#the science in this show is nonsense so much of the time

[freshmangojuice]

I just had the thought... How was Lister painting IN SPACE?

So I look again at the scene and it's clear he has a brush attached to a pack on his back. So it must be like a pressure washer but with paint instead of water. So the paint comes out directly from the brush, and the brush has direct contact with the surface so the paint adheres! Smart!

But not all of it sticks and drops must be floating around which is why he has splotches of red paint on his suit! Also smart!

[maniculum]

Had a baffling interaction a couple hours ago, and I think Tumblr is probably the best place to find an explanation.

I’ve mentioned on here that I have a side job at a bookstore. Today, I heard a customer make the assertion to her companion that the novel Frankenstein is “basically fanfiction”. (I don’t think this was meant as negative, but couldn’t say for sure.)

I asked her about it when she came to check out, because I had to know what that was about, right? She recounted the origin of the book — the Shelleys, Byron, & Polidori challenging each other to write horror stories, etc. I assured her I was familiar with the history, but just wanted to know why that made it fanfiction.

She said, “well, it came from a horror writing competition.”

At this point, I felt I had pushed about as much as I could in this scenario — as anyone who’s worked a customer-service job knows, when customers say nonsense at you, responding in a way that doesn’t upset them is difficult, and you kind of have to be ready to just nod and smile. So I said something along the lines of, “I don’t understand the connection, but as long as it makes sense to you.”

She chose not to elaborate further and left with her purchases.

So now I’m asking Tumblr because I figure this is the best place to find people who are familiar with unorthodox understandings of fanfiction.

Is it because it came from a competition? (This is the most sensible explanation I can think of, but that’s not saying much, because I see no link between these two concepts.)

Is it because it’s horror? (I know people get weird about genre fiction sometimes — last year someone told me they thought “Fantasy / Science Fiction” and “Young Adult” were different terms for the same genre.)

Is it because it was written for fun? (I know that the vast majority of fiction is — to a greater or lesser degree — written because the author enjoys writing, but maybe the customer doesn’t know that?)

Is it because it was written, for lack of a better word, socially? (By which I mean, is the story of its writing significant in that the initial intention was for Shelley to show it to her friends? But of course this is a group of published authors, and authors hang out to talk about & show each other their work all the time… maybe the customer wasn’t aware of that?)

These are the only options I can think of, and none of them have any link to what makes something “fanfiction” in my understanding. I’m just extrapolating from the fact that apparently the relevant distinction has something to do with it being a horror writing competition. Am I missing something? Tumblr, please, help me with this.

[cherryredstars]

OH MY GOD REQUESTS ARE OPEN💃🏾💃🏾

gosh cherry i love you and your blog sm it makes my day😭

could i please have a college or highschool au where reader studies subjects like social science and business and literature and he does stem subjects and he at first has like a superiority complex, he doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help it, until he sees the reader like talk about social issues or how she can remember 17 step procedures and shit and he’s like…wow. maybe they can be together and he sees her pretend to teach people to learn and he’s learning stuff from her and it’s wholesome asf

god i don’t know i’m sorry im rambling😭😭 you don’t have to ofc but thank you anyway

and again, love you!!

Thank you, love!!!

He's the smartest person he knows.

It's not narcissistic if it's a fact. He's the top of his major program, already has offers for Ph.D programs nationwide mailed to his door. He's sure to get into any genetics department he wants for grad school. He's the star of the industry-path students. He's just that good, and what's the harm in taking pride in your accomplishments?

But he's never met someone like you before.

Usually he wouldn't care for people like you, with their abstract liberal art degrees in nonsense majors that'll just collect dust in a box in an attic somewhere. But there is something so enduring about you, about everything you do. The way you just know what people are thinking based on the twitch of their fingers and why they think it. The way you're so open to everything in a way that would make his lab buddies laugh with their one-way minds. It amazes him, the way your view is so wide in a way that something like genetics or STEM can't comprehend. In a way they don't allow. There is something so breath-taking about the way your mind has this endless freedom that he can't even grasp. Like a kaleidoscope of colors that are simultaneously beautiful and overwhelming to the senses. Something his factual mind craves.

The first time he had seen you, he was in the library. It isn't a place he would usually go to, but he had to collect some textbooks for his professor in the storage closet. He had gotten in a bit of trouble that day for taking so long, but how could he resist when he had heard the sweet cadence of your voice through the open door of a mini-lecture room. Very few students were in the room, it looked like a side presentation; one of those assignments that forced students to present their ideas on a topic to a group of people to try to captivate them into agreeing with your findings. There was a sort of fiery passion in the way you spoke, a hardened steel in your eyes that showed your resistance to back down. It was... enchanting, siren-like. So much so that he had been forced to sit in one of the empty seats in the back of the room, eyes stuck on you as you paced the front of class and rebutted comments from your peers.

He had no idea what you were talking about, but it still had that overwhelming effect on him. One that had him pressing the surface of his stomach against the hard edge of the lecture tables, his senses honing in to hear every last syllable that departed from your lips. There was this dream-like quality to you, something that consumed the mind and made them listen. A sort of intelligence that he would never know or understand. One that he would spend hours trying to learn if you were the one explaining it. He can't remember how long it took for him to start breathing again when your eyes scanned the room and locked onto him, clear confusion on your face at the random presence of college's most-awarded student. He could feel his heart bursting against his ribs, mouth parting slightly from the honor to be the center of your attention for even a few seconds before you looked away and carried on.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like the smartest person in the world. Not when you left him absolutely stupefied.

[mikavlcs]

Rebels and Renegades

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: Becoming best friends with a sentient hand brings many much-needed changes to your life, the biggest being the very girl he arrived at Nevermore with.

Warnings: this is so stupid, reader is incredibly unserious, many attempts at comedy, TERRIBLE pacing, bad writing, cursing, this doesn’t correlate properly with the timeline of the show but idc

Word count: 6.6k (sorry, this got very out of hand...get it?)

Notes: this is trash but it’s fun so who cares. this is entirely for @clexa-is-forever aka thing’s biggest fan. despite my writer’s block, i still had fun writing this. hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

If someone told you at the beginning of the school year that your best friend would be a sentient disembodied limb, you would’ve laughed in their face.

Not because you thought it would be too ridiculous or nonsensical, but because in your mind, it was far too interesting for what Nevermore Academy had to offer.

See, you were initially excited to transfer to Nevermore. To get away from the shallow depths of normie public school and be around people like you. But alas, it was too good to be true—or, maybe, you had gotten your hopes up too high.

Because it turned out that fantastical mythical creatures like vampires, werewolves, and sirens actually weren’t too dissimilar from their normie counterparts. They didn’t care about excitement or adventure or fun, they cared about partying and drinking and dating.

This duality created an atmosphere of contradictions. There were people with literal snakes for hair but also those stupid cliques of popular kids that liked to pick on people for no reason. Werewolves transformed into energetic beasts and prowled the woods together every full moon, but students’ biggest concerns were whom they were gonna ask to the school dance.

It was all strange and supernatural yet shockingly normal. And extraordinarily boring.

The disappointment you felt upon this discovery was immeasurable. It appeared that no matter how far you ran, you could never escape the clutches of adolescent desires and drama.

But there was nowhere else for you to go. This was it, your parents told you that definitively. So you resigned yourself to your fate and settled into life at Nevermore.

Months passed at a snail’s pace. Around the middle of the semester, a new student transferred in. Because nothing of substance happens, she was the talk of the town for a solid two weeks before her scheduled arrival, but you didn’t care.

You would admit that after finally seeing her, your interest was piqued. She certainly fit the murderer vibe. With her pallid complexation and dark eyes, she looked straight out of a black & white horror film, even complete with a black uniform instead of the standard purple (which you were so jealous of).

Temptation pulled at your chest whenever you saw her, but you decided to leave her alone. This school had disappointed you enough, you weren’t sure how you’d be able to handle even more. The decision to keep your distance was made and instead, you let your imagination run wild without the probable barriers of reality to inhibit it. 

Little did you know that only one day after the new girl transferred in, she inadvertently changed the course of your life at Nevermore forever. 

Advanced Gorgon Sciences, your last class of the day, had just ended and you were wandering campus wondering what you were going to do with your free time. You were contemplating going into Jericho when something smacked your cheek.

Pausing, you glanced down and found the offending object to be a small pebble. You followed its rough trajectory up to a ledge on your left and saw something scurrying across it. Against, your nonexistent better judgment, you moved closer and…

You blinked once, then twice, narrowed your eyes.

It was a hand—literally just a hand, cut off at the wrist but still scuttling and scurrying around with no problem.

So, you were definitely losing your mind. Honestly, it was about damn time.

Having nothing better to do, you decided to lean into the madness and approach the hand. At the sound of your footsteps, it turned and…looked at you? You weren’t sure, but it acknowledged your presence with a friendly wave.

You waved back, a laugh bubbling up in your throat as you hoisted yourself up to sit on the ledge.

Once you were up, you saw that the hand was fiddling with a makeshift slingshot, struggling to simultaneously keep it upright while loading and aiming it. His plight was fairly obvious and considering his circumstance, you couldn’t help but feel for him.

Abandoning the slingshot, the hand crawled over to you and started tapping insistently. It took much more brain power than it ought to for you to realize that he was trying to speak to you.

“Sorry, I don’t understand…that,” you apologized with a grimace. But an idea came to mind a moment later. “Can you write?”

The hand gave you a thumbs up. You dug around your backpack and pulled out a notebook along with a pen, flipping it open to an empty page and slid it over, setting the pen down on top. He picked up the pen and got to work, pushing the notebook back toward you a minute later.

Curious, you looked at the messy scrawl below.

Sorry, was aiming for the guy behind you.

You nodded understandingly. “It’s fine. Could I ask why you’re launching pebbles at students?”

You waited once more as he scribbled his answer and peered down when he pushed the paper over.

For fun.

Again, you nodded. You could respect that.

“Well, do you mind if I join you?” you asked, nodding toward the slingshot. “I’d imagine it would be a lot easier to aim with an extra pair of hands. And the accompanying body,” you added awkwardly at the end, hoping it wouldn’t offend the little guy.

Thankfully it didn’t. He gave you an excited thumbs up, scuttling back over to the slingshot while you scooted over. While he loaded another pebble into the pouch, you scanned the area below for your next victim.

Your eye snagged on a vampire for no real reason other than the fact that he just kinda looked like an asshole.

You pointed to him below. “How about him?”

Thing gave you another thumbs up. Nodding, you held the slingshot in place while Thing drew the pebble back and let it fly.

The shriek that came from your victim almost made you blow your cover. You grabbed Thing and hurriedly crawled back to where you were both out of sight, barely containing your giggles. Once the coast was clear, you cracked, pitching forward with your laughter as Thing drummed his fingers against your arm in what you assumed was amusement.

“That was amazing!” You looked down at him, smirked. “Wanna do another one?”

He tapped your hand enthusiastically, making your smile widen.

Thus was the beginning of an amazing friendship. Well, amazing for you and Thing—not for the rest of Nevermore.

The two of you were a match made in hell. Together you brainstormed a plethora of good pranks to pull on unsuspecting students and teachers.

Putting spiders (fake or otherwise) in students’ lockers. Setting glitter traps on top of classroom doors so whichever unlucky soul walks through first gets showered in glitter. Slipping mentos into people’s sodas. Setting trip wires to watch people faceplant around campus and many more.

It was glorious. Your own personal reign of terror, even.

Principal Weems had her suspicions, but no matter how many times she tried to catch you in the act, you slipped through her fingers. And without proof, her hands were tied. So you and your companion were free to keep enjoying your schemes so long as you were discreet.

For the first time since you enrolled, days passed by in what felt like minutes, the personification of the saying time flies when you’re having fun.

Through it all, you often wondered where the little guy was when he wasn’t with you. You hoped that he wasn’t causing too much mischief without you. He was your partner in crime, after all.

Two weeks in, you decided to ask him at breakfast.

The two of you were at your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria. You were ranting about an upcoming Lycanthrope History test while Thing was launching the grapes you gave him to play with at nearby tables. After your rant, you finally gave in to your curiosity.

“So, what exactly are you doing at Nevermore? I know this place houses some strange students but, something tells me you’re not here to learn.”

He flicked a grape with precise aim, nailing a gorgon right on the forehead before giving you a series of taps. Your face scrunched in confusion.

“Babysitting? Babysitting who?”

Nothing could have prepared you for his answer.

“Wednesday Addams?!”

Your voice came out much louder than intended, turning a few heads around the cafeteria and making Thing jump. You didn’t care, plowing forward in your questioning.

“You’re ‘babysitting’ the school’s homicidal maniac?”

His stance straightened, his nonverbal tone somehow indignant as he corrected you.

You gave him a pointed look. “Attempted homicide isn’t much better, buddy.”

He seemed to contemplate flicking another grape, but seeing Miss Thornhill looking around, he chose not to. Instead, he drummed his fingers inquisitively at you, teasingly waggling his fingers at the end. You gave him another sharp look, insulted by his implication.

“Scared? What, no! This is amazing news,” you exclaimed. Then, an idea arose. “Hey, do you think she’d let us borrow any of her stuff for pranks?”

Thing mournfully shook his wrist. You let out a deep sigh, slumping over again. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve expected that answer.”

Wednesday didn’t really come up in conversation after that. You asked a few more times about her willingness to let you borrow her things, but after receiving the same answer, you gave up. Your paths had yet to cross, and you assumed that it would stay that way. But the universe seemed to have other plans.

The first time you formally met her was about a month after she transferred.

It was an appropriately cloudy day and you and Thing had just successfully completed a heist. You were in the Weathervane, both gushing over the fact that you had managed to steal fifteen scented lotions from Jericho’s local Bed, Bath & Body Works when a sharp voice interrupted you.

“So this is who you’ve been running off with these past few weeks.”

Both you and Thing flinched, looking up to see the Wednesday Addams staring down at you and your partner.

Offering a wave, you said, “Hey, Wednesday. Want a scented lotion?”

She ignored you completely. Her eyes barely scanned your figure before she was turning her full attention to Thing, her arms crossing over her chest in vindication.

“I knew you had to have an accomplice. You’re nowhere near nimble enough to properly set a trip wire by yourself.”

Thing slumped, obviously disheartened by the statement, but before you could defend his honor, your mind caught on something else.

“Wait…” You looked over at Thing, offended. “Have you been taking full credit for our pranks this entire time?”

Sheepish, Thing bowed, giving your hand an apologetic pat. You moved it away, crossing your own arms over your chest.

“Since this is your first offense, I’ll forgive you. But do it again and I’m keeping all of the profits from our future heists, got it?”

Thing jumped in alarm, tapping urgently. You smiled. “Good.”

Wednesday looked between you both, clearly unimpressed. You decided to take your shot again.

“You know, the lotion offer still stands.” You rifled through the lotions, taking note of their scents, and glanced back up with an apologetic look. “Though, we don’t have one that smells like stage 4 human decomposition, sorry.”

Again, she just stared blankly. You swore you saw her eye twitch but still, she said nothing and glared at Thing.

“Be back at the dorm by 7.”

With that, she turned and marched out of the café, leaving everyone in her path to fearfully stumble out of her way. Both of you watched, rapt, as she slammed the café door open and nearly nailed an approaching customer in the face.

Once she was out of sight, you turned to Thing. “Y’know, I think that went well, buddy.”

Thing said nothing.

You thought that would be the end of it, and honestly, you would’ve been fine if it had been. You made a good first impression and she now knew you existed. A double win!

But again, it seemed that someone had other plans—though this time it wasn’t the universe, but Thing.

Now that you and Wednesday had been semi-acquainted, Thing began inviting you to their dorm for hangouts frequently (because it was “his dorm too” …you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise). This set a few things in motion.

First, you met Wednesday’s roommate, Enid.

Enid was nice. A little hyper, like she was on a permanent sugar rush, but sweet, nonetheless. She gave you free manicures and skincare advice, and even let you borrow some things for pranks, so you hadn’t a single bad thing to say about her.

Second, you found out that you were very bad at scaling buildings.

Due to both curfew and Wednesday’s usual disapproval of your presence, Thing insisted on smuggling you in. By throwing a rope down to your balcony for you to climb. And…let’s just say that it’s a miracle you even survived the first time.

And finally, most importantly, you and Wednesday began to grow closer.

Only by about a centimeter, but progress was progress. And through sheer willpower and repeated exposure, you wormed your way into the tolerance stage, which is farther than most people who came into contact with Wednesday got, so you were proud.

She wasn’t warmer per se, but the sight of you in her dorm was no longer met with a throwing knife, just a death glare and some tentative (mostly one-sided) conversation if she was in a good mood. It was a big win.

Now that she wasn’t orchestrating any attempts on your life, you grew…not protective, but defensive of her, and Enid for that matter. Enid was your friend and Wednesday was…Wednesday. Willingly or not, they were part of your small circle.

So when a werewolf insulted Wednesday right to her face the day before the Poe Cup, well who could blame you for getting a little revenge?

You overheard him call Wednesday a frigid bitch, and he was right, but he didn’t have to say it like it was a bad thing. In retaliation, you and Thing gave him a special surprise involving shampoo and some of Enid’s hair dye that you were very excited to see the next day.

And it didn’t disappoint. Seeing the flash of bright pink amongst the Furs, and a matching flush of embarrassment that was nearly the same color was the highlight of your day.

At least it was until the Black Cats emerged from their tents.

Given your positioning, you were only able to see them once they started climbing into their canoe, and needless to say that the team’s roster shocked you. There were a few girls you didn’t recognize up front, then Enid and, as her co-pilot in the back, Wednesday.

Your jaw dropped. Because not only was she competing in the competition, but she was also wearing a skintight black catsuit, complete with ears and a tail.

The laugh you let out was so loud that it startled the surrounding crowd. You felt something poking your leg, and looking down, you found Thing standing by your feet. You bent down, glancing over to the Black Cat’s boat.

“Hey, you helping out Wednesday and Enid?”

He bowed in confirmation. Nodding, you stuck out a hand.

“Punch at least one siren for me, alright bud?”

He shook your hand firmly, a promise to fulfill your wish, and crawled off to the boat.

The event itself was rather dull. With the way Enid explained it, you were expecting something a bit more grandiose, but in reality, it was just standing around and watching for boats. Boring.

But hey, it gave you a half-day of classes, so who were you to complain?

The results though, were much more interesting.

For the first time in decades, the trophy went to Ophelia Hall. You were happy, not because you had any buried school spirit, but because you knew how much Enid wanted this. Seeing the fish get knocked down a peg was a nice bonus.

Afterward, you pushed through the crowd to try and find Enid so you could personally congratulate her, but before you could spot her, you bumped into her co-pilot. Literally.

Blindly, you steadied the smaller girl by the shoulders, a sorry on the tip of your tongue, but it got swallowed down as you were crudely reminded of her current state of dress. You tore your eyes from her outfit and dropped your hands back to your side, meeting her glare with what you prayed was a straight face.

“Hey, Wends. Congrats on the win! Love the outfit by the way,” you said, trying your absolute hardest not to crack a smile. The large ears were making that exceptionally hard, however.

She scowled. “Don’t call me that and for your information, I was forced to wear this.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything without laughing. Thankfully, it seemed Wednesday wasn’t finished speaking anyway.

“I noticed that werewolf’s hair is now a rather putrid shade of pink,” she said. “Did you perhaps have something to do with that?”

Once again, you found yourself unsuccessfully fighting off a smile. “I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicions. But it suits him, don’t you think?”

Before she could respond, a soaking wet Thing pulled on your pant leg and excitedly began recounting what happened. You bent down again, nodding along with his story, and beamed at him once he finished.

“Right in the eye?” you reiterated, and Thing confirmed. “That’s awesome. I knew I could count on you.” You gave him a quick high five then scooped him up, drying him off on your uniform and setting him on your shoulder.

You stood back up and saw that Wednesday was still there, staring at you so intently that you were sure she was somehow looking straight through you.

Cocking your head to the side, you went to ask if she was alright, but that must’ve knocked her from her stupor because, without another word, she spun on her heel and walked off, leaving you to stare at the spot she just occupied, thoroughly bewildered.

“That was weird,” you commented. Thing gave an agreeing pat.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t question her about it since you didn’t get the chance to speak with her again until exactly three days later.

It was just after dinner. Thing invited you over to help prepare a new scheme, and who were you to say no to the little guy?

Enid was visiting Yoko in the infirmary and Wednesday was nowhere to be seen, so it was just you and Thing, sitting by the window hard at work.

You tied the water balloon in your hand and held it in front of you, giving it a contemplative look. “You’re sure these will only give them bad rashes, right?”

The only response you received was a shrug, which was good enough for you, so you picked up the next one and got to filling it up. Not one to work in silence, you voiced a thought you’d been holding in for a while.

“So, do you breathe? Like, would be able to drown if you stayed under the water for too long?”

Thing shook his wrist matter of factly. You gasped.

“That’s so cool.” The flustered thuds you heard after made you chuckle.

Satisfied, you went back to filling balloons, but your head popped up only a minute later, another burning question on your mind. “If you can’t eat or drink, then what physically sustains you to keep you alive?”

Without missing a beat, Thing tapped out his answer.

“The misery of others?” You snorted. “Yeah, I guess that tracks.”

Conversation lapsed into quiet as you both focused on your tasks, and your mind wandered.

You wondered where Wednesday was. The hour just after dinner was her designated writing hour, and it was very unusual for her to be missing it.

You hoped that she’d be back soon, even if she only glared at you the rest of the night. Just seeing her would be enough to satisfy you.

Because in a somewhat cruel twist of irony, you were now falling victim to the very same feelings you mocked others for getting caught up in, and even more brutal was the fact that you didn’t mind all too much. Mostly because it was Wednesday.

Now, you were no poet or writer. You weren’t going to wax poetic and spew a thousand grandiose metaphors about how her eyes resembled that of a starless sky, no.

Wednesday was really pretty and genuinely interesting, and she looked at you like a predator wanting to tear apart its prey. And really, that’s all it took for you to dive right off that cliff’s edge into infatuation.

There was a certain excitement in knowing that she could dismember you with surgical precision if you ever went just a little too far, an irresistible thrill to be found in constantly toeing that line. Like walking a tightrope with life and death teetering on a knife’s edge—the perfect counterbalance to the endless loop of monotonous boredom your life had seemingly fallen into before her and Thing’s arrival.

The sound of the door opening interrupted your train of thought, and you whipped your head just in time to see Wednesday stride in with a book cradled in her arms and her usual annoyed expression adorning her features.

You perked up, and out the corner of your eye, you saw Thing do the same.

“Hey! How’s Nevermore’s resident tiny terror doing today?”

“Call me that again and I will disembowel you,” came her cheerful reply. You snorted.

“Uh-huh.” You finished tying the last balloon and looked back up, seeing Wednesday eyeing your prep work with distaste.

“Are those water balloons?” she asked, clearly unimpressed.

“Yep. They’re filled with holy water so we can throw them at the vampires who were teasing Enid last week for not being able to shift.” You grinned. Wednesday’s eyes widened a fraction.

“That’s insane,” she commented. Then after a beat, “Make sure to film it on your cellular device so I can watch as well.

“Of course,” you assured her, giving a dramatic bow as well. She rolled her eyes, and you watched her resign to her desk. Unable to contain your curiosity, you piped back up, “So what took you so long? I was expecting you to come in and kick me out hours ago.”

Her reply was instantaneous. “I discovered a secret passageway in the school, committed theft, and became the target of an attempted kidnapping.”

A twinge of jealousy pierced your gut. How come she always got to do the fun stuff? You quickly shook it off, focusing on the first thing she said.

“A secret passageway?” you asked, already thinking of ways to possibly utilize the space for you and Thing.

“Yes, I solved a riddle and uncovered a passageway hidden behind the Edgar Allen Poe statue in the quad.”

The Edgar Allen Poe statue… Recognition sparked, and the pieces slotted together, some of your prior jealousy abating.

“Ohh, you got kidnapped in the Nightshade’s Library?”

Finally, she looked at you, gaze so sharp it could’ve cut you in two. “How do you know about that?”

You and Thing shared an unsubtle sideways glance.

“Uh—”

“So what fingers do you do it with? Thumb and ring finger or thumb and middle finger?”

The pressing question was delivered in a whisper. It was late—at least an hour after lights out, but Thing promised to teach you how to snap before he left for his dorm.

So to avoid being caught, you and the appendage were tucked into the corner of a small hall that branched off from the quad. You were hunched against a tall Edgar Allen Poe statue while your companion stood next to you.

Thing waggled his fingers and pointedly put his thumb against his middle finger. You nodded and copied his movements, rubbing the fingers together to get a feel for it.

“So I just…”

You pressed the fingers together and made the snapping motion a few times in quick succession, beaming up at him when you managed to produce a few low sounds.

Suddenly, a deep rumble emanated from the ground beneath you as the statue you were seated on began to shift. You leapt to your feet, quickly grabbing Thing and placing him on your shoulder. You both watched, baffled, as the statue moved to reveal a long winding staircase.

Taking in a breath, you shared a look with Thing then looked back to the open pathway.

“Holy shit!”

“No reason,” you said far too quickly to be believable. Before she could question you further, you cleared your throat and moved on. “Did you have fun?”

“No. They were imbeciles that didn’t even know the basics of the art of abduction. It was pitiful.”

You frowned. “Oh. Sorry about that. I hope the next one is better.”

Wednesday shot you a strange look, studying you carefully before mumbling out a barely audible thank you, and turning back to her desk.

Since you were finished with the balloons, you slumped back against the window. There was nothing to do, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your eyes drifted back to Wednesday’s hunched form. Nosiness tugged at you. You wanted to know more about what she stole and why, and a glance at Thing told you that he did too.

Extending your arm for him to climb, you waited until he rested securely on your shoulder before heading to Wednesday’s desk to see what she was up to.

Lying flat on the wood before her was the book, opened to an illustration. On the left page was what looked to be a pilgrim extending a staff toward the figure on the right, who somewhat resembled Wednesday. You squinted. Scratch that, the girl on the right looked exactly like Wednesday.

“Is this what you stole?”

“Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look over my shoulder like that.”

Her words went in one ear and out the other, your mind too busy trying to decipher the meaning of the drawing to actually listen. Finally, the identity of the mystery pilgrim clicked, and you asked, “Why’d someone draw you in a picture with Crackstone?”

Her head whipped over to you, all complaints of you being there gone. “You know who this is?”

“Yeah,” you answered, “Joseph Crackstone. He’s like, Jericho’s chief colonizer. Founded the whole town or something.”

She didn’t respond, seeming to take in the information, but you didn’t want the conversation to die quite yet, so you carried on.

“Outreach Day is next week, are you excited? I, for one, am pumped to do menial work for no pay.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, then appeared to rethink her answer. “Actually yes, but not because of the forced child labor. I already have plans to further my investigation in Jericho.”

You perked up, leaning forward to try and catch her eyes. “Can I come?”

She didn’t even bother looking back at you when she answered, hard and firm.

“No.”

-

“Thanks for letting me come along, Wends!”

Wednesday clenched her jaw, expelling a sharp breath through her nose. This was the third time you’d said that in the past four hours, and while she was able to ignore the other two, the addition of that stupid nickname made holding herself back a third time impossible.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? And you’re only here because someone,” she sent Thing a murderous glare, “refused to cooperate without your agonizing presence.”

Your eyes widened, darting over to the hand resting on your shoulder. “Really?”

Thing gave a shy wave. A wide smile spread across your cheeks in response.

“Well thanks for advocating for me, bud. It means a lot,” you said with a hand over your heart, sounding far too cheerful for someone that just chased a dangerous monster.

Wednesday didn’t bother dignifying you with any more responses, turning back to the woods ahead. But that got her thinking.

Why had she let you come anyways?

There was no good reason that came to mind. You were insufferable. The human embodiment of vexation and foolishness and petulance. You were, in essence, all the traits she disliked in the general human race given physical form.

And yet, she had allowed you to come along.

Yes, Thing asked her time and time again to permit your presence, but instead of threatening his life like she should have done, she gave in with the silent promise of revenge.

It made no sense. You pushed boundaries, disobeyed orders, and disregarded her threats and insults with a garish smile like they were no more than a joke heard in passing.

And only now did she realize that she found it far less irritating than she did when she first met you.

The answer to why was unclear, but Wednesday wasn’t sure if that was because she was genuinely unsure of the reasoning behind her decision or because she didn’t want to figure it out.

Your annoying voice thankfully halted her mind’s trajectory.

“Of course, you’re my favorite Addams. You’re my best friend, the only other five-fingered appendage I’ll ever need in my life. Plus, Wednesday hates me so there’s no competition.”

Wednesday was once again stunned by the inane conversations you and Thing have on a daily basis. Some of the talks she’d overheard in the past months could be unironically described as mind-numbing.

Deciding to have some fun to pass the time, she turned to fully face you, running her eyes over your form before speaking.

“I don’t hate you.”

She watched your eyes go wide and you looked at her with some odd form of hope. The corners of her lips twitched.

“I despise you. There’s a difference.”

Your head dropped exaggeratedly, but when you looked up again there was a smile on your face, making any notion of hers disappear.

She couldn’t stand that—the way you were never put off by anything she had to say.

Enid had the same tendency to shrug off her threats, but even she was unnerved when she first met Wednesday. But not you. Wednesday couldn’t think of a single time when anything she said, threat or otherwise, made you uncomfortable or fearful, and there was seldom anything that got under her skin more.

“That was mean, Wednesday. Really mean.” She noticed Thing say something on your shoulder and you gave a playful gasp in response. “Don’t laugh, Thing. That wasn’t funny,” you said, even though you were giggling yourself.

At the sight and sound of your laughter, something strange happened. Something combusted within her, and the flames spread, licking her sternum with an uncomfortable intensity. Like someone crudely lit a match and let it fall inside of her chest, allowing the fire to wreak havoc on her insides. It was unpleasant.

Even more unpleasant was the knowledge that this was not the first time this had happened. And that was but another in the long list of reasons why she shouldn’t have permitted your presence today.

She faced forward abruptly and kept walking, but you entered her peripheral moments later, no doubt ready to bother her with something.

As always, she was proven correct. “Hey, so you said that Crackstone was in that vision with your ancestor, right? And he killed a bunch of outcasts?”

“Correct.”

That mischievous smile she had come to recognize spread across your face, pulling your lips up at a slightly uneven angle.

“What do you say we get a little revenge?”

“And how exactly do you propose we get revenge on a pilgrim that died centuries ago?” she inquired skeptically.

You hummed. “Undecided but you go on ahead and just let the masterminds cook for a bit. I promise we’ll come up with something great.”

You and Thing flashed her a simultaneous thumbs-up, to which she just blinked. Not needing to be told twice, she started walking again, leaving you both to linger behind. Once there was a sufficient distance between you and her, she slowed slightly.

Though she had just made a vital discovery for her case, she figured this brief period of quiet would be better spent unpacking that persistent internal conflagration that flared whenever you were near.

Deigning to use her tried and true investigative process, she tried to start from the beginning, to gather all the information she had and prepare it for analysis, but she immediately got lost because truthfully, she couldn’t pinpoint the start of your assimilation into her daily routine.

Her…acquaintanceship with you made little sense, even to her. Especially to her. The same could also be said about her budding friendship? with Enid, but that was easier to parse.

Enid was her roommate; someone she quite literally couldn’t avoid since they lived together. But you weren’t. You were Thing’s friend, sure, but that didn’t answer the question of why Wednesday was becoming entangled with you as well.

However, looking at it from a logical perspective, it somewhat made sense.

A mutual penchant for mischief and practical jokes is what drew you and Thing together. In that same vein, she supposed that your insatiable appetite for adventure and her unquenchable thirst for triumph put you both on a collision course that neither of you could prevent. Especially in such a creatively stagnant climate as Nevermore.

A rebel and a renegade—two of a kind. You understood her and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she understood you.

She just didn’t know how to interpret the unexpected side effects that came with that mutual understanding.

(That was a lie, she realized. Somewhere deep down she knew, but she didn’t want it to mean what she thought it might. After all, she couldn’t possibly be letting someone like you turn her into an apostate to her own beliefs and morals…right?

She thought back to what she said to her mother on her first day, how hypocritical her words looked in the face of this dilemma. God, how pitiful of a circumstance she found herself in.)

Either way, Wednesday had allowed the sparks to ignite, and she knew that any chance she had of tempering the subsequent wildfire it caused was lessening with every moment she knowingly spent with you in her space.

Part of her didn’t want to anyway.

Approaching voices behind her caught her attention. Focusing on the present once more, she listened in.

“That’s an awesome idea, right?” she heard you say lowly.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. Everything was either cool, awesome, or amazing to you. She desperately needed to expand your vocabulary if you were going to be sticking around. For her sanity.

Wet footsteps neared, and you ran ahead of Wednesday, turning to face her with a demeanor resembling that of an excitable puppy. She sped up her pace, but you matched it, even while walking backward.

“Ok, Wednesday, plan secured. You know what I need?”

“A thesaurus?”

You blinked, brows furrowed, then shrugged. “Yeah, probably but I was actually gonna say that I need gasoline, and matches.”

“Well, there’s a hardware store a block down from the Weathervane, you could get gasoline from there. I have the matches covered.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrow quirked, a grin appearing along with it. “You have matches on you?”

“Of course. I carry a box with me everywhere I go.”

Your smile widened.

Wednesday ignored the flames ravaging her organs and asked, “Are you going to tell me what this ‘plan’ is?”

“And ruin the surprise? No. All I’m gonna say is that you should have another song prepared for the unveiling.”

She narrowly avoided rolling her eyes again. Given the materials you needed, Wednesday had a good idea of what you were planning anyway, and thankfully, she had just the song in mind.

The three of you parted ways as you reentered the town proper, you and Thing running off to gather supplies, and Wednesday, after handing her matches over, headed into the square to prepare her cello.

Unsurprisingly, she was the first person there. She sat in the seat by her cello, languidly checking its strings more out of a need for something to do than because she needed to. Her cello was always perfectly tuned.

It didn’t take very long for you to follow, running into the square with a canister of gasoline and a bag of what looked to be gunpowder. She heard a low “let’s blow this fucker back to hell, Thing” before you split up, Thing pouring the gasoline in the base of the statue while you created a trail of black powder from the statue to behind the bleachers.

Wednesday watched you, the familiar feeling of being proven right tugging her lips upward. If nothing else, your flair for the dramatic was commendable.

You both finished and took refuge behind the bleachers just as people started filing in for the ceremony. As the normie high school band set up behind her, she took note of how nobody looked particularly enthused to be here (besides Enid, who would somehow find a way to be excited to watch paint dry).  

Soon, the ceremony was underway, and it was as underwhelming as Wednesday expected it to be. Just a plethora of fake smiles, stale claps, and off-key notes from the laughingstock of a “band” performing with her.

An explosion might not even be enough to resuscitate the audience at this point.

Once the fountain was turned on, Wednesday sent a sideways glance to you and you nodded, signaling something to Thing on the ground below. A trail of smoke and the telltale sound of burning gunpowder followed and Wednesday felt her dead heart begin to pick up pace at the thought of the coming anarchy.

Finally, the looming bronze figure burst into a brilliant ball of flame, the sound of the blast washing away the wretched off-key notes of the incompetent band behind her.

As the panic began to set in, her fingers moved on their own, relishing the familiar feel of the aching, discordant cords of Vivaldi’s Winter.

In moments, Jericho’s empty streets were flooded with people running in terror as sirens wailed in the distance. The harmonious screams that erupted from both outcasts and normies alike were almost more pleasant to her ears than the song that she was playing.

Principal Weems glared at her from afar, eyes narrowed in brewing suspicion, and Wednesday stared right back, lips coiling into a poisonous smile.

Tearing her eyes away from the principal, she peered through the haze of the smoke toward the bleachers. You were watching her with wide, awestruck eyes and a smile. You only looked away briefly to give Thing a fist bump before turning back toward her, but her gaze never faltered from you. Even with all of the glorious chaos happening around her.

That horrible, detestable feeling in her chest returned with a vengeance, blazing brighter than the raging fire to her right. But in this moment, she welcomed it, let it fuel her as the music reached its climax.

As the warm orange glow of the flames reflected off the raw excitement and amazement in your eyes and her treacherous song came to its end, Wednesday recognized that perhaps neither hatred nor disdain was quite the right word to describe how she felt for you after all.

And perhaps becoming a heretic and a hypocrite wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world after all (though it would certainly be close). 

[esamastation]

Part fifty-three of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two

-

Though the concept is called unscientific, and certain aspects of it are actively being suppressed by Shinra Science Department… there's no denying that there's something inherently magical about Mako. After all, Mako is what makes Materia, and with Materia you can cast spells, and no matter how Professor Hojo tries to deny it, it's a fact, indeed, undeniable.

Materia makes magic. Mako makes Materia.

There is also the open secret, the myth, the legend - the unscientific nonsense, as they put it. The theory of Lifestream and Spirit Energy and the concept that when something dies, the energy of that thing and all it collected and produced in life returns to the Planet, to the great collection of all the other things that died before. The great Lifestream from which all living things come and to which all living things return.

Shinra has spent a lot of money and effort suppressing and erasing those old faiths and traditions from public consciousness, and the widely accepted theory nowadays is that Mako is more like Coal and Oil - it's a deposit just beneath the Planet's crust that formed over millennia and which can now be harnessed by people. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But most people, no matter how they deny it or denounce it, know better.

Go back just two generations, and Mako isn't even a thing. The stories about the Lifestream, on the other hand, are thousands of years old.

And Genesis believes them wholeheartedly.

Well. He believes that the old myths have a basis in reality, anyway.

"When you use Materia as much as I do, you learn the difference between knowledge, power, and knowledge that becomes power," he explains, leaning back against the gym windowsill and lifting the shining marble of Restore Materia high up. "Materia is knowledge made physical, made powerful. It is wisdom crystallised, immortalised - and still living, well past the time of its origins."

"As you say, sir," the Second Class SOLDIER, Lacier Meres, agrees without looking up. He's sitting on the bench press, not pressing anything - instead he's leafing through a printed brochure.

Genesis continues. "That knowledge comes from somewhere - and it predates Shinra and its machinery. Materia existed thousands of years before us, and it will outlast us by thousands more," he says, examining the Materia in his hand. "I have seen orbs of Materia so old they must've first formed when the Ancients still existed."

"Very mysterious indeed, sir," Lacier agrees distractedly, turning a page.

"And I have seen Natural Materia only a few decades old," Genesis adds, narrowing his eyes at his Materia as he holds it against the light. Evening sun makes the Materia glimmer and glow. "I have held in my hand Materia as it spawned a copy."

"A miraculous event by any reckoning."

Genesis casts the Second Class a look, slightly annoyed by his lack of enthusiasm for the subject. There's no one else around, either, to appreciate his soliloquy. It's late, and they're the last ones in, sadly. 

Even during all the drama going on, a slow week night remains a slow week night. The labs have closed for the day, the SOLDIER offices have closed for the day, and there are no theatre shows during week nights.

Genesis feels fit to fly at the walls with the need to talk, and there's no one to truly talk to, not about what he knows! It's unbearable.

"Do you know where the knowledge locked away in Materia comes from?" he presses on.

The Second Class shrugs. "The Ancients, sir?"

"The Ancients," Genesis repeats and lifts the Materia again. "So they say. But this Materia is young. It came from a production factory not a month ago. How is it then that the wisdom of the Ancients is in this Materia, when the Ancients have been dead for thousands of years?"

Lacier doesn't even bother answering, but Genesis doesn't care. He doesn't need an answer - he knows it.

The wisdom of the Ancients didn't just appear in the Materia when it was created. It existed before that, in the Mako that made it. 

There exists wisdom - no. There is knowledge in Mako. Knowledge of the Ancients, maybe. Knowledge of the dead, certainly. How much of that knowledge did it take to make a single orb of Materia? How much Mako was there in a single orb of Materia?

How much Mako was there in a single SOLDIER? More or less than in an orb of Materia? 

"Very good, sir," Lacier says vacantly.

Genesis is tempted to lob the Materia at his head. "I didn't say anything," he says cuttingly and shoves the Materia into his pocket. Then he hops down from the windowsill.

"That's very nice, sir - hey," Lacier complains as Genesis yanks the brochure from his hands. "I was reading that! Uh, sir."

"And what exactly is this to be more important than paying attention to those around you, hm?" Genesis asks and flips the brochure over to see the front page.

It has an oversaturated black and white picture of Sephiroth in the front - along with the word Sephiroth training session volume 1.

"What is this?" Genesis demands. It doesn't look like it's from the Science Department.

"Just something we Seconds put together, sir," Lacier says, looking half proud and half stubborn. "It's nothing much."

It's not a brochure. It's a combat tutorial, with photographs and written explanations, detailing a training session Sephiroth had given in excessive detail.

Genesis narrows his eyes and waves the leaflet in Lacier's face. "When was this?" he demands.

Lacier looks embarrassed, running a wide palm over his neck. "It was after the, uh. Incident? Sir."

"The incident. You mean when Sephiroth destroyed the training room and tried to kill Hojo?"

"Well, uh, yes."

Genesis arches a brow. "And when exactly between losing his mind and being carted out of Midgar did he have the time to give a training session?" According to Angeal, Sephiroth had been completely out of sorts and couldn't even stand under his own power afterward.

"It was pretty much during?" Lacier says, wincing. "He was kinda out of it still."

Genesis lowers the leaflet. "I am going to need you to explain," he says lowly. "Be very specific."

Lacier squirms but explains.

Apparently in the middle of his psychotic episode, Sephiroth was possessed by the spirit of a school teacher. "And not one of you thought to tell me this?"

"Well, sir, we… thought it would be best to keep it amongst ourselves," Lacier says awkwardly. "All of us agreed it wouldn't be good if… you know. It was pretty irregular."

"Irregular," Genesis scoffs and takes another look at the leaflet.

He didn't get enough of a chance to face off against the new Sephiroth to really build up an idea of how he fought, but even so… he can feel Sephiroth's hand in the poses displayed by various SOLDIERs in the photograph. He recognizes the starting pose.

It's the same Sephiroth schooled him in, after mocking his footing.

"It was pretty weird, sir," Lacier says. "He talked all funny. Called himself this master and stuff. Half of the stuff he said didn't make much sense. Still… the best training session I've ever had, as a SOLDIER."

Genesis hums and sits down on the bench press next to Lacier, reading the descriptions added to the photos. They're very detailed. There are quotes.

"Don't tempt Qi-deviation?" Genesis murmurs. It's the final line of the booklet, underlined and everything.

"Something he said at the end," Lacier shrugs. "No idea what it means though."

Genesis frowns and lowers the booklet to rest on his knee. Then he looks at the window and at Midgar below them, swathed in darkness and light of Mako-powered street lamps.

How much Mako did it take for knowledge within that Mako to begin to coalesce into Materia? How much Mako was there in a single SOLDIER?

How much Mako would it take… until the knowledge within that Mako began overwriting the host?

-

Hehe

[thepixelelf]

Bluff and Nonsense - she/her ver.

genres: romance, angst, some fluff, university au, not a fake dating au pairing: female reader x hoshi words: 17.0k (01:08) warnings: cursing, alcohol notes (orig, 2020): "so the title is fluffy and this was a title fic, but then it ran away on me. I really like this one so... yeah. Enjoy!” update, 2023: this is the she/her version of Bluff and Nonsense. other than the pronouns, nothing else has been changed. you can find the original they/them version here, and the he/him version here

“Soonyoung? Yeah I know him, you should too. He’s on the uni’s dance crew, and ever since he joined them, their popularity’s skyrocketed. I’ve met him a few times, great guy — got a tendency to run his mouth but hey, no one’s perfect. He’s smart anyways, probably knows how to deal with the consequences, right?”

or

Soonyoung never thought one bluff could lead to so much nonsense.

Kwon Soonyoung is a man of many talents. He’s the guy who could fit a whole orange in his mouth in fourth grade, the guy who always knew how to make the social studies teacher talk about his divorce instead of the world wars, and the guy who brought a live pigeon to school with no one questioning him whatsoever. He’s also the head choreographer of the university’s dance crew — you barely knew there was a dance crew until he showed up with his hand-drawn posters — as well as a totally well-rounded fine arts major. C’mon, who takes a chemistry course in the fine arts? Kwon Soonyoung, apparently.

Of his many talents though, lying is not one of them.

Which is why, when asked if he likes anyone, Soonyoung says your name instead of simply saying “no” (a much better option in hindsight). He actually likes a girl on his dance crew. Cute, funny, has those eyes you can just get lost in — lord knows Soonyoung has. But, at this relatively quiet party, with half the guests crowded on Seungcheol’s couch and the other half on the disgusting carpeted floor of his apartment, Soonyoung can’t admit his real crush because she’s sitting just a few feet away.

It wouldn’t be such a bad lie if you weren’t also sitting a few feet away.

You’re on your phone when he says your name in his heartbeat-induced panic, but you look up at the sound of it, as does Seungkwan, who was reading something on your phone from the beanbag chair you’re both sitting in.

A chorus of low, teasing ‘ooh’s rises throughout the room, almost like it’s eighth grade again and Soonyoung just got called down to the office. Except now, he might actually be in trouble. He gets a few claps on the back from his friends close enough to reach, commending him on his bravado even though he doesn’t deserve it. Really, the whole situation only dawns on Soonyoung after 6.8 seconds, which is a bit too long considering he made the situation in the first place. Blood rushes to his cheeks, not because of the alcohol in his red cup he’s yet to drink, but because you’re looking right at him, and he has no idea what to do.

Soonyoung doesn’t know you very well. In fact, he’d almost say he doesn’t know you at all.

You’re Seungkwan’s friend from one of his classes — computing science, if Soonyoung remembers correctly, but he’s not totally confident. The only reason you came tonight is because of Seungkwan. You don’t know anyone else.

With a tilt of your head, your face scrunches with question, and you look to Seungkwan for help. You know Soonyoung said your name, but you missed hearing the context. It looks like Seungkwan missed it too, seeing as the conversation you two have only makes your brow furrow more as the room chatter picks back up. Everyone else is already over Soonyoung’s sudden confession when Jeonghan starts talking about something else.

Except Soonyoung’s friends, of course. That would be too easy.

Mingyu turns to him with a stupid smile, his cheeks red from both the free opportunity to tease his upperclassman and the light beer he’s been sipping and pretending to get buzzed on all night. He nudges Soonyoung with his shoulder where they sit on the floor, leaning in to speak under the conversations surrounding them. “You didn’t tell me you like her,” he says, the jesting tone in his voice clearer than water.

“Yeah...” Soonyoung doesn’t know why he doesn’t just retract his confession, it’s not like Mingyu is close to you or anything, he’d understand. But then again, he’s bad at lying, and the girl he likes is still sitting on the couch. He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s sort of a recent thing.”

Mingyu’s smile only widens at Soonyoung’s response, his eyes turning to slits with the rise of his cheeks. “Soonie’s in looove~!”

And Soonyoung doesn’t know what to say. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before, not exactly like this, anyways. So he just looks down, scratches the back of his neck again, looks at one of his dance crew friends when she calls his name.

He doesn’t dare glance your way for the rest of the night.

Turns out you do know someone else other than Seungkwan, because once most of the guests have cleared out, leaving only half the boys to clean up, Seokmin approaches Soonyoung as he scrubs the sink of whatever that weird green stuff is.

He asks how Soonyoung knows you and says off-handedly that he’s never even seen the two of you talk. (Which is right.) He says these things shouldn’t be joked about, that you’re a person with feelings, and Soonyoung should leave you alone if he’s just doing this for comedy’s sake.

Soonyoung thinks he’s never seen Seokmin so serious.

It’s probably fine. You haven’t said anything good or bad, and other than the occasional tease from his friends, no one has taken anything too far. Maybe you’ll forget about it tomorrow. Maybe he’ll forget about it tomorrow, and it will all be okay.

Besides, it’s not like he actually likes you. And his real secret is still safe and sound.

•

Of Soonyoung’s many talents, making people sad is also not one of them.

It’s not that he actively tries to cause misery only to fail, it’s that he can’t stand upsetting anyone. He’s a people-pleaser by nature, that’s just how it is.

So he doesn’t say no when you ask him out for coffee.

And he smiles at you when you try to make conversation, even though it’s awkward and hesitant despite having a mutual friend like Seungkwan. It’s not so bad, he thinks. You’re trying, at least, and when you ask him about his interests, you actually listen, which isn’t common when he tends to over-explain his love for dance and performance. He has a coffee in his hand too, so that’s a plus.

You ask him if what he said at the party was true, and something in your eyes makes him say yes.

•

There are a few more coffee dates after that. It’s nothing official, and Soonyoung is hesitant to call the meetups “dates” because he’s not interested in dating you. But it’s a little late for that.

You seem brighter, though, every time he sees you again; he can’t bring himself to take that away, to cut the cord, to clean this mess he made.

Something about the way you two talk is nice, at least. Soonyoung can’t quite put his finger on it, and he tells himself that’s what’s drawing him back every time, not the guilt he feels sunken in his ribcage whenever you smile his way. It’s not that deep, he repeats to himself whenever you wave to him on campus, making him feel obligated to walk you to class. It’s not that deep.

He’s in the library one day when he spots you at one of the tables, books open and spread out as you scribble down notes, a pair of earbuds dangling from your ears. You haven’t seen him, so he doesn’t try to approach, just ducks back behind the bookshelf he’s been exploring. His hand is on a book he might like when a voice stops him.

“You know you’re an idiot, right?”

Minghao leans against the opposite bookshelf, his arms crossed, locked and loaded for judgement. Soonyoung looks around, but of course he’s talking to him. They’re the only ones in the row.

“Um, how do you want me to answer that?” he asks, unsure of exactly what Minghao’s talking about. Yeah, he knows he’s a bit dense sometimes, but not all the time.

Minghao rolls his eyes. “I know you like Sehee. You haven't stopped laughing like an idiot at her bad jokes." He nods his chin outwards, gesturing over Soonyoung's shoulder and through the bookshelves towards where you're sitting. "What are you doing messing with Seungkwan's friend?"

It’s not too surprising that Minghao knows — he’s an intuitive guy, but Soonyoung is still caught off guard. He asks first, under his breath, “Does anyone else know?”

“If you mean dumb and dumber, then no.” Minghao jerks his head to swing his dark bangs out of his eyes. Everyone keeps telling him to just cut his hair shorter, but he refuses for the aesthetic, or something. “Chan is way too focused on dancing to notice your dumbassery, and Jun is about as observant as a fishcake when it comes to feelings.”

Soonyoung’s shoulders fall in relief, though he didn’t even realize they’d tensed up. 

“But that’s not the problem here. Why are you playing around with her if you’re into Sehee?”

“I’m not—” Soonyoung pauses, thoughts deliberate, “—I’m not playing around, okay? I just... I don’t know. You were all looking at me, and I couldn’t just say Sehee's name, she was right there!”

Minghao cocks an eyebrow at that. “But you could say hers?”

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware.”

Soonyoung groans quietly — he’s still in a library after all. He covers his face with both hands, not wanting to look at Minghao nor have Minghao look at him. For a second, it’s blissful, awkward silence, which Soonyoung would take over Minghao’s scolding any day. But of course, no haven lasts forever.

“You’re gonna have to tell her,” Minghao says, and he’s probably right. No, he is right, Soonyoung just doesn’t want him to be.

“I can’t do that! I said I like her— twice!”

“Twice?”

“Twice!”

Minghao only drops his head for a second, scoffing at the whole situation. Soonyoung wishes he could do that too, just laugh it off because it’s someone else’s problem.

“Well, you’re going to have to say something sooner or later.” Meeting his eyes, Soonyoung realizes Minghao might actually be worried. About you, or him, or something else, he’s not sure, but the subtle fold of Minghao’s eyelids tells Soonyoung this is about more than just calling out idiocy. “And I think sooner will hurt less.”

Soonyoung knows he’s right. But he doesn’t like it.

Before he can come up with a rebuttal, though, Minghao’s hands are on Soonyoung’s shoulders, and he’s pushing him out of the row of bookshelves and straight towards your table.

“You can do it, Soonyoung, just rip the band-aid while you still can,” he whispers in Soonyoung’s ear right before one last push at his back.

Soonyoung stumbles a bit, but once he regains his footing, Minghao’s already gone and you’ve already noticed the ruckus. You pull one earbud out with a bright smile. It’s so jovial that Soonyoung almost forgets why he’s here.

“Hi Soonyoung, I didn’t see you come in,” you say, and there’s no way you’re this energized just from studying in a library.

“Uh... hi.”

“You’ve actually got the perfect timing.” Waving to him, you gesture for him to sit next to you, and he does. You pull out some sort of planner, opening it to a few months from now. “I wanted to ask when exactly your showcase is? Seungkwan’s no help at all because he only cares about his concerts and stuff. Honestly, there aren’t that many...”

You’re going to have to say something sooner or later.

Soonyoung picks later.

•

“So when are you gonna ask her out?”

Jihoon stands in front of the stove, watching his hot water simmer, a bag of dry ramen in one hand and long cooking chopsticks in the other. It’s Soonyoung’s turn to make dinner tonight, but since he says he isn’t hungry, Jihoon’s scrounging it out himself.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, sits at their tiny dinner table, his forehead pressed to the cool surface, arms hanging limp at his sides. He mumbles something of a response, but it’s nothing more than a questioning grunt, if anything.

“Oh, you know.” Even when Jihoon says your name, Soonyoung stays still. “Only the girl you’ve been on several “dates” with ever since you confessed to her at Seungcheol’s party. When are you gonna ask her on a real date?”

Tired, Soonyoung groans. “When the time is right, I guess.”

•

You work on campus. It’s some part-time job you don’t care about enough to even complain over, despite the fact that you have to deal with annoying university kids every day. Soonyoung finds this out when he has coffee with Minghao in one of the buildings he doesn’t normally frequent, and only goes to today since Minghao has a class nearby in the next hour.

The coffee isn’t great, and it’s too expensive, but Soonyoung drinks it anyways. He much prefers the coffee from the cafe he goes to with you. Because the coffee is better. Obviously.

He hears your voice first, words indiscernible with distance and overshadowed by a much louder, angrier one, but still. Minghao sees you first, though, and he points past Soonyoung to the student printing center, where you’re standing behind the counter and arguing with some guy. You don’t seem too riled, but Soonyoung can tell you want to be anywhere but there, especially when the angry guy’s voice keeps getting louder and louder.

Soonyoung’s feet bring him over before his brain can register what to do. You haven’t seen him yet, he could just walk away, but he doesn’t. Your voice becomes clearer as he approaches.

“Listen, the printing center is for education, art, or business. I can’t print this for you.”

The guy goes off about personal freedoms or whatever, Soonyoung isn’t really listening.

“No, I get that this is a student printing center, but I really don’t think your big tiddie anime gf poster has anything to do with education, art, or business.”

And that’s when the guy grabs your arm. Which results in Soonyoung grabbing his arm. Which results in the accusatory question, “What are you, her boyfriend or something?”

Now, in a perfect story, this would be the first time Soonyoung meets you. Or maybe you’ve been close friends for a while. And this would be when Soonyoung says that, yes, he is your boyfriend, and he would save the day. Except you’d be all “why would you do that?” which would result in you both having to fake date to keep that guy off your back. In this perfect story, there would be no Sehee to like and no Minghao to judge, just you and Soonyoung fake dating. Eventually, you’d both catch real feelings instead of fake ones, and then boom, happily ever after.

But this isn’t a perfect story.

Soonyoung still says yes, and the guy still backs off. In reality though, because Soonyoung never thinks before he lies, you momentarily duck behind the counter and bring a hand up to your face to cover your ever-brightening smile. In reality, Sehee still exists at the forefront of his mind every dance practice, even though you’re the one he just promptly claimed to be the boyfriend of. In reality, Minghao watches from a little ways away, sipping his coffee and shaking his head in what can only be called disappointment.

Soonyoung’s never been good at lying. One would think he’d stop by now.

•

So, it’s official.

You’ve put a heart next to his contact name. He’s put one next to yours — red, because he doesn’t know your favourite colour. Seungkwan’s done the whole if you break my friend’s heart I break you spiel and Soonyoung finally realizes he’s in too deep.

It's almost too natural, how easily you bring him into your life and how easily he finds himself fitting. It's all so wrong.

Soonyoung feels like an imposter, like there's someone meant to be by your side, but it's not him.

You pluck up the courage one day to hold his hand, and he can't pull away because the lies tying him to you are too strong. The small bluffs he's spun have weaved themselves into a net he's tangled himself in.

His dance crew congratulates him when Jun spills the news. It's all mundane, really — dating in university isn't all that uncommon. Mostly, Soonyoung gets casual "you go, dude" comments or the like, but then Sehee says nothing. She smiles, and it has to be one of the most tragically beautiful things Soonyoung's ever seen. His heart fractures, just a little, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to fix it.

He smiles it off. Tries to, anyways.

Chan complains that Soonyoung's too harsh that day.

•

Jihoon likes you.

Not in a "Mister Steal Yo' Girl" way, but he laughed at one of your jokes the first time you came over to Soonyoung's apartment, and ever since then, he's been convinced.

"You must feel like the luckiest guy on earth with her around," Jihoon says once you leave for the night.

Soonyoung has no idea how to tell him he's felt nothing but unlucky these past few weeks, so he doesn't.

•

He polishes up on his acting. As awful as it is to think, Soonyoung has gotten really, really good.

His smile looks genuine. It has to — he shows it to Minghao, who says it's "adequate," which basically means perfect to the lowly humans beneath him.

He's gotten good at responding to you too, copying how the male leads do it in dramas and movies. It's sort of easy.

He hates how easy it is.

Soon enough, you try befriending the whole group. Being Seungkwan's friend, you've always wanted to, but apparently this is the push you needed. The boys are quick to warm up to you because, as Soonyoung's new girlfriend, you're now a new teasing target besides Chan. The youngest was always the brunt until you came along.

You say you don't mind — that his friends are amazing despite all the jokes and chaos. He believes you.

Minghao keeps his distance, saying he doesn't want to get himself involved. He's still the only one to know the truth, and his judging stare only grows worse as the days pass. Soonyoung wants so badly to make it go away, but he knows the only way to do that would be to tell you the truth, and he's just not ready.

Soonyoung's never broken a heart before. He's never planned on it.

Sometimes life makes its own plans.

"My shift got moved to tomorrow," you tell him when he picks you up from class, one hand in his and the other in your pocket. He knows it means something, but he doesn't know what. Your lips purse into a line as you stare at your shoes. “I was thinking... could I come watch your dance practice? If that’s okay?”

Now, Soonyoung loves dancing. He loves dance. He loves to dance. Performing sends an unparalleled thrill rushing through his veins like the solar system hurtling through the universe, and it’s something he’s never felt doing anything else. Dancing with others is a beautiful connection, an emission of silent truths communicated through the body. Practice, however, is the dirty version of dance. It has to be built up first — polished. Which is why Soonyoung says what he says. He doesn’t even think it over.

“No.”

It’s what he says every time someone asks. He doesn’t invite people to practices — never has. Even after his prompt refusal, he doesn’t register his mistake until the light in your eyes wavers. It doesn't disappear — just ripples. Comes back weaker than before.

"Oh," you say. The word should sound dejected but it doesn't. There's a smile at your lips, and Soonyoung can't help but think it looks kind of like his. "That's— that's okay! I was just — I don't know, I guess I just thought... I wanted to..."

Meeting his gaze, you look at him with shaking eyes, almost as if it takes great strength to keep them on his. He tries to backpedal, but you continue.

"I'll be going home then. I've got an assignment due soon anyways, so..." You pull your hand from his grip and, from where you two were walking toward the fine arts building, turn the opposite way. Your dorm is on the other side of campus. "See you tomorrow, Soonyoung. Have fun at practice."

Something about your smile haunts him.

It's hollow; feels empty when you flash it at him before going. He thinks fake smiles all look like that — insincere. His smiles at you must be the same way.

For an awful moment, he's hopeful. Maybe this will be the trigger. Maybe you'll end this tonight — whatever "this" is that Soonyoung has with you. Maybe he won't have to tell any harsh truths at all.

He turns and walks to practice.

The routine feels lighter tonight, though Soonyoung can’t pinpoint why. His body almost floats, and while that sounds good, it’s not. The rhythm is off. He’s not landing when he should be.

His crew notices, especially Chan, who complains that Soonyoung’s too much of a cocksure choreographer to be making repeated mistakes like this. They tell him maybe everyone should take a break. He agrees, but only because he’s frustrated — and he shouldn’t channel his anger into dance. Not this one, at least. 

Everyone spreads throughout the studios to the edges, where they lean their body weight on the walls and slide down, water bottles in hand. The room reeks of sweat and feet, but Soonyoung’s used to it by now. He guzzles down half of his water in one go and pulls out his phone.

[❤] Sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to react all... cold? Seungkwan told me you never invite anyone to practice, so it makes total sense why you said no

[❤] If I’m ever crossing any boundaries, let me know, okay?

Of course you’d be understanding. Soonyoung wouldn’t be that lucky.

He tosses his phone haphazardly in his bag, groaning and throwing his head back so it hits the wall with a dampened thud. The pain is dull compared to the thoughts top-spinning in his mind.

Across the studio, Minghao clears his throat, raising an eyebrow at Soonyoung when he opens his eyes to look at him. It only takes two reluctant nods for Minghao to understand the source of Soonyoung’s groans, and he does nothing to react but look away. Soonyoung thinks that’s almost worse than the judging eyes. At least at that point Minghao thought he was something other than a lost cause.

He doesn’t text you back. By the time he thinks of something a boyfriend would say, the time to say it has passed.

•

How much longer is he going to let this go on?

Soonyoung wonders that to himself as he sits, returned to Seungcheol's apartment for another one of his "getties" as people are so apt to call them. He's never understood the difference between a getty and a party, and he's always been too stubborn to ask, knowing he'd be mercilessly made fun of for not knowing something apparently all university students knew.

This one isn't so different from the last. More or less the same crowd, the same atmosphere as the night goes on. Only this time, when everyone's settled down in what can hardly be called a circle, Soonyoung's on the couch, sunken into the too-old cushions with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You're far from your last claimed spot with Seungkwan on that ratty old beanbag chair, sitting comfortably under Soonyoung's arm with a plastic cup of whatever Jeonghan concocted for you — which you've yet to drink much of.

Sehee sits across from you both while she laughs at something Wonwoo says. You laugh too, but Soonyoung barely notices, eyes glued to the girl they've been stuck on since she joined his dance crew over a year ago. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is when she smiles, even under the light of Seungcheol's dingy apartment, but he can't. He wants to tell her how he's felt for months, but you're next to him. He wants to have a fucking drink but all he has in his cup is fucking iced green tea because he knows if he drinks he'll fuck up again.

Just like last time.

"You okay?" you whisper in his ear at one point.

He turns to see your concerned expression, and it only makes Soonyoung hate this even more. He doesn't deserve your concern.

"I'm fine."

But he's not fine.

He doesn't participate in much conversation — only speaks when spoken to, and even then with few words. You seem to become tense next to him, but he does nothing to try and fix it. Just tonight, he's going to let himself be tired.

Three times, you offer to leave, and all three he refuses. You give up eventually, though he can tell you know something's off. God, if he were drunk, he wouldn't even have to think about you for a whole night.

Somehow the topic of discussion turns to couples, and suddenly, an entire room of eyes is on you and Soonyoung. He barely catches the question before you're already pondering your answer.

What do the two lovebirds love most about each other?

You look at him. At him, at him. He feels your stare in the dip of his throat because he can't seem to swallow anymore. It's like his soul is being scanned for viruses.

"Hmm..." You let your chin fall into your palm with a smile. It's real. Too real. "I like his resolve," you finally say. "If he wants to do something, he does it." With a loud exhale through your nose, you tilt your head, still meeting his eyes with your own. Soonyoung's mouth slightly parts, slack with something he can't name. "I could learn a thing or two from him."

The room bristles with your answer, various response piping up around. Soonyoung sort of registers Chan saying, "That's cute. I wanna vomit," but he's too busy thinking about you, about how you've come to like something about him as deep as that when all he's done is pretend to even like you at all.

And even when his mind swims with that, Sehee asks again.

"Then Soonyoung, what do you like about her?"

It sort of hurts. Soonyoung's not afraid to admit to himself that hearing Sehee ask what he likes about you sends pain straight through his ears to his heart. There's an awkward pause and everyone's looking at him expectantly and, god, he wishes he stole your drink when he had the chance.

"I..." His throat goes dry. His lips part, but there aren't any words to slip past them. "I, um..." He looks to you, and your eyes speak volumes. Everyone else in this room has a sort of... hungry look. They want to know Soonyoung's answer for one reason or another, maybe to tease with or to ridicule or even wish for themselves. But you, your eyes meet his and he knows you're not expecting anything. That hurts too. He doesn't know why. But even then, he can't think of the words. Any words. He steals a glance at Sehee, whose expression is curious, doe eyes slightly giddy from alcohol. She's pretty.

"I like her laugh," he says. It's not about you. "Whenever she laughs, I think to myself, 'What I wouldn't give to see her laugh again'."

Your eyes move to the plastic cup you've got gripped between two hands in your lap, and Seungkwan points out your flustered state to the entire room despite the fact everyone can see it as long as they've got working eyes. You purse your lips together to contain a smile, but it doesn't work. Even Soonyoung can see that.

He needs a drink. 

Having to go to the bathroom is a lousy excuse, and Soonyoung knows it, but he whispers that in your ear anyways and retracts his arm from your shoulder before escaping. He does go to the bathroom, a small thing with a shower and no bath, but all he does in there is stare at himself in the mirror. And when that becomes too much, his feet.

Someone else eventually has to use the bathroom for its actual purpose, so he opens it to the banging fist outside and slides past the person back into the hallway. He pauses before walking all the way back. You're caught up in some other conversation now, laughing and dramatically waving your hands as you deny some crazy embarrassing story Seungkwan's trying to spill about you. Seems you've already integrated yourself with his friends more than he thought.

Since your attention is occupied, Soonyoung instead ducks into the half-kitchen — not necessarily out of sight, but no one's really paying attention anyways. He knows he shouldn't take any chances, but he really, really wants to let go. He's been wearing a facade ever since he said your name that night.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

Minghao's voice has Soonyoung jerking up and banging his head on the door of the open fridge he was rummaging through. He winces in pain, kneading his fingers into his scalp as if that will do anything.

"Wouldn't what?" he snaps.

"I dunno." Minghao shrugs, and it's almost infuriating how nonchalant he is. "Do something you might regret, I guess."

He takes the yet unopened bottle from Soonyoung's hands, reaching beyond him to put it back in place. There's no point in fighting against him since he's undeniably right, but Soonyoung grumbles anyways. His eyes glance every few seconds to you on the couch. If you happen to hear anything...

Well, he doesn't know exactly. But he doesn't want to find out.

"You have to end it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just—" Soonyoung takes in a breath, too loud for his liking. He lowers his voice. "I can't, okay? I don't want to hurt her."

"So you're just going to date her based on false pretenses because you're too much of a coward to admit your mistakes?" Voice laced with sharpness, Minghao places his palms flat on the counter.

Soonyoung takes a deep breath through his nose, lips twisting in frustration. "Yeah, okay? Yeah," he whispers. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do."

A second passes. Minghao's brow furrows.

"And quite frankly," Soonyoung continues, "I'd rather you keep your nosy ass out of my business from now on."

He nearly storms off right then with the last word, but Minghao's fingers around his elbow stop him.

"You're going to get yourself hurt," Minghao warns through his teeth. He nods towards you. "And her in the process."

"We'll see about that."

Soonyoung has acted on impulse before. It happened with the pigeon, it happened with your name, and it's happening right now. Nothing is compelling him other than the absolute need to prove Minghao wrong, and even then, he doesn't know why.

He sits back down next to you, his spot saved by some miracle considering the surrounding company. The look on your face is happy, jovial. You must be having a right old time. His nerves strike with a feeling he's never quite experienced before.

When you study his face, no doubt not nearly as cheerful as yours, the expression you held falters to worry.

"You okay?" is once again the question on your lips, quiet, meant for his ears only.

Impulse is a scary thing. Soonyoung hates it almost as much as lying.

He leans in, crashing his lips on yours with his eyes half closed. His lips move and yours don't. Soonyoung can't even be sure you've closed your eyes, but at this very moment, he doesn't care. All he knows is he's angry and Minghao is watching.

This isn’t your first kiss — he knows because you’ve talked to him about this very topic. This is, however, to your understanding, the first “real” relationship you’ve ever been in. You told him yourself that you don’t really count that past kiss as your first, that you felt a bit... violated when it happened.

Soonyoung thinks this isn’t all too different.

He steals your second first kiss, and later, staring at the water-stained stucco ceiling of his bedroom, he kicks himself so hard it hurts.

•

You show up to movie night. Apparently Jihoon invited you — explained it like this:

“You won’t have to be so clingy with me if she’s here.”

At first, Soonyoung thinks Jihoon just wants to drop their roommate movie nights because he’s always complained about them, but Jihoon sticks around during Anastasia; sings along with you during Once Upon a December despite the fact that neither of you really know the words. He sits right in front of you two on the couch, cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, that of which he only offers to you twice and Soonyoung once.

Whatever. You’re a better cuddler than Jihoon anyway.

Somehow it doesn’t feel forced when you lean your head on Soonyoung’s shoulder, or when he wraps his arm around your waist to get comfortable. He blames it on how tired he is, how he always gets on movie night after a week of classes and practices and too much work for one person to handle. Jihoon complains all the time that he’s too touchy when tired.

You absentmindedly play with his fingers for most of the movie. He doesn’t mind.

It’s been about a month now.

Soonyoung doesn’t kiss you again after the first time. Doesn’t stop you, either, but you’re more of an on-the-cheek kind of person. He thinks you think he wants to take this slow, even though he initiated the first big step (as convoluted as it was). He lets you think what you want.

Nasty business, it is.

Cleaning a bowl that once held popcorn. All the grease that sticks to the side because Jihoon likes to use too much butter. All the grains of salt that get underneath Soonyoung’s fingernails. He’s washing, Jihoon’s drying. It’s an arrangement of sorts.

You’ve already left for the night, gone back to your dorm since it’s only a five minute walk or so through campus. Jihoon insisted on Soonyoung escorting you, but you only smiled sweetly and refused. Maybe Soonyoung should’ve argued harder against you. He didn’t though. That’s why he’s scrubbing a bit too harshly now — he doesn’t like messing up.

Seems that’s all he’s good for lately.

“You’re unhappy.”

Soonyoung stops scrubbing. The only noise in the whole apartment is the slow gurgle of the sink because even with a plug, such an old thing just lets the hot water seep away as the seconds go by. Jihoon’s gaze is on the pan he’s drying, but Soonyoung knows his heart is in the question. It always is.

“I’m not,” he tries to deny, but it’s difficult to fool a person like Jihoon. (Especially since Soonyoung can’t even convince himself.)

The non-stick pan from yesterday’s dinner clangs against an older one when Jihoon puts it away. He looks at Soonyoung, but by then he’s turned back to washing the popcorn bowl, so their eyes don’t end up meeting.

“I’ve known you since tenth grade. You think I can’t tell when you’re upset?”

Soonyoung finds it hard to read Jihoon’s feelings most of the time. He didn’t realize he was such an open book the other way around.

Sighing, he continues to scrub the bowl, which has probably been clean for a minute already. “I’m just... stressed.”

“About?”

Minghao already knows; already thinks lowly of Soonyoung for it. If Jihoon knew... Soonyoung doesn’t know if he can take that.

So he lies. Again.

“Just the dance showcase.”

It isn’t a whole lie, not really, but he can’t call it the truth either.

Jihoon takes the bowl from Soonyoung’s grasp and rinses it under the tap. Since that’s the last dish, Soonyoung is stuck with nothing for his hands to do. They rest on the edge of the sink, but his fingers ache for a task.

Jihoon, the friend that he is, says, “That’s not for three months, though. I’m sure you’ll be perfect by then.”

“I don’t know...”

“Well I do.” Eyes meet eyes, a pair determined, a pair apprehensive. “Everything will work out.”

“...Okay.”

•

Soonyoung measures time in terms of you now.

When he last texted you. When he last saw you. When he last spoke to you.

It’s all a very elaborate calculation — how much time he’s spent on you versus how much time he should spend on you. No relationship is quite like this one, he thinks, and it’s quite the romantic notion out of context. The fact remains, every interaction he has with you only pulls him further and deeper into his lie.

Soonyoung’s time moves a bit slower now.

Faster, sometimes, but only when he doesn’t want it to.

•

You tell him you might be in love with him.

He says he might be in love with you.

He’s never hated lying more.

•

Jihoon is cleaning out the fridge when the buzzer goes off, so since he’s close by, he picks up the old corded phone attached to the wall. From his spot on the couch, Soonyoung looks up from his phone to see Jihoon cover the receiver and mouth your name. Jihoon makes some sort of gesture with his hands, and somehow Soonyoung understands that as, were you expecting her?

His eyes widen as it settles in that no, he’s not expecting you. The apartment is a mess.

Jihoon buzzes you in, hangs up, and immediately moves from the fridge to the coffee table, throwing the laundry he was planning on folding back in the plastic hamper and shoving the pile in Soonyoung’s lap.

“Take care of this,” he says. “I’ll clear up the kitchen.”

Right. Can’t have you thinking your boyfriend and his roommate are slobs.

Soonyoung reacts quickly, standing from his spot on the couch with the laundry basket in hand. He dashes to his room, where he plans to stuff the laundry in his closet and save that problem for later, but once he gets there, he realizes his room is even worse. There are dirty clothes dispersed all over his bed and old coffee cups littering his desk. Scrambling to shove the new laundry in his closet, the dirty clothes in the now empty hamper, and gather all the paper cups in his arms, Soonyoung’s breath starts to catch.

When he emerges from his room with two armfuls of garbage, he finds you at the door with Jihoon, your face hidden in his shoulder and your arms wrapped tight around his waist. Jihoon’s arms are up, almost like he’s being held at gunpoint, and his eyes widen even further when he catches sight of Soonyoung.

“Uhh... it’s for you.”

Soonyoung can hear your quiet hiccups even though they’re muffled in Jihoon’s shirt. He can’t bear it when people cry.

Yeah, maybe he’s been pretending to like you for a long time now, but he’s not a monster.

Right?

He likes you as a person. As a friend. And there’s no way he’s letting his friend go through pain like this.

Soonyoung swiftly discards his trash into the garbage bin and approaches you and Jihoon. At the commotion, you lift your head from Jihoon’s shoulder, eyes all red and puffy. Your lips press together, emotions nearly bursting at the seams, but they finally break out when Soonyoung opens his arms wide.

“C’mere.”

You practically flail into his embrace, arms wrapping around his torso in a vice grip as you hide your face again. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay — he knows you’re not.

Jihoon stands in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at you and Soonyoung clutching at each other in the middle of the apartment before he shuts the front door and clears his throat.

“I’ll just, uh, I’ll be — um. Mhm. Yup.”

He escapes to his room.

Soonyoung squishes his cheek to your temple as you both stay there. You’re shaking, and his arms squeeze tighter. If only he could make it stop. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make you feel better.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, though quiet and hesitant.

You shake your head, mumbling something he can’t quite make out. He pulls back a bit, just enough to see your face and gently cup your cheeks in his palms. His thumbs rub at your cheeks, smoothing any stray tears across your skin.

“What’s that?”

“Just...” Your eyes glisten. His heart beats. “Could you please just hold me?”

And he does.

Decidedly, his bed is much more comfortable than standing in the living room, so he sways, rocking side to side with small steps that force you to walk backwards. His smile, though, is reassuring, and you follow his guidance without much complaint. He sits you down on his bed, thankful that he cleaned up beforehand, and slowly leans you down so you’re both on your sides, facing each other. Pulling you closer, he lets you rest your head on his chest. Your hand lies flat on top of him, but eventually your fingers curl, clutching a bit of Soonyoung’s shirt between them. Silent tears fall from your eyes to his chest, but he doesn’t care.

His arm underneath you wraps around, hand landing on your back so his thumb can rub soothing circles.

It’s quiet.

Funny. Soonyoung used to dislike silence with you — always felt the need to fill it with conversation or jokes or laughter. He wonders when it was last since he felt that way.

Soonyoung doesn’t know how much time passes. His eyes stick to his bedroom ceiling as he holds you close, thoughts on everything and nothing all at once. Are you asleep? Your tears stopped some time ago.

His question is answered when your voice, small and unsure, breaks the long-standing silence.

“Soonyoung?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you about it?”

He cranes his neck to look at you, but it doesn’t really work. “Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. I just... I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.”

“I know, but—”

“You’re not.”

You look up at him finally, and seeing your smile sends warmth through his blood. Your face is still looks wrecked from tears gone by, but your smile pushes all that out of the way.

“Thank you,” comes past your lips in a whisper. Then, after a moment of waiting, you say, “It’s just that... I... this — ugh.” You hide your face in his shirt again. “This is so embarrassing. I don’t even know why I got so worked up.”

Soonyoung doesn’t respond to that, just pats your back a few times and encourages you to keep going. You toy with the fabric of his shirt.

“This guy I used to know — I thought I’d never see him again, but he showed up today. Ran into him when I was walking back from the convenience store.” You bite the inside of your lip. “I haven’t thought about him in a long time, but, I don’t know, I guess seeing him just brought all these memories back all at once.”

“Bad ones?”

A breathy laugh escapes you. “Sure, you could say that.”

The silence comes back, and your brows furrow, almost like you’re trying to solve the problem all on your own. But you don’t have to. Soonyoung is here.

“Do you remember when I told you about my first kiss? Like, my real first kiss?”

Soonyoung hums. Of course he remembers.

“Back in high school, I used to have this friend. Sammy. She was — god, she was beautiful. And kind, and smart, and just... amazing. I miss her a lot. She’s abroad now, travelling the world with her sister. I think she’s in Peru now.” You chuckle at the mention of your old friend, but soon your smile twists into a frown. “This guy... I don’t like saying his name, but he liked Sammy. Everyone did, I don’t blame him for that, honestly. He was pretty popular back then — one of those sports boys, you know? Thinking about it now, he could’ve easily gotten with Sammy if he hadn’t been so conniving.”

“Conniving?”

“Yeah, he was... I don’t know how he got the idea in his head, but he came to me first. He kept hanging out with me, taking me on these... dates? But they weren’t really dates, all we did was talk about Sammy — what she liked, what she didn’t like. I knew he was using me, but I just... let him, I guess. Maybe back then I was just so caught up in being needed that I didn’t really mind being used.”

Soonyoung hugs you tighter.

“I guess he felt sorry, maybe? Right before he went to go ask Sammy out, he just... laid one on me. It was stupid. Like a pity kiss for my service or whatever. I wasn’t in love with the guy or anything, but it felt so... degrading. Like all I deserved was some action from a conventionally good-looking guy."

Your tears come back, brimming at the edge of your eyelids.

“I don’t know, it just — it just made me feel so...”

You take a breath. Exhale.

“...worthless.”

Soonyoung doesn’t fail to see the irony here, at least, but he feels slightly lifted. Whoever this guy is, Soonyoung’s a million times better.

“You’re not worthless,” he says — because he knows it’s true.

“I know.” You readjust yourself curled around him, wiping away the tears which haven’t fallen. “I mean, I know now.” Sighing, you wrap your arm around his waist, somehow pulling him closer than he already was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. For being you. For letting me be me.”

“It is my absolute pleasure to serve you, your majesty.”

You wack him with the sleeve of your sweater. “You’re such a dork!”

Your laugh is nice. Soonyoung hopes to hear it again soon.

“You know,” you say, eyes closed as you lie there with him on his bed. “Normally I would’ve gone to Seungkwan with my problems, but tonight...”

“Tonight?”

“You make me feel safe, Soonyoung. Thank you.”

His eyes close. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “That, and if I told Seungkwan, he would’ve found the guy and beat him to a pulp.”

“Why can I see that?”

“Because it’s true.”

You stay the night.

•

With a group of friends as big as Soonyoung’s, it’s about once every blue moon that the boys find a time that works for everyone, especially coming up on finals season. They all have their own worries around this time: the dance showcase, the big play, last-minute assessments, and — of course — finals.

So when they’re all free for barbecue one night, everyone’s ecstatic. Reservations are made, gratuities are calculated, and the group chat blows up every few hours with various changes to plans. (Mostly from Mingyu, who’s eager to show off his grilling skills.)

But of course, university is university, and it’s inevitable that someone has to bail out. That someone being Soonyoung.

The dance showcase creeps up a bit faster than anyone likes, and now Soonyoung’s professor is forcing him to choreograph an entire song for some freshmen only a month before the whole thing goes onstage.

First of all, who signs up for a showcase only four weeks before the performance? Who lets them sign up?

And second of all, doesn’t his professor realize Soonyoung has a life? He’s got other dances to work on, other classes to study for, friends to have barbecue with. How is he supposed to cram an entire choreography — not the mention the time it’ll take to teach the freshmen — into his already hectic lifestyle?

But Soonyoung is a people-pleaser. He doesn’t say no.

Instead, he regretfully messages the group chat, saying he can’t hang out tonight in favour of attempting to choreograph at least a quarter of the song in one sitting. He gets the usual whining, but they all know they can’t change his mind, so it fades out fast.

What he doesn’t expect is for them to invite you instead.

“It’s a thirteen person reservation,” Seungcheol reasons. “Besides, she’s basically one of us by now.”

Soonyoung can’t exactly argue with that.

So, you go to the restaurant with them while Soonyoung heads to the studio. Minghao picks you up along with Vernon and Chan, which sends an anxious bit of worry down Soonyoung’s spine, but he does nothing about it. If Minghao wanted to tell you, he would’ve by now.

You send him a good luck text.

[🍥] Don’t let those kids work you into the ground!

He stares at your words for a bit, distracted from finding the song he’s supposed to use. Your contact name is different now — one of those naruto fishcakes because of that time you took him out for ramen. That night had been full of laughter and loud, borderline obnoxious slurping, ending with the beautiful finale of Soonyoung throwing a fishcake straight into your open mouth.

You were the one that sweet-talked you both out of getting banned.

Soonyoung finally opens his music app and finds the song the freshmen requested (a rather boring one, if you ask him) which he sets to max volume. He doesn’t bother plugging his phone into the speaker system, not when he’s the only one in the studio.

Maybe he can do this.

•

“The trick is to add eggs and use less water,” you say as you scoop more batter onto the waffle iron.

Jihoon snorts from where he sits at the table, still shoveling more whipped cream and strawberry-smothered waffle in his mouth. “Are you sure the trick isn’t to just not be Soonyoung?”

“Hey!” Soonyoung pauses his own eating just to pout. “My waffles are good!”

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

Both you and Jihoon laugh at Soonyoung’s expense, only further accentuating the pout on his face. You and Jihoon are too alike in that aspect. Well, actually, Soonyoung knows you’d never laugh at him, but he still can’t be sure about Jihoon. One time, back in high school, Soonyoung tripped over (what he thought was) a dead bird, and Jihoon laughed for hours — though Soonyoung always exaggerates the story into him laughing for days.

You sit down next to him with your own plate of waffles. There’s flour dusted on your arms, but you don’t seem to mind.

“You’ve got a little...” You point a finger at the corner of your mouth.

He knows. Soonyoung can feel the cool whipped cream right where you say it is.

He smiles wide. “I’m saving it for later.”

“Hmm...”

You say nothing, just smile as you lean in, kissing the corner of his lips. It’s quick, chaste, and barely a real kiss, but Soonyoung’s heart bounces in his chest. He’s never been kissed like that before.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be loved.

That thought, though, he pushes back for another time.

“Gross. You guys made me lose my appetite,” Jihoon says. He keeps eating.

•

With eyes drooping shut every few seconds, Soonyoung decides it’s time to call it quits on the chemistry homework. It’s nearly one in the morning, anyways. He flips his textbooks shut and gathers up all his notes, putting them all in a haphazard pile that he’ll worry about in the morning. Swivelling in his chair, his eyes land on you.

Oh. He forgot you’re here.

You’re snuggled up on top of his covers, one arm wrapped around the pillow your head should be on, eyes closed as even, slow breaths come past your slightly parted lips. One of his hoodies is draped over your legs like a blanket. He wonders why you didn’t just get under the covers.

Well, he has been walking you home ever since he hadn’t some time ago. Maybe you were waiting.

He feels a bit guilty as he brushes his teeth and washes his face, but not too bad since you only have afternoon classes tomorrow. Maybe he can treat you to something in the morning to make up for it.

After he tucks you under a fluffy throw blanket, he crawls into bed and lies on his side, facing you.

Your other hand is lax, palm up and fingers curled, almost like you’re holding something invisible.

His hand would fit perfectly.

The tips of his fingers graze over the lines on your palm. Slow. Trepidatious.

You shift, fingers unconsciously curling around Soonyoung’s hand.

He closes his eyes.

•

The moves aren’t working.

The moves aren’t working and the music isn’t working and the dance isn’t working and nothing is working.

Soonyoung groans in frustration, almost screaming with his fingers threaded through his damp hair as he messes up yet another landing. He’s drenched in sweat, and it’s only been so many hours since the rest of the crew left for the night, not that he’s kept track.

It’s less than a week until the showcase. Six days, as Chan is apt to remind everyone with his stupid holiday countdown app.

That freshmen choreography is already over and done with — Soonyoung’s made it, he’s taught it to those over-eager nuisances, and if they need anything more, that’s on them. They’re no longer his responsibility.

That’s not what has him in such a state right now.

His solo — the one he’s been planning for the entire semester — it just doesn’t... feel right. He’s been slaving over it for days now, reworking the steps, figuring out what to take out and what to replace. But the more he fixes it, the more it feels wrong.

He can’t get the steps right. He can’t get anything right.

What is wrong with him?

He starts the music again at exactly one minute, thirty-eight seconds. The moves are clear in his mind. One step. Two steps. Sweep. Spin. Jump—

He falls.

The music goes on.

Soonyoung slams his fist onto the softwood floor, cursing at his ineptitude. He stays like that for a moment, eyes screwed shut and fists clenched so tight his nails dig into his palms. The song ends, only to restart again, but Soonyoung barely notices.

Screw the music. He stands; positions himself; tries again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

He falls.

He yells out at the floor, at his feet, at whatever is holding him back.

His reflection in the mirror stares back at him.

Mind blank, he sits there, legs stretched out in front of him as he hunches over, eyes closed to the world around. His breaths come out shaky and uneven, but even though every moment sitting still feels like eternity, his lungs fail to calm.

Someone knocks on the door, and for a second, Soonyoung thinks it’s Jun coming to tell him to go home for the night. He doesn’t want to, so he doesn’t look up.

The door opens, he can hear the quiet shuffling of hesitant feet that have removed their shoes just because the sign on the door told them to.

“Soonyoung?”

Your voice is clear — like a single drop of water coalescing into a whole — and it cuts through the sound of blood rushing past Soonyoung’s ears.

He looks up to see you standing a good length away, almost like you’re scared to approach. You’re wearing pyjamas, a thick sweater pulled over your shoulders and fuzzy socks donning your feet. Something bulges from the pocket of your sweater.

“What are you...”

“Minghao called me.”

In the back of his mind, a small part of Soonyoung wonders exactly when you and Minghao have gotten close enough to call each other, but the thought doesn’t stay for long. It can’t, really, not when you’re in front of him.

When Soonyoung says nothing more, you take another step forward. “What’s wrong?”

To anyone else, he might say nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong.

His voice breaks when he tries to laugh.

“Everything.”

Your eyes soften, a small smile tugging at your lips. It’s not one of those pitiful smiles, he can tell, but it’s not fake, either. You bring your hands together in front of you, fiddling with the tips of your fingers as your eyes move from them to his gaze again. “I’m coming over. Is that okay?”

He nods.

First, you find his phone and turn down the music until it’s gone. You sit right behind him, legs spread on either side of his body, and you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing flush to his back and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. He squirms a bit.

“I’m all sweaty,” he tries to argue, but you only squeeze him tighter.

“Yeah, you are.”

He stops resisting. It’s much too hot, what with his hours of constant exercise and your thick layers, but he can’t complain.

“Do you want to talk about it?” This time it’s your turn to ask.

“...Just hold me?”

And you do.

You press a kiss to the back of his neck. Slow, soft, and when your lips leave his searing skin, your forehead replaces them.

That’s when the dam breaks.

Hot, fat tears roll from Soonyoung’s eyes down his cheeks as sobs rack through his chest. The vibrations shake him and you all at once, but your hold never falters. He can’t see anything, only a blur of what should be his legs and your arms wrapped around his stomach. His hands go to clutch at your arms, desperate to hold onto something; to not let him sink.

It’s ugly, the way he cries, but you let it happen. You hold him.

This is what it’s like.

Eventually, his desperate hands find yours, his arms crossed so his right is over your right, his left over your left. His fingers roam over the smooth backs of your hands until they reach your fingers and interlock. The palms of your hands are warm compared to his fingertips.

You’ve locked onto his body language by now — you’re fluent, so you know to continue pressing reassuring, slow kisses into his skin. You know to whisper little words that should mean nothing, but coming from your lips, mean everything.

He’s going to be okay.

For some reason, coming from you, he believes it.

You hold him until the hiccuping stops, until the tears are just dry streaks on his face, until his breath comes out in long streams instead of bursts.

His eyes stay shut as he feels you shift. One of your hands slips out of his grasp, your arm reaching back, and Soonyoung almost whines until he feels its return.

“Look,” you whisper.

It itches to open his eyes, but when he does, he sees what’s in your hand, right in front of him. A small stuffed tiger sits in your palm, positioned anatomically incorrect like a teddy bear, a velvet heart between its paws. Stitched white letters read:

Go get ‘em, tiger!

You chuckle lightly, repositioning yourself so your chin hooks over his shoulder. “Cheesy, I know. I was going to give this to you the day of the showcase, but I think you could use it right about now.”

Gingerly, Soonyoung lifts his hands together, and you place the plush in his awaiting palms.

His voice is slow to restart, but he manages to say, “Thank you.”

Hands now free, you wrap yourself around his waist again. “Anything for you.”

Such a simple sentence, that, and yet the confession sends blood to Soonyoung’s ears in the form of an awfully embarrassing blush. He runs his thumbs over the fuzzy fabric of the tiger plush.

“Soonyoung?”

“Hm?”

You press your lips to the crook of his shoulder, voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. “I won’t force you to stop practicing. I know this is important to you.” Soonyoung feels your breath fan over his skin. “But I also want you to rest — you shouldn’t overwork yourself.”

One of your hands rises to his chin, guiding it up so he looks forward at the studio mirror and meets your gaze in the reflection.

“Whaddya say we do, hm?” You tilt your head, and Soonyoung thinks his pupils may be heart-shaped. “Do you want to practice more? Or can I take you home?”

“Just...” He swallows what’s left in his dry mouth. “Just once more.”

You smile. “Okay.”

As you get up, you run your hands up to Soonyoung’s shoulder and down to his hand, where you playfully pretend to pull him up with you. He laughs, hiding his face behind the tiger plush for a second before he stands, tugging your hands as he does so you fall into him when he rights himself. Both your hands are squeezed between him and you, while his unoccupied arm finds its way to your side.

Another smile tugs at your lips at the proximity. You shift your hands up so they wrap over his shoulders, linking behind his head. Leaning closer, your eyes gleam under the fluorescent lights. To the sound of silence, you sway together, waltzing in the dead of night.

“I’ll be outside, okay?”

Soonyoung’s expression tightens, eyebrows shifting in confusion. “Why?”

“Well,” you say. “I know how you feel about audiences during practice.”

Something about your smile right now makes Soonyoung feel so undeniably safe. You understand him. Never once have you questioned him over why he doesn’t invite you to practices, never once did you pressure him to change that.

“Do you know how I feel about you?”

“Hmm, do I?”

Do you?

“Stay.”

And you do.

•

Here’s the thing about dance showcases:

They’re big, they’re flashy, they take the entire year to plan, and they’re over in one night.

Soonyoung stands in the wings, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, hopefully not loud enough for anyone to hear. He watches as the group performing before his solo finishes up their dance, though he knows there is at least a minute before he’ll have to go on.

A tap on his shoulder makes him turn his head, and he sees Sehee’s smiling face.

“Nervous?” she asks, her voice hidden beneath the music.

She’s all dolled up, dressed in her costume with a sleek leather jacket to bring everything together. Her eyes glimmer just as much as her eyelids.

“You have no idea,” Soonyoung jokes, but his heart isn’t really in it.

Sehee tilts her head; blinks a few times. “You’ll do amazing. You always do.”

For what it’s worth, Soonyoung hasn’t forgotten his attraction. Sehee’s words soothe him to some extent, pump him up, even. It’s slightly terrifying — how much she still affects him even now.

You’re in the audience tonight, third row from the front, somewhere in the middle. Your seat is between Seungkwan’s and Jihoon’s, whereas all the other boys came (almost) too late and had to find seats elsewhere.

The music ends, applause erupts, and Soonyoung knows it’s his turn. He waits for the group to exit on the opposite side, and when the resounding claps quiet down, he takes the first step onstage.

Something Soonyoung has almost always known: stage lights are blinding. If they’re set up right, anyone onstage will have a damn hard time seeing anyone in the audience. He can’t see you — couldn’t during his previous performance with the crew, either. The only reason he knows you’re there is the million assuring texts you sent him before you had to turn off your phone for the show.

But he knows you’re there. He knows you’re watching.

Soonyoung stands with his left foot on the spike mark, right where he’s practiced time and time again ever since they transitioned into the space. Music floods his veins, and the world is gone.

He wouldn’t call it an escape. Soonyoung doesn’t use dance to get away, it’s not like that. This world he creates with dance — this other space where nothing exists except him and the music and the floor and the feeling — he chooses to go there. Euphoria, he thinks it might be called. Euphoric.

The space takes him. He lets it.

And then it’s over.

Soonyoung’s breath leaves him in bursts, his shoulders heaving despite how hard he fights to keep them still in his final pose. His back faces the audience, his right arm stretched out and up, fingers curling around nothing. Stars dance before his eyes — which he fails to catch with his outstretched hand.

He thinks he can faintly hear applause, but it’s nothing compared to the heart beating in his chest. Your voice plays in his ears, yet he knows it’s simply his imagination — his recollection.

I like your dance, you’d said that night. I’m no expert, no judge, but I like it. I love it, honestly. Your dancing... I don’t know. I wish I had the words. It’s like... a little box.

A little box?

You’ve got a little box in your hand. Brown, maybe the size of your palm. You open it and there’s no bottom, no sides, no shape, just an expanse of universe in blues and pinks and purples and whatever colours we don’t know exist. You look inside and reach your hand in, somehow fitting in the tiny yet infinite space. Your fingers brush through starlight like strands of silk, like the rays are minnows you’ve met during a summer dip. Like that. A little box.

I thought you said you didn’t have the words?

I don’t. Not enough.

Soonyoung vaguely registers the lights going black, the way his feet drift him offstage, the music of the seniors’ finale.

At some point, the lights are back on. Not the stage lights, but the harsh fluorescents once the audience has fully filtered out into the lobby. Most of them will leave, but the family and friends of performers are sure to stay, waiting there to congratulate and fawn over the dancers as soon as they’re let go for the night. Somewhere in his mind, Soonyoung knows his friends are outside waiting for him — him, Jun, Minghao, and Chan.

Roses are passed around. He’s never seen a blue rose before, but some dancers walk around with them as they change out of costume and gather their things. He points out a yellow rose from the bunch presented to him, but it turns out to be a bouquet for him specifically, and he takes the whole thing with his jaw slightly hanging. Everything’s a bit... slow. Soonyoung feels like he’s wading through water.

He hasn’t changed yet, simply standing in his costume as he watches people go back and forth. Other performers move from dressing room to dressing room, cleaning up what they have to while simultaneously patting each other’s backs. Techs go around making sure everything’s in order, nothing lost or forgotten. They put away the MC’s microphones and bother the dancers for not taking proper care of props even though it’s only been one night.

Another tap on his shoulder; it’s Sehee again.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks.

He follows her to a corner of the stage, where the curtains hang and hide the two — for the most part.

She turns almost too abruptly, causing Soonyoung to stumble over his own two feet to avoid bumping into her.

“This is really hard for me to say,” she starts. “But I have to get it out.”

Soonyoung nods, maybe saying something close to a confirmation, but he can’t really tell. He’s a little lightheaded. Sehee has changed out of her leather, instead now in a pair of grey sweatpants and a simple t-shirt. That’s the thing about Sehee, though, she has that unnamed sort of... effortless beauty. Even with her stage makeup wiped off, she glows.

“This might be one of the last times I ever work with you, you know? Next year, my parents are making me quit dancing so I can focus on my major. It sucks, yeah, but they’re right. I need to focus if I want to succeed. You know that too, don’t you? The need to succeed?” She takes a breath; laughs bitterly. “Sorry, I’m getting off track... I just — I wanted to tell you this because if I don’t tonight, I might never get the chance again.”

Maybe Soonyoung has dreamed of this moment. He can’t be sure, not yet, so he lets her continue.

“I like you, Soonyoung. I have for a while. But things happened, and you got together with...” her voice trails off. “And you seemed happy, after a while. I thought maybe I could just keep it hidden but, I don’t know, I think I need to tell you, to get closure because I'm not sure if I can go on without at least—”

Choices. Soonyoung — and everyone else in the world — has only made it through life with decisions. He’s made good ones. Bad ones. He’s had regrets and he’s had none. This, though, this choice is intensely apparent.

Apparent in the way he knows it will affect much more than he wishes.

He kisses her.

God, this is what he wanted, right? What he’s wanted for so long. He used to toss and turn at night over the thought of Sehee’s eyes; her smile; her lips.

And on his, they were heaven. Plump and soft just like the romance novels say, moving at the exact pace of his heartbeat.

The hand holding his bouquet drops to his side as the other goes to cup Sehee’s cheek. Faintly, the sound of paper fluttering to the ground reaches his ears, but nothing can distract him from this moment.

Until, of course, it ends.

Sehee pulls away. “We can’t— I don’t—”

Someone clears their throat.

Soonyoung turns, finding Minghao standing just off from the curtains, arms crossed and face contorted in thinly-veiled anger.

And you.

You’re standing next to Minghao, obviously shocked — over being seen or what you’ve seen, Soonyoung doesn’t know. Hands fisted and held close to your chest, your eyes widen as they meet Soonyoung’s.

It’s not so dramatic as the movies.

Soonyoung stares at you, tongue unmoving with nothing to say. You stare back, almost frozen, until Minghao gently takes you by your shoulders, forcing you to turn and leave the way you must’ve come. Nothing happens in the time it takes. Soonyoung simply watches.

He’s never been good at reading lips, but he thinks he knows exactly what Minghao whispers in your ear.

There’s something you should know.

Sehee mutters, “Sorry,” and leaves. She looks guilt-ridden as she does, but even in his half-frozen state, Soonyoung knows all of this is on him.

He stands alone in that corner of the stage, the only noise being the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of the last stragglers in the dressing rooms. His hands clench, and the brown paper of the bouquet crumples. He looks at it then, at the yellow roses and baby’s breath, at the beige note that’s fallen to the floor.

Slowly, he crouches, picking up the note with his thumb and forefinger.

Congratulations Soonyoung!! I know how hard you’ve worked for this night, which is why I ordered these to be delivered. Joshua told me yellow roses represent happiness, or something. Pretty, right? You deserve every happiness, so I decided to start with flowers. Tonight may be over, but who knows, maybe we’ll find happiness in tomorrow, too.

It’s stupid. It’s not a love letter. It’s laced with love, though, and he hates that he recognizes your handwriting.

Time moves heavily as Soonyoung turns to the backstage door. He’s the only one left now, his station in the second boy’s dressing room is messy, unlike everyone else’s. His reflection stares back at him while he sits in front of the mirror, motions halved in speed as he wipes off his eye makeup.

It’s over.

When was the last time he thought about how it would end?

He changes out of costume, arms growing stiff, and stuffs everything in his bag without much care for how. His regular clothes itch; he longs to scratch at his skin, but he doesn’t.

He leaves your bouquet on the counter.

His friends stand in a circle in the lobby, brows furrowed and voices hushed as they discuss... something. Soonyoung has a bad feeling he knows exactly the topic. Minghao isn’t there. Nor are you.

Jihoon isn’t around, either, but Soonyoung remembers he had to leave immediately after the performance. Something about an essay. It doesn’t really matter now, not compared to this.

When he approaches his friends, they quiet down further. Half of them look his way with a frown, while the other half choose to avert their eyes. What do they know?

Seungkwan stands out the most. His arms are crossed, his lips are pressed together in a thin line, and anger radiates from his very being. Of course he’s mad. You’re his friend.

The silence consumes Soonyoung as he nearly shrivels under his friends’ gazes. He must have taken his time, the lobby is empty except for them.

“Where’s Minghao?” he asks.

Seungkwan lurches forward, but both Seungcheol and Wonwoo bring up their arms to hold him back. 

“Where’s Minghao? Where’s Minghao?” he seethes. He jabs an accusatory finger in Soonyoung’s face. “You just kissed some girl and broke my best friend’s heart and you’re asking about Minghao?!”

So they don’t know. Not really.

Soonyoung endures the scolding. The looks. The questions. The noise.

No answers are really given.

The great thing about having best friends is that they know not to pamper you when you’ve done wrong. That’s also the worst thing about having best friends.

Seungkwan would go on and on, surely, but soon enough the boys notice how little Soonyoung is reacting — how his face and expression is slack and dull.

Joshua holds up a finger to quiet down the ones still complaining, then gestures towards the front entrance.

“Minghao left with her a while ago.” The look on his face is one of pity. Soonyoung hates it.

He nods; stuffs his hands in his pockets as he turns to the door.

“Wait! I’m not done—!” Seungkwan struggles against Wonwoo and Seungcheol, but he’s no match.

Soonyoung doesn’t stick around long enough to hear what happens next.

He has no sense of what to do when he walks out that door. Go home, maybe.

The night breeze hits him with more force than it should, making his eyes go dry and his lips tremble. Outside, everything is almost too loud. There’s traffic on all sides, surrounding the lot of the theatre; the sound of humming engines and honking horns assaults his senses.

He walks — though it feels like wandering — to the parking lot, where he plans to look around for a bus stop.

You’re there.

A mirage, he thinks at first, but you’re really there, sitting on one of those concrete barriers, legs outstretched and ankles crossed. You have your head lowered as you sit, hands braced on the cold concrete.

His held breath escapes him, and you look up.

“You’re here,” you say. The smile on your lips, ever so slight and ever so bitter, causes a ringing in his ears. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“I...”

“It’s a lie, right?” Your eyes glisten, but no tears fall. “You wouldn’t— I’m not— I’m not that naive, am I?”

Soonyoung’s lips part, but nothing moves past them. His hands itch to leave his pockets, but with nothing to reach for, they stay still.

“...I see.”

You drop your head again, bringing your hands together to fiddle with your fingernails. He hears your breath, shaky as it is, and his lungs constrict.

“God, it felt so real. I thought— I guess I don’t know what I thought, huh?” A shiver runs through you. “Was any of it real?” you ask the ground.

Soonyoung longs to answer. That’s the thing, though.

He doesn’t know.

Can any of it be real?

You laugh. Before, your laugh was spring strawberries; summer warblers; winter snowdrops. Now, your dry laughter echoes in Soonyoung’s mind like a pebble in a failed attempt of skipping stones.

“Guess not.”

You hop off the concrete barrier, wiping off your pants of dust and dirt. Still, you don’t meet his eyes.

Soonyoung’s heart beats in a way he knows isn’t natural. Guilt seeps through every orifice. “You’re not... you’re not yelling at me. You’re not crying — you’re not angry,” he stumbles through. “Why?”

It’s then that when you meet his eyes, he notices the dried tracks lining your cheeks. You have been crying, just in the time it took for him to come across you.

“I’m just disappointed in myself, Soonyoung,” you say. “I’m the one who fell for it so easily. I’m the one that was tricked. I’m the one who—” a breath “—who loved someone that didn’t love me back.” You step closer, arms limp at your side. “Once I get home, sure, I’ll cry my eyes out. Is that what you want to hear? I’ll curse myself for being so... so stupid.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“No, it’s not. This is not my fault. All I did was believe the words you said to me. All I did was hand myself to you on a silver platter.” Unshed tears brim at your eyelids, but it seems you refuse to let them fall. “But you know the worst part, Soonyoung?”

Everything?

“The worst part is I can’t yell at you. I’m not angry because I fell in love with someone who doesn’t love me back and it hurts and I can’t bring myself to hate you despite being told you’ve never thought about me the way I think about you.”

A breathy gasp escapes you, and you turn on a dime, the sight of your back an icy reminder to Soonyoung of what he’s yet to learn. You take a deep breath to gather yourself, shoulders rising and falling.

“I’ll be going now. I’ve got a lot to think about.”

Soonyoung doesn’t move from his spot when you walk away, or when you get into Minghao’s car, which pulls away after a moment of sitting there in its parking spot. His feet are stuck in stiff mud, unable to shift, even.

Perhaps he stands there for too long. It’s not until he’s staring down the front of his apartment that he realizes one of his friends must have dropped him off.

•

He hasn’t heard from you in a few days. He hasn’t heard from anyone in just as long.

Jihoon already knew (not everything, but enough) by the time Soonyoung rolled out of bed the day after. He hasn’t said anything about it, but Soonyoung can tell this silence isn’t the same as usual. They rarely eat meals together anymore. Last movie night, Jihoon didn’t even pretend to be busy, instead saying he simply wasn’t in the mood.

Seungkwan hasn’t left your side ever since... that happened. If Soonyoung happens to see you on campus, which is almost never, he backs out of approaching you because of the sheer force that is Seungkwan’s glare. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to say even if he did find the courage to face you.

Classes go by in blurs. Not quickly, like scenery past a car window, but so slow that once Soonyoung leaves, he remembers nothing but hours upon hours of staring at his empty notebook, even if the lecture was only fifty minutes long. Days are kind of like that too.

•

Sehee apologizes. She shouldn’t, but she does.

Soonyoung didn’t really hate what he did at first. He liked her, after all.

But when Sehee chokes on her own words, pleading to whoever will listen that she’s not that kind of girl, Soonyoung regrets kissing her more than he ever wanted to kiss her in the first place.

•

please let me explain

I’m sorry

it’s been a while, but still

I’m sorry

[🍥] Explain what?

[🍥] ...

[🍥] Soonyoung?

sorry I just

I wasn’t expecting you to answer

[🍥] Maybe I shouldn’t have

no

wait

I’m sorry

[🍥] So I’ve heard

I just want you to know why what happened, happened

[🍥] But I already know why

it’s not that simple

[🍥] You lied because you suck at lying. Because you knew Sehee was there that night and panicked. I was just collateral damage

[🍥] ...

[🍥] No answer, huh?

[🍥] So it really is that simple

please wait

I’m just trying to figure myself out

[🍥] Let me help you

[🍥] You want my forgiveness because you feel guilty. Maybe you don’t know it yet, but you want me to say I forgive you just so you won’t have to carry this around for the rest of your life

[🍥] I know this isn’t some romcom. I know you’re not here to get me back

[🍥] So just let it go

[🍥] Let’s just forget about this. About what happened

what if I can’t

[🍥] I don’t know

[🍥] Figure it out, I guess

[🍥] But do it on your own

•

Soonyoung doesn’t measure his time anymore.

He wakes up. He eats. He goes to class. He skips lunch. He goes home. He eats. He falls asleep.

When was the last time he went out with someone? When was the last time he had a real conversation?

He doesn’t know.

•

[Minghao] You should tell everyone else

why

[Minghao] Would you rather they think you’re a cheater or just an idiot?

I don’t know

[Minghao] I think they deserve an explanation

[Minghao] Want me to do it for you?

does it even matter anymore

[Minghao] It’s your choice

[Minghao] You just have to make it

then tell them

I don’t care

[Minghao] Are you sure?

tell them

•

These days, Soonyoung stays late at the studio. No one really practices there anymore, not since the showcase finished and finals have rolled around. Actually, Soonyoung should be studying too, but he can’t find the motivation. He thinks it might be the guilt.

You were right. He doesn’t want to carry this around.

The thing is, despite spending entire evenings in the studio, he can’t remember anything as he walks home. It must be hours spent in there, and yet, when he walks out, he can’t recall a thing. Like he was never there at all.

Where does the time go?

With his luck, the elevator is broken when he returns to the apartment building, so he has to take the stairs. Normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, but after hours of mindless, sloppy dancing, he’s much too tired. He fumbles with his keys when he tries to open the door, and he rests his forehead on the cool wood for a moment, sighing before he tries again.

The door creaks open. Though it’s late, the lights are still on, which Soonyoung frowns at when he realizes. Lately, Jihoon is never up when Soonyoung comes home. But there he is, sitting at the table right next to the kitchen with his eyes on his hands and his feet tucked under the chair.

Soonyoung freezes after shutting the door behind him, not wholly sure what to make of the scene before him.

After a moment of silence, Jihoon looks up from his fingers and meets Soonyoung’s gaze.

“Minghao called me today,” he says.

Soonyoung gulps, but doesn’t respond — doesn’t know how to.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first, you know.” His voice is slow, croaky; tired. “But it sort of makes sense, doesn’t it. I don’t know how I didn’t see it from the start.”

Slowly, Soonyoung slips off his shoes and steps further into the apartment. “So now you know. I’m really not in the mood for a lecture right now.”

“I just have a question.”

Soonyoung pauses, halfway through the apartment and only a few meters from his bedroom door. He turns to face Jihoon, sighing through his nose and digging his palm into his eye sockets. “Fine,” he concedes. “What?”

“If you never loved — never liked her, why are you acting like this now?”

“Acting like what?”

“Like a dead man walking.”

Soonyoung scoffs, a dry, empty sound as he looks away for a moment before meeting Jihoon’s gaze again. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks. “I lied to someone for months. I pretended to love someone I didn’t. I used her because of my own stupidity and pride, and then I used Sehee, too—” Pausing, he closes his eyes; takes a breath. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s guilt. I feel guilty for... for everything.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Excuse me?”

Jihoon rhythmically taps the pads of his fingers on the table. It’s not loud enough to be heard, but Soonyoung’s eyes train to the sight. “It’s only the guilt?”

“What else would it be?”

This time, it’s Jihoon who sighs. He looks at his hands again for a second. “Do me a favour,” he says without looking up.

“Look, I already—”

“Just do what I say.”

Soonyoung groans, but he knows he can’t argue with Jihoon and win — not now at least. He rubs his eyes, shoulders rising and falling as he takes in a deep breath. Mumbling under his breath, he says, “Fine.”

Jihoon stands from his chair, and in such stagnant silence, the sound of the legs squeaking on the floor is profound. He points to the middle of the apartment, the large bit of floor-space that’s too big to be considered part of the kitchen but too small to house any furniture.

“Stand right there.”

“...What?”

Without answering, Jihoon simply points at the floor again, and Soonyoung can only groan in defiance as he moves to stand in that spot. Grabbing a throw pillow from the couch, Jihoon steps a few feet away, facing Soonyoung with the pillow held in one hand at his side. He seems to consider something for a moment.

Soonyoung has never been unable to read Jihoon this much, so he asks, “What is this all about—”

Jihoon screams. Not a high-pitched screech, but a guttural battle cry, and Soonyoung’s eyes widen. Faster than he can comprehend, Jihoon runs towards him and tackles him to the ground. Soonyoung’s legs crumble as he falls, and he feels the throw pillow pressing onto his face.

This is it, he thinks. This is how he dies.

“Jihoon!” he cries, but his protest is muffled by the pillow. “What the fuck are you—!”

“You fucking idiot! You don’t know shit!”

“I know that!” Soonyoung thrashes to get the pillow off, but Jihoon is way stronger than he looks.

“You miss her you fucking buffoon! You’re all in your doom and gloom because you had a good thing going and had to go fuck it up!”

“I don’t!”

“Don’t try to argue with me, fucker, I know you better than anyone. Now scream!”

The pillows squishes further down, and while Soonyoung can still breathe, it’s far from comfortable. He continues to struggle even though he knows it’s useless.

“What?!”

“Scream into the pillow! You’re mad at yourself and you should be! Let it all out!”

“I—”

“Scream!”

And he does. He lets out a loud bellow that’s nothing but sound roaring from his lungs. He does it mostly to appease Jihoon — so that maybe he’ll finally get off.

But it feels good.

No, not good, really. It feels awful. Everything feels awful. Yet, something about screaming makes him want to do it again. He yells once more into the pillow, the sound muffled in the fabric and yet intensely remarkable. He screams and he screams and he screams until he can’t scream anymore and his voice is raw and there’s no more sound aside from the fractured gasps of his sobs. Tears soak into rough fabric, and he doesn’t even notice that Jihoon isn’t holding the pillow anymore — he’s pressing it to his face himself. His body shakes under Jihoon. Soonyoung feels pathetic, but he can’t stop.

He tries again to scream into the pillow, but his voice cracks and all he knows is to cry.

This is what it’s like.

Quietly, Jihoon maneuvers himself so he sits by Soonyoung’s head. He slowly lifts a corner of the pillow and peeks at Soonyoung’s red face. “So,” he whispers, voice soft and full of care. “What are you going to do now?”

Soonyoung wraps his arms around the pillow, hiding his face again.

“I don’t know,” he says. He’s never felt less sure of anything. “I don’t know.”

•

That night, Soonyoung cleans his room. He doesn’t reorganize or anything, just picks discarded clothes up off the ground and throws them in a hamper, spreads his blankets so his bed actually looks bed-like, and takes his overflowing garbage bin out to the door, where he’ll take it out tomorrow morning. As he stretches his arm between his bed and the wall, his fingers close around the sweater he’s trying to reach and... something else. When he brings his hand back up, a small tiger plush stares back at him.

Go get ‘em, tiger!

He stares at the words for a moment, sitting up on his bed and leaning his back against the wall. The plush feels frail in his hands, almost like the velvet heart held in the tiger’s paws could crumble at any moment. Maybe it will.

Soonyoung settles down above the covers that night, and the tiger sits on his other pillow.

The one that still smells like you.

•

He cries. (For the second time since you left.)

•

After everything that’s happened, one would think it would take a miracle to fix what’s been broken. Soonyoung thinks it will take more than that, but still; he’s no miracle worker. He thinks it will take magic to just see you again.

Turns out, it takes a coffee.

Jihoon forces Soonyoung to join him in visiting one of the campus cafes. He doesn’t think about it too much, just believes Jihoon’s trying to keep him alive with a little kick of caffeine. That thought is pushed away when Jihoon blocks him from sitting at the little table, pointing instead across the space to the student printing center.

You’re talking to a customer at the front counter, forearms rested on the white faux marble. A smile is on your lips as you say whatever it is you’re saying to the girl, and Soonyoung finds it almost impossible to tear his eyes away. But he does. He scans the rest of the building for a second. Seungkwan is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Minghao.

He turns to Jihoon, a question on the tip of his tongue.

“She told the bodyguards to back off,” Jihoon explains without needing to be asked. “It’s been a few days.” He nods his chin towards you. “Go on. Talk to her.”

Soonyoung shakes his head, gulping down the words he can’t yet think of. “I don’t... I’m not... ready.”

“If you back out now, you’re going to keep backing out until it’s too late.”

Jihoon’s eyes blaze with an unfitting determination for such a setting. He looks stupid, like some self-made, all-knowing relationship guru who likes the coke he’s gripping too much. Still, he’s right.

Soonyoung licks his dry lips and looks at you again. You’ve sat down, relaxed after having helped that customer and now conversing with one of the other students working there. He misses the way you looked when you were happy — when you were happy with him.

What will it take to see that again?

What will it take to hold you again?

His feet move before his doubts can stop him, and the scene feels awfully familiar. This time though, Soonyoung can’t help but feel like the bad guy.

You don’t notice him until he’s right in front of you, and he doesn’t know what hurts more: the immediate frown, or the fake smile you use to cover it up.

“Hi, what can I do for you today?”

If Soonyoung had to define heartache, he might use this moment. Feigning to forget rather than acknowledging the past... it’s effective, but it hurts.

“Can...” He hesitates and curses himself for it. “Can we talk?”

“About printing, yes. About anything else? I really would rather we didn’t,” you say under your breath. It’s hushed, and you don’t shy away when Soonyoung leans closer to hear. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

“But there’s something I need to say.”

“I don’t think I want to hear anymore apologies, Soonyoung.”

“It’s not that,” he argues.

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “It’s not an apology?”

“No— I mean, well, yes I want to apologize. I don’t think I’ll ever stop apologizing, but— but that’s not what I—”

“Soonyoung.”

He stops at your word, knowing that speaking will only get him further into trouble. Around you, his words keep failing. Instead, he meets your eyes, which under more inspection, seem hardened.

Have eyes ever looked so hardened when brimmed with tears?

“I don’t know if you know this, but seeing you makes me hate myself.” By now, your coworker has walked to the back, probably to respect your privacy. Your voice almost cracks. “I’ve felt worthless before, but Soonyoung, do you even realize what that — what you did to me?”

He barely breathes before saying, “What if I... what if I said I fell in love with you? Somewhere along the way?” A pause. Your eyes waver, but steady themselves. “What if I said I love you?”

“Soonyoung,” you say after a second.

“Yes?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

•

[🍥] Give me a reason to give you a chance

this is real right?

[🍥] It’s not a dream if that’s what you’re asking

all of a sudden??

[🍥] Minghao and Jihoon said I should

[🍥] And I think I should too

[🍥] But it’s hard

[🍥] What you said yesterday... I don’t know if I can believe it just yet

will you meet me?

I want to see you

[🍥] Can you give me some time?

yes

all the time you need

but will you?

will you meet me?

[🍥] I don’t want to

[🍥] But then again, I do

[🍥] Just give me some time

•

A strange thing, time. It passes by much too quickly when you want it to last, and it drags on when all you want is to be there. There; right then; right now.

Soonyoung stays up late turning on and off his phone, waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.

It’s only been two days.

Jihoon thinks he’s crazy, though he hasn’t said it out loud — Soonyoung can tell.

He also thinks he might be a little crazy, but that’s okay. If it means he’ll get the chance to make it up to you... maybe he’s fine with being crazy.

At some point, Jihoon barges into his room and takes away Soonyoung’s phone, snatching it straight out of his hands like the little thief he is. He keeps it out of reach despite being shorter, preaching bullshit like, “You need to calm down and act like a normal person!”

Fine, whatever.

Soonyoung goes out for some air. And instant ramen.

There’s a twenty-four hour convenience store right on the edge of campus, manned by a single tired university student that everyone is aware of, yet no one really seems to know his name. It’s one of those spots where time doesn’t exist; maybe names don’t, either.

Compared to the blackness of night, the blanch white convenience store sticks out like a sore thumb, especially with all the bright posters and fluorescent tube-lights. Soonyoung feels just as out of place with no people around just outside the store, but really, it’s to be expected at a time like two in the morning.

He’s right at the door when it chimes and slides open. And so are you.

Both of you freeze where you are, you in the doorway and he just in front. His jaw slacks slightly as he takes you in.

You’re in casual clothes again, a thick sweater and presumably pyjama pants. This version of you comes with good memories — for some reason he likes it more than he cares to admit. Maybe he liked that you could share a more vulnerable side to him, and he to you in return. Although, you’ve shown this side to even the unnamed convenience store guy.

It’s your voice that breaks him from his reverie.

“Soonyoung,” you say, and it’s softer than before. Maybe your voice is lighter from the fact that it’s two in the morning, maybe just because you’re tired, but a small part of Soonyoung wishes that it’s something else — that you sound softer because you’ve missed him too.

He hopes it isn’t just hope.

He says your name, the sound beautiful and battered on his tongue. A small smile passes your lips, so fast that he almost misses it, but he doesn’t. That’s one thing he knows about you: how much you care. Even if someone hurts you, you always take the time to hear them out. You give them chances. Soonyoung should thank his lucky stars that you’ve done the same for him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

You smile again, and it reaches your eyes, however sad.

“Is it time?” he asks.

“It can be.” The plastic bag in your hand crinkles as you sway it back and forth. “Do you want it to be?”

“Yeah.” His voice comes out like a breath. “Please.”

“Then that’s what we’ll make it.”

You gesture to the ground, where the curb meets the asphalt, but Soonyoung is still a little shocked that he’s even met you here in the first place, so he watches, dazed, as you sit down on the curb before joining in. He stays silent as you pull out an ice cream cup and hand it to him. He stays silent as you procure a second one and peel open the plastic lid, digging into it with the wooden stick spoon-wannabe that comes with the package. He stays silent as you look at him, the wooden stick hanging from your mouth.

“So,” you say, scraping the side of the paper cup. Meeting his eyes, you sport a sly smile. “I hear you’re in love with me.”

The ice cream stays unopened in his hands. He finds it so easy to smile back.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“You think you are?”

“I’ve never loved someone like this before,” he tries to explain, though the words are slow to his tongue. “I can only think.”

“I guess so.”

“But—” he looks at his fingers, fiddling with the plastic lid of the cup, and a small laugh escapes “—I’m thinking really, really hard.”

You laugh too; his heart blooms.

“Is that so?” you tease, smiling around the wooden spoon. “It’s gonna take more than that.”

“I think I can do it.”

“You think?”

“I think really hard.”

Soonyoung might be in love with every part of you, even if he never realized. Your laugh, your smile, your tells, your habits. He wishes he knew sooner, that this laugh could’ve been his forever long before now.

You scrape the last drops of ice cream out of the paper cup and leave the stick in your mouth, a bit chewed up. Your shoes tap against the asphalt, the rhythm something that draws both his and your eyes.

“You know...” you say, turning your head to meet his gaze once more. “You know you hurt me, right? You know this won’t be easy?”

“None of what we had was easy.”

A scoff runs past your lips. You bump your shoulder against his. “Speak for yourself. I fell hard and fast for you, asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.” You take the still unopened ice cream from his hands and stuff it right back in the bag it came from. “Say it again, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm... maybe it’ll take a few more times.”

“I’m—”

“But not tonight,” you say. “Tonight...”

Your hand beside him closes the distance, grazing over his and pulling it over to your lap.

“...just hold me?”

And he does.

Bonus (gn) epilogue: Fluff and Context Bonus (gn) blurbs: [a fate of my choosing][pick a struggle]

[copperbadge]

lightwit

I love your mindfulness posts. I personally hate the concept of mindfulness with a passion because to me that's just normal being human and using your effing brain properly, but as an educator I have had to accept the fact that manymany people do not in fact have much self awareness and actually do benefit from this mumbojumbo. So, I am so glad I am not the only one struggling out here. 😜

I hope it's okay if I pop this into its own post because it actually gets at something I'm contending with. So, in order to get my research lined up and my thoughts in a row for therapy I turned all this research into a powerpoint called "Doing A Stupid Powerpoint For My Stupid Mental Health". And one of the slides in it is titled "Mindfulness: Petition To Rename It".

Mindfulness, as a term, is uselessly broad; it's such a bad way to identify a category of treatment/behavior that there appears to be an entire subgenre of scientific papers that work to create a framework of what Mindfulness actually is -- I read at least three papers, all published in the last ten years, that are like "What is Mindfulness in a useful sense?" and all of them had different answers. And because Mindfulness is now a buzzword, if you're researching it then you're likely to run into everything from scholarly articles to pop journalism to clickbait, to both harmless and genuinely dangerous peddlers of quack science. And sometimes the quack scientists are also publishing scholarly articles where they've just been p-hacking.

So I'm inclined to agree that mindfulness is mostly nonsense, but that's a problem with the term, not what falls underneath it. There are therapeutic modes that call themselves mindfulness that actually are rooted in real science. I think these should probably have a new name, like Therapeutic Awareness or something, but it'd just get co-opted back into the woo, I have a feeling.

So there's a lot of nonsense, but the goal of being present in the moment and self-aware isn't an idle one; there's an increasing body of knowledge suggesting that it's a foundational skill for emotional regulation and healthy coping. The scholarship goes way beyond "mindfulness arises from Buddhist practice" which if I have to read one more time I'm gonna throw stuff. Clinical testing is looking at things like physiological responses to mindfulness behaviors that have nothing to do with what's going on in your conscious mind. There's some woo surrounding "Coherent Breathing" and I don't trust the foremost proponent of it as far as I can throw him, but he didn't invent it, and testing shows that people trained in and practicing Coherent Breathing have better focus and can, to an extent, lower the level of stress hormone in their body. "Positive affect" (happy emotions) didn't rise, but "Negative affect" (sadness, anger, stress etc) was lowered.

A lot of what's being studied on a clinical level involves us as humans somehow activating shit in our nervous system that we have no conscious control over, the same way we develop muscle memory by doing a task repeatedly. That has measurable value for the issues I'm trying to solve, but it's not universally applicable, which is another reason so much of mindfulness comes across as junk science, because it tries to tell us that it's a cure-all when it isn't.

But there's reason to believe that if you can reroute your nervous system when you're starting to become upset, you can short-circuit maladaptive reactions and prevent it from causing a spiral or an over-reaction or similar, and some practices called mindfulness can train for that. And that's my goal, so I'm willing to rummage in the garbage for the gold.

[headspace-hotel]

a friend of mine said that the environment would be better if everyone lived in cities and basically left the rest of the natural world alone... i felt like there was something wrong with that argument but i really dont know enough about it to have a real point against it. i might be biased though cause i love being around nature and want to be able to live rural without killing the environment? idk im just wondering if she's right and how to live in a way that isnt negatively impacting the world

love your blog btw, it's been the thing that's helped me understand ecology for once

the idea that humans Are Bad for the ecosystem—not that particular activities or practices have particular negative effects, that just humans existing harms the environment—is in fact the worst idea ever

I mean, first of all, where does your friend think food comes from?

"Food" is one of the problems. It's one of a lot of problems. Some other problems include "all other natural resources besides food" and "human rights."

It's not just your friend, this kind of thing has been suggested in varying ways by self identified "leftists" a bunch of times, and I genuinely hope they're mostly random laypeople who can't really be expected to know more than they can learn from being terminally addicted to Twitter, because otherwise I will call them "dumber than a sack of hammers" in those exact words.

No offense to your friend. Your friend is a laypeople. And sadly, non-experts end up with ass-backwards ideas about how conserving the environment works, because of all this commonplace nonsense about humans being a cancer upon the planet. I'm not angry about those people, just sad.

But my serious answer is—The world's most intact and best managed ecosystems are found on land owned and managed by Indigenous people, who do what with the land?

LIVE ON IT.

And these groups of people learned to manage and care for the land how?

BY LIVING ON IT.

Conventional (white, Western) intuition holds that human management of an ecosystem should reduce biodiversity, but what science shows—I mean what study and observation and data and more study and more observation and more data shows—is that indigenous land management practices can do better than Nature can on her own.

I mean, for one thing, if you don't live in a place, you don't observe it every day. You don't see how the ecosystem and its inhabitants change over time. You can't learn about it, and therefore you don't know about it.

Disconnection from nature is ignorance about nature and ultimately apathy towards nature, and that's the worst and most disrespectful thing we can do.

And like I hope it's clear that even in the imaginary scenario where everyone lives in a city, even if this was possible (it's not), the city dwellers who are separate from nature are living a silly little lie. You're part of the ecosystem. Don't like it? Go become a rock in space.

The electrical signals moving through your brain right now are rays of sunlight that were soaked up by a plant that grew in dirt. Do you know fruit? Do you enjoy fruit? I enjoy fruit, I'm drinking a smoothie right now! That fruit y'all love so much was pollinated by a bug.

A bug did that for you! Because you're family! Because you're part of this world, because you belong to this intricate and ancient community of living things that need each other, that were shaped by evolution to need each other, and nature cannot abandon you.

But more on the cynical side of things, even if you don't know where the hell a berry grows or how, someone has to grow and harvest and ship that berry to you, someone who has to live somewhere, and you should care who is doing it and how they're being treated and paid, and ultimately you should want for them the same things you want for you.

Urban life is just rural life with extra steps my friend.

Like, @ all the "put everybody in cities" crowd, what is the plan here? Fancy ass indoor aquaponics systems notwithstanding, we're not technologically at a point where we can just, like, build giant multi-story factory buildings where we grow food under special lamps, and even being at that point wouldn't make it a good idea. With all the hype about solar power, you'd think people would look at plants (have been using solar power just fine for like a billion years) and think, "Neat how those things can just make food when you stick 'em in the sunshine."

I'm sorry, I'm never going to be psyched about technological innovations that are like "We took a plant and put it inside."

There is so much I could say here. The brainrot in the wake of "cottagecore" discourse where a bunch of well meaning white people got convinced that farming was racist. The idea that rural people are somehow more complicit in colonialism than urban people, and that rural land is, I don't know, landier than urban land, and the correct and moral thing to do if you live on stolen land is to....what? Live on land that has a protective layer of concrete in between it and your racist feet?

Land ownership is a whole fucked up beast, but you're not cultivating a non-exploitative relationship with land by living in a city. There's just extra steps in between you and the land.

"Homesteading" as seen on cottagecore boards on Pinterest has a lot of white supremacist wet dream mixed in, but listen: It is not only okay, but GOOD, to want to live in close relationship with the land, with the food you eat, with the trees and plants that fill your lungs when you inhale. It's IMPORTANT. It's VITAL.

What has to change is that this relationship can't be based on ownership and dominance. Ecosystem is community and that ain't it.

My ancestors were colonizers, the land I live on right now was violently stolen, the ecosystem that once was very carefully managed so that it flourished with life was ravaged, and I don't even know the names of most of the life-forms that ought to be here. What now?

You belong to the ecosystem that takes care of you. You can't wash your hands of this and run away.

I feel like I'm getting off topic, but it's very much on topic actually. What I hope for the future is that we would stop entertaining the silly little lies that imagine we can just...opt out of participation in something that is underneath our every footstep and in our every breath. It would make us feel pure, but it wouldn't be real.

I do think that forcing people off the land that is their home is bad, in general. I don't think those people have to be indigenous for this to be bad—and successfully claiming otherwise is a bit of conundrum, since as far as I know, the political and social phenomenon of indigenous identity has a lot to do with the being forced off your land thing.

Obviously people like me don't have the same deeply central cultural relationship to the land, but the "we should all just go live in cities and leave nature to itself" proposal implies that such relationships are unnecessary or even bad.

I've said this before but I find it weird when environmentalists accommodate indigenous ways of life in their visions of the ideal future as like...a special exception granted because it's like, the nice thing to do for a historically marginalized and violently oppressed group. Not because there is value or merit in those ways of life. Like "Oh I guess indigenous people should be allowed to hunt because it's part of their culture" ????? And it's part of their culture because...why?

Maybe because it's a sustainable way of doing things and has been for millennia???

Like don't listen to me, look at the research, indigenous folks participating in ecosystems and managing them worldwide know what they're doing and the rest of the world should be looking to them as examples. Key word here is participating, because you can't competently manage an ecosystem with your head all the way up your ass with the idea that you're somehow not part of it.

Humans aren't a cancer upon the planet. It's capitalism and colonialism. It's the practice of seeing the world as a disposable resource to be exploited.

Humans lived in the place I called home for 15,000 years. Within the past 200 years, almost every forest was razed to the ground, and almost every large animal extirpated or damn near to it.

"Humans" did that! These humans are so terrible!

But I have to remember.

There are descriptions of this place from before that, and they describe a lush, teeming heaven-like paradise that the adjectives provided by English trembled to capture, so perfect and bountiful that the observers assumed this land was never tainted by Adam's sin.

Humans did that, too.

[dandylovesturtles]

just a little write-up for one of my sillier AUs that I have in my head because I was thinking about it and just wanted to chat about it. this is all meant for spooky funsies so don't take anything too seriously here.

I do plan to write one of my Bad Things Happen Bingo entries set in this AU (no idea when I'll actually get around to it, but anyway) and maybe some other things in this AU if I feel like it. It just floats around in my head sometimes.

this is very very vaguely inspired by the old show So Weird, or more specifically the hazy memories of So Weird that I have from when I watched it as a child lol

ROTTMNT Paranormal Investigator AU!

Timeline:

instead of being a martial arts clan, the Hamato clan is a clan of psychics, people who have a mystical connection to the paranormal and supernatural, able to see things other humans cannot. their task is to keep the balance between our world and the world of the supernatural, and to protect humanity from particularly malicious spirits, demons, and cryptids

after losing his mother to the fight against a demon, Hamato Yoshi decides to leave the clan and eventually becomes a famous movie star

unfortunately with no one around to keep balance, the forces of the paranormal start to encroach on the mortal world more and more, wreaking havoc

the boys are still mutant turtles and Yoshi still ends up a rat. how? idk. honestly it's not important. it's a thing that is mostly lampshaded in this AU lol I just still wanted them to be turtles. I think Draxum is still here and he still wanted to make warriors using the Lou Jitsu DNA but the whole thing went astray and now he's just like their weird uncle they call sometimes when they have a problem

as they get older, various dangerous paranormal events convince Yoshi that he needs to begin training his sons in their clan's ancient arts and honing their psychic abilities, so that they can begin to restore balance in the world

uuuunfortunately he's super rusty and the kids are still learning so they have to do a lot of investigating of rumors and tips that get sent to them. this means a lot of legwork and a loooot of nothing. like 95% of what the boys deal with are misunderstandings, hoaxes, and rich assholes taking advantage of local legends for nefarious schemes

the other 5% though... those are the doozies

Yoshi has an apartment in New York that the kids grew up in but now they spend a lot of their time traveling the country in a big ass camper (van life)

also April is here

Leo

the skeptic

up until they ran into their first real paranormal occurrence, Leo was fully convinced that all this ghost stuff was nonsense and his dad was just trying to come up with some kind of publicity stunt since his acting career is behind him

after their first real paranormal occurrence, he believes it's real, but he's still super skeptical that most things they hear about are going to amount to anything

and 95% of the time he's right, which he always reminds his brothers of and this is very annoying to the rest of them

he still enjoys traveling around in the van though so he doesn't complain much

super good at scouting out clues and noticing things that the others don't...when they can get him to actually engage with what they're looking into

Leo is on the lower end in terms of psychic ability, but specifically his psychic powers have manifested as essentially a giant negation field. He can't be possessed, enthralled, hypnotized, or compelled, cryptids tend to shy away from him, he naturally rebuffs other supernatural creatures, etc.

this doesn't really help with trying to convince him that these things are real because they tend to run away from him

Donnie

fully believes that the paranormal is real but takes a highly scientific approach to it. he is going to crack the science behind ghosts and he's already got the spot in his room made for his resulting Nobel Prize. he's gonna be Donatello Hamato, Father of Ectobiology

builds them all kinds of ghost/demon/cryptid hunting gadgets, and is the one that handles all their equipment anywhere they go

reads books on ghosts and cryptozoology and then writes truly scathing reviews on good reads

is also the one who does upkeep on the van (it's only nice as it is because of Donnie)

claims to only care about evidence during a hunt but then has a tendency to get carried away when he thinks he's on the trail of something interesting

still, he can come around to a natural explanation like Leo if he sees enough evidence

he's also on the lower end in terms of psychic ability; what he does have gives him information. he's able to see the threads of how spirits connect to and interact with our world, able to tell at a glance when a footprint or dropping is not of natural origin (even if he's never seen it's kind before), able to sense when there may be some evidence the others can't see in the room. sometimes spirits are even compelled to beam knowledge directly to Donnie. also, demons or spirits trying to disguise their true faces doesn't work on him.

which actually freaks him out sometimes but he doesn't tell them that

the twins' psychic power also manifests in a lowkey Twin Sense in this AU; they can't literally read each other's thoughts, but they can feel when the other is having strong emotions or is in pain, and they'll just get a Bad Feeling if the other is in trouble of some kind

Raph

sits somewhere between Leo and Mikey/Donnie on the skepticism scale, but frankly he doesn't care if it's natural or supernatural as long as he can help

cryptids never like him and this bums him out. some of them are cute :c

on the flip side he seems to be a calming presence for certain spirits, especially childish ones

very scared of getting demon possessed, doesn't mention it

actually kind of loves when the solution turns out to be some kind of bad guy and then he gets to help hunt down and catch and unmask them, like some kind of super cool police detective

is the defacto leader because he's the oldest/biggest and no one else wanted the job anyway

drives the van when Yoshi doesn't want to (the others drive it sometimes too but Raph and April are the only ones with an actual license)

has a much higher psychic ability than the twins, able to sense when there is something supernatural in the area, able to talk to spirits, able to touch spirits and demons if they've crossed fully over into our world even if they are normally intangible. means he can punch a demon in the face if he wants to. he's able to do various rituals and exorcisms if needed as well, and can often banish spirits or demons if he knows what they are and how to best get rid of them. often does protection wards on his brothers when he thinks there's something dangerous around.

Mikey

a true believer, but doesn't think it's a puzzle that can be solved like Donnie does. there are things about the world and universe that are unexplainable, and he likes it that way

if the solution is something natural he's pretty much useless at helping though

"don't run off-" Mikey is already on the other side of the haunted house

is easily the most restless when cooped up in the van and prefers when they decide to camp at a campsite. loves sleeping outside.

Leo and Mikey are still close, but have a very highkey sibling rivalry over their differences of opinion with regards to the supernatural and what they're even doing

even still, Leo tries to stay close to Mikey to protect him (but Mikey often runs off so its a moot point)

unsurprisingly, Mikey is the strongest psychic of the bunch, and is in fact ridiculously strong. he can sense the presence of spirits, can communicate with them even if they haven't fully crossed over into our world, and can even do some minor mind reading and tell when people are being untruthful or compelled (he has to actively choose to do it though so his fam's privacy is safe. sometimes he gets visions of things that are about to happen. unfortunately he's also very vulnerable to possession and compulsion because of this, and cryptids are attracted to him, for good or ill. sometimes the things they cross are friendly or just looking for help, and Mikey is happy to do so! other times... not so much

April

she already believed in the supernatural before meeting the boys and meeting them just cemented her worldview for her

she loves ghost hunting/paranormal investigation for the thrill of it all

goes with the boys whenever she doesn't actively have to be in school; demands all the details when she can't be there

the one walking in yelling WHAT'S UP DEMONS, IT'S YA GIRL

along the way she picked up Mayhem and he's her pet now. he can teleport her to the boys if they need her help and she's still in New York

absolutely no psychic ability but she does have a bat

Yoshi

almost as powerful as Mikey, but retired

gives the boys lessons but otherwise usually stays in the van watching TV while they're actively investigating

only steps in if he thinks something terrible is about to happen

usually it's fine

[lustbile]

Something To Prove

JaeminxReader

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings/Summary: enemies to lovers, smut, mentions of drinking, vaguely dub con, fingering, oral (reader receiving), penetrative, degradation, public. And where Jaemin is kind immature dick, the reader is an emotional masochist, and together they’re both fucking morons, so I hope you enjoy. (Also sorry Jeno I used you for story development)

——————————————————————

Jaemin was a good boy. 

Jaemin was a very good boy. 

That’s why, as he rambled on about something, something blah blah momentum and force nonsense, you wanted to lean over and take a big bite right from his pretty long neck. 

It’s also why you kind of hated him if you thought about it for too long. 

~

~

Jaemin wasn’t someone you’d consider yourself very close with, actually, he wasn’t someone you ever really spoke to until very recently. He was a nice guy, a hard working student, and seemed to get along with everyone that spoke to him, but to you, he was more of just a guy you’d admire from afar. You knew enough about him to know that he just wasn’t someone you’d ever cross paths with if it wasn’t for your shared classes and mutual friends. 

But other than that, you never had any reason to dislike him. Not until your physics professor gave you a reason. 

—

“This is just how it is,” the older man had said, his face showing more age than he had actually lived from how many students he’d had to deal with, “the few homework assignments you do turn in, aren’t good,” he spoke honestly as he flips through the very few copies of your submitted work, “and your grade just keeps dropping by the day. So it’s either you find some initiative to bring up your grade, or I’m going to request you drop my class.”

“But it’s already past the drop period,” you argued, worry blooming across the features of your face, “if I drop it now, I fail immediately.”

“I mean this in the nicest way I can possibly say it,” he said with an exhausted sigh, “but that’s not really my problem. I do as much as I can as your professor, but I can’t force you to do your work.”

When he said this you wanted to cry. Well, no, you wanted to offer to suck his dick for a higher grade if you’re being totally honest with yourself, but the lovely picture that he kept on his desk of him, his wife, and baby daughter was enough to plague you with guilt for even considering that. 

“Well, then I can bring up my grade instead, right?” You asked hopefully, the look of skepticism that flashed on his face making you shrink, “that’s what you said,” you reminded, your hands moving rapidly in front of you as you tried to encourage him and yourself, “bring up my grade or drop the class. Bringing up my grade is an option.”

“The science department has a student-ran study center,” he told you with a sigh, standing from his desk to politely tell you the conversation was coming to an end, “they even have student tutors that can help you if you’re that determined to make this work.”

“Thank you, professor,” you spoke genuinely, moving to his office door with a weak smile on your face, “I swear I’ll figure this out.”

“Study center is just down the hall,” he informed you, “but,” he continued, stopping you in your tracks as you already had a foot out his door, “only go there if you’re serious about this. They’re students too, so you don’t need to be wasting their time.”

—

His words still sting even now as you sit next to Jaemin, your pen bouncing against the library table in impatience. It stung, but now as you sit zoned out staring at the way Jaemin’s Adam’s apple bounces as he speaks, you can kind of understand where he was coming from. 

You weren’t a horrible student, you just struggled to focus on classes that don’t actually interest you, and physics does not interest you in the slightest. Jaemin on the other hand, was a phenomenal student. There didn’t seem to be any subject he had any real issue with, but physics was his bread and butter. That’s why the sweet girl who assigned tutors sent you to him, but it’s also why you kind of wanted to rip his head off his nice, wide shoulders. 

You wouldn’t call Jaemin a nerd, not to his face at least, but he genuinely wasn’t what you’d think of when you pictured a text-book “nerd.” He didn’t struggle in social situations, he didn’t seem weird or creepy, and he was admittedly drop-dead gorgeous. He just really seemed to really love math and science, which would be a huge help to you, if you could just stop staring at his throat like a hungry animal. 

“And when you consider the angle in which…” he says as he turns to look at you, the dazed look being very evident on your face and making him trail off before he sternly says your name, “are you even listening to me right now?”

You jump at his sudden acknowledgment, the annoyed look on his face reminding you of the main issue you had with him. 

Jaemin kind of hated you. 

You would understand if he hated you for not paying attention, you could see how frustrating that would be, but he seemed to hate you before he even started tutoring you. The day you met, he was immediately distant and cold towards you, and you had seen plenty of instances of him being a very friendly guy. So, you were very confused, and you even tried to switch your tutor to avoid the tension and preserve the image of him you liked to fantasize about, but unfortunately, Jaemin was all they had. So the deeper you got into tutoring sessions with him, and the more you saw just how blatantly he did not like your presence, that’s where you started to zone out, choosing to at least appreciate the eye candy if you weren’t going to get anything academic out of the relationship. 

“Yeah totally,” you lie, leaning closer to look at the textbook as you clear your throat, “just trying to keep up.”

You laugh weakly as he keeps staring at you, his dark eyes and the way his thick eyebrows lower making you feel like he can read your mind. You shift uncomfortably under his glare, and when he simply rolls his eyes, you feel your own spark of annoyance bubble up in your chest. 

“How about we call it a day then, hm?” He offers, flashing a fake smile in your direction before he loudly slams the book in front of him closed, “you very clearly have more important things to worry about.”

“You know what, Jaemin,” you sigh, matching his sarcastically sweet tone, “I actually do.” 

You both immediately turn to your respective things, packing your bags and moving to leave the small private study room. He stands quickly before you, turning to look down at you as irritation radiates off his body. 

“Well, whatever it is,” he starts, putting his hands together in front of his chest to speak to you like a kindergarten teacher, “I can only assume it must be incredibly important considering you’re putting it above the class you’re miserably failing.”

“I’ll have you know,” you argue, making him stop in his walk towards the door, “my grade has gone up more than a few points these past few weeks,” you speak honestly this time, an amused laugh coming out as a huff from your nose, “which I can admit, is partially due to your help, but also because some of us, actually know how to balance school work and having a fucking life.”

“And what exactly was that supposed to suggest?” He asks, turning back to you with an offended twist in his features. 

“Oh come on,” you huff again, getting up and walking to stand next to him at the door, “you know exactly what I was suggesting.”

“Actually I don’t,” he shrugs, crossing his arms and tilting his head, “so why don’t you enlighten me?”

“You. Have. No. Life,” you speak slowly and childishly, smiling when you can tell your words bother him. 

“I have a life,” he scoffs, getting annoyed in a way that is a lot more enjoyable to you then it should be, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I don’t?” You start, looking up at the ceiling as if you’re deep in thought, “I have never seen you without your head buried in a book, and of all the parties I’ve been to, I’ve never seen you once,” your hand flitters in the air as you speak, and you continue, speaking over him as he tries to defend himself, “which arguably, could just mean we don’t go to the same parties, right? But that’s not the case, at least not according to Jeno.”

The mention of his friend’s name makes him stiffen, his lips curling in between his teeth as he shakes his head, “just because I don’t go to parties doesn’t mean I don’t have a life.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” you agree, nodding your head, “but the fact that the only place you go to aside from your dorm and your classes is the library…” you trail off, clicking your tongue in faux disappointment, before you turn to open the door. 

“Also,” you start to add as you step out of the room, “you might want to have a talk to Jeno about keeping some things to himself,” you nod gently, “I swear that boy is just an open book when you find the right questions to ask.”

——

Jaemin clearly doesn’t take your advice about talking to Jeno, or at least Jeno just didn’t care if he did. Because not even a full hour later, he was sending you a text to tell you how annoyed Jaemin was when he got back to their shared dorm. 

I’m surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of his ears, Jeno’s message read, the multiple laughing emojis he put on the end telling you he was probably rolling in unsympathetic laughter after Jaemin gave him a rundown of what happened. 

You didn’t want to enjoy the relayed information as much as you did, but there was just something about getting the last laugh with Jaemin that gave you a rush. So you grinned stupidly at your phone, the idea that you could plague Jaemin’s mind without having to be physically present making the device shake in your hand. 

The shaking stops when another text from Jeno pops up on your screen. 

Anyways, the message starts, now that you’re free of Jaemin’s wrath you should come out to the bar with us tonight. 

You don’t know exactly who the “us” in his message entails, Jeno’s list of friends being long and always interchangeable, but you agree regardless. The need to get wasted to celebrate getting on Jaemin’s nerves almost overwhelming. 

——

The bar is loud but familiar as you stumble in. Bodies of already drunk college students dance and writhe in front of you, and you reach to tug at the hem of your dress as your eyes dart around in search of a familiar face. 

The fading pink of Haechan’s hair is the first thing you see, and you let out a sigh of relief that gets lost amongst the heavy bass that shakes the floor. You start to stumble towards the beacon that is the boy’s head, and when you see Jeno sat next to him animatedly telling a story, you feel a soft smile pull at your lips. 

Your smile doesn’t prevail for long, as when you get within a few feet of the table they have claimed, you see that the person who sits on Jeno’s other side is none other than the boy who put the fire in your chest that you anticipated in smothering out with alcohol. 

You stop in shock for a moment, the sight of Jaemin sitting in the bar unfamiliar and admittedly, a bit weird. He doesn’t look extremely out of place, for one he doesn’t have his face within inches of an academic article, but you can see the tension that pushes at his shoulders. 

His hand is wrapped around a mostly filled drink, his lips strained slightly red to tell you that he’s taken at least a few sips, and he leans in with a furrow in his brow as he tries to hear Jeno’s voice over the music. 

You aren’t really aware of how blatantly you’re staring at him, analyzing the way he moves and interacts like he’s a wild animal outside of his usual environment, until his eyes flicker quickly towards you. He has to double take, not registering who you are at first glance, but when he returns your stare, you can tell he feels shy under your intense eyes. 

You can tell he clears his throat from the way his throat shifts, his head dropping slightly as he nudges a still rambling Jeno. Your legs seem to remember their function in that moment as you start approaching them again, a degree more hesitantly now, and you’re almost directly behind Jeno when he finally turns around. 

“Hey,” Jeno drawls, speaking your name as a smile fills his face, “I was wondering when the fuck you’d get here.” 

You can tell he’s already a few drinks in from the way the skin of his face flushes and how he wraps his arms loosely around the back of his chair. Without thinking, you reach to brush the few strands of hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes, and return his smile with a small laugh. 

“Well, I’m here,” you say, leaning back to playfully motion your hands up and down your body, “you can hold your applause.”

Your words earn a laugh from Haechan as he reaches to pinch at your elbow, but Jeno only scoffs. You almost forget Jaemin is even there as he sits there silently, but when Jeno turns towards him as quickly as his intoxicated brain will allow him, the boy straightens at the sudden acknowledgment. 

“We saved you a seat next to Jaem,” he nods, leaning his head back to wink at you not as discreetly as he had probably intended, “if you think you can hold back from ripping his head off for the night.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” you hollowly promise, leaning down to kiss his heated forehead before you step towards the empty seat, “for now at least.”

Jaemin shifts uncomfortably in his seat as you sit down, and you hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Instead you scoot your chair closer and lean towards him as Jeno starts to clue you in to the story he had already gotten halfway through. 

——

You, Haechan, and Jeno bounce the conversation around the three of you as the night goes on, Jaemin only adding grunts and nods of acknowledgment where he sought fit. He looks more comfortable than when you first arrived, and you can only imagine it’s due to his drink now being mostly finished at this point, but he seems to refuse to let his eyes linger on you for more than a few brief seconds every now and again. 

“So, Jeno,” Haechan starts, taking a long swig of his beer as a teasing slur weaves through his words, “how’d you get our little bookworm out of the library for once?”

He leans over Jeno to pinch roughly at Jaemin’s thigh as he speaks, the boy next to you jumping and shooting him a scowl in response. His fingers tap in annoyance against the table in front of him, and as the beer you stole from Jeno slinks through your veins, you can’t stop yourself as your eyes zero in on the movement. 

“He asked to come,” Jeno admits playfully, proudly slapping Jaemin on the back and forcing a sarcastic smile to spread over his face, “I guess he finally decided we were good enough to get a drink with.”

“He needed it,” you interject before you can even stop the words from coming from your mouth, and as Jaemin’s blank stare flicks over to you for longer than a few seconds, you stumble to explain, “I mean,” you say with a huff, laying a hesitant hand on his bicep, “you should see how tense this one gets when were in that study room.”

“Probably because he’s bricked up from being locked in a room with you,” Jeno laughs, leaning forward to shoot you what you think is his attempt at another wink, “I know I’d be.”

“That’s because you’re disgusting,” you argue, rolling your eyes, “Jaemin’s a good boy, isn’t that right?”

You glance at him with a smile, just trying to include him in the conversation that centers around himself, but when his arm tenses under your touch, you slip your hand away from him quickly. 

“Yeah, our perfect little guy,” Haechan coos, reaching behind Jeno now to tug at Jaemin’s ear. 

Jaemin jerks away from his touch quickly, grumbling under his breath and making you tense as his knee accidentally pushes between yours briefly. He doesn’t seem to notice the action or the way you respond, as he just straightens back up when Haechan pulls away and rolls his shoulders back. 

“I’m tense because the person I tutor,” Jaemin finally interjects, his eyes darting back to you, “doesn’t seem to actually care about anything I’m telling them,” he continues, turning back to his friends, and you can’t help but feel like he’s tattling on you. 

“He speaks!” Jeno almost yells, ignoring Jaemin’s admission that you’re a horrible student, “but admit it,” he says, his voice calmer as his arm falls across the back of Jaemin’s chair, “you have a hard time paying attention too with someone that hot sitting so close to you, don’t you?”

“Jeno,” you interrupt as he tries to wink again, trying to spare yourself and Jaemin from his question, “have I ever told you how much of a gentleman you are?”

“Actually, no you haven’t,” he responds, the shock in his voice being so genuine that it throws you a bit. 

“Good,” you nod, “because it would be a lie if I did.”

You want to enjoy the way Jeno starts to petulantly writhe in his seat, his head falling back as he whines about how mean you are, but you suddenly feel the weight of eyes on you. You hesitantly flick your eyes towards Jaemin, and you see him staring blankly at you in your peripherals. You know he sees the cautious glance you offer him before you look back towards where Haechan is laughing at Jeno’s display, but he shows no interest in looking away, instead he just sinks back in his seat as you start to squirm. 

You cross your legs as he seems lost in trailing his eyes over you shamelessly, your eyes darting back to him a few times as you try to focus on the new conversation Haechan and Jeno had started, but he seems unmoving aside from his eyebrows knitting together like he’s trying to figure something out. You want to ask him what’s up, the question bubbling rudely at the back of your throat, but his face just continues to screw up as if he’s angry and it kills any syllable that tries to form on your tongue. 

You jump slightly at the first touch of his hand on your knee, his fingers swirling curiously against your skin as if it was a normal action for him. But you could count on one hand the times Jaemin has made any physical contact with you, and considering how most of them were completely unintentional, having him move towards you with so much purpose made you twitch. 

You glance down at where his fingers prod at your skin, the same fingers you’ve unfortunately found yourself staring at as he wrote notes down in your textbook during your tutoring session, before you finally look up towards him. 

His head is tilted down, watching the small invisible patterns he creates on your leg with the same deep, angry look on his face. You can’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking, but when he looks up to make eye contact with you, it feels like he can see every thought you’ve ever had. 

You feel sucked into a bubble with him as Jeno and Haechan are too busy talking over one another to notice the newly formed tension. It feels like you’ve started a staring contest with one another, the unspoken rule that you can’t look away being agreed upon quickly, but you can’t help but wonder what would happen if you did. 

You see a small twitch at the corner of his lip when you harshly swallow, a movement so minuscule that you’re shocked you notice it, but you feel your head jerk back slightly in response. You feel like he’s challenging you to something, to make a move or say something to clue in your other friends into what he’s doing, but you just sit there, waiting. 

At the exact moment you bring your bottom lip between your teeth, he moves. His hand slides up further, cupping your knee with his entire palm, as his fingers brush against your thigh in a way that would be comforting if it wasn’t for how confused you were. 

You notice quickly how much you like the feeling of his hand, the realization flooding through your chest so quickly, you pray it doesn’t show on your face. His fingers are slightly calloused, gentle but firm as they dimple your skin, and his touch makes goosebumps raise on your skin, and from the way his eyebrow darts up quickly towards his hairline, you know he feels it. 

A sharp intake of air goes through your nose when he slides up your thigh, his hand getting more confident as he starts to roughly grope at your flesh, but his face stays as blank as ever. Your facade drops as you finally toss him a look of confusion, but he just continues to knead your tensing muscle until you feel his fingertips start to push under the hem of your dress. 

You stand too quickly on wobbling legs as a hiccup of shock bubbles from your lips, and you have to place your hand on the table to steady yourself as his hand falls away. Jeno and Haechan’s conversation dies as they turn to look at you in shocked concern, but all you can focus on is the way Jaemin’s head tilts back, his face finally pulling into a look of sleazy pride as he watches you in amusement. 

“I um,” you try to speak, your voice coming out cracked and quiet before you clear your throat, “I’m gonna go get a new drink,” you nod, a weak smile pulling on your lips, “your taste in beer is shit, Jeno.”

He groans immediately at your words, the concern slipping from his face and getting replaced by playful annoyance, “no one told you to steal my drink you big baby,” he grunts, reaching for the abandoned bottle only to be disappointed to learn that you finished it off. 

You roll your eyes as he stares at the empty bottle longingly, his ability to sulk over anything being admirable to some extent, but you’re glad that he’s now distracted by the label as he doesn’t see the way Jaemin’s hand sticks out to brush against the inside of your thigh as you step away. 

You walk quickly away from the table, your arms lifting to cross over your chest as your thoughts swirl in your brain rapidly. You don’t look back towards the table as you push towards the bar, but you can feel the way Jaemin’s eyes follow your every move regardless. 

—

You have a new drink in hand when you feel a presence next to you, a broad chest pushing into your shoulder as you slide your finger around the rim of your glass. You stayed at the bar, taking a few sips of your drink, in hopes to collect your thoughts about what had just happened between you and the boy that had never shown any other feelings but hatred and indifference towards you since you met him. And you felt like you had formed some coherent opinions on the situation, until he pressed against your side and made every thought fly from your mind at once. 

You turn your head hesitantly towards him as he leans his side against the bar, the soft smile he wears making you even more confused as he nods. You try to smile back, but it doesn’t reach your eyes in a way that you know would be more convincing, so you just look back towards your drink with a huff. 

“I told the guys I was coming to make sure you were okay,” he admits, his voice rumbling his chest and shooting vibrations against your shoulder, “also that I wanted another drink.”

“Do you?” You ask, the question honest as you’re shocked to think he would ever finish the first one. 

“I guess,” he shrugs, leaning to get the bartender’s attention, before he looks back to you, “I’m here so I might as well.”

“Why are you here?” You ask bluntly, your eyebrows furrowing in curiosity as you look at him again, his stare just as intense as it was at the table as you make eye contact. 

“It’s a public place,” he grins, reaching to tug at your ear. 

“Why did you really come?” You ask, pulling away from his touch as annoyance builds in your chest, how casually he’s treating you suddenly making you suspicious. 

He hesitates for a moment, his face twitching as if he’s debating whether or not to tell you the truth, before he smiles again. 

“Jeno told me you were coming,” he nods, pushing his tongue against his cheek as he hums. You don’t respond, instead you just stare at him in confusion as you wait for him to elaborate, “and you think I don’t have a life,” he continues, making you tense, “so… here I am. Having a life.”

“Jaemin,” you start, speaking genuinely for once as it starts to feel like everything that conspired between you earlier happened in an alternate dimension, “you’re a good guy,” you try to reassure, feeling a small inkling of guilt about your earlier words, “you don’t have to be Mr. party animal just because you’re in college.”

“No,” he agrees, with a sigh, “but you clearly seem to think I’m some boring goody two shoes.”

“Jaemin, why do you care what I think?” You ask as you take a sip of your drink, “we’re not even friends.”

You see a flash of something on his face when you say this, but he covers it quickly and just leaves you more confused, “what if I showed you that I’m not some loser who just sits in the library all day?” He asks as he steps closer to you, lowering his voice as he locks his eyes onto yours, “I can prove to you that I can cause as much trouble as Jeno.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you argue, the mention of your mutual friend making you shake your head as you try to think of a correlation, “when has my opinion ever mattered to you?”

“I’d give the exact date if I could,” he mutters as he reaches to grab your wrist, and before you can even question what he could possibly mean by what he said, he’s pulling you from the bar. 

Your drink clatters from your hand as you stumble on your feet, and in a panic, you try to reach to catch it, but as he tugs you through the mass of people trying to squeeze into the now empty spot you leave, you abandon the glass as you try to keep up with his long strides. He steps so quickly and with so much purpose you trip over your feet and earn a few elbows in your sides, but as he leads you to a familiar door, you can’t help but focus on wondering where this is going. 

“Why are you taking me to the bathroom?” You ask without thinking, speaking loudly over the music and causing strangers to turn to you two in confusion. He ignores your words though, and before you can try to interrogate him further, he’s pushing open the door and pulling you in. 

You gasp as you stumble into the room, surprised at the rough way he handles you as well as the fact that no one’s inside. You’ve been in this bathroom enough times in your college career to know that it usually has at least one or two drunk girls in it, either crying in a stall or fixing their makeup, but as Jaemin turns to lay his back against the door, you realize quickly it’s just you two alone. 

“Now can you tell me why we’re in the bathroom?” You sigh, laughing gently to cover the nerves that bloom in your chest as your eyes trail over the obscene amount of graffiti that covers the walls. 

Your laughter trails off awkwardly as he just continues staring at you, and you come to realize you somehow prefer when Jaemin is mean to you rather than when he’s silent. You didn’t love the fact that Jaemin hated you, but you had at least come to find it amusing; him staring silently just made you feel anxious and small. 

You feel like weak prey as he starts stepping over to you, his steps slow and calculated as he eyes your entire body. You want to ask something else, to fill the quiet of the bathroom with something other than just the muffled music and voices that slip under the door, but your voice dies in your throat as he gnaws on the inside of his cheek in thought. 

Your arms cross over your ribs as you hug yourself anxiously, shrinking slightly when he stands in front of you. You try to hold eye contact with him, trying to read whatever thoughts he has swimming in his head, but the intensity he holds in his glare licks at your skin until you're forced to turn your eyes towards the floor. 

You tense when you feel his fingers brush against your jaw, a reminder of how they felt gripping your thigh flooding into your mind and making you pull in a deep breath. You stay frozen in your spot as his hands trail across your skin, his thumbs pushing gently into your cheeks, before his palms lay against the sides of your neck. He squeezes at your skin, forcing your head back up slowly until all you can see is his blank expression, the lack of emotion he shows making your lips part slightly. 

You stumble back slightly as he pushes himself into you, and it takes a few seconds for your brain to register that his lips are pressed tightly against yours. He kisses you roughly, your teeth clacking together and rattling your skull, and you reach quickly towards his chest in an attempt to steady yourself. 

You grunt in confusion against his mouth, your eyes fluttering as the voices in your head debate on whether or not to kiss him back. The last remaining sliver of rationality in your mind screams at you, begging for answers and to understand the way he’s acting, and with a sharp breath, you finally gain the strength to push your bodies apart. 

His hands remain on you as you stare at him wildly, your mouth opening and closing as you try to find your voice, but the way his tongue darts out to lick your lipgloss off his lips makes your thoughts stutter. Your fingers dig into and curl around the fabric of his shirt, a need to pull him back to you making your arms twitch, but before you can make the move, you blurt out the first words that come to your mind. 

“What the fuck is up with you tonight?” You ask, your voice exasperated and winded. You stare at him, your eyes darting around his face as you silently beg him for answers, but when he just smiles in response, anger bubbles in your chest. 

Every emotion you’ve ever felt for the boy that clings to you floods your system; your annoyance when he makes mean comments, your amusement when you get on his nerves, and even the weird underlying arousal you’ve felt towards him whenever you paid too much attention to how handsome he was. But all of it was just always met with his clear indifference towards you, so why was he doing these things to you so suddenly? Accusing him of not having a life wasn’t even close to the rudest thing you’ve ever said to him, so why was that his tipping point? And why was groping your thigh and kissing you in a dirty bar bathroom his response?

“Does it bother you?” He whispers, his voice becoming rougher and making your hands twist tighter into his shirt, “I thought you liked making me mad?”

You want to respond, to ask him something that will give you clarification of where his head was at, but he doesn’t give you the chance to formulate a coherent sentence before his lips are pressing against yours again. 

You don’t push him away this time, your resolve breaking as he licks at your mouth. You lean into him instead, your mouth falling open as he starts to walk you backwards, and you tuck the question of what was it that I said to make him act like this into your pocket for another day. 

You feel breathless as his tongue dips into your mouth, his hands pushing tightly into your skin so you can’t pull away even if you wanted. You jerk slightly when your back bumps into the wall of one of the stalls, smacking your shoulder painfully into the edge as he blindly guides you to step into the small space. You hear the high pitched creaking of the stall door as he reaches one hand to pull it behind him, and as he pushes you to lean against the cool metal wall, you hear him slide the rusted lock into place. 

When his hand returns to your body, he pushes it against the curve of your back, pulling you closer to him as he grunts into your mouth. You pant when he finally detaches his lips from yours, your lungs begging for oxygen as he tilts your head back and licks at your jaw. His teeth scrape against your skin harshly, and as he pushes his leg to rest between yours, you let out a grumbling plea of his name. 

He bites roughly at your neck, stopping only to suck at patches of flesh until it stings. You feel your hips start to tilt towards his thigh, searching for friction as he abuses the skin that protects your drying throat, and when he smooths both his hands down your body until they rest on your ass, he digs his fingers into your skin to hold you still. 

You mumble pathetically, moving your hands to wrap around his shoulders as you try to shift your body in his hold, but all he does is smile against your skin as he drops his head to lick between your collarbones. 

“You think you deserve anything?’ He asks with an amused scoff, kneading at your ass until your dress starts to lift, “I’m doing this because I want to, not because you’re asking.”

His nails dig into your skin as he speaks, his head lifting again to lick at the shell of your ear as he pulls your thighs further apart. Your underwear shifts tighter against your body as he moves you as he pleases, the fabric sticking to your skin and making you gasp as you realize how wet you’ve gotten, and it feels like you might start falling apart if he doesn’t do something more. 

“Jaemin, you’re a good boy,” he grunts in your ear, mocking your voice and words from earlier as he moves to tug your underwear upward, “and good boys don’t do stuff like this right?”

You whimper quietly, the fear that he’ll stop making your hips squirm against his hold. You would take back what you said if you could, if it meant him giving you what you need now, but you can’t help but wonder if he’d even think to do this if you hadn’t said it in the first place. 

“How wet are you?’ He asks crudely, pressing his nose into your temple as he bites down on your cheek, “how badly have you ruined your pretty little panties for some boring little bookworm?”

Your head bumps dully against the wall behind you as you tilt it back in frustration, a small huff slips from your nose as your body heats up in embarrassment. You don’t want to answer him, the way he throws your beliefs back into your face making you feel stupid for ever thinking it, but you would never said any of it if you knew what he could do to your body. 

You jolt when his hand swats at the skin of your ass, the way he holds his palm and fingers flat making the sting bad enough that you let out a small squeak, and when his fingers immediately move to scratch at the tender skin, a sob deflates your chest. 

“No wonder you’re such a bad student,” he clicks his tongue, “you can’t even answer when someone asks you a simple question. Guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

He keeps his nails sunk into your skin as he drags his hand to the front of your thigh, leaving angry scratches in his path. You feel the painful throbbing between your thighs, and when his traces over the seam of your underwear, you grit your teeth and whine. 

The way he continues to bite at your skin feels like a punishment, his teeth scraping at your face and jaw making stabs of pain spread throughout your nerves, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the dull ache you feel in your core. You need something, but how his fingers feel tickling at the inside of your thigh stops you from voicing any demands. 

He lets out a rumbling groan when he presses his middle finger against the damp spot that’s formed at the seat of your underwear, the sound deep and loud around you and making your heart flutter in your chest. And when he starts to circle it and pushes until he shoves the fabric shallowly inside you, your thighs tense and clamp around his hand. 

“You’re ruined,” he confirms, sounding proud and cocky over how your arousal seeps through and sticks to his finger, “it’s dripping down your thighs.”

You mumble in shame at his words, the way he chuckles softly making you let out a soft hum of his name. One of your shaking hands falls from his shoulder, wrapping around his wrist as you suddenly want to pull him away, but you feel his forearm flex immediately, keeping his hand where he wants as you fall apart. 

He grabs roughly at the crotch of your underwear, twisting and pulling up on the thin fabric until it digs into your sensitive clit. It’s a weird feeling, not enough movement or friction to give you any relief, but from the sounds that roll from the back of his throat, he must be more than pleased from how the sensation makes your face twist. 

He forces the fabric in place for another moment or two, tugging on it just enough to make your breathing pick up as your knees buckle, before he finally pushes it out of the way. You cringe when his fingers finally slip against you, the sticky sounds that attack your eardrums as he smears your arousal around making you much too aware of what you already knew. 

“So good,” he praises, prodding at your entrance as he drops his forehead onto your shoulder, “so fucking slutty and perfect.”

You both sign when he sinks his fingers inside you, two of his long digits stretching you open as he curls them gently. He pushes slowly, taking his time to feel the way you wrap around him, and when you clench softly he lets out a hiss of approval. 

He shifts slightly, straightening up and pulling the hand that was still pressed against your back until it rests around your throat. His fingers drum against the side of your neck, testing the waters for a moment, and when they finally push against your veins, your eyes fly open again in shock. 

He pushes you tightly against the wall, keeping you in place as he stares into your eyes, and when he can see them glass over from how dizzy you’ve become, he starts to drag his fingers out of you. 

He seems fascinated by how your face reacts to the friction, even the smallest twitch in your features making him tilt his head and grumble under his breath. But when he shoves his fingers back in too quickly for you to handle, he smiles at the way your mouth falls open. 

He starts fucking you quickly with his fingers, the pace rough and overwhelming and makes your legs shake. You twist your hand that still wraps around his wrist as you try to get him to slow down, but he’s too strong for your weakening muscles, and he pushes easily past your tightening grip. 

“Take it,” he commands, spitting the words quietly into your face as shakes your neck slightly, “you’re gonna fucking take it.”

You cry out as he parts his fingers inside you, the sound coming out broken and strained as your hips start rocking sloppily. Your nails dig into his wrist, your eyes starting to roll back, and all you can do is give him control of your body as you start to melt in his hold. 

You can’t control the volume of the noises that break mindlessly from your throat, the wet sounds that come from between your legs being the only thing to combat how your moans bounce around the metal walls. You want to calm down, to find your bearings and keep some decorum, but when he tilts his wrist to push the heel of his hand into your neglected clit, the last remaining bits of sanity and awareness slip from your body. 

The pleasure comes on too fast, the tightening knot in your belly forming too quickly and making your vision blur. You can barely make out the details of his determined face, but the vulgar words that spill out in a jumble off his tongue is enough to let you know much he dreamed of seeing you like this. 

You bounce in his palm, the lack of control he has on your hips making you move wildly and without rhythm. You can feel now the arousal he claimed was dripping down your legs, but your mind is too far gone to be ashamed of it anymore. 

“You’re such a mess,” he sighs, keeping his fingers steady and quick no matter how much you squirm against him, “you’re gonna come so hard it drips down my arm aren’t you?”

You pant and moan without thought, agreeing with him with mindless hums as you try to nod against his fist, and as if waiting for your acknowledgment, you feel the promise of your orgasm start scratching down your spine. 

Your breath comes out in short, sharp huffs as your stomach starts to flex tightly, the way your toes curl into your shoes making the arches of your feet ache. You try to hold off, to control the way you react as the reality of where he has you weighs on your shoulders, but as he pushes the tips of his fingers into the spot that makes your blood rush loudly in your ears, you feel pleasure crashing down on you all at once. 

Your sounds are muffled as he leans forward to press his mouth against yours, his tongue licking past your teeth until he can brush it against yours crudely. He kisses you messily, eating the moans you let out as if he needs them to survive, and as your back arches away from the wall, you feel your combined saliva drip down your chin. 

He keeps his hand moving against you, fucking you roughly through your orgasm as he rolls against your sensitive clit. You finally let go of his wrist, the overstimulation of your nerves becoming too much, and you move until both your hands are clinging to his shoulders in the need to keep him close. 

He slows down when he hears the begging whimpers you let out against his lips, his fingers pushing gently until they slip out and start to pet at your heated skin. He continues toying with you, coating you in the evidence of your orgasm, and he smiles when you let out a hiccup every time he brushes your buzzing clit. 

You're still swimming in the afterglow of his body against yours, clinging to him desperately as the fear of what will happen after his lips slip away from yours tries to clear the fog that wraps around your mind, when the bathroom door creaks open. You barely hear it, not registering what it means as his fingers still tap against your neck, and you're too lost in the taste of his lips to hear the heavy footsteps approaching the stall. 

The loud banging that rattles the door makes you both jump, Jaemin having the awareness to pull away from the kiss, but not enough to stop sliding his fingers against you. You try to slam your thighs together, trying to push him out and away, but he looks too unbothered by the interruption for your liking. 

“Come on kids,” a deep, unfamiliar voice speaks from the other side of the door, “this isn’t a classy establishment, but you still can’t do that shit here.”

If you could crawl into a hole and die at that moment, you would, but instead you just curl into Jaemin’s chest in shame. He finally pulls his hands away, releasing your throat to hold gently at the back of your head, and you grumble in annoyance when you feel laughter shake his chest. 

You move towards the door when you hear the stranger step away, your skin heated and your hands falling to push at the hem of your dress as the need to run away from the room overwhelms your senses. Your limbs feel too heavy, and your weak legs make you stumble, but you scramble to be presentable enough to face the room full of strangers. 

“Hey, wait,” Jaemin stops you, his hand moving to grab your arm and you cringe at the feeling of your arousal that still sticks to his skin. You tense as he pulls you back, your anxiety rising at the idea of talking about what just happened, but you huff in annoyance when he just slams you back into his chest. 

“What are yo-“ you try to ask, pushing against his arms as you try to squirm away, but he wraps an arm around you tightly as he slinks to squat behind you. You say his name, your voice scandalized as you feel him pushing your dress back up your hips, “we have to go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he blows you off, using his free hand to drag your underwear down your thighs. He taps carelessly at the back of your knees when the fabric pools around your feet, and you jerk in shock enough for him to slip the still damp article of clothing from under you. 

He stands quickly, letting you go and allowing you to whip around with an angry furrow in your brow. You move to fix your dress again in confusion, and when he twirls your underwear around his fingers and offers you a sleazy grin, your hands twitch in the need to hit him. 

“Call it a memento,” he shrugs, holding your underwear out as if to appraise them, before he shoves them in his pocket, “my own little souvenir.”

—

You stumbled out of the bathroom quickly, an annoyed grimace on your face and a grinning Jaemin hot on your heels. You returned to the table, feeling incredibly exposed from the lack of underwear beneath your dress, but grateful as Haechan and Jeno seemed too drunk to notice how long you were both gone and the fact that neither of you returned with drinks. 

You didn’t talk anymore to Jaemin, even though you left the bathroom with way more questions than when you entered, and you continued not talking to him for the next few days. You texted Jeno, asking him to tell Jaemin that you would have to skip your tutoring sessions for a while, and you made sure to dart out of the room before him anytime you were in the same class as him. 

You weren’t sure why you were avoiding him, maybe the shame of what you two did was just too much for you to look him in the eyes, but that didn’t stop you from itching for an answer. You found yourself staring at him in class, drilling holes into the side of his face as he listened to the lecture in oblivion, as if you’d find some kind of answer lingering on his form. 

It was about a week later when your curiosity became too much, and the way you were constantly using Jeno to cancel your tutoring sessions felt too childish. He had sent you a text, asking you if he needed to relay anything to Jaemin, and you felt almost crushed at the fact that he was anticipating you being a big baby. Not that he knew why you were canceling, you hadn’t told him what happened and you assumed Jaemin didn’t either, but it all made you feel a little foolish. 

Which is how you ended up back in the library, staring blankly at the door of the private study room as if there was a carnivorous animal behind it, rather than just Jaemin. 

You cringe as the door creaks open, your hand so tight around the handle that it makes your fingers ache, and when you peek around the edge of the door, you see him sitting there studying quietly. 

He turns quickly, his face flush as he squeezes his pencil in his hand. All the confidence and slyness he held in his features the other night is gone, and is replaced by a soft nervousness instead. 

You watch each other intently, neither of you speaking as you see his shoulders tensing as you step into the room. You feel how clammy your palm has gotten after you pull your hand away from the door handle, and you clench your fingers together to relieve some of the stiffness. 

“Hey…” he speaks slowly, testing the waters and visibly relaxing just a bit when you smile softly at him. 

You notice almost immediately how he’s pushed his chair as far to the end of the table as he could, your heart sinking slightly when you see the chair left empty for you has faced the same fate at the other end. You respond just as quietly as you pull out your seat, and you can hear him tapping his pencil on the table when you move it closer to him. 

“Am I allowed to get closer to you?” You ask, trying to break the tension with a nervous laugh, “or are you gonna jump on me for skipping out on tutoring?”

You see his eyes widen at your words, his mouth falling open and closing a few times before he lets out a breath, “yeah I just didn’t know…” he stumbles, “I didn’t mind you skipping.”

“It probably just confirmed you thinking I’m a shitty student, right?” You tease, moving to hit him playfully for a moment, before you reconsider and shrink back as you sit. 

“I don’t think you’re a shitty student,” he argues quietly, turning to you and offering you a soft smile, how genuine he sounds making you shift. 

“That’s not what you said at the bar,” you huff, the words coming out of your mouth before you can stop them. If the tension was thick when you walked in, it thickens even further with you mentioning that night, and you mentally kick yourself for bringing it up. 

He falls quiet again, his eyes turning towards the table as thoughts move through his head. You want to eat the words out of the air, rewind time and never bring it up, but instead you’re just forced to sit there and stew in your lapse of judgment. 

“I said some stupid shit that night,” he mumbles, tracing his pencil against his paper and watching it like he’s hypnotized, “did even stupider shit.”

“So you regret it?” You hesitantly ask, keeping your eyes trained on the side of his face in hopes of catching the smallest movement or reaction. 

“Yes,” he breaths, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, oblivious to the way your chest tightens, “and no,” he sounds strained, confused as he filters through his thoughts, “I can’t sit here and act like I didn’t enjoy it, but I can’t help but feel like a bad friend.”

“Why would you feel like a bad friend?” 

“Because you know,” he grumbles, moving his hands in front of him as he speaks, “it kind of intrudes on whatever you and Jeno have going on. Not that I know what you two have going on, but to make a move like that on you was kind of a dick head thing to do.”

You jerk back at his rambling, his words coming out too quickly and making your mind take a moment to register what he means. But even when you collected everything he said in your mind, you’re left even more confused than you did that night. 

“What are you talking about?” You interrupt, his shoddy defense and explanation coming to a halt as his head whips towards you, “there’s nothing going on between me and Jeno.”

“What do you mean what am I talking about?” He asks, his eyebrows pulling together tightly as his voice pitches in confusion, “you and Jeno!”

“What about me and Jeno?” You lean towards him, matching his volume as you resist the urge to grab and shake him, “Jeno is my friend.”

“I know that,” he says in frustration, leaning closer to you as well, “but you’re also kind of more than friends, right?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head, “did Jeno say something to you to make you think we were?”

“No,” he says shyly, shrinking back slightly in shame, “but I see the way you two act, and I just thought… you’re always texting and hanging out, and the fact that you never say anything to me directly, it’s always through Jeno.”

You stare at him in shock, the jealousy that drips from his words making your brain feel like it’s coated in mud. 

“Jeno is just fun to get drunk with,” you defend, “and he texts everyone, that doesn’t mean there’s something going on between us,” you feel lost as you speak, the accusations he throws at you making you feel flustered, “and you hate me! So why would I go to you directly?”

You watch as emotions shift across his face, the hope that picks up his features when you confirm you and Jeno are just friends makes your chest warm, but it’s short lived when he deflates at the last thing you say. 

“I don’t…” he groans, moving his hand to roughly swipe at his face, “I’m such an idiot.” 

You move your chair again, bringing it closer to him and forcing yourself into his space before you reach to pull his hand away. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” You ask sternly, the confusion getting too much for you to deal with patiently anymore. 

“You’re going to think I’m an asshole,” he warns, hesitating until you throw him a look that tells him you already think that exactly, “I… when I first met you, I really liked you,” he confesses, his body relaxing as if truth takes a weight off of him, “but you were already friends with Jeno and I thought you were into him, so I figured if I distanced myself from you then I wouldn’t have to think about it. It was just a stupid crush so I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but when it didn’t go away, and I had to start tutoring you,” he groans in frustration, “I just ended up being a dick to you instead. I feel like a stupid middle schooler, but that’s just how it ended up.” 

You both sit quietly when he finishes speaking, his body visibly shaking slightly as you stew in his explanation. Was it incredibly stupid and immature of him? Yes. But the way you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, the way he looked at you and touched you, blurred your rationality and made your heart thump wildly in your chest. Even the way he treated you before that night always gave you a weird rush of excitement whenever you were near him; it made shame settle over you, but it still couldn’t fight the urge you felt to accept his confession blindly. 

“If you thought there was something between me and Jeno,” you start, avoiding acknowledging his confession to give you more time to think, “then why did you do what you did the other night?”

“Alcohol?” He tries, sounding unsure and unconvinced as if the word doesn’t fit right in his mouth. 

“Jaemin, you only had one drink,” you hum, rolling your eyes as he starts to beat around the bush again. 

“I’m… very stupid?” 

“You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” you cut him off quickly, throwing him a disappointed look as you roll your eyes, “try again.”

You can see panic settle behind his eyes, the first inkling of fear that you’ve ever seen him show, and it makes concern settle in your stomach. He plays nervously with his fingers, shifting in his seat and sucking in a deep breath before he speaks again.  

“I don’t know,” he speaks honestly, reaching to finally touch you with his hand resting gently on your thigh, “there was just something about what you said that day,” he grunts at the memory, brushing his fingers against your skin as if it helps him think, “and it wasn’t just you saying I don’t have a life, I kind of agree with you on that one, but it was the fact that kept reiterating how good of a guy I am. Even after how I treated you.”

“But you are a good guy,” you defend quietly, moving your hand to lay across his, “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“I don’t think being a good guy is a bad thing, I try to be a good guy all the time,” he rushes to elaborate, turning his hand to tangle his fingers with yours, “I just… I know good guys aren’t your thing. I let everything get to me, and the way Jeno just laughed when I told him about our argument, I felt like I had something to prove.”

“Maybe you are stupid,” you sigh, trying to keep a straight face until his hand tenses around yours and he jerks back in offense, making a soft smile pull on your lips, “you never had to prove anything to me, and maybe I’m fucked up, but even when you were being a dick I still couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He bites harshly on his lip, shaking his head in disbelief, “thought about me how?” He asks hesitantly, nervous that the conversation will turn against him, but ready to accept it in shame. 

“When I’d zone out while we were studying,” you start, leaning to whisper softly in his ear, hoping to smother your nerves with faux confidence as you pull your connected hands towards your chest, “all I was thinking about was how your hands would feel on me, and how badly I wanted you to do whatever you wanted to me.”

You watch as a shiver runs up his spine, his nails digging into your skin as his eyes slide shut, “I don’t deserve that,” he mutters, wallowing in doubt as images of you crumbling beneath him flutter through his mind. 

“No,” you agree, moving your free hand to brush against the side of his face, “but that didn’t stop me from wanting it.”

You pull him closer before he can respond, your heart jumping to your throat as you press your mouth softly against his. It feels wrong, like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to, but the familiar taste of his lips warms you enough that you can’t even think about pulling away. 

He deepens the kiss quickly, his hand that’s not squeezing almost painfully around yours reaching to push tightly against the curve of your back. He moans quietly, the sound making your jaw fall open, and when he licks desperately into your mouth, you respond with a moan of your own. 

He forces you out of your seat, guiding you with his palm as he keeps his lips locked to yours. You fumble slightly, your eyes fluttering and making you clumsy to your surroundings, but once he pulls you to straddle his lap, you sink comfortably against his chest. 

Your tangled fingers fall apart as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, your arms stretching to curl around his neck as he slides his hands up your side. His fingers tap rhythmically against your ribs, making you curl into him and sigh, but when you feel his hips start to jerk, you tense. 

His palms smooth down until they rest on your hips, the way he pets at your body making a warmth roll over you, and when he pushes down on you until you feel his bulge slide over the crotch of your underwear, you breathe out in surprise. 

“Can’t,” you mumble against his lips, your voice coming out winded and unsure as he guides you to grind against him slowly, “can’t do it here.”

“Why not?” He asks, playful arrogance coating his words, “after you went on about fantasizing about me in this room?” He taunts, using your confession against you, “you shouldn’t have started something you couldn’t finish.”

Jaemin’s ability to go from stoic and shy, to this other being of confidence and shamelessness gave you whiplash, but it also made you melt in his palms. You want to push him away, beg him to take you to your apartment and do whatever he wishes there, but as his fingers grip at the fabric of your skirt and force you to move faster, you can’t imagine having to pry yourself off of him. 

“Don’t want to get caught,” you argue, your body working against your words as you start moving on your own, “someone coul-“

“No one will catch us,” he interrupts, reassuring you as he tilts his head down to kiss down your chin, “we have the room booked for an hour,” he reminds, licking at your jaw, “and it’s better than you letting me fuck you open in the bathroom, yeah?”

Your head falls back at the memories of that night, his tongue smoothing over your throat as you remember how his fingers felt inside you. You bounce more eagerly against him, and when he bites down harshly on your skin, you thread your fingers in his hair and groan. 

You whimper as his greedy fingers brush against the hem of your shirt, his cold skin making you hiss out a swear as they push under the fabric and crawl towards your chest. The first knead against the swell of your flesh is rough, desperate as if he’s dreamed of feeling you under him like this, and when he tugs the cup of your bra away from your body, he immediately pinches your nipple between his knuckles. 

He shoves your shirt up until it bunches under your armpits, the cool air of the room brushing against your partially exposed chest as he ducks down to replace his fingers with his tongue. He laps quickly at your stiffening skin, and when he uses one arm to pull you close again, he wraps his lips around your nipple and bites down. 

You squirm in his hold, pained pleasure spreading across your chest as he abuses your skin with his mouth, and all that fills your ears are your small whimpers and the slick sound of his saliva bouncing against the walls. 

You barely register his free hand tickling down your body, his mouth encapsulating your skin and taking all your attention as he slips his fingers under the hem of your skirt. He gropes mindlessly at your thigh, squeezing roughly at your flesh before he moves to tug at the seam of your underwear. 

You gasp out when his fingers dip into you, his wandering digits slipping to prod at your entrance as he groans against you. You can hear the slick noises of your arousal dripping around his fingers, and when he drags it up to smear it around your clit, your body trembles in his hold. 

“I missed this,” he hums, keeping his lips pouted against your chest as he mumbles without thought, “all I thought about for days, just thinking about how warm you were when I had nothing but my hand.”

You buzz at the thought of him touching himself while thinking of you, the image amplifying how he circles his calloused fingers around your clit. You tilt your hips down to grind against his hand, trying to meet his patterns as you lament not being able to have him sooner. 

You whine when he takes his hand away from your skin, his fingers curling around the seat of your underwear as he pushes it aside, and when you feel the way the denim of his pants brushes against your sensitive skin, your thighs tense around his. 

The sound of him messing with the button of jeans makes you pant in excitement, your fingers pulling roughly at his hair as the metallic sound of his zipper falling open hits your ears. You feel a hunger deep in your belly, a nervous anticipation building in your chest, and when he tugs clumsily at his pants and underwear, it feels like the room around you falls away. 

You feel his length brush against your skin as he pulls himself from the confines of his underwear, the small amount of friction making you both hum and twitch. You glance down as he pushes himself against his stomach, and the size of him wrapped tightly in his fist makes you tilt his head back until your eyes lock together.��

“Please Jaemin I-“ you babble wildly, shifting your body forward until you can grind against the underside of his length, “please, need it.”

“Calm down,” he shushes you, running his hand softly up and down your back as he brings you to press against his chest. 

He handles your body carelessly, moving you how he wishes as he lifts you slightly above him, and when he pushes himself against your entrance, your eyelids flutter. He sinks you down slowly, stretching you open around him, and when your thighs start to shake and broken sighs fall from your mouth, he moves both hands to hold against your sides. 

“Slow down,” he warns as you accidentally shift down, his head tilting so his lips can brush against yours, “don’t hurt yourself.”

You let him pull you down gently, his skin sliding against yours as your arousal drips around him. You feel your body weaken and go lax in his hold as his size overwhelms your senses, and he mumbles soft praises against your lips as his fingers dig into your skin. 

He presses his mouth into yours again once he’s fully seated inside you, the way you clench and shift around him making him smile against your lips, and when he feels the heavy breaths of air that puff from your nose brush his skin, he moves his hand to grab your ass. 

He keeps you still for a moment, reveling in the way your body flutters around him, but when your hips start to jerk as if they have a mind of their own, he grunts in amusement. The way his hands feel against you is more than you could ever imagine, how they brush and dimple your skin makes you feel like he has control over every one of your atoms, and the way he fills you completely makes stars dance behind your eyes. 

Your movements are immediately messy as he moves you to bounce in his lap, his nails scraping at your skin and your legs shaking as you struggle to keep kissing him with the way he fucks you quicker than your fuzzy mind is prepared for. You feel your stomach tensing and your body screaming as he stretches you, but you love every moment you sink down on him with a broken moan. 

He swears crudely against your lips, the way you wrap around him making his hips jump until he’s fucking up into you roughly, and your thighs ache to slam shut as he splits you open perfectly. 

“So perfect,” he moans, his voice strained as he holds you still again, gripping your skin tightly as slams his hips against yours, “take me so well.”

Your head falls against his shoulder as the sound of your skin slapping together rings in your ears. You can feel your arousal start to stick to the inside of your thighs, and with the way he pushes as deeply as possible with every thrust has you crying out and nipping at his neck. 

You huff out when he tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly as the air gets knocked from your lungs, before his tense fingers scrape along the skin of your ass. He scratches against your hip, making the skin burn and rise in his path, until he dips his hand back between your thighs in a rush. 

He presses roughly against your neglected clit, pinching and rolling the skin between his fingers as he continues to thrust against your wildly. He abuses your nerves meanly, toying with you, until he lays his fingers flat against you and starts sliding them against you sloppily. 

A rush of pleasure licks up your spine too quickly for you to handle, your body pushing against his hold as you roll against him. Your hips try to lift away from him, trying to escape his quick fingers, but he holds you tightly and keeps you pressed against his chest as you’re helpless against his touch. 

You clench around him tightly as your orgasm starts to consume you whole, cries of pleasure hitting against the skin of his neck as you sink your teeth into his flesh. He keeps his fingers and hips moving against you, fucking you through the way your nerves feel like they’re on fire, but as you drip and tense around him, he feels himself following close behind you. 

His fingers shake against you, his hips becoming messier as you writhe in pleasure on top of him. He groans and swears loudly as you flutter around him from the overstimulation your body endures, and he only makes it harder when he shifts to fucking you with deeper and slower thrusts, his length dragging and stilling against your sensitive walls as his breathing labors. 

The sound that rattles his chest as he comes makes you delirious, your head lifting like it’s filled with lead as you turn to watch his face screw up tightly. You gasp and pant softly at the feeling of him filling you completely, and watch him with a dazed look as he pushes his hips until they’re flush against you. 

You smile at one another when his eyes open back up, both of your features pulled soft and delirious as you cling to each other. You melt into him as his arms wind around you to pull you into a tight embrace, and for a moment you feel your breathing start to calm as he leans in to brush his nose against yours. 

You don’t think much when his arms tense against you, or the way his thighs continue to shift below you as you scratch your nails against his scalp. You feel warm and sated as you curl around him, but your peace is interrupted as he starts to stand on his wobbling legs. 

You squeak as he lifts you in his arms, your hands falling to grip at his shoulders as he moves you to sit on the edge of the table in front of him, and when he slips out of you, you whine at the sudden emptiness. 

You try to question him, your confusion bubbling at the back of your throat, but it dies on your tongue when he pushes you back. He looks oddly energetic as he watches over you, his fingers moving to dance along the waistband of your skirt as you stare at him with wide eyes. 

“There was one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about after that night,” he starts, his voice gravely and strained as he shakes his head, “and I’m not letting you leave this room until I do it.”

You yelp his name when he grabs your thighs, the way he tugs at your limbs making your head bump against the wood below you as you fall flat, but he ignores your exclamation as his fingers quickly dance back up your skin. 

You squirm when he grabs at your underwear, your thighs trying to slam shut as he tugs the fabric down, but the determination that makes his muscles tense overpowers you as you try to push him away. 

He gets your underwear off with ease, as if the way you kick doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and when you see the still damp cotton twisted around his fingers, you huff in frustration. 

You watch with a pout as he lifts them up with a grin, and when he presses them shamelessly against his face, you let a scandalized shout of his name. 

“You smell amazing, angel,” he compliments sleazily, his words muffled behind the fabric as he makes a show of pressing the damp spot against his septum, “do you think you taste just as lovely?”

He doesn’t present it as a question as much as he does a threat, and when he shoves your underwear deep into his back pocket, you try to push yourself up the table away from him. 

“No you don’t,” he laughs, grabbing your legs before you can get too far, “I know you can handle it.”

You whine when he drops to his knees in front of you, only the top of his head visible as you move to lean on your elbows. You gasp when he tugs you closer to his face, and at the first tap of his tongue against your entrance, your head falls back between your shoulders. 

He keeps your thighs open wide with his tense palms, a wet sound coming from between your legs as he lays his tongue flat against you, and with a shuddering sigh you realize he’s lapping at his come as it drips out of you. 

You clench around his tongue as he pushes it inside of you, the action earning you a deep growl from him that vibrates against your skin, and you wiggle as if you’re possessed from the way he curls his tongue against you. 

He’s messy as he licks at you, his saliva and the new arousal that drips from your spreading to the insides of your thighs and across the lower half of his face. He moans happily against you, holding you tightly against his mouth as he licks you clean, and once he’s gotten every drop of his come from your body, he leans to swipe the flat of his tongue up the length of your cunt. 

You hiss and sob when his lips wrap around your clit, finally being able to see the wild look he holds in his eyes as he sucks at your skin harshly. Your hips cant up roughly, trying to push him off your hypersensitive nerves, but he follows your movements easily as his eyes slide shut in pleasure. 

You sit up quickly as he rolls tongue against you, your hands flying to tug at his hair as your shoulders lift towards your ears and your mouth falls open. Your entire body shivers as pleasure takes over your senses, the heat between your thighs aching painfully as you still aren’t recovered from when he was inside of you, but even with the way you struggle against him, he happily licks at you in hunger. 

Your second orgasm builds too quickly, your feet moving to hit against his shifting shoulders as he lays his tongue flat against you before shaking his head. The sounds he makes below you are vulgar and make your skin hot to the touch, and before you can even think to beg for sympathy, you feel your body start to fall apart at the seams. 

You can’t control the sounds that spill from your lips, mindless words getting lost in the mix of syllables and broken moans as your hips start to roll against his face, and before your mind can come to terms with what he’s doing to you, your orgasm washes over you in violent bursts. 

He laps at you greedily as your hands push at the back of his skull, seemingly glad to be smothered by your body as he loosens his hold until your thighs close around his head. His eyes flutter open again, looking up at you with a look drenched in satisfaction and pride, and all of it combined makes you shudder harshly. 

You both gasp when he finally pulls away, both of you sinking back in relief as he stands back on his feet with a rattling intake of air. His face is slick with your arousal when he leans into you again, but he seems unfazed by his state as he wastes no time before pressing his mouth into yours. 

The taste of both of your orgasms that sticks to his tongue spreads across your taste buds as he licks into your mouth, and the way it invades your senses makes you sigh and twitch. You can feel the wetness on his skin transfer to yours as he kisses you hungrily, but as he pushes his hips between yours and lays his chest flush against you, you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbles as he pulls away in apprehension, “I will never forgive myself for acting the way I did and pushing you away.”

“Jaemin,” you huff, kissing across his face as his fingers grab at you as if you’ll slip away, “there’s no point in worrying about that now.”

You both know that’s not true, that whatever is happening between you two will need a deeper discussion, but with how you press against each other in hopes to make up for wasted time, it pushes rationality to the side. 

“I’ll do everything I can to make up for it,” he nods, looking you intensely in the eye, his still remaining desperation buzzing around him, “I’ll do anything you ask me.”

“Really?” You ask, breaking the tension with the playful tone you adopt without thinking, but he hums in agreement eagerly regardless, “then can I have my underwear back?”

“Oh,” he jerks back in shock, pausing to think, “which pair?”

“Both?” You say in suspicion, not liking the guilty look that pulls on his features. 

“Oh that’s not happening.”

[11queensupreme11]

I was thinking of baby Percy AU again and just thought of what would happen if Poseidon just… lost her in Valhalla. There was an emergency meeting, he forgot babies shouldn’t be left alone. Left unsupervised, Percy promptly toddled off towards the sunset (the human side of Valhalla) and gets lost amongst the masses. The encounters I’m picturing:

Leonidas chilling in his hammock, reading his book and drinking his wine only to reach down (to get a refill) and grab a baby instead of a bottle. There’s a baby lost in the Sparta training grounds and this man is panicking.

Adam eating his grapes with his family only for his ears to pick up the unmistakable sound of a baby babbling nonsense. He stands immediately and, without saying a single word to his wife or sons, just runs off and comes back cradling a giggling baby which he promptly places on his lap while saying ‘our daughter now’. His family only nods and goes back to what they were doing, as if this is completely normal (it probably is)

Nikola Tesla finds a baby playing among the detritus of his last failed experiment and decides he has found a new student to teach the art of Science(tm) to. She can’t even speak yet? No matter! It’s never too early to learn! Besides, don’t you know babies’ brains are like sponges?? He can teach her so much!

Sasaki Kojiro is out there in the wilderness, becoming one with nature (or whatever it is that he does when he’s not training - is there a time when that man ever stopped?) only to all but trip over a baby lost in the woods. What does a man who only has swords in his mind do?? Why, hand her a stick and teach her how to swing it.

(Almost predictably, Lu Bu does the exact same thing except they meet on the edge of a cliff and he tells her to aim at the sky)

Qin Shi Huang finds a baby blocking his path and instead of doing something normal (like stopping to make sure she’s alright, look around for the parents maybe), simply picks her up, at once recognizes her as a princess (royalty recognizes royalty) and continues on his merry way (he’s heading towards his adoptive mom’s house to show off the new subject/little sister he picked up on the way - he’s gonna teach her everything she needs to know about ruling).

Raiden finds baby Percy in a restaurant - specifically, he finds her well-fed round little body sitting inside a (now empty) plater she had crawled inside of when no one was looking. Raiden orders another plate and the two enjoy a very pleasant lunch together before he takes her back to the sumo training area so she can watch him wrestle everyone into the ground. Percy’s clapping the whole time.

Jack finds her lost and whimpering while skulking around in dark alleyways and, being the gentleman he is, immediately kneels down to offer her a handkerchief, picking her up and looking around for any sign of the parents (lmao, just realized he’s the only one in this list alongside Leo who’s going to make his top priority be finding Percy’s guardian first)

Meanwhile, at the god’s side of Valhalla:

Hades: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST HER.

Poseidon: I told her to stay put.

Hades: SHE’S A BABY POSEIDON.

Poseidon: And? I was a baby once too and followed orders perfectly.

Zeus: and look how you turned out.

(They enlist Anubis to track her down)

THE RAIDEN ONE WHERE SHE EATS EVERYTHING ON THE PLATTER AKSJFJHFBV I CAN JUST IMAGINE HER CHUBBY CHEEKS 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

and the nikola one.... i feel like she's actually grow up with more than one brain cell if nikola's the one that raises her (full offense to poseidon lol)

I LOVE EVERY SCENARIO HERE SO MUCH. THE ADAM ONE IS ACTUALLY PRETTY CLOSE TO WHAT HAPPENS IN ACT TWO LOL

i bet you after this incident, they're gonna create the "percy alert". its basically the amber alert, but it's only to look for percy lmao 💀

[livmadart]

The phantump thing is GENIUS oh my gosh

Would Haibara also be a ghost pokemon? Who's Conan's trainer? I have so many questions

Ahhhhh thank you so much!!!! Omg PLEASE send in all your questions I have a bit of brain rot from this :))))

I think an Espurr would fit Haibara much better! She accidentally turned herself into a Pokémon with some kind of science nonsense like Bill from Pokémon Red and Blue, for a similar reason as in canon. She doesn’t really have a lot of sympathy for Conan initially

Also, I don’t think Shinichi would let himself get caught, he’s too busy being in denial big-time. Instead, he just kinda shows up around Ran until she decides to take him in

Thank you for your ask!!

[blueboyluca]

@konmari-dogs's post reminded me, I read a lot of dog books this year! My biggest tip for reading more is put a bunch of books on your phone and just dip into them when you can. I think I originally got this tip from Milly, but it really works. If you are getting sick of one or need a break, you can easily flit to another. You can get a page or two while waiting for appointments or at a cafe or something. Really easy to read a lot more.

Anyway, I read a lot of crap this year but also some gems.

Hit list: The Culture Clash by Jean Donaldson. I finally read this classic. I skimmed most of the training stuff because it is a bit outdated now, but I really liked the allegorical parts, the actual bits that are why it is titled the way it is. That stuff is still really relevant today.

Dog is Love by Clive D.L. Wynne. I enjoyed this. It followed the story of how Wynne convinced himself that dogs do love us, through various scientific disciplines. I also think this guy is a compelling speaker, if a little pompous.

Wonderdog by Jules Howard. Loved this one, excellent overview of dog science throughout history. Really worth the read.

The Secret History of Kindness by Melissa Holbrook Pierson. My favourite read this year, an incredibly moving overview of the history of training dogs.

In Defence of Dogs by John Bradshaw. I started this one more than a year ago and finished it this year. It was pretty good, but a little outdated on the science now. Still worth a read.

The Great Grisby by Mikita Brottman. I enjoyed this, it was about various dogs in literature or real dogs owned by famous people, mostly Victorians. It was a fun read. The focus won't be for everyone.

How the Dog Became the Dog: From Wolves to Our Best Friends by Mark Derr. I started reading this like 5 years ago. I really enjoyed the first half then dropped off it. I finished it this year and I am glad, but there wasn't as much good stuff in the second half. Still, I reference it a lot and I love the way he writes about early dogs.

Shit list: Living with Border Collies by Barbara Sykes. This one is a mess. Very few useful ideas, mostly just batty nonsense.

Fifteen Dogs by André Alexis. This was the only novel I read this year and it was garbage. Do not recommend.

How Stella Learned to Talk by Christina Hunger. You all know I hated it. I am stunned when people recommend it to others to get into dog buttons. I thought the narrative itself was a steaming pile of garbage and I thought the tips on how to get started with buttons were vague and unhelpful. Cannot understand this fad at all.

The First Domestication by Brandy R. Fogg and Raymond Pierotti. I started this a year or two ago and finished it this year. It was a mess. I appreciated the parts where they ripped into Coppinger, but there were tons of other really questionable bits so I basically think the whole thing is a wash.

Dogs: A Philosophical Guide to Our Best Friends by Mark Alizart. It wasn't terrible, but it was quite strange. I appreciated it sent me down a few rabbit holes though. I tried reading some more philosophical books about dogs but they fall apart as soon as the authors show they know nothing about modern dog science.

Dingoes Don’t Bark by Lionel Hudson. This one also wasn't terrible but it was also kind of nothing. Not a lot of information about dingoes. I think the documentary it pairs with would be more worhtwhile. I think it's from the 70s, maybe 80s.

Still reading: Level Up Your Dog Training by Natalie Bridger Watson. This is for beginners, but I am enjoying it as another resource for my club.

The Wolf Within by Professor Bryan Sykes. This is good but thick and science heavy, so I know it will take me a long time.

Treat Everyone Like a Dog by Karen London. I am not enjoying this at all. It will inevitably make it onto my shit list one year.

What Dogs Want by Mat Ward. Really loving this very cute and modern take on basic dog care for new owners.

What the Dog Knows: The Science and Wonder of Working Dogs by Cat Warren. I am really loving this so far. It's my kind of book, a mix of dog science and memoir.

Our Oldest Companions by Pat Shipman. I am not that taken in by Shipman. I've read one of her other books and I don't find her particularly compelling. I am finding Sykes more interesting than this one.

Aesop's Animals: The Science Behind the Fables by Jo Wimpenny. This one is pretty good, not sure if I will finish it though because I read the dog and wolf chapters already.

Positive Herding 101 by Barbara Buchmayer. I am enjoying this. I got through all the beginning stuff and have finally reached the chapters that will talk about herding training.

Enrichment Games for High Energy Dogs by Barbara Buchmayer. This is good enough that it made me buy her other book. I haven't finished it yet though.

[genshin-scenarios]

Highschool AU (Sumeru)

Summary: Like the title suggests, here are some highschool routes with some of the Sumeru characters! These got a little long, but hope you guys will enjoy them nevertheless!

Characters: Cyno, Tighnari, Alhaitham, Dehya

He’s the resident ‘cool guy’ because of his personality and handsome features (if your classmates were to exaggerate and swoon, they’d say he has an aloof or calm charm to him).

Cyno is part of the student council’s patrol team (they just make their rounds to confirm nothing is going haywire in the school) - but on quieter days where you’re hanging out together, it’s not uncommon to see him stealing glances at a group playing his favorite card game.

Cyno’s aware that people tend to be intimidated by his presence, so he hesitates before you give him a supportive smile and loop elbows, dragging him there to help him join the fun. (Once he cracks a bad joke, everyone finally lowers their guards. They can tell just from the way he interacts with you that Cyno is a chill and good guy, so they invite him back to play again whenever he has time.)

Because of how he tends to attract attention, Cyno sometimes uses himself as a shield for you; if you’re feeling embarrassed or overwhelmed by attention (for whatever reason, be it coming into class midway late or teased for your mutual affections) - Cyno doesn’t hesitate to draw the attention back to himself to give you space to breathe.

He’s able to do it in such a lowkey way that people don’t suspect a thing, but one look towards you and you realize Cyno’s intentions. He sometimes drags Alhaitham down with him (picking a fight or randomly putting him on the spot), so it’s kind of amusing for himself too.

You once played the pocky game with Cyno in homeroom (urged by your classmates because of your obvious crushes on each other) and to your surprise Cyno turns towards you and asks if you’d like to (admittedly, he just kind of wanted to show that he was also interested in you)

–But after you got close enough to brush noses and he hears people rushing over to see what’s going on, Cyno backs off and grabs your hand, running out of the room to escape from your friends who’ve just arrived and are demanding he faces justice for doing such a thing to you (it’s all in good fun, Dehya and Tighnari are just annoyed that the one time Cyno makes a move, it’s one that’s going to make your short circuit really badly).

When you’re running away together (for both your sakes, the two of you are blushing like mad) - Cyno uses the hood of his jacket to cover his expression, trying to regain his train of thought. You finally find shelter in an empty classroom, where Cyno mistakes your flustered complexion as something medical: “Are you feeling alright? You’re feverish, maybe we should go to the nurse’s office.”

…Yeah, when it comes to matters of the heart, Cyno sometimes can be pretty daft because he’s worrying about your health or some other practical thing. Once you become more established though, you learn that he likes to end his goodbyes to you (after school or a date) by touching noses or foreheads. It’s definitely an endearing sign of support and trust, but you sometimes sneak in a kiss on his cheek just to see Cyno shy away in soft embarrassment.

The pretty person you noticed once, studying at the library. Tighnari generally keeps to himself, but smiles a lot more when he’s with the friends he’s comfortable with, or instructing those genuinely interested in the gardening club. He sometimes gets invited to the science club after school to help with some projects, but prefers to relax for his extracurriculars after a long day of school.

…Oh, during the summer break though, Tighnari gets involved with much more active stuff. (Volunteering at a forest reserve, somehow having an encounter with wild animals and saving one of his juniors from a flock of birds. No matter where he goes, Tighnari’s sharp mind and no-nonsense attitude can really save the day.)

During the new academic year though, you end up in the same class with him as deskmates. Consequently, you’re paired up for class activities more often than not, allowing you to learn more about Tighnari; you admired him before, but now that you’re up close it’s hard not to become enamored.

His smart mouth and willingness to reject people outright (RIP student council that’s been trying to recruit him, Cyno has to remind them that pestering won’t help) is a sharp contrast to how soft his gaze can be at times. Once, Tighnari spotted you stuck at campus because it was a rainy day, and he walked over to offer to share an umbrella with you.

Ever since you got close, he still teases you about needing a ‘friendship certificate’ or something to assure you he does enjoy your company: “Should I include clauses underneath? ‘Tighnari agrees that by signing this, your existence does NOT annoy him, and–” “Alright I get it! Put that pen away!”

Likes to walk you home and maybe visit a cafe or bookstore on the way. If you pass by a stray cat, Tighnari definitely stops for a moment to greet it, but he doesn’t normally try to pet them unless they’re obviously friendly. It’s still cute though, how you’d see him crouching just to appear less tall to the cat and quietly observe it.

Tighnari is surprisingly attentive to your emotions or when you need help; passing you stationary when you forgot yours before you can even ask, and giving you a smile and nod if your energy levels seem low.

One occasion he’ll take to his grave though is when you fell asleep at the library, and Tighnari put his blazer around you so you wouldn’t be cold - while brushing a strand of your hair away so it doesn’t tickle you awake, he catches himself staring at your lashes and just how serene you look while asleep.

When you wake up Tighnari is scrolling through his phone next to you. He glances over and asks if you slept well, saying there’s a cat cafe he saw on instagram earlier if you want to check it out. (Totally wasn’t scrolling through socmed earlier to calm himself down for admiring you).

Rivalry energy!! It doesn’t matter if you’re just competitive overall or just in one/two subjects you really love - you indirectly announced a war on Alhaitham after being inspired/annoyed (depends on you) by his matter-of-fact way of living. It’s not really intentional on his part, Alhaitham kind of just speaks so smartly that it becomes provoking to people like you and Kaveh.

One day you join forces though! After the student council put forward a plan for the school festival, the head-teachers vetoed it and asked them to draw up a more ‘serious’ one, because so far the plan seemed to lack focus on showing off the school’s academics compared to just being a fun festival.

Suffice to say, none of the student body took that without a fight. After much protest and debates with the teachers, Alhaitham finally took it upon himself to draw up a scheme to work around their requirements, when in reality it’s actually the original festival everyone wanted. (He prepared countermeasures for when you guys get caught)

He says he’s just doing this because he’s tired of everyone coming up to him (the student council’s secretary) with ideas of how to overthrow the teachers. Though no matter what Alhaitham’s own intentions are, it’s true that everyone’s touched that he hatched such a convoluted plan for your sakes.

Throughout this arc you definitely got a lot closer to him, seeing as you volunteered to help put his plan into action. A bit of your rivalry is still evident in meaningless arguments, but it changes from you being infuriated to quietly smiling and shaking your head after you part with him.

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham has grown used to your company. Sometimes he even sends people away and asks them to have you relay info to him instead, because you know how to get to the important bits (eventually you just become known as the person to find if anyone is looking for Alhaitham.)

Your ‘fights’ extend to the point of beefing outside of school, which is just a roundabout way to say that the excuses for your ‘not-dates’ are to challenge one-another’s tastes and competency (movie tastes, skill in the arcade, dinner… because you’re proper hosts with manners, yep.)

It’s unspoken knowledge that the both of you are together, though your friends (Alhaitham’s in particular) get exasperated when you’re not even hiding it anymore, but still never publicly made things official; even when you post a picture of yourselves on a ferris wheel ride with a beautiful night view, sitting much closer to one-another than you would’ve months ago, you’d just shrug and give them a playful smile when they ask how it’s going with Alhaitham.

Okay, so maybe you’ve turned a bit insufferable after getting close to him - but that’s just how it is, right? Couples adopting the traits of the other person? It just goes to show how comfortable you are now.

Literally every sports club in your school is trying to recruit Dehya to their team. She’s nothing if not practical though, and is only officially in one that she dedicates her time to.

You stay behind to watch her practices and walk home with her! Ever supportive, Dehya was surprised you were serious after mentioning you’d like to do that. These days it doesn’t take more than a few glances around to find you helping out their manager as you wait.

Dehya is popular (she’s cool and sporty, everyone respects her strength), but it’s really her warm and down-to-earth nature that won you over as you slowly became friends. In turn, Dehya likes how genuine you are when it comes to supporting her in the things she does - maybe it’s that pretty smile or sparkle in your eyes when you look at her? She can’t bring herself to look away.

Similarly, she loves it when you ramble on and on about your interests. Even if she isn’t personally as passionate about them, she likes seeing you so lively when it comes to something you love. You’re each other’s rock, and that’s never been truer than the time you were going through a rough/stressful patch, and Dehya was right there by your side.

Everytime you bring it up and dramatically call her your hero, Dehya tries not to get embarrassed at the title and just tells you to treat her to lunch if you’re so thankful - well, that or if you’re expressing your thanks in a quiet moment, she just smiles her usual smile and clasps you on the shoulder, saying she’d do it again ten times over if it means you’ll come out of it alive.

Dehya is a realistic person, both in terms of her personal expectations and looking after those around her. She’ll notice if you haven’t been smiling as much in a while, and whenever you look after her in the same way she feels caught off-guard that you paid that much attention to her, but is grateful nonetheless. (“How could I say no to that? Sure, I’ll smile for you - just the thought that you noticed is enough to make me feel better.”)

Once you were in the same team for a relay race during sports day, and after your team won Dehya doesn’t stop running, instead turning around so that she can pick you up in a celebratory hug. No matter how many times she’s proven she can carry you, it still makes your heart skip when she sweeps you off your feet.

Bike rides with Dehya through the city!! She has a license and was worried about your safety at first, but after you showed that you really enjoyed it and asked if you could do this together again, she can’t bring it in herself to deny you. Just don’t do something over-the-top like buy a bouquet to greet her, alright? She doesn’t know how to react to that sort of thing - though if the darkening blush on her cheeks is any indication, Dehya isn’t too opposed to your gestures of affection either.

“See? The flower in your hair brings out the color of your eyes!” If not you, who else would Dehya fall head over heels for?

[king-bumis-armpit]

What would your headcanons be for Modern AU Mai?

I could talk about Mai for hours! I have so many thoughts about what she would be like in the modern day. I’m working on a modern au fic right now, so consider this a little teaser for that ^^ This was my first time writing head canons, so I hope this is what you were looking for. 

First things first, music. I think it would be a big part of modern Mai’s life:

Her parents definitely made her learn some instrument as a kid, and she didn’t hate it as much as her other forced hobbies

As a teen and adult, she listens to metal, classical music, and top 40 hits indiscriminately. People always freak out when she recognizes Taylor Swift songs because they assume she’s too alternative for that.

But the truth is that she drowns herself in music and always has airpods in, so she listens to a wide variety. Because of her airpods, sometimes her parents think she can’t hear them, but she definitely can. She will play into this by waiting to respond to questions until her mom asks them a few times.

She also writes songs, but she has never shown anyone. Not even Zuko or Ty Lee. Her songs are the place where she feels completely safe to be emotionally vulnerable, so I don’t think she’ll show Zuko until they’re married. Alternately, I like the idea that he finds her notebook at some point after they live together.

There’s a song called “Think of You” by Rose Betts and I swear Mai wrote it about Zuko after one of their breakups. You have to listen to it! It will give you such Maiko feels!! OMG

Career

I think that Mai did very well in high school. Her parents’ invested in the best education of course, but I also think Azula would play a big part in her success. Azula is very motivated to be the valedictorian of her graduating class, so she makes Mai and Ty Lee study with her for hours. (Mai would have done just fine without Azula, but I think she would have cared less about school without the extra encouragement.)

In college, Mai has enough AP credits from high school to easily double major in Political Science and Philosophy. 

She becomes a professor of Political Theory at a small local school and all of her students love her. The job is a bit social for her comfort zone, but she loves studying game theory and political power structures. And working with students reminds her of her time studying with her friends. She accepts no nonsense in the classroom, but her quick wit and dry humor earn her a good rapport with her students.

On the weekends and in the summers Mai also works part time as a tattoo artist. This earns her extra coolness points with her students as well.

Zuko

Our emo cuties are still very in love

I envision them being childhood friends. Ozai is a big politician and Mai’s dad is one of his top campaign donors. So Mai and Zuko and Azula end up at all the same press events and become friends. 

They start dating in her sophomore year (his junior year) of high school and everyone thinks they’re not gonna last, but I say they do ❤️

When they’re teens, they fight because they don't know how else to communicate. They never learned properly for obvious reasons. But they also really value each other since they relied on each other during the hardest parts of their upbringing 

Sometimes they do take breaks in the early years of their relationship, but they rarely if ever see other people. Zuko uses the time to focus on himself and his mental health, and Mai uses the time to focus on her career.

They get better at communication with time and they don’t take each other for granted. Zuko proposes to Mai after her senior year of university (his first year of law school), but they opt for a long engagement and wait until Mai is done with grad school to tie the knot officially. 

When Izumi is born, Zuko and Mai are both fortunate enough to be able to take parental leave from their jobs for six months. They are determined to give her all of the love and support that they lacked. Despite her apprehensions about being a mother, Mai enjoys taking some time away from her busy lifestyle and building her family. (Nonetheless, she’s happy to return to work and have intellectually stimulating conversations again.)

Other Family 

Mai’s parents are SUPER wealthy, but she hates feeling dependent on them. I bet she’d get a crappy customer service job as soon as she's legally old enough to work so that she can have some money of her own saved away

Her parents set very high expectations for her in childhood, which she cares about less and less every year.

When Tom-Tom is little, she tries to counteract her parents’ messaging. They’re a bit softer on him since he’s the youngest, but Mai never resents him for it. She goes to all of his school events and little league games, even when their parents are busy. The two are quite close, even into adulthood.

[thepixelelf]

Bluff and Nonsense - he/him ver.

genres: romance, angst, some fluff, university au, not a fake dating au pairing: male reader x hoshi words: 17.0k (01:08) warnings: cursing, alcohol notes (orig, 2020): "so the title is fluffy and this was a title fic, but then it ran away on me. I really like this one so... yeah. Enjoy!” update, 2023: this is the he/him version of Bluff and Nonsense. other than the pronouns, nothing else has been changed. you can find the original they/them version here, and the she/her version here

“Soonyoung? Yeah I know him, you should too. He’s on the uni’s dance crew, and ever since he joined them, their popularity’s skyrocketed. I’ve met him a few times, great guy — got a tendency to run his mouth but hey, no one’s perfect. He’s smart anyways, probably knows how to deal with the consequences, right?”

or

Soonyoung never thought one bluff could lead to so much nonsense.

Kwon Soonyoung is a man of many talents. He’s the guy who could fit a whole orange in his mouth in fourth grade, the guy who always knew how to make the social studies teacher talk about his divorce instead of the world wars, and the guy who brought a live pigeon to school with no one questioning him whatsoever. He’s also the head choreographer of the university’s dance crew — you barely knew there was a dance crew until he showed up with his hand-drawn posters — as well as a totally well-rounded fine arts major. C’mon, who takes a chemistry course in the fine arts? Kwon Soonyoung, apparently.

Of his many talents though, lying is not one of them.

Which is why, when asked if he likes anyone, Soonyoung says your name instead of simply saying “no” (a much better option in hindsight). He actually likes a girl on his dance crew. Cute, funny, has those eyes you can just get lost in — lord knows Soonyoung has. But, at this relatively quiet party, with half the guests crowded on Seungcheol’s couch and the other half on the disgusting carpeted floor of his apartment, Soonyoung can’t admit his real crush because she’s sitting just a few feet away.

It wouldn’t be such a bad lie if you weren’t also sitting a few feet away.

You’re on your phone when he says your name in his heartbeat-induced panic, but you look up at the sound of it, as does Seungkwan, who was reading something on your phone from the beanbag chair you’re both sitting in.

A chorus of low, teasing ‘ooh’s rises throughout the room, almost like it’s eighth grade again and Soonyoung just got called down to the office. Except now, he might actually be in trouble. He gets a few claps on the back from his friends close enough to reach, commending him on his bravado even though he doesn’t deserve it. Really, the whole situation only dawns on Soonyoung after 6.8 seconds, which is a bit too long considering he made the situation in the first place. Blood rushes to his cheeks, not because of the alcohol in his red cup he’s yet to drink, but because you’re looking right at him, and he has no idea what to do.

Soonyoung doesn’t know you very well. In fact, he’d almost say he doesn’t know you at all.

You’re Seungkwan’s friend from one of his classes — computing science, if Soonyoung remembers correctly, but he’s not totally confident. The only reason you came tonight is because of Seungkwan. You don’t know anyone else.

With a tilt of your head, your face scrunches with question, and you look to Seungkwan for help. You know Soonyoung said your name, but you missed hearing the context. It looks like Seungkwan missed it too, seeing as the conversation you two have only makes your brow furrow more as the room chatter picks back up. Everyone else is already over Soonyoung’s sudden confession when Jeonghan starts talking about something else.

Except Soonyoung’s friends, of course. That would be too easy.

Mingyu turns to him with a stupid smile, his cheeks red from both the free opportunity to tease his upperclassman and the light beer he’s been sipping and pretending to get buzzed on all night. He nudges Soonyoung with his shoulder where they sit on the floor, leaning in to speak under the conversations surrounding them. “You didn’t tell me you like him,” he says, the jesting tone in his voice clearer than water.

“Yeah...” Soonyoung doesn’t know why he doesn’t just retract his confession, it’s not like Mingyu is close to you or anything, he’d understand. But then again, he’s bad at lying, and the girl he likes is still sitting on the couch. He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s sort of a recent thing.”

Mingyu’s smile only widens at Soonyoung’s response, his eyes turning to slits with the rise of his cheeks. “Soonie’s in looove~!”

And Soonyoung doesn’t know what to say. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before, not exactly like this, anyways. So he just looks down, scratches the back of his neck again, looks at one of his dance crew friends when she calls his name.

He doesn’t dare glance your way for the rest of the night.

Turns out you do know someone else other than Seungkwan, because once most of the guests have cleared out, leaving only half the boys to clean up, Seokmin approaches Soonyoung as he scrubs the sink of whatever that weird green stuff is.

He asks how Soonyoung knows you and says off-handedly that he’s never even seen the two of you talk. (Which is right.) He says these things shouldn’t be joked about, that you’re a person with feelings, and Soonyoung should leave you alone if he’s just doing this for comedy’s sake.

Soonyoung thinks he’s never seen Seokmin so serious.

It’s probably fine. You haven’t said anything good or bad, and other than the occasional tease from his friends, no one has taken anything too far. Maybe you’ll forget about it tomorrow. Maybe he’ll forget about it tomorrow, and it will all be okay.

Besides, it’s not like he actually likes you. And his real secret is still safe and sound.

•

Of Soonyoung’s many talents, making people sad is also not one of them.

It’s not that he actively tries to cause misery only to fail, it’s that he can’t stand upsetting anyone. He’s a people-pleaser by nature, that’s just how it is.

So he doesn’t say no when you ask him out for coffee.

And he smiles at you when you try to make conversation, even though it’s awkward and hesitant despite having a mutual friend like Seungkwan. It’s not so bad, he thinks. You’re trying, at least, and when you ask him about his interests, you actually listen, which isn’t common when he tends to over-explain his love for dance and performance. He has a coffee in his hand too, so that’s a plus.

You ask him if what he said at the party was true, and something in your eyes makes him say yes.

•

There are a few more coffee dates after that. It’s nothing official, and Soonyoung is hesitant to call the meetups “dates” because he’s not interested in dating you. But it’s a little late for that.

You seem brighter, though, every time he sees you again; he can’t bring himself to take that away, to cut the cord, to clean this mess he made.

Something about the way you two talk is nice, at least. Soonyoung can’t quite put his finger on it, and he tells himself that’s what’s drawing him back every time, not the guilt he feels sunken in his ribcage whenever you smile his way. It’s not that deep, he repeats to himself whenever you wave to him on campus, making him feel obligated to walk you to class. It’s not that deep.

He’s in the library one day when he spots you at one of the tables, books open and spread out as you scribble down notes, a pair of earbuds dangling from your ears. You haven’t seen him, so he doesn’t try to approach, just ducks back behind the bookshelf he’s been exploring. His hand is on a book he might like when a voice stops him.

“You know you’re an idiot, right?”

Minghao leans against the opposite bookshelf, his arms crossed, locked and loaded for judgement. Soonyoung looks around, but of course he’s talking to him. They’re the only ones in the row.

“Um, how do you want me to answer that?” he asks, unsure of exactly what Minghao’s talking about. Yeah, he knows he’s a bit dense sometimes, but not all the time.

Minghao rolls his eyes. “I know you like Sehee. You haven't stopped laughing like an idiot at her bad jokes." He nods his chin outwards, gesturing over Soonyoung's shoulder and through the bookshelves towards where you're sitting. "What are you doing messing with Seungkwan's friend?"

It’s not too surprising that Minghao knows — he’s an intuitive guy, but Soonyoung is still caught off guard. He asks first, under his breath, “Does anyone else know?”

“If you mean dumb and dumber, then no.” Minghao jerks his head to swing his dark bangs out of his eyes. Everyone keeps telling him to just cut his hair shorter, but he refuses for the aesthetic, or something. “Chan is way too focused on dancing to notice your dumbassery, and Jun is about as observant as a fishcake when it comes to feelings.”

Soonyoung’s shoulders fall in relief, though he didn’t even realize they’d tensed up. 

“But that’s not the problem here. Why are you playing around with him if you’re into Sehee?”

“I’m not—” Soonyoung pauses, thoughts deliberate, “—I’m not playing around, okay? I just... I don’t know. You were all looking at me, and I couldn’t just say Sehee's name, she was right there!”

Minghao cocks an eyebrow at that. “But you could say his?”

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware.”

Soonyoung groans quietly — he’s still in a library after all. He covers his face with both hands, not wanting to look at Minghao nor have Minghao look at him. For a second, it’s blissful, awkward silence, which Soonyoung would take over Minghao’s scolding any day. But of course, no haven lasts forever.

“You’re gonna have to tell him,” Minghao says, and he’s probably right. No, he is right, Soonyoung just doesn’t want him to be.

“I can’t do that! I said I like him— twice!”

“Twice?”

“Twice!”

Minghao only drops his head for a second, scoffing at the whole situation. Soonyoung wishes he could do that too, just laugh it off because it’s someone else’s problem.

“Well, you’re going to have to say something sooner or later.” Meeting his eyes, Soonyoung realizes Minghao might actually be worried. About you, or him, or something else, he’s not sure, but the subtle fold of Minghao’s eyelids tells Soonyoung this is about more than just calling out idiocy. “And I think sooner will hurt less.”

Soonyoung knows he’s right. But he doesn’t like it.

Before he can come up with a rebuttal, though, Minghao’s hands are on Soonyoung’s shoulders, and he’s pushing him out of the row of bookshelves and straight towards your table.

“You can do it, Soonyoung, just rip the band-aid while you still can,” he whispers in Soonyoung’s ear right before one last push at his back.

Soonyoung stumbles a bit, but once he regains his footing, Minghao’s already gone and you’ve already noticed the ruckus. You pull one earbud out with a bright smile. It’s so jovial that Soonyoung almost forgets why he’s here.

“Hi Soonyoung, I didn’t see you come in,” you say, and there’s no way you’re this energized just from studying in a library.

“Uh... hi.”

“You’ve actually got the perfect timing.” Waving to him, you gesture for him to sit next to you, and he does. You pull out some sort of planner, opening it to a few months from now. “I wanted to ask when exactly your showcase is? Seungkwan’s no help at all because he only cares about his concerts and stuff. Honestly, there aren’t that many...”

You’re going to have to say something sooner or later.

Soonyoung picks later.

•

“So when are you gonna ask him out?”

Jihoon stands in front of the stove, watching his hot water simmer, a bag of dry ramen in one hand and long cooking chopsticks in the other. It’s Soonyoung’s turn to make dinner tonight, but since he says he isn’t hungry, Jihoon’s scrounging it out himself.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, sits at their tiny dinner table, his forehead pressed to the cool surface, arms hanging limp at his sides. He mumbles something of a response, but it’s nothing more than a questioning grunt, if anything.

“Oh, you know.” Even when Jihoon says your name, Soonyoung stays still. “Only the guy you’ve been on several “dates” with ever since you confessed to him at Seungcheol’s party. When are you gonna ask him on a real date?”

Tired, Soonyoung groans. “When the time is right, I guess.”

•

You work on campus. It’s some part-time job you don’t care about enough to even complain over, despite the fact that you have to deal with annoying university kids every day. Soonyoung finds this out when he has coffee with Minghao in one of the buildings he doesn’t normally frequent, and only goes to today since Minghao has a class nearby in the next hour.

The coffee isn’t great, and it’s too expensive, but Soonyoung drinks it anyways. He much prefers the coffee from the cafe he goes to with you. Because the coffee is better. Obviously.

He hears your voice first, words indiscernible with distance and overshadowed by a much louder, angrier one, but still. Minghao sees you first, though, and he points past Soonyoung to the student printing center, where you’re standing behind the counter and arguing with some guy. You don’t seem too riled, but Soonyoung can tell you want to be anywhere but there, especially when the angry guy’s voice keeps getting louder and louder.

Soonyoung’s feet bring him over before his brain can register what to do. You haven’t seen him yet, he could just walk away, but he doesn’t. Your voice becomes clearer as he approaches.

“Listen, the printing center is for education, art, or business. I can’t print this for you.”

The guy goes off about personal freedoms or whatever, Soonyoung isn’t really listening.

“No, I get that this is a student printing center, but I really don’t think your big tiddie anime gf poster has anything to do with education, art, or business.”

And that’s when the guy grabs your arm. Which results in Soonyoung grabbing his arm. Which results in the accusatory question, “What are you, his boyfriend or something?”

Now, in a perfect story, this would be the first time Soonyoung meets you. Or maybe you’ve been close friends for a while. And this would be when Soonyoung says that, yes, he is your boyfriend, and he would save the day. Except you’d be all “why would you do that?” which would result in you both having to fake date to keep that guy off your back. In this perfect story, there would be no Sehee to like and no Minghao to judge, just you and Soonyoung fake dating. Eventually, you’d both catch real feelings instead of fake ones, and then boom, happily ever after.

But this isn’t a perfect story.

Soonyoung still says yes, and the guy still backs off. In reality though, because Soonyoung never thinks before he lies, you momentarily duck behind the counter and bring a hand up to your face to cover your ever-brightening smile. In reality, Sehee still exists at the forefront of his mind every dance practice, even though you’re the one he just promptly claimed to be the boyfriend of. In reality, Minghao watches from a little ways away, sipping his coffee and shaking his head in what can only be called disappointment.

Soonyoung’s never been good at lying. One would think he’d stop by now.

•

So, it’s official.

You’ve put a heart next to his contact name. He’s put one next to yours — red, because he doesn’t know your favourite colour. Seungkwan’s done the whole if you break my friend’s heart I break you spiel and Soonyoung finally realizes he’s in too deep.

It's almost too natural, how easily you bring him into your life and how easily he finds himself fitting. It's all so wrong.

Soonyoung feels like an imposter, like there's someone meant to be by your side, but it's not him.

You pluck up the courage one day to hold his hand, and he can't pull away because the lies tying him to you are too strong. The small bluffs he's spun have weaved themselves into a net he's tangled himself in.

His dance crew congratulates him when Jun spills the news. It's all mundane, really — dating in university isn't all that uncommon. Mostly, Soonyoung gets casual "you go, dude" comments or the like, but then Sehee says nothing. She smiles, and it has to be one of the most tragically beautiful things Soonyoung's ever seen. His heart fractures, just a little, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to fix it.

He smiles it off. Tries to, anyways.

Chan complains that Soonyoung's too harsh that day.

•

Jihoon likes you.

Not in a "Mister Steal Yo' Girl" way, but he laughed at one of your jokes the first time you came over to Soonyoung's apartment, and ever since then, he's been convinced.

"You must feel like the luckiest guy on earth with him around," Jihoon says once you leave for the night.

Soonyoung has no idea how to tell him he's felt nothing but unlucky these past few weeks, so he doesn't.

•

He polishes up on his acting. As awful as it is to think, Soonyoung has gotten really, really good.

His smile looks genuine. It has to — he shows it to Minghao, who says it's "adequate," which basically means perfect to the lowly humans beneath him.

He's gotten good at responding to you too, copying how the male leads do it in dramas and movies. It's sort of easy.

He hates how easy it is.

Soon enough, you try befriending the whole group. Being Seungkwan's friend, you've always wanted to, but apparently this is the push you needed. The boys are quick to warm up to you because, as Soonyoung's new boyfriend, you're now a new teasing target besides Chan. The youngest was always the brunt until you came along.

You say you don't mind — that his friends are amazing despite all the jokes and chaos. He believes you.

Minghao keeps his distance, saying he doesn't want to get himself involved. He's still the only one to know the truth, and his judging stare only grows worse as the days pass. Soonyoung wants so badly to make it go away, but he knows the only way to do that would be to tell you the truth, and he's just not ready.

Soonyoung's never broken a heart before. He's never planned on it.

Sometimes life makes its own plans.

"My shift got moved to tomorrow," you tell him when he picks you up from class, one hand in his and the other in your pocket. He knows it means something, but he doesn't know what. Your lips purse into a line as you stare at your shoes. “I was thinking... could I come watch your dance practice? If that’s okay?”

Now, Soonyoung loves dancing. He loves dance. He loves to dance. Performing sends an unparalleled thrill rushing through his veins like the solar system hurtling through the universe, and it’s something he’s never felt doing anything else. Dancing with others is a beautiful connection, an emission of silent truths communicated through the body. Practice, however, is the dirty version of dance. It has to be built up first — polished. Which is why Soonyoung says what he says. He doesn’t even think it over.

“No.”

It’s what he says every time someone asks. He doesn’t invite people to practices — never has. Even after his prompt refusal, he doesn’t register his mistake until the light in your eyes wavers. It doesn't disappear — just ripples. Comes back weaker than before.

"Oh," you say. The word should sound dejected but it doesn't. There's a smile at your lips, and Soonyoung can't help but think it looks kind of like his. "That's— that's okay! I was just — I don't know, I guess I just thought... I wanted to..."

Meeting his gaze, you look at him with shaking eyes, almost as if it takes great strength to keep them on his. He tries to backpedal, but you continue.

"I'll be going home then. I've got an assignment due soon anyways, so..." You pull your hand from his grip and, from where you two were walking toward the fine arts building, turn the opposite way. Your dorm is on the other side of campus. "See you tomorrow, Soonyoung. Have fun at practice."

Something about your smile haunts him.

It's hollow; feels empty when you flash it at him before going. He thinks fake smiles all look like that — insincere. His smiles at you must be the same way.

For an awful moment, he's hopeful. Maybe this will be the trigger. Maybe you'll end this tonight — whatever "this" is that Soonyoung has with you. Maybe he won't have to tell any harsh truths at all.

He turns and walks to practice.

The routine feels lighter tonight, though Soonyoung can’t pinpoint why. His body almost floats, and while that sounds good, it’s not. The rhythm is off. He’s not landing when he should be.

His crew notices, especially Chan, who complains that Soonyoung’s too much of a cocksure choreographer to be making repeated mistakes like this. They tell him maybe everyone should take a break. He agrees, but only because he’s frustrated — and he shouldn’t channel his anger into dance. Not this one, at least. 

Everyone spreads throughout the studios to the edges, where they lean their body weight on the walls and slide down, water bottles in hand. The room reeks of sweat and feet, but Soonyoung’s used to it by now. He guzzles down half of his water in one go and pulls out his phone.

[❤] Sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to react all... cold? Seungkwan told me you never invite anyone to practice, so it makes total sense why you said no

[❤] If I’m ever crossing any boundaries, let me know, okay?

Of course you’d be understanding. Soonyoung wouldn’t be that lucky.

He tosses his phone haphazardly in his bag, groaning and throwing his head back so it hits the wall with a dampened thud. The pain is dull compared to the thoughts top-spinning in his mind.

Across the studio, Minghao clears his throat, raising an eyebrow at Soonyoung when he opens his eyes to look at him. It only takes two reluctant nods for Minghao to understand the source of Soonyoung’s groans, and he does nothing to react but look away. Soonyoung thinks that’s almost worse than the judging eyes. At least at that point Minghao thought he was something other than a lost cause.

He doesn’t text you back. By the time he thinks of something a boyfriend would say, the time to say it has passed.

•

How much longer is he going to let this go on?

Soonyoung wonders that to himself as he sits, returned to Seungcheol's apartment for another one of his "getties" as people are so apt to call them. He's never understood the difference between a getty and a party, and he's always been too stubborn to ask, knowing he'd be mercilessly made fun of for not knowing something apparently all university students knew.

This one isn't so different from the last. More or less the same crowd, the same atmosphere as the night goes on. Only this time, when everyone's settled down in what can hardly be called a circle, Soonyoung's on the couch, sunken into the too-old cushions with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You're far from your last claimed spot with Seungkwan on that ratty old beanbag chair, sitting comfortably under Soonyoung's arm with a plastic cup of whatever Jeonghan concocted for you — which you've yet to drink much of.

Sehee sits across from you both while she laughs at something Wonwoo says. You laugh too, but Soonyoung barely notices, eyes glued to the girl they've been stuck on since she joined his dance crew over a year ago. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is when she smiles, even under the light of Seungcheol's dingy apartment, but he can't. He wants to tell her how he's felt for months, but you're next to him. He wants to have a fucking drink but all he has in his cup is fucking iced green tea because he knows if he drinks he'll fuck up again.

Just like last time.

"You okay?" you whisper in his ear at one point.

He turns to see your concerned expression, and it only makes Soonyoung hate this even more. He doesn't deserve your concern.

"I'm fine."

But he's not fine.

He doesn't participate in much conversation — only speaks when spoken to, and even then with few words. You seem to become tense next to him, but he does nothing to try and fix it. Just tonight, he's going to let himself be tired.

Three times, you offer to leave, and all three he refuses. You give up eventually, though he can tell you know something's off. God, if he were drunk, he wouldn't even have to think about you for a whole night.

Somehow the topic of discussion turns to couples, and suddenly, an entire room of eyes is on you and Soonyoung. He barely catches the question before you're already pondering your answer.

What do the two lovebirds love most about each other?

You look at him. At him, at him. He feels your stare in the dip of his throat because he can't seem to swallow anymore. It's like his soul is being scanned for viruses.

"Hmm..." You let your chin fall into your palm with a smile. It's real. Too real. "I like his resolve," you finally say. "If he wants to do something, he does it." With a loud exhale through your nose, you tilt your head, still meeting his eyes with your own. Soonyoung's mouth slightly parts, slack with something he can't name. "I could learn a thing or two from him."

The room bristles with your answer, various response piping up around. Soonyoung sort of registers Chan saying, "That's cute. I wanna vomit," but he's too busy thinking about you, about how you've come to like something about him as deep as that when all he's done is pretend to even like you at all.

And even when his mind swims with that, Sehee asks again.

"Then Soonyoung, what do you like about him?"

It sort of hurts. Soonyoung's not afraid to admit to himself that hearing Sehee ask what he likes about you sends pain straight through his ears to his heart. There's an awkward pause and everyone's looking at him expectantly and, god, he wishes he stole your drink when he had the chance.

"I..." His throat goes dry. His lips part, but there aren't any words to slip past them. "I, um..." He looks to you, and your eyes speak volumes. Everyone else in this room has a sort of... hungry look. They want to know Soonyoung's answer for one reason or another, maybe to tease with or to ridicule or even wish for themselves. But you, your eyes meet his and he knows you're not expecting anything. That hurts too. He doesn't know why. But even then, he can't think of the words. Any words. He steals a glance at Sehee, whose expression is curious, doe eyes slightly giddy from alcohol. She's pretty.

"I like his laugh," he says. It's not about you. "Whenever he laughs, I think to myself, 'What I wouldn't give to see him laugh again'."

Your eyes move to the plastic cup you've got gripped between two hands in your lap, and Seungkwan points out your flustered state to the entire room despite the fact everyone can see it as long as they've got working eyes. You purse your lips together to contain a smile, but it doesn't work. Even Soonyoung can see that.

He needs a drink. 

Having to go to the bathroom is a lousy excuse, and Soonyoung knows it, but he whispers that in your ear anyways and retracts his arm from your shoulder before escaping. He does go to the bathroom, a small thing with a shower and no bath, but all he does in there is stare at himself in the mirror. And when that becomes too much, his feet.

Someone else eventually has to use the bathroom for its actual purpose, so he opens it to the banging fist outside and slides past the person back into the hallway. He pauses before walking all the way back. You're caught up in some other conversation now, laughing and dramatically waving your hands as you deny some crazy embarrassing story Seungkwan's trying to spill about you. Seems you've already integrated yourself with his friends more than he thought.

Since your attention is occupied, Soonyoung instead ducks into the half-kitchen — not necessarily out of sight, but no one's really paying attention anyways. He knows he shouldn't take any chances, but he really, really wants to let go. He's been wearing a facade ever since he said your name that night.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

Minghao's voice has Soonyoung jerking up and banging his head on the door of the open fridge he was rummaging through. He winces in pain, kneading his fingers into his scalp as if that will do anything.

"Wouldn't what?" he snaps.

"I dunno." Minghao shrugs, and it's almost infuriating how nonchalant he is. "Do something you might regret, I guess."

He takes the yet unopened bottle from Soonyoung's hands, reaching beyond him to put it back in place. There's no point in fighting against him since he's undeniably right, but Soonyoung grumbles anyways. His eyes glance every few seconds to you on the couch. If you happen to hear anything...

Well, he doesn't know exactly. But he doesn't want to find out.

"You have to end it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just—" Soonyoung takes in a breath, too loud for his liking. He lowers his voice. "I can't, okay? I don't want to hurt him."

"So you're just going to date him based on false pretenses because you're too much of a coward to admit your mistakes?" Voice laced with sharpness, Minghao places his palms flat on the counter.

Soonyoung takes a deep breath through his nose, lips twisting in frustration. "Yeah, okay? Yeah," he whispers. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do."

A second passes. Minghao's brow furrows.

"And quite frankly," Soonyoung continues, "I'd rather you keep your nosy ass out of my business from now on."

He nearly storms off right then with the last word, but Minghao's fingers around his elbow stop him.

"You're going to get yourself hurt," Minghao warns through his teeth. He nods towards you. "And him in the process."

"We'll see about that."

Soonyoung has acted on impulse before. It happened with the pigeon, it happened with your name, and it's happening right now. Nothing is compelling him other than the absolute need to prove Minghao wrong, and even then, he doesn't know why.

He sits back down next to you, his spot saved by some miracle considering the surrounding company. The look on your face is happy, jovial. You must be having a right old time. His nerves strike with a feeling he's never quite experienced before.

When you study his face, no doubt not nearly as cheerful as yours, the expression you held falters to worry.

"You okay?" is once again the question on your lips, quiet, meant for his ears only.

Impulse is a scary thing. Soonyoung hates it almost as much as lying.

He leans in, crashing his lips on yours with his eyes half closed. His lips move and yours don't. Soonyoung can't even be sure you've closed your eyes, but at this very moment, he doesn't care. All he knows is he's angry and Minghao is watching.

This isn’t your first kiss — he knows because you’ve talked to him about this very topic. This is, however, to your understanding, the first “real” relationship you’ve ever been in. You told him yourself that you don’t really count that past kiss as your first, that you felt a bit... violated when it happened.

Soonyoung thinks this isn’t all too different.

He steals your second first kiss, and later, staring at the water-stained stucco ceiling of his bedroom, he kicks himself so hard it hurts.

•

You show up to movie night. Apparently Jihoon invited you — explained it like this:

“You won’t have to be so clingy with me if he’s here.”

At first, Soonyoung thinks Jihoon just wants to drop their roommate movie nights because he’s always complained about them, but Jihoon sticks around during Anastasia; sings along with you during Once Upon a December despite the fact that neither of you really know the words. He sits right in front of you two on the couch, cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, that of which he only offers to you twice and Soonyoung once.

Whatever. You’re a better cuddler than Jihoon anyway.

Somehow it doesn’t feel forced when you lean your head on Soonyoung’s shoulder, or when he wraps his arm around your waist to get comfortable. He blames it on how tired he is, how he always gets on movie night after a week of classes and practices and too much work for one person to handle. Jihoon complains all the time that he’s too touchy when tired.

You absentmindedly play with his fingers for most of the movie. He doesn’t mind.

It’s been about a month now.

Soonyoung doesn’t kiss you again after the first time. Doesn’t stop you, either, but you’re more of an on-the-cheek kind of person. He thinks you think he wants to take this slow, even though he initiated the first big step (as convoluted as it was). He lets you think what you want.

Nasty business, it is.

Cleaning a bowl that once held popcorn. All the grease that sticks to the side because Jihoon likes to use too much butter. All the grains of salt that get underneath Soonyoung’s fingernails. He’s washing, Jihoon’s drying. It’s an arrangement of sorts.

You’ve already left for the night, gone back to your dorm since it’s only a five minute walk or so through campus. Jihoon insisted on Soonyoung escorting you, but you only smiled sweetly and refused. Maybe Soonyoung should’ve argued harder against you. He didn’t though. That’s why he’s scrubbing a bit too harshly now — he doesn’t like messing up.

Seems that’s all he’s good for lately.

“You’re unhappy.”

Soonyoung stops scrubbing. The only noise in the whole apartment is the slow gurgle of the sink because even with a plug, such an old thing just lets the hot water seep away as the seconds go by. Jihoon’s gaze is on the pan he’s drying, but Soonyoung knows his heart is in the question. It always is.

“I’m not,” he tries to deny, but it’s difficult to fool a person like Jihoon. (Especially since Soonyoung can’t even convince himself.)

The non-stick pan from yesterday’s dinner clangs against an older one when Jihoon puts it away. He looks at Soonyoung, but by then he’s turned back to washing the popcorn bowl, so their eyes don’t end up meeting.

“I’ve known you since tenth grade. You think I can’t tell when you’re upset?”

Soonyoung finds it hard to read Jihoon’s feelings most of the time. He didn’t realize he was such an open book the other way around.

Sighing, he continues to scrub the bowl, which has probably been clean for a minute already. “I’m just... stressed.”

“About?”

Minghao already knows; already thinks lowly of Soonyoung for it. If Jihoon knew... Soonyoung doesn’t know if he can take that.

So he lies. Again.

“Just the dance showcase.”

It isn’t a whole lie, not really, but he can’t call it the truth either.

Jihoon takes the bowl from Soonyoung’s grasp and rinses it under the tap. Since that’s the last dish, Soonyoung is stuck with nothing for his hands to do. They rest on the edge of the sink, but his fingers ache for a task.

Jihoon, the friend that he is, says, “That’s not for three months, though. I’m sure you’ll be perfect by then.”

“I don’t know...”

“Well I do.” Eyes meet eyes, a pair determined, a pair apprehensive. “Everything will work out.”

“...Okay.”

•

Soonyoung measures time in terms of you now.

When he last texted you. When he last saw you. When he last spoke to you.

It’s all a very elaborate calculation — how much time he’s spent on you versus how much time he should spend on you. No relationship is quite like this one, he thinks, and it’s quite the romantic notion out of context. The fact remains, every interaction he has with you only pulls him further and deeper into his lie.

Soonyoung’s time moves a bit slower now.

Faster, sometimes, but only when he doesn’t want it to.

•

You tell him you might be in love with him.

He says he might be in love with you.

He’s never hated lying more.

•

Jihoon is cleaning out the fridge when the buzzer goes off, so since he’s close by, he picks up the old corded phone attached to the wall. From his spot on the couch, Soonyoung looks up from his phone to see Jihoon cover the receiver and mouth your name. Jihoon makes some sort of gesture with his hands, and somehow Soonyoung understands that as, were you expecting him?

His eyes widen as it settles in that no, he’s not expecting you. The apartment is a mess.

Jihoon buzzes you in, hangs up, and immediately moves from the fridge to the coffee table, throwing the laundry he was planning on folding back in the plastic hamper and shoving the pile in Soonyoung’s lap.

“Take care of this,” he says. “I’ll clear up the kitchen.”

Right. Can’t have you thinking your boyfriend and his roommate are slobs.

Soonyoung reacts quickly, standing from his spot on the couch with the laundry basket in hand. He dashes to his room, where he plans to stuff the laundry in his closet and save that problem for later, but once he gets there, he realizes his room is even worse. There are dirty clothes dispersed all over his bed and old coffee cups littering his desk. Scrambling to shove the new laundry in his closet, the dirty clothes in the now empty hamper, and gather all the paper cups in his arms, Soonyoung’s breath starts to catch.

When he emerges from his room with two armfuls of garbage, he finds you at the door with Jihoon, your face hidden in his shoulder and your arms wrapped tight around his waist. Jihoon’s arms are up, almost like he’s being held at gunpoint, and his eyes widen even further when he catches sight of Soonyoung.

“Uhh... it’s for you.”

Soonyoung can hear your quiet hiccups even though they’re muffled in Jihoon’s shirt. He can’t bear it when people cry.

Yeah, maybe he’s been pretending to like you for a long time now, but he’s not a monster.

Right?

He likes you as a person. As a friend. And there’s no way he’s letting his friend go through pain like this.

Soonyoung swiftly discards his trash into the garbage bin and approaches you and Jihoon. At the commotion, you lift your head from Jihoon’s shoulder, eyes all red and puffy. Your lips press together, emotions nearly bursting at the seams, but they finally break out when Soonyoung opens his arms wide.

“C’mere.”

You practically flail into his embrace, arms wrapping around his torso in a vice grip as you hide your face again. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay — he knows you’re not.

Jihoon stands in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at you and Soonyoung clutching at each other in the middle of the apartment before he shuts the front door and clears his throat.

“I’ll just, uh, I’ll be — um. Mhm. Yup.”

He escapes to his room.

Soonyoung squishes his cheek to your temple as you both stay there. You’re shaking, and his arms squeeze tighter. If only he could make it stop. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make you feel better.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, though quiet and hesitant.

You shake your head, mumbling something he can’t quite make out. He pulls back a bit, just enough to see your face and gently cup your cheeks in his palms. His thumbs rub at your cheeks, smoothing any stray tears across your skin.

“What’s that?”

“Just...” Your eyes glisten. His heart beats. “Could you please just hold me?”

And he does.

Decidedly, his bed is much more comfortable than standing in the living room, so he sways, rocking side to side with small steps that force you to walk backwards. His smile, though, is reassuring, and you follow his guidance without much complaint. He sits you down on his bed, thankful that he cleaned up beforehand, and slowly leans you down so you’re both on your sides, facing each other. Pulling you closer, he lets you rest your head on his chest. Your hand lies flat on top of him, but eventually your fingers curl, clutching a bit of Soonyoung’s shirt between them. Silent tears fall from your eyes to his chest, but he doesn’t care.

His arm underneath you wraps around, hand landing on your back so his thumb can rub soothing circles.

It’s quiet.

Funny. Soonyoung used to dislike silence with you — always felt the need to fill it with conversation or jokes or laughter. He wonders when it was last since he felt that way.

Soonyoung doesn’t know how much time passes. His eyes stick to his bedroom ceiling as he holds you close, thoughts on everything and nothing all at once. Are you asleep? Your tears stopped some time ago.

His question is answered when your voice, small and unsure, breaks the long-standing silence.

“Soonyoung?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you about it?”

He cranes his neck to look at you, but it doesn’t really work. “Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. I just... I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.”

“I know, but—”

“You’re not.”

You look up at him finally, and seeing your smile sends warmth through his blood. Your face is still looks wrecked from tears gone by, but your smile pushes all that out of the way.

“Thank you,” comes past your lips in a whisper. Then, after a moment of waiting, you say, “It’s just that... I... this — ugh.” You hide your face in his shirt again. “This is so embarrassing. I don’t even know why I got so worked up.”

Soonyoung doesn’t respond to that, just pats your back a few times and encourages you to keep going. You toy with the fabric of his shirt.

“This guy I used to know — I thought I’d never see him again, but he showed up today. Ran into him when I was walking back from the convenience store.” You bite the inside of your lip. “I haven’t thought about him in a long time, but, I don’t know, I guess seeing him just brought all these memories back all at once.”

“Bad ones?”

A breathy laugh escapes you. “Sure, you could say that.”

The silence comes back, and your brows furrow, almost like you’re trying to solve the problem all on your own. But you don’t have to. Soonyoung is here.

“Do you remember when I told you about my first kiss? Like, my real first kiss?”

Soonyoung hums. Of course he remembers.

“Back in high school, I used to have this friend. Sammy. She was — god, she was beautiful. And kind, and smart, and just... amazing. I miss her a lot. She’s abroad now, travelling the world with her sister. I think she’s in Peru now.” You chuckle at the mention of your old friend, but soon your smile twists into a frown. “This guy... I don’t like saying his name, but he liked Sammy. Everyone did, I don’t blame him for that, honestly. He was pretty popular back then — one of those sports boys, you know? Thinking about it now, he could’ve easily gotten with Sammy if he hadn’t been so conniving.”

“Conniving?”

“Yeah, he was... I don’t know how he got the idea in his head, but he came to me first. He kept hanging out with me, taking me on these... dates? But they weren’t really dates, all we did was talk about Sammy — what she liked, what she didn’t like. I knew he was using me, but I just... let him, I guess. Maybe back then I was just so caught up in being needed that I didn’t really mind being used.”

Soonyoung hugs you tighter.

“I guess he felt sorry, maybe? Right before he went to go ask Sammy out, he just... laid one on me. It was stupid. Like a pity kiss for my service or whatever. I wasn’t in love with the guy or anything, but it felt so... degrading. Like all I deserved was some action from a conventionally good-looking guy."

Your tears come back, brimming at the edge of your eyelids.

“I don’t know, it just — it just made me feel so...”

You take a breath. Exhale.

“...worthless.”

Soonyoung doesn’t fail to see the irony here, at least, but he feels slightly lifted. Whoever this guy is, Soonyoung’s a million times better.

“You’re not worthless,” he says — because he knows it’s true.

“I know.” You readjust yourself curled around him, wiping away the tears which haven’t fallen. “I mean, I know now.” Sighing, you wrap your arm around his waist, somehow pulling him closer than he already was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. For being you. For letting me be me.”

“It is my absolute pleasure to serve you, your majesty.”

You wack him with the sleeve of your sweater. “You’re such a dork!”

Your laugh is nice. Soonyoung hopes to hear it again soon.

“You know,” you say, eyes closed as you lie there with him on his bed. “Normally I would’ve gone to Seungkwan with my problems, but tonight...”

“Tonight?”

“You make me feel safe, Soonyoung. Thank you.”

His eyes close. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “That, and if I told Seungkwan, he would’ve found the guy and beat him to a pulp.”

“Why can I see that?”

“Because it’s true.”

You stay the night.

•

With a group of friends as big as Soonyoung’s, it’s about once every blue moon that the boys find a time that works for everyone, especially coming up on finals season. They all have their own worries around this time: the dance showcase, the big play, last-minute assessments, and — of course — finals.

So when they’re all free for barbecue one night, everyone’s ecstatic. Reservations are made, gratuities are calculated, and the group chat blows up every few hours with various changes to plans. (Mostly from Mingyu, who’s eager to show off his grilling skills.)

But of course, university is university, and it’s inevitable that someone has to bail out. That someone being Soonyoung.

The dance showcase creeps up a bit faster than anyone likes, and now Soonyoung’s professor is forcing him to choreograph an entire song for some freshmen only a month before the whole thing goes onstage.

First of all, who signs up for a showcase only four weeks before the performance? Who lets them sign up?

And second of all, doesn’t his professor realize Soonyoung has a life? He’s got other dances to work on, other classes to study for, friends to have barbecue with. How is he supposed to cram an entire choreography — not the mention the time it’ll take to teach the freshmen — into his already hectic lifestyle?

But Soonyoung is a people-pleaser. He doesn’t say no.

Instead, he regretfully messages the group chat, saying he can’t hang out tonight in favour of attempting to choreograph at least a quarter of the song in one sitting. He gets the usual whining, but they all know they can’t change his mind, so it fades out fast.

What he doesn’t expect is for them to invite you instead.

“It’s a thirteen person reservation,” Seungcheol reasons. “Besides, he’s basically one of us by now.”

Soonyoung can’t exactly argue with that.

So, you go to the restaurant with them while Soonyoung heads to the studio. Minghao picks you up along with Vernon and Chan, which sends an anxious bit of worry down Soonyoung’s spine, but he does nothing about it. If Minghao wanted to tell you, he would’ve by now.

You send him a good luck text.

[🍥] Don’t let those kids work you into the ground!

He stares at your words for a bit, distracted from finding the song he’s supposed to use. Your contact name is different now — one of those naruto fishcakes because of that time you took him out for ramen. That night had been full of laughter and loud, borderline obnoxious slurping, ending with the beautiful finale of Soonyoung throwing a fishcake straight into your open mouth.

You were the one that sweet-talked you both out of getting banned.

Soonyoung finally opens his music app and finds the song the freshmen requested (a rather boring one, if you ask him) which he sets to max volume. He doesn’t bother plugging his phone into the speaker system, not when he’s the only one in the studio.

Maybe he can do this.

•

“The trick is to add eggs and use less water,” you say as you scoop more batter onto the waffle iron.

Jihoon snorts from where he sits at the table, still shoveling more whipped cream and strawberry-smothered waffle in his mouth. “Are you sure the trick isn’t to just not be Soonyoung?”

“Hey!” Soonyoung pauses his own eating just to pout. “My waffles are good!”

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

Both you and Jihoon laugh at Soonyoung’s expense, only further accentuating the pout on his face. You and Jihoon are too alike in that aspect. Well, actually, Soonyoung knows you’d never laugh at him, but he still can’t be sure about Jihoon. One time, back in high school, Soonyoung tripped over (what he thought was) a dead bird, and Jihoon laughed for hours — though Soonyoung always exaggerates the story into him laughing for days.

You sit down next to him with your own plate of waffles. There’s flour dusted on your arms, but you don’t seem to mind.

“You’ve got a little...” You point a finger at the corner of your mouth.

He knows. Soonyoung can feel the cool whipped cream right where you say it is.

He smiles wide. “I’m saving it for later.”

“Hmm...”

You say nothing, just smile as you lean in, kissing the corner of his lips. It’s quick, chaste, and barely a real kiss, but Soonyoung’s heart bounces in his chest. He’s never been kissed like that before.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be loved.

That thought, though, he pushes back for another time.

“Gross. You guys made me lose my appetite,” Jihoon says. He keeps eating.

•

With eyes drooping shut every few seconds, Soonyoung decides it’s time to call it quits on the chemistry homework. It’s nearly one in the morning, anyways. He flips his textbooks shut and gathers up all his notes, putting them all in a haphazard pile that he’ll worry about in the morning. Swivelling in his chair, his eyes land on you.

Oh. He forgot you’re here.

You’re snuggled up on top of his covers, one arm wrapped around the pillow your head should be on, eyes closed as even, slow breaths come past your slightly parted lips. One of his hoodies is draped over your legs like a blanket. He wonders why you didn’t just get under the covers.

Well, he has been walking you home ever since he hadn’t some time ago. Maybe you were waiting.

He feels a bit guilty as he brushes his teeth and washes his face, but not too bad since you only have afternoon classes tomorrow. Maybe he can treat you to something in the morning to make up for it.

After he tucks you under a fluffy throw blanket, he crawls into bed and lies on his side, facing you.

Your other hand is lax, palm up and fingers curled, almost like you’re holding something invisible.

His hand would fit perfectly.

The tips of his fingers graze over the lines on your palm. Slow. Trepidatious.

You shift, fingers unconsciously curling around Soonyoung’s hand.

He closes his eyes.

•

The moves aren’t working.

The moves aren’t working and the music isn’t working and the dance isn’t working and nothing is working.

Soonyoung groans in frustration, almost screaming with his fingers threaded through his damp hair as he messes up yet another landing. He’s drenched in sweat, and it’s only been so many hours since the rest of the crew left for the night, not that he’s kept track.

It’s less than a week until the showcase. Six days, as Chan is apt to remind everyone with his stupid holiday countdown app.

That freshmen choreography is already over and done with — Soonyoung’s made it, he’s taught it to those over-eager nuisances, and if they need anything more, that’s on them. They’re no longer his responsibility.

That’s not what has him in such a state right now.

His solo — the one he’s been planning for the entire semester — it just doesn’t... feel right. He’s been slaving over it for days now, reworking the steps, figuring out what to take out and what to replace. But the more he fixes it, the more it feels wrong.

He can’t get the steps right. He can’t get anything right.

What is wrong with him?

He starts the music again at exactly one minute, thirty-eight seconds. The moves are clear in his mind. One step. Two steps. Sweep. Spin. Jump—

He falls.

The music goes on.

Soonyoung slams his fist onto the softwood floor, cursing at his ineptitude. He stays like that for a moment, eyes screwed shut and fists clenched so tight his nails dig into his palms. The song ends, only to restart again, but Soonyoung barely notices.

Screw the music. He stands; positions himself; tries again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

He falls.

He yells out at the floor, at his feet, at whatever is holding him back.

His reflection in the mirror stares back at him.

Mind blank, he sits there, legs stretched out in front of him as he hunches over, eyes closed to the world around. His breaths come out shaky and uneven, but even though every moment sitting still feels like eternity, his lungs fail to calm.

Someone knocks on the door, and for a second, Soonyoung thinks it’s Jun coming to tell him to go home for the night. He doesn’t want to, so he doesn’t look up.

The door opens, he can hear the quiet shuffling of hesitant feet that have removed their shoes just because the sign on the door told them to.

“Soonyoung?”

Your voice is clear — like a single drop of water coalescing into a whole — and it cuts through the sound of blood rushing past Soonyoung’s ears.

He looks up to see you standing a good length away, almost like you’re scared to approach. You’re wearing pyjamas, a thick sweater pulled over your shoulders and fuzzy socks donning your feet. Something bulges from the pocket of your sweater.

“What are you...”

“Minghao called me.”

In the back of his mind, a small part of Soonyoung wonders exactly when you and Minghao have gotten close enough to call each other, but the thought doesn’t stay for long. It can’t, really, not when you’re in front of him.

When Soonyoung says nothing more, you take another step forward. “What’s wrong?”

To anyone else, he might say nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong.

His voice breaks when he tries to laugh.

“Everything.”

Your eyes soften, a small smile tugging at your lips. It’s not one of those pitiful smiles, he can tell, but it’s not fake, either. You bring your hands together in front of you, fiddling with the tips of your fingers as your eyes move from them to his gaze again. “I’m coming over. Is that okay?”

He nods.

First, you find his phone and turn down the music until it’s gone. You sit right behind him, legs spread on either side of his body, and you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing flush to his back and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. He squirms a bit.

“I’m all sweaty,” he tries to argue, but you only squeeze him tighter.

“Yeah, you are.”

He stops resisting. It’s much too hot, what with his hours of constant exercise and your thick layers, but he can’t complain.

“Do you want to talk about it?” This time it’s your turn to ask.

“...Just hold me?”

And you do.

You press a kiss to the back of his neck. Slow, soft, and when your lips leave his searing skin, your forehead replaces them.

That’s when the dam breaks.

Hot, fat tears roll from Soonyoung’s eyes down his cheeks as sobs rack through his chest. The vibrations shake him and you all at once, but your hold never falters. He can’t see anything, only a blur of what should be his legs and your arms wrapped around his stomach. His hands go to clutch at your arms, desperate to hold onto something; to not let him sink.

It’s ugly, the way he cries, but you let it happen. You hold him.

This is what it’s like.

Eventually, his desperate hands find yours, his arms crossed so his right is over your right, his left over your left. His fingers roam over the smooth backs of your hands until they reach your fingers and interlock. The palms of your hands are warm compared to his fingertips.

You’ve locked onto his body language by now — you’re fluent, so you know to continue pressing reassuring, slow kisses into his skin. You know to whisper little words that should mean nothing, but coming from your lips, mean everything.

He’s going to be okay.

For some reason, coming from you, he believes it.

You hold him until the hiccuping stops, until the tears are just dry streaks on his face, until his breath comes out in long streams instead of bursts.

His eyes stay shut as he feels you shift. One of your hands slips out of his grasp, your arm reaching back, and Soonyoung almost whines until he feels its return.

“Look,” you whisper.

It itches to open his eyes, but when he does, he sees what’s in your hand, right in front of him. A small stuffed tiger sits in your palm, positioned anatomically incorrect like a teddy bear, a velvet heart between its paws. Stitched white letters read:

Go get ‘em, tiger!

You chuckle lightly, repositioning yourself so your chin hooks over his shoulder. “Cheesy, I know. I was going to give this to you the day of the showcase, but I think you could use it right about now.”

Gingerly, Soonyoung lifts his hands together, and you place the plush in his awaiting palms.

His voice is slow to restart, but he manages to say, “Thank you.”

Hands now free, you wrap yourself around his waist again. “Anything for you.”

Such a simple sentence, that, and yet the confession sends blood to Soonyoung’s ears in the form of an awfully embarrassing blush. He runs his thumbs over the fuzzy fabric of the tiger plush.

“Soonyoung?”

“Hm?”

You press your lips to the crook of his shoulder, voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. “I won’t force you to stop practicing. I know this is important to you.” Soonyoung feels your breath fan over his skin. “But I also want you to rest — you shouldn’t overwork yourself.”

One of your hands rises to his chin, guiding it up so he looks forward at the studio mirror and meets your gaze in the reflection.

“Whaddya say we do, hm?” You tilt your head, and Soonyoung thinks his pupils may be heart-shaped. “Do you want to practice more? Or can I take you home?”

“Just...” He swallows what’s left in his dry mouth. “Just once more.”

You smile. “Okay.”

As you get up, you run your hands up to Soonyoung’s shoulder and down to his hand, where you playfully pretend to pull him up with you. He laughs, hiding his face behind the tiger plush for a second before he stands, tugging your hands as he does so you fall into him when he rights himself. Both your hands are squeezed between him and you, while his unoccupied arm finds its way to your side.

Another smile tugs at your lips at the proximity. You shift your hands up so they wrap over his shoulders, linking behind his head. Leaning closer, your eyes gleam under the fluorescent lights. To the sound of silence, you sway together, waltzing in the dead of night.

“I’ll be outside, okay?”

Soonyoung’s expression tightens, eyebrows shifting in confusion. “Why?”

“Well,” you say. “I know how you feel about audiences during practice.”

Something about your smile right now makes Soonyoung feel so undeniably safe. You understand him. Never once have you questioned him over why he doesn’t invite you to practices, never once did you pressure him to change that.

“Do you know how I feel about you?”

“Hmm, do I?”

Do you?

“Stay.”

And you do.

•

Here’s the thing about dance showcases:

They’re big, they’re flashy, they take the entire year to plan, and they’re over in one night.

Soonyoung stands in the wings, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, hopefully not loud enough for anyone to hear. He watches as the group performing before his solo finishes up their dance, though he knows there is at least a minute before he’ll have to go on.

A tap on his shoulder makes him turn his head, and he sees Sehee’s smiling face.

“Nervous?” she asks, her voice hidden beneath the music.

She’s all dolled up, dressed in her costume with a sleek leather jacket to bring everything together. Her eyes glimmer just as much as her eyelids.

“You have no idea,” Soonyoung jokes, but his heart isn’t really in it.

Sehee tilts her head; blinks a few times. “You’ll do amazing. You always do.”

For what it’s worth, Soonyoung hasn’t forgotten his attraction. Sehee’s words soothe him to some extent, pump him up, even. It’s slightly terrifying — how much she still affects him even now.

You’re in the audience tonight, third row from the front, somewhere in the middle. Your seat is between Seungkwan’s and Jihoon’s, whereas all the other boys came (almost) too late and had to find seats elsewhere.

The music ends, applause erupts, and Soonyoung knows it’s his turn. He waits for the group to exit on the opposite side, and when the resounding claps quiet down, he takes the first step onstage.

Something Soonyoung has almost always known: stage lights are blinding. If they’re set up right, anyone onstage will have a damn hard time seeing anyone in the audience. He can’t see you — couldn’t during his previous performance with the crew, either. The only reason he knows you’re there is the million assuring texts you sent him before you had to turn off your phone for the show.

But he knows you’re there. He knows you’re watching.

Soonyoung stands with his left foot on the spike mark, right where he’s practiced time and time again ever since they transitioned into the space. Music floods his veins, and the world is gone.

He wouldn’t call it an escape. Soonyoung doesn’t use dance to get away, it’s not like that. This world he creates with dance — this other space where nothing exists except him and the music and the floor and the feeling — he chooses to go there. Euphoria, he thinks it might be called. Euphoric.

The space takes him. He lets it.

And then it’s over.

Soonyoung’s breath leaves him in bursts, his shoulders heaving despite how hard he fights to keep them still in his final pose. His back faces the audience, his right arm stretched out and up, fingers curling around nothing. Stars dance before his eyes — which he fails to catch with his outstretched hand.

He thinks he can faintly hear applause, but it’s nothing compared to the heart beating in his chest. Your voice plays in his ears, yet he knows it’s simply his imagination — his recollection.

I like your dance, you’d said that night. I’m no expert, no judge, but I like it. I love it, honestly. Your dancing... I don’t know. I wish I had the words. It’s like... a little box.

A little box?

You’ve got a little box in your hand. Brown, maybe the size of your palm. You open it and there’s no bottom, no sides, no shape, just an expanse of universe in blues and pinks and purples and whatever colours we don’t know exist. You look inside and reach your hand in, somehow fitting in the tiny yet infinite space. Your fingers brush through starlight like strands of silk, like the rays are minnows you’ve met during a summer dip. Like that. A little box.

I thought you said you didn’t have the words?

I don’t. Not enough.

Soonyoung vaguely registers the lights going black, the way his feet drift him offstage, the music of the seniors’ finale.

At some point, the lights are back on. Not the stage lights, but the harsh fluorescents once the audience has fully filtered out into the lobby. Most of them will leave, but the family and friends of performers are sure to stay, waiting there to congratulate and fawn over the dancers as soon as they’re let go for the night. Somewhere in his mind, Soonyoung knows his friends are outside waiting for him — him, Jun, Minghao, and Chan.

Roses are passed around. He’s never seen a blue rose before, but some dancers walk around with them as they change out of costume and gather their things. He points out a yellow rose from the bunch presented to him, but it turns out to be a bouquet for him specifically, and he takes the whole thing with his jaw slightly hanging. Everything’s a bit... slow. Soonyoung feels like he’s wading through water.

He hasn’t changed yet, simply standing in his costume as he watches people go back and forth. Other performers move from dressing room to dressing room, cleaning up what they have to while simultaneously patting each other’s backs. Techs go around making sure everything’s in order, nothing lost or forgotten. They put away the MC’s microphones and bother the dancers for not taking proper care of props even though it’s only been one night.

Another tap on his shoulder; it’s Sehee again.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks.

He follows her to a corner of the stage, where the curtains hang and hide the two — for the most part.

She turns almost too abruptly, causing Soonyoung to stumble over his own two feet to avoid bumping into her.

“This is really hard for me to say,” she starts. “But I have to get it out.”

Soonyoung nods, maybe saying something close to a confirmation, but he can’t really tell. He’s a little lightheaded. Sehee has changed out of her leather, instead now in a pair of grey sweatpants and a simple t-shirt. That’s the thing about Sehee, though, she has that unnamed sort of... effortless beauty. Even with her stage makeup wiped off, she glows.

“This might be one of the last times I ever work with you, you know? Next year, my parents are making me quit dancing so I can focus on my major. It sucks, yeah, but they’re right. I need to focus if I want to succeed. You know that too, don’t you? The need to succeed?” She takes a breath; laughs bitterly. “Sorry, I’m getting off track... I just — I wanted to tell you this because if I don’t tonight, I might never get the chance again.”

Maybe Soonyoung has dreamed of this moment. He can’t be sure, not yet, so he lets her continue.

“I like you, Soonyoung. I have for a while. But things happened, and you got together with...” her voice trails off. “And you seemed happy, after a while. I thought maybe I could just keep it hidden but, I don’t know, I think I need to tell you, to get closure because I'm not sure if I can go on without at least—”

Choices. Soonyoung — and everyone else in the world — has only made it through life with decisions. He’s made good ones. Bad ones. He’s had regrets and he’s had none. This, though, this choice is intensely apparent.

Apparent in the way he knows it will affect much more than he wishes.

He kisses her.

God, this is what he wanted, right? What he’s wanted for so long. He used to toss and turn at night over the thought of Sehee’s eyes; her smile; her lips.

And on his, they were heaven. Plump and soft just like the romance novels say, moving at the exact pace of his heartbeat.

The hand holding his bouquet drops to his side as the other goes to cup Sehee’s cheek. Faintly, the sound of paper fluttering to the ground reaches his ears, but nothing can distract him from this moment.

Until, of course, it ends.

Sehee pulls away. “We can’t— I don’t—”

Someone clears their throat.

Soonyoung turns, finding Minghao standing just off from the curtains, arms crossed and face contorted in thinly-veiled anger.

And you.

You’re standing next to Minghao, obviously shocked — over being seen or what you’ve seen, Soonyoung doesn’t know. Hands fisted and hanging loose at your sides, your eyes widen as they meet Soonyoung’s.

It’s not so dramatic as the movies.

Soonyoung stares at you, tongue unmoving with nothing to say. You stare back, almost frozen, until Minghao gently takes you by your shoulders, forcing you to turn and leave the way you must’ve come. Nothing happens in the time it takes. Soonyoung simply watches.

He’s never been good at reading lips, but he thinks he knows exactly what Minghao whispers in your ear.

There’s something you should know.

Sehee mutters, “Sorry,” and leaves. She looks guilt-ridden as she does, but even in his half-frozen state, Soonyoung knows all of this is on him.

He stands alone in that corner of the stage, the only noise being the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of the last stragglers in the dressing rooms. His hands clench, and the brown paper of the bouquet crumples. He looks at it then, at the yellow roses and baby’s breath, at the beige note that’s fallen to the floor.

Slowly, he crouches, picking up the note with his thumb and forefinger.

Congratulations Soonyoung!! I know how hard you’ve worked for this night, which is why I ordered these to be delivered. Joshua told me yellow roses represent happiness, or something. Pretty, right? You deserve every happiness, so I decided to start with flowers. Tonight may be over, but who knows, maybe we’ll find happiness in tomorrow, too.

It’s stupid. It’s not a love letter. It’s laced with love, though, and he hates that he recognizes your handwriting.

Time moves heavily as Soonyoung turns to the backstage door. He’s the only one left now, his station in the second boy’s dressing room is messy, unlike everyone else’s. His reflection stares back at him while he sits in front of the mirror, motions halved in speed as he wipes off his eye makeup.

It’s over.

When was the last time he thought about how it would end?

He changes out of costume, arms growing stiff, and stuffs everything in his bag without much care for how. His regular clothes itch; he longs to scratch at his skin, but he doesn’t.

He leaves your bouquet on the counter.

His friends stand in a circle in the lobby, brows furrowed and voices hushed as they discuss... something. Soonyoung has a bad feeling he knows exactly the topic. Minghao isn’t there. Nor are you.

Jihoon isn’t around, either, but Soonyoung remembers he had to leave immediately after the performance. Something about an essay. It doesn’t really matter now, not compared to this.

When he approaches his friends, they quiet down further. Half of them look his way with a frown, while the other half choose to avert their eyes. What do they know?

Seungkwan stands out the most. His arms are crossed, his lips are pressed together in a thin line, and anger radiates from his very being. Of course he’s mad. You’re his friend.

The silence consumes Soonyoung as he nearly shrivels under his friends’ gazes. He must have taken his time, the lobby is empty except for them.

“Where’s Minghao?” he asks.

Seungkwan lurches forward, but both Seungcheol and Wonwoo bring up their arms to hold him back. 

“Where’s Minghao? Where’s Minghao?” he seethes. He jabs an accusatory finger in Soonyoung’s face. “You just kissed some girl and broke my best friend’s heart and you’re asking about Minghao?!”

So they don’t know. Not really.

Soonyoung endures the scolding. The looks. The questions. The noise.

No answers are really given.

The great thing about having best friends is that they know not to pamper you when you’ve done wrong. That’s also the worst thing about having best friends.

Seungkwan would go on and on, surely, but soon enough the boys notice how little Soonyoung is reacting — how his face and expression is slack and dull.

Joshua holds up a finger to quiet down the ones still complaining, then gestures towards the front entrance.

“Minghao left with him a while ago.” The look on his face is one of pity. Soonyoung hates it.

He nods; stuffs his hands in his pockets as he turns to the door.

“Wait! I’m not done—!” Seungkwan struggles against Wonwoo and Seungcheol, but he’s no match.

Soonyoung doesn’t stick around long enough to hear what happens next.

He has no sense of what to do when he walks out that door. Go home, maybe.

The night breeze hits him with more force than it should, making his eyes go dry and his lips tremble. Outside, everything is almost too loud. There’s traffic on all sides, surrounding the lot of the theatre; the sound of humming engines and honking horns assaults his senses.

He walks — though it feels like wandering — to the parking lot, where he plans to look around for a bus stop.

You’re there.

A mirage, he thinks at first, but you’re really there, sitting on one of those concrete barriers, legs outstretched and ankles crossed. You have your head lowered as you sit, hands braced on the cold concrete.

His held breath escapes him, and you look up.

“You’re here,” you say. The smile on your lips, ever so slight and ever so bitter, causes a ringing in his ears. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“I...”

“It’s a lie, right?” Your eyes glisten, but no tears fall. “You wouldn’t— I’m not— I’m not that naive, am I?”

Soonyoung’s lips part, but nothing moves past them. His hands itch to leave his pockets, but with nothing to reach for, they stay still.

“...I see.”

You drop your head again, bringing your hands together to fiddle with your fingernails. He hears your breath, shaky as it is, and his lungs constrict.

“God, it felt so real. I thought— I guess I don’t know what I thought, huh?” A shiver runs through you. “Was any of it real?” you ask the ground.

Soonyoung longs to answer. That’s the thing, though.

He doesn’t know.

Can any of it be real?

You laugh. Before, your laugh was spring strawberries; summer warblers; winter snowdrops. Now, your dry laughter echoes in Soonyoung’s mind like a pebble in a failed attempt of skipping stones.

“Guess not.”

You hop off the concrete barrier, wiping off your pants of dust and dirt. Still, you don’t meet his eyes.

Soonyoung’s heart beats in a way he knows isn’t natural. Guilt seeps through every orifice. “You’re not... you’re not yelling at me. You’re not crying — you’re not angry,” he stumbles through. “Why?”

It’s then that when you meet his eyes, he notices the dried tracks lining your cheeks. You have been crying, just in the time it took for him to come across you.

“I’m just disappointed in myself, Soonyoung,” you say. “I’m the one who fell for it so easily. I’m the one that was tricked. I’m the one who—” a breath “—who loved someone that didn’t love me back.” You step closer, arms limp at your side. “Once I get home, sure, I’ll cry my eyes out. Is that what you want to hear? I’ll curse myself for being so... so stupid.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“No, it’s not. This is not my fault. All I did was believe the words you said to me. All I did was hand myself to you on a silver platter.” Unshed tears brim at your eyelids, but it seems you refuse to let them fall. “But you know the worst part, Soonyoung?”

Everything?

“The worst part is I can’t yell at you. I’m not angry because I fell in love with someone who doesn’t love me back and it hurts and I can’t bring myself to hate you despite being told you’ve never thought about me the way I think about you.”

A breathy gasp escapes you, and you turn on a dime, the sight of your back an icy reminder to Soonyoung of what he’s yet to learn. You take a deep breath to gather yourself, shoulders rising and falling.

“I’ll be going now. I’ve got a lot to think about.”

Soonyoung doesn’t move from his spot when you walk away, or when you get into Minghao’s car, which pulls away after a moment of sitting there in its parking spot. His feet are stuck in stiff mud, unable to shift, even.

Perhaps he stands there for too long. It’s not until he’s staring down the front of his apartment that he realizes one of his friends must have dropped him off.

•

He hasn’t heard from you in a few days. He hasn’t heard from anyone in just as long.

Jihoon already knew (not everything, but enough) by the time Soonyoung rolled out of bed the day after. He hasn’t said anything about it, but Soonyoung can tell this silence isn’t the same as usual. They rarely eat meals together anymore. Last movie night, Jihoon didn’t even pretend to be busy, instead saying he simply wasn’t in the mood.

Seungkwan hasn’t left your side ever since... that happened. If Soonyoung happens to see you on campus, which is almost never, he backs out of approaching you because of the sheer force that is Seungkwan’s glare. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to say even if he did find the courage to face you.

Classes go by in blurs. Not quickly, like scenery past a car window, but so slow that once Soonyoung leaves, he remembers nothing but hours upon hours of staring at his empty notebook, even if the lecture was only fifty minutes long. Days are kind of like that too.

•

Sehee apologizes. She shouldn’t, but she does.

Soonyoung didn’t really hate what he did at first. He liked her, after all.

But when Sehee chokes on her own words, pleading to whoever will listen that she’s not that kind of girl, Soonyoung regrets kissing her more than he ever wanted to kiss her in the first place.

•

please let me explain

I’m sorry

it’s been a while, but still

I’m sorry

[🍥] Explain what?

[🍥] ...

[🍥] Soonyoung?

sorry I just

I wasn’t expecting you to answer

[🍥] Maybe I shouldn’t have

no

wait

I’m sorry

[🍥] So I’ve heard

I just want you to know why what happened, happened

[🍥] But I already know why

it’s not that simple

[🍥] You lied because you suck at lying. Because you knew Sehee was there that night and panicked. I was just collateral damage

[🍥] ...

[🍥] No answer, huh?

[🍥] So it really is that simple

please wait

I’m just trying to figure myself out

[🍥] Let me help you

[🍥] You want my forgiveness because you feel guilty. Maybe you don’t know it yet, but you want me to say I forgive you just so you won’t have to carry this around for the rest of your life

[🍥] I know this isn’t some romcom. I know you’re not here to get me back

[🍥] So just let it go

[🍥] Let’s just forget about this. About what happened

what if I can’t

[🍥] I don’t know

[🍥] Figure it out, I guess

[🍥] But do it on your own

•

Soonyoung doesn’t measure his time anymore.

He wakes up. He eats. He goes to class. He skips lunch. He goes home. He eats. He falls asleep.

When was the last time he went out with someone? When was the last time he had a real conversation?

He doesn’t know.

•

[Minghao] You should tell everyone else

why

[Minghao] Would you rather they think you’re a cheater or just an idiot?

I don’t know

[Minghao] I think they deserve an explanation

[Minghao] Want me to do it for you?

does it even matter anymore

[Minghao] It’s your choice

[Minghao] You just have to make it

then tell them

I don’t care

[Minghao] Are you sure?

tell them

•

These days, Soonyoung stays late at the studio. No one really practices there anymore, not since the showcase finished and finals have rolled around. Actually, Soonyoung should be studying too, but he can’t find the motivation. He thinks it might be the guilt.

You were right. He doesn’t want to carry this around.

The thing is, despite spending entire evenings in the studio, he can’t remember anything as he walks home. It must be hours spent in there, and yet, when he walks out, he can’t recall a thing. Like he was never there at all.

Where does the time go?

With his luck, the elevator is broken when he returns to the apartment building, so he has to take the stairs. Normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, but after hours of mindless, sloppy dancing, he’s much too tired. He fumbles with his keys when he tries to open the door, and he rests his forehead on the cool wood for a moment, sighing before he tries again.

The door creaks open. Though it’s late, the lights are still on, which Soonyoung frowns at when he realizes. Lately, Jihoon is never up when Soonyoung comes home. But there he is, sitting at the table right next to the kitchen with his eyes on his hands and his feet tucked under the chair.

Soonyoung freezes after shutting the door behind him, not wholly sure what to make of the scene before him.

After a moment of silence, Jihoon looks up from his fingers and meets Soonyoung’s gaze.

“Minghao called me today,” he says.

Soonyoung gulps, but doesn’t respond — doesn’t know how to.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first, you know.” His voice is slow, croaky; tired. “But it sort of makes sense, doesn’t it. I don’t know how I didn’t see it from the start.”

Slowly, Soonyoung slips off his shoes and steps further into the apartment. “So now you know. I’m really not in the mood for a lecture right now.”

“I just have a question.”

Soonyoung pauses, halfway through the apartment and only a few meters from his bedroom door. He turns to face Jihoon, sighing through his nose and digging his palm into his eye sockets. “Fine,” he concedes. “What?”

“If you never loved — never liked him, why are you acting like this now?”

“Acting like what?”

“Like a dead man walking.”

Soonyoung scoffs, a dry, empty sound as he looks away for a moment before meeting Jihoon’s gaze again. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks. “I lied to someone for months. I pretended to love someone I didn’t. I used him because of my own stupidity and pride, and then I used Sehee, too—” Pausing, he closes his eyes; takes a breath. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s guilt. I feel guilty for... for everything.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Excuse me?”

Jihoon rhythmically taps the pads of his fingers on the table. It’s not loud enough to be heard, but Soonyoung’s eyes train to the sight. “It’s only the guilt?”

“What else would it be?”

This time, it’s Jihoon who sighs. He looks at his hands again for a second. “Do me a favour,” he says without looking up.

“Look, I already—”

“Just do what I say.”

Soonyoung groans, but he knows he can’t argue with Jihoon and win — not now at least. He rubs his eyes, shoulders rising and falling as he takes in a deep breath. Mumbling under his breath, he says, “Fine.”

Jihoon stands from his chair, and in such stagnant silence, the sound of the legs squeaking on the floor is profound. He points to the middle of the apartment, the large bit of floor-space that’s too big to be considered part of the kitchen but too small to house any furniture.

“Stand right there.”

“...What?”

Without answering, Jihoon simply points at the floor again, and Soonyoung can only groan in defiance as he moves to stand in that spot. Grabbing a throw pillow from the couch, Jihoon steps a few feet away, facing Soonyoung with the pillow held in one hand at his side. He seems to consider something for a moment.

Soonyoung has never been unable to read Jihoon this much, so he asks, “What is this all about—”

Jihoon screams. Not a high-pitched screech, but a guttural battle cry, and Soonyoung’s eyes widen. Faster than he can comprehend, Jihoon runs towards him and tackles him to the ground. Soonyoung’s legs crumble as he falls, and he feels the throw pillow pressing onto his face.

This is it, he thinks. This is how he dies.

“Jihoon!” he cries, but his protest is muffled by the pillow. “What the fuck are you—!”

“You fucking idiot! You don’t know shit!”

“I know that!” Soonyoung thrashes to get the pillow off, but Jihoon is way stronger than he looks.

“You miss him you fucking buffoon! You’re all in your doom and gloom because you had a good thing going and had to go fuck it up!”

“I don’t!”

“Don’t try to argue with me, fucker, I know you better than anyone. Now scream!”

The pillows squishes further down, and while Soonyoung can still breathe, it’s far from comfortable. He continues to struggle even though he knows it’s useless.

“What?!”

“Scream into the pillow! You’re mad at yourself and you should be! Let it all out!”

“I—”

“Scream!”

And he does. He lets out a loud bellow that’s nothing but sound roaring from his lungs. He does it mostly to appease Jihoon — so that maybe he’ll finally get off.

But it feels good.

No, not good, really. It feels awful. Everything feels awful. Yet, something about screaming makes him want to do it again. He yells once more into the pillow, the sound muffled in the fabric and yet intensely remarkable. He screams and he screams and he screams until he can’t scream anymore and his voice is raw and there’s no more sound aside from the fractured gasps of his sobs. Tears soak into rough fabric, and he doesn’t even notice that Jihoon isn’t holding the pillow anymore — he’s pressing it to his face himself. His body shakes under Jihoon. Soonyoung feels pathetic, but he can’t stop.

He tries again to scream into the pillow, but his voice cracks and all he knows is to cry.

This is what it’s like.

Quietly, Jihoon maneuvers himself so he sits by Soonyoung’s head. He slowly lifts a corner of the pillow and peeks at Soonyoung’s red face. “So,” he whispers, voice soft and full of care. “What are you going to do now?”

Soonyoung wraps his arms around the pillow, hiding his face again.

“I don’t know,” he says. He’s never felt less sure of anything. “I don’t know.”

•

That night, Soonyoung cleans his room. He doesn’t reorganize or anything, just picks discarded clothes up off the ground and throws them in a hamper, spreads his blankets so his bed actually looks bed-like, and takes his overflowing garbage bin out to the door, where he’ll take it out tomorrow morning. As he stretches his arm between his bed and the wall, his fingers close around the sweater he’s trying to reach and... something else. When he brings his hand back up, a small tiger plush stares back at him.

Go get ‘em, tiger!

He stares at the words for a moment, sitting up on his bed and leaning his back against the wall. The plush feels frail in his hands, almost like the velvet heart held in the tiger’s paws could crumble at any moment. Maybe it will.

Soonyoung settles down above the covers that night, and the tiger sits on his other pillow.

The one that still smells like you.

•

He cries. (For the second time since you left.)

•

After everything that’s happened, one would think it would take a miracle to fix what’s been broken. Soonyoung thinks it will take more than that, but still; he’s no miracle worker. He thinks it will take magic to just see you again.

Turns out, it takes a coffee.

Jihoon forces Soonyoung to join him in visiting one of the campus cafes. He doesn’t think about it too much, just believes Jihoon’s trying to keep him alive with a little kick of caffeine. That thought is pushed away when Jihoon blocks him from sitting at the little table, pointing instead across the space to the student printing center.

You’re talking to a customer at the front counter, forearms rested on the white faux marble. A smile is on your lips as you say whatever it is you’re saying to the girl, and Soonyoung finds it almost impossible to tear his eyes away. But he does. He scans the rest of the building for a second. Seungkwan is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Minghao.

He turns to Jihoon, a question on the tip of his tongue.

“He told the bodyguards to back off,” Jihoon explains without needing to be asked. “It’s been a few days.” He nods his chin towards you. “Go on. Talk to him.”

Soonyoung shakes his head, gulping down the words he can’t yet think of. “I don’t... I’m not... ready.”

“If you back out now, you’re going to keep backing out until it’s too late.”

Jihoon’s eyes blaze with an unfitting determination for such a setting. He looks stupid, like some self-made, all-knowing relationship guru who likes the coke he’s gripping too much. Still, he’s right.

Soonyoung licks his dry lips and looks at you again. You’ve sat down, relaxed after having helped that customer and now conversing with one of the other students working there. He misses the way you looked when you were happy — when you were happy with him.

What will it take to see that again?

What will it take to hold you again?

His feet move before his doubts can stop him, and the scene feels awfully familiar. This time though, Soonyoung can’t help but feel like the bad guy.

You don’t notice him until he’s right in front of you, and he doesn’t know what hurts more: the immediate frown, or the fake smile you use to cover it up.

“Hi, what can I do for you today?”

If Soonyoung had to define heartache, he might use this moment. Feigning to forget rather than acknowledging the past... it’s effective, but it hurts.

“Can...” He hesitates and curses himself for it. “Can we talk?”

“About printing, yes. About anything else? I really would rather we didn’t,” you say under your breath. It’s hushed, and you don’t shy away when Soonyoung leans closer to hear. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

“But there’s something I need to say.”

“I don’t think I want to hear anymore apologies, Soonyoung.”

“It’s not that,” he argues.

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “It’s not an apology?”

“No— I mean, well, yes I want to apologize. I don’t think I’ll ever stop apologizing, but— but that’s not what I—”

“Soonyoung.”

He stops at your word, knowing that speaking will only get him further into trouble. Around you, his words keep failing. Instead, he meets your eyes, which under more inspection, seem hardened.

Have eyes ever looked so hardened when brimmed with tears?

“I don’t know if you know this, but seeing you makes me hate myself.” By now, your coworker has walked to the back, probably to respect your privacy. Your voice almost cracks. “I’ve felt worthless before, but Soonyoung, do you even realize what that — what you did to me?”

He barely breathes before saying, “What if I... what if I said I fell in love with you? Somewhere along the way?” A pause. Your eyes waver, but steady themselves. “What if I said I love you?”

“Soonyoung,” you say after a second.

“Yes?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

•

[🍥] Give me a reason to give you a chance

this is real right?

[🍥] It’s not a dream if that’s what you’re asking

all of a sudden??

[🍥] Minghao and Jihoon said I should

[🍥] And I think I should too

[🍥] But it’s hard

[🍥] What you said yesterday... I don’t know if I can believe it just yet

will you meet me?

I want to see you

[🍥] Can you give me some time?

yes

all the time you need

but will you?

will you meet me?

[🍥] I don’t want to

[🍥] But then again, I do

[🍥] Just give me some time

•

A strange thing, time. It passes by much too quickly when you want it to last, and it drags on when all you want is to be there. There; right then; right now.

Soonyoung stays up late turning on and off his phone, waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.

It’s only been two days.

Jihoon thinks he’s crazy, though he hasn’t said it out loud — Soonyoung can tell.

He also thinks he might be a little crazy, but that’s okay. If it means he’ll get the chance to make it up to you... maybe he’s fine with being crazy.

At some point, Jihoon barges into his room and takes away Soonyoung’s phone, snatching it straight out of his hands like the little thief he is. He keeps it out of reach despite being shorter, preaching bullshit like, “You need to calm down and act like a normal person!”

Fine, whatever.

Soonyoung goes out for some air. And instant ramen.

There’s a twenty-four hour convenience store right on the edge of campus, manned by a single tired university student that everyone is aware of, yet no one really seems to know his name. It’s one of those spots where time doesn’t exist; maybe names don’t, either.

Compared to the blackness of night, the blanch white convenience store sticks out like a sore thumb, especially with all the bright posters and fluorescent tube-lights. Soonyoung feels just as out of place with no people around just outside the store, but really, it’s to be expected at a time like two in the morning.

He’s right at the door when it chimes and slides open. And so are you.

Both of you freeze where you are, you in the doorway and he just in front. His jaw slacks slightly as he takes you in.

You’re in casual clothes again, a thick sweater and presumably pyjama pants. This version of you comes with good memories — for some reason he likes it more than he cares to admit. Maybe he liked that you could share a more vulnerable side to him, and he to you in return. Although, you’ve shown this side to even the unnamed convenience store guy.

It’s your voice that breaks him from his reverie.

“Soonyoung,” you say, and it’s softer than before. Maybe your voice is lighter from the fact that it’s two in the morning, maybe just because you’re tired, but a small part of Soonyoung wishes that it’s something else — that you sound softer because you’ve missed him too.

He hopes it isn’t just hope.

He says your name, the sound beautiful and battered on his tongue. A small smile passes your lips, so fast that he almost misses it, but he doesn’t. That’s one thing he knows about you: how much you care. Even if someone hurts you, you always take the time to hear them out. You give them chances. Soonyoung should thank his lucky stars that you’ve done the same for him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

You smile again, and it reaches your eyes, however sad.

“Is it time?” he asks.

“It can be.” The plastic bag in your hand crinkles as you sway it back and forth. “Do you want it to be?”

“Yeah.” His voice comes out like a breath. “Please.”

“Then that’s what we’ll make it.”

You gesture to the ground, where the curb meets the asphalt, but Soonyoung is still a little shocked that he’s even met you here in the first place, so he watches, dazed, as you sit down on the curb before joining in. He stays silent as you pull out an ice cream cup and hand it to him. He stays silent as you procure a second one and peel open the plastic lid, digging into it with the wooden stick spoon-wannabe that comes with the package. He stays silent as you look at him, the wooden stick hanging from your mouth.

“So,” you say, scraping the side of the paper cup. Meeting his eyes, you sport a sly smile. “I hear you’re in love with me.”

The ice cream stays unopened in his hands. He finds it so easy to smile back.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“You think you are?”

“I’ve never loved someone like this before,” he tries to explain, though the words are slow to his tongue. “I can only think.”

“I guess so.”

“But—” he looks at his fingers, fiddling with the plastic lid of the cup, and a small laugh escapes “—I’m thinking really, really hard.”

You laugh too; his heart blooms.

“Is that so?” you tease, smiling around the wooden spoon. “It’s gonna take more than that.”

“I think I can do it.”

“You think?”

“I think really hard.”

Soonyoung might be in love with every part of you, even if he never realized. Your laugh, your smile, your tells, your habits. He wishes he knew sooner, that this laugh could’ve been his forever long before now.

You scrape the last drops of ice cream out of the paper cup and leave the stick in your mouth, a bit chewed up. Your shoes tap against the asphalt, the rhythm something that draws both his and your eyes.

“You know...” you say, turning your head to meet his gaze once more. “You know you hurt me, right? You know this won’t be easy?”

“None of what we had was easy.”

A scoff runs past your lips. You bump your shoulder against his. “Speak for yourself. I fell hard and fast for you, asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.” You take the still unopened ice cream from his hands and stuff it right back in the bag it came from. “Say it again, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm... maybe it’ll take a few more times.”

“I’m—”

“But not tonight,” you say. “Tonight...”

Your hand beside him closes the distance, grazing over his and pulling it over to your lap.

“...just hold me?”

And he does.

Bonus (gn) epilogue: Fluff and Context Bonus (gn) blurbs: [a fate of my choosing][pick a struggle]