have some new projects that i’m working on! one of them being a tamaki amajiki x reader series, kiri x reader and bakugou x reader <3 stay tuned for their release! please leave a like, reblog and/or comment if you enjoyed! feedback and support are deeply appreciated <3 have a good day y’all!!

[threeletterslife]

Insurrection (It’s About Time)

→ [4/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: If you told Park Jimin he was going to fall in love with a young cult leader, he would've laughed. But honestly, who's laughing now??

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: 90% angst, 9.9% fluff, 0.1% crack | high school!au

→ warnings: death, mentions of suicide, academic dishonesty, cult-like activities, profanity, school threats (bombs & shootings)

→ wordcount: 18.3k

→ a/n: this is a story that is near and dear to my heart. it actually kind of hurt to write because a lot of these scenes are similar to my experiences or the experiences of loved ones. i’ve had this idea for almost two years now and i finally decided to write it out. i hope you enjoy (:

Jimin is punctual. In fact, he is on another level of punctuality. At any given event, he arrives at least fifteen minutes early. For what reason? His answer would be 'just in case.' There are a plethora of events that can go wrong, a multitude of catastrophes that can erupt in his face last-minutely. Jimin's not going to take any chances jeopardizing his own future.

Especially his future in education.

Much accordingly, since he is exceedingly punctual, Jimin can not—for the love of god—stand people who dilly dally. The atrocity of them to dare to be late and waste others' time!

This is the exact reason why he absolutely despises his calculus teacher.

I sacrificed my goddamn lunchtime studying for this exam. And now he decides to be late.

Jimin's hands shake violently as he brings up his notes to his face, eyes boring into the paper filled with equations and example problems. Hands clammy and sticking to the paper, he balances himself on the balls of his feet and rocks in an attempt to try to settle his spiked nerves.

This is definitely not a good way to start off finals weeks.

Jimin has exactly an 88.3% in AP Calculus BC, and a morbid B+ will do no good in his future—at least that's what the school propaganda and his parents say. He'll have to score extremely well on this fall semester's final exam, especially because his teacher refuses to round up the grades.

Goddamn. He's really late. Late to his own final.

Jimin starts biting his nails again. At this point, there isn't much nail to bite left, but he manages to gnaw at the skin around it. It's a small habit that goes far; he does it when he's nervous, but nail-biting always does such little to do away with his gargantuan amount of stress.

In frustration, Jimin lets out a massive sigh, clutching at his chest where his lungs threatened to collapse on him. His stomach feels tight and queasy, which doesn't have much to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten. He is just anxious. Unlike the others around him.

Next to Jimin, Jeon Jungkook, his friend, casually leans against the brick wall, eyes focused on his phone screen as he mumbles nasty profanities under his breath. "That's motherfucking right, die, bitches," he mutters. Jungkook moves his body along with the avatar inside his game. He's so into it that his eyes gleam when he reigns victorious. "Ha!" he screeches, throwing up his hands. "Fuck you, you cowards! I win!"

Jungkook finally looks up from his game and meets eyes with Jimin. He grins. "Hey, bro, wanna log on too?"

Jimin's mouth hangs open with a mixture of complete surprise and utter disapproval. "We have a final this period, Jungkook. Aren't you the tiniest bit worried?"

He regrets asking that because he knows the answer he's going to get.

"No, not really," Jungkook snorts. He looks back at his phone screen and hoots. "Fuck, yeah! He's not here yet! I think I can squeeze in another game."

If Jimin's parents knew that his friend—aside from his straight A's and musical accomplishments—played video games, namely Fortnite, to pass time, they'd probably transfer Jimin to another school. A school that could be worse than this one. Which might as well be a prison.

Jimin shakes his head, harshly gripping his notes and looking away from Jungkook. Jimin doesn't want to admit it, but he's jealous. While he's stuck having a mini internal breakdown over the teacher's tardiness, Jungkook's taking the extra leisure time to play some shitty mobile game.

It's unfair. Jungkook gets his straight A's without moving so much of a goddamn muscle. While Jimin, on the other hand, has to stay up until four in the morning every other day, studying or doing homework from the moment he's awake to the time he goes to bed. He will never understand why, despite his grueling efforts, that he has a fair share of B's in his transcript.

It's a shitty, unfair system. But then again, it was set up to be unfair, anyways. Here at Welton High School, every student has taken a rigorous entrance exam, of which only the top 25% scoring students are accepted. Every student is well above average—they are students from all over the world and have probably never heard the word 'average' spoken to them in their entire lives. Until they faced Welton, of course. Now of the top 25%, only 1% can truly be special.

Jimin sometimes thinks that when he was accepted to Welton, he must've been barely at the cut off line. He speculates that he must've been in the top 24.99%, and was very lucky that he wasn't waitlisted.

He worked twice as hard from freshman year until now, junior year, to be on level with the young, walking Einsteins of Welton. But no matter how hard Jimin tries, he has never been able to outsmart the intellectuals who were born to change the world with their IQ's alone.

Competition is way too fierce.

No, Jimin thinks. Competition is deadly.

And it is. Student suicides, school shooting threats (from the students), student protests... Teenagers crack under pressure. But what can Jimin do about it? The system's shitty, yes, but he has no choice but to follow it, or else the promise of a stable future goes down the drain and into the sewer. For that exact reason, Jimin studies like there's no tomorrow every day.

Wake up. Go to school. Eat. Study. Sleep (if he's lucky). Wake up (sometimes). And do it all over again.

So fine. Jimin's jealous of Jeon Jungkook. Because he doesn't seem to put in the effort for his perfect grades. And it irks Jimin. But it shouldn't. Jungkook's his friend, so Jimin should be happy for him.

It's hard though when the person you're closest to is so far beyond your league that you begin to think yourself inferior to them.

"Sorry, class!" Jimin's calc teacher huffs as he nearly spills over his coffee while skidding to a stop in front of the classroom door. "We've lost time for the final! Get in your seats, take out a pencil, eraser and graphing calculator! Be ready in your seats so I can pass out the exams!" he orders in a frenzy.

How can you be so irresponsible? Jimin thinks, glaring daggers at the back of his teacher's head.

He's almost blinded by rage until he realizes what he's really here for: to take the test. Right. His stomach flips at the thought. Jimin shoves his notes into his backpack, wincing when he hears some of the papers ripping.

Shit, this is the moment. He's been dreading this exact time for weeks now. Each step into the familiar class makes him feel like he's walking the plank, inching closer and closer to his impending doom.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Jimin feels a migraine creeping in already. I don't know if I can do this.

Next to him, Jungkook is still playing Fortnite. Jimin doesn't know if he should spitefully tell his friend to stop or to let him continue. God, it's not fair.

Jimin's teacher is all over the place, holding his cup of coffee while also carrying dozens of test booklets in the other hand. For a split second, Jimin wishes his teacher would spill his coffee on the tests. Maybe that would delay the final. Maybe Jimin would get his first stroke of good luck in the nearly three years of high school he had already faced.

But luck is not on Jimin's side today. It never was.

The test booklets make it out in perfect condition, and Jimin's slightest bit of hope is crushed when his teacher finally sets down his coffee on his desk.

"Get your tests! Come on, pick them up!" his teacher shrills. Jimin breathes in deeply. At this point, he's just going to accept his fate. He might as well accept a B+ in this class. God, I feel faint.

"Don't write on the test," the teacher continues. "The scratch paper is up here if you need it and—"

The loud, blaring fire alarm interrupts him. It echoes deafeningly through the class, the raucous noise piercing through Jimin's ears to such an extent that he covers them with his hands. Jimin shakes in his seat, making eye contact with Jungkook.

For once in his life, Jungkook looks confused in a class setting. 'What the fuck??" he mouths aggressively to Jimin.

What the fuck, indeed.

Sometimes, the administration liked to schedule secret fire drills to get the students and staff better prepared in case of a real emergency. But really, during finals week? When students are already nerve-wracked from exam season? God, they had no shame for fuck's sake.

Jimin's teacher sighs, running his fingers through his head of unkempt hair. "All sorts of things happening today," he mutters to himself. "Must be a mistake," he declares with an affirmative nod of the head. "Class, as I was saying before—"

"Holy fuck, the other classes are evacuating!" Jungkook shrieks, pointing out the classroom window. Sure enough, teachers are already herding their students outside to the evacuation areas on the soccer fields. "I don't think this is a dr—"

Before Jungkook finishes his sentence and the teacher disciplines him for his explicit choice of language, the intercom buzzes, momentarily halting the horrendous fire alarm. Everyone freezes and it goes completely silent. So silent that Jimin can hear his own heartbeat.

A loud crackle and another buzz ring from the intercom, then the principal begins to speak in a hurried voice: "This is not a drill. Please proceed to evacuate out of the buildings. Thank you."

The moment he finishes, the intercom crackles again and the fire alarm carries on.

Jimin's anxiety flies to the roof. Not a drill? What could've possibly happened?

His teacher looks almost as—or even more—shaken as Jimin and he yells panicked directions to the students. "I'll be the last one out! Meet me at our safety corner on the field!"

Jimin quickly finds Jungkook and the two of them walk side by side out of the building. As soon as Jimin can see the sky, he looks up instinctively to check for smoke. But there is none. In fact, the sky looks clearer than normal today.

"Do you even think there's a fire?" Jimin asks his friend. He almost lets out a scoff of disbelief when he sees Jungkook playing his mobile game again.

"No idea," Jungkook replies nonchalantly, jabbing at his screen with his thumb. "Don't think it's anything serious. Probably just a small fire in chem class. Nothing to worry about."

Jimin's still uneasy. "You don't think anyone's hurt, do you?"

At that, Jungkook hums, his forehead creasing slightly as he finally shuts off his phone and pockets it. "There's no ambulance," he points out. Jungkook turns to Jimin fully, grinning at him to Jimin's shock. "Loosen up, Jimin. This is junior year. We might have a chance at canceled finals because of this real evacuation! Now isn't that nice?"

"I guess..." Jimin mumbles. But I need the final to raise my grade...

It's strange to see his peers smiling and laughing as they walk side by side with their friends. It's almost as if the fire alarm isn't threateningly blaring in the background. Do none of them care that this could be a serious matter??

"By the looks of it, we're definitely going to skip the calc final today!" Jungkook shouts victoriously, pumping his fist in the air. "No more fucking math!"

"True..." Jimin admits nervously. "But he might have to take the final after school..." He's almost too embarrassed to say that he needs this final to raise his grade.

Jungkook snorts. "Welton's not allowed to keep us after school with such short notice," he says. "If things go right, we might not have finals for the rest of the day."

When Jungkook puts it that way, the thought sounds heavenly.

"Yo! Bros!" a familiar voice calls, breaking Jimin from his reverie. "Y'all okay? We could've literally died!"

It's Taehyung, Jimin's other friend. The only guy in the whole school who's unafraid to use the word 'y'all' and be judged for it.

"Man, I heard the girl's locker room caught on fire!" Taehyung announces.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. "Unless you were in there, how would you know?" he teases.

Jimin laughs as Taehyung huffs disapprovingly. "Some girls told me. I would never sneak in there," he pouts, crossing his arms.

"Really?" Jimin says. "How would the fire have started in there, though?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised to see what goes down in the girl's locker room," Jungkook says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"What went down so hard to cause a fire??" Jimin asks.

"Nah, don't believe him, Minnie," Taehyung laughs. "Jungkook probably sneaks in there from time to time to be a little perv."

Jungkook shrugs, unfazed by the accusation. He even plays along with it. "Well, I need something interesting to do in my high school career."

At that, Jimin and Taehyung shoot each other a look. Them and a majority of the students at Welton don't have enough hours in the day to study, let alone to seek for 'something interesting to do' in their high school careers. It's so like Jeon Jungkook, the genius, to say shit like this.

"Whatever, y'all," Taehyung says. "I don't even care what happened. We're still alive, you know? I'm just glad I'm missing out on that stupid physics final."

"Lucky," Jimin says. "I'm supposed to take that shit tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, if there even is a tomorrow," Jungkook says, scrolling through his phone. Jimin thinks he's playing some mobile game again, but he soon realizes he's reading something. "It's not a fire in the girl's locker room after all..."

The three boys immediately stop walking, Taehyung and Jimin looking over Jungkook's shoulder to read what was on his screen. It's an email sent from the principal to all attending students and their guardians:

Dear Welton Community,

Today at approximately 12:48 pm, an unidentified caller phoned in a bomb threat to Welton High School. The caller stated seven pipe bombs had been planted on campus and were going to detonate in 25 minutes. The Police Department was called and immediately responded. Along with them, the School Administration decided to evacuate all buildings and bomb-sniffing dogs were called to search the entire school. When they have completed their search, I will send out another message to our community with the all-clear.

Thank you.

Bombs. Bombs?!?! Jimin panics again. Actual bombs! Seven pipe bombs could do serious damage—maybe even decimate half of the population of Welton High. What if they go off? Will this really be the end?

"Well, that explains the excessive amount of helicopters flying above us," Jungkook says, shrugging.

Before Jimin can shoot his friend a look of utter incredulity, he hears the sharp voice of his calc teacher. "Jimin! Jungkook! What are you doing out of line? I'm taking roll!"

"The Grinch is calling," Jungkook snickers. "We'll see you later," he tells Taehyung who salutes the two of you.

"See you guys," Taehyung says before sauntering off to his physics class.

"Text us!" Jimin calls.

Taehyung doesn't turn around but gives two big thumbs up indicating that he had heard Jimin.

Quickly, Jimin and Jungkook get in line while their dratted teacher takes roll. Once they see that their teacher isn't eagle-eyeing them, they slip out their phones, opening their group chat with Taehyung. It looks like Taehyung had already sent them multiple texts. All cries of pity.

Group: dead men + kook

[half-dead cowboy]: y'alls

[half-dead cowboy]: literally save me

[half-dead cowboy]: idk anyone in this class

[half-dead cowboy]: keep me entertained

[half-dead cowboy]: don't leave me hanging

[half-dead cowboy]: guyds

[half-dead cowboy]: guys*

[nO yOu]: serves u right for deciding to take physics ii lmfaoo

[half-dead cowboy]: shut up kook

[half-dead cowboy]: where's my boi minnie when i need him

[lil dead man]: Shit Tae I keep forgetting to tell you not to call me that

[half-dead cowboy]: you know why?

[half-dead cowboy]: because you not-so-secretly lobr it

[half-dead cowboy]: ugh

[half-dead cowboy]: love*

[nO yOu]: how did u even get in welton tae lmfao u can't even spell

[half-dead cowboy]: no

[half-dead cowboy]: i can SPELL i can't TYPE

[half-dead cowboy]: there's a difference you jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: ARE YOU KIDDING ME

[half-dead cowboy]: jerk********

[lil dead man]: AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

[nO yOu]: i feel quite honored to b called a jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: stfu

[nO yOu]: no for real bro

[nO yOu]: thank you

[lil dead man]: Back at it again with the sarcasm Kook

[lil dead man]: Anyways what's the girl's locker room like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[half-dead cowboy]: not the lenny face

[half-dead cowboy]: please no

[nO yOu]: nO yOu

[lil dead man]: How long have you been waiting to say that

[nO yOu]: months

[nO yOu]: thanks for noticing. u my man

[nO yOu]: also if tae won't say anything bout the girl's locker room i will

[lil dead man]: What the fuck bro I thought you were joking when you say you knew the shit that went down????

[nO yOu]: lmfao i'm still jokin chillax minnie

[half-dead cowboy]: i hate you guys :((((((

[nO yOu]: damn that frowny face has 6 chins holy mothatruckafucka

[half-dead cowboy]: :(

[lil dead man]: That's more like it!!

[half-dead cowboy]: hold up hold up

[half-dead cowboy]: oh shoot y'all hearing this?

[nO yOu]: no?? we're texting? wE hAvE nO vOicE

[half-dead cowboy]: no you illiterate f*cks they just cleared the school the bomb threat as phony

[lil dead man]: Whew

[lil dead man]: I'm happy I won't blow up into smithereens but also pissed off as fuck that we'll have to live to take finals??

[nO yOu]: agreed, minnie

[nO yOu]: k but more importantly

[nO yOu]: tae did you just censor out a fucking cuss word

[half-dead cowboy]: i'm trying not to cuss as much anymore if you haven't noticed. but y'all make it f*cking hard. f*ck

[lil dead man]: We'Re sOrRy wE'Re bAd iNflUenCe

[half-dead cowboy]: :(((((((((((((((

[nO yOu]: 15 chins lets git itttt

[half-dead cowboy]: F*CK Y'ALL

It feels strange. The shortened school day had been so eventful... but also uneventful? Sure, there was a bomb threat, but it had been fake. Jimin thought a full-on Hollywood action scene would've commenced after the bombs detonated, but the bombs were never there in the first place. There weren't any finals either. All of them had been rescheduled to take next week, which was good news for most students.

It wasn't just good news, too. It was great news. Superb news. The best news students have gotten since they began attending Welton High School. Now, students are thanking the bomb threat for its rather impeccable timing. Some are even pissed that it hadn't happened earlier (so more finals could have been missed).

"We need to celebrate this once in a lifetime opportunity!" Taehyung announces as soon as the three boys are reunited. "It's not every day that a bomb threat cancels your finals!"

"We deserve a break, anyways," Jimin says. "I'm down. Kook?"

"Mm..." Jungkook makes an unintelligible sound at the back of his throat as he pauses his video game with the tap of his finger. "Sorry guys. Can't. Have to go somewhere."

"You?" Taehyung gasps dramatically. "Have plans?"

"And without us?" Jimin says, feigning a hurt expression. "Are you ditching us?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "No. I'm just... busy."

"Ha! Busy," Taehyung snorts. "Yeah, busy with that little sophomore girl you've been—cough—seeing."

"What the fuck," Jungkook scoffs. "How do you know about that?"

Taehyung opts not to answer the question, instead, he giggles. "It's a date, isn't it?" he sings.

Jungkook puffs out his cheeks in annoyance. "Fine," he says, slipping his phone inside his back pocket. "It's a date."

"Oh, we are so following you," Taehyung says.

"Don't you dar—"

"No, we're following you," Jimin grins.

"No, I swear to fucking g—"

Jimin and Taehyung are following Jungkook. The boy's surprisingly agile as he zig-zags around stumpy trees, tall bushes and overflowing trash cans. Sometimes, he quickly looks behind him as if to see if someone was trailing his back. Every time, Jimin's heart sinks with the fear of being caught, but Taehyung seems to love the thrill of the adrenaline rush.

At this rate, Jimin feels like an outlaw. But he's only just chasing his rather suspicious-looking friend. Or maybe he really wanted his relationship with the sophomore girl as a secret?

Or maybe there was no sophomore girl in the picture at all. Jimin's not too sure.

"It's as if he doesn't want anyone to know he's dating a teeny weeny 10th grader," Taehyung whispers, a mischievous grin stuck on his lips.

Yeah. If the girl exists. But Jimin doesn't say that. "I wonder who she is," he whispers back. "I mean, who on earth is worthy of dating our Kook?"

"My expectations for this girl are high," Taehyung snorts. "She better be the most intelligent girl I've ever—wait, what the fucK??"

The latter is more of a reaction. Taehyung grabs Jimin's arm, pulling him to take refuge behind a particularly bushy bush. He points at a rather unsettling scene unfolding before them.

Through the leaves of the shrub, Jimin can make out Jungkook, all right. There's also a girl—who might be a sophomore, standing confidently on a tree stump. Jimin doesn't even know if you go to Welton. But what makes the whole situation peculiar is that there are others—including Jungkook—gathered in this little half-forest clearing. And they're gathered around the tree stump in which the girl is standing on.

Jimin tries to make a rough estimate of the number of people—seemingly students because they're all wearing backpacks— in his head. Twelve? Maybe fifteen students? He's confused, furrowing his brows as he squints at them through the bush. "What's this shit for?" he whispers to Taehyung who looks equally confused.

"No idea," Taehyung mutters. "Looks like a cult," he snorts. "But it could be a stupid Fortnite club for all I know."

"I doubt that a club would meet at such a sketchy place," Jimin murmurs to himself.

There is something definitely fishy going on here...

Jungkook blends in way too easily in the crowd of supposed students. The only person that stands out is the girl. The one on the tree stump. She stands casually, favoring her left leg. She's petite, but her posture and stance emit an aura of valiance and authority. Her eyes seem to sparkle with determination and her lips are curled up in a happy smile. A... victorious smile.

"That's her!" Taehyung whispers aggressively. "The girl I've seen our Kook with! The little sophomore!"

Ah... She's a sophomore... Jimin nods, cocking his head as his eyes scan the group of students to see if he recognized anyone other than Jungkook. He sees a few seniors (that he can't quite remember the name of) and finds it weird that they're huddled below the sophomore girl as if waiting for her command.

Whoever she is, she's the leader. The president, maybe? Of whatever club this was? If it even was a club, that is.

Jimin's thoughts are proven when the girl clasps her hands together, taking a deep breath before bellowing out a "Thank you for coming!" She offers a friendly wave to everyone looking up to her (literally) in awe.

Jimin has never seen the genius himself, Jeon Jungkook, respecting an underclassman before. Even the seniors in the crowd look at the girl approvingly. As if she were a queen and not just the president of a small club.

The girl speaks again in her light, lilted voice, turning to a lanky boy with unkempt blonde hair covering his eyes. "Yoongs! Attendance, please?"

"Perfect attendance, Y/N!" the boy deemed as Yoongs reports back to the girl. He winks. And she—Y/N—blushes.

Jimin frowns. What was going on???

You giggle, looking fondly at Yoongs before returning your attention to the rest of the crowd. "So, our experiment worked as expected," you say, shrugging rather casually. "I did feel bad for wasting people's time..." you trail off, unsure.

Experiment? Jimin feels chills run down his spine when he realizes you probably mean the bomb threat.

"It was worth it, babe!" Yoongs calls from the group.

You smile. "It's always worth it," you reply. "I'll make today's meeting short for those of you working on college apps and the others of you participating in competitions."

You're so casual in the way you speak—as if the people you were looking over were your friends. But you're also entrancing. As if everyone else has to be silent to hear what great words you have to say. And apparently, you have a lot on your mind to share.

"As I always say," you start, "never waste your time on your grades. They don't define you. Nor will they shed a light on the person you are inside. Nevertheless, everyone here should have straight A's..." you smile, looking over at Yoongs. "A round of applause for Yoongi's excellent coding skills for which we would've never been able to pull this off without them!"

The crowd erupts in enthusiastic applause, leaving Yoongi beaming from his proud accomplishments.

You wait for the crowd to simmer down before speaking again. "We tricked and cheated the system," you admit. "You might have doubts about that. Morality and integrity may play into your thoughts. But," you take a dramatic pause, "how moral are grades, really? They're tools for adults, which is as far as it goes. Teachers corrupt the system, watch silently as all hell breaks loose from the intense student competition... They make it a game. They know you'll do anything to get the letter grade you want," you take a painful breath. "We're only fighting against something that is as equally as or more morally ambiguous. The world cares about you as a human. They won't care about a robot that spits out impeccable grades but has no soul, no passion, no life. They want you at your best—what you can do that will benefit others. We don't need to take part in something as trivial as our high school grades, do we?" you smile as the students around you cheer.

"Of course... college is a different story. Depending on the college you go, that is..." you trail off. "When you start to learn about things that you have a genuine interest in, that's when grades might matter. But for now, struggling this hard on obscure subjects that you'll never touch again after graduating from Welton? I say it's a good thing we're cheating the system. How great was the system anyway to have contributed to three student suicides in the last two years?"

There's a collective murmur as students nod their heads.

"A moment of silence for Heegyung, Bonsoo and Chaewoon, please," you say, voice barely above a whisper but everyone hears what you say and they all bow their heads down to obey. You, yourself, close your eyes. Your face is etched with pain and actual remorse, which makes Jimin feel a little guilty he wasn't truly mourning the students' deaths.

After a few minutes pass, you clear your throat, blinking your eyes open and waiting for the other students to look up at you again. "Ah, yes," you say. "Thank you for the short mourning period we were able to squeeze into this meeting... But now to get to the purpose of this gathering," you pause for a split second before continuing again. "The finals you will have to take next week shouldn't be as stressful as other school days. Apply our methods and you'll be fine. If you need extra help, text me as soon as possible." You pause again, but this time, it wasn't to gather your thoughts, it was to shift the mood of your speech. A bright grin settles on your face.

"Now, for the moment we've all been waiting for!" you exclaim. "Let's give a special round of applause for Jeon Jungkook and Min Yoongi for their collaboration on this excellent evacuation plan!"

The crowd does more than applaud. Students whoop, yell and chant their names. But Jimin's not in a celebratory mood.

Jungkook did what?? Jimin shoots Taehyung a panicked look. It was one thing to realize that this group of students probably somehow organized the bomb threat, but it was another thing to realize that Jungkook was a large part of it.

"It was extremely difficult to create an automated call that couldn't be traced—" you begin.

"Eh, it wasn't that bad," Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly. "Child's play."

You laugh, eyes twinkling as your turn to Yoongi. "Well, thank you," you say. "Ah, and as for Jungkook, thank you for volunteering to use your voice to record the bomb threat. It must've been so nerve-wracking."

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. "All I really did was speak into a mic. And we totally distorted my voice. Severely fucked up the frequencies and all that."

Jimin's blood runs cold. He looks over at Taehyung with his eyes wide. His friend isn't faring any better with his jaw clenched and fists tightened.

"It took an immense amount of courage to sacrifice your voice for an experiment like this," you say, smiling down at the older boy. "Oh, yeah! How's your album going, by the way?"

Jungkook beams. "It's going great!" he says happily. "I've been having so much fuckin' time to work on it that the whole process has just been insanely smooth."

"Love that!" you say. "Productivity at its finest, right?"

Everyone nods eagerly.

"Well!" you sigh, placing both of your hands on your hips. "The meeting's officially over, now! Please text me your work progresses, guys. They're due before midnight. Thank you so much for coming!"

"Thank you for hosting it, babe!" Yoongi says, rushing over to help you off of the tree stump by offering his hand. You take it gladly, stepping back on the dirt ground.

You start waving at the students who begin to file out of the meeting place. When Jimin sees them start to move towards him and Taehyung, he grabs his friend's arm. "Shit, Tae, we've got to—"

"Hey, Jungkook?" you call. The boy turns around, looking at you expectantly. "Can you please tell your two friends that hiding behind a bush is quite ineffective?" You giggle when Jimin falls to the ground in shock. "Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, was it?"

Jimin's in shell-shock, unable to move or dust off his pants. How the fuck did you—

"You can come out of hiding, you know," you reassure them with such a honey-like quality to your voice that it's almost impossible to resist. "We don't really bite," you giggle. "But... I mean, Yoongi might," you tease, earning a flirtatious shove from the boy.

At your invitation to quit hiding, Taehyung jumps out from behind the bush, dragging Jimin along with him. "Who the fuck are you and how do you know our names?!" Taehyung roars.

Guess he already gave up his no-cussing streak, Jimin sighs. But he's also glad that he's not the one who has to stand up for both of them.

"Don't be so rude, you ass," Jungkook scoffs. "Motherfucking stalkers. I told you not to follow me."

Stalkers?? We were just looking out for you! Jimin thinks. "We're sorry, Kook," he manages to say. "But you lied to us! And more importantly, you obviously haven't been telling us things."

Jimin's frankly hurt by his friend's lack of honesty, but it seems so that Taehyung is more vocal about it.

"Yeah, Jeon Jungkook, what the fuck?" Taehyung yells. "You're a cheater!" he accuses Jungkook, stepping closer and poking at his chest harshly with his pointer finger. "You're a fake! You're a bomb threatener!!"

"Wait a minute!" you cut in. "Let's not get into accusations like that so early. Jimin, Taehyung, I—"

"How do you know our fucking names?!" Taehyung screams. "We don't even know who you are, you cheater!!"

"Watch it," Yoongi says dangerously. He tries to take a step forward, but you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.

"I'm Y/N," you say. "We're all students of Welton, so there's no reason for the animosity. Besides, I memorized the yearbook." You shrug, but you gesture apologetically to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'm very sorry, but I didn't invite you two to join our little group for a major reason. Of course..." you trail off. "Now you have to join... For safety reasons."

"Little group?" Taehyung snorts. "Where did the specificity go?"

"Hmm," you hum. "What do you think about a school revolt?"

Jimin does not like the idea of a school revolt at all. It sounds stupid. Students would never be able to pull it off. Even Taehyung, who's usually more open-minded than Jimin, seems skeptical.

You ask Jimin and Taehyung to meet up in Panera, later that day with Jungkook, to discuss the specifics. By the time Jimin and Taehyung get there, you and Jungkook have already saved a corner spot in the cafe.

Jungkook's eating pieces of sourdough bread while you sip your frozen lemonade. It looks to Jimin and you and Jungkook are getting along as both of you gesture wildly as you speak. You even let out a large laugh after Jungkook says something funny.

Jimin feels weird interrupting the already happy conversation, but Taehyung seems to have no problem. Taehyung slides into the seat next to Jungkook, leaving Jimin to sit with you.  Jimin suddenly feels very self-conscious about himself.

"Glad you two could make it!" you chirp, setting down your frozen lemonade. "Want anything to eat or drink? They have hibiscus lemonade here and it's literally amazing!"

"I'd rather you cut to the chase," Taehyung says, frowning as he folds his arms.

Jimin agrees with a short nod.

"Oh," you say, "sure!"

"You said something about a school revolt," Taehyung says. "Explain."

"God, would it kill you to say please?" Jungkook rolls his eyes. "She's doing you guys a fucking favor. Man, if Yoongi was here, he'd whoop your asses."

"It's fine, Jungkook," you say. "I get how confusing this can be... Our little group has one goal," you start. "I want to help struggling students. You know what Welton is... Ruthless competition. Kids cramming without actually understanding the material. Rote memorization... Wasting time by doing four pages worth of math homework every night... Way too specific reading quizzes that have nothing to do with the storyline of the novels..."

The more you talk, the more Jimin begins to relate.

"It's horrible," you sigh. "That they're making us become a servant to the school. They use the students to boost the credibility of the teachers. They thrive off of our hard work, you know."

"They're bitches," Jungkook snorts. "Never really care for us. Remember Chaewoon? He told his counselor about his suicidal thoughts and she didn't do shit. He might still be alive with us if the counselor cared."

You nod. "Yes, our mental support system at this school amongst the grown-ups is preposterous," you say. "There are too many problems with Welton. And I reach out to deserving students to offer them a solution."

"A solution?" Jimin mutters.

You turn to him, nodding politely. "Yes! A solution. Students have dreams, Jimin. Taehyung, don't you ever wish you could be putting in your time somewhere else instead of studying for a subject you don't care about?"

Taehyung nods. "Who doesn't wish that around here?"

"Exactly," you say. "I'm offering you, Tae, and Jimin a great chance to follow your dreams. High school is when you feel the spark growing inside you. The spark is an extracurricular or a hobby of some sort that you've always loved with your whole heart. You probably had to sacrifice a lot to join Welton's elite debate team, right Taehyung?"

"Never even liked debate that much," he answers. "I had to quit theater for that shit."

"And you couldn't do both because...?" you say.

"Because the debate coach told me theater would interfere with the debate practice schedules," Taehyung says. "And he said that debate is much more intellectual than theater. He said that I won't be able to balance my studies with both debate and theater."

"Exactly," you say. "It's utter bs, don't you think? Why do we have to sacrifice our hobbies, our passionate dreams to do what some adult tells us to do? You do realize that they put down the arts because they want their smartest students participating in their intellectual or STEM-related activities? The more intelligent students that are in these activities, the higher the school rating skyrockets. It's purely selfish reasons."

"That is utter bullshit," Taehyung scoffs. "You're right. That is pretty fucking selfish."

"Right," you say. "I want to teach you, Tae," you say, looking the boy dead in his eyes. "I'll take care of your grades. I'll teach you the best ways to get away with outsmarting the teacher. I'll plan class distractions—like today—and if things still don't go well, my boyfriend—you met Yoongi today, right?—can make a last-ditch effort to hack into the grades system and work his magic. You'll have extra time to do theater—at school and at other professional intern sites. How does that sound?"

"Fuck," Taehyung curses. "That sounds fucking great when you put it that way."

Jimin's not so sure. "What if someone snitches?"

You laugh. "Oh, they wouldn't," you say. "I have eyes and ears everywhere."

"She does," Jungkook says. "There's no one she doesn't know. C'mon she's the first sophomore Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper. You'll be safe if you join."

"You're juniors as well," you say. "There's a lot of pressure to do perfectly in school now. And you'll be in college before you know it. I reckon that you want to know your ride-or-die interest before you attend university."

Jimin looks down at his hands. This is wrong, he tells himself. But it'll do so much good. Not moral good, of course. But still.

Taehyung already seems sold on the idea, a fast grin spreading across his face as he nods his head enthusiastically.

You notice Jimin's skeptical look. "Hey, I'm gonna run to the bathroom," you say. Jimin gets out of the seat to let you through, and as soon as you're out of sight, he collapses on the seat and groans.

"Great, she's fucking gone," Jimin says. "Tae, you can't possibly think this is a good idea."

"What do you mean? It's a fucking fantastic idea!" Taehyung says. "Dude, don't you understand? I'll get to do what I love without sacrificing my grades! Once in a lifetime opportunity, bro."

Jungkook snorts. "Yeah, well, I have my music and you have your acting shit, Taehyung, but Jimin doesn't know anything other than the pages of a stupid fucking textbook."

It hurts because it's brutally true. Jimin bites his lip and shakes his head.

"Fifteen people is awfully small for a cult," Jimin grumbles.

"It is not a cult," Jungkook argues, crossing his arms over his chest. "And no one knows how many students are actually involved except for Y/N. She figured it'll be safer that way."

"Bro, I'm in," Taehyung says. "I was in like seven minutes ago."

"Good choice, man," Jungkook says, slapping Taehyung's back approvingly. "And honestly? Jimin? You don't exactly have a choice. You have to join."

Jimin scoffs. "Why?"

"Because you know this group exists and it's likely you'd snitch on us if you don't get anything out of it," Jungkook says, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "Y/N's being really generous with you right now. You're basically going to freeload."

"Freeload?" Jimin says, glaring at the man with intense ferocity. "I didn't ask for any of this!"

"Hey, it's okay!" Taehyung says. "You can just find some hobby or something. So you're still following protocol."

"Um, easier said than done," Jimin mutters.

It's silent after that as Jimin sulks in his seat and Jungkook and Taehyung awkwardly watch him do so. You come back from the "bathroom" (you were gone for much longer, so Jimin suspects you were just giving them time to discuss) only to see the three boys sitting in complete silence.

You cock your head. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Taehyung says. "It's final. Jimin and I are joining!"

"Great!" you say, smiling as you clasp your hands together. "Oh, you'll have to get started on your theater process right away," you tell Taehyung. "And Jimin, it's fine that you don't know what you like now. You can hang tight until you find something, all right?"

Jimin lets out a grumbling, "Yeah, sure."

"It's set, then!" you say, sipping your not-so-frozen lemonade drink. "Thank you, Jungkook. I owe you."

"No, it's fine, really," Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. "Just doing my job."

You smile at him fondly before turning to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'll text you the details pertaining to each of you, okay?" You glance down at your watch and gasp. "Oh, shoot, I'm late for my date! Um, I'll see you three at our next meeting? Or at school. Bye, guys!!" With that, you grab your drink and practically fly out of Panera, never looking back once.

Jimin and Taehyung are a bit dumbfounded.

"I gotta go work on producing my album," Jungkook says. "See you guys, too?"

"Yeah, duh," Taehyung grins as Jungkook slides out of the seat. "You basically saved our lives."

Jungkook snorts. "Sorry I didn't say anything about it earlier, by the way," he says. "We're not allowed to talk about it to anyone. Mostly because we don't really know who's involved."

"Nah, it's fine, man," Taehyung says, shaking his head. "At least we know now, right?"

Jimin stays quiet.

"Well, see you," Jungkook sighs as he glances at Jimin but doesn't say anything further. He leaves quickly.

"God, Jimin, he's your friend," Taehyung says as soon as Jungkook turns a corner and is no longer in view. "You shouldn't be that cold."

"Oh, really?" Jimin says. "He was living lavishly all this time and didn't bother saying anything!"

"He just said he didn't have a choice, Jimin!"

"God!" Jimin says, running his hand through his hair. "Now how are we any different from the motherfucking cheaters out there?"

Taehyung frowns. "I don't mind cheating. Y/N didn't even call it cheating. She called it 'outsmarting the teachers.' And besides, we have a reason for it too."

Jimin shrugs. "Yeah, whatever..."

"You'll come around," Taehyung smiles, shaking his head. "But what the heck do you think Jungkook meant by saying no one knows who's in the group??"

"No idea."

But it soon becomes quite obvious when Jungkook escorts Jimin and Taehyung to their first official meeting. Jimin and Taehyung gape as they realize no one they saw last time was here. You must hold several of the same meetings. All with different people.

Now it's for sure that nobody knows how many people are in the goddamn cult except for you. It dawns on Jimin that he's getting himself into something much, much larger than he had previously believed.

You've created quite an advanced system. So advanced that it took Jimin a while to get used to. It was a cheating plot so elaborate and well-planned that it almost didn't feel like cheating. Instead, it was like embarking on an evil heist in the adult world.

You had a master plan behind every single class in Welton. Jungkook said you harbored hundreds of paper documents (not digital, or they could be hacked) that had information about every teacher, every subject in the school. From there, you would investigate each subject and find the students who were genuinely interested in pursuing it in the future—the experts. Those students would then be in charge of making and organizing all of the class lecture notes; it would be their responsibility to fully learn the material and redistribute it to the other students who, more or less, didn't give two fucks about the class.

Homework was rotated amongst the "expert" students, and they'd send the other students the answers. (But, of course, there were always different versions of the homework so teachers would never suspect.)

Tests weren't a problem either. Somehow, you'd get a copy of every test or quiz before the exam date and distribute it to the experts. In a day's time, the rest of the students would obtain the answers (and work, if it was a math-based test). But to ensure that not everyone got the same exact score, you'd implemented quite a simple but complex system.

Test grades were higher for experts (especially experts who were able to make large progress on their personal projects). From there, the non-expert students were given scores solely based on how well they have updated their progress to you, and how much they have advanced in their extracurriculars.

The hardest questions on every exam were hand-picked by the experts themselves. And only the experts were allowed to answer the question correctly.

Essays were different. Not everyone read the given book, but the experts would always be ready for all kinds of topics—the holy grail was definitely the database of all past Welton essays that you handled yourself.

In that way, you had every single class in the whole school covered for the students in your group. (Which was ultimately a huge bummer for the students who had no idea of the behind-the-scenes 'outsmarting' that was going on.)

Jimin thinks the system is good. Could be better, but it works.

He's just pissed that he never has any progress to report back to you, so he always ends up scoring a high B on exams. It happens to be a pretty good deal, though, factoring in the fact that he didn't study for them. Scoring B+'s on exams was enough to keep his grades at an A.

But sometimes, it just feels wrong. Especially on his physics tests (where the class average is 60%, but he ends up with a raw score of 88% without having to put in the minimal effort). No matter how many times you call the action 'outsmarting the teachers,' Jimin thinks he's just plain cheating.

He's been wanting to report it for a while... Just because the little angel sitting by his shoulder is telling him that this is unfair to all the other students who were truly trying but weren't even getting close to the scores that Jimin was getting just by copying others' answers. Jimin remembers when he had been in that unfortunate position. When he'd watched students do suspiciously well on certain subjects while having time to do other activities, while he, himself, had to study for eight hours straight to get a C on the test.

But Jimin's not part of that unfortunate group of students. He's now pretty damn fortunate.

And he can't stay fortunate if he reports the cheating. Jimin's desperate. He's desperate to obtain decent grades without spilling countless tears and studying from early morning to the next morning after. It's the only reason that he hasn't reported your little group yet.

Besides, Taehyung is seemingly adapting better to this non-student-like lifestyle. He's already joined two theater productions and is applying to work as extras in films and such. And Jungkook's been continuing to work on his album too.

Jimin's friends seem to love being a part of the group.

Maybe Jimin's just salty because he hasn't found his passion yet. Though he doesn't know everyone in your little school cult, it seems like everyone involved in it has a passion, a dream they want to reach for, except for him.

A part of him wants to find a hobby just to say he has one when someone asks. But another, larger, part of him wants a hobby because of greed. Finding a passion and pursuing it meant Jimin would get a higher chance of getting better test grades for texting you about his progress. But Jimin can't just latch on to any existing hobby... He needs some advice.

Well, you'd told him that he should come to you if he needed advice... It's weird to think that he, a junior, has to ask advice from a sophomore. But maybe he's that desperate.

You're usually in your own little private newspaper office (as the Editor-in-Chief). So Jimin decides to give you a visit. But when he walks into the room after school, he sees you comforting a crying girl. Whether she's part of the cult is unclear, but Jimin immediately discerns her as one of those band girls—with frizzy hair, leggings and a boxy t-shirt. The girl's crying so hysterically that Jimin feels uncomfortable intruding. He leaves without another look.

Crying girls are not a good sign; he'll just come back tomorrow.

When tomorrow comes and Jimin walks into your private newspaper room, there is no crying girl to his relief. You're on your computer, probably reading or editing some student-written articles. Jimin feels awkward disrupting you being so focused on your work, but the longer time he spends just waiting for you to finish, the more time he wastes.

So: "Um, hi... Uh, Y/N?" Jimin says. He grabs a chair and pulls it up next to you.

"Oh! Jimin!" you greet him, turning from your computer to face the boy in front of you.

"I came yesterday," Jimin says, shrugging, "but you were busy with someone else... I came back today."

"Ah, you mean Chunseo," you say, nodding. "She was having a hard time yesterday."

Jimin's silent, waiting for you to elaborate, but you don't. It becomes quite clear to him that you don't like to talk about others behind their backs.

"So, what are you here for today?" you chirp. "Advice? Questions? I know everything must be new to you, so I just hope you feel comfortable with the whole system."

"Oh, uh..." Jimin would like to tell you that you're doing a great job and that everything's going fucking great, but that's unfortunately not what comes out of his mouth. "I still don't know what to pursue. I mean, I have so much extra time on my hands now, but I'm just spending it on my phone. My friends have been advancing in their passions, but I have nothing... I was just wondering if you could um, help me? Help me find a passion, maybe? I don't know."

"Hm," you say, looking thoughtfully at Jimin. "I can definitely help you with that..." you trail off, looking Jimin up and down and cocking your head. Jimin thinks you're analyzing him—not just his physical qualities but his personality as well. He feels almost vulnerable under your gaze.

"Have you ever had any hobbies, Jimin?" you ask him.

"That's the thing," he sighs. "No, I haven't."

He looks so miserable that you have to place a comforting hand on his arm. "Hey, it'll be fine, Jimin," you say. "I'm sure it'll come to you one day. A hobby isn't something you should necessarily force out of yourself. When you feel a connection with an activity—when you aren't exactly looking for one—then that meets you've found your hobby. And if you really love this hobby, then it can grow to be your passion. You just need to be patient. Don't worry," you smile, "you'll find something."

Jimin glances at your hand on his arm and then glances up at your face. God, you have a way with words. He feels much better, even though you didn't exactly offer him a cut-out solution.

"Thanks," he says. "I needed that."

"No problem, Jimin," you beam. "I know not having a personal project to work on leaves you with the lower grades, but you're probably only at the A- ranges, right? That's not too bad," you say. "Hm, how about this?"

Oh? It looks like you're going to offer him a plan. So Jimin scoots closer to you on his chair and listens intently for your next words.

"You're a junior, and before you know it, you'll have to write your college apps. Maybe instead of spending time on your phone, you can start with your college essays now? Is that all right to suggest?" you say, cautiously. "It never hurts to get a head start, you know."

You're right. Jimin should probably be productive, just like everyone else in the group. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good idea, actually."

"Great!" you say, clasping your hands together. "And I really appreciate you coming here to tell me the truth. You'd be surprised that a lot of others don't do the same as you."

"Oh..."

"Yeah," you giggle. "Hey, what about this? We'll compromise. I'll ask my boyfriend to change something for you as a thanks from me to you for being open and honest."

"Really??" Jimin says, his eyes growing wide and a small smile appearing on his face. "Thank you!"

You shake your head. "No problem, Jimin. Good luck on your college apps!" you call to him as he leaves the room.

"Thanks!"

Wow.

Jimin's heard a lot of great things about you from his friends, but now he realizes they really weren't kidding. You're a leader, all right. But a balanced one too.

Not only did you offer him emotional support with your words of affirmation but also you showed him a solution—at least a temporary solution to his problem. And you're also incredibly generous as well.

Hm. Now Jimin can't possibly think to report your little cult. Of course, it's still half wrong, what you're doing... But after talking to you, after receiving your feedback and help, there's no way Jimin would be able to double-cross you. As weird as it sounds, you kind of have a nice smile, and he doesn't want to cause you stress or grievances that you're actively trying to avoid with your group. In other words, he doesn't want to be the cause of your frowning.

Jimin's never seen you frown before, but he doesn't exactly want to see it in the future.

"Damn, I was such a bad procrastinator before joining the student group! The study group? The group? I don't even know what to call it," Taehyung laughs. He takes a large gulp of his boba drink and continues, "I feel like being a part of this community is improving my lifestyle. Like seriously, though. I haven't had a normal or healthy lifestyle since eighth grade!"

Jungkook nods vigorously. "Dude, I know! I've never been this productive before I met Y/N! Doesn't it feel so nice to be able to dedicate time to your strongest fucking passions?"

"Duh!" Taehyung says. "Man, what if this makes me peak in happiness in high school?"

Jungkook throws his head back to laugh, but Jimin doesn't find it so amusing.

Instead, he feels a bit left out. While his friends were diving deep into their passions, Jimin had yet to find a hobby. "Why doesn't the group have a name, anyway?" he asks. "Seems kind of inconvenient."

Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at Jimin teasingly. "Because..." he trails off spookily. "A name can always be traced back to the source. Haven't you thought of that?"

"Apparently Y/N did," Taehyung snorts. "Sometimes I wonder how she's so big-brained. God has favorites, I'm telling you."

"She's a fucking legend," Jungkook says. "I would worship her if I wasn't so stubborn about holding onto my dignity."

Jimin laughs, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl doing so. "Too bad she has a boyfriend, huh?" he jokes. "Jungkook sounds like he'd totally hit her up."

"I do not!"

"Sure, bro," Taehyung snickers. "When you talk to her, your pupils dilate."

"They fucking don't!" Jungkook says. "I have my interests elsewhere. Thank you very much!"

"Another girl?" Jimin gasps, placing a hand to his chest in shock. "Who?"

"Not a fucking girl, you bimbo," Jungkook says exasperatedly. "My music! I have interests in music. You guys fucking suck."

Jimin and Taehyung spiral into a fit of laughter. And the teasing and back-and-forth passive-aggressive remarks continued until the boba cups were empty and the three friends realized they talked up enough of a storm.

It used to be rare to meet up like this—because Jimin and Taehyung would always be overwhelmed in schoolwork—but now that their academic life was taken care of by you, they've been able to give themselves healthy breaks.

Jimin feels refreshed albeit a bit tired after parting with his two friends. He decides to walk home because his mother would kill him if she had to pick him up from the boba place when he should be studying at home.

The outside air feels nice against his cheeks, and Jimin finds himself becoming much more attentive to his surroundings. Back when he was a full-time serious Welton student, he couldn't ever spare to look at the intricacies of the vicinity—he always had to jump straight to the point, skipping the little moments to shove his face into his textbooks. It's a nice change.

Jimin notices a whole bunch of stores and studios on his walk home and he takes the time to admire each logo and memorize each name.

Damn. I never even knew some of these places existed...

There's even a dance studio called Hart's Dance Studio that Jimin swears he's never seen. The logo is an eye-catching red with a silhouette of a ballerina jumping over the 'Dance.' Jimin finds himself staring at it. Then, his eyes gravitate to the glass walls where he can see the dancers just... dancing.

And a lot of them are good. Like dancing is as easy as walking to them. But an unmoving figure amongst the active dancers catches Jimin's eyes. When he squints to get a better look, he realizes the stationary figure is you.

You're furiously typing on a laptop, occasionally looking up to watch the dancers once in a while.

What are you doing there? From your skinny jeans and lace top, it doesn't quite look like you're there to dance. Maybe you have a sibling in dance class?

But then again, Jimin remembers that Jungkook had once told him in a hushed whisper that you are definitely an only child... only after you lost your older sister to suicide, that is.

So really, what are you doing there?

Jimin cocks his head at you but realizes how weird it is to stand in front of the studio and stare. So finally, he just walks away.

But you're quite the mysterious figure. You're the exact type of person who makes others want to get to know you. You have an open quality where everyone feels welcome to talk to you, but you're also enigmatic, refusing to tell people a lot about yourself. Jimin sometimes even wonders if he's ever seen you at school with the same friend group. It looks like you're always jumping around.

Maybe you don't like to get to know people in a deep way. It's possible that you're a fan of shallow relationships, which there is nothing wrong with, of course. But then again, you have a boyfriend, whom you seem to really like. You're very hard to crack.

And even when winter break comes, Jimin's still been wondering what you've been doing at the dance studio, typing on your laptop. He's run all kinds of scenarios in his head. Maybe your mom works there? Or your friend dances there? But something inside him tells him whatever reasons he came up with are incorrect.

Meanwhile, Jimin's still waiting to find a hobby. He's already been to Taehyung's play and listened to the rough draft of Jungkook's album. But nothing seems to give him the inspiration that he needs.

Jimin just decides to go on a walk. The cold winter air nips at his skin, so he tightens his coat around himself, breathing steadily as he looks around at his surroundings. It's then when he finds himself stopped in front of Hart's Dance Studio.

He walks a bit closer to get a better look into the glass windows. And he smiles when he sees you. There is no one else around you, but you don't seem to mind. This time, however, you're not vigorously typing on your keyboard. You're... dancing.

Jimin doesn't know what prompted him to enter the dance studio, but the next thing he knows, he's inside.

You don't see him because your eyes are closed. Jimin takes the time to notice that you're wearing a simple black outfit consisting of a tank top and leggings. Your feet are left completely bare.

But the strangest part—you're not dancing with music. It explains your rather awkward movements. As if you can see yourself dance freely in your head, but you can't quite execute it in reality. Still, no matter how awkward you look, you radiate a majestic aura. So much so that from far away, you could look like a professional dancer.

Jimin doesn't realize he's staring until you startle him.

"Hey! Jimin!" you say. Your eyes are bright and wide open now and you wave at Jimin, motioning him over to you. "Hi!"

"Hi," Jimin agrees as he walks closer to you. "I didn't know you danced. Is that your passion?"

"Oh, god no," you giggle, shaking your head. "God forbid, no. It's for this book I'm writing!"

It finally makes sense. She's part of the school newspaper, and I'd seen her typing on her laptop.

"What kind of book?" Jimin asks curiously as he sits down on one of the metal benches in the dance room.

You take a sip of water from your water bottle before smiling. "It's this fictional book about a broken dancer. I'm an aspiring author! I've really been trying to get into my character and experience dancing so I can write her more realistically!"

"Oh, wow," Jimin laughs. "That's dedication."

"It's what I do to try to get good content," you say. "How's your winter break been going, by the way?"

"Pretty uneventful," Jimin says, leaning back on the bench. "I wrote and rewrote five drafts of my college essays. I don't think writing's my thing."

You laugh. "Well, we can rule that out in the list of possible hobbies you can partake in."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I'm still trying to find—but not actively look for—a hobby."

"It's hard," you shrug. "You shouldn't stress too much about it, Jimin. I'm telling you, it's gonna come. I can see you be so dedicated. You just have to wait until the time's right."

"Sometimes I feel like my time will never come," Jimin admits. "Taehyung's already been writing, directing and filming his own short film these days and Jungkook's adding four more tracks to his album. I don't know whether I should feel inspired or pressured."

You shake your head. "You need to get out of your competitive mindset, Jimin," you say. "Realize that you should be doing things on your own time. Everyone has different paces, you know. Maybe you should take your mind off of everything you've been thinking of these days. Wanna dance with me?"

Your question catches Jimin off guard. "Sorry, what?"

"Would you like to dance with me?" you repeat, giggling. "Sorry, it was kinda abrupt but my character needs to experience partner dancing and so do I to write that scene. I've already asked Yoongi, but he won't budge! That boy hates dancing! So maybe you can dance with me?"

"Uh," Jimin awkwardly fidgets his fingers. "I've never exactly danced before."

You snort. "Well, honestly me too. I suck. But whatever, you know? We're going to try."

"What kind of dance?" Jimin says. "I think the only dance steps I've ever learned were the square dancing steps from fourth grade."

"We could try waltzing," you say. "It's pretty simple, I think. C'mon!"

You drag Jimin to the dance floor, guiding his right hand to lay on your back and taking his left hand in yours. Jimin feels awkwardly close to you, but when you laugh and joke about how preposterous the two of you must look, he feels a little more comfortable.

"This might end up with me stepping on your feet constantly," you say apologetically, "but I'm trying to capture the feeling of dancing with a partner. So essentially, it's the emotions that count, not the physical steps."

Jimin laughs. "I'll try not to step on your feet."

"No way," you say. "How are you better at this than I am right now? I thought you said you didn't know how to dance!"

"I don't!" Jimin protests.

But something feels right. Something kind of clicks. And the moment Jimin parts from you and rushes home, he watches dance videos online. He finds out that there are many genres, and the ones he finds the most moving are contemporary and lyrical. There has never been something that has enamored him more.

Jimin irrevocably and quite willingly falls into the rabbit hole of dance.

It's been two weeks since Jimin danced a simple waltz with you at Hart's Dance Studio, but the time seems to have flown by too quickly. The next time Jimin passes by the studio, you're still trying to dance. And when he walks in to greet you, he's met by music. You're dancing to music this time!

"Hi, Y/N," Jimin speaks over the music, breaking you from your reverie.

"Oh, gosh! Jimin! Hi!" you say, immediately turning to pause the song. "Long time no see! How's school?"

"Great," he answers. "Um, just thought I would visit the studio. Do you still need a dancing partner?"

You grin. "Well, kind of," you say. "I need to see an amateur dancer do a little improv routine. Do you mind? I tried doing it myself and recording it, but it's just not fun seeing myself be a fool on camera."

Jimin laughs. "I don't mind at all."

You gesture to the dance floor. "It's all yours."

"Thank you."

Jimin stares curiously at the dance floor, the bright lights flooding the whole room. He feels like he's on stage, but he likes that feeling. He closes his eyes and sees the hundreds of dance videos he binge-watched every day for hours. And then he dances.

Somewhere along the way, you turned the music back on, which makes it even easier for Jimin to dance. He moves instinctively, fluidly like he's water. And he stops only when he finds himself out of breath.

Your jaw is dropped open when Jimin opens his eyes.

"Jimin!" you exclaim, hands thrown in the air. "You're a natural! How did you do that? What the heck??"

Jimin shrugs bashfully, shrugging. He doesn't mention the hours and hours of stretching and practicing he had done before coming here. There would've been no way he would have agreed to improv dance for you if he hadn't felt so confident. And it's funny. Dancing is the only thing Jimin's found in his life that makes him feel self-confident so far. He would've never expected it.

"You should enroll in this studio!" you say. "With some training... You could do great things, Jimin, I mean it!"

Jimin's not too sure about that. Yes, he likes to dance, and maybe it was a hobby. But enrolling in the studio meant full-time commitment. He isn't so sure if he is ready for that. He isn't sure his parents are ready for that.

"Okay," Jimin says. "I'll um, think about it." But not really.

It's like you can see right through his lie, though. "Oh, okay," you say. "Then maybe you can practice dancing in this studio by yourself. I'm friends with the owner so she lets me swing by whenever I want. Wanna meet here every Friday? I could use a beginning dancer like you to really write a story about a dancer's progression."

Jimin's face lights up. Getting to dance one day a week in an actual dance studio?? "Yeah, sure!" Jimin says. "I'd really love to." Now I have an excuse to go to the studio and dance.

This could be the start of something great.

The start of something great it was. Fridays quickly become Jimin's favorite day of the week. After school, he rushes to the studio to meet you and work on learning the basics of dance by watching tutorial videos on the internet. Usually, he works in silence—except for the clicking sounds of your laptop, but today, when he strides onto the dance floor, you're waiting for him in the middle.

"Do you have music requests?" you ask him, scrolling through your phone as if you are deep in thought. "I always feel like it's easier to express yourself with the music you actually like."

"Music?" Jimin frowns. "I, um, don't listen to music that much."

Your jaw drops. "What??"

"I don't even have earphones," he laughs awkwardly.

"You don't have what??"

And that was all it took for you to teach Jimin music for the whole day. You went through the hundreds of songs in your playlists, putting Jimin on the dance floor and making him dance to the songs he likes best. By the end of the session, Jimin still feels like he's soaring. His heart in his chest beats to the rhythm of the music. When he steps out of the dance studio and parts ways with you, he can't help but wish it were next Friday.

But at least he has a whole week to go music hunting. Jimin's never been much of a music man, but he's found that certain songs make him want to dance. He'll search them out and practice with them in the following days.

At school, Jimin feels like a mindless machine. He's still on the fence about cheating the system that's supposed to help him; the ethical part of Jimin wants him to stop—of course it's nothing against you. Jimin just thinks that if the system to help the students exists, every student should be involved. Even he was invited into the group much later (and technically, at first, he was forced to join for catching a meeting in progress).

Yet at the same time, Jimin owes it to you and your group that he's able to do what makes him happy. And he can't bear the thought of betraying you.

At home, Jimin lies on his bed, listening to all of the songs you showed him on repeat. His family doesn't have any music streaming services so he secretly started a three month free trial on iTunes. But he knew his parents wouldn't approve of his music taste (they usually don't approve of anything too teenager-y, so Jimin borrows his father's pair of earbuds.

Jimin didn't know, but earbuds bring a whole new dimension to music. He lies face up, closing his eyes as he pictures himself jumping, dancing, moving to the sweet rhythms of the songs. It's like he's been introduced to a whole new world.

Friday rolls around way too slowly for Jimin's taste, but when he's finally there, talking to you and dancing upon your request, it feels like he's on cloud nine. Today, you ask Jimin to describe what it feels to dance.

Jimin's not exactly very good with his words but he tries his best.

"I don't know," he says at first, blushing as he looks down at the brightly lit dance floor. "It makes me feel like... how do I say it? Like I'm just in a vast room with no one but myself? The moment I hear a good song, I just get this heavy gut feeling to move, I guess. And then I see the colors and the movements... And I dance."

"A vast room?" you say in awe as you unceasingly type across the expanse of your keyboard. "Elaborate, please."

"I guess it feels like I'm on my own stage. And it's a good thing because it feels like no one's watching me," Jimin says. "Uh, kinda like I'm dancing for myself. I'm dancing to express how I feel. And if there's someone watching, I don't really feel it because I'm so uh... I'm so..."

"Enraptured by your own world?" you finish for him.

"Exactly!"

You smile. "Thank you, Jimin! You meeting me here every Friday is so helpful. I really don't know how to thank you properly."

"Oh," Jimin shakes his head. "You've helped me so much already. There's nothing you could possibly do to help me better."

After exchanging a few more words with Jimin, you deem that you have to go home early to celebrate your mother's birthday. Jimin bids you farewell, but he remains in the studio. It feels empty without you, but it doesn't really matter. He's always by himself when he dances, anyway.

Jimin turns on his music, which echoes across the dance room, ringing against the walls and thumping in his chest. He can't stop himself from moving. His body twists graciously and he leaps across the dance floor as the synths in the song sing their melodious tones. He's so into the dance that he doesn't notice a tall woman watching him in the background.

Jimin finishes off his improv dance by striking a majestic pose he had come up with himself a few days ago. He didn't expect anyone to clap when he had finished, but there was this sharp-looking woman who was applauding and smiling at him approvingly.

"O-Oh," Jimin stutters. "I'm so sorry. Uh, Y/N left a bit earlier so I just thought it was okay to stay..."

"You're Jimin!" the lady says. "I'm Miss Hart. I run this dance studio. Y/N's told me how talented you are."

Jimin blushes. "I don't know about talented."

Miss Hart shakes her head, walking closer to Jimin in graceful strides akin to that of a ballerina. "I want to offer you a spot in my dance studio. This is a personal offer."

"I-I, uh," Jimin stutters. He's caught off guard by this sudden invitation and he looks left to right in a very panicked manner. "I-I don't think my parents will allow it... Um, sorry... I have to, um, go..."

He flees before Miss Hart can get another word out of him.

It's the sad truth. Jimin's parents would likely never approve of his current hobby—even listening to music while he studied was a stretch for them. But the more Jimin thinks about Miss Hart's offer, the more he realizes how great of an opportunity that is for him to progress in the path to find his true passion.

As nerve-wracking as is it, during dinner, Jimin asks his parents if it would be okay if he started taking dance lessons. Their reactions aren't as severe as he had expected, but his parents still seem pretty surprised.

"Isn't it too late to start something new?" his mother says. "You're a junior now, Jimin. You should already know what you're good at."

"I agree with your mother," his father says. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I don't know," Jimin answers truthfully. "It just happened. I really, really like it though..."

Jimin's father raises his eyebrows. "Really?" he sighs. "I don't think so, Jimin. Think about it. I know your grades are good right now, but now you should be busy with getting ready for college, shouldn't you?"

Jimin had expected this. "Oh..."

"And have you been taking my earbuds?" his father says.

"Oh, yeah... sorry," Jimin winces. "I'll give them back right now." He trudges up the stairs, feeling dejected and miserable at the same time. He decides to give the earbuds one last listen, plugging them into his phone and placing the buds in his ears. The familiar light-hearted, serene music floods into his head. Jimin can't help it. His eyes close, his mouth parts and he begins to move. His feet take him across his room, leaping over textbooks and dirty socks as his arms move fluidly to support his upper body.

Time has a mind of its own when Jimin enters the dancing world.

He doesn't notice an audience member at the entrance of his room. Jimin's father stares at his son, taken aback by the pure emotion and passion put into such a performance. He cannot hear Jimin's music, but he is able to feel it through Jimin's movements. Jimin's father watches the dance a bit longer, then leaves. When Jimin tries to return the earbuds to his father, he rejects them. "Keep the earbuds," he tells his son. "I don't need them anymore."

On Saturday morning, Jimin's surprised when his father calls him downstairs to talk. Truth be told, Jimin's a little nervous to have a serious one-on-one talk with his father. But his anxiousness melts away when his father asks:

"Have you been learning dance by yourself?"

Jimin perks up. "Uh, yeah! Um, well, kind of. I just saw YouTube videos... And I go to a dance studio every Friday with a friend to um, practice..."

"What studio?"

Jimin freezes. "H-Hart's dance studio?"

Jimin's father nods. "All right. Here's the deal. The moment your grades slip, you're going to have to quit, okay? Let's go enroll you right now."

Jimin almost faints from the sheer amount of happiness.

It is official. Jimin is to have private dance lessons (to make up for being such a late starter) once a week. This was a bit like a trial run; Jimin might get more lessons per week if he really decided to pursue dance.

And now that Jimin's actually a student at the studio, he can come in to practice anytime he wants! Which was every day after school for three hours.

When Jimin tells you the good news on Friday, you insist that you ditch today's dance-writing sessions and get some celebratory boba.

It's the first time Jimin's with you, alone, outside of school, without being in the confines of the dance studio. If he didn't know any better, this felt like more than two friends meeting up on a Friday afternoon. It felt like a date.

You're rather chatty with Jimin, making him feel comfortable and trying to get to know him better. But it comes to the point that Jimin wants to get to know you. So he finally asks the question he had been dying to know the answer to since he'd first met you in the dance studio.

"Do you mind if I ask what your book is about?"

"Oh, I don't mind at all!" you say, aggressively sipping your boba as you think. "Hm, okay, well, I kind of changed the plot halfway through... So now instead of a broken dancer, the story's about this newborn dancer who realizes her talents rather late in her life, but she throws all of her doubts—and others' doubts—away because she realizes if she's passionate about something, it doesn't really matter how long she's been pursuing it. What matters is that she is pursuing it in the present."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Yeah," you giggle, tucking back a strand of your hair behind your ear. "It's a coming of age story. I want it to be heartbreaking, bittersweet and heart-wrenching." You sip your boba. "But I might have to rewrite a lot of scenes because I'm thinking about changing the gender of the main character from female to male. I think it feels more right."

"Oh, that's gonna be a lot of work," Jimin says.

"But it's going to be worth it."

Jimin nods. Of course it will be. You put your best effort into everything. "Do you know what your title is going to be yet?"

"Eh," you laugh, shrugging goofily. "I'll think of it one day."

The light-hearted conversation takes a twist as the outside of the boba place gets darker and the afternoon morphs into the night. Jimin finds himself talking about his personal struggles as an "average" Welton student. He reflects vocally upon the times in which he had to beg to receive an A in his classes. The times in which he despised himself and didn't understand the exact point of life. The times when he was existing and not living.

It's then when you reveal your own darkest moments. And what lies beneath the smiling curtains was a murky past.

Your freshman year at Welton hit you like a bomb—it was the same year that Jimin had been suffering in the depths of sophomore year's turmoil. You became miserable, competing for first place in your classes in subject matters that you had no interest in. The tests contained little material about understanding and more about the nitty-gritty details (that were barely significant). You used to write your stories the moment you came home from school until you had to go to bed. But now, you would be lucky if you could even get a few paragraphs down before being pressured into studying something tediously and frankly, useless. It drove you nuts.

To the point that you were tempted to be pulled under into the dark world of self-hatred and suicidal thoughts. Your older sister had jumped off a building when you were only eight; you watched her stuck in a coma in the hospital with twelve broken bones until she died in her sleep. So you figured if your sister did it, so could you.

But slowly, gradually, rationality took charge of your head, driving out the demons. You garnered your anger and self-hatred towards Welton and not yourself. And during the last few weeks of school in your freshman year, you decided that you were going to make a system to help every student in need—for those with big dreams but little time.

Jimin watches and listens in awe as you continue to tell your story.

"I met Yoongi in freshman year when I was interviewing him for winning first place in a tech comp so I could write about him in the school newspaper," you explain. "He was the first person I told my idea to. And then from the summer between freshman and sophomore year, I planned the whole system. Yoongi assisted me a bit, too, but I didn't want him to be burdened."

Or, Jimin thinks, you don't trust other people.

"Yeah, and then we really kicked off," you say.

"Wait, you and Yoongi? Or the whole system you created?"

"Both," you grin. "Yoongi and I started dating during the summer. And as you can tell, our whole group flourished too. Now you're here!"

"The group's relatively new then," Jimin says. "So um, I don't know if I can ask but, how many people are really involved?"

You smile, shaking your head and denying Jimin an answer. "The trick that I use to run this system is to never trust anyone."

"Oh... wow. Not even your boyfriend?"

"Oh, it's the people you're closest to that end up failing you. Just ask my sister," you shrug. "And you never know. You aren't still thinking of reporting me, are you? I know you were contemplating that for a while..."

"O-Oh!" Jimin stutters. "Oh, shit. No, uh, definitely no. Not anymore. God, I didn't know you knew. I'm sorry."

"It's really no matter," you tell him, giving him a reassuring smile. "I think it was really nice talking to you. When we usually meet up, you're dancing and I'm taking notes or writing so this is a really nice change."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I had a lot of fun, getting to know you." He glances at his watch for a split second and his eyes turn huge. "Shit, Y/N, it's almost 10 p.m.!"

That's when Jimin's able to notice that there is no one else in the boba place except you and him. The store must be closing soon. And the outside is nearly pitch black.

"Oh, wow, we've been talking for a long time," you laugh. "I guess that means we'll have to leave, huh?"

Jimin wants to be in your company for longer, but he nods, agreeing with you. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "I'll see you on Monday?"

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Goodnight, then, Jimin."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Jimin's now been getting dance lessons three times a week now, and according to Miss Hart, he's improving at an alarming rate. Miss Hart proudly tells Jimin and his parents that he would be able to compete in local dance comps in three months and easily place.

"The boy's born to dance," Jimin overhears his teacher tell his father. He repeats those words over and over again to himself until he falls asleep that night.

His parents took his success in dance a whole different way. Immediately, Jimin was to train his muscles and stretch every day to accommodate three days' worth of hardcore lessons. And he was also ordered to join the school dance team—even though Jimin tried to tell his parents that tryouts had already been held ages ago.

But when Jimin expresses his problems to you, you bring a solution the very next day. Apparently, you had some inside sources in the dance team; you just had to pull a few strings, and the next thing he knew, Jimin was in Welton's elite dance team.

For the first time in the cult, no, group meetings, Jimin has something to show. He's able to track his progress by videos and live performances that you watch on Fridays. With all the advancement in his newfound passion, you reward Jimin with the second-highest scores on every exam (because the highest scores were reserved for the "experts").

Jimin's now sitting at the peak of a figurative mountain. His grades are soaring. His passion is soaring. He feels like his whole life has become a never-ending, high-velocity dance.

And he loves it.

There are no more meetings left after this one, you explain to all of the students. It's the last meeting for it's the week before finals. The school year will end soon, which is a huge relief to every Welton student.

You claim that outsmarting the teachers with the finals would be easy, especially with your advanced system, so there was really no need to worry. The meeting is short, concise and sweet. You douse everyone with your love and passion and thoroughly thank each and every individual for allowing another wonderful school year.

The meeting ends on a great note. You tell everyone that you have great plans for next year. Something that'll top the bomb threat. Something that'll effectively help the students and put the teachers and administrative staff to shame.

Everybody is excited.

The first time Jimin meets you during the summer is in the dance studio. He'd dressed in his workout clothes but still had enough self-dignity to spritz some cologne and put on some deodorant before seeing you.

But when he walks into the studio, he finds that you're not alone—you're with your boyfriend. Laughing. Joking. Touching. Yoongi has his arm around you and you have a casual hand placed on his thigh, leaning into him as you talk animatedly to your boyfriend.

Yikes. Jimin thinks it's going to be awkward before he actually feels awkward.

You and Yoongi really seem to like the time you're spending together and Jimin doesn't exactly want to interrupt. And there's something about the way that Yoongi tugs you closer and looks at you with sparkling mirth in his eyes that sets Jimin off.

He quickly recognizes the feeling as jealousy. It confuses Jimin even more.

Oh, fuck it.

"Hi, Y/N!" he says, waving at you. "Hey, Yoongi."

You stand up immediately rushing to greet Jimin as Yoongi stays in his spot, nodding his salutations to Jimin. "Yoongi just wanted to know what I was doing every Friday after I said no to a fifth Friday night date," you giggle. "Is it okay if he joins us today?"

"Of course," Jimin says. "I don't mind."

I kind of do.

Meeting at the dance studio was an activity exclusive to you and Jimin only... It's weird to see Yoongi butt in.

"Okay, great. Thanks!" you say. "Just do your thing, and I'll be taking notes as usual!"

Jimin nods, bracing himself to dance after he turns on the song he'd been listening endlessly these days. But today, he feels stiff. Rigid. Something's not quite right.

Today, he doesn't feel like he's on a stage alone. He feels someone watching him from the audience with scrutiny. Suddenly, Jimin can't move. He feels trapped in his own world. When he turns to look at you, he finds that you and Yoongi are immersed in a deep conversation. You're usually watching his every move.

Jimin tries to focus again, closing his eyes to immerse himself into the music. But he can't do it. Not when you and Yoongi are talking like that. Shit. Why is that so distracting?

Jimin figures one day of giving up practice wouldn't kill him. He turns off the music and walks over to you and Yoongi and plops down on the bench.

You smile but Jimin watches as Yoongi flinches just slightly, and a disgruntled look flashes across his face just briefly. Jimin ignores him.

"Yoongi and I were just talking about legacy," you explain to Jimin. "You know, what we'll leave at Welton High School."

"Oh, wow. You'll be leaving a whole elaborate system," Jimin says. "But what's going to happen to it when you've graduated?"

You shrug. "We'll have to wait and see," you say teasingly.

"I'll already be gone by that time," Jimin huffs.

"We'll keep in contact," you say. "I promise."

It's a small promise but Jimin's heart skips a beat. He wonders if you'd still be dating Yoongi then.

Why am I like this? This definitely isn't the right time.

Maybe Yoongi senses Jimin's thoughts because he tugs you closer to him. "Come on, babe, do we have to stay here forever? I want to take you out on a date..."

"Aw, Yoongs," you coo. "I don't know... Maybe the three of us can go get boba or something?"

"Babe..." Yoongi whines softly, intertwining your hand with his.

Jimin watches the movement and another pang of jealousy hits his chest, this time larger than the last. He couldn't possibly have feelings for you. Jimin concludes that he's not jealous because Yoongi is your boyfriend, he is jealous because he's stealing you away when he and you should be hanging out.

But he doesn't exactly want to get in the way of Yoongi, who already seems to dislike Jimin for hanging around his girlfriend.

So Jimin shrugs. "I don't want to intrude on a date. It's fine, Y/N, enjoy your date night."

Yoongi shoots Jimin a grateful look and even lets out a beaming smile. "Really, Jimin? Thanks!" you say.

Jimin has to admit, seeing you skip away with Yoongi arm in arm makes him happier. Fuck, no. He's starting to mirror your emotions.

This isn't a very good sign.

Jimin's right. It isn't a very good sign. He's starting to feel weird around you—emotions that he can't quite explain or justify with words.

The more he hangs out with you, the more he notices little things about you—your little habits, your speech patterns, your dimples when you smile...

It comes to the point, you confess to him one day, "You know, Jimin, I've been hanging out with you more than my boyfriend."

Jimin feels honored by that, "Well, I've been hanging out with you more than my own to friends."

And it's true. Taehyung's been busy with his theater things and has picked up a girl along the way—the girl who was notorious for spilling tears arbitrarily. Jungkook's got his eye on some shy girl Jimin doesn't really know. So the friend group's already pretty split up. But Jimin doesn't really mind as much as he should. He and his friends are happy and have split to pursue their interests. There are no regrets.

Sometimes, when Jimin notices the blush on your cheeks after he teases you, he wonders how you truly feel about him. If all the time you spent around him was doing any good.

"I guess we've become quite the team?" you smile, nudging Jimin's shoulder. "I would've never been able to come up with a revamped idea for my book without you."

"I don't think I would've come this far in dance without you."

"No, it's your pure talent," you say. "I didn't do anything." You giggle, admiring the ruffles on Jimin's dance costume. "Break a leg out there, Jimin. I know you'll kill it in the solo division."

"Thanks, Y/N. I swear, I'm not even that nervous."

That's a lie. Jimin's so nervous he's been feeling like he needed to use the bathroom for two hours now. What if I forget a step? What if I'm offbeat for a split second? What if I trip on my costume? What if the wrong song plays?

There's absolutely no pressure that you've offered to come to watch Jimin dance to write about a dance competition in your book. Jimin has to get his routine down perfectly unless he wants to wind up embarrassing himself and disappointing his eager parents. He needs to be perfect. Maybe to impress you.

But this will be the first time that Jimin will be on stage with a true audience. Even though he will dance like he's the only one in the world, he will have hundreds of watchers and a panel of judges who will scrutinize his every move.

Jimin tugs at the ruffles of his white blouse and looks to the stage nervously.

"Hey, you've got this," you whisper to him, patting his shoulder. "What matters is dancing. It doesn't matter what place you get."

You're right. Jimin's here to dance. He is not here to flaunt his talents to others; he is here to make his own progress for himself, for his passion. What matters is that he has fun on stage.

Jimin keeps that in mind when he walks on the platform. The lights shine down on him, and his ears ring incessantly. But as soon as the cello begins to let out its low, elegant sound, he dances. The music envelops his body, and he sees nothing but colors. There is no need to think of which step is next when it comes to him naturally. He twists and turns accordingly to the rueful tones of the oboe, leaps at the entrance of the violins and finishes the dance with a grand pose in the middle of the stage.

He doesn't hear the clapping when he shakily gets off the platform.

Jimin's numb. He can't remember the performance, nor can he remember if he had gotten all of his steps right. But when you lunge at him with open arms and a bouquet of flowers (that you hadn't had before) in your hands, none of his performance matters anymore.

"JIMIN!" you screech at him, almost knocking him over with the force of your hug. "YOU WERE AMAZING!"

He's so taken aback, he can't answer, just holding you to his chest as you laugh happily in his arms.

"I hope you don't mind that I recorded the performance," you tell him. "It was just... wow. I can't even think of words to describe it because... wow."

Jimin pulls away from you, grinning wildly and his heart thumping in his chest—from post-dancing or from hugging you, he doesn't really know.

"Was it that good?"

"Yes!" you say. "Come on, we just have to wait to see how you placed. Not that it matters."

And it really didn't. Even though Jimin took home silver, otherwise known as second place, everyone—his parents, Miss Hart, you—was proud of him. No one could argue that his dancing was the most emotional—the most beautiful. The dance competition was only the beginning of Jimin's journey.

Now it's even more normal for you and him to hang out. Even outside the dance studio to just talk and keep each other's company. Anyone can find you typing on your laptop and Jimin dancing and think it's a normal occurrence. Especially with the two of you on summer break, it became insanely frequent to spend a whole day out together.

Sometimes it seems as though you're flirting with him, but Jimin just tells himself that it's his imagination. You have Yoongi, for fuck's sake. You would never go after Jimin because you've said it yourself—you and he are best friends.

Yet it's socially unacceptable, apparently, to only be friends with the opposite gender (especially a younger opposite gender in Jimin's case) and expect the relationship to be purely platonic. Jimin's been noticing you stealing a couple of extra glances at him when he stretches before he dances. And he's been guilty of staring at you when you write because he likes how focused you can get in your typing sprees.

A couple of times, Jimin swears he could've leaned in to kiss you. But being rejected scares him away to ever take the chance. Besides, he doesn't want to come between you and Yoongi. That would be unfair and immature of him.

God, Jimin's mind is mixed up and his feelings are confused. He's not ready to admit it to himself yet, though. So he stays confused until a new school year comes around.

Being a senior opens up Jimin's eyes, and he realizes he had been just plain stupid—and blind. He likes you.

Fuck.

It's not a question of when these feelings had developed, but a question of why. You have a boyfriend. Jimin's already a senior, which means he'll be gone next year. You're the leader of a group—that's practically a cult, according to Google—and you keep secrets from everyone no matter how much you love them. It's just not going to happen.

And if it did happen, then what about Yoongi? He's an essential member of your group. If you break up with him to be with Jimin, assuming that you even feel the same way, then what might Yoongi do? Would he ditch your group and let it fall to the ground? Would he report you and your system to administration? Would he get revenge on Jimin?

No way is Jimin going to get involved.

He should've seen it coming. He should've prevented himself from completely falling for you the moment you started caring for him, hanging out with him, helping him... But he didn't and now he doesn't know what to do.

Well, actually, he does.

Jimin's just going to simply get rid of his feelings for you for his own sake and yours. He just won't see you for a couple of months, and by then, his feelings for you would be gone, vanished into thin air. At least, that's what he hopes.

So, Jimin creates an elaborate plan of his own to avoid you for several months, max. He secretly changes his dance lesson times and tells Miss Hart to keep his schedule from you. And when his teacher inquires why, Jimin makes up a bullshitted lie that he wants to surprise you with his next performance. Then, he skips all of his individual practices and dances at home instead so you won't be able to find him. He even misses scheduled group meetings, texting you that he was sick (when he was only lovesick).

She's just using me to write her story, Jimin tells himself. I'm nothing but a character for her.

Deep down inside, Jimin knows that's false, but he makes himself believe it. Maybe it'll help him dislike you—which isn't exactly possible—but it could at least help him stop liking you.

But it turns out that maybe you never liked Jimin the way he liked you. All too soon, Jimin finds out from Miss Hart that you haven't been coming to the dance studio, so he switches his lessons back to his normal time. You've stopped texting him about coming to group meetings too. Which was strange because Jimin was still given homework copies and test answers when he needed them.

Maybe you took the hint that Jimin didn't want anything to do with you? Jimin doesn't know.

He does know that still, every time he thinks of you, he thinks of a generous, beautiful, mature, thoughtful person who chases after her own dreams and encourages others to do the same. It's hard to stop liking you, in other words.

Already, finals week is around the corner. Jimin has a few suspicions that you're going to hatch a complex plan again to put an end to student stress altogether, but he wouldn't know because he hasn't been attending the meetings. But whatever you were planning, it would be better than the last bomb threat for sure. Because you were always looking to improve, to better yourself to help others.

God, fucking shit. Jimin can't seem to think of one bad thing about you.

His days are spent dancing mostly as he'd submitted his college apps early (thanks to your suggestion), but he also can't get you out of his mind. Your absence makes him grieve for your presence. But he can't give up now. He doesn't want to show up in front of you one day and have to explain why he avoided you for months.

So he continues with his plan.

It's the Friday before finals week.

Jimin sits around in the corner of his school's dance room as the rest of his teammates go over the routine for the winter dance competition. He'd told the captain that he was getting a bad migraine, so he was allowed to sit out for the rest of the practice.

In reality, Jimin can't stop thinking about you. He knows you're here, after school, in your newspaper room, finishing up your last edits before publishing the paper on Saturday. He wonders if you'll welcome him if he meets you. He wonders if he should apologize for avoiding you. Maybe he can get rid of his feelings by hanging out with you more. Or he'll just act like the two of you are best friends and pretend he doesn't want anything more than a platonic relationship.

Jimin doesn't know what courses through his veins to make him stand up.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he murmurs, trudging out of the dance room and outside. He'll have to cross the quad to reach the newspaper room. Jimin nervously checks his watch. 4:42 p.m., it reads. You usually leave by 4:45 p.m., so Jimin doesn't have much time.

Or maybe he shouldn't go to you at all? He hesitates, lurching forward but taking a step back.

He sees another girl, not that far away from him, walking across the quad. There's a boy behind her, yelling "Wait up!" as he tries to catch up with her while holding a stack of heavy textbooks. The girl looks back around and laughs, taking half of the boy's stack and nudging his shoulder. They continue to walk across the quad, side by side. They must be dating.

Jimin quickly recognizes the tall boy to be Namjoon, his acquaintance, and as soon as he's about to wave, there's a loud bang!

Jimin flinches. Was that a...? He can't quite believe it. But there's a lot he didn't believe but still has come true at Welton High School. Or maybe this was another one of your plans. Fake a school shooting to cancel finals. He wouldn't know. He didn't attend the meetings.

But the blood rushes out of his face and it dawns on him that this is reality as he watches Namjoon's girlfriend fall to the ground in slow motion. His own breath quickens and his eyes are alert but he's almost frozen. No. This has to be fake. This has to be a trick. There's another bang! and this time, Namjoon lurches forward, hitting the ground with a resonating thump.

Jimin's frantic, trying to find the source of the loud bangs. Maybe Namjoon and his girlfriend are part of the group. Maybe it's all a plan. Time flies too quickly and slowly at the same time. Jimin sees blood leaking from the girl as she lay face down on the cement. Namjoon is knocked unconscious. That has to be fake. You can buy fake blood, right?

But deep down inside, Jimin knows the truth. He panics. It's hard to breathe.

Then there's another bang. Jimin feels searing heat engulf his chest. He feels himself fall backward, and he clutches his wet chest—not in pain but in shock.

He tilts upwards, and his last view is of the soft gray clouds in the darkened sky.

Then everything becomes black.

Two students, two seniors are reported to be dead. One shot in the head, another in the heart. One has miraculously survived a gunshot wound and is being treated in the hospital.

"Do you know them?" you say in a shaky breath.

Your boyfriend hugs you. "You know one of them..."

"Oh, god," you whimper. You can hear the police and see the bright flashing red and blue lights from afar. "The shooter was targeting students involved in after school activities. How cowardly. When there would be fewer adults around. They were looking to attack the students."

"I know, babe," Yoongi says. "The girl... she was part of the volleyball team. Her boyfriend is the one who survived, apparently. And the other boy... He... He was on the dance team."

Your eyes turn wide as you pull away from your boyfriend. "H-He..."

"Jimin, Y/N. It was Jimin."

You feel like you're falling down a pitch-black abyss with no one to catch you or help you. "A-Are you sure it was him?" you manage to whisper. "What was he doing outside the dance room?" you sob, throwing yourself into Yoongi's chest as your boyfriend tries to comfort you.

"Park Jimin, yeah... It was him," Yoongi says, petting your back. "I heard from the dance captain that he was having a bad day. Something about migraines..."

You can't speak. Nor can you even think straight.

"Jimin's body was found significantly away from the other two," Yoongi says. "He could've run away."

A heavy weight tugs at your heart and you let out another sob of despair. "Yoongi, he could've thought it was fake."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it?? He thought it was like the bomb threat!—fake! Planned! God!" you shriek, pushing Yoongi away and standing up, starting to walk around in frantic circles. "I killed him, Yoongi! I fucking killed him!"

You collapse on the ground with your hands on your head. "I killed him..."

"You didn't kill him, Y/N," Yoongi says. He crouches down with you. "Hey, it wasn't your fault. He's the one who wasn't coming to your meetings. If he did, he would've known we weren't going to pull off a stunt like that until next year's finals."

You shake your head, hitting your forehead repeatedly with your palm. "It doesn't matter, Yoongi! I should've never faked such a serious ordeal!"

"Y/N..."

"I deserved to be out there in the quad."

"You're the students' hero, babe... Don't think otherwise."

"Oh? Really?" you scream. "If I really were a hero, then why the hell was the school shooter a student from our school, huh? I obviously wasn’t keeping everyone happy!"

Yoongi falls silent.

"I don't care what you say, Yoongi," you say, your voice shaking from anger and devastation. "I failed. I tried making a system, but it didn't work... And now, people are dead... And I never got to say goodbye..." And he was avoiding me for months. I never got to know why...

"Hey, hey. Your system is perfect, baby," Yoongi answers. "It just doesn't work on psycho murderers."

That makes sense, too.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi," you say. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. Thank you. For comforting me. God, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," he says. "Things will be fine." He pauses. "You know, on the bright side, they might cancel finals."

[2 years later]

The moment you graduated out of the hellhole of a school, you discontinued your idea of a school revolt, and your system collapsed without you nurturing it.

Welton High School went under investigation after hundreds of parents and students protested. Counselors were fired and replaced. Administration was put on probation. It didn't take until two students' murders to fix things.

Funny.

Three student suicides weren't enough for them to realize something was wrong with the school.

You're bitter, but you try not to let it get in your way. Jimin will never get full justice because he will never get the life he deserved back. He was supposed to win hundreds of dance competitions. He was supposed to get to the end of the path of his dreams. But his life cut him short.

You dedicate your debut novel to him.

Now, when you walk around a supermarket, a library, a bookstore, you see your book on the stands or stacked up on tables. The white cover contrasts from the title inked in a black font: To Jimin (It's About Time I Told You I Love You).

The book tells the tale of Jimin. A newborn dancer who becomes tangled in the depths of a rigorous high school. There's one twist, though.

The story is told from a girl's perspective. A girl who loves Jimin, but never admits her feelings until it's too late. She watches him grow, blossom and become a star. But she isn't there for him when he dies.

She is you.

And you think it's about time you admit to yourself that you loved Jimin. Except he probably never loved you.

—masterpost

—masterlist

[sunsoothed]

muse

Jugyeong needs to amend her understanding of best friends.

han seojun\kang sujin | rated t | 3.3k words | college au, pining, jealousy | outsider pov

read on ao3

enjoy!

~

Im Jugyeong, frankly, has never seen someone quite like Han Seojun. He’s a muted, ephemeral kind of beauty, someone you get caught staring at in class, or someone you get caught staring at while eating, or someone you get caught staring at, period.

He’s also someone you stare at when they’re not around, which is why Jugyeong is only shocked out of her daze when from beside her, Sua says his name.

“Wasn’t Han Seojun supposed to be here?”

They’re sitting around a large table for lunch, with people Jugyeong only half-knows, because she’d been a fool to transfer colleges in her second year.

“Was he?” Someone opposite her pipes up. “I’ll call him.”

That makes Jugyeong raise her eyes. Someone so close to Han Seojun that they can just call him? When she looks up, it’s the one other female student in her statistics class.

Kang Sujin, was it?

Kang Sujin brings her phone to her ear, and a response seems to come within a moment, for she asks, “Did you just wake up?”

To which she must get a denial, because she then says, “You had lunch plans.”

Everyone’s peering suspiciously into Sujin’s space, so Jugyeong supposes it isn’t odd for her to do so, too.

Sudden concern fills Sujin’s voice. “What, did you have a late night?”

And then she’s back to plain informative. “Mmh. Not too far. I think we all have a good half an hour or so to spare.”

And Seojun must say something funny, because Sujin laughs, hums, and hangs up with a See you.

“He should be here soon. He decided to work late on a project last night because he didn’t have any classes this morning.”

There’s a collective ahh, we understand, before everyone gets back to their food and conversation. Sua places a slice of meat in her bowl, Sujin unearths a bottle of banana milk from somewhere, and on her other side, Taehoon slurps his ramyeon loudly. Under the table, Jugyeong’s heels click with the floor in anticipation.

When he does arrive, some ten-twelve minutes later, He’s beyond words. Hair slightly unkempt, wearing a beige coat and carrying another in the crook of his arm. He has a pink sweater on underneath, as much as Jugyeong can make out, and his white shoes radiate a slight dichotomy from his usual vibe.

“Shift,” He says, opposite Jugyeong, as he approaches them. Kang Sujin, who’d been close enough to call him, tilts her head back to catch sight of him.

She blinks, then juts her jaw to the space beside Taehoon.“There’s space there —”

“Just shift.” Seojun insists, an utterly adorable whine to his voice. Gosh, Jugyeong feels her cheeks reddening.

But Sujin only sighs and makes reluctant way for him. “Come, sit.”

Seojun gives a sort-of grimace, sort-of smile. They seem close. He hands her the coat he was carrying, too. “You left this behind.”

“Ah, right,” Sujin says, taking the coat from him. “No wonder I’ve been feeling chilly all day.”

He seems to have some quippy response prepared, but Sujin beats him to it.

“Your hair’s still wet,” She says. She holds a hand to his forehead, fingers brushing against the strands.

Seojun hums. “I was in the shower when you called.” He does nothing to remove her hand. They must be very close.

“Did I disturb you?”

He clicks his tongue, waving her worry away. He’s so attractive.

Sujin picks up her half-drunk banana milk. She hands it to him. “Here, by the way.”

She could’ve just bought him a new one. What was the point of this?

But Han Seojun takes a sip like it’s nothing, mouth on the straw that Sujin had drunk from. He swallows and pulls a face. “Tastes like your chapstick. I don't want it.”

Best friends, Jugyeong thinks. They must be best friends.

Unfazed, Sujin grins. “Lucky for you…” And she unearths another bottle of banana milk.“I have another one.”

Han Seojun smiles, half his mouth quirked up and a fond exasperation in his eyes. He easily accepts the bottle, pierces the straw through, and holds it up. “Cheers.”

-

“Change your position now!”

The party’s in full-swing. As full-swingy as it can get in Jugyeong’s cramped apartment, at least. It’s been a day since Jugyeong managed to meet Han Seojun. And now he’s here, in her apartment, and they’re playing Spin the Bottle, and there are very, very less people.

Taehoon groans, the bottle having landed on him and empty air for the second time. “This game is stupid —”

“Shut up,” Sua implores. “We’re all having fun. Who’s next?”

“Spin it!”

So Sua spins the bottle, and they wait in anticipation for it to land on someone. It’s Kang Sujin.

“How lucky…” Jugyeong hears Taehoon say under his breath. Then she looks up. It’s Kang Sujin and her.

“If you’re uncomfortable,” Sujin starts, hand already on her shot glass to allow Jugyeong to skip the turn. But Jugyeong shakes her head.

“I’ve just… never kissed a girl before.” The confession is sudden, but no one is perturbed.

“It’s the same as kissing a boy,” Sujin supplies oh-so-helpfully. She leans in, and Jugyeong, heart hammering, leans in too, and it’s over in a second.

“You don’t take this stuff seriously, do you?” Jugyeong asks, a sudden energy in her. She meets Sujin’s eyes.

“Not at all.” Sujin smiles.

The game continues. “Your turn to spin.”

Jugyeong gulps, suddenly in need of a sobering smack to the head because what the fuck —

“Sujin again!” Some errant voice declares. Sujin and Seojun.

They seemed pretty close that morning, so maybe this isn’t a big deal? But Sujin takes a shot, and Jugyeong’s confused now. They shared that banana milk this morning, didn’t they? Possibly tipsy, Jugyeong asks, “Hey, why’re you drinking —”

It takes Han Seojun a second, but then he says, “Ah, that,” like this is all making sense to him, and he, too, takes a shot.

And then they kiss — no, maul each other’s faces, and it’s the most erotic and the most disgusting thing Jugyeong’s seen in her life. When they pull apart, completely cool, Seojun wipes a trail of spit and alcohol from his chin and licks his fingers. Oh god. Jugyeong’s abdomen hollows.

There is an understandably long silence.

Eventually, Taehoon swallows, and says, weakly, “You two…”

“It’s a thing we do,” Sujin informs, nonchalant.

“I thought you said you weren’t together.”

“We aren’t.”

-

“Home, now?”

Slurred, Sujin replies, “Mmm.”

Jugyeong catches the conversation on the periphery, pulling her own shoes on in the outroom of the restaurant. It was a good choice these people had made; the food was good, the wine was mild, and the effects were a pleasant buzz.

“Come,” Seojun’s even more pleasant enters her earshot. “Let’s put on our shoes…”

Jugyeong likes to think he’s talking to her. But leaning against the wall, she can see, with clarity, that he’s addressing only Sujin. Oh, woe, Jugyeong sighs. She watches Sujin’s attempt at balance while drunk, watches her try and slip on her shoes, try, so considerately, because Seojun’s watching over her. She sees him, fond, as he slips his fingers beside Sujin’s and helps her slide her feet in. She gulps.

“Are you taking Sujin home?” Alas, there must always be an unwelcome distraction. Jugyeong can’t remember this guy’s name, but it must be as irritating as his face.

Seojun must feel the same, for he replies with a much-too-cordial, much-too-gruff yes.

“You’re familiar with where she lives?” The guy questions, throwing his weight around. He leans obstructively over the wall against which Sujin stands. “She’s drunk, would she trust you enough?”

It’s an awkward situation. Seojun is grimacing, and Jugyeong, considerably removed by context but very much involved by space, grimaces as well. Seojun seems to have a non-threatening reply prepared, but Sujin beats him to it, aggression and distraught where she stands, now, shaky.

“Yah, Park - Park whatever your name is, how dare you say that to Seojun?”

And this Park whatever-your-name is opens his mouth in affront, drunk breath diffusing around the room. “I —”

“Sujin-ah —”

Sujin continues. “This bastard. You don’t know anything about us.”

She looks like a kitten whose fur is standing on edge, anger in the face of fear.

“He doesn’t,” Seojun coaxes, still-rational. Jugyeong has the sudden urge to laugh.

He tries again, hand firm on Sujin’s shoulder.“Let’s just go —”

But Sujin doesn’t budge. She holds an accusatory finger to the guy’s face, which has, somehow, turned a nauseated shade, and declares, “We’re best friends, okay?”

-

Best friends, Jugyeong continues to ruminate, some mornings later as they meet up to study. She watches Seojun with his messy hair tapping the end of his pencil against the sheet he’s working on. He looks distracted. There’s also something very distracting about him, and Jugyeong’s sure it’s caught more than her eye. Seojun’s eye, that it. He’s wearing kajal, and he’s sporting some… averagely-done smokey-eye look, which she’s just itching to correct.

Seojun plants the pencil behind his ear and picks up his phone, oblivious to Jugyeong’s inner turmoil, though she sits opposite him and very much in his view. He’s typing something, a light furrow between his brows. Then he puts down his phone, and looks at the sheet he’d been sketching on for the better part of the hour, and sighs with great displeasure.

Jugyeong sets her own eyes to her work, a little guiltily. She shouldn’t be watching him like this.

Eyes on the table, she sees Seojun pull out a different pencil from his pencil case and get to work. Hands deft, hands smooth, he’s drawing arching strokes when the quiet of the studio is interrupted by the door opening. Almost everyone turns at the sound on instinct, then drop their attention once they notice another student. Jugyeong registers that it’s Sujin. She also registers that Seojun hasn’t glanced up from his work.

He does, then, when Sujin first plucks the pencil he’d tucked behind his ear, second deposits a thermos upon the desk.

“For your throat,” she greets. She waves to Jugyeong. Jugyeong waves back.

Seojun nods. He applies his finishing touches to the sketch, then looks up. “Thanks, Sujin-ah.”

“No need,” Sujin hums. She places the displaced pencil on the table, ruffles Seojun’s already unkempt hair, and waves goodbye to Jugyeong.

Jugyeong waves back.

-

Shoes, again, Jugyeong’s place, again. It’s a pattern, she thinks. Or wishes to think, with finality, but unfortunately things involving Han Seojun are always demanding to be overthought. He had shown up in some flowy palazzo pants and a crop-top that Sua swore she had seen Sujin wear once. He had looked good.

Some considerable amount of shots later, however, his hair had been styled out f its artful mess to a regular mess, and his lipstick had smudged from the amount of people he had kissed. And Jugyeong had stood, watching, as her turn never came. And as, customarily, Seojun and Sujin drank out of each other’s mouths.

And here, again, she watches, as Sujin helps Seojun put his shoes on.

“You sure you can walk in that?” She’s asking, kneeling on the floor, very much proposal-like. In one hand she holds the heels Seojun had sauntered in wearing.

Seojun hiccups. “Probably… not.”

Sujin smiles up at him, fond, shakes her head. She turns to the side, glances somewhat into the apartment. Catches Jugyeong’s eye. “Hey, Jugyeong, do you have any flats?”

Jugyeong snaps out of her reverie. Her mouth hangs open for a moment, uncomprehending, before she processes the words. “I do, just a moment.”

Han Seojun is borrowing her shoes. Jugyeong fishes out her best pair of flats, a sleek black pair that hasn’t seen the light of day for a good few months. She tucks her hair behind her ears before walking out of her room; for what, she doesn’t know.

Gulping, heart racing, Jugyeong hands the shoes to Sujin. “Here.”

Sujin takes them with a somewhat distracted smile, one hand reaching for the shoes, one hand keeping Seojun upright. “Thanks, Jugyeong.”

Jugyeong finds herself gulping once again, watching Sujin crouch down and slip the flats onto Seojun’s feet, familiarity evident in her actions. She doesn’t entertain that line of thought any further.

And then Han Seojun speaks, voice off in the most adorable way, a little high, well past tipsy. “What, what — are you going propose to me?”

Sujin finds amusement in that. She smiles, laughs, stands up to clap a hand on Seojun’s shoulder. “Not yet.”

Seojun nods. He leans against Sujin, expectant of her support, Jugyeong looks away as Sujin wraps a hand around his waist.

“You can —” she clears her throat and tries again, “You can leave his shoes here,” Jugyeong suggests, holding out an awkward hand.

Sujin brushes her off, not rudely, more preoccupied with the very drunk Seojun-like mass on her shoulder. “It’s fine, I’ll carry them back,” she says. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime,” Jugyeong whispers, long after they’ve left her house.

-

“Would you like some breakfast?”

That has to be a pickup line. Jugyeong blushes terribly.

“Ah- ah, that would be really nice, actually.”

Seojun’s ever-polite, guiding her into the house and pulling a chair at the kitchen island out for her. It’s not a big space, but it’s well-maintained. Either he’s well-off or he’s taken a loan he’ll need to spend a good half of his life paying back.

“Come, sit at the table.”

Jugyeong nods and takes a grateful seat. Seojun busies himself with something steaming on the gas, his well-dressed back facing her. He’s worn those skimpy white blouses before, and they really complement his frame.

“We don’t eat with too much spice,” He calls over, stirring the... stew? Jugyeong isn’t sure. “I hope that’s fine.”

“That’s okay,” She immediately reassures. “I don’t mind.” We…?

The we comes in the form of one Kang Sujin, trudging to the kitchen in an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, immediately locating Seojun and holding him in a death grip from behind. Jugyeong wonders how he’s moving with Sujin clinging to him like that.

Finally, the koala speaks, voice grogging. “Jun-ah….”

“You’re up?” Seojun hums, unperturbed. Must be a common occurrence, Jugyeong thinks, with her already stilted hopes. How wonderful.

“Barely.” Sujin exhales, arms loosening their hold slightly. She rests the side of her head against Seojun’s back, eyes blinking open to Jugyeong.

“Hello, Jugyeong.” She says. “Good morning?”

Taken aback, Jugyeong just about manages to reply, “Good - Good morning.”

“Mm.” Sujin nods back, solemn. “If you say so.”

Seojun huffs out a laugh at that. “You nutcase,” He says affectionately. “Go sit at the table. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

Sujin nods again, dragging herself to the kitchen island, sitting beside Jugyeong. “You guys have that project thing, don’t you?”

Jugyeong hums, now in safer waters. “It’s an installation piece.”

“What are you…” Sujin leans on her arms, “What are you installing?”

Seojun laughs, again, affectionate, again.

“It’s not exactly that,” Jugyeong tries to explain. “It’s an artwork. Seojun is doing the woodwork and I’m painting.”

“So you’re not installing it anywhere?”

“I suppose we are,” Jugyeong supposes. “It’ll need to find a place in the studio and then, hopefully, the exhibition.”

Sujin nods along, having understood it in her own way. Seojun sets two bowls of noodles and stew in front of them by then.

Jugyeong intends to thank him, but she’s cut-off by Sujin gasping, “Is that mine?”

She clutches the sleeve of Seojun’s white blouse. Seojun, in turn, grabs a fistful of her t-shirt. “Is that mine?”

“Fair,” Sujin acquiesces, letting go first. “Fair enough.”

Seojun smiles a cordial smile, then sits opposite Sujin.

“Do you have less crockery?” Jugyeong finds herself asking instead, for Seojun’s eating right out of Sujin’s bowl.

He shakes his head with his mouth full, then swallows and answers, “This one’s just a bitch about doing the dishes. Less dishes used, less dishes to wash.”

“That’s not it,” Sujin weakly protests, picking up the chopsticks beside her, finally gaining some life. “It’s saving water.”

“You shouldn’t make fun of such a serious thing —”

“I’m not making fun of anything —”

These two, Jugyeong marvels. They really are something, aren’t they?

-

It’s a considerably slow day. Jugyeong’s managed to get her upcoming deadlines pushed back, so she can procrastinate her work some more, and maybe accompany Sua when she’s out for a smoke. That is, of course, what Jugyeong assumes she does.

Sua is standing with the others on the terrace, a semi circle formed between them.

“I heard about that Min Jongho, but you’re saying Oh Namsung was also involved? Isn’t that going to blow up in his father’s face?”

Jugyeong takes a step closer. She can recognise those names, that’s those two irritating guys who usually sit at the far end of the workshop.

“Possession of drugs is too serious of a thing for his father to escape from,” Taehoon chimes in. He looks up, sighing, when he catches sight of Jugyeong.

“Oh, Jugyeong!”

She meets his eyes, innocent. “Hm?”

“Come join us,” Sua beckons, already trying to reach for her arm. Jugyeong takes a step forward, absorbed into their circle.

“Did you hear about what Min Jongho did?”

She sakes her head. “No clue.”

“He was caught with marijuana,” Sujin explains, and oof, Jugyeong can’t avoid her now, can she?

“That’s… pretty serious,” she says. “How did people find out?”

“Someone snitched,” one of the others hisses. “He had a party the other night — remember the one where that fucker got that cheap alcohol? Like ten people got the worst hangovers — wait, that’s not the point — they were smoking up, someone found them and secretly reported it.”

“I think there’s more to it than we’re seeing,” Sujin diffuses. “It’s not possible that that was it. No one has those kind of morals around us.”

“What do you know,” Taehoon refutes. “You’re not an art student, Sujin.”

“My apologies for not having such an outlook on the world, your lordship,” she mocks, face intentionally one of surface politeness. “What do you mean you’re not an art student? Seojunnie’s always dragging me into his work.”

“That’s because you’re his muse —”

“Convenient human subject, you mean,” Sujin cuts off, still good-natured.

Jugyeong gets it, that kind of attention she must receive from Seojun may have the potential to be exhausting. Of course Jugyeong gets it. Of course she does. There’s no reason that she needs to stop looking at Sujin’s face —

And arrives the subject of their bootlegged discussion. Han Seojun, a trudging beauty, a tragic beauty, skirt stained and hands freshly-washed. He zeros in on his muse — sorry, convenient human subject — falling without grace against her back, his arms encircling her from behind.

Jugyeong gulps.

“You okay?” Sujin asks, concerned, the kind that only fills her words when Seojun’s around. She turns, letting him breathe out against her neck, lightly ruffles his hair as she hugs him back.

Seojun exhales again. “Mmm.”

“Not sounding like it,” she prompts. Her voice is so soft, now. No brashness that had lain aflame when she argued earlier, nor the stunted amusement when she judged her surroundings. Does one always change so, Jugyeong wonders, when one loves?

“Just give me a minute,” Seojun says, hugging Sujin tighter. The little semi circle of theirs breaks apart, leaving the two to themselves, and Jugyeong reluctantly takes her eyes off Sujin rubbing Seojun’s back.

When she walks, half a beat behind everyone else, she can somewhat hear Sujin’s home voice. She can hear Seojun-ah? and she can hear Hey, hey, Jun-ah. Let’s go somewhere quiet, hm? and she can hear them go somewhere quiet.

And when she skips back, citing her forgetfulness and her phone, which she knows she left behind in the studio, she catches the dregs of a conversation that must be second nature.

“What’s wrong?” from Sujin.

“It’s stupid, I just… I’m so overwhelmed.” from Seojun.

“Ah, Junjun, seriously, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Come here.” from some half-way point that’s worn and torn.

Jugyeong holds her bitter smile all the way back to the studio, and realises, only belatedly as she watches Seojun walk back in, that she hadn’t considered him in this equation at all.

She had just been looking at Sujin.