#someone else had told me the staging needs to look like the photos and that was giving me actual anxiety attacks bc its hard to sell stuff

[2knightt]

may u do the gang with a significant other who is in a popular band or actor? up to four preference of course. lots of love!

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ darling, can i be your favourite? ⋄ 𓍯

REQUESTED: reader’s the coolest person ever and the gang’s their biggest fan!

tags/warnings: headcanons, gn!reader, reader is a singer/popstar!reader, gang is obsessed, reader is big time famous, near the end they got shorter because my tumblr started lagging.

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ hey my love !!! seen this after i posted and knew i had to get to work 🙂‍↕️ also while i was working on this, i got a req for actor!reader..ur in luck🤭

—

johnny cade

╰┈➤ now playing. — espresso, y/n l/n

how he bagged you, the world may never know. like seriously.

YOU’RE ON THE BIG SCREEN AND YOU’RE IN THE RADIO AND YOU GO AFTER JOHNNY CADE??? everyone was shocked. lives were CHANGED.

“you’re dating who?”

“..y/n l/n?”

“in your dreams maybe???”

“fuck you?”

nobody believed him because you confessed to him over the phone when you were touring 😔! you realized you really liked johnny when you had to be away from him for so long.

so for like that period of time, it was just call after call of you two giggling back and forth.

the gang, swear to fucking god, knew he was talking to someone but they thought he was lying about who he was talking to

UNTIL YOU CAME BACK!!!!

Then they were all,

“what the fuck….”

“can i like—borrow a 20?”

“DAMN”

spoil him. take him with you. protect johnny cade with ur money or else. i find you.

but seriously, pleaseeee make sure johnny lives the life he deserves ☹️ since you’re a singer, you make a FUCK ton of money

put it to good use (spending it on johnny cade)

hey! you’re all he talks about!! HE DOESN’T STFU THAT HE’S DATING SOMEONE THAT’S FAMOUS.

“what ‘bout you, lil’ boy? you got someone?”

“hell yeah. y/n l/n.😇💯”

“..the singer?”

“damn right, ‘the singer’!”

listens to your music when he misses you!!

OH MU GOD WRITE A SONG ABOUT JOHNNY CADE PLEASEEEE AND WEAR HIS JEAN JACKRT ON STAGE PLEASEEEEEEE

i can’t stress how much he loves you

he has photos of you everywhere. and anywhere.

steals magazines you model for to promote your albums<3

dallas winston

╰┈➤ now playing — nonsense, y/n l/n.

why would you pick him.

shame on you. you have celebrities flocking to you and you pick some guy in tulsa who’s in jail every friday.

tsk tsk. whatever makes you happy!

ANYWAYS

also, never shuts the fuck up about you. like seriously, somehow, you’re always the topic of conversation.

“yeah, that’s crazy that she slashed your tires. my LOVELY Y/N would never tho. did you know they sing? you’ve probably heard of ‘em-“

MAKES YOU WEAR HIS RINGS WHEN YOU PERFORM!!! AND SOMETIMES HIS LEATHER JACKET!!! DALLAS DGAF IF IT’S DIRTY OR NOT

He needs those freaks in the crowd to know you’re HIS—not theirs just because you’re famous.

if you ever collab with a dude he’s gonna fucking lose his mind i’m not kidding

“YOU’RE GOING TO THE STUDIO WITH WHO???”

“i told you-“

“yeah, i know. lets go.”

dallas invited himself btw.

dedicate a song to him and he’s literally gonna make EVERYONE listen to it. when it comes on the radio, he’s IMMEDIATELY turning up the volume.

“looking at you got me thinkin’ nonsense.”

“that’s about me, by the way.”

“WE KNOW.”

“YOU TELL US THIS EVERY DAMN DAY”

“yeah. where’s your partner that write songs about you? huh? take that shit up with someone else.”

IN HIS ROOM HE HAS SOOO MANY POSTERS OF YOUUUUUU

cannot believe he got so lucky and bagged you

he used to pray for days like these😭😭🙏

ponyboy curtis

╰┈➤ now playing — work song, y/n l/n.

yes, i did make your song more poetic than the rest. that’s just what ponyboy is into and gets him crying.

did he get lucky? yeah. does he acknowledge that every waking moment of his life and devotes himself to making sure you never feel the burden of having to perform daily?

yeah

helps you write songs sometimes. ponyboy naturally has a poets soul so USE IT TO YOUR ADVANTAGE

GUVE HIM A FUCKING OEN AND PAPER AND HE’S WRITING A HIT SINGLE

omgomg if you credit him while at your concerts he might faint<3333

spoil him and his brothers.

his brothers are included because you see how much they’re struggling and it literally pains you to see the love of ur life get so frustrated over money

sneakily put money into darry’s wallet when he isn’t looking and ponyboy might just kiss u right then and there

it’ll take awhile for him to accept the help, but when he does—he’s so grateful to have an angel like u in his life😭😭💔💔💔

“i love you. did you know that?”

“of course i do, pony.”

“i should tell you that more often.”

uses a photo of you as a bookmark btw. it’s you in his favourite outfit you ever wore, performing the song you made for him.

ponyboy’s obsessed.

shoves ANYONE off the tv to watch you perform. he doesn’t care. and the gang lets him<3 cuz they know how much you mean to their little pony!!

not without teasing. never without teasing. ponyboy is never fucking free

“soda, it’s my turn on the tv.”

“what? you tryna watch your girlfriend?”

“…shut up.”

“look at you! what a loverboy, huh? you loveeeee her, don’t you?”

“man, just get off the tv!”

watches & listens to everything you’re in. wether it be interviews, music videos, etc—he can probably quote it. every part.

he’s so obsessed with you it’s not fucking funny

sodapop curtis

╰┈➤ now playing — that boy is mine, y/n l/n.

it couple. genuinely.

you got soda more publicity and modeling agencies have definitely hit him up LMFAO

he most definitely has modelled with you for covers :3c

BUT OTHER THAN THAT

oh u better fucking believe that the DX is always playing your music

SODA DOESNT CARE IF HE’S NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH THE RADIO

he will. and he will be playing the song you made about him to remind the girls that go to flirt with him that he’s yours.

HE HAS A NECKLACE WITH YOUR INITAL ON IT AND YOU HAVE A NECKLACE WITH HIS INITAL!!1!1!1!1!1

flash it when paparazzi takes photos and he WILL put that photo in his wallet to show people when they ask about his partner.

CANT STFU EVEN IF HE FUCKING TRIED

soda makes u his whole personality

“sigh😔 y/n would’ve loved this beat..”

“SHUT UP ABOUT Y/N😒”

“NO?? I LOVE THEM!!!???”

LOVES PRACTICING UR CHOREOGRAPHY WITH YOU LMFAOOO

it’s so cute☹️☹️😔😔 soda might trip over his feet every once and awhile but he’s always laughing so hard with you when he does<3

darry curtis

╰┈➤ now playing — say yes to heaven, y/n l/n.

tries SOOOO hard to act like he doesn’t gaf that you’re singer but it’s so tough to not brag about it

the boys at work could be talking about their partners but when they go ask darry, he hides his grin and blush by looking down, running his hands through his hair.

“what ‘boutchu, kid? how’s the lover?”

“ah, y’know. they’re busy touring or in the studio.”

“eh?”

“oh—y/n l/n. they’re-“

darry cannot be stopped now. he won’t shut up about how great of a person you are, never letting the fame get to you.

ERAHHH HE STAYS UP LATE AT NIGHT TO WATCH YOUR PERFORMANCES WHEN YOU’RE AWAY!!!!!!! HE LOVES WATCHING YOU SWAY ACROSS THE STAGE!!

hehehehehe slow dance with him in the kitchen to ur unreleased songs you made about him…. 😈😈

PLEAEE HELP HIM FINANCIALLY PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

im begging you to just sit darry curtis down and try to convince him that, you giving him money to help around, isn’t an issue.

i don’t see darry moving out of the curtis house unfortunately, i think he will always view it as his parents house and it’s too sentimental.

so, don’t even bother asking him to move. but—do give him money. or sneakily pay the bills. whatever you have to do to help darry relax, please do it!!!

loves it when you sing slower/more relaxing songs

darry thinks it’s so attractive to hear your like soothing, breathy, and smooth voice.

he has a photo framed of you bowing toward the crowd below you, tightly holding the microphone that you had his name engraved in.

it’s currently beside his bed on his nightstand.

he looks at it every night before bed and every morning before work. <3

steve randle

╰┈➤ now playing — art deco, y/n l/n.

he’s feral. he’s fucking crazy about you.

“PUT ON THAT NEW Y/N SHIT‼️”

“why??”

“CAUSE I SAID SO?!1”

number one supporter. nobody comes close to him

AHHHH HE HAS A TATTOO DEDICATED TO YOU!!!! IT’S DEFINITELY A SONG LYRIC YOU WROTE ABOUT HIM IN UR HAND WRITING

when steve’s nervous he traces over it :3c

steve always finds himself, unconsciously, humming your songs while he works on cars!

i like to think his favourite colour is blue, so plsplsplspls wear blue (even if it’s a small accessory) to your concerts just so steve knows you’re always thinking about him.

he keeps little gifts, or rather the accessories you leave at his house, in a little box. he thinks they’re so cute and he will burn a building down before he lets anyone find out

two-bit mathews

╰┈➤ now playing — melting, y/n l/n.

“DID YOU KNOW I’M DATING Y/N? THE FAMOUS SINGER? YEAH, BET YOU WISH THAT WAS YOU😭😂!”

that’s every other sentence from his stupid lips!!

KNOWS EVERY LYRIC TO YOUR SONGS AND WILL SCREAM HIS FUCKING LUNGS OUT TO THEM!!!

attach a mickey charm to ur mic while you sing on stage and he’ll start foaming at the mouth..

two-bit’s all, “that’s for me.:mickey….me….me…mickey….”

he literally begs you to sing him to sleep

STEALS YOUR RECORDS/VINYLS???!!! HE HANGS THEM UP ON HIS WALL WITH SUCH CARE IT’S SO ADORABLE ☹️☹️

teach his little sister some of your dance moves and he might marry you tbh.

two-bit dreams of you and i’m so fucking serious

[justtogetthrough]

Work has been insanely busy and I'm not functioning well but I have tomorrow night, Friday night, and half of Saturday to pack up as much of my house as I can because on Sunday my best friend is bringing their friend to help me move the furniture I need to sell to the main floor from upstairs and downstairs, rearrange my study, and they're gonna take back a carload of boxes to put in my apartment for me.

I just... need to get my shit together enough to have things ready for them being here.

It doesn't feel like a lot of time but my friend is so busy all the time and starting a new job on Monday so I'm just relieved and grateful they are still willing to help me and even recruited another person to assist bc I physically can't move furniture.

I don't know why they love me like they do but it's the best thing I have going for me these days.

[vacayisland]

Can I request a floyd x fem!kpop troll who was in her own group and Floyd’s reaction when he finds out? (If you need help w groups I suggest girls generation/SNSD or twice :D)

@!; I never knew! Floyd / Fem!Kpop Troll! Reader

"Tag list"! @writergal02 @chamille-trash @valvalentine69 @starzwithapen @ykvlanq

ꨄ︎ Having met Floyd after your group had blew up, you were hesitant to tell him about your career. Not because you didn't trust him nor were you ashamed of yourself or your group members, yet... he was one of the first people who didn't know who you were. He didn't know your K-pop group, he didn't know your stage name, he didn't call you or fangirl over you when he saw you. It was honestly refreshing, really refreshing.

ꨄ︎ You had joint your group for fun, at first; you thought having a group of other like minded people to rise to fame with would be fucking amazing. And while it was, the amount of fans you guys got swamped with was, well, unbearable. You loved the support, you loved your fans, yet finally finding someone who didn't know who you were was like finding a needle in a hay stack. Especially when your management had managed to get your groups music in every tribe after the events at the Hard Rock tribe. It not only blasted your popularity within the K-Pop trolls group, and their following, yet throughout the other tribes. And you didn't want to ruin the thing you had going with Floyd; so you kept your mouth shut.

ꨄ︎ Every time you had to do something with your group, you always made up an excuse for Floyd. Little yet believable things, like "Oh my sister is sick, I have to take care of her", "I'm spending time with family", "I had a long day and need a moment to myself", "I'm baking with friends", "girls only sleep over sorry", "I'm not in the village right now!". You know, simple white lies that had some sort of truth behind them. You hated lying to Floyd, especially when you two were really clicking, yet you also couldn't tell him the truth; not yet. And Floyd always seemed to not mind, always respected your plans and you, so you thought it was alright.

ꨄ︎ Meanwhile, when you weren't hanging out with Floyd, Floyd was hanging out with his brothers, Poppy, and Viva. It was always casual hangouts either in Branch's bunker, Poppy's pod, or else where around the village. Yet, one day while hanging out in Branch's bunker, Poppy brought out Branch's record player. She began exclaiming, basically shouting and springing with excitement, with how Branch had got her a new vinyl of this band that Poppy loves! Bruce encouraged her to play it, and well Poppy and Viva squealed and danced around while listening to it. "Oh hey, it's that new band." Bruce mumbled, recognizing the tune and lyrics, as well as the voices, of the k-pop band that was currently running a rampage in his house. "My kids love these girls."

ꨄ︎ That was the first time Floyd was exposed to your music, or k-pop in general. He enjoyed it, so he had asked Branch where he bought it and went to go buy himself a copy so he could listen to it at his own pod. He even sent you a photo of the vinyl after he got it!

ꨄ︎ "Hey, look at this new group my brothers introduced me to! Do you know them? They sound really good."

ꨄ︎ As soon as you got that message, and looked at the vinyl record, you freaked out. You scared the shit out of your fellow members, who stared at you so confused and concerned; Even your make-up stylist was concerned. "Hey, hey! What's wrong?" One of them would asked, panickily rushing to your side. You were sure they thought that you just got a message of Floyd cheating on you with another guy. But nope, "He bought one of our vinyls! He knows about our music!" "Oh. you know I thought this would be more serious-" "THIS IS SERIOUS!"

ꨄ︎ You accidentality left Floyd on read for 10 minutes as you explained to the others that you had never told Floyd about your association with this group. You had never told him you sang, or you were apart of this big K-pop group that blew up globally and you weren't sure how to tell him and it's not like you want to tell him incase that somehow ruined your current relationship! It was a lot to confess, especially when you all were getting ready for a show. Your other members stared at you like you were a little mental for your line of reasoning. And maybe you were, but you didn't want to out yourself now! You've been keeping this up for 7 months!

ꨄ︎ That's when Floyd texted you again: "Hey, are you okay? I saw you read my message and you don't usually leave me on read. Unless something happened?"

ꨄ︎ And you had no choice but to respond! You couldn't leave him on read twice. "Hey, sorry something just came up. Yeah, I've heard of them they're pretty good."

ꨄ︎ "Did you really just call us good?" Your group was now peaking over your shoulder, silently reading the conversation to themselves as it played out. They had always been curious about you and this Floyd fellow, and now they understood why you never introduced them. "That's either really egotistical or just sad you think we're so bad." Commented one of them to your left, and you would have agreed with her in you weren't under a lot of pressure right now! "I don't know, I'm panicking!"

ꨄ︎ You somehow managed to get through that conversation without outing yourself, but you couldn't spare yourself from your groups disappointment about your actions; And, to be fair, you were disappointed in yourself. They would pull chairs around, forming a circle around you that kind of made you feel like you were in rehab, or in some sort of intervention. "You know you're going to have to tell him at some point, right?" They would point out, "You cannot possibly keep all of this a secret forever. I don't even know how you've managed to hid it from him for seven months!" You would only sigh, "I know! I know... I just don't know how to say it without sounding..." "Insane?", "Mental?", "Like you're a big fat lair?" "Okay rude- but yes!"

ꨄ︎ "Invite him to a show!" Was the agreement you had all came to, even thought it made you queasy even thinking about mixing your K-pop life with your personal life. You were so comfortable with Floyd and you didn't want to mess anything up; You also didn't want to accidentally out your relationship to your fans and cause some sort of havoc that had to be cleared up by your PR team. Nor did you want any of them to go to Floyd's way and do who knows what. But, knowing you also couldn't lie to him forever, you caved in and sent him the tickets in the mail along with a letter:

ꨄ︎ "Floyd! You have mail." JD called from the elevator as he came back into the bunker with mail. Everyone was gathered around in the kitchen, talking and slowly waking up; JD only dumped the pile of letters, party invites, and anything else that got stuck in mail onto the counter. He handed Floyd' letter to him personally, with a playful wiggle of the eyebrow. Confused, but a little intrigued, Floyd opened the envelope and read the letter, taking his time and not minding the peeping eyes of everyone around. His brothers, seemed to interested with this letter. "It's tickets?" Floyd mumbled when he reached the end of your letter, noticing the lipstick kiss on the bottom. His cheeks flushed a little, a dorky smile wobbling onto his lips before he coughed and tried to compose himself. He knew he would never hear the end of it from his brothers, who were already snickering! All but for Branch, "Tickets to what?" "Tickets to that band you introduced us to." Floyd mumbled, pulling out 7 VIP tickets to your next concert in Pop Village. Poppy nor Viva could contain their screams as soon as they saw the tickets!

ꨄ︎ Floyd texted you later in the day, thanking you for the tickets. Yet, just as you knew he would, he couldn't help but question where you got them (and if you bought them, how he would pay you back) and why there was only 7 and not 8 (where you not coming?). You could only text him back that he would understand during the concert; which was in a few days time.

ꨄ︎ And then you may or may not have ghosted him... Listen, you were completely freaking out about this new change. Even if it hadn't started yet, you had so much fear you half hoped that you ghosting Floyd would end in him thinking you hated him and he wouldn't come and you never will have to face with the consequences of your own actions. Wow, that actually not sounded so shitty thinking about it. "Oh hey, lover boy is here!" "WHAT?!"

ꨄ︎ Your plan didn't work, Floyd sort of figured everything out after hearing Poppy infodump about the group a day before the show. He was still a little iffy about his assumption that you were a member of this group, yet thought he might right. After all, it would explain a lot about your odd schedule and your recent ghosting. And while Floyd was sitting down, getting comfortable next to his brothers and the ever so excited Poppy, Viva, and surprisingly Clay and Branch, you were freaking out! The others literally kept having to splash water in your face to keep you from backing out, or maybe even passing out. You couldn't believe this was happening, you couldn't believe that he actually came, you couldn't believe- "Come on ladies, we need you on stage now!"

ꨄ︎ During the performance, you kept glancing over where Floyd and his brothers were, so nervous about his reaction. You saw, on several occasions, Viva and Poppy shouting and cheering, dancing with both Clay and Branch and between themselves. Bruce acted like any other dad that was brought to this concert because of his teenage daughter, and Floyd... Oh you were too nervous to get a good look at him. Yet, what you didn't see was that Floyd was your biggest supporter. He was shouted your name with the biggest smile, singing your lyrics (that he so didn't memorize since he got the tickets and even more so when he pieced things together).

ꨄ︎ He's so supportive! <3

ꨄ︎ He was slightly shocked when he first realized who you were, but quickly became your biggest fan! Literally ran to you after the show, couldn't hold himself back from pulling you into such a big hug. Literally was gushing over how amazing your performance was and he was so sorry he ever made you feel like you had to hide this from him. You had to reassure him it wasn't because of anything he did.

ꨄ︎ "Wha- Floyd no! I didn't keep this away from you because you were the problem!" You rushed how instantly as soon as you heart Floyd apologize. You couldn't even believe he would even begin to think that this was somehow his fault, when it was the opposite. "It.. it wasn't?" His look of confusion pulled at your heart so much. The way he pulled away from the hug for a moment, hands still on your shoulders, as he gave you a confused wide-eyed look. You cursed yourself for not telling him earlier! "No, of course not! I was-..." You paused for a moment, biting at the edge of your lip. You thought over your words carefully, "It was... nice to have someone who didn't know who I was. It felt like I could be, you know, normal around you. I didn't have to worry about being stage me because I could just be me!" "Oh..." Floyd seemed like he understood that feeling all too well. You stared at him, your eyebrows scrunching a little in confusion. "What?" "Why do you look like you know exactly what I'm talking about like you've experienced it before?" "Because I do!" Floyd would give you a small smile, "Back in my Brozone days-" "YOU WERE IN BROZONE?!"

ꨄ︎ Floyd may or may not have forgotten to mention he had been a member of BroZone; Whoops!

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

[kieonu]

boyfie! yuta okkotsu x cosplayer! reader

gender-neutral reader

category: sfw, fluff(?), yuta's a very supportive bf !!

cw: none !!

boyfie! yuta who was surprised when you told him you're a cosplayer. he just came over to your place one day in the early stages of your relationship, unannounced, and had a question mark on his head when you opened the door in full cosplay

boyfie! yuta who admires and compliments you every time you cosplay. sparkles and hearts fill his eyes as he watches you parade around your place in cosplay. he wonders how he's gotten such an attractive s/o

boyfie! yuta who learns the rules of photography to assist you in taking your cosplay photos. he's willing to do whatever it takes to help you get the shots you like ! even if it does make him look silly in public (he's definitely feeling embarrassed), but it's worth it !! 

boyfie! yuta who works on creating small photoshoot sets for you. he works as if he's getting paid for quality work and not by the hour. wanna do a simple underwater shoot for just your upper body? he's got you. he's watched enough cosplay tip videos beforehand just for this. although this, there are some times where he physically cannot create an entire set for you, so he'll contribute to renting out a studio just for these shoots !! 

boyfie! yuta who gets jealous easily. after the first few times you've cosplayed a couple with another cosplayer, his heart couldn't handle it anymore. he then offered to cosplay couples with you !! he'll cosplay no matter the character and costume details (need me someone like this </3) 

boyfie! yuta who feels awkward posing as a couple in character whilst getting photos taken. he eventually warms up and gets used to taking photos, though he's still very shy

boyfie! yuta always attends conventions and cosplay events with you. he's there to hold whatever you purchase (he's your #1 gofer) and have whatever you need. water? of course he's got it. a piece of your costume keeps slipping? he's got tape for a quick fix !! a solo cosplayer wants to take a photo with you? he'll take the photo !! truly the best support boyfriend ever

boyfie! yuta who's eyes widen and feels a little sense of panic when someone asks him for a photo. his nerves calm and agrees when he sees you smile at him, encouraging him to take the photo. if they ask him for his socials (most likely to tag him in the photo once they post it later), he'll give them your social. he's gotta support his partner as much as he can, even if it means giving people a different person's social. close enough though, right? 

boyfie! yuta who would slip away while you're in the bathroom at the convention to buy something you were eyeing earlier. he then runs back to the bathroom just so you don't suspect him to have wandered off

"why are you breathing so heavily?" 

"it got a little hot here earlier as a large wave of people walked by. it seems to have calmed down though so no worries ("⌒▽⌒) ". totally not because he ran across the cramped artist alley, nooooo.. he would give you what he bought you when you guys get home and have a little haul for the day. he'd also be just as excited over the things you bought

boyfie! yuta who walks behind you to make sure no creeps try to take weird photos of you as they pass by. don't worry about him getting lost though, he's holding your hand :D. for a pretty shy guy, he likes to hold your hand in public to show that you already have a lover and anyone else can back off

boyfie! yuta who secretly takes photos of you while walking or when you're staring off somewhere after the convention. walking to a restaurant nearby? he's snapped a photo of you. your resting on the railing on a balcony? he took the perfect photo that he'll later set as his lockscreen

boyfie! yuta who loves his s/o so much and would do anything for them. he loves supporting you in anything you do !!

nsfw edition here

[footballffbarbiex]

player: Rúben Dias words: 2.8k type: angst

Let's fast forward to three hundred awkward blind dates later

If she's got blue eyes, I will surmise that you'll probably date her

You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor

You search in every model's bed for something greater

Everything you were learning about Rúben is completely against your will and though you’re trying to not let it get under your skin and bury deep into your muscles, you still feel any and all nuggets of information grating against your nerves. So it doesn’t surprise you when your best friend opens her mouth and says “he’s been spotted with another model.” but it does feel like salt is being rubbed onto those nerves too. 

“Of course he has,” it comes out a little more bitterly than you’d intended and so you swallow some wine instead to stop yourself from saying anything else that you might regret. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what she looks like.” she continues, observing you over the rim of her own glass before she takes a small drink herself. 

It’s started to become a running joke for the two of you. You weren’t good enough for Rúben but he was happy to date every woman that remotely resembles you after you. It was a kick in the teeth each time you were faced with another photo of him and his latest beau and a mere mention of someone new feels like a slap. 

“Kurt wants to know if you’ll come to dinner on Wednesday.” She changes the subject, knowing that this is a sore spot but it was better that she told you now than being sent it by someone else who believes they’re doing you a favour while not being considerate of your feelings at all. 

“No.” You say a little too quickly. 

Kurt was one of Rúben’s best friends and if he was hosting a dinner party, then your ex would be there too. You felt suffocated at the best of times merely seeing his name via google or instagram, let alone being made to share the same four walls and a table with the man. 

Ex feels too strongly of a word considering you’d barely got past the dating stage. Rúben refused to put a label on the two of you and while you weren’t usually one for wanting them, you did try to ask him where you stood in the situationship. Especially because you were catching feelings, fast and hard and the idea of him not wanting to commit to you pained you more than it scared you. Ultimately, Rúben ended the … situation due to ‘commitment issues’, but had no issues with finding the ability to do so with other people. 

“He was invited initially but according to their match fixtures, they have an away Champions League game.” She comments, drumming her fingers on the side of the glass in a beat that you almost recognise. 

“I applaud your extensive research before coming to me with Kurt’s invitation.” 

“I knew you’d back out almost immediately otherwise -”

“And I did.” 

She hums in agreement. 

“At least consider it? I’d love to see you there anyway.” 

_

You’ve checked and checked and checked again more times than you wanted to admit that Rúben absolutely was out of the country ready for the game tomorrow. With no updates regarding rotations or suspensions from previous games, you’d found it “safe” to leave the comfort of your home and make your way to Kurt’s. 

Having Rúben end the relationship had meant that he’d won the monopoly of the friends that you’d made being in his circle, and one of them that you had joint custody over was Kurt. Caring, funny and incredibly supportive, Kurt was everything in a person that you wish you’d found in a friend years previously. Nights at his were never boring and he was the one person you truly felt you could be around and trust not to bring up him in conversation. 

By the time he’d opened the front door, you could smell a light warming scent drifting from one of the hallway candles which was quickly swallowed up as you approached the kitchen. If you were peckish upon arrival, then as dinner was being plated up half an hour later, you were famished. Your bestie was still due to arrive thanks to being stuck in traffic both on the way home from work and also after leaving the house. Other mutual friends who you were familiar enough with to interact with but not enough to really talk to are here too. 

Bottles of wine and water are on the table along with small baskets of bread and butter which are snatched up by those sitting around you. Several people are still due to arrive, so the amount of empty spaces isn’t bothering you too much, though you do reserve the one next to you for her. 

You’re cutting open a bread roll after smushing the butter into a spreadable consistency when your phone beeps and a i’m 5 mins away x text comes through and not for the first time this evening, you sigh a sigh of relief. 

-

You’re in the middle of the main course and half a glass of wine down as your bestie is telling you the latest drama from her office when voices in the hallway gets your attention and the voice that once made your stomach flip is now the reason for it dropping. Your head snaps to the head of the table at the opposite end to you and your eyes meet Kurt’s as the voice continues to speak with someone else. 

What is he doing here? You mouth a little too aggressively as panic begins to swirl in your stomach. Her fingers touch your arm to try and silently calm you but the more you think about it, the more you feed the dread. 

He isn’t supposed to be, is mouthed aggressively back. At least he’s met your energy. 

“It’s good to see you again,” comes his voice as he finally steps into the room. “Sorry I’m late.” He says as he finally addresses the room. 

The empty space opposite and one seat over now feels as though it’s mocking you. Though it’s not dressed for someone to sit in, you feel as though you should have known this was coming. 

“I’ll get you a plate.” Kurt is on his feet faster than you’d have liked him to be but you understand he cannot treat Rúben with disrespect purely because of you nor would you want him to. He gives your shoulder a squeeze as he passes and it’s only in that moment where you feel just how tense your muscles are.

You can hear your breathing coming out in shaky exhales but rather than looking around the table to see what other dinner guests are thinking. You don’t want to look up at the man who you’d held out your heart to. Sure, you’ve seen Rúben around, but not in such an intimate capacity like this. You’ve never had to sit opposite him and felt as though you’ve had to exchange pleasantries. You could, of course, ask to switch seats but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting to you. 

When you lift your cutlery to begin to eat again, you note that your hands are shaking. You’d rather take a drink but now he’s here, you want as much of a clear mind as you can possibly have. He clouds your judgement far more than any alcohol ever could and he’s stayed in your system longer than any drugs ever would. 

Plate to mouth. Mouth to plate. Plate to mouth. You continue until you can’t think anymore.You ignore the sound of a chair being moved and pushed back under, a plateful of food being put down and cutlery clinking together. Talk still flows around the table but it sounds as though you’re listening from under water. Even now with impaired sound, it’s clear it’s become very strained since he came in. 

Questions are aimed in his direction and though you try to close off your hearing, you can still hear his replies. If he’s as worried as you are about this meeting, he’s not showing it. 

“Do you want this?” You ask your friend, gesturing to the glass. 

“Don’t you want it? What’s wrong with it?” 

“No, I don’t want it. I want something else.”

“I’m going for one,” James, who sits on the other side of you, says quietly. “I can get one for you too?” 

“That’d be great.” You give a small nod and try to give a smile, though you realise in this moment it appears pained. 

James was a good man, and someone who you could depend on for a light but long chat. He played the small talk game and he played it well. It wasn’t ever anything much but he gave you good reprieve when you needed it.

It’s not until he’s left the table and in turn, the room, that you remember there’s spare glasses and pitches of water with ice. Not wanting to seem rude, you leave him to get your drink, and busy yourself in pouring a cold glass of water. He returns as you’re taking tentative sips. 

“Mmm,” you hum to him to acknowledge that you’ve seen him as he takes his place back at your side while you finish your sips and place the water back on the table and turn to get the drink that Jamie offers you and give a little sniff.

“You remembered.” Small movements swirl the liquid around, ensuring that it’s fully mixed but before you can place it on the table next to the water, you hear 

“Might have remembered her drink but you’ve given an extra ice cube.” Your hand freezes as you listen. 

“Sorry?” Jamie says. He’s not sorry, it’s more of a chance for Rúben to retract his sentence. 

“She prefers two ice cubes not three. You’ve watered down her drink.” 

The statement seems to hang in the air between the three of you and when you finally look up, Rúben is looking right at you. 

“Thanks Jamie,” your smile is still pained but you give it anyway before taking a quick drink, followed by a deeper one seconds later. “I need some air.” you say quietly to no-one and everyone all at the same time. 

Kurt doesn’t fight to keep you at the table and instead, you notice the apologetic expression on his face as you all but flee the room and don’t stop until you’re pulling open the door that leads to the garden and step out. You gulp in the air as you close your eyes and try to clear your head. 

Everything had been so good up until then. You’d managed to keep your head down and was fully prepared to not only be civil with him but so sickly sweet he’d need an emergency trip to the dentist. 

“Fuck him,” you hiss, letting out some of your frustration under your breath. “Fuck. Him.” You repeat and follow it with a long groan. 

“I deserve that.” He says it so quickly, you barely have time to register that he’s said it at all, never mind the fact that he’s snuck up on you. Your heart pounds against your chest with such force, you can’t believe that he’s unable to hear it himself. 

“You have some nerve coming out here to me.”

“With you.” he corrects. 

You almost scoff at him as you turn to look at him properly for the first time since he arrived. “To me.” you stand your ground. “You decided a long time ago that you’d never step out with me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What was that back there, Rúben? Seriously. “You watered down her drink.” you impersonate him. “You have no right to correct people on my details when you had no intention of sticking around.”

“So I can’t help?”

“I didn’t need your help. It was a drink. One that he’s made many times before and I’ve never felt the need to correct him before.”

“I just thought if he was making you one, he should make it how you like it.”

“You saw it as an unnecessary dick measuring competition.” You stare him down until he finally looks away. He doesn’t deny it and you knew he wouldn’t. Knew he couldn’t. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” Rúben tries a different tactic. 

“That’s the only reason I’m here because I didn’t think you would be.”

“The highs and lows of football.” He clicks his tongue and points to his thigh. “Felt something in my hamstring. Coach didn’t want to risk it.”

“Shouldn’t you be explaining this to your girlfriend and not me?” You hate that it slips out before you can stop it but you register the look on his face anyway. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Maybe not yet anyway,” you mutter it under your breath and try to push past him but he blocks your way. 

“What does that mean?”

“You weren’t ready for a relationship with me but you’re dating the closest possible thing you could find to what you really wanted but were too scared to go for.” And there it is. Months and months of conversations you’ve had with yourself as you’ve lay in bed and gone over everything that happened between you when you’ve had one too many drinks. All the rational, and irrational thinking had led to this moment. Finally putting out your theories to the one person who would either debunk or confirm them. 

You watch as he swallows hard and looks away, focusing his attention on almost anything but you. “You still can’t admit that you wanted me more than you let on, can you?”

“What difference would it make to hear it after all this time?” There’s almost a sadness in Rúben’s voice as he realises that it’s now or never to finally get to the bottom of it all. 

“Because I know I’m right about us.”

“So it’s about winning then for you,” he doesn’t word it as a question, it feels more of an accusation.

“No. It’s about needing to hear for the first time that what we had was real after months and years of you pretending that it wasn’t.”

“I never pretended.” He tries to justify his actions. “I never said that it didn’t feel real. That it was real.”

“I deserve to know that the only reason why we couldn’t have it all was because you were scared.”

His chest rises and falls as he breathes deeply, the muscle in his cheek twitches as he tries to think about what he needs to say. 

“I need to know why they were good enough but I wasn’t. Why date women who look like they could be me if you didn’t want me?” Your voice cracks and you hate that your eyes well up, hot tears now pearling at your lash line, threatening to spill over. You could kick yourself for allowing your emotions to get the better of you. 

“You were always good enough. Always. You knew that I wasn’t capable of giving you what you needed at the start. But I wanted to. I could see the life we could have had and I got inside my own head that I couldn’t live up to the version of me that you wanted. That you needed and that you deserved.”

“I’d have taken any version of you Rúben.”

“I know. And I didn’t want you to have one that wasn’t worth it at the time.”

“You hurt me.”

Three words that he’d known all this time, that he’d told himself enough times that he thought if he ever heard it from her, he’d be desensitised to it. But right here and now, he’s not. Hearing it slices into him in a way he couldn’t have predicted. 

“I know.”

“I wish that I could get over you.” you say as the tear spills in a hot streak down your cheek and drips from your chin. Another follows and another until you’re forced to wipe them away. 

“And I’m selfish enough to not want you to.”

“You’re doing a great job in trying to get me to move on though. Tell me. Where is she? At home waiting for you? Or did she have prior arrangements so she couldn’t come with you tonight?” 

“She’s probably at home. Her home.” He clarifies. “Turns out the reality of me is different to the fantasy. You’ll know about that better than anyone.”

“The reality was my fantasy. The only time you ever let me down was when you left me.”

“And if I wanted a chance to make it up to you? Would you let me?”

“I don’t know if I can trust myself to let you back in.”

“I deserve that,” he gives as much of a strained smile that you’d given earlier this evening. 

“This has emotionally drained me. I can’t do this tonight. I can’t. ”

“Turning up wasn’t my greatest plan, I’ll admit.”

“No. It wasn’t. But Rúben? I’d give you baby steps to try. Just not tonight.” 

[dreamescapeswriting]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ~ 𝐁𝐂

⤜WORD COUNT: 2.8K

⤜PAIRING: Chan X Fem!Reader

⤜GENRE: fluffy, cute, long distance relationship, meeting after a long time, surprising tired channie on tour, established relationship, pampering chan like the king he is, sleepy baby, 

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - September 2022

⤜MASTERLIST

Chan frowned staring over at the crew members as he walked off the stage for the final time that night, he could have sworn he'd just seen you walking back there but it was impossible. Shaking his head at himself he turned his attention to something else and he checked over his members, smiling to himself when he saw them all walking toward the changing rooms. Most of them had been crying on stage thanks to the special show that STAY had put on for them, Chan could hardly believe it when he'd seen it. All of these different paper planes being thrown onto the stage with kind messages, as well as the stadium singing along to "star lost" with them, had left most of them in a crying mess. However, Chan did his best to keep his cool and make sure he didn't cry too much on stage but it failed since he ended up crying hard inside the group hug. Everything had gotten a little too emotional, it was one of their first tours since Covid had hit and to see them get such a warming moment tore his heart up.

"Hyung? You okay?" Felix asked when he noticed Chan glancing his head around frantically as if he was looking for something or someone. 

"Yeah, I thought I saw someone," Chan mumbled as he shook his head, there was no way it could have been you. If it was you, you would have told Chan that you were coming to see him.

"Who?" Felix asked, staring around for any sign of someone he knew but there was nothing. The crew were all there but that wasn't who Chan was looking for and Felix knew it,

"I thought they looked like Yn." His voice went off slowly, it was impossible to be you though. Chan had asked you to come to their final tour show but you were too busy with work to make it, it had been disappointing but Chan knew you needed to work. 

"She's at work though, I mean she sent us enough photos," Felix whined while rubbing his stomach, still remembering the photo of the cakes that you had been making for work that morning. You were always sending photos of what you were working on and always making them jealous that they didn't have access to the treats. 

"I know, part of me was expecting her to just show up behind the stage and give us treats," Chan chuckled weakly as he imagined it, it would have been amazing to see you especially since the two of you hadn't seen one another in about a year. It was hard to see one another since the pandemic hit.

Thanks to covid cancelling most of the flights you hadn't been able to see one another but things were finally starting to open up and Chan held out hope that he would see you soon. The two of you did what you could to make your relationship work digitally, you would have cute dates over facetime. The last time Chan had set up his laptop to play a movie at the same time as you and the two of you watched it together.

"It won't be too much longer hyung, I'm sure of it," Jeongin added when he noticed how upset it seemed to make Chan that you weren't there. The boys would be flying home tomorrow morning and tonight would have been the perfect time to surprise him. 

"Do you want to come to dinner with us tonight?" Felix questioned trying to change the subject rather quickly, glancing at Chan and hoping he would say yes.

The truth was you were surprising Chan today and he had just seen you backstage the boys all knew that but they needed to play along a little while longer. The whole point of this surprise was to keep Chan busy while you got the hotel room ready and you'd only just gotten the keycard to get inside the room.

"Nah, I think I'm going to go and facetime her for a while. Maybe I can catch her before she goes to sleep," Chan shrugged as he stared down at his phone, you hadn't opened any of his messages yet and he was slightly worried you would have already fallen asleep. The two of you tried to stay awake for the other but some days were harder than others, especially when you were in different time zones,

"But you always come to eat," Changbin said as he shot Felix a worried glance. If Chan went straight back to the hotel your surprise was going to be ruined and the boys knew you wanted it to be perfect for him, 

"I know but I miss yn," Chan murmured, looking away from his phone to meet Jeongin's pleading eyes. He hated that his youngest member looked as though he was the living pleading emoji, it made it incredibly difficult to say no to him. 

"Innie," Chan whined rather loudly, shaking his head as he stared back at him, he didn't want to say no to his youngest.

"Don't you want to hang out with us Hyung? Are we not good enough?" Jeongin whined louder, his voice dragging on the last word as Chan groaned a little.

"We've been stuck together for weeks, I'm ready for a break." Chan joked before shaking his head, he was already going to agree to go with them. Going out to eat sounded better than ordering room service and eating alone for the night,

 "Fine I'll come but it's your treat," He smirked before quickly shooting you a message that he wasn't going to be able to see you tonight which you probably weren't going to see since you were asleep. 

[Channie]: Hey, I'm going to dinner with the boys...I'll probably miss you again tonight. I promise to see you soon, even if I have to steal a plane myself.

Attached to the image was a photo of Chan dripping in sweat and winking at the camera which made you smile to yourself, you'd turned off "read receipts" in order for him not to see when you were reading his messages. It was easier for him to think you were asleep rather than ignoring him. You were thankful the boys were keeping him busy a little while longer while you made your way back to his room with the spare keycard. 

Everything had been planned out well, Felix had asked Chan for a spare key to his room last night so that he could come and hang out with him. That way he could give the card to you whenever you arrived, 

"Let's get this thing started." You whispered to yourself, glancing around the hotel room. This time the boys had managed to make sure Chan got his own room, it would have made it awkward if you were spending the night with Chan and a roommate. 

Unzipping your bag you began to take out different candles and votives and made your way into the bathroom, deciding that Chan was going to need a nice relaxing night to come home to you began to get to work on everything. 

"I still think we should have a sleepover in Hyung's room, he has the biggest bed." Jisung teased, smirking at Felix who was walking with a very tired Chan to his room. The dinner had run over by an hour and Chan was absolutely exhausted he knew that tonight was going to be one of the few nights he actually got some decent sleep. 

"I think Channie-Hyung is too tired," Felix said while glaring at Jisung who was quick to shut his mouth when he remembered what would be waiting for Chan inside the room. 

"He's right, I'm ready to drop," Chan mumbled as he put the card into his door and smiled as it flashed green, he said a quick goodbye and headed into the room.

As much as he loved hanging out with his members when he was tired like this all he wanted was to have some time alone. The only person who he could really be around when he was like this was you and that was because you would look after him but you'd not even seen his messages so he doubted the two of you would talk tonight. 

"Sweet, sweet relief." He groaned, falling stomach first onto the bed and burying his face into the pillows moaning out as he finally let himself relax. He'd completely missed the fact that there was an extra suitcase inside his room and the fact that your perfume was fresh in the air since you'd just finished getting ready.

You smiled to yourself when you heard him fall onto the bed, Felix had warned you about how tired Chan was which was why you'd slightly changed your plan for the night.

Instead of lighting candles all over the hotel room, you'd placed them inside the bathroom, dressed in one of his signature hoodies and waited for him. Silently you stepped into the doorway of the kitchen and stared over at your boyfriend who had yet to notice your presence. Seriously, the man would be awful if he was trapped inside a slasher movie, he'd probably be the one kid that gets murdered because he wasn't paying attention. 

"Hey, handsome, long day?" You said softly as you knelt down on the mattress beside him, gently running your fingers through his curls as he hums tiredly, 

"Very," He mumbled not totally realising what was happening until he heard your little giggle. It was like music to his ears as he slowly pulled his head out of the pillow and stared at you blinking a couple of times.

"Yn?" He sounded unsure of himself as he spoke your name into the air, you couldn't be there in front of him. 

"Yes, baby?"

"You're here right...it's not some kind of trick my tired mind is playing on me?"

"I'm here," You giggled, looking at him as he suddenly sat up straight and stared back at you. The tiredness quickly washed away from his body as he realised you were there with him. 

"You're here! Were you at the show?!" He asked quickly as he stared back at you, his mind racing with the possibility that you could have been watching him.

"Yes. you weren't supposed to see me" You whined, Felix had texted you when Chan said he thought he'd seen you. You thought you'd been sneaky enough backstage but clearly, you weren't the superspy you thought you were.

"I'd been trying to be sneaking to get the keycard after the show," You explained while laughing a little, Chan's smile fell as he thought about Felix asking for a card yesterday. Now it all made sense,

"Felix was in on this with you, wasn't he?" He questioned only to make you grin widely at him. It wasn't just Felix that had been helping you with this, it was all of the boys. 

"Oh, baby...they all were." You laughed softly, running your thumb gently across his cheek.

"I wanted to come and see you before my flight to Korea tomorrow," You mentioned casually, his eyes lighting up as he heard that you were going to go home with him. 

"How long?" He wasn't going to waste a single second if it was a short amount of time. His mind was already racing over the different places he wanted to take you.

"I have about two months in Korea if you can put up with me-"

"YES!" He screamed out, blushing as he realised he was probably being a little too loud since he shared a wall with other people inside the hotel. 

"Then two months it is baby," You cooed before he whined at you, kissing your lips softly. 

"How?"

"I took as much overtime as I could, saved up and I-I was thinking of looking for a job there..." You looked at him, trying to judge what he thought of it. It wouldn't take much for you to get a year-long visa for working and you'd always wanted to live closer.

"Baby, this sounds incredible." The idea of getting you all to himself for a full year was magical to him and he couldn't wait.

"Hmm but I know something that sounds better." You told him, gently running your hands over his skin as he looked at you,

"What?"

"You following me into the bathroom." You shifted yourself off the bed and held out your hand for him to take, slowly opening the bathroom door to reveal all of the candles that were lighting up the room. A hot bubble bath waiting for Chan to slide into and let his muscles relax,

"You did all of this?" He questioned sounding a little shocked that you had done this for him. It wasn't something you hadn't done before but it had been a while,

"My boyfriend deserves a nice relaxing night," You giggled, watching him as he smiled over at you and began to slowly take off his clothes. 

Chan was naked sitting in the tub, in any other situation you would have joined him but tonight it wasn't about that. Tonight was about making your boyfriend feel special and comforted after a long day, 

"Are you not getting in?" He asked as you sat down on the edge of the tub, rolling up the sleeves of the hoodie and reaching for the shampoo that was on the side.

"No, tonight is about spoiling you, baby." You slowly began to wet his hair, smiling to yourself as you watched the way his hair began to cover his eyes. 

"You need a haircut," You laughed as he chuckled a little, his shoulders lifting up as he agreed with you. It was getting a little too long to deal with and it was getting harder to manage his curls.

"I like your curls though," You whispered before uncapping the shampoo and gently beginning to massage his scalp with the pads of your fingers. You were moving in deep, firm strokes until you noticed him visibly relaxing against your touch, his body slumping against the side of the tub with his eyes shut. You smiled down at him, he looked so peaceful when he was like this for you. There was a small tint of pink on his cheeks, he wasn't used to being treated like this and he enjoyed it. 

There was nothing sexual about the interaction, even though he was naked in front of you this was something sweet and intimate between the two of you. You carefully washed out the shampoo from his hair and swept it out of his face before you moved to reach for the body wash. 

"You're an angel," He hummed tiredly, his eyes struggling to stay open as he relaxed completely against your touch, you giggled softly and applied a little body wash to your hands. You slowly moved your palms against his skin, kneading into any muscles whenever you felt as though he needed it.

"Lean forward baby," You whispered in his ear, watching as he obeyed without another word falling from his lips. You gently began to wash his back, letting your hands travel over his smooth skin. Your eyes tracked over every inch of his toned body as you washed him, your pulse quickening as you smiled to yourself. There was just something magical about getting to have Chan like this all to yourself, sure you shared him with millions of fans but this version of Chan was yours and yours alone.

The soft, quiet and adorable Chan he didn't show that often. The Chan that ket you care for him and cuddle him whenever he needed it. His head fell forward only to snap back up as he caught himself almost falling asleep. 

"We're done baby," You whispered when you noticed that he was starting to nod off in the tub. 

Once Chan laid on the bed completely dry and naked under the sheet as you put the towels into a small basket for the housekeepers to take in the morning. 

"Come to bed with me," He whined out, his eyes tracking you as you blew out all of the candles and quickly rinsed the bath out so that the cleaners didn't have to do it in the morning. 

"I'll be there in a second, I need to clean up." You told him, thanks to jetlag you weren't exactly tired yet and you wanted to make sure the housekeepers didn't think you and Chan were slobs when they came in tomorrow.

"I can't sleep without you," He whined out and you smiled to yourself, shutting off all the lights and climbing under the sheets to lay beside him. Even though he was naked and you were in nothing but a hoodie, once again nothing was sexual. It was just something that happened and the two of you accepted whenever you would sleep like this. 

"Goodnight, angel." You whispered to Chan as he rested his head on your chest, your fingers gently curling his damp hair around your finger and smiling as it seemed to keep its shape. Chan had barely laid on top of you before he quickly sunk into the best night's sleep he'd had in a long time. 

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @hanasonmi @sw33tnight @taestannie @illicee​ @army24--7​ @acciocriativity​ @scarletemeterio​ @kimahnjung98​ @halesandy​ @aerastus​ @lost-leopard-beanie​ @ethereallino​ @afternoonteabiscuit​ @itmehc​ @rubberduckieyourtheone​ @heeseunger24​ @laylasbunbunny​ @lovelychann​ @critssq​ @pearlygraysky​ @lenfilms​

[intoloopin]

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

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

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

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

November 12, 2018.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could count Hanjae in.

[...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

January 13, 2022.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a resigned sigh, Hanjae unties his sneakers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My good smile?” Hanjae echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir, I–”

“Dismissed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

February 15, 2022.

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

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

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

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

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

“So did Jimin!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It fits Haruki splendidly, as must things do.

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

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

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

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

Hanjae, embarrassed, follows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I! Am I serious?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re back.”

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

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

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

Fair, Hanjae thinks. After everything, fair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another glimpse her way, and the person with their two feet planted on the ‘welcome home’ carpet is Haruki. He also said he wouldn’t come but gave no excuse, yet: here, dressed nicely. He’s got the same convenience store from years ago under one arm, the one from a memory.

They talk, talk, talk, and he still won’t leave the entrance. Haruki makes her laugh, the most genuine thing Hanjae’s seen Sunyoung do all night. He sees her look at him, look around, then lean closer again: point upstairs and give Haruki a thumbs up as he finally makes his way in, into the stairs and out of sight.

Sunyoung’s back on the couch, to Haegon, and Hanjae makes himself look. They’re fine, they appear very fine, holding hands, he doesn’t have to watch them all night, there’s no need to watch them at all, and–

Hanjae goes up the stairs, which he knows it’s technically off limits. He tries to not let his eyes wander to the photos on the walls, the books on the shelves tucked next to an award behind protective glass, a big shiny plaque framed above it.

There’s only one door with light peeking through, right at the end of the corridor. He taps at it three times, and waits. Another three taps, slightly stronger.

“Occupied,” a voice says from the inside – a tone he knows. “All night.”

Hanjae can’t think of what to say: can’t think of anything at all, for a second. He gives the door another hopeful tap, waits more, and he lets out a sigh of relief when it creeks open. He goes in, closes it quietly behind him, and looks down.

The room’s a bathroom, straight out of a home decoration magazine, all black and white. Haruki seems to be setting up an improv bar on the floor, in the big space between the bathtub and the sink. There’s a bottle of something Hanjae can’t read, blue and half empty, tucked in between his legs like a treasure.

“Ah, you,” he waves at Hanjae’s vague direction, not looking up. “Hello, you. I’m just– Don’t mind the mess. Someone made me something once. ‘Trying to put it together.”

Hanjae hums. He can’t make his hand ease its grip on the doorknob.

It’s been weeks since they abandoned the shoot, and since then Haruki’s been avoiding him constantly. Looks at him from across rooms and seems pained, constantly, and Hanjae hasn’t had the heart to come near.

“What is happening?” Haruki asks, suddenly, and tries to land a smile. He blinks a lot and then not enough looking up at Hanjae. “Down. Down there.”

“Nothing much.”

“How is he?”

“Haegon?” Hanjae asks, and Haruki nods at him loosely, mouths the name without making a sound: ‘Haegon’. “He– Uh, he seems alright.”

“Great couple, yes or no? For our maknae, is she great?”

“I– I don’t know.”

Disappointment flashes vividly through Haruki’s face, and it lands on a sad shagrin. “You don’t know,” he says, to himself, and goes back to emptying his bag with a slouch to his shoulders.

‘Be normal’, Dylan had said that day, his only instructions: ‘Be nice.’

Hanjae lets go of the door and goes to sit in front of him, legs crossed like his are. “What’s it supposed to taste like? The drink.”

There’s no humor in Haruki when he says, “Acid.”

He offers a thermo bottle to Hanjae filled with the failed replica. Hanjae takes a tiny sip and can’t swallow it, feels like his tongue is on fire, and it makes Haruki huff a laugh. “More disgusting than that.”

He makes more combinations that demand more tasting, and Hanjae at times struggles, at times doesn’t – Haruki empties a Soju bottle and refills it with Somaek, calls it ‘Hanjae’s palette cleanser’. He also makes Hanjae go downstairs to grab things they don’t have: more cups, ice and fruit juice, if Sunyoung has any, which she does – too many options.

Hanjae comes back from the trip and sets all his findings at Haruki’s feet, then feels weird about it, exposed about it, and pushes some of it closer to himself.

The bottle opener, they notice a minute later, has disappeared. Hanjae thinks he took it with him to the kitchen and abandoned it on the counter. Worry not, Haruki says; worry not!, because he knows how to open them with his front teeth. It’s a hidden skill, a secret talent.

Haruki asks him to hold a bottle close to his face so he can prove it, and Hanjae does so, but it’s a frail grip, not good. Haruki puts a hand over his to make it steadier, makes it worse. Another hand, a shove closer until their knees are touching. Hanjae adds his free hand into the pile, the lonely hand, and Haruki looks straight at him – looks like he’s saying, ‘Bet?’

It takes a second, really. A pop and the lid comes off in the company of an enormous foam eruption. Haruki gets both his hands away, does a smiley flourish: ‘ta-da!’

“But you shook it! Too much, you–!’ He laughs, and can’t stop laughing. Hanjae’s still holding the bottle and tries to hand it to him, but Haruki shakes his head ‘no’. “For you. It is for you.”

It’s bland beer, he takes notice when he drinks it, but somehow it tastes sweeter.

From the corner of his eyes he catches a glimpse of metal in a corner, and it’s Haruki’s new phone, exiled.

Hanjae is surprised to hear himself ask him, “Are the calls– the calls still coming? The ones from–”

“Always,” Haruki responds, eerily nonchalant. “Always will.”

“It’s not over, then? You still–”

“It is. It is over. It is over the way it can be over.”

“What wouldhe,” Hanjae closes his eyes, reiterates, “If it’s over, what would he still want with you?”

“What do you think,” Haruki asks, staring fixedly at the alcohol going from one bottle to the other. A bit of it it’s running straight to the floor. “What do you think people want with me?”

It’s said– weird. Something in his uncaring tone makes a lump of sadness form in Hanjae’s throat.

“Hyung, you know that, if you everneed to talk to anyone about anything. Me and the guys, we all– We all listen. We would listen.”

“Anything?” Haruki pretends to be impressed. “Big. That is big.”

“Seriously. I’m being serious.”

Haruki looks up at him. Even more alcohol spills to the floor.

“Okay. Okay, anything. Anything…” he hums, dropping the bottles, mimicking being in thought with an obnoxious pout. His mouth is now a purple dot, and his eyes a shiny brown daze...

Hanjae often catches himself wondering if he just knows. If he looks into a mirror and just knows that he’s beautiful in a way that looks hand drawn, that looks meticulously planned: a subject of equal envy and admiration. If Sangwon ever told him that, and if so, how many times, had it come close to enough, had he used the right words to say it, did Haruki believe him when he said it, or if he didn’t – what did it make him feel? What exactly did he make him feel?

Hanjae always thought he was so mean, so bitter. He can’t remember ever hearing him say anything nice to anyone about anything.

Hanjae’s staring, he’s realized, and his eyes hurt. He makes them look down to where Haruki’s got a firm hold around the slim of a bottleneck, tapping a weird rhythm into it, impossible to decipher. He has long fingers with hard skin on them, which isn’t something you would expect. He used to paint, used to do calligraphy; used to go to a prestigious arts academy during high school, all boys.

Hanjae’s still starring, and he’s too close to drunk to properly command himself to stop. He hears Haruki huffs an unheard laugh, suddenly, short and maybe frustrated, maybe not that, and Hanjae’s head snaps up to his face to meet it.

He’s being stared at, too – is being analyzed, too.

“I thought of something. Something I want to say, a thing,” Haruki announces. The grin on his face suddenly looks very, very sharp, like there’s something tugging the corners of his mouth up. “I will whisper to you. On your ear. ‘Gimme your ear and I will tell.”

And with that he comes forward, a sudden and ungracious movement, and doesn’t stop when they’re front to front, an inch apart. He climbs Hanjae up – actually climbs him up, his legs around the middle of his body, cageing him in.

Haruki grims again and it’s lazily, in slow motion. He puts a hand on Hanjae’s chin, tips it high, says, “Not your ear.”

He turns his head to the side. His nose rovers near Hanjae’s head, and Hanjae tries to escape it in reflex, but they’re all too slow, drowned in alcohol.

Into his ear, lips touching skin, Haruki says, “I know you like me. For a very long time. Since that one time. Ever since we went out, we got drunk, that one time.”

“Sorry,” Hanjae mutters, hushed.

“‘Sorry’,” Haruki laughs again, like that’s the funniest word there is, like it’s the meanest. It rings so loud, it has an echo. “Now you sorry?”

Hanjae sinks more into the floor, almost laying down, and Haruki follows, saying, “Are you going away? This close? I am this close, and you going away?”

They’re kissing before Hanjae fully processes how, and it’s a weird kiss at a weird angle; Haruki won’t bend his body all the way down, and Hanjae has to keep craning his neck to meet him midway, his elbows pressing against the tiles, hurting.

He feels a hand slide up his shirt almost immediately, and Hanjae understands, with drunken horror, that he’s being undressed – quickly.

“Ah, wait–” He says, and then can’t get out anything else: Haruki shoved a thumb inside his mouth, in between his teeth, as he goes for the spot where Hanjae’s shoulder and neck meet.

“You smell like home here,” he says, a goosebump. He buries his face there, opens his mouth above it, bites and sucks hard enough to make Hanjae jump  – for him to know it’ll leave a pinkish mark, evidence–

It’s exactly then and there that someone bursts in through the door, says a curse loudly, startles the two of them slightly apart, knocks the air out of their lungs.

“Close your eyes! I need to pee right now, right now, close your eyes!”

It’s a tall woman, this one – Hanjae sees her quick rush to the toilet and closes his eyes tight shut.

“If any of you try to act funny and take a single peek, I’ll fucking castrate you both– Hey! Hey, you, back on the floor, don’t come near, I’m fucking serious, I’ll kill you, you fucking–!”

The door clicks shut, and it takes Hanjae a moment to take in the lack of heat above and around him, to correlate the two: Haruki’s gone, walked out, left him.

From the side, he hears an instrident, “Can you at least cover your fucking boner, dude?!”

Hanjae rolls to his side, facing the opposite wall to where the toilet is; he pushes his knuckles into his shut eyes, for good measure. He waits for the girl to finish peeing, and tries not to have an anxiety attack or a heart attack or a nerve attack about everything that happened in the last ten minutes: Haruki on top of him, Haruki no longer on top of him, having to hear a stranger peeing.

“I’m done,” she announces, and he turns back to the same position as before.

There’s little dots of light in his vision, dancing. The girl’s using the sink now, and she has a blonde bob, so blonde and so short. It follows the shape of her mouth and up, even shorter at the back.

“Not a word from you, ever,” she warns, drying her hands on her skirt, pushing it down more, back in place. She gives him a pointed glare that makes Hanjae look down at the state he’s in, at his busted open shirt, a single button in the middle holding it all together. “Not a word from me. Now get the fuck out, please. People need to use the bathroom.”

And she gets going too, without closing the door all the way. The hum of the party downstairs carries over.

Hanjae inhales, looking at the bright ceiling light. His fingers have gone pruney where they were holding him.

[…]

Eventually Hanjae has to get out of the suite, and do a walk of shame back to the housewarming party. He takes down with him all the glass and cups he can manage, not a lot of them, goes straight to the kitchen sink, and begins to wash them, it’s done with them, goes for all of Sunyoung and Yoorim’s dishes.

Around him, the kitchen has emptied out – on the front the living room, mostly emptied out, too, except for little clicks. He spots J.J right in the center of the one installed in the couch, gesticulating enthusiastically, telling someone some story until they make eye contact. He stops, excuses himself, rushes near.

Up close, Jiahang looks at him, up and down, bug eyed, and Hanjae understands he didn’t do a good job of piecing himself back together.

He got a glimpse of his face in the mirror before walking out: lips glossy, bangs far apart and sticking up, somehow, not all the buttons of his shirt tucked in the right cases.

“Hanjae, oh my God. Dylan, Dylan, look!” He calls out, and Hanjae sees Chihoon appear on his left, face slightly dazed. “Oh my God, Dylan! Hanjae!”

“You fucking animal!” Seungsoo, coming out of nowhere, slaps him on the chest hard. “Who? Who who who who?”

They’re all too close, too soon, and Hanjae can’t look anyone in the eyes for too long– he just can’t.

He catches a glimpse of Blonde Bob Piss Girl in a corner, looking bored, on her phone, and stares at her for a moment too long. Everyone follows, looks at her too, and his bandmates erupt into enthusiastic ‘Eeeeeeh!’s. Someone, proprably Seungsoo still, raises his soupy arm up so he can be given high fives, and Hanjae doesn’t know what to do – to let the lie linger or to kill it. What can he even say? What can he say if not that–

Hanjae finds himself grabbing Dylan’s sleeve and tugging at it, leaving behind a damp. He feels like a little kid that broke something, suddenly – overwhelmingly so. “Where ‘d Haruki go?”

“Dude, I didn’t see him. You sure?” Chihoon asks, and Hanjae’s not; he’s not sure.

“Whaaaaat? Haruki came? Haruki’s here?”

“Great. Another one to hunt down. We’re never gonna leave this fucking place in time,” Jiahang whines. “Yoorim noona’s going to delete my number.”

Hanjae asks all of them at once, “We’re leaving?”

“Yeah, you didn’t hear? Sunyoung and Haegon ditched,” Seungsoo says, and Hanjae’s stomach drops. “It’s her house and they ditched, disappeared, poof! Yoorim’s pissed, told everyone to leave. And Taeng’s freaking out! Someone broke his little vase, someone spilled something on him. I think he’s gonna snap. We need to get that freak home.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, Hanjae,” Seungsoo laughs. “Old man was right, after all… Shit.”

[...]

They do a small search around the apartment, the balcony, and conclude: no Haruki anywhere, so they group everyone they have to leave, go wait to be picked up on the sidewalk in front of the Nine One Hannam gates.

“You just dreamed him up, Hanhan! Wouldn’t be the first time,” Seungsoo jokes. It’s a bad joke. O.z shoves him in the chest hard about it, tells him, “Quiet.”

Hanjae looks straight ahead, not at them. In front of him J.J keeps bouncing on the wheel of his feet, saying, ‘I’m going in the front, I’m passenger seat, forget it, it’s me me me me,’ even though no one’s putting up a fight about it.

Minwoo pulls up soon enough on the curve in one of the two black company vans, and downs the window just to give them all an open scowl, then a frown. “I’m only seeing seven of you.”

J.J circles the car to get to the front door, struggles a little to get it open. “Hyung, you’re not gonna believe.”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Jiahang.”

“Shut up, you do. You really really really really do. You were–,” and then he becomes aware of the slouched figure of Hanjae trailing behind him, turns and frowns. “What did I just say!”

“No, I’m…” Hanjae looks at Minwoo looking at him, one eyebrow raised, says, “Sorry.”

Minwoo pinches at his nose, hard. “Just get in the goddamn car, Hanjae, Jesus Christ.”

Hanjae thinks, out of everyone who has a driver’s license, Minwoo drives the shittiest. He needs glasses, he never wears them, he grumbles curses at every slow driver and every rush driver and every driver, in general.

On the way home, he stops the van only once, by popular demand. Taesong steps out to vomit, and spends the rest of the ride jittery about it, cracking his knuckles even when they make no sound.

“We’re so fucked,” Chihoon says when they park inside the dorm’s garage, rubbing his eyes. “It’s 3AM. We’re so fucked.”

While everyone rushes to their rooms to piece pajamas together and form a long row to shower, Hanjae’s elbow to elbow with Dylan, going up the stairs to the second floor as quietly as they can.

He and Haruki have, by far, the best room in the whole house: spacious, with a nice window. It used to be Haruki and Sangwon’s up until he got fired – some excuse about rooming with the manager to learn Korean quicker, about making sure Haruki wouldn’t sneak beer into his room. It makes Hanjae sick now, seeing it, standing so close to it.

Dylan tries the handle once, and the door doesn’t budge, only makes a stubborn click – locked.

Hanjae dries his hand on his jeans, still wet, somehow, asks him, “Is he– He’s in there? Or…?”

Chihoon rests his head against the mahogany and sort of sighs, sort of laughs. “Yeah, definitely home. He’s the only one with the key to lock me out. Classic. Just classic.”

“Get my bed,” Hanjae says – implores. “Use mine, you can– mine, I’ll couch.”

“You’ll couch?” Chihoon looks at him with the trembling smile of someone who’s about to laugh. It falls off his face quickly when he takes in the guilt Hanjae knows he’s wearing openly on his face.

“Hyung, I–” It’s out of his mouth before Hanjae even knows it. “Tonight, something – Something has happened, and I think, think I should– say.”

Dylan’s giving him an analytical once over, and he stops at his moving hands, on his marked neck, looks at the door again – locked. 

“Hanjae,” he says his name like it’s an insult, and for a moment Hanjae feels like it really is – his name, an insult.

He crumbles. “I’m sorry, so, so sorry, we just– I didn’t mean to– It was just, just a kiss, I think, and I– I–”

“You kissed him?! ‘You think’? What does that mean? What do you mean ‘you think’?!”

Hanjae looks around and then down, behind him. “Dylan…” he manages, airy, and doesn’t know what he wants the rest of the phrase to be, where he’s trying to take it.

Chihoon’s mouth hangs open, a painful disbelief, and then slowly shuts.

“You know what,” he says harshly, but not angrily – he sounds more disappointed than anything, more tired than anything. “I don’t want to know. Not now. I’ll know, just– Not now. But fucking Hell, Hanjae, you. You just had to, didn’t you? You saw an opportunity and you just had to.”

Hanjae’s breath catches. Dylan is a figure in his eyes, growing blurry.

“I’m taking your bed,” he announces. ”Eveytime he kicks me out from this day on, I’m sleeping on your bed.”

He storms off, his bare feet on the floor a sound until it isn’t anymore.

Hanjae knocks on the door, a small tap. Nothing.

He thinks of saying it again: sorry. But no one’s around to hear it, no one’s around to accept it. There’s no point.

[lucy90712]

Insecure- Pablo Gavi

A/n: hey all this if my first Gavi fic if you have any requests for him or Pedri feel free to send them to me

Wc: 1600 There is no way to escape the news it's every Instagram, Twitter, the actual news and even texts from my friends. No one will let me forget about the fact that literal the princess of Spain has a crush on my boyfriend. I'm used to people having a crush on Gavi because I mean look at him but usually it's just random people not the princess of Spain. I have tried my hardest to not let it bother me as I know Pablo will think I'm being stupid but it's so hard when everyone is talking about how the two of them could end up dating and what that would mean for his football career and whatever else.

I had managed to sort my head out and convince myself that if Pablo didn't love me he would have broken up with me but when I woke up today to find out that the king had been to visit the squad and gotten Pablo to sign a shirt for his daughter all my worries came back. The more videos that came out the more insecure I felt as he had such a big smile on his face signing the shirt and taking a photo with the king. All of this isn't helped by the fact that he's in Qatar while I'm still back home in Barcelona as we don't get to talk as often because of the time difference and our schedules. Not getting much time to talk means I never bring up my worries as I don't want to waste the time we get to call on what is definitely me being stupid.

Despite all of this I'm still excited as I'm actually going out to Qatar to watch the next game which Pablo doesn't know about so I get to surprise him after the game. We haven't seen each other in ages as of course he's been at the World Cup and even before that we were both so busy we didn't get to see each other so it's probably been about a month since I've seen him in person. The only person that knows I'm coming is Pedri as I told him so that he could help me organise everything as I have no idea where the best place to stay is and I know you can't get tickets so last minute but he helped me with all of that. Having to hide my plans has been difficult as all I want to do is tell Pablo that I will be there especially when he says he wants me to see him play but I've stopped myself from telling him as I hope he'll like the surprise.

There was a a lot of delays on my flight as the plane was late to board so then we arrived into Qatar late and then it took ages to get my bags so my schedule has been thrown out the window as I need to drop my bags at the hotel and head straight to the stadium to make it for the start of the game. Of course there is a whole load of traffic but luckily once I made it to the hotel I could walk to the stadium so I grabbed my bag and sprinted to the stadium and just about made it before kickoff. There was no time to catch my breath as the match had started and it was already pretty tense as this game determines whether the team make it out of the group stages.

It was very tense the entire game as at times they were going out and others they were top of the group and then they were second. The guys were trying so hard to score another goal but Japan were playing really well and just not letting it happen. Pablo was subbed at 68 minutes which I could tell he wasn't too happy about but he still sat and watched the team for the rest of the game. The match ended 2-1 to Japan but the boys made it through 2nd in the group which means they will be facing Morocco in the next round which I think will be a hard game as they have been playing incredibly well but I know they will put up a fight.

After the match finished I left my seat and went with all the other family of the players to go and meet them outside the changing room. Up until I was stood waiting to see Pablo I was excited but standing there I got nervous because what if he doesn't want to see me? What if he has thought about our relationship while we've been apart and thinks he'd be better off with someone like the princess. So many thoughts were swirling around my brain that I didn't even notice Pedri come out and walk over to me until he tapped my shoulder which got my attention.

"Hey are you ok?" He asked

"Yeah I'm fine just nervous" I replied

"Ok well he'll be out in a minute I'll see you both later" he said giving me a hug and then walked away

Once again I was on my own just waiting which made all the thoughts come right  even though it was just a few minutes I got myself so worried that my hands were all sweaty but also shaking with nerves. This time I was paying attention so when Pablo came out the door I locked eyes with him and tried my best to give him a smile. He came over right away and gave me a quick hug before linking our hands together and dragging me out of the stadium. I thought seeing him would make me feel less insecure but after that reaction I honestly feel worse. To me it just seemed like he didn't want me to be there and he didn't want anyone to see me there as normally after a game we will stand together for a bit before we leave but this time he just dragged me straight out. It also hurt as when he came out the dressing room he was smiling but when he saw me his smile seemed to disappear which almost made me cry but I held it together just about.

We made it back to the hotel and went up to the room together where I hoped he might actually seem excited to see me but no he just sat on the bed and went on his phone. I crawled on the bed next to him and rested my head on his shoulder to see that he was on Instagram looking at edits people had made of him and the princess together. That was the last straw for me and the tears started to fall rapidly down my face so I got up and shut myself in the bathroom where I just let all my pent up emotion go until I was sobbing. I tried to my best to be quiet but Pablo must have heard me as I heard him knock on the bathroom door before it opened as I didn't lock it. As soon as we looked at each other he came and sat on the floor next to me and pulled me into his lap. He tried to wipe the tears from my face but they just kept falling so he tried gently rubbing my back to calm me down.

"What's wrong mi amor?" He asked

"Do you still love me?" I asked back instead of answering

"Of course I do so much what makes you think I don't?" He questioned

"Well you didn't seem too happy to see me back at the stadium and when we got here you were looking at edits of you and the princess if you would rather be with her I'd understand but just tell me now" I said

"Oh sweetheart I'm sorry I didn't meant to give you the wrong impression I don't want to be with anyone other than you I promise" he said

"Then why did you act like you wished I wasn't here?" I asked

"I didn't mean to love I'm sorry I was just upset about the match and I wasn't expecting to see you I should have acted differently so I'm sorry but I'm very happy you're here" he said

We talked things through a bit more and he made me feel a lot better about my insecurity without making me feel stupid which I was worried about. Communication is all we needed but it was the one thing we weren't doing so when we actually talked about everything going on in our heads it made everything so much better. I promised to tell him when if I was feeling insecure and he promised to not let games interfere with our relationship which I think will help us in the future.

He said he wanted to make it up to me so he picked me up and carried me to the bed where he attacked me with kisses all over my face until I was laughing and smiling. When he'd cheered me up he turned the tv on and we watched a film together while cuddling. We also ordered room service most of which I ate as Pablo has a diet he is supposed to follow but I did make him eat a few things and promised not to tell anyone. We stayed up longer than we probably should of but eventually we fell asleep cuddling and much happier than we were a few hours ago.

[harrisonarchive]

Rishikesh, February 25, 1968 (photos by Cummings Archives/Redferns via Getty Images); and March 17, 1968 (photo from Disc and Music Echo's April 6, 1968 issue).

"Harrison, who was sitting nearest to me at the table, remarked that if he could turn everybody on to transcendental meditation and Indian music, then he could go. Somebody asked him what he meant exactly, and he said, 'You know… out… like on a road tour when you leave for the next town.' Somebody else asked him about his own meditations, and he said his mantra was an English word. This caused considerable surprise because it was assumed that into most people’s ears the Maharishi or one of his deputies had whispered unintelligible Sanskrit syllables. Nobody, of course, ever told anyone else his mantra because to do so would damage them, but that was the common understanding. Harrison further astounded everybody by saying he assumed the Beatles all had the same mantra. He didn’t know for sure, but his appeared in Lennon’s song, I Am the Walrus. […] [In celebration of George’s birthday, someone handed] each of us a garland of wet, fresh marigolds. 'To give to George,' she said. When the chanting ceased, we all walked up to the stage and placed our garlands around Harrison’s neck, until in the end, embarrassed and smiling sheepishly, he looked like a man in a life jacket. […] At the end we all sang Happy Birthday to George, to whom the Maharishi resented a cake with two candles and a plastic glove that he offered upside down, saying, 'This is the world. It needs to be corrected.' The laugher and applause subsided, and then the Maharishi led everyone into a meditation, the long silence at last being softly broken by a single note plucked on a stringed instrument." - Lewis H. Lapham, Saturday Evening Post, May 18, 1968

"I arranged a special cake for George, with white icing and pink flowers and an Indian greeting — 'Jai Guru Deva' — written across the top in gold letters. Then I bought a bundle of fireworks [in Rishikesh’s town center] and some streamers, balloons ad so forth. Earlier on I had bought an Indian banjo as my own gift to George. The weather was good on the day itself so we were able to have an outdoor party. Pattie wore a lovely yellow sari for the occasion. We put decorations up in the trees and everyone had garlands of flowers to put round George’s neck. In fact he disappeared beneath a colorful and flowery mountain of garlands before we’d finished! Then there was the special surprise of the evening — at the suggestion of the others I’d organized a band local Indian musicians and a singer to perform at the party. Maharishi made a nice little speech about George, presented his gift and then we got down to letting off the fireworks and listening to music. Pattie’s birthday was just as much of a fun occasion. Everyone was only too willing to join in a bit of a party. Pattie had another huge cake (they were all a bit like pease pudding but tasted great!) with nine or ten candles. Again there were dozens of beautiful garlands of red and orange flowers for everybody and Pattie played a new dilruba, her favorite instrument these days." - Mal Evans, The Beatles Monthly, June 1968 (x)

[xo-lesserafim]

FALLING FOR YOUR SMILE AND EYES

EPISODE 11. 😍

a/n: Hi guys, this is week 1 of the gang wining the modeling raffle! Please enjoy!

Bold: Korean

Italics: Over the phone

Both: Korean and over the phone

Back to masterlist

MIN HO’s POV

A day after winning the raffle for the modeling thing, the lady, Jenny Song told us that they would be a party or like ball the day we arrived, so we should have some fancy suits and dresses.

So while Q, Dae, and I went shopping for suits, the girls went shopping for their dresses.

I found a light blue suit I really liked and got it since my size was the last one.

(Photo of suit.)

Q got a black suit, and Dae’s suit was green.

Once we met with the girls, Yuri got a pink dress, and Kitty’s was red.

A few daya later, a limo came to pick us up and to take us to Jenny’s house.

Once we arrived, everyone but Yuri was shocked.

“ Yuri, how cant you be shocked? This place is huge.” Kitty said.

“I’ve seen bigger.”

Once we got out, and into the house, Jenny was there.

“Hello you guys! Welcome to my house. You guys will be staying on the third floor.” Jenny said.

Yuri’s phone had a notification.

“Excuse me, I have to help Ae-ri with something.” Yuri said.

“She’s on the third floor right?” Jenny asked.

“Yea.”

“Okay, well I guess the tour will start on the thrid floor.”

ANDREA’s (Y/N) POV

As I was trying on my light blue dress for the party, I forgot it had a corset.

I texted Yuri cause I need the help right now.

Thank God.

A few minutes later she came in, but with everyone else.

Kitty, Q, Dae, Jenny eonnie, and… Min ho.

“Why is the universe never on my side.” I thought.

“Sorry everyone else came, our rooms were here she Jenny eonnie thought it was a great idea for us to pick our rooms first.” Yuri said as I made eye contact with Min ho.”

“Oh, it completely fine! Can you please just tie the back?” I said.

“Yea.” Yuri said coming up to tie the corset.

“Thank you so much.” I said.

“Of course.” She said.

“Hi Kitty.” I said running up to her, giving her a hug.

“Andrea, hi!” Kitty replied.

“Hi Q and Dae.”

“Hey, I missed you so much.” Q said.

“Me too.”

“Hi Andrea.” Dae said.

“Um, Min ho… Hi.” I said.

“Hi..” Min ho said.

When we made eye contact, he was giving me a weird look with his eyes.

“I’ll show your guy’s rooms, follow me.” Jenny said.

“I’m going to stay behind, I need to talk to Andrea.” Min ho said.

“Alright.” Jenny said.

Once everyone left, Min ho looked at me.

“Can you please stop ignoring me, and actually talk to me.” He said.

“I’m not ignoring you.” I said.

“You used to ignore Kitty, now you’re talking with her.”

“ Me and her made up.”

“Well why can’t you make up with me?”

“Because I like you okay, and when I saw you kiss Madison, I wish jealous of her. And I had enough. So I left and went here to live with Jenny and be a model at her company.”

Min ho was speechless.

“Since I basically just confessed to you, you have to say something atleast.” I said.

“Meet me at the kitchen tomorrow night.” He said as he got his stuff and went to join the others.

TIME SKIP: THE PARTY

When the party started, Jenny went up on the stage and gave a speech.

“Hello to everyone who came here to this party, thank you. And thank you to the following students from KISS

Q Shazabin

Yuri Han

Dae Heon Kim

Min ho

Kitty Song Covey

And, Andrea Song Covey.” Jenny said.

Everyone was clapping.

“By the we have a bar with alcohol for the adults, but the minors get mocktails.”

Everyone laughed.

“Anyway, let’s start the party.” Jenny said.

Everyone started clapping.

Into the party, there was a lot of guys around my age, stating at me.

I felt like a person on display.

“Hey, pretty.” A dude said.

“The names is Joon.”

“Um, hi?” I said.

He just blabbed on the shit.

“He is so annoying.” I thought.

I looked at Min ho ( who was looking at me already, weird.)

He started to come over which means he got my signal.

“Hey dude, so sorry but your hitting on someone’s who’s taken.” He said.

“So?I don’t see her boyfriend,” Joon said.

“You don’t have too. As one of her best friends. I need you to respectfully go away. Or I can have the public go shit on you.” Min ho said.

“Whatever.” Joon said walking away.

“Thank you.” I whispered to Min ho.

“Welcome puppy.” He said.

Gosh, i miss the hearing that from him so much.

A few minutes after Joon hit on me, I saw another dude hitting on Kitty and Yuri.

“Come on, give me a try Yuri. I can change you to being straight.” The dude said.

“Um, no sir.” Kitty said.

“She told you many times that she is gay. Please respect that.”

“Woah, don’t get all feisty on me. But are you straight?”

“I don’t know but-Kitty said before being cut off.

“Hey cutie, what’s your name?” I said.

“Oh, uh. The names Adam.” He said.

“Cool! Do you wanna get some mocktails with me?”

“Sure, let’s go.”

When we made it to the bar, I got the 3 of darkest mocktail I could get.

Thank God he was wearing a white suit.

“Oh wow, that’s a lot of mocktails.” Adam said.

“Yea, it is. Do you want some?.”

“Yea-.” He said before I poured all the mocktails on his suit.

“Bro, what the fuck?” He said before I slapped his face too.

“Before you hit on a girl who tells you that she is gay, don’t say “I can change you.” THATS BULLSHIT. And why would you ask the other girl next to her to see if she’s straight. That’s weird. PLUS THE GIRL THATS GAY MIGHT BE HER DAMN FRIEND.” I said.

“Well you don’t know that.” He said.

“Okay, I totally don’t. It’s not like the girl that’s gay might be my one of my best friends and the other girl my FRATERNAL TWIN!���

“Gosh, don’t get all emotional on me. Are you on your period?”

I’ve had it.

“Stand up really quick.” I said.

“Okay.” He said standing up.

As soon we was standing up, I went for it.

I kicked him in the balls.

But kicking him, I slipped but someone caught me.

“Min ho, thank God you caught me.” I said.

“Welcome. But I think we need to leave.” He said.

“BYE WHORE!” Adam yelled.

“Never mind, continue your business.” Min ho said as he let me go.

As soon as I got my two feet on the ground, I was attacking that dickhead.

“ Andrea!” Kitty said before restraining me.

“What?”

“Stop hitting him.”

“No!”

“Let me take her.” Min ho said, taking me and carrying me bridal style.

We went to garden, and found a bench to sit on.

“Can I hug you?” I asked.

“Um, why?”

“Because, I’m genuinely sorry, plus I miss you.”

“Fine.” He said opening his arms.

I hugged him really tight for about ten minutes.

“We should probably get back.” He said.

“Yea.” I said as we got up and headed back.

TIME SKIP: THE NEXT NIGHT

I went to the kitchen to get some water in your favorite pink pj at 9:45 pm.

(Pink pj for visual.)

“Andrea.” Min ho said.

“OH MY.. That scared me.”

“Do you remember the thing I told you yesterday?”

“Nope, not at all. But it’s good I’m here now!”

“Okay. Do you wanna hear my answer?” He asked.

“No, totally not. WHAT DO YOU THINK??” I said.

“Oh wow, okay. So… yea. I like you Andrea..”

“You do? Oh gosh I’m gonna faint.” I said.

“Please don’t.”

“Fine, but, let me do something.” I said before jumping into his arms with my arms around his neck.

He brings to the counter and places me there.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked.

“Only if you consider me your girlfriend, then yes.” I said.

“Okay, girlfriend.” He said before kissing me.

After kissing for a bit I askes him this, “Do you wanna sleep in my room? I have face masks.” I said.

“Why not.”

We spent the whole night laughling, cuddling, doing face maks, and binging watching shows.

This was one of the best night I’ve ever had.

A/N: FINALLY NO ANDREA KARMA!! WOOHOO. We have gotten to the good part of Falling for your smile and eyes.

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TAGLIST: @chaewon-slays @cherrriesss @lysira340

Copyrights © 2023 xo-lesserafim. All rights reserved. I do not own XO, Kitty , Netflix does. do not copy, translate, or repost anything without my permission. Photos are from pininterest

[jammie3132]

Fandom: Glee Pairing: Blaine Anderson & Sebastian Smythe Summary: How Sebastian and Blaine met their daughter 10 Days of Seblaine 2023 Day 5: Parent AU Part 1 of Poppy's Little Angel Dedicated to @seblaineaddict

Back during the Great Warbler-New Directions Show Choir Feud of 2011-2012, if you asked Sebastian Smythe if he hated Kurt Hummel, you’d never receive a straight answer. He’d say something about how dogs within a 10-mile radius of Hummel singing need noise cancelling earphones or it was animal cruelty.

Or, how Hummel constantly looked constipated.

Or, Hummel should learn to count to 8 so maybe, just maybe, he could pretend to know how to dance.

However, he’d never say he hated Kurt Hummel because he didn’t. The boy fascinated him. What the hell kind of voodoo fairy magic did the guy possess to get someone as amazing as Blaine Anderson fall for him? It was impossible to understand…much like Hummel’s wardrobe choices.

Then in 2013 Sebastian Smythe watched Blaine Anderson propose to Kurt Hummel. That’s when he began to hate Kurt Hummel.

But today, almost a decade later, Sebastian Anderson-Smythe hated Kurt Hummel more than he had ever hated anything, including his father when he threatened to disown him for dropping out of Columbia. The SOB (Hummel, not his father…this time) had Blaine in court with yet another frivolous attempt to get money…aka, make their lives miserable because they had the audacity to get married when Blaine was his soulmate.

Yet he, Blaine’s husband and true soulmate, wasn’t allowed to be in court to support him. So, what if the first time he saw the delusional asshole after reconnecting with Blaine, Blaine and Sam basically had to tackle him so he didn’t punch him and get arrested? Although, watching Brittany smack and then verbally humiliate Hummel in front of a nightclub full of onlookers with cellphones was almost as satisfying as if he’d done it himself.

Last he checked Beautiful Blonde tells off friend’s jealous Ex had almost 2 million views.

Sebastian walked to their bookcase and picked up their wedding photo. It was hard to believe it had only been 5 weeks. As he put it back on the shelf, for the first time he realized what Blaine else put on the shelf. The items told the story of how they got to this point.

Their wedding photo was front and center. Next to it was their Tonys for West Side Story along with a photo of the two of them looking dapper in their tuxedos.

It was unusual for an actor in revival to win Lead Actor in a Musical, but he’d known for years Blaine was the perfect Tony. There was never a doubt in anyone’s mind he would win.

His win was the polar opposite. An actor from a revival winning Featured Actor? You didn’t win unless you were a Hollywood actor slumming on Broadway. At least that’s what one of the guys he beat was screaming at his agent during the afterparty. Let’s just say those in the theater community didn’t take the term slumming well.

On the other side of the wedding photo were two others. One was from the first time they met. They looked so young…him in his Dalton uniform, Blaine in the infamous grey striped cardigan. Thad gave it to them as a wedding gift. He said he knew from that moment they’d wind up married someday.

The other photo was his favorite (except the wedding photo, of course). It was a picture from the first day for the entire cast. While they were mingling and introducing themselves, the director came to him and asked him to come with him. He wanted his Tony and Riff to begin working on their dynamic.

He hadn’t taken three steps when he heard You’ve got to be shitting me! followed by Blaine running across the stage, jumping into his arms and knocking them both to the ground.

The actual photo was the two of them sitting on the floor laughing. At some point they held it together long enough to tell the rest of the cast and crew they’d known each other back in Ohio. Also, that while Blaine was friendly (like a puppy), he wouldn’t be tackling anyone else…at least until he knew them better.

Instead of getting to know each other, the director sent them off to get reacquainted. There was a lot to talk about but he thought it best to get through the hard stuff first.

Blaine Anderson? Not Anderson-Hummel or worse, Hummel-Anderson?

Nope, Kurt always said hyphenating our names wouldn’t work for Broadway marquees.

I’ve got to ask. How freaked out is your hubby going to be about me being Riff to your Tony?

Sebastian, the universe has a wacky sense of timing but sometimes you have to trust everything will work out how it’s supposed to.

I don’t understand.

(Blaine pulls his phone out of his pocket and smiles) Today the universe decided to bring you back into my life at the exact same time

I had Kurt served with divorce papers.

No shit?

Oh, it gets better. Since Kurt was throwing one of his temper tantrums and wouldn’t speak to me unless I gave up Tony, which I obviously didn’t, my attorney suggested I wait 30 days to file so I could serve him with legal separation papers at the same time.

Did it work?

The text I received was from my attorney saying mission accomplished. That means Sam, Santana and Brittany are taking me out tonight to celebrate. Want to come?

As a date?

No, but not as a fuck you to Kurt either. We both know I did a shitty job hiding my attraction to you back in high school.

We both did, but it’s nice to hear you admit it.

Well, we’re about to spend A LOT of time together. If things work out in ways I hope they might, I don’t want you to believe you were a rebound or worse, I was using you to get back at Kurt.

Blaine

Yes, Sebastian

I would love to go out and celebrate with you and your friends tonight. But could you do me a favor?

What?

Warn Santana so I don’t get a drink thrown in my face.

I can try but she’s been plotting her revenge against you for years.

When he heard the key in the lock, Sebastian quickly straightened the shelf then hustled to the couch to make it seem like he hadn’t been waiting. Seeing the man he loves walk into the apartment looking completely exhausted but wearing a smile, allowed him to (somewhat) relax. “Everything went ok?”

Blaine took off his blazer and tie as he sat beside him. “As ok as things could go when dealing with Kurt. The judge threw out his claim for half my stake in the musical as well as his renewed claim for spousal support.”

“So, in other words, a colossal waste of time?”

“Yup. However, he will think twice before filing for another obvious cash grab, the judge’s words. Kurt was ordered to pay all my attorney’s fees.”

“About fucking time! Damn it B, you’ve been divorced from his sorry ass for a year, and you were legally separated from his gay face for 8 months prior to that!”

“Bas…”

“We’ve been married 5 weeks, 5 fucking weeks! We lost half our honeymoon because you had to come back for this bullshit!!”

Blaine kissed his love then went to their bedroom. Less than 15 minutes later he was back wearing lounge pants and an NYU t-shirt, while carrying two beers. “Feel better now that you got that off your chest?” he asked as he rejoined his husband.

“No…maybe a little. I, I just can’t stand the thought of you alone with that asshole, and I’m assuming Berry.”

“Don't pull the alone card. You know Santana was with me. Brittany would’ve come too, but you know, the restraining order.”

Nothing came from Brittany and Hummel's viral moment. It was months later when things went off the deep end.

Sebastian, Brittany, Sam and Santana all took the day off for Blaine's divorce hearing. They were there for support, but ready to be rebuttal witnesses if necessary. When Kurt took the stand, for reasons unknown to this day, he was stupid enough to go on a verbal diatribe on how he backed into a corner and forced into getting married in a tacky barn, in a tacky suit, with tacky guests he never would’ve invited. He wouldn't stop with the tacky-tacky-tacky…bitch-bitch-bitch…until Brittany ran to the witness box went all MMA before the bailiff could pull her off. Kurt refused to press charges but was awarded a restraining order.

“Did Santana have to take the stand?”

“No, but Benj made it back from LA in time to testify.”

“How did that happen?”

“One of the investors asked where I was and Benj told them in court because Kurt was going after half my stake. Long story short…meeting went from three days to one but the by time he and Justin made it to the airport it was past midnight here.”

“Is that why he didn’t call?”

“Pretty much. I would have won without him, but since Benj was part of Machiavelli the Musical from the beginning he could refute all Kurt's claims he contributed to songs I wrote. You should have seen Kurt's face when my attorney asked him to sing one of his contributions. He…” Blaine ended his explanation when Sebastian’s phone rang (and he ignored it) for the fourth time during their short conversation.

“Aren’t you going to get that? Someone seems awfully determined to speak with you.”

“It’s my Aunt Marie. As much as I love my cousin, I couldn’t deal with any of Penny’s drama. Today my focus was you and what was happening in court…which I wasn’t allowed to attend.”

Blaine rolled his eyes before pulling Sebastian down until his head was in his lap. In the 18 months they’d officially been together (he was legally separated!), he’d learned running his fingers through his (now) husband’s hair was the best trick to calm him down.

Their sex life was anything but calm.

“We already covered this…at nauseam. The reason you were asked not to attend is because you, my big…strong…incredibly sexy husband, cannot control your disdain for my former husband. Your protective nature is one of the many, many reasons I love you.”

“But…”

“A huge portion of our strategy was to demonstrate how irrational Kurt truly is. My attorney was able to get him to throw a tantrum on several occasions. He was even able to get Rachel to corroborate several points of Santana’s testimony on threat of perjury.”

“But…”

“Bas, my love, my day in court with Kurt went better than expected with him having to pay my attorney fees. The judge also laid into him on how a finalized divorce, unless it involves children or fraud, means final…closed…the end. Move on!” Sebastian’s phone rang again, but this time Blaine could reach it. “Talk to her. While you’re doing that, I’ll call for pizza. I’m starving.”

Blaine went to the kitchen to call their favorite pizzeria and then Sam to answer any questions he might have about what happened in court. He assumed Santana had already called him with her version (he was right). It was almost 45 minutes later until he rejoined Sebastian on the couch with their freshly delivered dinner. He was still on his phone and speaking in French, but not with his Aunt Marie.

“Grandmother, this is a lot to ask…But…But…Yes, Ma’am…Yes, Ma’am…No, Ma’am…I’ll talk to Blaine…Yes, immediately…I promise…Yes, I’ll call Aunt Marie…Grandmother, Blaine is here. I’ll call back soon. Bye.” Sebastian ended the call and asked “How much of that did you understand?”

“You really didn't say much. What I don’t understand is why you were talking with your grandmother.”

“Aunt Marie she thought Grandmother was the best person to tell me what’s going on.” Blaine reached for his hand to give him an anchor. “Whatever it is, I’m right here.”

Sebastian kissed him, hard, and then put their foreheads together. “I love you so much. I love the life we’re building so much. I…”

“Bas, you’re beginning to scare me.”

“Sorry, it’s…Penny had her baby this morning. She’s decided to put her up for adoption. Since this wasn’t her original plan, she hadn’t vetted any potential parents and she doesn’t want to hand over the baby to strangers. B, Penny wants us to adopt her.”

“The baby is a little girl?”

Sebastian pulled back and stared into Blaine’s eyes. He didn’t look confused...or crazy. “Yes, but you heard the part of how Penny wants us, you and me, to adopt her…right?”

“It’s not up to us.”

Huh? “Then who the hell is it up to?”

“The baby.” Blaine grabbed a piece of pizza before getting off the couch. “You start packing while I call Benj and Justin to tell them I’m going to Paris for a while. I’ll book plane tickets for first thing in the morning but could you pull our passports out so we don’t forget them? And call your Aunt Marie or Grandma to tell them we’re coming, but don’t want to see anyone until we’re settled. I’ll arrange…”

His husband kept rambling but Sebastian had stopped listening at The baby. “What the hell do you mean adopting a baby is not up to us, it’s up to the baby?! She’s not even a day old! Don’t you think this is something we should discuss?”

“That’s what the long-ass flight to Paris is for. And trust me on this…in the end, the decision of whether or not we’re about to become Daddies is up to that little girl.”

“Papas.” Sebastian’s response stopped both of them in their tracks. For the first time he didn’t sound like he was in freak-out mode. “She’s French. We’d be her Papas.”

“You’re right but let’s go ahead and put it on a list of things to discuss on the plane.”

Blaine turned to leave (again) but Sebastian stopped him (again). “You don’t think this is crazy? We’ve only been married 5 weeks!”

“Oh, I think this is completely insane, but what did I tell you the day we reconnected at West Side Story?”

Sebastian immediately knew what he meant. “The universe has a wacky sense of timing but sometimes you have to trust everything will work out how it’s supposed to.”

“Last time, the universe brought me you on the day I served Kurt with divorce papers. And I promise, I’m keeping an open mind on all this, but after what I went through in court today…”

“Maybe the universe decided to get a little more wacky to make up for your ex being delusional.”

Blaine took a bite of his pizza and then walked out of the room before Sebastian could interrupt him yet again. It was his turn to be overwhelmed.

Why the hell did he say It’s up to the baby to decide? He was barely into the process of developing Machiavelli the Musical into a full-blown Broadway production and for some unknown reason had agreed to star as Machiavelli. This was going to take a massive amount of his time for the foreseeable future. Sebastian was fully onboard but…

A baby?

Yes, his partners were ubertalented and more than capable of holding things down if he was in Paris for longer than he anticipated but…

A baby?

He took a few deep breaths, devoured his pizza, opened another beer and got to work on what needed to be done. As much they were still wears his heart on his sleeve Blaine Anderson and overly self-confident Sebastian Smythe, this time Blaine Anderson-Smythe had to be the levelheaded one.

A little over 36 hours later the potential fathers were in a private waiting room at the hospital. They had met the head of Child Services and the attorney Blaine’s father arranged for them. There was only one more person left to meet.

Blaine was sitting on a small loveseat while Sebastian was pacing the room, little pink blanket in hand.

They’d agreed not to get ahead of themselves by running out to a store and buy a bunch of baby stuff to take with them. When Blaine got back from meeting his partners, he found out he agreed.

Sebastian called Brittany and they bought out the baby girl section at Macy’s. After an hour of But Blaaaaaaine, he agreed to bringing two outfits and the little pink blanket but…

“I thought we agreed to leave the blanket in your suitcase for the time being?”

“Hospitals are so cold. What if she’s cold?”

Blaine sighed then stood and wrapped his arms around his husband. The pacing was getting annoying. “Bas…”

“B…”

They both froze then turned to face the door as the wails of a distraught baby filled the room. “Mr. and Mr. Anderson-Smythe, I’m Margot from Child Services. You spoke earlier with my supervisor. This is the child you’ve come all this way to meet. I’m sorry but the nurses report she’s been like this for as long as she’s been with them. The doctors insist she is perfectly healthy…”

Blaine let go of Sebastian and pushed him toward the transit crib. “Maybe she’s cold.”

He’d been holding it together for so long, it took Blaine everything within him not to burst with happiness as the man he loved wrapped the tiny girl in the little pink blanket then instinctively cradled her in his arms. “Are you cold, Angel? I brought you this blanket from NYC. My friend Brittany went to the store with me to find it. I’m glad she did because I wouldn’t have known to wash it first. Or that they make special detergents for babies. Or…”

“Bas” Sebastian reluctantly looked up to see Blaine holding his phone. After he took a picture, he asked “Do you realize she stopped crying the moment you wrapped her in the blanket?”

“She did?”

“The adoption lady was so shocked she left to talk to the nurses. We’ll probably see one of them soon with a bottle. Let’s go sit down. I’m kind of amazed you’re still standing.”

It was only a few moments after they were settled that the expected nurse and bottle appeared. She began a tutorial but, once again, Sebastian was a natural. “I take it you’ve done this before?”

“Never. She was just hungry. Were you hungry, Angel?”

“Alright, but when she’s finished…”

Sebastian handed the bottle to Blaine and began to gently rub the baby’s back, quickly earning him the desired results. “Are you ready for the rest of your bottle, Angel?”

Blaine gave the nurse a wink and promised if they needed anything they would use the call button. It wasn’t long before the bottle was discarded and the three of them were cuddled together on the love seat.

“I think she likes us B.”

“I think she likes you.”

It was only then Sebastian realized he hadn’t given Blaine a chance to hold the baby. “I’m sorry…I didn’t realize. Here you go, Angel. There’s someone else who really wants to meet you.”

They both quietly giggled after Blaine let out a sigh of relief. He’d been worried the once cranky baby wouldn’t take to him in the same way she did with Sebastian and start crying again. “Hello, little one. My name is Blaine.”

“But you can call him Daddy.”

Blaine kissed the baby’s forehead, then his husband. “Daddy? Not Papa?”

“If she calls us the same thing it would get confusing.” Sebastian leaned over and returned Blaine’s kiss. “You were right. She had to be the one to decide if she wanted to be our daughter. The fact she’s sleeping so peacefully must mean she knows she’s safe.”

“Safe?” Blaine questioned the wording because it wasn’t the one he expected.

“I thought you might get freaked out if I said love so soon.”

“Bas, new mothers talk about the overwhelming feeling of love they feel when they see their baby for the first time. I’m sure it’s natural for fathers too.”

Sebastian didn’t ask, just lifted the baby back into his arms. “Are you sure? Because I don’t know if I could let her go…”

Blaine answered him by beginning to sing to the baby.

One look at you My whole life falls in line I prayed for you Before I called you mine

Oh, I can't believe it's true sometimes Oh, I can't believe it's true

I get to love you It's the best thing that I'll ever do I get to love you It's a promise I'm making to you

Whatever may come, your heart I will choose Forever I'm yours, my forever is you

I get to love you I get to love you

By the time he finished, Sebastian was a blubbering mess. “That’s the song you wrote me for our wedding.”

“I remember. It was only 5 weeks ago” Blaine jokingly replied. “But seriously, are we really going to do this?” He held up his hand to stop an immediate response. “Getting the musical up and running on its own will be time consuming but I also agreed to play Mach for the first year. I mean, hopefully it’s a big enough hit we get to worry about my handing over the role. What I’m trying to say is, we agreed, if we do this, we don’t want her raised in daycare. That means for the next 18 months to 2 years, if not longer, you will be her primary parent…some days more like a single parent. Are you ready for that?”

“With the exception of you, I have never wanted anything more.” Sebastian looked down at the baby and asked “Angel, are you ready to go back to NYC and have fun with your Poppy while your brilliant Daddy works to win some more Tonys?”

He lifted the baby’s arm and began to lightly shake it while saying in a high-pitched voice “Yes, Poppy. As soon as the doctors say I can fly I want to go to NYC and have lots of fun with you and Auntie Tana and Auntie Britt and Uncle Sammy. Daddy will sing me songs and I will always know how much he loves me. And when Daddy’s new musical wins lots and lots of Tonys, everyone will cheer his talent and proclaim him to be the most talented Daddy in the whole wide world.”

It was Blaine’s turn to cry. “Then there is something the three of us better do soon so we can share our news.”

“What?”

“We have to help her choose her name.”

From Blaine: *attached photo* Sebastian and I are pleased to announce Miss Angelica Penelope Anderson-Smythe chose us to be her Poppy and Daddy. Of course, we emphatically agreed.

From Sebastian: *attached photo* Poppy’s Little Angel

NOTES:

The Prince, Niccolò Machiavelli 1513. Original title: De Principatibus (Of Principalities). I see this parody along the lines of A Very Potter Musical.

I Get to Love You: Bronleewee, Matthew; Eckford, Margaret 2016

It might seem like there is a bunch of unnecessary backstory (especially the Kurt/court stuff), but it pays off in the final entry.

[versaceeevixen]

Seven Stages of... Chaos

I remember, I remember it well, when everything first fell. It all came crashing down like Jenga pieces, getting hit brick by brick all the pieces I worked hard for... to build up in this moment.

All of it, drown in the mess of chaos.

I got a text saying that he was in the parking lot. I was trying to see if someone can hold the RA bag for me. When you're on duty as an RA you cannot leave your dorm. No Exceptions. You can't even go to the dining hall! Either you have to order in, get a friend who is willing to sneak food, OR cook whatever you got in your dorm. I texted in the group chat to see if anyone can hold the bag for me. Whenever I ask someone to hold the bag for a moment, my co-workers always say they can't.

Big Sis was the first to reply "I can't sorry" and everyone else followed. I groaned and grabbed my blue sports wagon with winter jackets in them, I wanted to take the bag with me just in case anything happened. I could spring up if there were any lockouts or fights just in case. It was only going to be a moment anyways... I was helping a friend with their project and in turn helping me with mine, killing two birds with one stone.

I had my wagon with me walking down the hill. The skies were moody and tired like me, as I have woken up from a nap prior to walking. It was the evening time, I was nervous walking. Thinking. What if someone saw me when I was supposed to be inside? I kept walking and trying to keep calm, I needed this for a big project. I cared about getting good grades, even though I didn't care for my major.

My friend was there, with his camera in his hand. He was wearing all black, with a windbreaker jacket, as it was the unpredictable spring season. He was saying apparently that the photos he needs weren't good enough. That the background needed to be better for his project. I knew he was going to say that as I offered to use my room, as it was all neon like. I wanted to be crafty like the Lazer Tag Boys, a group he was kinda apart of when they tolerated him.

I offered to use my wagon to sneak him in. I took my jackets out of the wagon and attempted to fit him in the wagon, it didn't work. As I forget not everyone is the size of a 5th grader like me. I was going to sneak him into the wagon and cover him with a bunch of jackets.

He was freaking out... over nothing. I had to assure him that literally nothing happened yet. I told him to forget it. I put back all of my jackets into the wagon with the RA bag and went our separate ways. Ironically enough, there was no one there to check in residents, so he could've easily snuck in. I shrugged it off, "It wasn't meant to be I guess." I finally got upstairs parked my wagon in my dorm foyer.

I woke up as it was time to go into the office to be an "Active RA". I grabbed my bag and went to the office. Sometimes, I'm too lazy to actually open my phone wallet to get my keycard so I use the master-key. But when I looked the master-key was gone...

I was full on panicking! I am terrible under pressure and if you cooked me enough, I will forget my name and my phone number. I paced in the office back and forth. I looked in my wagon it wasn't there, I looked in the pockets of all my coats, literally everywhere that was inside the building. I called multiple friends to see if they could possibly look in my car, as I didn't want to take another risk of leaving, and no one answered their phones.

The weirdest thing about the missing key thing is that the lanyard was still there but the card itself was gone! Like someone took it off the hook, which I didn't take it off the hook.

Maybe when I was shuffling jackets around it fell off. Finally someone replied to my "SOS" message. It was a Resident from another floor, who I was loosely friends with. He was the only one who responded, I told him everything and to look in my car. My stomach was doing barrel rolls as he shuffled through my stuff in my car, and couldn't find the key.

Finally, Big Sis came downstairs and I explained everything to her and she told me to tell my RD. I reluctantly called her and told her I lost the key, and this is where the chaos started...

I will update more tomorrow, I promise.

[hoodoo12]

Hello! I have been following you for awhile, and I saw your posts about seeing the tour shows and just needed to finally talk to you. I have a million things I wanted to ask but I can't string my thoughts together so apologies if this sounds weird or jumbled. How was the show last night! Was it similarly weird as the last one you saw? How much riffing did Justin do? I saw the show a couple weeks ago and plan to see it twice in Boston, so I was curious how much might be different. ALSO how the heck do you do the back door stuff? I am so nervous but I would love to meet the actors and don't wanna feel like a fool! (also to your post about accidental front row seats, I think I did the same thing for my second Boston show, I can't wait to see!)

Hello! Hi! I like to chat, so yes! Thank you for the ask!! I saw the show in my city twice (and once in a different city); so kind of like what you'll be doing. I hope you do get your front row seats; it was an amazing surprise! Overall the show was the same. However, Justin did change some things up, mostly with extending bits for a bigger laugh. On Thursday when he sat in Adam's lap, he really dragged it out (i.e. there was so.much.humping, lol). On Sunday as the audience was applauding after The Whole Being Dead Thing, he hammed it up and begged for more applause after it began to die down, which the audience obliged. He did not riff anything extra on sad puppet show, he went through the whole guacamole/Katherine Hepburn thing the same way I'd seen it in Cleveland, and his lines to "that guy knows what I'm talking about" were exactly the same too. So the times I thought he may have some flexibility he didn't do anything more.

Surprisingly, Will Burton did. He added more to Adam being a little klutzy, especially when he gets his sheet to be a ghost. It was cute and funny; when I told him I liked that he thanked me for saying that and said that he's, "experimenting with it."

Overall it seemed like the cast was more comfortable in the roles and with each other, so the show felt "easier", for lack of a better term.

Now the stage door!

In my experience, the crowds in a touring city are incredibly small compared to NYC. There were only ~12 people on Thursday and ~20 people on Sunday. No barricades or security folks standing with us either.

Find out where the stage door is! Sometimes it is not where you expect it to be. Just head there after the show. Be prepared to wait; the actors typically come out randomly because it takes some of them longer than others to get back in street clothes. And sometimes someone may not come out at all for various reasons.

As in life, the rule is to just be kind. If someone is actively avoiding eye contact, on their phone, looking like they just want to go, don't insist on talking to them. That happened with a couple of the actors when I was there; I thanked them for the show but didn't stop them at all. Other actors stopped and wanted/were willing to engage. I think they do kind of expect to have people waiting at the door and know people want autographs and/or photos. For me, the Thursday crowd was . . . interesting (I'm trying to be kind here). They didn't seem to know what to do and kind of acted like they didn't recognize anyone? Including Justin . . . I was thinking, I know he's not in a striped suit but he's sweaty, has black nails and smeared eyeliner on his face, so come on people! Them being a bit clueless (again, being kind here) worked in my favor because any actor who looked expectant I stepped up to and had nice conversations with while everyone else just stood there. I always thank them for the show. Some I told I'd seen it in Cleveland; Abe Goldfarb I mentioned I'd seen him in NY. I tried to say something specific about their performance (Will with the sheet, Karmine I praised her Maxine because she's hilarious). For Justin, though, I switched it up and admired the boots he was wearing and talked about his dog, lol. So just be nice, don't be pushy. They're people too, lol.

Oh, and take several markers or pens. Some of the actors may have a sharpie, but some didn't. I had a sharpie that died but luckily had a pen in my pocket and a few folks in the crowd didn't have anything so I shared. Be prepared!

If there's anything else, please ask or drop a dm. As I said before, I like to chat. 💖

[yourdreamsyourwish-2]

I Just Wanted You to Know 

Word Count: 1,840

This is told in Yixing’s POV. I thought it fit well with the story. 

Trigger Warning: Depression, Alcoholism, Grief and Child Death (Talking about it). 

In the movies whenever someone is sad or feeling like life isn’t worth living anymore, it’s cloudy or almost constant rain.  However, as I gazed outside the window, all I saw was sunlight with bright blue skies as if it was mocking my existence in a way.  The world is happy, yet you're not.  

“Yixing.”  My therapist calls my name, for I don’t know how many times.  I glance over, looking at him, without actually seeing.  

“I’m sorry, what did you ask?”  I clarified, picking at a small skin that had come off at one of my nails. 

“Have you been to an AA meeting yet? Or at least tired?”  I glanced down at the scab, now a fresh drop of blood smeared over my skin.  

“I sat in the back, I didn’t talk or anything.” 

“But you went, so that’s an improvement.”  I nod, looking at his degree hanging on the wall to the right.  The sun bounced off the glass causing a ray of light that bounced around the room almost like a crystal.  If I looked hard enough I could see a rainbow in the beam.  

“Yixing.”  He said again softly.  I flashed back to him, his smile still on his face, always on, always caring.  

“I’m sorry, my mind is…”  

“I understand, addiction is hard at every stage.  I just asked, ‘How are you girls?’”  

“My girls?”  I felt the urge to pull out my wallet and look at the family photo, to see them if only for a second.  My peace, my world, the reason I’m still able to wake up.  They shouldn’t be the only reason, which is why I’m here.  That is too big of a burden for them, too heavy a load to carry for the rest of their lives. 

“I talked to them last night on the phone of course.  Their mom…I got to talk to her for a bit as well. She sounds…I miss seeing them everyday, but I understand.”  

“They are still at your in-laws?”  I nod, working on another bed of a nail.  

“It’s better for them, until I can get some control.  I’m not violent, never have been, I’m just…it’s not good for them to see me like this.  If it was just ____ and I, she would be with me, but it’s not just us.  It’s the five-”  I stop talking, the image of my girls flashing in my eyes, before I shake my head.  I could feel the wave of grief washing over me with each breath I took in. “Four…it’s just the four of us.”  

“Still not working?” 

“Work gave me another extension, I won’t need to go back to teaching until next year.  Tenure and all that, besides the temporary candidate might join as well.  He’s proving to be a very good professor.”  Silence fell over us, as he seemingly began to write something down. 

“You know you can talk about it if you want.”  

“She’s dead, no matter what I say will bring her back.” 

“It will help for you to-”

“I think we’re done for the day are we not?”  

“You still have 15 more minutes.”  He replied back.  “We can talk about something else now.”  I nod, wanting to clear my head of her smile.  “But I do want you to know, this will always be a safe place for you to open up.”  I nod, wipe away the tears that came out.  

“I think Wrexham might move to another league, don't you?”  The conversation changed to soccer, a sport I feel comfortable with, something that I can focus on, focus on the ball, focus on the goal at hand.  Just stop thinking, stop thinking, and for the next 15 minutes, I stopped thinking.  

🖤🖤🖤

The house is too quiet when I enter.  I lay my takeout on the kitchen counter, my eyes going to the giant bottle of whiskey.  The empty bottles of vodka and wine littered the counter top near the recycling bin.  Three boxes of beer empty, I couldn’t remember the last time I took out the recycling or the trash.  Was it last week, or the week before?

Sighing, I felt the itch at the back of my throat to pour myself a drink, to give in, to not feel, to stop thinking again.  Leaving the food on the counter, I go upstairs, feeling my phone vibrate, with a message from my wife.  Our picture together flashes behind her message, the five of us, all happy and smiling.  My eyes are only on her in the photo. Our last family portrait, even though we didn’t know it would be the last. 

I got to the top of the stairs, my gaze falling to the left where my daughters' rooms were all laid out.  It was a right turn to our suite, yet I found myself standing in front of her door.  The name is draped in purple, with different shades for each letter.  

“I want purple! Purple!”  Her voice rang in my ears, seemingly echoing off the walls as she cheered for the color. My hand shook as I opened up the door, allowing it to reveal the untouched room.  Nothing has changed since the morning we had left to go to the park.  Nothing at all, it stayed exactly the same as we had left it.  ____, couldn’t even go into the room anymore.  Even after the accident, my wife had the strength I couldn’t.  So many times I found her in a ball on the couch crying after the girls had gone to sleep.  They slept in our bed for the longest time, barely able to come to this side of the hallway.  My eyes danced around the room, hearing her tiny voice at each passing glance.    

“Bàba! Look!  Anna is about to be Queen!” the Frozen 2  DVD laid on the ground, next to her Finding Nemo.  I knew if I looked in the receiver I would find Encanto.  It had been her latest obsession, one we had to buy for her DVD TV we had gotten her on her fifth birthday.  In the back of our closet, sat her sixth birthday gift, a small how to sew kit with a child's machine.  Looking at her small bean bag chair, I saw the outfit she had me help choose. 

“All the other girls will be wearing pink.  Mama said Purple is royal, and you always call me princess, so Purple it is!”  She cheered, with the purple sundress she was to wear to classes the following week.  Everything, Everything in this room haunts me, now.  Yet there was no getting rid of it, no touching it.  I couldn’t even take a step inside without feeling like the world was going to cave in.  Her giggle echoed as I shut the door, trying to lock my own grief away if only for another moment. 

I made my way back down, my eyes landing on the bottle of Whiskey.  I grab a glass, no longer bothering with ice, pretending I don’t have a problem.  I wanted to drown, I wanted to stop thinking, stop hearing.  I brought the glass up, tears now falling freely, no longer hiding my anguish from myself.  My eyes caught the swing in the background, a memory from before, flashed in my head.  

“Why is Zŭfù sad?”  My four year old asked.  I picked her up, holding her on my lap, while we swung a little.  I gazed at my father through the glassdoors.  He sat on our couch, holding my mothers jade bracelet he had gotten her on their wedding day.  

“Zŭfù is missing Nǎinai.” 

“Are you sad as well Bàba?”  Her voice echoed.  I still haven’t gotten out of my mourning clothes.  ____ had taken our other two girls to pick up dinner for us.  I nodded, trying to keep from crying in front of her.  Her hand came up and wiped away a tear. 

“Don’t be sad Bàba.  Nǎinai always made me smile.”  It was simple logic for her.  It came so easy.  “Nǎinai told me, when I feel sad, to smile.”  Her arms wrapped my neck, while I silently cried to her shoulder.  Standing up, I smiled at her, blinking away tears. 

“Come on, I bet, Zŭfù would like the company right now.”  She nodded, holding onto me, as we went to comfort my father. 

Her toothy grin flashed in my mind.  I gazed down at the golden tint of liquid in the glass before throwing it in the sink.  It shattered at the contact of the metal.  Grabbing the bottle I poured the rest of it down the drain, not thinking as I moved on to the wine.  As each bottle went down and down, I kept pouring all of it, until I knew there was nothing left.  Our island was covered in empty bottles, nothing left for me to find, nothing left for me to drown in.  Going outback, I grab the recycling bin, filling it up with every bottle left before placing it back outside.  Ignoring the food on the counter, I run and grab my car keys.  

🖤🖤🖤

I hesitated when I knocked on the door.  My mother-in-law had always been kind to me, even though what was happening.  When she answered, my eyes looked red from tears, while she merely smiled and gave me a big hug.  

“It’s about time.”  She whispered, patting my back. 

“I’m sorry it took so long.”  She nodded, before nodding to the stairs.  “Third door on the right.”  She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze of encouragement. 

“No need to apologize.  I’m sure ____ won’t stand for it either.”  I run up the stairs, taking two at a time before opening the door.  I see you, lying there next to our two daughters fast asleep.  I pause staring at you, wondering what you would do, what you would say.  I haven’t physically seen you in what feels like a lifetime, but probably was only a few weeks.  One heartbeat later, you were in my arms, clinging to me for dear life.  Silently crying into my shoulder, while I hugged you tightly.  

“I’m sorry.”  I whisper, kissing your forehead, your temple, anywhere I can find. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”  

“No, this was something I had to do alone.” I kissed you, deeply feeling the wave of emotions.  Grief, anxiety, regret, love.  It was a mix bag with each passing wave.  

“Yixing-”  You look up at me, with those beautiful eyes.

“We can talk tomorrow.  Over breakfast.  I’m not going anywhere.”  You nod, kissing me again.  She pulls me over to the bed, waking up the girls, slowly.  

“Bàba!”  they start to yell, jumping up on me for hugs.  I wrap them both in a tight embrace, keeping them together.  I kissed both of their heads, holding them tighter, while I felt you kiss my own.  

Again in this moment, I stop thinking and in the next I begin to feel alive once more.  

🖤🖤🖤

Dictionary According to Google Translate: 

Zŭfù - means Grandfather in Mandarin  Nǎinai - means grandmother in Mandarin Bàba - Means father in Mandarin 

Swift Classic Masterlist

Masterlist

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Love on Tour - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 7)

Part 6

**

St. Louis Show

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good,” You said over the phone to your assistant back home. “Yeah, I sent those edits last night. Just make sure I get the finalized back before sending it off to the printers.”

You hang up the phone and glance over at your boyfriend who is currently soundchecking for the show that night. He smirks over at you and you laugh, rolling your eyes before grabbing your camera. You snap a few photos before checking back on your phone for any follow up emails.

However, you notice something else, a notification on your period tracker app. You click on it and realize you’re a few days late. At first, you weren’t too concerned because it was a little normal for you to be late, but there was also an inkling of worry. You quickly close the app when Harry walks over to, kissing your forehead.

“Sounds good,” you smiled.

“Thanks, baby,” he smiled. “How’d your phone call go?”

“Great,” you said. “Everything's coming together for the next issue.”

He nodded, sitting down next to you. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why?” you asked, confused.

“I don’t know, you seem a bit tired,” he said, rubbing your back.

“Hm, I mean maybe. But it could just be traveling,” you said. “Some of us aren’t used to this schedule,” you joked.

“True,” he laughed. “Although, I’m not exactly used to this anymore after like two years off.”

“Come on, let’s get some food and hang out in the dressing room,” he said.

“Okay,” you nodded.

**

During the show, you tried your best to just enjoy it and focus on getting some footage for the magazine. But your new found information and Harry’s comment about looking tired kept replaying over and over in your head.

What if you were pregnant?

Were you ready for that?

Was Harry ready for that?

You weren’t sure if it was the anxiety building up in you or something, but you had to get out of there. You quickly, yet discreetly walked backstage and straight to the bathroom. Your breathing started turning heavy and more frequent. You felt hot and nauseous. You splashed some water on your face as you tried to calm down.

“Y/N?” There’s a knock on the door.

“Uh, just a minute,” you called back.

“Hey, it’s Glenne,” she said, walking inside. “Hey, you okay?”

You look at her, face wet, eyes widened, and chest heaving up and down.

“Oh my god,” she rushed over to you. “Do I need to get the paramedics?”

You shake your head, “No, I’ll uh, I’ll be fine. I am fine.”

“You’re shaking, you’re not fine,” she said.

“I just… I think I got overheated,” you lied.

“Come on, let’s get you to the dressing room,” she said.

She held onto your arm as you left the bathroom and headed towards the dressing room. A few minutes later, a medical team comes in.

“I told you I’m fine,” you sighed.

“Harry would kill me if I didn’t get you checked out,” she said.

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. After about twenty minutes, it’s determined you were overheated and dehydrated. They set up an IV and you sat backstage for the rest of the show.

**

Harry noticed you were no longer in the crowd halfway through the show. In between songs, he kept asking about you, but no one would tell him anything. As soon as he ran off stage, he rushed to find you.

“Where the fuck is Y/N?” he asked.

“She’s in the dressing room,” Jeff said. “Glenne’s with her.”

Harry ran to the dressing room, seeing you laying on the couch, hooked up to an IV.

“Uh… hi,” you said, looking over at him.

“Baby, Y/N, what happened?” he asked, kneeling down in front of you.

“I’m fine,” you said. “I’m just dehydrated. Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re hooked up to a fucking IV, Y/N,” he said.

“I’m not the first person in the world to need this. I’m fine, even the paramedics said I’m fine,” you said.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” He snapped at Jeff, who stood behind him.

“Because I wouldn’t let them,” you sighed.

He sighed, “Someone still should have told me. I was freaking the fuck out because I didn’t know where you went.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed.

He kissed your forehead, “I’m going to change and then we’re heading straight to the hotel, okay?”

You nodded, “The IV should be finished by then.”

**

Once you made it back to the hotel, Harry refused to let you walk to the room.

“Oh my god, you are so dramatic,” you groaned, when he picked you up.

“Am not,” he said, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck. He gets onto the elevator and heads to your room. He places you on the bed and takes off your shoes.

“I change my own clothes, too,” you laughed.

“Yes, I know you are very capable,” he said. “But I’m taking care of you, so shush.”

“Dramatic and demanding,” you scoffed.

“Shut up,” he laughed.

He lays down next to you, once you both are changed for bed. He moves hair from your face as he stares at you.

“What?” You asked. “Are you going to stay up all night staring at me?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh my god, Harry, seriously, I am fine,” you said. “I know I scared you, but I’m fine.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” he whispered. “If something was going on?”

“Of course,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered, kissing your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you smiled.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, closing his eyes. You sighed, staring out into the darkened room, knowing you just lied to your boyfriend.

[boonesfarmsangria]

Foto-© Elliot Cooke

FOALS – Interview

I’m happy you guys are back!

Yeah. Nice to have had a break as well. But it feels good to be back! Feels like everybody wants it again now.

And now it feels a bit more normal than like last year.

Last year was weird! We did four shows and none of these should have happen, it was way too early.

But every time I see you guys, there’s one less of you. We need to stop this trend please!

Hopefully that’s it. You know, no one’s gonna jump out. There’s not many more people that can go. I don’t think anyone else can go, or the band will cease to exist. But that’s it for now.

I’m happy to hear that.

I threatened it to the other to keep me. It’s a trio now. You’ve got a power play.

Do concerts feel any different now? The three of you plus additional musicians?

Well, obviously apart from not physically seeing Edwin or Walter, I would say the difference is way more noticeable offstage, because 90% of a band’s time has been hanging around and just being with each other in a van or backstage or whatever — I really miss them. It’s like, I miss the sort of larger gang going around and there’s always someone doing something silly. It’s a bit more streamed down now. But onstage, it’s great. I actually think we’ve never been better, musically. We’ve got Jack from Jagwar Ma and got this keyboard player called Joe who’s just really good. We’re musically on fire.

I’m so excited for tonight!

Every single show so far has been really good. I’m not boasting, it’s just perfectly personal experience.

Don’t be shy, Foals are like…the best live band I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot.

My friend the other day, who’s really honest to me, he’s seen god knows how many Foals shows, like 20 or something. He was at one of our London shows. He was like: that was your best one. So it’s good. And then the LED lights. On stage it’s really bright. And then you look at photos and you’re just a silhouette.

The LED screen I’ve seen on photos is MASSIVE. I only know you with your banners.

Tame Impala spend all that money on an amazing light show. Now everyone’s trying to copy.

And do you think your role in the band has changed now that they’re just three of you?

Well, you have to do more stuff. You can’t get away with stuff as easy. I just feel musically, it’s always been kind of the three of us. Most of the creative ideas come from certainly Yannis. So that hasn’t changed really, in some ways. It’s nice to streamline that. So you don’t have people sort of not wanting to be there but being there because they’ve got to be there. You know, it’s weird, so weird. There’s nothing worse being in a studio when you don’t have any ideas. It’s really depressing. I feel like it’s much healthier now.

Okay, and you told NME that you finally feel comfortable to call yourself a songwriter?

I wrote a lot over the last few years. I’ve always wanted to do and never really had the time. I think that was a real benefit for me locked down and things like that results just uninterrupted. So yeah, I’ve started. I’ve got a load of music, and I’ve started to really push myself on writing a proper song.

Does that match with Yannis?

Well, yeah, obviously, some of it is on the record, but like, no lie, but I haven’t heard it actually a lot.

So there’s something else cooking there…

Yeah, definitely. It’s gonna take a while. Because now you’re touring again. Yeah, but it’s great. I’ll start doing more stuff on tour.

Tell me the band’s secret: The new album is again, such a genius record. What’s so crazy to me, your sound is so diverse. And still, every single song feels like a Foals song.

Well, I guess this is just us isn’t it? I would say Yannis’ voice is a pretty big thing. I’ve always kind of said we can do anything. As long as he sings on it, it will be a Foals record. But maybe there’s other stuff. But it’s not considered anymore. It’s what happens when we make music together.

I’m happy about that.

Yeah, it makes life very easy. With this record, what have we been writing sounds pretty positive. And kind of dancing. It’s cool. Off we go. And it’s just like, that’s it. It’s never really spoken off again until like got around 15 songs when we’re having to decide which ones go on. Yeah, we’re very lucky.

And surprisingly, not another doomsday album after the last two…

…and then the actual doomsday happens. Yannis didn’t want to write lyrics about that. I don’t want to hear anything like that. Certainly when Corona virus was in full swing, it was like any long epic doomsday shit. I was like: No way! I need like short, poppy, colorful songs. It sounds kind of cheesy, but we’re writing pop songs, let’s do that. Let’s not do any like miserable stuff.

I was so happy when Wake Me Up came out because it was exactly what I needed. People started to release their lockdown albums. And a lot of that was like, „Oh, I’m so alone.“ Yeah, and I mean, I get that because what else could you have written about?

Are people really going to want to hear about the Corona virus?

And you don’t want to stay on stage and like play it all over again.

So take everyone back to the worst years of their life. But I get what people did.

With another album to release: When do we get five hour long Foals concert setlist?

Well, we’re starting to get longer. Nobody wants to see us for five hours straight, but maybe two. Maybe next year we’ll get to the two hour mark. We can’t add too many new songs. Maybe we made a mistake of not rehearsing enough old songs. But there are reasons we need a new keyboard player. It was hard work getting everything into shape. Ready for tour, especially after years off.

For you it’s not just in between albums, but the band goes through a lot of changes.

We’ve been through massive changes. But it feels very much like the beginning of the Life Is Yours tour. It’s not that Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost Part 2 tour. There’s plenty of time in the future to revisit it, but right now it’s I’ve got to be forward thinking forward looking. But I think the set will get longer and longer in the end, once the album’s out. When we are start playing more new ones, which I know everyone doesn’t like, but they’re good new ones.

Well Jimmy, stop producing so many hits then.

I could say something really ego centered, right. Do you ever seen that film Dig!, about The Dandy Warhols und The Brian Jonestown Massacre?

I don’t think so.

It’s amazing. It’s them in the early 2000s. Courtney Taylor-Taylor, the singer The Dandy Warhols was like „I sneeze and hits come out!“. Basically after he said that, no more hits came out.

Oh, okay, forget what I said earlier! But yeah, everything changes but Two Steps, Twice will always close your sets.

We have changed it a couple of times. There’s been festivals where we’ve only had half an hour. And we keep talking about not doing it. And then we just always end up doing it. We were talking about maybe moving it from the end because originally on record, it’s much shorter, and it’s a quite tight little song. If it doesn’t end the set, it’ll go in as a shorter song, which would be wicked.

People will start panicking because they think the concert is already over…

You’re right. I don’t think many bands have traditions like that. So it’s nice to have that.

But there’s no special reason behind it?

It’s always done the energy of it. We were thinking: „Let’s end on What Went Down“ but that’s a bit more negative energy, it’s angry, you can throw stuff around. But there’s an optimism in Two Steps Twice, which is, I think why everyone loves it at the end because it feels like a party and it’s like you leave smiling rather than like growling. We’ll probably do it forever.

Has COVID taught you something in regards of touring? To do things differently?

Definitely. I don’t drink anywhere near as much as I used to. Made quite a few lifestyle changes like that. Enjoy it more. Stop worrying. I also made a promise that I’m just not going to get nervous. You know, it’s silly. There’s a lot of anxiety with touring that’s just all self generated, and it’s kind of done out of boredom, because you’re sat on in a venue all day and you’re working towards this big show, and you could wake up feeling a million dollars, but slowly you’ll be like „Oh, I was bad“. No! That’s had a big impact on me during the shows. It’s just like doesn’t matter. It’s just enjoy it.

I stopped to look out for mistakes and stuff like that. If you do make a mistake, good because it shows that it’s a real instrument. That’s plugged into a real amplifier. I made one during this tour and it should have ruined the show, but it didn’t. I have a complete fucked up an old song, but it was great. And everyone was just like: it’s just live, just no backing tracks. So it’s very dubious when a band plays their set and there’s absolutely nothing no mistakes.

When a band sounds like straight from the record? I mean, that’s a talent…

It’s also pretty boring. I always like the difference. Live rendition where the guitars are a bit louder.

Not trying to hard to be perfect.

I think that’s what it is. It’s like this stupid quest for perfection, completely unrealistic question that everybody seems to be going through at the moment. And you certainly apply it to all aspects of life, but certainly with music. Who wants perfect music? It’s not where the fun is. All the imperfections and the humaneness of it. That’s what I’ve learned. Just enjoy it more. Also be really grateful for it. It reminded me again, how lucky we are, everyone was going through sheer hell with work and money in Coronavirus and we weren’t. We were like: Yeah, boohoo, we’re not touring. Yeah, that’s the only negative thing and it’s like so felt very lucky

Bedroomdisco || Interview || Anna Fliege