#so this “friendship” is doomed to fail

[diazwake]

okay so i have to just ramble about why i think buck and tommy have been doomed to fail from the jump.

i've been thinking about the discussion tommy and buck had right before their first kiss. tommy telling buck to stop being jealous. that he could never take the place buck has in eddie's life. that buck is not replaceable to eddie. tommy talking about how christopher would riot without buck in his life and buck going 'really?' with the brightest happiest goofiest smile on his face just thinking about how much christopher and eddie want him and need him and love him.

these are all things eddie has told buck before, but buck has so much guilt from hurting eddie in his jealousy, that the thought he might have caused the end of his most valuable friendship makes buck's past trauma rear its ugly head. in that moment buck needed someone to tell him he didn't fuck it all up and that he didn't lose his best friend.

this is where i start getting delulu. but i think it’s here, right after tommy reassures buck, that buck starts processing his feelings on what eddie means to him, what they mean to each other, and what they ultimately are. but buck, in an avoidance to fully take in and accept the reality of his feelings for eddie, performs an exercise in subconsciously pivoting those feelings onto tommy.

buck does this because he has nothing to lose with tommy, but he has everything to lose with eddie. he was just reminded of that. "trying to get your attention has been kind of exhausting" is an insane thing to say to tommy, and even tommy knows it. those words were meant for eddie.

it's buck's luck that tommy can see the gay of it all and is also a little greedy, so tommy makes the choice to fill in some of the gaps for buck with the kiss. in exchange buck takes this opportunity to use tommy as a blank canvas for what a relationship with someone like eddie could be like, without any of the risk. tommy knows buck is only going to be with him for as long as it takes for him to figure himself out, but tommy's not leaving that exchange empty handed. tommy gets to not feel alone, because he admitted he's jealous of the found family the 118 have built since he's left.

tommy knows it's temporary. i think that's part of the reason why tommy's character is so polarizing in the context of his relationship with buck, and why their relationship so far seems to superficial despite them dating the entirety of 7b. because why would tommy get invested in a relationship built on misguided feelings, fully knowing it's doomed?

[warnadudenexttime]

Ok here’s my personal rewrite on “the sides have a nice day” video

DISCLAIMER: if you infact like that video, that’s so real, so valid, good for you, I’m just here to change it a lil into something I think makes more sense/fits the characters better-

I think the premise is fine, but the execution is ehhhh- like look, I’ll keep the original spirit of the video and keep the big 3 inside it cause I know thomas likes them. So I’ll keep logicality then prinxiety then demus. Thumbs up? HWJAJSJ

I think the part of the video that probably needs the smallest tweaking is the first portion with Logan and Patton. It’s fine enough, Patton wanting to do something nice for Logan? Makes perfect sense, dude loves Logan. But the explanation as to why Patton is accidentally ruining Logan’s like- fun day experience? Is like, bro you’re SHJSJSS really running with innocent stupid doe eye’d Patton characterization rn huh?

Consider this instead, so instead of Patton was stupid “oh I didn’t realize the videos were just edited together! That’s why they went super fast!” Just say he was really excited to see Logan enjoying things, he got caught up in his excitement/feelings. Like to just say, oh he’s dumb and didn’t notice at all lol hurts- cause we know Patton is really emotionally intelligent and he would be able to notice at least after a while. So have Logan stop him, and Patton apologize and realize he just let his emotions cloud his goal of giving Logan a nice day. Ok good.

Next one. So, Virgil is giving Roman a good day, I get why- you know. You wanna push that new Roman and Virgil hating Janus friendship. But this whole section makes Virgil look like the biggest a**hole HEJAJSJ- like he’s making Roman uncomfortable or scared throughout it all and he doesn’t notice until the end where Roman basically self projects and is really sad HEJAJSJ I understand you wanted this to be an opportunity for Roman to feel better- or the comedy that is Roman reacting to Virgil sucking at being… a good friend- but consider this!

Roman sees that Patton gave Logan a good day and Roman’s like, he needs something to cheer him up, get his mind off being a downer of a prince. So he’s gonna one up Patton and give virgil a good day! Virgil! The dude who’s like doom and gloom! But if you still wanna have that comedy of something going wrong. Instead of it to where virgil is giving Roman choices he thinks he may likes but then turns out it’s just stuff virgil enjoys- have it be Roman giving stuff he enjoys and thinking “well if I like it, it’s great, so virgil will like it too!” But instead it twists into something virgil likes!

Follow me here, for example. Roman gives Virgil the option of sharing adventure stories, something he enjoys. But Virgil ends up telling Roman a spooky story which freaks Roman out and Roman’s like well that failed! It didn’t go according to my plan! And he keeps offering choices he would like, but virgil twists it into something he would enjoy or it just ends up like that.

And by the end Roman feels awful, he thinks it must have sucked and wants to apologize to Virgil. But Virgil’s like no dude I had an absolutely great day you’re a really good friend, you knew exactly what I like! So that way you get the sweet moment at the end but also the comedy of Roman reacting to things going poorly inbetween. I think it as well just makes more sense for Roman to do that initiative and go for something like this.

Ok so, this last one… it still hurts me so badly to hear Janus say “I’ve convinced Thomas to lean into his intrusive thoughts today” GOD IT HURTS SO BADLYYYY like not only is that such a misrepresentation of what intrusive thoughts are supposed to be, they’re not silly tik tok impulsive thoughts I’m gonna- ok I’m getting off topic.

I’m gonna be real this section is going to be very biased because I don’t like Janus and Remus being close besties, I’m admitting that here so you already know what we are getting into. I just don’t think self preservation, someone trying to keep Thomas at the top and in good health would be like HELL YEAH THOMAS DANGLE YOUR PHONE OFF A BRIDGE GO BANG UP A CAR GO TO JAIL FOR ALL I CARE! But anyways.

The whole joke at the end is, wow Patton and Virgil kinda suck at doing this but I Janus can give that little freak a good day so easily!

Here’s my pitch, have Remus at the end pop up to say, this video has gotten too mushy and feelingy and all that sh-t I’m gonna give Janus a bad day because why not! Seeing him in misery is fun!

And then just have short sections of Janus outsmarting Remus everytime he tries to give him a bad choice, Janus ends up flipping it somehow to something he would enjoy. Kinda like WTIT where Remus is like OH NO YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO OPEN THE DOOR! Then he gets stabbed because he’s stupid. I think this just personally makes more sense to me, then like- yes Janus would probably wanna show up the others but I can’t see him leaning into intrusive thoughts. But as I said, I’m biased.

So yeah there’s my rewrite of that video this was long but yeah :3 if you didn’t like this rewrite and/or prefer the original you’re so valid! Anything here is just my opinion and obviously isn’t the actual best approach.

[prncssguya]

well, i foresee this ending badly.

[fairyroses]

— SMALLVILLE, "Tempest" (1.21) & "Fragile" (5.18)

[twistedappletree]

It kinda makes me sad when people say Jin Ling is doomed emotionally and that the only chance of him maturing, healing and becoming a functioning adult relies solely on his immediate family who caused him so much trauma in the first place.

I think it irks me because I grew up in a similar situation but what helped me improve and heal was actually the friends I made who became like family to me. I don’t think people realize just how big of an impact the other juniors’ friendship can have on Jin Ling’s journey in life. They’re not just a bunch of silly kids, they’re just as important and helpful and powerful as the adult MCs in their own ways, especially when it comes to Jin Ling.

Friends really can save your life and I genuinely think our little peony is gonna make it just fine with the other juniors by his side. 💛

[hertwood]

i dont need friends who assume the worst of me

[cupids-chamber]

— THE CONCUBINE GAME !! | chapter one . . . The first chapter, where you'll be able to catch a climpse of the inner dynamics between the emperor's y/n's secretary and their personal guard, a small entry and brief taste of what's to come, while learning a bit more about our beloved emperor and their staff . . .

— Themes ; Harem / historical au , Twisted wonderland , multiple characters x reader , royalty au , includes rsa + yuuka/yuuken. ♡

The wind was howling, the pitter patter sound of rain could be heard throughout the grand walls of the palace. The sound of heels clicking urgently on the wooden floors, echoing through the empty halls, as Yuuken rushed his way through to the emperor's chambers. It was late, yet he’d been overworked all week preparing the palace for the arrival of certain selected members of the Royal Harem, some were particularly demanding with the way they wanted things sorted out and Yuuken prided himself on never failing to impress. 

He banged on the door rather aggressively, “Your majesty, I have certain design plans I need you to finalize before Prince Leona’s arrival, and the first few concubines enter the palace, we don’t have much time!”, he yelled out trying to get the emperor’s attention, it was already late into the night and the palace staff were working overtime meeting every demand that they were given. 

Yuuken flinched feeling something touch his shoulder, and right before he could move back and attack, he heard an all too familiar voice—”Don’t bother trying to get their attention, Y/n’s at a meeting”—Yuuka spoke, a small grin on her face while she watched Yuuken try and collect himself, “This late?”, he asked confused, “also please try and address them by proper titles in public”; Yuuka shrugged in response, pausing for a moment before she spoke up once more, “I’d like to keep things the way it is, and you should probably take a break because they’re not coming out of the room at all, it’s something about politics . . . I wasn’t really paying attention”. 

Yuuken sighed, slumping his shoulders as he leaned onto the door of the Emperor's chamber, “I-i . .  just want everything to be perfect, everything’s been so . . hectic for their majes—y/n and I just really want to provide some stability, you know?”, he said softly, letting his exhaustion take over for a moment and Yuuka’s expression softened, “Hey—you’re doing great, there's a reason y/n gave you full creative liberty”, she ruffled his hair giving him a genuine smile, “don’t push yourself too hard alright? None of us are expecting you to be perfect, not even y/n . .” she finished, as Yuuken closed his eyes and whispered a small, “I know . . .”

Setting: Meeting room Location: The west wing. Time: 11:36pm 

You fiddle with your fingers, trying to shift the jewelry that you were covered in, in an attempt to feel more comfortable with the weight that the jewels provided, holding you down . . , as another argument ensues between the nobles, these past few days have felt like a choir, in fact most of the months since you ascended have felt terrible, nothings been exciting—from inheriting an empire doomed to fail, to trying to pick up the scraps of what was left of your fathers reckless decisions and fixing it into something at least palatable, the pressure of everything has left you in a bottomless pit, you needed freedom a refreshing start—something you lost—when you inherited the throne . . . 

“—Ah, your majesty?”, one of the nobles spoke up, and you bit your lip, how you hated that title, the moment you inherited this role, your friendships haven’t quite been the same, everyone who you’ve trusted in the past, have now become just another subject, trust is no longer something you earn, as loyalty and trust is to be expected when the crown is on your head.

Setting: Inner Cold Palace Garden Location: Rundown Gazebo Time: 12:46am 

"—and they never thanked me'', Yuuken hiccuped out, words slurring due to his alcohol intake, he waved the half finished bottle of some form of expensive imported wine in his hands, swinging it around dramatically; Yuuka chuckled, taking a sip from her glass as she looked around at the scenery of the garden—it used to be much prettier and well taken care of, way back before the previous emperor—y/n’s father—went haywire. . . 

"Hey Yuuken, remember when we used to play together here?" she asked without thinking, meeting his eyes for a brief moment all the while Yuuken took another big gulp from his wine bottle . . and then he spoke, "Yeah—you and y/n pushed me into the lake, I still hate the water", he slurred over his words slightly and Yuuka chuckled in response, if only things could've stayed as simple, but now Y/n didn't even have the time to maintain the garden where they're friendship once first blossomed, Yuuka sighed, leaning her head down on the table—which had seen better days— . .  the same could be said about their relationship with y/n themselves . . 

Masterlist | Introductions (being reworked) | Next chapter

♡. Synposis ; After many months of persuading, the emperor, Y/N L/N had finally agreed to take in a select few concubines and consorts—not an official partner.. but concubines. This caused an uproar in court; however the emperor promised to choose an official partner; amongst the crowd of concubines and consorts.. Who will the emperor choose?

— taglist ♡ (open) : . . tumblr is not letting me mention over 5 people per post, and the staff won't do anything about it, so I recommend just joining my server and picking out the new chapter ping role as it makes things easier for me.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part five | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization, plus the aftermath of trauma, themes of identity loss and healing. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 10,200 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E FO R E

Felix returns to the base and he is scrutinized, as expected.  They all want to know why he was taken, what the enemy wanted, how he escaped.   Felix has never played so many sides all while obfuscating his real objective.  Alone, he guides himself through the venomous viper’s pit that is this war: Miroh and his enemy, Miroh and the world. 

Where it concerns the enemy, Miroh will always intervene.  He sees the enemy as the antithesis to the house of Miroh.   A rich, spoiled fool, holed up in his golden cave, oblivious to what he has and the work it takes to acquire it.  Miroh is jealous. Miroh is hateful. 

Those are emotions that Felix can manipulate.  He learned it from the best. 

“It was an ambush,” Felix tells him.  “They knew I was going to be there.  They were waiting for me.”  He uses his reputation, formed by Miroh, against Miroh.   

Felix would never lose a fight.  Felix would never fail a mission.  Felix would never surrender.    Felix is a reflection of Miroh so he presents the most flattering image. 

“What information did they want?”  Miroh asks. 

Felix can see the gears spinning in his head.  What could the enemy be seeking so determinedly to lay a trap for Miroh’s asset?  Oh, Miroh has a suspicion.  Felix can see it, because he knows exactly what it is.   

“They asked about Project Twenty-Three,” Felix says.  “I told them I had never heard of it.  Even if I had, I wouldn’t tell them anything.” 

Project Twenty-Three.  Chris has vented about it to Felix.  It is a cyber mission, striking against the enemy’s tightly guarded servers.  It intends to blackout the grid and lay virtual traps while they re-calibrate, compromising not only the enemy but everyone else on that grid: civilians, their homes, their hospitals, their shelters. 

It is a significant job for its scope and because it is the first time a mission will be helmed by Miroh’s daughter. 

Miroh’s daughter, Chris says, intends to sabotage the operation. 

It is Felix’s worst fears coming true.  Miroh’s daughter rebelling against Miroh is doomed to be a catastrophe.  She will inevitably go down and when that blaze tears through the sky, Chris will crash and burn in a similar inferno.  He is too blinded by proximity, too idealistic to see how it is impossible to truly destroy a man like Miroh. 

No one but classified personnel are supposed to know about Project Twenty-Three.  Miroh’s daughter let it slip to Chan, who let it slip to Felix.   As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix should not know about it.  As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix is telling the truth. 

As far as Miroh is concerned, someone is leaking highly sensitive data to the enemy. 

“I’m smarter than that, though,” Felix says.  He appeals to all that haughty vanity and says, “I was trained by the best.  Of course I got away.”

“Of course,” Miroh says.  Where before, he was wary, his guard comes down. 

Felix can sneak in.  Felix can lay his attack. 

“What else did they say?” Miroh asks. 

“I overheard them,” Felix says.  “They’re going to try and kill you.  And it’s going to happen inside your house.” 

The trap is laid.

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program.  And it wasn’t me.  It was you.   

Chan looks at you as if you shot him even though he was the one who fired at you.  

The words land with more violence than a bullet. 

It can’t be true.  That is your first reaction: denial. He is lying or he is confused or something, something, something. Anything but whatever he just said. 

He tries to step towards you.  You look at him and think of the First Guard: him in that corridor, a hand around your neck.  He fought just enough to make it real, the way you and Changbin sometimes fight, but it never went too far, did it?  You think back to that first fight in the ring.  You commended yourself for lasting so long, but that should have been a hint.  You would not have lasted a round with the First Guard on a good day, never mind after fighting several others.   He never came at you with the full brunt of his fatal capacity like you would expect, like you should have considered at the time. 

His eyes in the van, the tilt of his head.  

Trusting as your car stopped an inch from his body. 

His hands out like you were a wild, unpredictable animal, a weapon, something lethal he had to contain.   It’s me, he said.  It’s just me.  As if you knew who that was.

He does the same thing now.  You wrench away from him.   

“No,” you say.

He says your name but it doesn’t sound like a name; it sounds like begging, it sounds like please, it sounds like desperation, painfully barbed on his tongue.  You half expect him to start bleeding from the mouth. 

“No,” you say again.  You jerk away even though he has stopped reaching for you.  You feel a phantom hand on your chest and on your head, a cold fire in your veins. 

You slam shoulders as you dart past.  He says your name again, this time like an alarm, only barely short of a scream as he chases after you.  You get as far as the door before he catches you, his hand wrapped around your bicep and your name a weapon on his lips.

“Stop it,” you say.  It isn’t loud but it is brutal all the same. 

He lets go as if you electrocuted him. 

You look at him.  He stares back, all that begging in his dark eyes. 

“You can’t – you can’t leave,” he says.  His panic bubbles into frustration and he says, “You just told me off for doing that, didn’t you?”

You think of him on that rooftop, not even blinking at Miroh’s dead body, like he couldn’t care less, his eyes rivetted to you alone.   

“Do you trust me?” you ask. 

You think he would rather get hit.  A moment of pain, a scar to join the others. Instead, he has to endure the intensity of your eyes, suffer whatever fucked up expression is haunting your body, and then he has to let you go. 

You do not look at his face when leaving.  You don’t want to see this side of him.  There are already too many versions of him in your head, just as there are too many versions of yourself. 

The denial does not last long.  You walk through the brisk night, destination nowhere.  The sky feels too big.

It’s preposterous, isn’t it?  You are in your body right this moment, looking at the world with your own eyes.  How can anything be wrong inside?   But even while attempting to convince yourself otherwise, you know the truth.  It has been long unfurling in the back of your mind.   You have not felt like yourself for days, maybe weeks, maybe the entire three months since this downfall began. 

You don’t even remember what it means to feel like yourself. 

All the nightmares, the visions, the flashes of dreams that feel more like memories – maybe memories is exactly what they are.  So suppressed it feels like watching a movie rather than your own life, but your story regardless.   Sifting through those fragments feels like searching through rubble in a collapse. How are you ever expected to find a person under that much annihilation? 

When it happens, Changbin said, what feels like a lifetime ago.  When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…”

A sob rips out of you.  You have cried more in days than you have in years.  You cover your face and fall into the dark of your closed eyes.  You see your friend, not a fragment or broken memory, but a whole person.  The scar on your palm twinges, reminding you that you are real and here. 

Remember me, he said. 

That was the very first thing you did.   You saw him on that rooftop and you remembered something.  Him, younger, bleeding, emerging from a fog of smoke.  He lifted a weight off your chest.  He made you a promise. 

You try to chase the memory of that dream, try to hold the image of him in your mind, but it moves like water through a sieve.  It’s like he’s standing right there, just in the corner of your eye if you could only turn your head to look.  But you are trapped in place.  Pinned down, a weight on your chest. 

You lose track of time under the stars.  You are too numb to feel the cold.  Only when the sky purples with the very earliest streak of dawn do you move.  You look at your feet as you walk and it feels like someone else is moving you.  You know it’s just exhaustion, a trick of the weary eye, but a shudder moves through you.   

You don’t want to think about it.  Whenever your mind starts to go there – to that room, to that hole, to the cell – it backs away screaming.  It is probably why you can’t hold any picture for longer than a second. 

A small part of you still rebels, insisting it isn’t true because it’s can’t be true, but you know intrinsically that it is. 

This confirmation solidifies when you get back to the room and find Chan still awake, sitting in a chair with his head in his hands. 

He lifts his head.   You can’t hold his gaze for long, swallowed up by the dark depth that sees something in you, far beyond the surface, buried so deep you can’t find it. 

You turn away.   You climb into bed. 

It isn’t an escape.  You know that, even as you close your eyes and shut out the world.   It’s all waiting for you there, your subconscious caught in a perpetually crashing tidal wave.  

You fall asleep, ready to face the nightmares. 

-

It feels like swimming against an acidic current.  You push through but it bears down; you struggle but it burns your skin, sloughs down to the clean marrow.  Pieces of you are lost to the tide.  You try to catch each flaking sliver of personhood but then your arms are full and you can no longer swim.

You are going to drown. 

“Let go,” says a voice, colder than the water.  “This will all stop.  Just let go.” 

Just let go.  Just let your skin unravel.  Just let the tide take it away.  You will never get it back.  You will be a living corpse, a half-consciousness puppeting your bones. 

You decide to drown.  You slip further and further into the blackness behind your lids.

“Hey, it’s me!  I’m coming!” 

Changbin.

You can hear his footsteps as he thunders towards you, but you can’t see him.  Your eyelids are so heavy, as if being held shut by a hand in the water.

Another hand reaches straight through the corrosive cold and seizes your face in a desperate grip. 

“Wake up,” Changbin says.  He taps your cheek repeatedly, a little harder each time, a little more frantic.  “Hey, wake up.  Please.  Please wake up.”

It feels like he is prying your eyes open.  One moment there is nothing but darkness, then Changbin is there.  He looks like he did when you last saw him, grown, fight-ready, a little scar on his face.  It bleeds more than such a tiny mark should.  A droplet hits your cheek, burning hot compared to the water. 

“It’s me,” he says. “Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.” 

Don’t go.  Don’t go.  An echoing reverberation that circles the wooden beams high above your head.  You look there, staring at the ceiling as your lungs slowly fill with oxygen. 

The ceiling shatters in a spray of splinters, the world vanishing in a cloud of grey smoke.  Changbin is gone and your father stands over you, keeping that weight on your chest with a press of his fist. 

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, and plunges you back under water.  Ice cold currents and electric hot fire twine in and around you in an unfathomable vice.  Your vision flickers as you twitch and flail, avoiding one sensation to succumb to the other. 

“Don’t go,” Changbin says.  “I promise I’ll get you out.” 

Another bolt of lightning slices through you. 

“Just let go.”  A cold and clinical voice.

There is a war between those voices.  Time passes slowly as you volley in the current, slamming into one or the other. 

In the bubbling frenzy, you hear a whisper.  

“Let her go.”  That is not Changbin.  That is not your father.  It’s too soft – soft, until it’s not, until it sounds like speaking through an open chest cavity, heaving up its heart with every cry.  “Please,” the voice begs.  “Let her go.” 

“Thank me,” your father says.  He stands with his back to you, angled just enough you can see the gun in his hands.   You can’t see the person on the receiving end.  You just know it’s a soldier.  You just know it’s a boy. 

You have to stop it.  The thought overwhelms you and you reach for the gun, but your hand never makes contact, splashing through cold water. 

“Subject recognizes control,” says that clinical voice.

There is a hand on your chest.  It pushes you back under water. 

You are alone in the current and the corrosion and the cold.  The hand pushes you deeper and deeper into the endless darkness under you.  

You are going to drown.  You are going to let yourself drown. 

“You don’t want to do that,” you say. 

Your father still has a gun in his hand.  It is pointed at that boy. 

“Subject— Control—”

You need to get that gun.  You need to swim.  You need to see him.  You need to save him. 

You finally let go. 

-

You open your eyes. 

Unlike in your dreams, it’s fast.  You jolt awake in a cold sweat.  The ceiling is unmoving, the air cool and dry from the motel’s cheap, noisy air conditioner.  The blinds are closed but the neon light outside the window creates a fuzzy square halo.  It brightens the room just enough to see  the outline of everything clearly.  

That includes Chan.

He is still awake.  If this was just one night ago, you would tell him to get into bed and sleep because you can’t have him tired for the mission.  But now, you find yourself staring back at him, at his bare and open face, his tired eyes and the uncomfortable tension in his shoulders.   

When you went to sleep, he was sitting on that same chair in the corner, and it looks like he hasn’t moved once.  He’s been waiting for you. 

He’s been waiting a lot longer than one night.   If she ever came back to me, he said, revealing years of hope, of watching, waiting for you to break through your conditioning and show him a sign.  He was never brainwashed, just trapped in a precarious situation, bound to a bargain with no way out that didn’t compromise you.  He could have saved himself at any time but it wouldn’t have mattered.   

“You were never reconfigured,” you say. 

“No.” 

The question and answer breaks a dam.  A flood of questions pour to the front of your mind, overwhelming you, taking you back to your dreams where you almost drown – again and again.  You remember the report, stating too much recollection could trigger some kind of breakdown.  Yes, you could ask Chan to tell you everything, to string together all those gaps in your nightmares, but you already know that would not help.  It would either feel like a story about a girl you do not know, or it would just throw you deeper into the whirlpool.

You let those questions turn over themselves like a crashing wave.  When it settles, you ask the one question that remains.

“Were we friends?” 

He doesn’t answer right away.   He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands under his chin.  He is impossibly strong but right now he looks too weak to support himself.

“No,” he finally says.  His eyes dart to the floor.  “No, we weren’t friends.” 

He looks at you and you fall into the unspoken story within his eyes.  You have been conversing without words since you met.  He has been looking at you with that wanting tilt and desperate stare since he stepped into the ring. 

You remember a fragment from a dream.   Him, younger, his face ravaged with tears and his mouth open on a muted shout.   It would be easy to mistake that as him being tortured, his pain that palpable.  But your memory is not of his suffering, just his watching, just his waiting.   

All this time, he has been waiting.  

“Did you love me?” you ask. 

This answer comes faster, but rougher as if guarding against vulnerability.  His voice is low.

“Yes.”

A phantom spark fires up your arm, straight into your heart. 

“Did I love you?” you ask.

He holds your gaze, though it feels like he is looking just a little past you, seeing something you can’t see.  Then again, maybe he doesn’t see it, maybe he is just searching, and maybe he comes up empty.  Because when he answers, his voice is airy, and the word is like a hiss of pain, like getting hit in the chest and all the air leaving the body at once.

“Yes,” he says.

You feel the weight of that hit too.  Wavering under the force of it, you blurt, “I don’t remember.” 

“I know,” he says.  He drops his head into his hands and rubs his palms over his face, scrunches his eyes shut tight and shakes his head.  “I know.”    

You want to go to him.  You are not sure where the urge comes from because, despite what he said, you have never loved like that.  Is it something buried inside you, something that remembers?  Maybe it’s just you, who you are now, the person who has spent the last few days with this man at her side.  His proximity has been a confusing comfort from the start.  Maybe it’s a memory or maybe it’s just him. 

You stand before thinking it through.  He doesn’t even notice, a sign this competent soldier is very far gone, his face still buried in his hands.  When you touch his shoulder, it catches him off guard, both arms jolting as if stung. 

He looks up at you, his hand instinctively flying to the one you rest on his shoulder.  He clasps it, holds it there, presses it down like he needs convincing it is real. 

He meets your eyes.   You do not know what you look like; you just know it hurts him, that it makes everything so much worse. 

A child-like sob punches out of him.  His eyes close tight, his face going red as he fights to hold it in.   He cried earlier and it looked like the typical outpouring of stress and hurt, but it did not look like this. 

After that first sob, reminiscent of the little boy he never really was, years of torment come tearing violently out of his chest.  Flashes of memories melt with the sight, his young face twisted as he wails, that muted shout filled in with his voice now. 

He holds his forehead, doubles over.  When you see the top of his head, those other images fade away.  It is just him, here, now.  Whoever he is, he has been good to you.  Your hand is still on his shoulder and he is still clinging to it. 

“Chan,” you whisper.  You’re not sure if he hears it, but his breath catches when you nudge him upright.  You are certain he can’t see very well through his tears, but he looks up anyway. 

When you climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, he does not hesitate to throw his arms around you.  His hands find your back and he presses you so close, it feels like he is trying to push you right into his heart.  He puts his face in your neck where he fights to steady his breathing. 

You touch the nape of his neck.  You shiver at his long exhale. 

You feel miserable and choked for a myriad of reasons.  For him, everything he as endured and lost.  For you, who doesn’t even know what she lost at all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.  His breathing is less laboured, though his voice sounds sore.  He exhales again, some tension leaving his shoulders where you rest your hands. 

You squeeze those shoulders and lean back to look at him.  His expression is more than a little abashed, gaze uncertain.  You are not good at smiling but you try, even though you think your brows are furrowed and his sorrow is reflecting back through your eyes. 

“Thought we agreed to stop apologizing,” you say. 

His laugh is as weak as your smile, but certainly there.   You touch his face with your scarred palm, feel the curve of his jaw where that wound runs sharpest.    You think you can only touch him because of that scar.  You used to balk at the sight of someone else’s tears, even deride them.  You don’t remember being a lover.  You didn’t even realize you had a friend until it was too late.

You might not know who you are, and you might not know how to describe how you feel, but you certainly understand it feels different, and you certainly know what kind of person you do not want to be anymore. 

So you do not rip your hand away.  You curl a tuft of hair behind his ear. 

“I just—”  You trip over your own words, wishing you were a better speaker, more personable and warm than your stiff recitation.  “I can’t be that person,” you say.  “I don’t know what person I will be, but I’m not – I can’t—”

“I know,” he says, sincere.  He is holding your waist and he gives it a small squeeze, a reassuring touch that moves through you with a burst of warmth.  It simmers in your bloodstream when he smiles – his eyes still sorrowful despite the dimple in his cheek.   “I don’t wish you were someone else,” he says.  With a wince, he says, “I wish I was.” 

Your stomach twists in an awful knot.  You think of all that blood on his hands.  Despite his efforts to keep it away from you, you feel it on yourself.  You have to close your eyes to push away the flood of images, unsure which are imaginative fabrications and which are potential memories.  You just know he looks too young to have that kind of red on him. 

You open your eyes and look at him.  His eyes are open but his gaze is faraway, lost in thought.  You touch a tendril of curly hair, feel it under your fingers like you have the past couple nights.  He looks at you with eyes that have already shared multiple conversations. 

“I wish you hadn’t suffered,” you say.  “I don’t think anyone should suffer that way.  I don’t think the ends justify the means anymore.  But also I—” 

Even while your heart is changing inside, getting those words outside is a different struggle entirely. 

Chan looks at you with that tilt to his head, that questioning brow, his eyes a lot softer with his curiosity.  Your breath is jagged, a messy gasp as you gather yourself.  You look away, wholly incapable of maintaining eye contact.

“I got in the car with the First Guard,” you say.   “Not with some other version of you.  This soldier.  This Chan.”   You look down at your hands, absent-minded in the way you move them, from his shoulders down to his chest.  “This is the man I trusted,” you say.  “The one I still do.”

Your eyes lift.  They meet his.  His expression is a mix of confusion and amazement. 

His lips part with a question, but it gets caught.  He stares a little longer, then he asks, “Why?”

An unexpected laugh bubbles and bursts right out of you. 

“I have no idea,” you say, giving in to that bubbly feeling, letting it fill your chest and lift you up like a safety raft.  “I don’t know anything at all.” 

You realize there is something freeing in that thought.  No, you don’t know who you are.  No, you don’t know what is going to happen past right now.  You have to save your friend.  You have to end your father’s business.  Everything else, the becoming of you and the world and your place in it, is unanswerable.  You can’t find blueprints or scour maps or form battle strategies.  You don’t know where the water leads.  You just have to swim. 

“Maybe it doesn’t even matter,” you say with a shrug.  “I don’t know.  Nothing about yesterday, nothing tomorrow—”

“Just right now,” he says.

His voice is a little lower.  Just right now.  That was the pact you made the other night. 

Your whole body comes alight, waking from the ice cold state it has been frozen in.  It warms under his palms on your hips and where his dark eyes roam. 

“Just right now,” you repeat as softly.  You look at your hands again, realize more consciously how intimately they rest on his chest.  Rather than retract, you swipe your thumb across the exposed strip of skin where his flannel is buttoned askew.   “Maybe that’s all I need to know.” 

This right now feels different than before.  You don’t blame his emotional reaction to your earlier intimacy if it was an affect of all his memories, all he had lost, and all he was.  You think your straightforward trust in him – not in spite of his identity, but because of it – has shifted things again.  Your hands on his chest and your words in the open seem to have changed the shape of this whole room. 

“I’m the First Guard,” he says.  His eyes drop to your mouth then back up.  “You’re Miroh’s daughter.” 

“Yes, you are,” you say.  “And no, I’m not.”  You see the shiver that moves through him when you run your hands up his chest and curl your hand around the back of his neck.   You feel his thighs get tense under yours, his whole body reacting.  “Say my name,” you say.

When he does, it is not like a weapon or alarm, but spoken in a way that makes you feel like you have never heard your name spoken properly before that moment. 

You kiss him first and this time it lands deliberately, catching him mid-breath and stealing the rest of it.  When you start to lean away, to see if it’s all right, he puts his hand on the back of your head, curls his fingers in your hair, and draws you right into him, stealing back that breath with a desperate kiss. 

In a way, this is familiar to you.  You always liked and used sex as a grounding exercise.  You feel present in your body, regardless of how floaty and detached you felt before.  From the tingling top of your head to the curling of your toes, you feel every inch of yourself, alive and hot. 

But it feels different too.  You were always eager to chase the high, to reach the final destination with little care for the journey.  You realize, maybe, it is about the becoming, itself.

“Chan,” you say, squeezing his hips between your legs when he runs his hands under your shirt.  You climbed into bed still wearing your pants and shirt, wishing differently now as you rock your body against his. 

You buck a little eagerly, sensations going to your head quicker than intoxication.  Chan brings you back down, shushing you gently, guiding your open mouth back to his.  He kisses you slowly, touches you like he is memorizing every contour.   You make a sweet sound into his mouth, cupping his face as you kiss him back. 

“Can we—” you start.

“Yes,” he says.  “Yes, yes.” 

You stand on shaky legs and strip your bottom layers away.  The few seconds apart are dizzying, the whole world around him fuzzy as that neon yellow light leaking into the room.   Because he is staring at you, looking dazed and dishevelled, it takes him longer to unbutton his jeans than it did for you to remove your pants altogether.  You climb back onto his lap and do not help at all, distracting him with another kiss. 

A kiss always felt like a waste of time, but you think you could content yourself with just kissing him forever.   Slow or fast, gentle or needy.  

You are kissing when he gets inside you, gripping your bare thighs with a possessive hold that will feel tender tomorrow.   You luxuriate in the pleasure and the pain, your body yours, shared with him, reciprocated in turn.  

Whatever else existed – or could exist – ceases to matter for a time.  You come together and come apart in each other’s arms, chests pressed together, hearts racing against each other.  You tug his hair and pull his face into your neck, moaning under the press of his teeth and the heat of his lips. 

“Mm, fuck,” he groans into your skin, clutching your hips even tighter, rocking up into you while you roll down against him.  His gentle curse has you whimpering, his mouth on your throat making you shake.  “Mm, get all tight when I bite you, you know,” he murmurs, and leaves no time for argument or embarrassment because he nips at your neck again.  You do exactly what he said, clenching around him with an involuntary shudder. 

“Fuck,” is all you say.  He breathes a laugh against your skin. 

You clutch his shoulders when he gathers you and stands, moving the couple small steps towards the bed where he lays you out.  You are apart for only seconds, but you feel so cold and empty that it is almost terrifying.  When he shucks his jeans and gets back on top of you, you unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers, body in convulsions from the angle he is fucking you.   

You have never been fully alive in your body until right now. 

You come while he fucks you and you come again, when he puts his hands on you, like he really does need to feel every inch of you with his searching fingers.  When he keeps touching you, you are so stimulated you slap his chest, making him smile at your loss of words. 

 You lay in a tangled heap, your legs twined together.  Your shirt is gone and his is unbuttoned, your cheek on his chest as he lays on his back.  You let yourself be a little lulled by the cadence of his breathing.

Your eyes eventually wander.  You realize the sun has joined that neon light, the fuzzy halo around the window now a clearer glow.  The day is beckoning.  It brings you back to reality, to the world outside this re-shaped room. 

“I know I need to face it eventually,” you say.  “I don’t know what will happen. But right now – I can’t be distracted from the mission.  I need to rescue Changbin.  I need to stop my father.”

Miroh is dead but everything he did haunts you, like a ghost around every corner.  You can’t afford to confront the other ghosts, including your own. 

“Whatever happens after right now,” you say.  “I guess I’ll see.” 

“I understand,” Chan says.  He is caressing your spine, fingertips stroking up and down the slope of your back.   He scratches a little at the nape of your neck, making you hum in contentment.  “Really,” he says.  “I know things got crazy earlier but… I think right now… I can do right now.”

You look up at him.  He smiles down at you, dimples digging into his cheeks.  You have to look away, because you just promised yourself no distractions, but that smile causes a flush of warmth that goes beyond the physical. 

“Well,” you say with a sigh, patting his chest.  “Maybe by then you and me will be friends for real.” 

You feel his body stiffen, shoulders dropping, the hand on your nape freezing.   You look up to see his face, a questioning brow quirked.  He is returning the expression, though his countenance is a little more drole. 

“What?” you say. 

He answers with a firmer grip on the back of your neck.  He rolls you over, onto your back, keeping your head lifted in his hand.  The length of his open flannel drapes over your warm skin, a soft tickle as he leans down and kisses you.  It starts gentle but doesn’t last, his tongue parting your lips and the hot, needy press of his mouth pinning you to the bed and his arms.   You kiss back but hardly keep up, dizzy with breathlessness as he licks into your mouth, as he chases down the breath of you, as he keeps your lips on his for as long as he possibly can. 

Then he leans to one side.  His breath tickles your neck before he kisses just below your ear.  He whispers, “I don’t want to be friends.” 

He looks at you with a far too innocent dimpled smile.  You think Chan might be a bigger threat to your well-being than the First Guard. 

“Okay,” you say, breathless.  “Noted.” 

-

You open the blinds.  Once the room is full of sunlight, you revert to soldiership and work on your next strategy. 

There is no doubt the Miroh corporation is floundering in a state of panic.   They are not only dealing with the loss of its boss and heir, but also destabilizing insider attacks on various sectors while vulnerable.  On top of everything else, stocks have plummeted and investors are running for their lives and their wallets. 

You and Chan have watched the company as well as the social reaction.  With different leaks and financial fallouts, especially given Miroh’s connections to governmental and military divisions, it is no surprise that different stories have been cycling through the news.  You have kept an ear on the radio and an eye on tv stations. 

As you scour blueprints and map your next manoeuvre, you have the news playing at a low volume in the background.  They are currently reporting the combustion of a Miroh facility.  Their research and sources have led them to deduce it is an inside job.  

That much is fairly obvious as no one else could do what you and Chan are doing, though you are not suspects.  The media believes you are dead, that both you and your father were assassinated at the same time.  You are not sure if the company honestly believes you died, that the First Guard killed you then disappeared without Miroh to corral him, or if they reported that so they could kill you without a fuss in the future. 

There are no reports on Chan, of course.  No one outside of Miroh’s world even knows he exists. 

The major suspects are disgruntled investors and former employers, so far mostly scientists and research assistants given the targeted facilities.  With some of the government leaks, there are also theories that some deals with legislators went sour and resulted in a target being painted over the name Miroh. 

This seems to the angle the current report is taking.  At first, you are only half-listening, as the news reporter does not mention anything you have not heard before. 

Then you catch the latter half of a sentence you are not expecting.

“—of greater potential concern as this latest attack was on a military base.”

Both you and Chan whip your heads up at the same time. 

You have not attacked any military bases. 

“Turn that up,” you say.

Chan is already on his feet and moving towards the bed where the remote was discarded.  He turns up the volume on the television and you both watch the report. 

It is not impossible that a domino effect could ripple from one facility to the next.  The more attacks you make – targeting all the little chinks in Miroh’s armour – the more likely it is that certain institutions will collapse entirely on their own.  Either people will chase the money, like a lot of former investors, or they will abandon course altogether.  Eventually, Miroh’s world will eat itself alive, with or without your help. 

But you have so far only targeted a couple smaller research facilities.  Yes, there have already been consequences, but not enough that a totally unrelated military base on the other side of the country would spontaneously combust. 

You stare at the screen.  That base is big.  It isn’t going down without a fight.  No one outside of the house of Miroh would have dared target it.  No one else would have known how. 

“Changbin,” you say. 

Chan puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.  You look at him then at the television, at the story unfolding rapidly in front of you. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” you ask.  “It has to be.”

There might be just enough chaos in the ranks that if a solder of Changbin’s calibre was being held, something might fall wayside and he would have an opportunity to escape.  

You are just not sure he would try.   Changbin has obviously undergone changes of his own, all seeming to stem from that final confrontation with Lee Felix before the enemy went down and took his world with him.   Changbin clearly decided once and for all what was really important to him.  Changbin has always played the game carefully, but in the last few months he repeatedly put himself between you and your father.   He intercepted multiple interactions with Miroh’s men, altercations you dismissed as nuisances at the time but shudder to realize the weight now. 

Changbin threw himself in the middle, again and again, painting a bigger and bigger target on his back.  He seemed resigned to his demise.  For that reason, you are not sure how much he would fight even if given the opportunity.  He seemed whole-heartedly certain he would be left behind, no matter what happened. 

You curl your hand into a fist, digging your nails into your scar.  There was so much you should have told him.  If he knew that you were willing to fight this hard.  If he knew you would find out the truth.  If, if, if—

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Chan says. 

You look at him just as he kneels down beside your chair.  He takes your hand, the one with the scar, and unfolds it carefully. 

“Kicking yourself won’t save him, yeah?”  Chan says. 

“Yeah,” you say with a huff. 

The report continues.  It details this attack as being an inside job as well.  Supposedly, according to rumours breaching the walls, multiple people have gone missing, but their identities have not been given to the press.  Hearing that, you become marginally more hopeful that Changbin is among them.  The company would not report their supposed missing persons because they are most likely prisoners being held in less-than-legal circumstances.  Changbin would be that type of prisoner.  

The fight is ongoing.  He could still be there. 

“It’s a lead, at least,” Chan says, echoing your thoughts. 

“Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place this whole time,” you say.  You have been targeting the science sector when maybe your father kept it all in the military house after all.  Maybe after the initial pass through that research facility, he was moved onto a more secure base, given his background as a former child soldier of the special-ops program. 

Well, if that is the case, their extra security did not work.  Of course it didn’t work.  It’s Seo Changbin.   You could laugh at their idiocy. 

“We need to find out either way,” you say. 

You manage your expectations for now, but as you sit at the table and change course to plan an entirely new strategy, it is with a hope as clear and bright as the sunlight.

-

It is a lot of driving to the military base.  You will get there at nightfall the next day if you stop only sparsely. 

You and Chan are swift in packing and climbing back into that car.  You take turns sleeping and driving, though the last leg of the journey is spent on edge.  You are braced and ready for a fight, all that determination exacerbated by the very real possibility that you are about to see Changbin again. 

What will you say to him?  What will he say to you?  You wonder how much he knew about the reconfiguration.  Clearly, he knew something, if not the specifics, as he went to great lengths to keep you away from your father. 

You thought Changbin had saved you on an emotional level, but you realize now how it crossed into every sphere of life.    

You close your eyes while Chan drives.  You see Changbin on that rooftop, saying he will not leave you behind.  It was the first hit that shattered the glass around you.  Miroh had so carefully built that clear coffin around your consciousness, and Changbin smashed right through with the sheer brute force of his friendship. 

You glance at Chan.  Miroh did everything in his power to make sure you forgot about him.  Bang Christopher Chan, the First Guard.  Someone you loved and who loved you.  Your father would have focussed on that.  He would not have seen anything. 

Why would he care about a friendship?  What does that word even mean to a man like him?  He would have looked right past Changbin.  He spent all that time wiping Chan from your mind, that he never thought to look for anything else. 

Your body gets cold as you remember – something.  You close your eyes.  You are standing in front of Changbin.  He’s young, in his late teens, about the age you would have been when they reconfigured you.  He is looking at you with uncertainty.  You feel an uneasiness looking back at him. 

Don’t you know me? he asks.  He pulls a face, makes some dumb noises, waves his hands.  Then he frowns.  Changbin can be funny, but he turns it off in a second, as deadly as the rest of them.   So much anger floods his eyes, they look black with the focussed intensity of his fury.  You know me, he says.  Think.  Remember me. 

You see a slant of moonlight, a windowpane, a streak of blood.  Remember me. 

You feel a weight as it is lifted off your chest.  You hear him shouting your name.  You hear him running. 

You know me, he says. 

You flinch – in your memory? – right now? – and a piercing wail floods your mind.  You don’t want to go towards that scream.  You can’t go there. 

It’s me, he says.  Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.

“Changbin,” you say. 

“Hey, hey, baby, hey—”  That is Chan.  He is shaking your arm.

Your eyes pop open. 

You have never had flashes of recollection while awake.  It feels like a bigger adrenaline rush than waking from a nightmare, very little to divide your mind from reality. 

You take a few steadying breaths while Chan rubs your shoulder.  He was driving but the car is now stopped on the side of the road.  You did not even feel him braking. 

“What happened?” he asks when you are settled enough to speak.

“I don’t know,” you say.  “I just—I was thinking.  Remembering.  Not like that.  It’s complicated.  I just—”

You close your eyes.  A teenage Changbin is still standing there, looking at you warily. 

You know me. 

I know you.

“Changbin,” you say, choked up.  You blink your eyes open and take another breath.  “I’ll be okay,” you say.  “We can’t stop for long.  Let’s get back on the road.”

Chan does not look convinced, frowning as he stares into your face.  You blink at him, then narrow your eyes into a squint.

“Did you call me baby?” you ask. 

He clears his throat and turns back to the steering wheel.  Looking out over the dashboard, definitely not at you, and with the tips of his ears more than a little red, he says, “You’re right.  Let’s get back on the road.”

In spite of everything, you find yourself smiling. 

-

It is only natural that you are waylaid at the very last minute, right on the cusp of sunset as you approach the vicinity of the military base.  Not only is your path to finally rescuing Changbin obstructed, but it is halted by the most asinine, mundane nonsense in the world. 

Soldiers, agents, entire convoluted military operations – those you can easily take.  Minimum wage workers, on the other hand, are impossible combatants.  More grizzled than the worst of ancient servicemen, they blink at your pleading with a harsher chill than a mob boss.   You are certain this gas station attendant has seen some shit because he is not remotely inclined to assuage anyone’s anxiety. 

“The till is down,” he says with an icy tone, face pinched unpleasantly.  “It’ll be back up in a minute.” 

He goes back to talking to his manager on the phone, smacking his computer till at random intervals.  It does not exactly inspire confidence. 

While you and Chan have been getting by with theft and subterfuge, you do everything in your power to not draw attention.  That means you pay for gas as many stations have security cameras that log and report drive-offs and defaults. 

That means you are stuck in this line with several other customers while the hapless cashier whacks his computer.

The little bell above the door rings as Chan steps inside the shop. 

“What’s taking so long?” he asks. 

“I want to hit him,” you say, pointing to the disinterested cashier.  “He’s never gonna get that thing fixed.  We have somewhere to be, we can’t just stand here all day—” 

“Ah, ah, ah, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Chan says soothingly.  He interrupts your rant as you were raising your voice.   Not that it matters because the incompetent cashier is not paying any attention. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Chan says.  “You just have to know how to talk to people, yeah?” 

The cashier paid you absolutely no mind when you tried to complain.  He gave you a nasty look and ordered you to get to the back of the line.  Chan, on the other, receives a quick onceover and a blink of seeming approval. 

Chan leans on the counter and smiles a devastatingly charming smile, those dimples blinding.  The cashier puts the phone on his shoulder and looks at him expectantly.    

“Hey there,” Chan says. 

“Hello,” the cashier replies, coolly but not as rudely.  “The till is broken, sir.  We’re going to have to wait for a repair.”

“You know, I’m pretty good with my hands,” Chan says.  “I bet if you let me under there, I could figure something out.” 

The cashier blinks at him.  One blink, two blinks, three.  Then he hangs up the phone and opens the gate to let Chan behind the counter. 

You cross your arms and roll your eyes. 

Chan, perhaps unsurprisingly given his necessary breadth of skills, helps the useless cashier get his dumb register running again.  You all but throw the money at his stupid pretty head before marching away. 

“Thanks, Wolfgang,” the cashier says, using the made-up name Chan gave him.

“No problem.”  Chan winks back at him.   “Have a good day, uh—”  He squints at the name tag, gives it only a sparing glance as he steps out the door.  “Hyunjin,” he says.

The door swings closed and you continue on your way. 

-

Fortunately, you have no more preposterous interludes.   You approach the base differently than the facilities, especially because you have not been able to do a proper sweep.  However, that should be fine given the entire operation here has already been massively destabilized.  All the main assets have moved along, either because of imminent danger or because the media now has its eyes on its actions. 

Either way, you get inside without much fuss.  You stick together for longer, not trusting the dark corridors and labyrinthine tunnels. 

It is a lot emptier than anticipated.  The fight seems to have ended some time in the last couple hours.  There is an eerie, unsettled feeling, like a house abandoned in the middle of a meal.  Unlike the dusty underground hovels at the research facility, this place is still breathing.   You are not sure what it will cough up. 

“Still think he’s here?”  Chan asks, likely coming to the same conclusion as you: that even if Changbin was here, he has probably moved on.  He has either escaped and gone of his own volition or he was caught and reprimanded and has been relocated. 

“Maybe,” you say with a sigh.  “Maybe not.  But it’s still a lead.  Treat it like one.” 

You finally split up to cover more ground, agreeing to reconvene at the central warehouse in half-an-hour. 

Maybe Changbin is no longer in these walls – maybe he was never here at all – but there might still be answers.  You suspect there are questions too, because you cannot imagine who outside of the special-ops program would have both the calibre of skill and necessary intel to pull of an operation like this.  Someone reached right into the heart of this base and yanked at its ventricles like it was nothing.  And if not to escape, then why?

It has to be Changbin, you tell yourself, even while a sense of wrongness creeps under your skin.  It is the same odd, unsettled feeling you get when you think about the night the enemy died – specifically when you think about that security system somehow being wiped after the house burned down with everyone inside it.  It is that strange discombobulation, where the answer is probably simple and right in front of your face, so blatant that its absence haunts and distracts you.

You are distracted with thought.  Maybe that is why you make your first mistake.

You turn a corner and crash right into someone.  You are shocked because you did not hear their approach.  Even distracted, you should have heard footsteps in an empty corridor, especially in heavy combat boots.  You are quiet but you have unique bodily control that even well-trained soldiers cannot replicate.  No one else can walk that quietly.

It is clear the same startled reaction ripples through their body. 

You draw guns at the same time, firing with equal speed and precision.  You also both duck at the same time.  Smooth as a dance, you whirl around each other, firing and re-loading until they do a spin-kick and knock the gun aside.  

As you fight with your hands, you only catch glimpses of your opponent.  They are dressed all in black but not in Miroh’s uniform, a balaclava pulled over their face and head.  They are very slender, but they land a hit like someone twice their size. 

Your second mistake is your own fault.  You underestimate them based on their build and it earns you a good right cross. In the ensuing dizziness, they make a break down the corridor at an alarming speed.  It leaves you reeling more than the hit. 

“What the fuck,” you say, staggering after them. 

This person does not work for Miroh, that much is obvious.  It also definitely isn’t Changbin.  This person has the completely wrong build, opposite of Changbin in almost every way.   No, it isn’t your friend, but it might very well be another prisoner.  They might have an idea of what happened.  They might know if Changbin was here and where he went. 

The thought propels you into a determined sprint.  You cannot follow sound as the person is good enough to keep their footsteps low, but you are just as skilled so they likewise do not see you coming. 

They coincidentally head straight for the central warehouse.   The warehouse previously functioned as a pseudo-armory, but it has already been completely cleared.  It is two levels, the top floor a balcony walkway overlooking the main warehouse floor. 

The warehouse is empty except for the intruder. The person seems to be deliberating.   They remove their head covering for a second, long enough to catch their breath.  You see a flash of black hair and a hint of a masculine profile before you are spotted.   The man tugs the fabric back over his head. 

He leaps right off the balcony. 

It is too high for a normal person to jump without breaking a leg.  Naturally, you run to the railing to look over.

Your adversary is a step ahead of you.   He is dangling there, waiting for you to approach so he can swing back over and knock you down.  You skid across the balcony level, the metal walkway rattling under your weight. 

You don’t stay down for long.  Another fight begins, a back and forth tussle that makes you think you need more training.  The past day has been more than a little hectic, but you should be able to take down even a well-trained soldier. 

He does another spin-kick, a solid roundhouse that knocks your mask right off.   You stumble sideways while the mask clatters across the balcony before spilling right over the ledge.  It is a long descent before it smacks the ground. 

You ground your footing, assuming a defensive stance with a swift upward swing.

“Who are you?” you ask.

At the exact same time, the man says, “You.” 

That prompts another question, a bigger question, why on earth this stranger would recognize you in this context.   You cannot even think about your question, however, because the man abruptly flies at you with twice the verve as before.  Caught off guard, at first you struggle to defend yourself.   When he finally swings too wide, giving you an opening, you do not waste the opportunity. 

You tackle him, fully and bodily, arms around him as you charge the balcony.   You shove him right over the railing.  It is not so high that he’ll die, but you don’t want to kill him anyway.  You need to ask him questions – like did he do all this and how and why?  Are there others?  Is Changbin among them? 

You grasp the railing.  You are prepared to swing and jump over but you stop short at what you find.  The man, who should be nursing a fractured leg right about now, is instead getting to his feet.  He looks a bit dizzy, shaking his head and rubbing his temple, but he is otherwise unscathed. 

You just stand there for a second, gawping at him like an animal. 

That shielded face finally lifts, eyes finding yours across the space.   His head cocks, seemingly a dry and irritated, Really?

You launch yourself off the balcony, landing heavily but safely.  You absorb the shock and straighten, not taking your eyes off this man for a second. 

“I’m not interested in hurting you,” you say. 

He scoffs, pointedly looking down at your uniform. 

“I don’t work for Miroh anymore,” you say.  “I’m just trying to blend in.” 

“You?” he says.  It is so far the only thing he is willing to say.  His voice has a darker, deeper tone, scratching at the back of your head, but his monosyllabic replies do nothing to help place him. 

You want to say more but he doesn’t let you, jumping back into action.  You huff in aggravation, wanting to shout, we’re on the same side!   But he is fast.  You expend your energy just keeping him at bay.

Your stamina is fairly well-matched, just like everything else.  You move around the warehouse, kicking and punching and flipping around each other, losing track of minutes. 

A sheen of sweat breaks under your uniform.  He is slowing down too.  There is just one difference: he still has his gun. 

He gets you behind the knee and puts you on your back.  Before you can retaliate, he draws his gun and points it at your face. 

You freeze, staring down the barrel.  You slowly lift your eyes to him, just in case any sudden movement convinces him to fire.  So far, he is holding, though you are not sure why.  If he truly wanted to avoid detection, it would have been in his best interest to kill you and move on. 

He hesitates.  His hand is steady but his eyes are darting around inside the masked fabric. 

Your eyes continue to wander up, up.  Your heart leaps when you see Chan approaching on the balcony, silent and serious, gun in hand.  He has a longer-range weapon, not a little pistol like you and the adversary.   He takes aim from his perch but you shake your head.

You know Chan can make the shot, that he could get the man through the head and not so much as graze you under him.  But if this man dies, his answers go with him. 

“No!” you shout at the same time the gun goes off. 

You wrap your legs around the man’s midsection and yank him to the side.  You roll, one over the other until you are pinned once more.  You are both unharmed.  With the head covering, it is hard to tell if he is frazzled.  He certainly whips his head around quickly, trying to see where he dropped his gun. 

You spot it at the same time.  You glance at each other then bolt, stumbling over one another as you charge the discarded pistol. 

Chan jumps down off the balcony.  He takes more of a running leap, jumping forward rather than just down.  It gives him far more momentum so he hits the ground and tucks into a roll, riding the wave of that momentum until he is in the middle of the room. 

Chan reaches the gun first.  He kicks it out of the way and comes at the adversary with his bare hands.  He may not understand why you wanted to save an enemy who had you pinned under a gun, but Chan must trust there is a reason because he fights to incapacitate rather than kill. 

It is a good fight, but the man is already tired from fighting you. 

And you are good, but Chan is better.  If he could not beat you, only tie, then he cannot beat Chan. 

Sure enough, it takes a few more moves before the man is on his back.  Chan, still wearing his half-mask, straddles the man’s chest, pinning his arms at his sides and his body to the floor.  He draws a knife out of a thigh holster for good measure.   

“Got him,” Chan says.  “Who is this guy?”

“I have no idea,” you say, jogging over to them.  “That’s what I want to find out.”

“Let me go,” the man says, wriggling uselessly under Chan’s weight.   “I have nothing to say to her.”

“I told you already, I’m on your side,” you say.  “Or at least I’m not on Miroh’s side.”

“Whose side are you on?”  Chan asks with a jerk of his head. 

“Mine,” the man answers.  “Now let me go.  I have a job.”

“We have a job,” you say.  “We’re the ones who have been taking out the facilities so far.”

That gets the man to stop squirming.  He looks at you through the narrow eye slits in his balaclava, eyes darting to where you stand behind Chan. 

“You?” the man asks, seemingly his favourite word. 

“Yes, me,” you snap.  “And who are you exactly?” 

“One way to find out,” Chan says.  He does not wait for any further acknowledgement, ripping the man’s mask right off his head.  It is not a cruel or violent action, more a casual shrug of his arm than anything.  You are not expecting to find anything more than the scowling face of a stranger.   

You and Chan freeze.   

Staring back at you, with his hair returned to its natural pitch, his dark eyes narrowed in an intense glare, and a face full of unmistakable freckles, is a former agent of Miroh’s special-ops program.  One of the last and a traitor, not to mention supposedly dead. 

“You,” is what you say.

You do not know what else to say to Lee Felix. 

[deus-sema]

The seeds of Celebrimbor's tragedy and its implications

The hardest part of the episode was,undoubtedly, Annatar's manipulation of Celebrimbor and how he managed to not only isolate Tyelpe from all his people and well wishers but them from him as well. Valandil's death is a close second.

In the beginning, Celebrimbor is shown to be celebrating what is, until now, his greatest achievement and almost everyone he cares for is by his side.

But he senses his new friend Annatar's obvious unhappiness and leaves them all behind to follow him.

I liked how we were shown that Celebrimbor, while easy to trust others, isn't a fool for he can understand very well that Annatar can plant his ideas into the minds of others.

But Annatar is two steps ahead for a reason which is why when he fails to persuade Celebrimbor, he decides to take the reigns of the forge, of which the latter is supposed to be the master and he has been merely welcomed to, into his own hands. As for Celebrimbor, one supposedly harmless lie only leads to another.

Celebrimbor is trapped from all sides by Annatar. Doubting the authenticity of the rings is inconceivable for it would bring to question both his work and his capabilities as a smith. The achievement of his lifetime cannot be faulty so the fault could either be with his chosen partner or with himself. This fear is what Annatar preys on and creates doubt in Celebrimbor's mind about himself. By placing the blame of the faulty Dwarven rings on his shoulders, Sauron exploits Celebrimbor's guilt and makes him succumb to the pressure of creating the Nine.

He only begins to suspect that there is more to Annatar than meets the eye when he interacted with Durin - an outsider who isn't part of the bubble Celebrimbor has been confined to by Annatar and isn't in thrall of him. This is probably why Annatar wanted to meet Durin himself instead of letting Celebrimbor do so for not only does he seek to isolate Eregion geographically by breaking the bridge but also mentally and emotionally by preventing contact with anyone who might burst the bubble. Be it Durin or Narvi, he doesn't want anyone else to have Celebrimbor's ear.

This annoyance is also an indication of the hatred he will eventually go on to harbour for the Dwarves for while the Rings can amplify their greed for gold, their will is untameable and cannot be subdued, much less dominated by Sauron.

Meanwhile, when he realises that Celebrimbor might suspect him, he begins to poison the minds of the people who belong to Celebrimbor's household,have worked by his side and honed their skills for years, against him. He creates an illusion of danger to position himself as a safer option for them. Thus, the person whom Celebrimbor allowed into his home and on whom he showered his hospitality, generosity, trust and friendship, completely invaded his life and has set the wheels in motion for its destruction.

For no fault of his save for his kindness and good intentions, Celebrimbor has been left stranded and is all alone to deal with Annatar's sinister machinations. What's more cruel is that he couldn't even realise when the latter was mocking him on his face for being manipulated.

If this is just the beginning, then as feared, we will be left wrecked by the finale. The sparkle in Celebrimbor's eyes and his passion for his craft has begun to diminish. Throughout the episode, I just wanted to jump into the screen and take poor Tyelpe away from there, away from the impending doom.

Hats off to Charles Edwards for he is going to tear our hearts to shreds with his acting. And this is,indeed, a psychological thriller as the showrunners promised with major stakes.

[bloodyshadow1]

the thing with Porter is that his plan was doomed to fail. Sure there are some people who can be a rage god and he had some charisma, but in the end he had 1 true follower. He worked in a school full of violent, hormonal children and still had to corrupt the people he worked with for his plan. He was bad at being a leader, he would be bad at being a god.

He saw the rat grinders, even Kipperlily who was sincere in her anger as disposable, that's all he would get. A bunch of angry losers who aren't the unstoppable army of rage and conquest that he wanted. Sure numbers can be powerful in their own way, but him not caring about his followers would be his downfall.

Porter doesn't inspire people, he can trick them, but he can't get them to actually follow him. Which is a great foil for the bad kids who are just adventurers, exceptional ones but still adventurers. But their kindness has made them a huge family and a bunch of friends that will charge into battle for them.

One sincere offer of friendship from Adaine brought them Ayda, the love of Fig's life and a powerful wizard who helped them so much in their adventures. One moment of Empathy from Gorgug turned Ragh from enemy to an ally who literally followed them into hell. One off handed offer from Riz to Jawbone helped change his life and made sure Adaine and Kristen were never without a home or someone to care about them. Fabian opening his home to everyone helped Kristen win the election and his willingness to open up to Mazey is what helped them in the final battle. Kristen's open and sincere moment of vulnerability and kindness is what redeemed Cassandra the first time and helped save the world.

Porter doesn't have people like that because he doesn't care, he isn't open or vulnerable, he isn't kind. He had to force almost all his co-conspirators into working for him and it screwed him over so much once the plan had to change.

[vickyvicarious]

Oh yes, the feeling that you have to rely to the creeper who you loathe so much that you have come to hate even the rooms he resides in, that he's not the scariest thing in your life, that you have to run to his arms for safety. Horror! Dracula claiming him was the high point of the entry (than the almost-bite)

Honestly, yeah. The dynamics between Dracula and Jonathan are so scary, to the point that all the supernatural events are the cherry on top rather than the main course, as far as the horror of this section goes.

Dracula does so much manipulation here, holds so many different kinds of power over Jonathan, and multiple levels of each too. He's got physical power - both in the sense of the castle being a prison, and in the sense of his incredible strength. He's got social power - as a noble, and as a client/boss. He's got monetary power over Jonathan too, able to potentially make or ruin his career. He has so much control over Jonathan's ability to express himself - he's the only company available to him, he's forcing him to keep up a pretense of friendship, he's limiting and controlling his communication with others. Jonathan has no escape: he can't go out of the castle because he's locked in, he can't go many places inside the castle because he's locked out of them, and now he can't leave the rooms Dracula wants him in because otherwise the vampire ladies will get him, and within those rooms there is nowhere safe from Dracula himself. Jonathan has seemingly no action he can take: if he sneaks around behind Dracula's back, a greater threat awaits. If he acts openly, Dracula's own threat may become realized. If he doesn't act at all, he's doomed. If he acts at all, he's doomed. If he trusts Dracula, he's doomed. If he doesn't trust Dracula, he's doomed.

Of course, the supernatural elements are the mechanics by which Dracula increases the stakes, the threats underlying the charming veneer. Specifically, the introduction of the vampire women is what puts Jonathan in this seemingly inescapable box, and one with potential threats to something even greater than his life.

But Dracula's playing this Bluebeard role and could have done so with some more mundane threat as well, without changing too terribly much about his own actions. Where he's scariest (at least to me) is in these interactions with Jonathan, in these manipulative webs and traps he lays out in his words, in the way he pushes so many boundaries until they're forced to collapse or warp under the pressure. Jonathan's privacy keeps getting worn away. Dracula's speech and touch get more familiar and more possessive. He started out the first night blaming Jonathan for the things he did himself ('oh, why did you make your conversation so interesting we had to stay up all night?') and escalates until now he's making Jonathan be the one to act, and to suffer the consequences: whether in forcing him to lie to his loved ones, or in dangling the bait of sleeping outside his room and then only barely saving him when he does. And Jonathan has no real choice but to act. To fail to do so, in one way or another, would mean giving up all hope at escape or likely even survival. But because he has to act, he winds up feeling complicit. He ends up in situations where Dracula thanks him, forgives him, saves him. It keeps putting them on seemingly the same side, with Jonathan in a lesser/reliant role. And that's all a huge lie, at its core. But in a very real way, it's true too, to an extent. More and more, he's getting layers of resistance scraped away, and having to seek safety from Dracula now is so, so horrifying. In many ways all he truly has left is his will to live, his internal determination to resist - and now he's been given powerful incentive not to trust in that latter part too much. It's absolutely brutal.

He's walking a wire that just keeps getting thinner and thinner. All he can possibly do is try to keep this balancing act going, and hope for something to change that will give him more options down the line.

[sscarletvenus]

lookism inherently being a tragedy is so dear to me.

the existence of good people who will do good unconditionally (sinu, seongji, daniel's mom, vin's mom) wasn't enough to offset the evil that had corroded their surroundings, their kindness didn't save anyone they wished to protect not because it wasn't enough but because they were doomed from the beginning to fail, and thus fuel their beloveds' rise to infallibility.

that post which goes "the love was there. it didn’t change anything. it didn’t save anyone. there were just too many forces against it" , but lookism.

sinu choosing to help johan only for johan to lose everything eventually. jake choosing to spare olly the torment of living like a thug only for olly to perish more painfully. eli choosing to leave hostel only to end up becoming like the very man he despised, upon his return. seongji rejecting james' proposal to become a part of charles' grand design because he never wanted his kids and those of others to be brought to harm only for vin to end up becoming a murderer. gun choosing loyalty over his closest friendship only to embark on the path of complete, irreversible annihilation and being the only one who survives as everything he holds dear turns to stone...

the tragedy occurs because the person making the choice has been doomed from the very start. it matters not how much they loved because their love was never meant to endure.

every choice they made is irrevocably wrong but ultimately made out of love. these are unfixable mistakes but they happened only because someone cared too much.

[saerins]

⋆୨ prologue ୧˚ all see through, just like glass

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ next: chapter one - thorns without flowers, bars with no drinks ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 1.6k | ೀ content warnings: modern au, rich!reader & rich!sae, fluff/angst, swearing, somewhat boys being boys, manipulation/gaslighting, bad parents, yn has a sister here but won’t be mentioned too much !

i. y/n

“Don’t be so overly emotional, sweetheart. Isn’t this absolutely perfect for you?”

“You’re saying no? Can’t believe you’d say that… you know if you don’t do this you’re only damning your little sister instead, right?”

“Sweetie, we are listening to you. But don’t you think we would know what’s best for you? We’re only criticising you because we love you.”

Marriage; a concept you’d been familiar with since young, way back when you had a dream to marry your one and only Prince Charming—someone who’d appear one day and completely sweep you off your feet. Five year olds are silly like that. You’d believe in Prince Charming and fairytale endings and that two people in love would always work things out.

Being the daughter of a very successful businessman, a lot of things were given to you as a child. You never had to ask for toys, or books, or anything at all. Your father would ensure your material needs were well taken care of, and your mother would ensure you’re pampered from head to toe, buying you designer assets and making sure you look the best you can at each instance.

Life in the upper echelon is mostly desirable; the privileges are apparent, the favouritism rampant. You’re grateful for what you have, but there’s a small ball of thought inside you that wishes for your parents not to see you as a product, but as their child. Most of the people you had met had absolutely zero problems with their upbringing, perfectly content with being handed everything on a silver plate.

Most people except Mikage Reo, your best friend since the fourth grade. He hated having his life dictated for him too, and you both found common ground in that. Ever since then, you’d both been close as ever.

“Wait wait wait,” he nearly chokes on his rice, the disbelief in his tone overwhelming, an eyebrow cocked as his fringe falls over his left eye. “Repeat that again.”

A small sigh escapes your lips, your fork poking against the rice in your bowl, any form of appetite you had earlier being sucked out just by revisiting the topic. “It’s an arranged marriage.”

Reo appears unamused, but he restrains himself from commenting too much negativity. “And… what did you say?”

That’s why he’s a good friend—he feels you out first before filtering what he needs to say. He’ll still speak his mind, but depending on your decision, he’ll choose his words carefully.

You’ve always been eternally grateful for his presence. It calms you down, that sense of comfort irreplaceable. You know that if you ever really screw anything up that bad, you’ll have him—and really, that’s enough for you. Out of everything you have, you think this friendship’s probably the most precious one.

“The wedding’s in a couple months,” you half-answer, deciding to stop playing with your food and putting your fork down. The clang of the metal hitting the marble-top table is the last sound you hear for a while before Reo clears his throat.

Before Reo can get any words out, you interject. “The guy said yes too, apparently.”

Now he chokes on his rice.

You slide the glass of water across the table and Reo chugs it down, water trickling down the sides of his lips at his urgency. “How the fuck did your parents get Itoshi Sae of all people to say yes?”

Itoshi Sae. The name of your to-be husband. You know him as much as what you can search online. Twenty-five this year. No hobbies but it’s rumoured he’s good in soccer. He’s a lot like you when it comes to status and standing in the business world—the kid of successful self-made parents who everyone in your immediate circle automatically expects good things from. The pressure to perform and become someone of note since birth is probably something you both share. Except, maybe, Itoshi Sae looks like he’s a lot less obedient than you are. He looks like he’s more rebellious than not, and that’s why you wonder if he has any hidden agendas by agreeing to this business arrangement.

You know why you’re agreeing.

“Seriously, we raised this child and yet she’s so ungrateful!”

“Y/N, you know if you don’t do this then he’s just going to force this on your little sister, right?”

How can you let that slide as a big sister? Especially when your little sister is perfectly happy in a long-term relationship? Unfortunately, threatening their children isn’t below your parents.

Even when you revisit the conversation in your head, your mother’s faux concern is nauseating. She’s always been that way; everything your father says goes and she doesn’t offer much else other than what he expects of her. Maybe that’s why you grew up to be this way.

Shrugging, you turn your attention back to Reo, a small pout forming on your lips. “You know my dad. He’s always been good at talking.”

“What about you though? Are you really okay with this?”

At this point, Reo’s the only one who’s genuinely concerned for you. Maybe because he knows about all your childish dreams about finding The One. While you appreciate his concern, you brush it off.

“Yeah, I mean, how bad could things possibly get with Sae?”

Reo’s eyebrows show he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t say more.

“I’ll be fine, Reo, promise.”

You’ll just have to win Itoshi Sae over. Even if it’s hard, you’re determined to try and make the most of it. It won’t be that bad if you work hard on it… right?

ii. itoshi sae

“Either do this, or I’ll get Rin instead. It’ll be a pain, but don’t think I won’t do it.”

“Honey! Stop speaking like that… Sae, please try to understand, this will be a huge opportunity. It’s the least you owe us, hm?”

“You lost your shot, do you want Rin to lose his too?”

“If you don’t want her, I'll take her.”

“Go ahead.”

Sae’s completely tuned out of the conversation, the thoughts of his upcoming wedding filling his head. Now that everything’s settled between yours and his parents, it’s really kicking in that fuck, did he really let them dictate his love life like that?

“She’s pretty hot, though. I think she’s just a year younger than you?” Oliver’s scrolling through your Instagram—typical behaviour from his end. The moment Sae told them your name, it took only half a minute for Oliver and Otoya to find your online presence.

L/N Y/N. He’s always heard of you. Your name constantly leaves his parents’ mouths, ever since he was a kid. Apparently, your parents and his have been tight since high school. Sae is sceptical about the relationship, though. Nothing is ever that plain and simple between rich families. There must be a reason Sae’s never personally seen you, after all, despite his parents claiming to have a good relationship with yours.

“What the fuck’s going through their heads?”

And by that, Sae assumes that Otoya means his parents. If that’s the case, Sae has long decided he’s given up trying to understand what goes on in their heads—but if he had to guess, it’s probably all because of a simple business deal.

Having their kids wed each other would mean that one of them is absorbing the other. A little side knowledge that Sae doesn’t care for, so he only shrugs in response.

“Aw, little Sae is growing up,” Oliver sneers, earning a snicker from Otoya and a middle finger from Sae himself.

Otoya eggs him on, adding to the fire. “Yeah, to think that the guy who only ever dated once in his whole fucking life is the one getting married first,” he comments, eyes gazing to the side in deep thought, “what was her name again? Mirin?”

“Oh fuck, yeah I forgot about her,” Oliver exclaims, smirking at Sae. “First love type shit, right?”

Sae rolls his eyes, ignoring him, forcing him to change the subject.

“Shit, didn’t think you were the kind to ever say yes though,” Oliver remarks, eyes still glued onto the screen, likely still scrolling through your posts.

Oliver’s standards are quite high. Are you really that pretty? Sae’s never actually seen what you look like.

“I’m not fucking marrying her. I don’t even know her.”

“Maybe we should just pull Rin out then, get him to come back here and handle all this.”

“Sae, be a good boy and listen to us, okay? How about this—if it ever gets too bad, we’ll look into a divorce in the future, hm?”

As if he believes that. His parents are insufferable. There’s no point in ranting to this group though, so Sae brushes it off.

“Not like I care about this marriage shit,” he leans back, an air of nonchalance around him. “I’ll just shut my parents up and wait for the right time to leave.”

Otoya scoffs, smirking. “Lucky girl.” Sarcasm is his forté.

Oliver laughs, finally putting his phone down. “Okay you do that, and then I’ll pop up and be her Prince Charming and sweep her off her feet.”

Sae inwardly sighs to himself. His friends are insufferable as well, though he’d argue whether that’s the correct term for them. They’re only a group because their families happened to meet often. Somehow, Sae had been dragged into this weird association one day, and the rest is history.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

The rest of the night, Sae drowns out their conversation, choosing to ignore whatever shit they’re talking about. In his head, he’s only thinking about how long it’ll take before he can safely absolve himself from you without his parents threatening his younger brother’s career. More importantly, he’s wondering how the fuck he’s going to tell you he’s thinking of a divorce even before you get married.

Surely, you don’t really expect anything to come out of this either, do you?

If you do, you’ve got a rude awakening coming.

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover

[voldkat]

RAIN WORLD : ROLESWAP !!

i wanted to explore an au where pebbles is swapped with sig , instead of the usual pebbles-moon swap :3 i hope you enjoy this au i accidentally created because i listened to laplace's angel for too long and was plagued by visions during the tender hours of 10 to 11 pm

the main focus of this au !! yeay !! sig accidentally kills suns out of desperation to reach A Goal ( i don't know what it is yet ) and pebbles attempts to save them by sending a care package . sig is much younger here and his personality reflects that , being bitter and stubborn and a sarcastic little shit , though he ends up calming down and resembling his canon self a little more as his can slowly rots . he was built as a sort of backup iterator in case suns' cooling systems were to fail entirely . pebbles is calmer and more level-headed , showing the same warmth and kindness he did during his canon rivulet campaign state , but ends up snapping from stress anyways and isolating himself permanently .

moon becomes an outsider to the local group , yet retains a close friendship with pebbles and being a mentor figure to sig . she sends sig illegal information during his time of need and quickly regrets it . suns becomes the group senior , built in a naturally cold environment to combat their subpar cooling tech . sig's excessive heat output threw the nearby climate into chaos and caused suns to collapse from overheating .

this one's a bit of a weird one !! hunter is now the cancerous growth slowly killing sig from the inside , his very own version of rot . it looks the same as pebbles' rot in canon , but with pinkish accents instead of dark blue accents . pebbles' rot is now a carnivorous slugcat messenger named the outlaw (?) , created by pebbles to send aid to suns . their creation process was rushed which led to them developing a terrible illness , locking them into an unfortunate demise .

spearmaster is now a random wild slugcat , weirdly mutated by natural means somehow . they stumble into sig's decaying can and retrieve his last rarefaction cell to give to suns , later becoming suns' companion . rivulet is now a genetically engineered messenger made by moon to be swift and nimble , their gills and swimming expertise letting them traverse moon's watery surroundings with great ease . they were used once to deliver the illegal information to sig , and once again to send an apology to him , which he angrily denied .

the green pup ( yet to be named ) gets separated from their family because of a scavenger-related incident . the blue pup , now named the scholar , bravely sets off in search of them . the two are related to artificer as colonymates . survivor and monk both perish from a terrible storm , getting carried away by the rain and doomed to drown . the two are related to gourmand directly .

artificer is now the leader of the slugtree colony , depicted in legends as a fierce brave warrior capable of taking on any challenge . their journey involves searching for a pair of lost pups , dodging hits from suspicious scavengers along the way . gourmand is now the unfortunate parent of survivor and monk , losing two of their pups to the unforgiving rain . they run down the path of greed and bind themselves to gluttony , endlessly searching for power so they can never lose anything again .

AUGHHHH !!!!!

i haven't thought of what to do with saint , sliver , wind , or innocence yet !!! i might swap wind and innocence if i don't see any better options . and if i feel silly enough i might swap saint with sliver

idk if i wanna add nightcat and enot into this au , but if i do they'll probably get swapped with each other too unless i run into any cooler alternatives

gourmand's story is a little bit scuffed BHJDSHF i'm sticking with them getting locked at karma 4 like arti's canon karma lock but i don't have much that builds off of it right now . oopsie

their ages / spots in the timeline have been swapped around too ! pebbles and moon are now both gen 2 , while suns and sig are gens 1 and 3 respectively . the slugcats follow the timeline of whoever they're swapped with ( rivulet is the first campaign , gourmand goes right after , then the outlaw (?) , etc )

i WILL be tweaking the designs for these guys ( especially the iterators since i have specific generation-based design conventions for them and All Of Them would be breaking those conventions if i let them keep their usual designs ) but i am Not That Good at spontaneous character design so i will be doing that !! later !!!

if you guys wanna send asks about this au or talk to me about it then go ahead bc it's been rotating in my head like crazy pleasepleaselpaseplepalseplaseple /silly

[scekrex]

There's a chance you've already done this prompt before but it's hard for me to check so if you've already done a fic like this dont worry Abt it! Adam x Male!reader btw.

Maybe a "I wish you were a girl" situation, but more from the readers point of view? Like he knows Adam has ever shown interest in girls, and constantly bitches about his wives. (And only ever flirts with random angels who are girls) So when Reader realizes he has a crush on him, he has doubts and never ever thinks that Adam would ever like him back. (Even tho I'm a firm believer of bi Adam.)

I don't know where to go from there, but maybe the reader figures out he DOES have a chance somehow? That or just straight up hurt/no comfort...

Okay so I don't think I've written this or something similar before and if u have I don't remember so here ya go <3

He likes a girl and I'm not a girl

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you

For a guy who claimed to be a simple man, Adam was quite complicated in your eyes, though that had more to do with his behavior towards you than with anything else. On the outside everything was fine, the two of you were just pals - quite close pals but nothing more.

On the inside however - or specifically on your inside - the knowledge of being ‘just friends’ ate you up like a five star meal. Because how were you supposed to enjoy the beauty of Heaven if a certain brunette kept shattering your heart over and over again? How were you supposed to enjoy the divine afterlife they had promised you when the man you liked kept flirting with girls - girls who only looked half as good as you, girls who were good at sucking his dick and making pretty eyes at him, girls who were whores. You desperately wanted to grab Adam by his shoulders and shake him, you wanted to shake some sense into him, wanted to punch his face and kiss his lips at the same time and while you definitely were able to punch his face without ruining the friendship, you were quite unable to kiss his soft looking and inviting lips without setting the bond the two of you had formed on fire.

Adam was not into guys, he had made that clear over the past thousand years, he was ‘dating’ - more like hooking up with - women and women only and even if the first man would be into men, there was no guarantee that he would be into you. But there wasn’t even the slightest chance for you, Adam wasn’t into men and you - a man - were into Adam. It was doomed to fail, doomed to tear your heart apart over and over again but you refused to leave his side. You cared about the stupid fucker and while it burned to see him happy with women - women who weren’t you and you whow ould never be a woman - you were glad that Adam had found something that brought him joy, even if that meant that you would suffer from the indescribable pain of unrequired love.

A price that sounded so meaningful, so expensive but then you would see Adam’s golden eyes, filled with pride and pure happiness whenever he talked to you about whatever chick he had fucked over the weekend. It was easy to tune his words out and simply watch his facial expressions change, it was so easy to ignore the fact that he was literally telling you about having sex with women you have never met and would never meet. And yet it was so hard.

If only God would have made you a woman, a beautiful one that would be Adam’s type. And while your looks would fit Adam’s type, your gender very much didn’t, oh the price you were willing to pay to be a woman just for one day, just so you could be Adam’s for a single day. But that would not happen, neither of it would. God would not turn you into a woman and you wouldn’t be Adam’s, not for a day and certainly not for longer.

The worst part of it all? Adam’s unintentional yet hurtful comments.

“Y’know,” he had once said after one of his gigs as he had his arm wrapped around your shoulders. You were expecting the first man to tell you which of the women in the crowd he’d invite backstage but instead of doing that he had leaned in close, so close that his hot breath was hitting your cheek. “If you were a chick I’d make you mine in no fucking time, dude.”

If you were a chick.

But you weren’t and as long as that was the case Adam was not interested in you in any other way than being friends. And while you had laughted it off, his words had haunted you for days, fuck they had even followed you in your sleep.

Or another time when you and him had gotten shitfaced during the boys night out. His arm had been around your waist, his other hand was roaming over your body stopping at your chest, squeezing it, “For a dude you have fucking nice tits, man.” The alcohol had been audible in his voice and despite the fact that he was aware that you weren’t one of his girls, he kept touching you.

-

The first man was sitting next to you, your side was pressed flush against his as his arm was resting on the backrest of the couch right behind your head. Confidently he spoke, “So y’know how you’re into dudes?” Now that was straight up the dumbest question the first man had ever asked you and lets just say that he asked quite a lot of stuff. You fake gasped at him, “What, I’m into dudes? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” That earned you a playful smack on the back of your head, turning your shocked expression into an amused grin. “Fuckhead,” the first man mumbled, “I’m being fucking serious here.” You simply shook your head in amusement, not quite sure where this conversation would lead you to - why was Adam suddenly interested in the fact that you liked men? Was he trying to set you up with someone?

“Yeah, why though?” you hummed right before you took a sip of your drink - a thing you regretted only seconds later when Adam said, “Do you know any fuckable dudes?” The sip wasn’t swallowed, instead you spit it out in pure shock.

What did he just say?

[beom1e]

jerk! giving up

between a friend from college coming to visit and the common occurrence of yeonjun putting his relationship before your friendship, the last thing you need is beomgyu waiting to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong. but despite his need to fight with you on everything, his actions show a completely different side of him. a side that cares for you.

pairing choi beomgyu x fem! reader

genre humour, angst, fluff, guitarist! beomgyu

warning cursing, alcohol, hangover, nausea, jealousy

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you fixed your hair in the mirror, trying to find the perfect balance between messy and neat. the door into the bathroom on beomgyu’s side pushed open, and you cursed under your breath as he stepped into the room. you straightened up and looked at him expectantly, waiting for his harsh words or at the very least a complaint. he stayed silent.

his eyes trailed across your figure. you were dressed in a way he’d never seen you dress before, and you were wearing a much more mature style of makeup. you were looking at him through narrowed eyes beneath a sultry smokey-eye, and your lips were painted a seductive red. he swallowed thickly and averted his gaze towards the linoleum floor.

‘why are you staring at me?’ you rolled your eyes and turned back to the mirror to dab at your lipstick.

‘you look ridiculous,’ he lied. ‘where are you going?’

‘a friend of mine from school is coming to visit,’ you explained. ‘we’re going to hit the club and then she’s going to crash here for the night. so, please, knock before you barge in like you just did.’

‘is that really a good idea?’ he raised a brow.

‘what, clubbing?’ you scoffed. ‘okay, grandpa.’

‘drowning your sorrows with alcohol,’ he stated. ‘it’s only your fault that yeonjun made a move on that music store girl. you should have been clear about your feelings.’

‘stay out of it,’ you sighed, looking down at your hands that were gripping firmly onto the sink’s edge. ‘why are you even talking to me? we’re not friends.’

‘and whose fault is that?’ he shot back. you groaned with frustration as you headed back into your bedroom. ‘you’re the one always pushing me away.’

‘huh?’ you spun on your heel to face him. he’d stopped under your doorway. ‘because there was no reason for you to act like such a dick the other day. one second you’re this guy who went to college but loved music more than his degree, the next you’re an insufferable piece of shit who would do anything to piss me off. and you had the audacity to come knocking on my bedroom door as if that’d solve anything.’

‘i’ll leave,’ he rolled his eyes. still, he felt guilt consume him and this sense of doom as he wondered if you’d ever speak to him again. ‘and i’ll use taehyun’s bathroom.’

why did he care? he wanted to rip his hair out of his scalp at the mere thought that he’d grown to care for you.

he was a better person than you knew. he loved those closest to him intensely. he was the best at giving advice and thought of music as a healthy escape. he’d taken great care when editing the songs you’d originally wrote, always turning to the rest of the band for confirmation that it wouldn’t bother you before the music was officially released. yet, somehow, you had this idea in your head that he’d waltzed into the space you left behind and hated you for even existing. that wasn’t the case, you’d just failed to make an initial connection.

still, something had changed.

he could only ever think of you as the girl who showed up out of the blue and claimed that he’d stolen her life. the girl who went out of her way to push him to the limits. but now, you were this girl chasing a life you didn’t want and leaving behind a dream too far out of reach. the girl who lost her hometown, her friends, her music, her childhood sweetheart, and now her second chance at having it all again.

if he could, he would be hitting his head against the wall and praying for the return of the surface-level impression he used to have of you. but he recalled the way you rushed to wipe away your tears and the cracking of your voice. he thought about it a lot. he thought about you a lot. he always had, honestly. despite the jealousy, he’d always wondered about this ray of sunshine his friends had always described. he wanted to meet the genius behind the lyrics. he wanted to make you proud. and then he began to think about you after your first meeting, and where he went wrong. he tried to ignore it and blame it on your childish feud, but no one else thinks so often of a girl they claim to dislike.

he closed your bedroom door with a huff.

you headed towards your bedside table and dug your hand into the bag of gummy worms kai had bought for you the other day. as your teeth pulled back against the gummy treat, your phone began to ring. it was yeonjun. you stared at the screen and waited for his contact photo to disappear. a scanned photograph of your childhood selves sharing an electric guitar at the music store you had once loved so dearly. you really had to get around to changing it, probably to a selfie taken right from his instagram.

the room fell silent after the ringtone stopped. and then your phone began to ring and buzz with text messages from your best friend. you squealed excitedly and jumped up from the bed, knocking the pack of gummy worms to the ground.

taehyun stopped in his tracks as you pulled open your bedroom door. you sent him a smile as you skipped down the hallway and headed for the staircase. as your feet met the final step, you heard her voice as she was escorted into the seating area by soobin. you rushed towards them with another excited squeal, causing soobin to jump and yelp.

‘y/n!’ she called as she ran towards you. your arms wrapped around one another out of instinct, and she began to jump up and down with you in her arms. she leaned in closer and lowered her voice. ‘why didn’t you warn me about how rich they all are? i would have tried harder with my appearance.’

‘oh, please,’ you rolled your eyes and looped your arm through hers. ‘come on, i’ll show you to my room. oh, and i share a bathroom with this really annoying guy but he promised to not use it while you’re here.’

‘really annoying guy?’ she turned her head towards you and raised a brow. ‘you mean beomgyu?’

‘precisely,’ you nodded shortly.

‘yeonjun is calling you again,’ your best friend spoke before continuing to sip from her straw. your gaze cast down towards your phone before you shrugged. ‘what’s up with you two?’

‘literally nothing, as always,’ you sighed. ‘he met this girl and the rest is history. i refuse to entertain him any longer.’

‘you’re giving up on him?’ she raised a brow, shock evident in her expression. for as long as she had known you, yeonjun seemed to be the only guy you’d ever truly wanted.

‘he’s not the only guy in the world,’ you rolled your eyes and picked up your glass. you stirred the icy liquid with your straw as you stared at the base of the glass. ‘i’ve dated other guys and had no issue before. i think i only wanted him because he was like this connection to my childhood, and being here just makes me nostalgic. but i’m not a child anymore. i mean, look around, there’s a hundred guys in here alone.’

‘just don’t do anything stupid,’ she warned as she finished her drink. ‘and don’t go home with any of them. how on earth would i find that awkwardly hidden mansion all on my own?’

you laughed audibly. it felt good to see her again. she was a reminder of the life you had now, after spending too much time in a world you no longer belonged in. the five boys were just a friend group of yours, nothing more. you didn’t live here anymore, you didn’t make music, you weren’t going to fit perfectly back into their lives. you had a career to chase and a group of wonderful people in another city. you had past loves, mistakes, memories, favourite spots, records of your time at college. what did you have here besides a lost dream?

‘should we dance?’ you smiled as you set your glass down.

‘obviously,’ she pulled herself up and threw her bag over her shoulder.

you grabbed the remainder of your things and abandoned the table you had been sitting at for over an hour now. your friend reached for your hand and began to pull you through the centre of the crowd. to her, it was just a bunch of strangers together in one room. to you, it was the people you had sat beside at a desk during your school years, still waiting around in this town for something great to happen to them. hopelessly holding onto the love they have for their hometown, and not the desire to move onto bigger things.

you would have been the same, had you been given the chance. to sit and wait around for your music career to take off, and never receive a full education. your parents wanted more for you. still, you wondered if things would have went your way had you stayed. would you been as successful as beomgyu is now?

the most popular songs of the week played through the speakers, regularly being mixed together in order to create a messy transition. it was exactly what you’d expect from the sole club in your town. you still managed to enjoy yourself.

you weren’t sure how long you’d been there, dancing and singing along to the songs that you actually knew. not that it mattered, you had nowhere to be and nobody waiting on you.

beomgyu could have told you. he’d been watching you for the past hour, refusing any offers to dance as he leaned back in his position on the couch. conversation fell short in front of him, and he’d been working on the same drink for as long as you’d been dancing. something about the way you moved was purely mesmerising. there was yet another side of you that he might’ve missed had he stayed cemented in his opinion of you. as your eyes landed on him, he dropped his gaze to his glass sitting on the table in front of him.

‘unbelievable,’ you sighed, and grabbed your friend’s arm in order to switch places with her. ‘beomgyu is here.’

she made a move to look past you, her eyes landing on him instantaneously. her mouth fell agape as she turned her attention back to you.

‘that’s beomgyu?’ she smirked. ‘he’s hot! why are you wasting your time whining about how annoying he is? have him!’

‘have him?’ you brought up your index finger and pretended to gag. ‘i’d rather have a shark bite off each of my limbs.’

‘god, you’re so dramatic,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘he’s literally cute, successful, and rich. and you share a bathroom with him! he’s literally right in front of you.’

‘okay, and?’ you shook your head. ‘sometimes there’s a door right in front of me, doesn’t mean i should go and bang my head against it. same experience, honestly.’

‘somebody needs another drink,’ she rolled her eyes and stepped away from you.

almost as if you could sense him coming, you spun around with your arms folded and found yourself glaring up at beomgyu. he held his hands up in defence and wordlessly slipped past you.

‘what are you doing here?’ you called out to him, making him pause and turn back to you.

‘i was having fun with my friends,’ he started. ‘but now it seems like i’m about to have my night ruined by you.’

‘that’s rich,’ you clicked your tongue. ‘is sitting there staring me down really your idea of fun?’

‘i wasn’t staring you down,’ he narrowed his eyes. ‘and what do you know about fun? aren’t you here just to forget about your feelings for yeonjun?’

‘shut up,’ you waved him off and followed in the path your friend had taken only minutes ago. ‘it has nothing to do with you. like i said, just stay out of it.’

‘you know what your issue is?’ he followed behind you, a sly smirk on his lips. ‘you bite the bait far too easily.’

‘you know what your issue is?’ you aggressively poked at his chest, taking a step toward him. ‘that little taste of fame gave you some sort of god complex, and now you think you’re above me because you played some guitar and slightly changed my sentence structure. everywhere i go, you’re waiting there ready to knock me down even when i feel like i’m on my last legs. you’re a jerk, beomgyu. a first-class asshole unable to have a little bit of respect for anyone but himself. you’re so far out of touch, and you don’t even realise it.’

‘and what are you?’ he retaliated, feeling his heart ache beneath his ribcage. ‘besides a girl so set on making me miserable? everything is just a competition to you. we wouldn’t even be having this fight if you were able to be in my presence without looking for a place to start. and i’m sorry that you gave up on your dreams to go to university, but you can’t continue to punish me for doing the opposite.’

‘just stay away from me,’

‘gladly,’

how could the day possibly go worse?

after drinking too far past your limits, you would have collapsed if not for beomgyu keeping you upright. he carried your drunken self out of the club and got the three of you into an uber. and then it was up to him to get you up the staircase and down the hall into your bedroom. recalling it all the moment you woke up, you’d thrown your pillow against the wall connected to your shared bathroom out of both anger and humiliation. your best friend groaned and begged you to shut up whilst the headache came on.

you felt as if you might die all the way over to the shower. and on the floor of the shower, because standing made you feel as if you were about to puke. and when you brushed your teeth, the mint flavour was nauseating to say the least.

but none of that mattered when you managed you bring yourself downstairs for something to eat. and there stood yeonjun, the girl from the music store, and the sound of their laughter as they bonded over the simple action of making an omelette. you turned with the intention to retreat, bumping into your friend who forcefully shoved you forward.

‘you hungry?’ yeonjun spoke, leaning back against the counter. ‘’gyu told me what happened.’

‘oh, yippee,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘i’m not hungry.’

‘she is,’ your friend interrupted, nudging you with her elbow. ‘thanks for the offer, yeonjun, but my uber is here.’

‘you’re leaving?’ you turned to face her with hurt in your expression. ‘already?’

‘i’m sorry,’ she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a hug. ‘i’ll text you when i get back.’

‘oh, okay,’ you frowned as she pulled away.

‘it was nice meeting you all,’ she waved as she stepped towards the door out of the room and into the entrance hall. ‘and tell beomgyu thanks from me.’

she left you there, and the energy of the room seemed to drop. you cleared your throat and turned towards the seating area where taehyun was sitting and scrolling on his phone.

‘are you busy today, y/n?’ the girl spoke. you stopped in your tracks, locking eyes with taehyun who seemed to display his concern. ‘me and ‘jun are going out for dinner later. thought you might need a little bit of a pick-me-up.’

it would have rude to decline her invitation, so you went. unwillingly so. just you, her, and yeonjun for the entire day.

she remained attached to him for the entire time. she gripped onto his bicep and bounced as she spoke, a kind smile on her lips. it infuriated you, and knowing that she wasn’t intending to hurt you just infuriated you further. you didn’t want to be so angry with her or yeonjun. but he was your yeonjun, until he suddenly wasn’t. and seeing him fall for somebody else made you feel sick to your stomach.

arriving home was a blessing. if you ignored the fact that she was going to be staying over. in his room, in his bed.

beomgyu knew exactly what to expect. he pushed open your bedroom door and softly closed it behind himself. you hardly had the energy to fight with him, only lifting your gaze momentarily to check who it was coming to disturb your peace. he was fiddling with a pick between his fingers and leaning against your bedroom door. his heart ached once more when you looked up at him with sadness in your gaze.

‘i know you don’t want to see me,’ he shrugged. ‘whether it be because of the argument we had last night, or the fact that i was the one who had to deal with the state you got yourself into. but our rooms are very close, and i can’t just sit there listening to you sob by yourself.’

‘i don’t want to talk about it,’ you sniffled and dropped your legs to lay out in front of you. ‘but thanks for getting me home safe last night.’

‘we don’t have to talk about it,’ he awkwardly chewed the inside of his cheek as you continued to stare up at him.

‘you can sit down,’ you laughed shortly and patted the space beside you on the bed.

beomgyu sunk into the mattress at your side. you watched him as he fiddled with a loose thread on his jeans.

‘can i just clear some things up here?’ he avoided your eyes, but caught sight of your short nod. ‘first of all, i don’t hate you. nor do i intend to hurt you every time we bump into each other. it actually pains me to know that’s how you feel. and i don’t have a god complex, i just started giving you the same energy that you gave me, and i didn’t know how to stop.’

‘so it’s all my fault?’ you rolled your eyes.

‘will you cry again if i say that it is?’ he smiled slightly, trying to lighten the heavy air that surrounded you both.

‘you’re the worst,’ you sniffled once more and began wiping at your tears with the sleeve of your hoodie. ‘but thank you trying to explain, i guess.’

‘i’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘sometimes i overstep, i know. i was having too much fun getting a reaction out of you. but i can see that you don’t need that right now.’

‘don’t you dare bring up yeonjun again,’ you rolled your eyes, suppressing your smile.

‘is he not the reason behind your current state?’ he pushed.

‘still not talking about it,’ you sighed, and pulled your knees back against your chest once more. ‘i’m sorry for being a bitch to you all of the time, too. i do always seem to bite.’

‘can i ask you a personal question?’ he tilted his head to the side as he looked down at you.

‘go ahead,’ you shrugged.

‘why did you move away?’ he looked over your features to make sure he hadn’t made you uncomfortable. ‘i mean, there’s a university here. i would know, i went to it.’

‘my parents wanted me to be away from the distraction of the band,’ she frowned. ‘they said i wouldn’t do well if i was too busy playing around with my guitar. so they bought a house far from here and took me with them.’

‘that sucks,’ beomgyu nodded to himself as an agreement. ‘do you still play?’

‘no,’ you huffed. ‘my guitar’s currently collecting dust in an unpacked box at my parents’ place. it’s been there since the end of my first year, when i stopped coming here so often.’

‘do you regret it?’

‘getting an education?’

‘giving up on music,’

‘i miss the people i shared that hobby with more than the hobby itself,’ you began to fiddle with the fabric of your pyjama pants. ‘this band used to be my whole world. and yeonjun was the one who told me that going to college was for the best. i was naive to think they’d wait for me to return.’

‘it wasn’t planned,’ he made sure to look into your eyes. ‘me, joining the band. i bumped into yeonjun at the reopening of the music store and we talked about guitars for a while. after a few months of friendship, we started playing together. it was all supposed to be experimental.’

‘oh, how humble,’ you laughed. ‘i like your songs. they have nothing on my own, of course, but…’

‘i actually really loved your original songs,’ he smiled, staring down at his hands. ‘i felt bad changing them, but they all told me you wouldn’t mind if it was for the sake of the band. oh how wrong they were.’

‘you guys made me look like a ghostwriter,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘i don’t even have a mention on your socials.’

‘take it up with kai,’ he held his hands out in defence, shrugging. ‘i don’t even have the passwords.’

the two of you laughed in sync, eyes locked. your laugh faded into an appreciative smile, and beomgyu bit down into his tongue before he could tell you how pretty your smile was.

beomgyu couldn’t think of anything worse to be doing with his spare time. and not because you were directly involved, but because he’d already been sitting for far too long under the fluorescent lights of the changing rooms.

you’d step out, and taehyun would go over to observe. he gave you his honest opinion and the two of you discussed each of the dresses in heavy detail. meanwhile, beomgyu sat scrolling on his phone. occasionally, taehyun would snap at him to pay attention. and then minutes later, he would go straight back to staring aimlessly at the screen in a doom-scroll.

he was halfway to announcing his need to grab a drink due to the hot weather, when you stepped out in this dark blue dress that had him stumbling over his words before he could even speak them. his gaze darted back down to the floor as he cleared his throat, but you didn’t miss the look in his eyes. you felt your cheeks burn as you smoothed down the fabric and turned to face taehyun.

he began his rant of how this dress was the right one, as your attention shifted to the boy staring hard at his phone.

beomgyu looked so attractive in that moment. his legs spread out as an armrest for his forearms, the phone between his hands and his head dipped forward. but not too forward, as his features were still visible. the sleeves of his light grey hoodie had been rolled up, and his brown hair was attractively messy. with the recent events that had occurred, you began to wonder if he found you attractive. he’d stared you down enough times over the past week to suggest it.

and you wondered if you found him attractive in return.

you smiled to yourself as you nodded in agreement with taehyun, deciding that you’d finally found a dress for graduation. whether it had been for beomgyu’s gaze or taehyun gushing about how perfect it was didn’t matter.

sitting back against your headboard, you tossed your phone down onto the bed and dropped your head into the hands. a deep sigh left your lips as images of beomgyu clouded your thoughts.

following the purchase of your dress, the three of you grabbed a soft pretzel and a refreshing soda before walking aimlessly around the mall. at every joke cracked by taehyun, you found yourself holding back a laugh in favour of hearing beomgyu’s deep chuckle. your eyes seemed to block out the third-wheel standing between you, expression curious as you looked over beomgyu’s figure over and over again.

his hair was falling perfectly over his forehead, and his black headphones wrapped around his neck were the ideal contrast to his light hoodie. every time he ran his fingers through his brown hair, you felt yourself growing giddy.

all of a sudden, you were crushing on beomgyu.

maybe it was due to the passionate nature of your relationship, or maybe it was due to the softness in his gaze you only recently had the pleasure of experiencing. whatever it was, your friend had been right in her words. you lived mere metres away from him, your bedrooms connected by a singular bathroom. he played the guitar, sang, and was a talented composer. not to mention he was attractive, and there was no denying it. and his attentions remained solely on you. there was nobody else.

well, nobody other than yeonjun, but that was a hopeless feat.

time had already been wasted. you weren’t sure of the future, and you had wasted the perfect opportunity of beomgyu and his closeness. you groaned as you fell back against your bed.

you buried your face into your pillow and screamed into its material, willing the plaguing thoughts of beomgyu to disappear. but they wouldn’t, and a part of you didn’t want them to. a part of you wanted to steep in the feeling of a fresh crush, smiling to yourself as you thought of his voice and his smile and his hair and the fact that he was only metres away from you at all times.

but then you remembered that you were supposed to hate him. he got on your nerves, he overstepped, he spoke in a way that intended to knock you down a few pegs.

but the look in his eyes as you stepped out in that dress…

you pulled yourself up out of bed, feeling a headache coming on from all of the conflicting thoughts. your hand clutched the side of your head as you pulled open your bedroom door and headed down the corridor. the lights were off downstairs, it being late by now, except for the dimmed lights left on in the kitchen as they always were.

as you pulled open the fridge, you jumped at the sound of someone placing a glass down beside you.

‘sorry,’ beomgyu laughed shortly. ‘i thought you knew i was down here.’

‘evidently not,’ you grabbed a water bottle and closed the fridge softly. ‘what are you doing still up?’

‘i’m always up late,’ he shrugged, leaning back against the counter. ‘my schedule is messed up. the downside of not having a real job. why are you up?’

‘headache,’ you frowned. ‘i’ve got a lot on my mind.’

‘like what?’ he tilted his head in question, feeling bold. maybe it was the outfit you were wearing, being a t-shirt and some bed shorts he struggled to keep his eyes off. ‘your mind’s far too pretty to be full of worries.’

‘are you flirting with me?’ you raised a brow.

‘depends,’ he shrugged nonchalantly. ‘do you want me to flirt with you?’

‘uh…’ you avoided his burning gaze. ‘are you feeling okay? you didn’t hit your head on a cabinet or anything, did you?’

‘is that your way of flirting?’ he narrowed his eyes. ‘at least you think i’m tall.’

‘you’re acting weird,’ your response only received a shrug.

‘am i acting weird or are you oblivious?’

‘oblivious to what?’

‘nevermind,’ he pushed up away from the counter and began to walk away. ‘goodnight, y/n.’

‘you’re leaving?’ you set down the still unopened bottle of water and felt your expression drop with disappointment.

‘yeah, you’re not playing along,’ he sighed. ‘you’re no fun.’

‘i am fun,’ you shot back. ‘you just… caught me off guard.’

‘why?’ he raised a brow. ‘because you didn’t realise there’s other aspects of my personality besides being a jerk.’

‘because i wasn’t expecting you to be so bold,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘but hey, at least you admitted to being a jerk. self-awareness sure is sexy.’

‘oh so you think i’m sexy?’ he teased, leaning his head against the archway.

‘i think you need to go lie down,’ you narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

‘will you lie down with me?’ a smirk broke out across his features.

‘oh, as if,’ you scoffed. ‘i’m going to bed now.’

you stepped past beomgyu, turning your head back to see his gaze was indeed following after you. as you headed for your room, you tried to shake off the thoughts and the conversation you just shared. it was like you were in some sort of alternate reality all of a sudden, one where there hadn’t been weeks of mutual dislike passed between the two of you.

a sigh left your lips as you closed the door behind yourself. the headache remained, perhaps even stronger now.

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