#therefore he's farther than you by the time you get to college

[willowser]

right now i'm obsessed with the idea of hot, super-nerd bakugou 🥺

like !! you knew him in junior high when he had little wire framed glasses and braces 🥺 and was kind of scrawny and a huge know-it-all 🥺 and he was probably very serious about like d&d and didn't allow you to play because it would "take too long to explain" and he did all your paired projects by himself because he didn't want you "screwing them up" !! a brat !! but then high-school comes around and you both separate and don't see each other again. not for a long time.

you go to college not too far from home, but the distance calls for a new apartment and a roommate that you get along with more than you expected to. she's the one with the car and occasionally you have to borrow it, or she'll drive you in to work and pick you up after your shift, when it's too dark out to walk.

every tuesday and thursday she has calc 2, and every tuesday and thursday, she spends most of the ride to work talking about the cute, quiet guy that sits alone at the back of the room. never pairs up with anyone or talks more than he has to. wears big, black headphones so everyone knows he's not interested. top of the class; someone somehow figures out he's been acing every exam, throwing the class average out of whack.

you're called in to work early one day and therefore have to borrow the car earlier than usual. you sit on the bench in the hallway, waiting quietly outside the room for your friend, and the minute the door opens, you're on your feet, peeking past student after student so you can grab the keys and run. you don't even notice him at first, the wall of man he is now; dressed in a black long-sleeve with a beanie on his head, almost hiding his hair but not quite. no glasses, no braces, and there are little hoops in his earlobes and he's grown into his shoulders really, really well.

the reason you look up is because he doesn't hide that he's staring at you, this guy out of the corner of your eye, and you don't even put two-and-two together when you see his face — at least not right away. he comes to a stop directly in front of you and you're just left staring at each other in the middle of a herd of other students, and he simply pulls one headphone off one ear and says,

"hey."

and — that's it. you kind of gape at him because he's much different than the version of him you knew and not half as sweaty or unapproachable and he remembered you. as soon as he saw you. stopped specifically, even though he doesn't talk to most people, apparently.

"uh, hey bakugou." you have to blink several times and clear your throat and your face warms under his unwavering stare.

whatever else he plans to say dies out when your roommate appears, too eager to be involved in your non-conversation, and he simply readjusts his headphones and walks off, only looking back once before he exits the building.

"what the fuck!" a swift smack is delivered to your arm as if you've done something wrong. "that's him, that's the guy!"

and you can't help but to remember him in class, the red rubber bands he wore in his teeth, arguing with a smaller, freckled boy about halo 3. slouching in his seat, leaning back too far until you had to flick him in the ear so his head wasn't all up in your space. sticking your tongue out at him, when you got your test scores back and they were lower than his. wary of how red his little face would get, when he offered to help you study after class.

"yeah," you say, snorting in disbelief. "that's the guy."

[justapoet]

about stars we can’t fit in constellations (and hearts under snowstorms)

TK is a reclusive champion figure skater that takes the world in like patterns on ice ― sharp, decisive and gracious. After more than two years, going back to New York wasn't exactly in his plans, but he was going to make the most of it, set to get back the life he'd lost to just a few minutes of hopelessness, years before.

Carlos is a professor who knows everything about words ― except how to use them, ironically. Brilliant, dedicated and addicted to work, he's pretty convinced he can ignore the longing for something else other than his academic success on lonely nights by smiling and making sure no one noticed anything bothering him. He's fine. He's successful, he has good friends, and the loneliness only catches up a few nights a week. Nothing bigger than the silence it which he hides it all.

When they meet, it happens under misunderstandings and being swept off one's feet by gravity's graceful and irrevocable presence. The city lights are bright, Carlos doesn't have any ballance and TK couldn't be less bothered about it.

And while Carlos might teach TK how to take things more gently than lightweight, he migh as well learn how to make sentences filled with meaning ― and not necessarily sense.

Ao3

My dear @strandnreyes, hey! It's surely been a while. Last year, I wrote you a fic for the 9-1-1 gift exhange, and it was a 37k words oneshot that didn't turn out to be what I had in mind. I did say I'd rewrite it and add some new things, so here I am! I turned it into a multi-chapter fic, and I hope you'll give it another chance.

I hope you're having an amazing year!

Chapter 1

There was just so much he knew about New York.

Nothing more than that it was loud and crowded and that it was named after James, the Duke of York, back when it was still called New Amsterdam. Or that it had the third largest library in the world, had been the country's capital for five years in the past, and had far too many lights on every single corner. He also knew, of course, that Walt Whitman was born there, just like J. D. Salinger, Henry James, and Edna St. Vincent Millay ― which made him a little more curious about the anthill with neon lights.

Other than that, sincerely, Carlos didn't care about knowing much.

It wasn't something personal, and although he loved history, New York sounded more chaotic than anything on his ears ― chaos that, although sometimes welcomed, didn't need to take more place than what was strictly necessary.

He knew a few places here and there ― a good pizzeria, drugstore, libraries, and four or five restaurants, also the Central Park and a list of colleges ― but Carlos would for sure get lost if anyone asked anything else about the city. Streets? He'd be ashamed to tell he didn't know how to name more than seven. Neighborhoods? Honestly, if he knew three, it would be an evolution. Avenues and park names? Nope, not a hint.

And, in his defense, Carlos didn't really need to know much more than that ― he would rarely wander farther than that small perimeter he actually knew. Whatever he needed to do would be around the same buildings, the same sidewalks, and crowds; knowing more than that would be more of a waste of time than anything if he wouldn't use it anyway.

Therefore, that was just so much he knew about New York.

But there was just so much he didn't know about the library around him, for that matter.

The Elmer Holmes Bobst library ― NYU Bobst library, for practical reasons ― was an imponent building taking place in Greenwich Village, New York. The whole building comes up in brick color, and the black, broad windows match the gigantic sign with the name of the place close to the entry doors. The inside, much clearer than the outside itself, expands in a gallery, leading to staircases, long hallways, tables, and uncountable shelves filled with books edge-to-edge.

For those who were stepping into the building for the first time, it was, indeed, a massive, breathtaking view.

For Carlos, it was simply familiar.

He'd been there enough that all of the concierges already knew his name, and everyone who knew him would know which table to search ― the one on the corner, hidden between two shelves, with a floor lamp right over his head, on the tenth floor. Sure, he could stay on the eight where most of the books he needed would be found ― but it would rarely be crowded, and it had a better view than the other floors.

Not to mention, Carlos was well-aware that the staff liked him a bit more than the other people to show up around the library, and they knew that the man would always put everything he took out of place back to it. Perhaps because he was older than the students, the staff liked talking to him, or maybe because he actually did take his time to wish everyone a good morning, a good week, or ask them how they had been, other than just walking around and pretending they weren't even there.

Either way, the trust was something Carlos was glad to enjoy, mainly because it was nice to be alone and relish the quietness that came with emptiness and not only the one that came with the rules. Just him and the ruffle of the books and the ticking of the clock, harmonizing perfectly with some sighs that escaped his mouth and the typing on his notebook; it was far better than anything else, any noise he could find in New York City.

That evening, when the sun had already hidden behind the tall skyscrapers, the typing sound still echoed around the nearly empty floor of the library, as it had done since the sun had greeted the morning. A tired pair of brown eyes was, over the screen, as quick at the long fingers on the keyboard, and the pile of books was slightly smaller than usual. Some sighs wandered around the walls after a deep breath, and then some grumbling, just followed by the tapping of a shoe against the floor — something as familiar as the building was under Carlos' eyes.

There were still people around the building, though it wasn't crowded by any means. Some tired students were leaving the library after hours; some others, who had just gotten off work, were coming in with exhausted faces and backpacks over their shoulders. On the tenth floor, there were only Carlos, by the corner, a tired student who he thought that fallen asleep over the table and an old lady who, apparently, couldn't wait to go home.

There was also a young lady who left silently, as another woman came in in heels and office-like clothes, in a pencil skirt, a black social shirt, and suitcase and a bag in her hands. The woman's hair was held tight on the top of her head in a bun, and her light eyes analyzed the broad space for a minute or two, her shoes echoing around the silence.

When she found what she meant to, then, the woman walked fiercely towards it, though as quietly as she could so no one would be bothered ― or waken up ― by the click of the heels. The woman's movements were graceful, although she rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath while crossing the room towards a table.

"I still have thirty-four minutes before being late," the man's voice announced, not taking his eyes off the screen as a figure approached his own. "And that, considering I am always ten minutes early."

The woman scoffed beside him. He still didn't take his eyes off the screen.

"You've been here for hours," she said. "And I wouldn't have complained if you hadn't been here since after breakfast. At eight in the morning," she stated, placing her suitcase over one of the free chairs and her coat over the table. "Did you even have lunch?"

"I did eat a burger, thank you very much," Carlos replied, switching his attention to an open book by his side. "Did you?"

"Eat a burger? No, no. I did eat like a normal person, you know? Food and nutrients and proteins," she answered, and Carlos smiled little.

"Well, it all goes through the same tube, so I don't think your healthier choices count much," the man joked, now taking a pencil, and bringing a notebook closer.

"I want you to repeat that when you're in a hospital bed after a heart failure," she said, arching an eyebrow. "Are you done for today?" she asked, tilting her head towards the laptop over the wooden surface.

"I suppose that the truth won't get me alone again," Carlos said, then he sighed. "So, yeah. I think I am," he concluded, turning his head, and smiling quite playfully at his friend.

The woman rolled her eyes.

"You are, by all means, pathetic," she said. "Really, I don't even know why I talk to you still."

"Because, my dear Lily, you love me," he said. "And you miss me to pieces whenever I leave New York, too," he concluded, moving to get up and closing the notebook he had been writing on.

"Yeah, and whenever you come to New York, I wonder why that happens," she grumbled, though affectionately. "Can't you go back to Austin already?"

Carlos chuckled.

"When I do go back, I bet you're going to cry. And ask me when I can come back again, which, I will tell you, probably won't happen soon," Carlos said, not closing his laptop and reaching for his own suitcase over another empty chair. "I think it is unlikely that NYU will invite me again in the next few years."

"Why, though?" the woman asked, taking the laptops' charger in her hands, and starting to fold it properly to fit in the suitcase. "You're one of the most influential experts in literature out there nowadays, after all. I mean, you've been literally paid to study for years, now, in and out of the country. It's not like NYU would lose any chance to have you back," she said, and Carlos could only chuckle again. "Or any university, actually."

"Yeah, but it's not like I plan on coming back so soon," he said. "I've told you about it, remember?"

The woman frowned for a second, and then her face lit up with acknowledgment. She offered the folded wire to her friend, who thanked her silently.

"Oh, of course," she said, then. "That university in Brazil. For a second, I forgot about it," she continued. "It is a great opportunity, indeed. I mean, for you, who somehow loves Brazilian literature just because," she said, a hint of false annoyance in her voice.

Carlos rolled his eyes softly.

"Not 'just because,' Delilah," he corrected her, then, and the satisfied smile on her face gave away that her intentions had been accomplished. "It's fascinating! Hard to read, sure, but still fascinating. You'd think so, too, if you gave it a shot."

She tilted her head a bit.

"That's how I know that you love me," Carlos dramatically said, pretending to sniff. "I've read all the Russian books you wanted me to, and that's what you give me back. Unadulterated disdain," he said within a loud whisper, and Delilah bit her tongue not to laugh inside of a library.

"God, gifting you with a Shakespeare book set was a mistake," she replied, shaking her head slowly. "And one: I recommended you Russian literature because it is excellent and because finding out that you're a polyglot was a highlight in life. Two: I don't have a single thing against Brazilian literature; my problem with the idea is that you work far too much, Carlos, and changing the language you work in won’t change this fact," her tone was solemn after a second, and Carlos sighed briefly, knowing where the conversation would lead.

He didn't turn to face her, though, and kept putting his things back in place so they could leave together for dinner as they had planned the day before and let his friend speak whatever she had to say.

"I mean it, Carlos," she said again. "You've been hopping from project to project for years now. Man, you're twenty-nine and is one of the most influential names in literary studies and philology. That isn't normal, my friend. Impressive, yes, but not normal," Delilah went on. "How many countries have you visited so you could learn? Two per year since you've graduated at twenty-one?”

Carlos tilted his head a few times to the sides, almost answering her rhetorical question. Delilah sighed again, and her tone came back much softer than before.

"I know how much you love your job, and I know how much you love learning, dear. And I am not telling you to reject every opportunity they offer you because you deserve each one of them, and I'd beat you up if you dared to leave them aside, but that's all I've seen you do these past years. Work yourself to exhaustion," she voiced. "Maybe you should slow down a bit, uh?"

Carlos took his closed suitcase in his hand, then, after putting on his coat, and turned around, waiting for his friend to copy his movements. Silently, she did, and he gestured for them to start walking, Delilah smiling thankfully at that.

"I don't know," he said, then, about what she had said before. "I like my life the way it is, Lily."

"I know that, too," she said. "You love learning, you love knowing things ― but that's absolutely everything you do. I see it, and we live half a world and an ocean apart from each other, Carlos," Delilah continued as they walked side by side, both of them nodding respectfully at those who passed them by. "Look, I'm not saying that you need to change your whole life and plans and schedule," she highlighted, and he nodded. "I'm saying that... I don't know― you could find a hobby?"

Carlos turned at her, scoffing and arching one of his brows. There was a half-smile on his face, and he held back a peal of laughter, looking around for a minute.

"A hobby?" he asked, almost in disbelief. "Reading and writing are a hobby, Lily," Carlos argued, and she arched a brow herself while accepting his hand by the end of one of the staircases.

"Not if they're what get your bills paid, Carlos," she argued back. "You do that for a living. Just like movies are a kill-time, but those who make it are working when doing so," Delilah explained, waiting for him to offer his hand one more time when another set of stairs finished.

"And what is your suggestion?" he asked, then, nodding and smiling when another person of the staff, Omar, passed them on his way upstairs. "Movies?"

She shrugged.

"Painting?" she offered. "Sewing? Knitting? Running a marathon? Hiking?" the woman listed it down. "I don't know, Lou. Something that takes you out of this―" she gestured towards him with a hand, making circles in the air. "Work-mode you always leave on. If I didn't think you're brilliant, I'd find it absolutely annoying."

"Well, don't limit yourself. Particularly, I think you're both brilliant and annoying," Carlos said with a far-too-innocent smile on his face for it to be genuine. Delilah only side-eyed him, her mouth twisting in exasperation, and Carlos didn't let his smile fall at that.

"I shouldn't even worry about you," she grumbled, rolling her eyes again and then accepting the hand he offered one more time. "You're a complete freak."

"Yet, you're taking me out for dinner," he retorted, his tone always cheerful and provoking. "Doesn't it sound lovely?"

Read it on Ao3!

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[riismitchell37]

Creating A Unique Logo Design For Your Organization

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[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH60

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 60: Purgatory Reunion (XII)

It was getting late at night, so reason told Qi Leren that it was time to rest, but the warm night wind was rare in the Underground Ant City, and the person sitting beside him was the lover he had met after a long separation. Qi Leren felt no drowsiness at all, as if he could talk to Ning Zhou all night.

They did talk for a long time, and even Ning Zhou, who has always been taciturn, said many things about the past.

"Winter swimming in Neverland? That’s too cold!" Qi Leren was stunned by Ning Zhou's hobby, and his teeth chattered with cold when he listened.

"...Fortunately, it wasn’t as cold as when we were ashore." Ning Zhou said and added seriously, "Really."

Qi Leren was skeptical. Even though he had been baptized by Maria's power and had a strong resistance to low temperature, Leviathan had left a psychological shadow on him in their fight underground. Under that terrible temperature, it seemed that the human soul would be frozen and crack. Neverland was in the polar regions, and the temperature of the polar night was also terrible. Even the polar days weren’t much better.

Enjoying swimming in the winter in Neverland... It was really a hardcore hobby.

"It must be very cold once you come out. After going under? You must freeze as soon as the wind blows, right?" Qi Leren is getting colder and colder.

"If you wipe your body with ice and snow first, it will soon heat up," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren was really shaking now, rubbing his hands and saying, "I feel cold now!"

Ning Zhou immediately reached over and wrapped his rubbing hands: "Is it still cold?"

Qi Leren froze, and the body temperature of another person was warm against his hand, which made him really shiver. The two people were motionless together, holding hands together for a long time without separating.

Ning Zhou's eagle flew in from outside, and landed on the railing of the terrace. It walked from one end of the railing to the other with his head held high, and then turned and walked back in a different posture. However, no matter how coquettish and enchanting it was, these two people ignored it. It was so angry that it began to tell the time: "Two o'clock, two o'clock, staying up late to die suddenly, endangering health!"

It really spoiled the mood, and Qi Leren glared at it gloomily: "It's late, we should go back to sleep."

"Hmm."

Actually, both of them didn't want to sleep. But considering each other's health, they left the terrace tacitly, crossed the living room, and came to the two bedrooms that were side by side.

Two bedrooms separated by only one wall.

"Goodnight," Qi Leren said with difficulty.

"Well, good night," Ning Zhou also said.

I said good night and should go back to my room to sleep, but a feeling of reluctance overwhelmed him. Qi Leren looked at his toes and said, "Sweet dreams."

"...You too."

It was really time to go this time, but after a few hours, they could sit together for breakfast again. Compared with the long separation before, such short hours were just a blink of an eye.

But they were still loath to give them up.

"What do you... what do you want to eat tomorrow?" Qi Leren asked.

"Anything's fine," Ning Zhou said.

The evening breeze blew all the way from the open door of the terrace to them, and the first light from far away projected the gauze curtain on the clean marble floor. The soft mood was like a lingering love song playing continuously, while they were like people sitting aimlessly on the bus in the afternoon, listening to the little love song drowsily in the warm sunshine, half dreaming and half waking, only thinking about this song. Don't wake up from this dream. Don't wait for the bus to reach its station.

"Then... then I’ll go to sleep." At this moment, Qi Leren restrained many impulses, such as telling him he was afraid to have nightmares, admitting that he still wanted to talk, and kissing Ning Zhou's beautiful blue eyes.

He tried to treat this relationship in a mature way, and he also tried to make himself behave properly enough. Therefore, he held this treasure carefully, and only wanted to hold it firmly in his arms, but he was afraid that he would break it if he tried too hard.

"Well, then goodnight," Ning Zhou whispered.

Qi Leren had already rested his hand on the doorknob and pushed open the bedroom door. The imaginary gentle love song finally ended when the bus stopped, so he said softly, "Goodnight."

Ning Zhou also opened the door of the other bedroom. He said, "Goodnight."

This long farewell was finally over. Qi Leren, who closed the door, put his head on the door panel, cleared his mind, and pressed the weight of his body against the upper half of the door.

Qi Leren had the illusion that he had thought a lot, but felt that he hadn't thought anything. He wanted to recall the farewell with Ning Zhou just now, trying to find some inappropriate action, but as soon as he recalled it, he was knocked down by shy emotions.

It was probably that talking with Ning Zhou had relieved the mental stress he had been feeling. Now, Qi Leren really was a little sleepy. He dragged his tired feet and fell on the bed, slowly moving towards the side against the wall until he reached the innermost part of the bed.

He had seen the layout of Ning Zhou's bedroom before, and the bed was on the side against the wall. That is to say, at this time, they were only separated by one wall. If you spoke while in a dream, maybe the other person would hear it.

Thinking this, Qi Leren couldn't help laughing.

A brain washed by love always made the people who had fallen in love do some strange things, and Qi Leren was no exception. He slept in the bed on this side against the wall, reached out, and quietly drew a heart on the cold wall.

When he realized what he was doing, he flung up the quilt and covered his face.

What the hell was he doing? Qi Leren let out a cry in his heart, half ashamed and half collapsed, and spontaneously formed two debate teams with an abnormal split in his mind to start quarreling about the topic of love.

Qi Leren felt obliged to be more mature, especially when it came to falling in love. He was four years older than Ning Zhou! Ning Zhou, who was only twenty-one this year, should still be a boy in college in the real world, and he had already entered the workforce. In terms of experience in love, both of them were tragically equal at zero, but Qi Leren had lived in the 21st century with modern information and open communication. His theoretical level beat Ning Zhou, who was almost equal to the man living in the medieval Vatican. Moreover, when studying, Qi Leren had still had many experiences of being chased by girls.

Even Qi Leren himself felt very strange. When boys the same age as him had been affected by hormones and began to desperately want to fall in love, he had not been attracted to the lovely young girls, and of course, he was not attracted to the same sex. Although sometimes he had seen friends showing love, he had had a feeling of "love is really good", but he had never started a relationship with someone he didn’t like purely to seek this feeling.

Maybe, before he realized it, he had been waiting for someone who was destined to appear, but the world was too big, and there were too few people one could meet in his life. How lucky would he be to find the right one?

But he had met him. This romantic miracle had consumed his whole life's luck—so that there was something wrong with his beloved’s gender—but he still felt lucky.

He should cherish this luck and protect Ning Zhou.

Along the way, Ning Zhou had really suffered too much. I really hope to make him happy... Half-asleep, Qi Leren finally fell into a deep sleep with this thought.

He had a dream.

It was not an endless near-death experience, but a very relaxed and happy dream.

In his dream, he "flew" in the blue sky and rode on the back of a black dragon.

The black dragon carried him from the ground, blasted away the land and mountains that blocked them, passed through underground lakes and flowing red lava, and they broke free from the bondage of gravity and marched fearlessly toward the sky.

The world was bright, clear, peaceful, and beautiful.

The wind under the clear sky blew his hair, and Qi Leren pushed the unruly hair on his forehead to the top of his head, watching the vast world under the rising sun, breathing the air that had no bloody smell, and being as happy as a child.

Flying at such a high height, the world under his feet was like a large sandbox, and the river reflecting the light of the sunrise spread from one end of the earth to the other end, like a ribbon shining with silver and blue light. In the vast wilderness, the earth was like an emerald carpet, but when a gust of wind blew, the carpet turned into green waves, rushing forward one after another. The peak of the mountain near the horizon was covered with a thin layer of ice and snow, but the foot of the mountain was full of colourful wildflowers...

The dragon flew over this reborn land, casting a cloud-like shadow, and then the sun shone brightly.

They flew too fast. In the blink of an eye, they have already passed through deserts and plains, and were still flying farther to the east. They might even fly over the vast sea and the fog at the end of the world, or they might fly towards the place where the sun, the moon, and the stars were located.

Where on earth were they going? The Qi Leren in the dream didn't know. He only feels that they were like this world...

Becoming one.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[unohanadaydreams]

It’s the live blogging for the beginning of the Arrancar arc that I forgot to post after I read it. Just a warning that I talk way too much in this one.

Ichigo looks genuinely SO scared that Tatsuki can see his deputy badge. Not just shocked, but scared. He doesn’t want her to be a target, but as we know, she becomes one after not dying immediately after Yammy does his mass soul suck.

He just got back from the Soul Society and it’s like he’s just remembering ‘oh fuck, I’m home again and all the people I care about are still at risk. Saving Rukia didn’t suddenly change that’.

That one, big battle against Byakuya didn’t suddenly end everything. The world is still changed for him and for the people around him and the happily ever after didn’t come just because he won.

Not sure, because I haven’t gotten to when Ichigo actually takes Shinji up on his offer, but I’m sure what Isshin says is the Central 46 cover up version of things, because as we know, it’s not true.

And Isshin saying this is very funny, because you are ALSO a lawless ex-soul reaper, sir. If you stepped foot in the Seireitei, they would beat the shit out of you. The remaining Shibas would flower cannon their way in and join the party, too (mostly because that’s how they express concern, but yknow).

Real friendship is being so horribly gross to each other that you are embarrassed for yourself and each other. Shinji doesn’t even wanna do this, it’s just something he has to do, to preserve his shaken honor and to make Hiyori regret the day she thought touching his pancake ass was a good idea.

Okay, so I don’t have anything grand to say, just that I really enjoy how ALL of the Arrancars are introduced in the sexiest way possible on panel. Even Yammy looks great when he’s introduced. RIP to the ppl who only know these characters from the anime, because the optics of this arc was lost in translation, for sure.

Like, the designs of the Arrancar are literally so fucking good. Even the designs that ppl say are “ugly” fuck so hard. Kubo truly is un fucking beaten at making seggsy characters.

God this panel FUCKS. Not only the swaths of black that signify Hichigo trying his best to take control of Ichigo the moment he sees a strong opponent, but the way that Ichigo automatically looks to Orihime and Chad because he is genuinely scared that once he loses control, they will be as likely a target as the Arrancar.

It also makes his consequent instinct to push them both away later on, both in his reluctance to speak to Orihime and his insistence that Chad run away instead of fight beside him, more nuanced later on.

He’s not just guilty. He’s scared. He knows that Shinji is right, as much as doesn’t want to get involved with him. The idea that he would not just fail to protect his friends, but be the one putting them in danger pulls him back to how he felt in the beginning, when he was made to realize that his friends and family where at risk due to his spiritual pressure luring in hollows/giving them sight and powers.

And once again, Rukia forces him to understand its not something he can change. And it’s not something he can shoulder alone. Not just when she forces him to speak to Orihime with some fucking honesty in his voice, but also when she looks disappointed at Chad running the opposite direction of Ichigo when Grimmjow shows up, because there is only one reason he would do that (because Ichigo was scared and told him to leave).

Sometimes you just have to slap the self destructive tendencies out of your local human delinquent turned friend because he’s so used to aggression that its the way he’s most comfortable speaking about his baggage in any capacity.

Damn, ma, how’d you package all these onigiri? And don’t you fucking lie to me 🔪🔪🔪

The concept that there are soul reapers that don’t understand mass production is actually so fucking funny.

They go to the human world and treat malls like modern day castles. They are humble gods lording over their mall food court feast.

This is how I know the majority of shinigami know how to sew and cook, because there is no way they can just pop into some local convenience store or fast fashion shop.

Except for the 12th division/R&D. They eat like malnourished college kids trying to develop scurvy for the fun of it and wear embarrassing merch after they spill mountain dew on themselves.

I know some people don’t like that Orihime has so much time dedicated to her feelings of jealousy, but I think its one of the best handled parts of this arc, because her jealousy stems first and foremost from her insecurity that she no longer belongs--that for all her smarts and unique powers, it is not enough and will never be--she is not enough and never will be.

Orihime just got back from the Soul Society, where she feels she has done nothing of help, and she comments on this multiple times. She was not hurt, because she did not battle, and could not hear Isane call out the news of Aizen’s betrayal. She was not strong enough to help Uryu against Mayuri or Ichigo against Byakuya. 

She doesn’t view her contributions in Soul Society as valid, because she is not proficient in battle and above that, she does not want to kill people, even enemies. How could she possibly belong to the same world as Ichigo, Chad, and Uryu when the sight of complete strangers being blown to bits makes her crumple and her every attempt to fight is met with an immediate defeat.

This growing sense of insecurity is fully aggravated to something unbearable when the arrancars show up and Tatsuki, Chad, and Ichigo are all harmed and nothing she does is good enough to stop it. Not just that, but everyone seems to drift farther away from her afterwards. She knows its because they feel bad too, but it sucks. It feels like she’s lost her friends even when they’re right there, avoiding making eye contact with her.

And, I’m sure Orihime does feel jealous of the connection Rukia has with Ichigo, of her ability to make Ichigo stand up and look his fears in the eye, but that seems like the easier thing to admit than that she feels completely unimportant and useless as a person compared to someone like Rukia, who originates from the supernatural world that Orihime is struggling to navigate.

Not just that, but Rangiku is EXACTLY right. It is very human to reject those kinds of feelings or take those feelings and weaponize them in an attempt to put power over someone and therefore those feelings.

But, Orihime doesn’t do that. She is thankful to Rukia. She loves Rukia. She loves that Ichigo can depend on Rukia--that she and her friends can depend on Rukia.

She has emotional competence and strength that a lot of teenagers straight up do not have and she cries to Rangiku, convinced that she is irredeemable and weak for admitting that she wants to be more. That she wants to be grown up and graceful and strong and she doesn’t like herself compared to Rukia.

I also really like the full scope of what Rangiku says, because AGAIN, she’s right. The idea that you only need one person and that Ichigo doesn’t draw his strength from all his friends and family, isn’t true. The idea that Orihime is losing a competition and Ichigo has already chosen the winner isn’t true.

Calm down, Orihime. Keep doing your best for the people you love. Keep doing your best by Ichigo and he’ll keep doing his best for the people he loves. He’ll keep doing his best by you, too. Nothing’s been lost and nothing’s been won. You’ve seen the finish line already--death--and all you can do now keep trying to fight it.

I just really like how well they lead up to this moment, because Orihime does broadcast her feelings of insecurity, even when she dresses it up as her being silly and care-free through out the previous arc and beginning of this one. And how they execute it, as well.

[ptersparkers]

scout’s writing challenge masterlist

my writing challenge is now CLOSED. you are all so talented and have me in my feels and i want to share your work. here is a masterpost of all the submissions this far.*

thank you to everyone who’s posted fics and to everyone who has yet to! reminder: this challenge closes on july 18! you’ve got time to submit a fic if you wish to participate.

jj maybank:

➫ last summer: With a bright future in front of her, Hazel braces herself for her last chance to make this summer the most memeorable yet (@pit-zuh).

➫ the coriolis effect: JJ notices that Pope is stressed and achy and decides to help him unwind. OR: Massage with a Happy Ending (@thistreasurehunter, nsfw).

➫ everything: everything about you annoyed jj maybank (@so-writing).

➫ breaking up: At the eve of the annual midsummers, you stumble upon a battered JJ. Your relationship turns upside down… all because of your dad (@pit-zuh).

➫ girl crush: JJ is harbouring a serious girl crush, but not in the most conventional way (@starlightstarkey).

➫ august: y/n returns to the island for her yearly visit with her cousin, Kiara. she loves everything about the outer banks, except one impossible blonde hair, blue eyed boy [enemies to friends to lovers] (@freyalittle).

➫ getaway driver: a blond haired stranger hops into your car begging you to drive, gaining you an unexpected friend and date (@ad-infinitums).

➫ confessions: You had been dating JJ for the for a few months after meeting him a year before and during a Kegger one night he gains the courage to confess something (@outerbankslut).

➫ water under the bridge: so jj & y/n broke up a while ago but y/n hasn’t moved on yet but trying to. and she thinks that jj likes kie now but in reality, he’s still in love w her (@harrysbbby).

➫ clever girl: JJ Maybank was always told he was stupid. So he never thought he’d fall in love with a girl as smart as she was (@hollandlovely).

➫ no strings: jj and y/n have had a no strings attached agreement for years, but that statement couldn’t be farther from the truth (@4umaybank).

➫ the biggest mistake: being in love with jj maybank has never been easy, especially after your friend john b’s presumed death. you’ve always been there for him, but when he tells you he’s not ready to get involved in a relationship, you’re completely heartbroken. until you find the comfort of a certain kook prince, rafe cameron himself (@jjmayybank).

➫ the noise: JJ and Y/N are woken up by a loud noise in their daughters bedroom (@dorkimkay).

➫ waves: One night Eliza Routledge and JJ get way too drunk and go for a surf. Eliza gets injured and JJ freaks out and ends up confessing his feelings (@poguelive).

➫ the long & winding country roads: Whilst on a spontaneous drive down the long and winding country roads of North Carolina, JJ Maybank can’t seem to keep his wandering, sinful hands off the playful little miss sat beside him in the passenger seat (@void-maybank, nsfw).

➫ the unexpected date: A Touron’s flirting triggers some unexpected consequences (@obx-adventures).

➫ unbreakable: Y/N’s Mother is fixated on social class and making sure that her daughter is a kook through and through. Y/N is a pogues by association with Kiara and Dating JJ. Just how far will her mother go in order to try and split the two apart (@northcarolinanative).

➫ tell her goodbye: even the most peaceful moments can turn into a nightmare in Outer Banks (@normatural).

rafe cameron:

➫ surprise party: You think Rafe has forgotten your birthday but secretly he is planning you a surprise party (@jjmeybank).

➫ for a kook: A dance with JJ leads to a jealous Rafe and a confession of feelings (@socialwriter).

➫ holy touch: It’s been years since Rafe has felt anything. That’s why he needs Y/N (@storiesbymads, nsfw).

➫ the biggest mistake: being in love with jj maybank has never been easy, especially after your friend john b’s presumed death. you’ve always been there for him, but when he tells you he’s not ready to get involved in a relationship, you’re completely heartbroken. until you find the comfort of a certain kook prince, rafe cameron himself (@jjmayybank).

➫ how you like me now: Rafe falls for you at the beach. He’s nothing like they say he is, and he just so happens to turn a new leaf with you (@maybankiara).

➫ nicotine: You’re already addicted to cigarettes, and Rafe is worse than nicotine (@diverdcwn).

➫ tell her goodbye: even the most peaceful moments can turn into a nightmare in Outer Banks (@normatural).

pope heyward:

➫ the coriolis effect: JJ notices that Pope is stressed and achy and decides to help him unwind. OR: Massage with a Happy Ending (@thistreasurehunter, nsfw).

➫ the gods don’t work here: Pope asks Y/N if she still wants to be with him as they prepare to go to the same college (@summerintheobx).

john b:

➫ gold: You were friends with John B until he met Sarah Cameron and things changed (@so-writing).

kiara carrera:

➫ bags: you have feelings for your best friend, but they aren’t mutual (@goldenpogue).

the pogues:

➫ moving out (take me back home): The Pogues and Sarah went on the adventure of a lifetime and found the Royal Merchant’s gold three summers ago. Now at 19 years old, they have more responsibilities- working, going to school, traveling, and figuring out how they should spend their money wisely (you know, like adults are supposed to do). Their first summer back in the OBX as young adults is bound to be memorable (@alexandracheers).

peter parker:

➫ bareback: You and Peter have been dating for a year now, and as your anniversary gift to him, you decide to have sex without a condom for the first time (you’re on the pill). It’s both of your first times trying this, so smut and fluff (@friedtacostarfish, nsfw).

➫ one night: you and peter spend a night together, basking in the desire for something more the morning after (@spider-pxrkers, nsfw).

➫ fuck, i’m kinda cross faded: as a superhero does, peter has a nightmare and forgets he's at the tower with tony for the weekend. as mentors fathers do, tony makes everything okay (@thedumbthewildthefree).

tom holland:

➫ two blue lines: You and your boyfriend Tom have been dating for a while. You found out that you are pregnant and are worried about how he will react to the news (@emptycanvasposts).

natasha romanoff:

➫ i cannot live without you: Y/N, Vandal, was dead. Natasha was fine with that, had grieved and had moved on. Her sudden resurrection is therefore unforgivable (@sleep-i-ness).

loki:

➫ motherfucking broccoli: some foul language, a smidge of angst, humor about broccoli (@jesuschristtakethewheel).

*this masterpost will be updated as writers post more stories.

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [03]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 5k a/n; we’re finally getting into some traction with the main plot! who are we liking more so far, w1!jk or w2!jk?? 

[02] [03] [04]-> masterpost

Instead of going to the doctor, you take a trip to the library. If Namjoon thinks your ideas are  supernatural, you’re going to find someone who believes in the supernatural. 

He calls you in the morning just to make sure you’re going to his recommended doctor.  You fabricate a lie that the doctor friend he recommended is busy so you’re going to go find another one in the meantime. Just in case Namjoon decides to ask said doctor about your current mental and physical state, you want to make sure you cover your tracks. As much as you want to give it another go and help Namjoon understand your precarious situation, you weren’t up for another possibility of rejection. 

You wanted to avoid Namjoon’s rejection so much that you’d rather turn to unconventional alternatives to finding your answer. 

Unfortunately, Tony Stark and Steven Strange do not exist in this universe, and therefore you need to turn to more practical measures. 

Seoul University has a zillion libraries, and you decide to go to the general library in the hopes you’ll find something in the subject of world-hopping. Unfortunately you haven’t been in a huge library since you were a senior in college, and the smell of paper, sad students and ink all but overwhelms you. 

You’re about to start wandering when a young voice snatches your attention. “Miss,” you feel a tug at your belt loop, and you notice a little boy looking up at you with a pout. “I lost my way after using the bathroom and I can’t find the daycare.”

A little part of you wonders who on earth could’ve let a boy no older than five out of their sights, especially in such a spacious building. Alas, you smile and offer him your hand, suggesting that the two of you look for a map. 

“Well it’s a good thing we found each other!” you say brightly, encouraging the kid to follow you to the kiosk, “I was just about to look for a map because I’m a little lost too, we can read it together.” 

The boy tells you his name is Bogum, and you respond with yours and explain that it’s okay to get lost, especially when this library is so big. He listens to you with rapt attention, wide eyes as you spell out the words “daycare” using the little paper map you brought with you from the lobby. 

Bogum and you stop in front of a plain room with a cheap powder blue baby gate, deep in the children’s section of the library. It’s there that you spot five or so children huddled over the flatscreen television, ‘oh’ and ‘ah’-ing over whatever film’s prattling on. You’re not surprised that Frozen 2 remains a sensation in both worlds. 

Bogum opens the door first, and you make eye contact with the only adult in the room. He’s lean and friendly-looking, holding a child in their lap as they sing along to “Into the Unknown”. Your heart is caught in your throat, begging to be released as your eyes widen in surprise. 

“Hobi!” you blurt instinctively, but you immediately clamp your mouth upon realizing. You really need to get used to this, but honestly how can anyone get used to this kind of situation? Hoseok will definitely be the fourth person you’ve alarmed in the past five days. 

Hoseok’s jaw drops slightly, head tilted as the rest of the mini-crew train their eyes on you. You shrink in the presence of children, knowing from experience nothing gets by them. 

“Is that your girlfriend, Hobi-ah?”

“Do you know her, Mr. Hoseok?” 

“She looks scared, what did you do?” 

The affronted man presses his lips in a thin line, “Dunno,” he answers vaguely. He seems unperturbed, hands settling in his traffic cone orange sweatpants. He gestures to the snacks in the middle of the room, releasing the children’s inner fire for food, “but it’s fruit snack time! Go ahead and grab your water from the cubbies, you can eat while you watch.” 

The babies cheer, and you smile fondly as the kids rip open their packets and giggle over Olaf. You wish you could go back to simpler times. 

“So,” Hoseok stands up, and gestures for you to sit at the small kids table in the back, “Do I know you? I don’t know if I know you, but I feel like I know you. Because you know me.” 

Deciding you need to sit down for his bombardment you squeeze your legs into the worn Fisher-Price desk, running your nails over the crayon stains and pencil shavings. “Uh, no?” 

“Did we have a class together? Hook-up? Friend’s hook-up that I tried to coerce into a threesome?” 

“Ohmygod, there are children here!” you hiss, but Hoseok just smiles plainly, offering you a bag of fruit snacks that he snagged before the children emptied his bowl. You accept the gesture, unable to make eye contact. 

Seeing the members out of their clan of seven is still jarring to you. You can’t imagine a world without the seven of them together. Like they always say, Bangtan is fate. 

“I just wanted to return Bogum,” you say, crinkling the foil bag in your grasp, “and I’m actually looking for a professor who has her office hours here. I have uh, questions on my thesis on alternate universes.” 

“Ah, are you referring to Professor Song?” you nod, “she cancelled her office hours for today, if you bothered to email her. And anyways, she doesn’t take kindly to questions on supernatural phenomena. Not since her latest book on paranormal channeling tanked.”

Your face visibly falls, dejected. You probably should’ve tried to schedule an appointment. “O-oh.” 

“But as a non-judgemental soul, I would be happy to assist you on your ‘thesis’.” Hoseok  air-quotes, noting that the kids are only in the very beginning of Frozen 2 and they have a whole hour and a half to their own devices. “And in exchange, I want to know the real reason as to why you’re looking for her, especially because you referred to me so excitedly as Hobi, and not Hoseok,” he crosses his arms, “and only my mother and sister have the right to call me that.” 

You feel like a kid sent to the time-out corner, inevitably forced to fess up. It didn’t work out as well as you hoped with Namjoon, and you feared to be disappointed when Hoseok disagreed with you as well. Of course, you can’t blame them. If Hoseok came up to you and said he came from an alternate universe, you’d run for the hills. 

But Hoseok is sweet and sincere, and he’s definitely not letting you go. In fact, he’s empathetic, already distressed from seeing you sweating and wringing the poor fruit snack packet. 

He drags over a mini chalkboard cart, poised to take notes. “C’mon, I won’t bite.” 

You frown, “Promise you won’t laugh at me until the very end?” 

“Promise.” 

Forty minutes later and in the turning point of Frozen 2, Hoseok has drawn up what looks like a convoluted flowchart detailing every single thing you’ve said up until this point. It reminds you of a child’s drawing, symbolizing all the dead-ends and turns of your life, but you’re sure Hoseok doesn’t want to hear that. 

Within the first ten minutes of your story, Hoseok is shaking his head. “That’s crazy. C’mon, prove it. If we’re really friends in an alternate universe, how much do you know about me?” 

Hoseok's face falls farther and farther into his lap as you respond with a straight face. His birthday, favorite foods, hobbies, music taste, and even feelings towards melodramatic movies are laid out in your words like a personal diary. 

He crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Tell a secret that you know about me.” 

That stumps you. You make a face, stuffing a strawberry gummy in your mouth as you think about any conversation you could’ve possibly had with Hoseok in the past year. There’s a possibility that whatever happened to Hoseok in your world hasn’t happened in this one, but you have to at least try. 

With as much confidence as you can muster you say, “When you were in the 3rd grade, your older sister was playing with sticks in your backyard and accidentally stabbed you.” 

He narrows his carmine eyes, “Where?” 

“Left breast,” you chirp, “under the nipple.” 

Hoseok’s face twists like he’s in the 8th dimension, and he clutches his left breast comically. “You’re either psychic or telling the truth,” he marvels, nearly cracking the bud of chalk in his fingertips. 

You fight the urge to sigh in relief, running a hand through your hair. You can’t believe that actually worked. 

“Okay so obviously because I need to know my alter-self, what’s Jung Hoseok like in World One?” 

“World One?” you snort. 

“Yeah, since it’s your home world. This is World Two, because this is your second reality.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing, waving his hands in the air. 

“You’re a rapper and incredible dancer in the world’s top boy band.” and Hoseok doesn’t know whether to think you’re an impeccable actor or really telling the truth by the way you smile so tenderly. “And you managed to get your mom the barbeque restaurant she always wanted. Best place for pork belly wraps.”  

And because you know he’s a softie for his mother, you already have a tissue stretched out for him, confirming that you have him convinced. Seeing it all laid out terrifies him, not because he’s scared of someone infiltrating his reality, but because you’re lost. You’re lost and you can’t go home and he can feel like he’s known you all this time. Not because you know every single fact about him under the sun, but something tells him you were meant to find him today. 

“So, you got hit by a truck in World One, and end up in World Two just like that?” you nod again, and Hoseok starts to line up whatever code he’s created on the blackboard. “What were you doing before that?” 

“I went drinking with my friend Sehlyung.” 

“Uh-huh, and before that?” 

“Got into a fight with the guy I love.” 

“Oh, sorry.” 

“Even worse, he ended up being the first person I met once I entered your world.” 

Hoseok blinks, “That’s gotta count for something, right?” 

Your face sours, “Impossible. Jungkook didn’t recognize me either.” 

“Anything else happened that day? Perhaps something to do with the both of you? It can’t just be coincidence,” Hoseok insists, and you almost see the potential theories looming over his head. 

Wishing you bought some aspirin on your way, you pinch your brows together. You’ve recollected that night one too many times that it’s been starting to overwhelm you. You hate thinking back to how harshly Jungkook rejected you. How much his words pierced you clean like you were soft and breakable. The twist in the knife was seeing him again in this world, only for him to reject you again for an entirely different reason. 

“Wait,” you bite your lip, the final memory from your last conversation with Jungkook resurfacing. 

“Maybe in another world, we’d work out. But not this one.”

“He said maybe we’d be together in another world,” you say slowly, the words sinking in your form like a key to a lock. 

Hoseok snaps his fingers, a huge white grin beaming on his face. “Shit, this is straight out of the Twilight Zone or something. Cool!” 

It’s then that the credits roll for Frozen 2, and the children are pouncing on him like leeches to a sweet treat. They laugh and beg for his attention, teasing him because he said the s-word. 

“I’m sure this Jungkook kid has something to do with why you’re here—ow, Haneul! My hair is precious!” Hoseok is busy fending off kids and trying to continue your conversation. He gets up from the tiny chair to prevent them from reaching, and you follow suit. “In the meantime,” he reaches for your phone, typing something, “here’s some books Professor Song recommended to me when I was fascinated in alternate universes. Maybe they’ll help, I don’t know. But good luck, update me when you get a chance! I work here most days.” 

“Thanks Hoseok,” and before you can second guess yourself, you find space between the children to wrap your arms around him. Thankfully, he doesn’t push you away, and hugs you back just as tightly. You can’t help it, and bury your face into his shoulder, trying to conceal your sobs. He even smells like World One Hoseok. You miss them. 

The rest of your afternoon is spent in the library, searching for book after book regarding the supernatural and other phenomena. A little part of you hoped Hoseok would join you in your navigation, but he had a job and you had yours. He already offered you an ear and much, much more. 

You feel a little stir-crazy, despite the fact that these books could contain important information, only Jungkook’s words seem to register in your brain. 

“Maybe in another world, we’d work out. But not this one.”

You groan, stretching out your back so you could reach the final book out of Hoseok’s recommendations. You blush when your joints complain about your lack of exercise and sudden exertion of physical activity. This last one just so happens to be on the highest possible shelf. There’s really no need to have more than five books on supernatural phenomena, but you’re already here and it’s vermillion red cover is taunting you like a bull to its matador. 

Fuck it. Making sure no librarians are watching, you hop on the first shelf, heels dangling in the air. You could climb trees like it was nothing when you’re a child, but ten years later you can feel all the joints in your body protest at the sudden bout of athleticism. 

Alas, even with the added height you can barely reach the top, fingers brushing over the hardcover. You’re starting to sweat with nerves, thankful for the whirring of the icy air conditioner. With a sigh you attempt to climb on the next highest shelf, until the familiar smell of detergent and florals invades your personal space. Even his scent is the same. 

“Y’know, there’s a help desk for a reason.” 

Your shoulders slump as Jungkook wordlessly instructs you to get down from the shelf. You feel the warmth of his palm shadow your back, not touching you but prepared to in the event you slip and fall. With a cross of your arms, you hug your books to your chest, refusing to make eye contact as he retrieves the book for you. Call it being petty, or overly defensive because of past events, but you’re not ready to talk to Jungkook right now. 

Conversely, Jungkook is piqued. He’s lived here for the past six years and it’s the first time he’s seen you in this library. Twice in the span of two weeks is definitely something worth noting, especially when his new co-worker just so happens to be friends with you. 

In fact he’s excited, curious. He just entered the library, dropping off some proofs for his graduate school’s office when he spotted you in the corner of one of the shelves, determined. Something warm and light brings a smile to his face when he sees how endearing you look trying to get that too-high book. Despite the fact that he’s still on the fence about your sanity, he wants to make sure you don’t almost-die a second time from head injury. 

“Here ya go,” He easily grabs the book and Jungkook is prepared to plop the book in your pile, but you’re hugging the others so tightly that he has to wedge it between two other ones. 

You press your lips together as Jungkook goes into your personal space, miffed that you’re being a little defensive. After all, you’re embarrassed from the last time you saw him and you’re heart is beating wildly, confused over the man in front of you. It takes a wiggle before you concede, letting him tuck the red novel between two other larger books. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, nodding at him once before swiftly turning the corner, skirt swishing. 

The smile on his face is wiped clean when you don’t even bother to spare him a little eye contact. 

“Hey, wait up!” he exclaims, and he’s immediately shh’ed by at least five students and an angry librarian. He deflates, giving sheepish bows as he walk-runs after you. 

He feels like the tables have turned, now he’s the one chasing after you. Should he apologize for leaving you on the sidewalk two weeks ago? Should he offer to hold your books, or drive you home? Maybe not drive you home, because he brought his bike today and he fears that you may be traumatized by the fact that you almost ate pavement under his wheels. If he has to ease into it, maybe he could offer his phone number up as compensation for accidentally almost-killing you? Suggest that his number is for you to contact him as an IOU. Smooth. 

You look over your shoulder briefly, suppressing a groan as Jungkook makes it painfully obvious that this is not the end of your interaction. He’s boring into you, looking past you and his eyes are dark with information. As much as you want to know what’s going on in his mind, seeing Hoseok and Jungkook within the same hour is wholly overwhelming, especially when you just laid your whole life story out to Hoseok in a daycare. 

He’s now staring holes in your back as you hand over your books and work identification to the unsuspecting librarian, who chalks up your awkwardness between two friends toeing around a relationship. To the unsuspecting eye, it’s not out of the ordinary. You can’t just tell Jungkook to “kindly fuck off because I’m still processing your existence” because he’s really done nothing wrong. Inevitable, you let him heat your skin with his imploring eyes until he starts to squirm like a garden snake. He’s waiting for you, silently begging you to turn your head and acknowledge how hard his brain is working right now. This boy is always after attention. 

Finally, you spare him. “Yes?” you say softly, keeping your focus on the bookkeeper checking you out as Jungkook hovers over your form. 

“Uh,” he scratches his head, searching for words, “are you hurt? Y’know, from the other day?” 

“Judging from the way I was prepared to climb the shelves, no,” you stuff the books in your tote bag, “are you hurt?” 

“Uh, no.” 

“Okay. That’s good.” You brush past him, making it a blatant point to stride out the first door you see. 

Even with all the telltale signs, Jungkook continues to feel something. An urge, a bell, something. He doesn’t know what, but he’s compelled to follow you. For a small thing you sure know how to walk, and he has to pump his legs a little to catch up with your speedy form. 

He follows you to the middle of the campus courtyard, where students are lounging about and studying or playing football. It’s already starting to turn dark, and the orange sky sits impatiently on your bodies as you try to walk as fast as possible to your apartment. 

“Hey—hey, c’mon!” his long legs manage to get close enough to you, but he has to halt as soon as you stop, whipping around to glare at him. 

Jungkook stumbles as you’re centimeters away from him, visibly annoyed. You’re super close, impossibly close to him. He holds his breath, fearing he’d fan your face and you wouldn’t appreciate his chicken-salad breath. He doesn’t understand why you’re upset, but he wants to jab a thumb between your brows and even out the adorable expression that pinches your visage. 

“What, do you need something from a stranger?” you bite icily, and he doesn’t understand the pang in his chest when you refer to each other as strangers. It’s true, you are, but you don’t have to be so harsh about it. 

“I, I just want to know why you knew my name,” he replies weakly, hands going up as if he committed a crime. “Back then, I’ve been confused ever since,” it’s wholly innocent, and genuine, “I just wanted to know if you’re okay, I guess?” 

It’s then you soften, melting like the yolk in the sky. The strap of your bag digs in your palm, the leather probably indenting your skin. 

“I got really drunk last night,” you concede, and at the very least it’s the truth, “probably woke up drunk too. I stumbled outside and when I saw you, and mistook you for another Jungkook I know.” 

You’re pulling this excuse out of your ass, and you hope that someone watching you from above (or below) will give you a reprieve on this one. He seems to believe this notion, probably used to one too many drunk girls fawning over him half-sane. 

“Another Jungkook?” he balks, mouth parting like a baby kitten, “a Jungkook with the same name and face?” 

“Uh kinda, like Mario and Wario?” you say, and you know Jungkook will get the reference if he remains a video game lover, “what’s that called, doppelgangers?” 

“I’m partial to Luigi and Waluigi, but I get it.” he replies with a small smile, proud to have gotten you to open up, even a little. “That’s cool. I’m sorry for freaking out back there.” 

“Understandable,” you look at the grass crunching at your feet. You definitely understood, but it still hurt recollecting the way he pushed you off of him like a bug. “I’m sorry for mistaking you, I just kinda stumbled out of an apartment and got walking, I thought I was in a dream or something.” 

“So uh, where’s this other Jungkook?” and it’s an innocent enough question, and he’s almost boyish about it, rocking back and forth with his hands in his jeans. “I’ve always wanted to meet my own twin, I just didn’t expect them living in Korea and having the same name. That’s like a two for one deal!” 

You wince, avoiding the way Jungkook tries to bend down to match your eyes. “He’s uh, not around anymore. Completely gone,” you mutter. 

Completely gone? Did that mean the person you were worrying about on the streets, the person who you worried over so thoughtfully in place of Jungkook, is dead? 

Jungkook puffs out a breath of air, running a hand through his hair. Boy, does he feel like a piece of shit for bringing up tough memories. “I’m so sorry,” he gushes, voice cracking as he tries to get you to lift your head, “I was just being nosy, alright? The fact that you knew my name freaked me out and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And when I saw you in the library I pounced but I realize that this is such a huge mistake and—”

“Jungkook,” you hold up a hand, a twinge of a smile barely grazing your lips, “I already told you, it’s understandable you would’ve been freaked out. Don’t blame yourself,” you size him up a little, looking up and down and he automatically straightens his back. He feels his ears heat beneath his hair, “but you look like the type of guy to be too hard on himself.”

He laughs, nodding profusely, “So I’ve been told.” Feeling lighter at the assurance of your feelings, he sticks out his hand, “then can we call a truce?” 

It’s then you see it. 

“Tiger lilies,” you marvel, hands reaching out instinctively to touch the tattoo adorning his arm. It’s the same design, same position, the dark ink vibrant as ever. 

“It’s my birth flower,” he puffs out his chest a bit, feeling elated that someone appreciates the fine art he spent weeks drafting. Tattoos aren’t particularly popular in this area, so he can’t help but feel a little cheeky that someone’s attracted to them. He watches the way your eyes sparkle over the black ink, the most positive emotion he’s gotten out of you since meeting. “Tiger lilies, they mean—”

“Please love me,” you finish, letting go of his arms so it drops to his side. You finally look up at him, and your eyes prick. 

He looks so much like him, it hurts. Seeing Hoseok and Namjoon also pained you considerably, but nothing compared to how much it ached to have Jungkook around, vying for your attention. How well you knew his body, and how much you wish you could hug him. Today he’s even dressed a little similarly to how you’re used to, soft and comfortable in black sweats and a Carhartt hoodie. But this Jungkook isn’t scarred by the industry, and it fills the curiosity that plagued you for days on end. Your Jungkook is always vibrant, but the one in front of you is radiant. He’s young, eager, and ready to take on the world. 

Jungkook grins, impressed by your knowledge. He wonders about your birth flower, and whether you have it tattooed somewhere on your body. “Is that your birth flower too?” he asks, debating on whether or not it’s too late to ask you out for coffee because evening is approaching. Maybe dinner was more appropriate? But it would be like a date? Maybe pizza or McDonalds to keep it casual? 

You see the gears turning in his head, and you feel like you’ve wasted too much time thinking. “Ah, no,” you flounder, rapidly shaking your head, “just some random information I’ve picked up.” 

“Are you into flower meanings?” he tilts his head. 

“Not particularly,” you say ominously, and you try not to ache when he seems disheartened at your lack of elaboration, “but I will be. I’ll see you around, Jungkook.” 

You can tell he has more to say, especially because Jungkook is one to finish what he starts. But you can’t give him that satisfaction now, not when you’re onto something. You spare him a wave over your shoulder, not wanting to see the disappointment in his face when you leave him in the dust for a second time. 

And with that unpromised promise, you go back into the direction of your apartment. You have some extensive research to do tonight. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

Jungkook wakes up to the sun, and he bolts up in his bed. 

“Hey!” he yells to no one in particular, knowing his voice is loud enough to echo throughout the dorm. “Why did no one call me? We had practice!” 

Instead of passing out in the studio he’s wrapped up in his sheets, bundled comfortably as if he’s been in bed for hours. He’s almost disoriented, looking around the room and waiting for someone to barge in and tell him to hurry up and get somewhere. 

After working on his music, the seven of them were supposed to meet up. The plan was to take a nap from ten to eleven, and be at the studio to go over some modifications to a new setlist. However, those plans evidently did not go through, because he had a full night’s sleep for the first time in weeks and that only happens if there’s a schedule cancellation or vacation. 

He feels particularly antsy because he couldn’t work on anything last night. His mind was like tunnel vision, completely filled by visions of you and last night’s fight. It’s frustrating, especially when there’s so much he’s behind on already. 

But today’s a new day. He takes his time in his room, popping out all his joints and doing leg and arm stretches on his mattress. For once, no one’s ushering him away to do the nth task. He mindlessly scrolls his phone, taking note of the insistence for him to return to social media but pins it away for yet another promise of next time. 

Mindlessly clicking his phone button on and off, his wallpaper shows a picture of your back facing the sunset. An old, innocent picture that could be mistaken for a random shot Jungkook stole on an empty night in Dongdaemun. With a sigh he throws his phone somewhere between the sheets, rubbing his eyes. There’s nothing he can do now but move forward, and he takes that in stride. 

But when he walks out of his room, the air feels terse. It’s strange, as if he could cut through the tension in the room with a butterknife. 

He looks on in confusion to see all the other members settled in the living room, hovered over their phones. They’re all still in their clothes from last night as well, grave expressions on their faces. 

Someone’s choked sobs are echoing from a corner of the room, and Jungkook is worried when he sees Taehyung sobbing in Hoseok’s arms. 

“What happened?” he asks, brows knitting together as he walks over to Namjoon, looking over his phone. 

Namjoon immediately presses his phone to his chest, concealing whatever is on the screen. Jungkook’s heart pangs at his block, because Namjoon isn’t one to hide things.  He’s feeling cut out of a secret so deep that it must be either a secret, or something he shouldn’t see. “It’s,” he takes a deep breath, and Jungkook feels it. He feels that whatever Namjoon has to say is going to be hard. 

Seokjin speaks up for the leader, bright eyes that always spark like fireworks now dim. “We got a call from Sehlyung early this morning. Before it got light out she—she was frantic. She said Camille wasn’t answering her calls after they went drinking.” 

No. No. 

“Then BigHit got a call from the hospital. They said a truck hit the curb, knocking her clean,” it doesn’t even sound like Seokjin’s speaking, just the shell of him, regurgitating information. “She’s alive, but it’s critical, no one’s allowed to see her until she’s stable. We don’t know when,” Seokjin bites his lip, choosing his words carefully, “or if, she’ll wake up.” 

Jungkook doesn’t even register that he’s crying until Seokjin pulls him into his arms. 

[kimikitty96]

Goodbye Letter to my Eating Disorder

It’s been hard. The past 3 years were so difficult, I’m surprised I haven’t completely lost myself. From having relationship problems, to deaths in my family (my brother and kitty died), to being sexually assaulted in the gym, to almost losing my mom this past year...suffice it to say, it’s been rather difficult. 

I turned to my old “friend”, Edward. We “met” when I was 8 years old, and lost touch when I started working at 21 years old. Or, at least I thought we lost touch; he just put on a mask. But here he was again. He was there for me when I was struggling the most. No one else understood my pain the way he did, and no one numbed me like he did. He gave me the drive and motivation to get out of bed and to go to the gym; he kept me from faltering on my diet and turn to comfort eating; he continued to cheer me on when I made mistakes and would tell me to keep going. When I have injuries, he’d tell me that my initial weight loss was not due to me exercising, but my eating habits and to not worry, I can still continue! When I got sexually assaulted at my gym, he said to me that I never have to go back to that gym, and that I can go anywhere else to get my “Brazilian Booty”. He suggested I take a trip to Vegas and just enjoy myself, then come back and get serious.

He comforted me when my fiance would reject me, saying if I listened to him, I won’t need my fiance because I’d be able to attract the guy I really wanted, that all I needed was a little push. When my kitty passed away, Edward allowed me to grieve and to celebrate her life by going to a buffet and enjoying seafood, on one condition: I had to make sure that I was right back on track by making sure that I would “let my body rest” from food for a couple of days.

Last July (2019), I went into PHP because I knew something was seriously wrong. Edward was no longer helping me. His voice grew louder in my head, and what used to be gentle nudging became more forceful, more frustrated. Here was his evolution:

-”Oh, you want carbs? Well, that’s okay! You can have carbs and use it as energy for the gym when doing cardio/lower body workout tomorrow! Just make sure you lower your fat intake, okay?”

-”Yes! There’s a food festival! Make sure you get your 10k steps before you go, okay? We’ll eat everything we want, just like those fitness people do on YouTube! You’ve earned it!”

-”Oh, you gained weight...again. I mean...maybe you should lower your calories again. You’re eating a bit more than you’re supposed to, so just make sure your weekly calories are where they’re supposed to be.”

-”Lord, you failed an exam??? Okay, you need to hit the gym harder so you can focus better.”

-”[Fiance] refused to touch you again? It’s been a month since the last time? Why do you even want him to touch you at this point? You should just think about that guy who molested you at the gym, since that’s all you can get at this point.”

“You failed another exam? Jesus christ, you need to focus harder. You’ll never finish community college and get into [#1 dream school] if you continue like this! But if you let your body rest from food, you’ll have mental clarity and will remember your course material better.”

-”Oh, fiance said no to you again. You really need to stop having these “cheat days” or “cheat meals”. He’s getting more and more grossed out by you every day.”

-“Why can’t you just stop eating the junk foods you’re eating? You were able to do it before. You’re so stupid, you can’t even get this right. You know what? I’m going to test your willpower. Go out and buy junk food, and stare at it and say no!”

-”See, he’s flirting with so many other women at his work. This is why he won’t touch you. You’re stupid and ugly; you’re worth nothing unless you are at the top of your class, and weigh less than [UGW]!”

-”Why can’t you stop eating?!?! Why do you have the willpower of a drug addict?! You’re nothing! Get rid of that! You don’t deserve your meal! GET RID OF IT NOW!”

-”JESUS CHRIST, YOU ARE FUCKING STUPID! IT’S YOUR FAULT YOUR FIANCE DON’T WANT YOU! YOU’RE WORTH LESS THAN NOTHING! YOU DESERVED BEING GROPED AT THE GYM BECAUSE THAT IS YOUR WORTH!”

-”See? You failed a class you already took! This is how stupid and [ableist expletive] you are. You can’t even do that shit right. YOU ARE NOTHING. YOU HAVE NEGATIVE WORTH.”

-”Your brother died because he had diabetes. Your mother almost died because of diabetes. They couldn’t control; the shit they put in their mouths, and you will end up with the same fate because your dumb ass can’t even say no to a chip.”

-”Oh, you lost another friend? That’s because you’re a piece of shit. You’ve always been a piece of shit. You deserve to be alone. No one should be subjected to the bullshit that is you. You should just KYS.”

-”No, you can’t have that! You can’t touch food unless I say so! I don’t care that it’s been a week!”

-”No don’t touch food! It’s all poison! It’s going to kill you! Look what it did to your mom and brother! You’re gonna lose your dad too because all food is poison! DON’T TOUCH ANY FOODSTUFFS!!!”

*Me, fainting, at home alone, because I haven’t eaten in a week and my heart rate is in the low 50′s*

-”Why are you being an attention whore? Stop your bitch ass whining and go pee.”

*My response* “Bitch, there’s no one here! Who am I being an attention whore to, my cats?!”

-”Yes! Now stop being a whiny bitch and go pee!”

-”Why are you still here? Why aren’t you doing everyone on this earth a favor and disappear. No one would miss you. They’re not even thinking of you right now. No one misses you now. Everyone is just pretending to like you because they feel sorry for you. They actually really hate you. Just disappear. They don’t want you around anyway.”

-”Leave. Disappear. No one wants you. Just take [redacted], and go to sleep.”

Edward was not helping me. He made it seem like he was, but he wasn’t. He entered my life during a time when I was vulnerable and made me believe he would be my redemption. He knew me; he knew what was best for me. He could make me better/stronger/more beautiful/more desirable/smarter; all I had to do was listen.

That’s not who he is. He is a monster. He’s worse than that; he is pure evil that nothing and no one should ever allowed in. He took what I give him, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Once I did what he told me to do, he tells me to go farther because while it’s good, I can do better; I can be better. He destroyed everything I touch and turned it against me so that I couldn’t rely on anyone but him. He isolated me and introduced me to his partner-in-crime, Shame. The more Edward spoke, the more Shame consumed. 

When I thought Edward was giving me drive and motivation to go workout so I could improve myself, in reality, he was telling me my body was grotesque and that I needed to punish myself because I mistreated my body. When he tried to keep me from faltering on my diet, he was telling me I shouldn’t eat [xyz] so I can be healthy, when in reality, he was encouraging me to binge/purge/restrict/fast, causing heart palpitations, unstable-low blood pressure, gastrointestinal distress, brain fog, increased bouts of depression, and severe low self esteem; instead of being healthy, he made me extremely unhealthy. When he continued to cheer me on whenever I injured myself due to too much physical exertion and would tell me to “reign my diet in”, the reality was that he caused these injuries by telling me that I had to keep going no matter how hard I trained, that I couldn’t eat enough calories so I could heal and recover, and that even though I was injured, I couldn’t rest and had to continue to exercise. When I got sexually assaulted at my gym, he graciously allowed me to transfer gyms and continue to workout and ignore my mental health when in reality...he wanted to keep me mentally weak so that I would continue to rely on him because he made clothes fit better.

He made it so clothes can fit better; clothes I bought, that I wasn’t allowed to wear, because my body wasn’t where he wanted it to be, therefore I didn’t deserve to wear them yet. 

The past few months have been the most difficult out of the 3 years I’d been struggling; COVID, finishing school and transferring to uni, cheating on my fiance, my mom almost dying (twice), and really delving deep inside me to come to terms with everything I went through and being completely honest with myself...I never want to go through that again. But I am extremely grateful I did, because I saw who Edward really was. I saw him for the toxic, vile, awful evil entity he always was, and now I get to say goodbye.

To Edward:

Thank you for who you were when you back into my life (again). Thank you for helping me cope with my issues, and for keeping my head afloat; you did the best you could, given the circumstances you had. I was broken, hurt, lost, and saw nothing good in me. You showed me that I can be better, and that I can do better. I just have to push a little harder, and I’ll eventually get what I want.

You gave me something to hold on to in the beginning, and thankfully, I figured out your toxicity before it was too late for me. This is me telling you that I want to part ways. I know you’ll still be around, because you are my oldest “friend”, and I know you will do your very best to get me to succumb to your ways. But like you taught me, if I just have a little bit of willpower and a little bit of strength and perseverance, I can achieve what I want; that the only person stopping me is myself. I can either move forward, or sabotage myself once more; it was, and is, completely up to me, isn’t that right?

Thank you for the lessons you taught me. I will utilize them to fight you every single day of my life. Yes, I will have setbacks. Yes, I will falter. But like you taught me; if I falter, I need to keep going. What was it you used to tell me? If I miss a workout, or eat something I wasn’t supposed to, that I needed to work twice as hard the next day? That’s exactly what I’m going to do. If I let you in, I will tell myself that it’s okay to make a mistake, and that I can always turn my back on you whenever you appear. The only difference between your lesson and my OWN words is that I will forgive myself for allowing you back in. 

I want to thank you for all the vitriolic words you’ve shouted at me. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve never seen the kindest words uttered to me by the ones who do love and care about me (yes, the people in my life love me despite your insistence that they don’t). I want to thank you for the discipline you’ve instilled upon me. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve never remembered the drive I have at succeeding at endeavors that mean a lot to me. And you know what means a lot to me? 

I MEAN A LOT TO ME!

So I will work my hardest to make sure I fight you every single god damn day of my life, and in doing so, empower me to be the best me I can. And you know what it means to be the best me? It’s to be my most authentic and honest and forgiving self. I means I can finally love and appreciate me the way I love and appreciate everyone in my life.

This is my goodbye. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Kitty 

[mobagehelllocal]

While reading leona's part in “wendy?” “hello peter pan” i thought for a split second that mc's green eyed daughter was Leona's child and thus that mc didn't know she was pregnant when she left the mirror ! 😯

Oooh! Honestly, I hadn’t really intended it to seem that way.

To really explain this, I have to go into my image of Leona, and why I chose to portray him as is. This will contain spoilers for those who haven’t read “wendy?” “hello peter pan”, so please avert your gaze if you have yet to read it!

This is also lengthy, so if you want, I put a TLDR at the very bottom. HAHAH.

PS: to make something clear, Twisted Wonderland is a work of fiction. Therefore everything—from story to character is truly up to interpretation. I’m just giving a reasoning behind why I chose to write Leona the way I do. At the end of the day, I will not begrudge you for portraying Leona differently from me. I just really want to share the way I understand him. Perhaps this could help, perhaps it won’t—either way it was fun to think about this. ^^

I knew from the start that I wanted the daughter to be the image of what Leona could’ve had.

Here’s something you probably wouldn’t figure out from my writings: I originally disliked Leona.

Now! Before you go clicking off, let me explain.

Savannaclaw’s story is sandwiched between Heartslabyul and Octavinelle--both of which are very emotionally driven narratives. I’ll try not to spend too long on these two houses, but look at it this way.

We can empathize with Riddle because he suffered a lot in the process of upholding his mother’s teachings. He put up with it because it had to be the truth--as if they were false this whole time, then he was suffering for nothing. So when you come in, and prove exactly that--it makes sense for Riddle to lash out the way he does.

Let’s not get started on Azul. We empathize with Azul because we all have that one bully, one person we want to either get even with--or become better than. Azul was bullied extensively in his childhood, and just snapped. He, with nothing in his hands, decided he would take everything away from his bullies. In the process of taking away from his bullies, he would build himself into someone infallible. He distanced himself from his past because he was ashamed of that part of him. So when all that hard work is snatched away by someone more fortunate than him? When even the indestructible version he had built himself to be is beaten? It meant to Azul that he hadn’t changed at all, that he was still that bullied octopus. He snapped. It might’ve been a big middle finger to Azul because it essentially invalidated all the hard work he put into being someone who could.

Then what about Leona?

The emotional drive behind Leona’s Overblot is exhaustion at being seen as the inferior second prince to his brother. In fact, it’s generally his inability to become number one. In Afterglow Savanna, he has to go up against his well-loved and preferred brother. In Night Raven College, he has to go up against Malleus Draconia, the strongest student.

Here’s the thing though, and this is my personal gripe about Leona--which tbh, I would still call him out for.

He doesn’t try.

Or if he did try, we don’t see him do it.

We see him laze about, doing nothing. Yeah sure he comes up with an underhanded strategy that could help them win against Diasomnia--but he actually barely does anything. And the moment it doesn’t work, he just concedes. It pisses him off, but he gives up. Just like that.

It’s also why him turning into the Overblot feels... (personally) so lacking to me. Like, I felt he had no place to get angry, when others (especially like Ruggie) were relying on him to pull it together at the end. Like, we all knew Leona would get the Overblot because he’s the Scar themed character. But narratively speaking? A stronger story would’ve been Ruggie being the Overblot, and Leona reacting to it. (Like do you know, how amazing that would be for Leona’s character to? I want to see it so bad!)

At the end of the day, we got an angry Leona. To me, at that time, his anger felt so entitled. Like, Leona’s always been seen as incredibly smart, skilled PLUS he’s also really wealthy. So to me, I just thought, “how could you be so angry when you’re so lucky to have all of this? In fact, why can’t you use that anger and turn it into a determination to make yourself better? You’re smart, you’re skilled, you have the resources--if you exerted more effort, I think you could get farther.”

I still think the Savannaclaw chapter could’ve been better, but I’ve also realized that it’s because Leona is the way he is, that makes it impossible to resolve his problems the same way Riddle or Azul is able to.

‘Ai, when will you stop bullying Leona?’

Hang on, I’m actually done, and I’ll finally get into why Leona’s story in “wendy?” “hello peter pan” turned out the way it did.

There are two people, aside from me, who actually gets to read these pieces before I post it on tumblr. They  don’t know each other, they’ve never spoken to one another--the most they know about each other is probably from whatever I say to them about the other. And here’s the thing, they both told me this: “Leona is the best one you wrote from “wendy?” “hello peter pan.””  

Of course, I’m instantly confused. I didn’t like Leona when I first wrote anything for Twisted Wonderland, by the time I was writing his piece from the series (he and Riddle were written days ahead of the rest actually) I was 50/50 on him. I was okay with him, but I certainly didn’t like him. So I did a lot of internal introspection about this.

I realized that at the end of the day, I understood what Leona was angry about.

It wasn’t anger about being stuck at second place.

It was anger about never being acknowledged in the first place.

He was never seen as Leona Kingscholar, he was simply The Second Prince of Afterglow Savanna, or Prince Farena’s Younger Brother. He never was acknowledged as his own person.

And here lies another problem. I believe Leona is someone who represses. I think he’s someone who prefers to shut his eyes and sleep, over acknowledging the problem. He decided to sleep instead of confronting Jack’s bullies in that short manga strip, he doesn’t confront Jack’s bullies in the SSR Card Dorm uniform either until he really needs to. He’ll put it off as long as he can, and if it solves itself, then that’s better for him. This ties in with the idea the fact that he’s seen as someone inferior to Farena, how he’s never acknowledged beyond that, and how it’s an opinion he can’t control. So he just decides to let it be, and keeps all his feelings to himself. Because acknowledging ugly feelings are always so exhausting, crying, getting angry--these things are exhausting, and he must’ve felt or had pent up all these emotions so much so that he’s decided the easiest way is to just leave them be. Not acknowledge them, and don’t think too deeply about it.

I had, ironically, written Leona’s piece, while unconsciously knowing this.

Leona’s piece in “wendy?” “hello peter pan” is a result of his own inaction. We all know that Leona’s cool and calm demeanor is what makes him so popular and attractive. That’s why him not expressing his true feelings is something we all, just know he does. Because that’s his character trope. However, it’s because he choses not to share his feelings that the MC leaves, and moves on with her life.

Remember, I said that Leona will “put it off for as long as he can, and if it solves itself, then that’s better for him.” Leona, at the beginning of the piece finally decides to take action. The MC being missing has probably put a toll on his otherwise impeccable control of his emotions. He wants to drag her back, claim her, make her his wife, have children with her--all of it. He realized that he wanted that, and that’s what sends him into action. However, he’s late. Very late.

The third portion of his piece, when he looks at Leona II, and realized what he could have had--the way he visualized that possible future--he lets himself have that because he realized that it’s because he didn’t try harder to hold onto her, that this future was no longer possible.

Making Leona II have features that could’ve looked like him was so intentional on my part. I wanted to confront Leona’s character with this: “this is what you could’ve had if you had been more proactive” because I personally thought, that this was what we were missing from Leona. It’s what we didn’t get in Savannaclaw--a Leona who became more proactive about the things he wanted.

Everyone else had that arc after all. Riddle, a stickler for the rules set up by his mother realized that some rules can be broken for the sake of empathy. Azul, who had denied his past self, learned to accept his past self and mistakes, and moves to become someone even greater.

We don’t get that from Leona, and I think that’s why my piece ended up the way it did.

THIS... became way too long, and I’m really sorry for that. I hope you don’t mind that I really... just... expressed what I thought about Leona and the type of mindspace I go into when I write pieces for him.

If anyone is interested in adding to this discourse, I definitely encourage you--be it if you agree or disagree with me.

TLDR: Yeah, I would’ve never given that moment of “she’s actually your daughter” to Leona because he needed to confront his lack of proactiveness.

Thank you so much for this ask!

[justapoet]

it's a falling star you catch (and then you hope to God it stays)

“Alright,” he said. “If you don’t get on the rink, then, I’ll be calling the police,” TK told him, and Carlos widened his eyes, somehow not in fear, but definitely in shock. When the ice skater smiled at him, though, small and someway sweet, his tense shoulders seemed to relax, and he smiled back. “Okay,” the other man agreed. “It sounds fair.” It sounds like a trap, TK thought. But it didn’t quite sound like a mistake.

Or,

TK is a reclusive champion skater that takes the world in like patterns on ice. Carlos is a professor that knows everything about words ― except how to use them. And while he might teach TK how to take things more lightly than lightweight, he migh as well learn how to make sentences that are filled with meaning ― and not necessarily sense.

My dear @strandnreyes, this is for you! I was so happy that you got to be the person I'd have to gift in the @911giftexchange and I truly hope you like it. It isn't what I wanted it to be, so I'll be rewriting it ― and I hope you'll give me a second chance and read it when it's entirely done.

Have the best new year (I don't know where you're from, but where I live we're still in 2021). I wish you peace, luck, and love ― and I wrote you some, too, and from our favorite boys.

it's a falling star you catch (and then you hope to God it stays)

37.4k | Ao3

There was just so much he knew about New York.

Nothing more than that it was loud and crowded and that it was named after James, the Duke of York, back when it was still called New Amsterdam. Or that it had the third largest library in the world, had been the country's capital for five years in the past, and had far too many lights on every single corner. He also knew, of course, that Walt Whitman was born there, just like J. D. Salinger, Henry James, and Edna St. Vincent Millay ― which made him a little more curious about the anthill with neon lights.

Other than that, sincerely, Carlos didn't care about knowing much.

It wasn't something personal, and although he loved history, New York sounded more chaotic than anything on his ears ― chaos that, although sometimes welcomed, didn't need to take more place than what was strictly necessary.

He knew a few places here and there ― a good pizzeria, drugstore, libraries, and four or five restaurants, also the Central Park and a list of colleges ― but Carlos would for sure get lost if anyone asked anything else about the city. Streets? He'd be ashamed to tell he didn't know how to name more than seven. Neighborhoods? Honestly, if he knew three, it would be an evolution. Avenues and park names? Nope, not a hint.

And, in his defense, Carlos didn't really need to know much more than that ― he would rarely wander farther than that small perimeter he actually knew. Whatever he needed to do would be around the same buildings, the same sidewalks, and crowds; knowing more than that would be more of a waste of time than anything if he wouldn't use it anyway.

Therefore, that was just so much he knew about New York.

But there was just so much he didn't know about the library around him, for that matter.

The Elmer Holmes Bobst library ― NYU Bobst library, for practical reasons ― was an imponent building taking place in Greenwich Village, New York. The whole building comes up in brick color, and the black, broad windows match the gigantic sign with the name of the place close to the entry doors. The inside, much clearer than the outside itself, expands in a gallery, leading to staircases, long hallways, tables, and uncountable shelves filled with books edge-to-edge.

For those who were stepping into the building for the first time, it was, indeed, a massive, breathtaking view.

For Carlos, it was simply familiar.

He'd been there enough that all of the concierges already knew his name, and everyone who knew him would know which table to search ― the one on the corner, hidden between two shelves, with a floor lamp right over his head, on the tenth floor. Sure, he could stay on the eight where most of the books he needed would be found ― but it would rarely be crowded, and it had a better view than the other floors.

Not to mention, Carlos was well-aware that the staff liked him a bit more than the other people to show up around the library, and they knew that the man would always put everything he took out of place back to it. Perhaps because he was older than the students, the staff liked talking to him, or maybe because he actually did take his time to wish everyone a good morning, a good week, or ask them how they had been, other than just walking around and pretending they weren't even there.

Either way, the trust was something Carlos was glad to enjoy, mainly because it was nice to be alone and relish the quietness that came with emptiness and not only the one that came with the rules. Just him and the ruffle of the books and the ticking of the clock, harmonizing perfectly with some sighs that escaped his mouth and the typing on his notebook; it was far better than anything else, any noise he could find in New York City.

That evening, when the sun had already hidden behind the tall skyscrapers, the typing sound still echoed around the nearly empty floor of the library, as it had done since the sun had greeted the morning. A tired pair of brown eyes was, over the screen, as quick at the long fingers on the keyboard, and the pile of books was slightly smaller than usual. Some sighs wandered around the walls after a deep breath, and then some grumbling, just followed by the tapping of a shoe against the floor ― something as familiar as the building was under Carlos' eyes.

There were still people around the building, though it wasn't crowded by any means. Some tired students were leaving the library after hours; some others, who had just gotten off work, were coming in with exhausted faces and backpacks over their shoulders. On the tenth floor, there were only Carlos, by the corner, a tired student who he thought that fallen asleep over the table and an old lady who, apparently, couldn't wait to go home.

There was also a young lady who left silently, as another woman came in in heels and office-like clothes, in a pencil skirt, a black social shirt, and suitcase and a bag in her hands. The woman's hair was held tight on the top of her head in a bun, and her dark eyes analyzed the broad space for a minute or two, her shoes echoing around the silence.

When she found what she meant to, then, the woman walked fiercely towards it, though as quietly as she could so no one would be bothered ― or waken up ― by the click of the heels. The woman's movements were graceful, although she rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath while crossing the room towards a table.

"I still have thirty-four minutes before being late," the man's voice announced, not taking his eyes off the screen as a figure approached his own. "And that, considering I am always ten minutes early."

The woman scoffed beside him. He still didn't take his eyes off the screen.

"You've been here for hours," she said. "And I wouldn't have complained if you hadn't been here since after breakfast. At eight in the morning," she stated, placing her suitcase over one of the free chairs and her coat over the table. "Did you even have lunch?"

"I did eat a burger, thank you very much," Carlos replied, switching his attention to an open book by his side. "Did you?"

"Eat a burger? No, no. I did eat like a normal person, you know? Food and nutrients and proteins," she answered, and Carlos smiled little.

"Well, it all goes through the same tube, so I don't think your healthier choices count much," the man joked, now taking a pencil and bringing a notebook closer.

"I want you to repeat that when you're in a hospital bed after a heart failure," she said, arching an eyebrow. "Are you done for today?" she asked, tilting her head towards the laptop over the wooden surface.

"I suppose that the truth won't get me alone again," Carlos said, then he sighed. "So, yeah. I think I am," he concluded, turning his head and smiling quite playful at his friend.

The woman rolled her eyes.

"You are, by all means, pathetic," she said. "Really, I don't even know why I talk to you still."

"Because, my dear Lily, you love me," he said. "And you miss me to pieces whenever I leave New York, too," he concluded, moving to get up and closing the notebook he had been writing on.

"Yeah, and whenever you come to New York, I wonder why that happens," she grumbled, though affectionately. "Can't you go back to Texas already?"

Carlos chuckled.

"When I do go back, I bet you're going to cry. And ask me when I can come back again, which, I will tell you, probably won't happen soon," Carlos said, not closing his laptop and reaching for his own suitcase over another empty chair. "I think it is unlikely that NYU will invite me again in the next few years."

"Why, though?" the woman asked, taking the laptops' charger in her hands and starting to fold it properly to fit in the suitcase. "You're one of the most influential experts in literature out there nowadays, after all. I mean, you've been literally paid to study for years, now, in and out of the country. It's not like NYU would lose any chance to have you back," she said, and Carlos could only chuckle again. "Or any University, actually."

"Yeah, but it's not like I plan on coming back so soon," he said. "I've told you about it, remember?"

The woman frowned for a second, and then her face lit up with acknowledgment. She offered the folded wire to her friend, who thanked her silently.

"Oh, of course," she said, then. "That University in Brazil, right? For a second, I forgot about it," she continued. "It is a great opportunity, indeed. I mean, for you, who somehow loves Brazilian literature just because," she said, a hint of false annoyance in her voice.

Carlos rolled his eyes softly.

"Not 'just because,' Delilah," he corrected her, then, and the satisfied smile on her face gave away that her intentions had been accomplished. "It's fascinating! Hard to read, sure, but still fascinating. You'd think so, too, if you gave it a shot."

She tilted her head a bit.

"That's how I know that you love me," Carlos dramatically said, pretending to sniff. "I've read all the Russian books you wanted me to, and that's what you give me back. Unadulterated disdain," he said, and Delilah bit her tongue not to laugh inside of a library.

"God, gifting you with a Shakespeare book set was a mistake," she replied, shaking her head slowly. "And, one: I recommended you Russian literature because it is excellent and because finding out that you're a polyglot was a highlight in life. Two: I don't have a single thing against Brazilian literature; my problem with the idea is that you work far too much, Carlos," her tone was solemn after a second, and Carlos sighed briefly, knowing where the conversation would lead.

He didn't turn to face her, though, and kept putting his things back in place so they could leave together for dinner as they had planned the day before and let his friend speak whatever she had to say.

"I mean it, Carlos," she said again. "You've been hopping from project to project for years now. Man, you're twenty-eight and is one of the most influential names in literature and philology. That isn't normal, my friend," Delilah went on. "How many countries have you visited so you could learn? Two per year since you've graduated at twenty-one?"

Carlos tilted his head a few times to the sides, almost answering her rhetorical question. Delilah sighed again, and her tone came back much softer than before.

"I know how much you love your job, and I know how much you love learning, dear. And I am not telling you to reject every opportunity they offer you because you deserve each one of them, and I'd beat you up if you dared to leave them aside, but that's all I've seen you do these past years. Work yourself to exhaustion," she voiced. "Maybe you should slow down a bit, uh?"

Carlos took his closed suitcase in his hand, then, after putting on his coat, and turned around, waiting for his friend to copy his movements. Silently, she did, and he gestured for them to start walking, Delilah smiling thankfully at that.

"I don't know," he said, then, about what she had said before. "I like my life the way it is, Lily."

"I know that, too," she said. "You love learning, you love knowing things ― but that's absolutely everything you do. And we live half a country apart from the other, Carlos," Delilah continued as they walked side by side, both of them nodding respectfully at those who passed them by. "Look, I'm not saying that you need to change your whole life and plans and schedule," she highlighted, and he nodded. "I'm saying that... I don't know― you could find a hobby?"

Carlos turned at her, scoffing and arching one of his brows. There was a half-smile on his face, and he held back a peal of laughter, looking around for a minute.

"A hobby?" he asked, almost in disbelief. "Reading and writing are a hobby, Lily," Carlos argued, and she arched a brow herself while accepting his hand by the end of one of the staircases.

"Not if they're what get your bills paid, Carlos," she argued back. "You do that for a living. Just like movies are a kill-time, but those who make it are working when doing so," Delilah explained, waiting for him to offer his hand one more time when another set of stairs finished.

"And what is your suggestion?" he asked, then, nodding and smiling when another person of the staff, Omar, passed them on his way upstairs. "Movies?"

She shrugged.

"Painting?" she offered. "Sewing? Knitting? Running a marathon?" the woman listed it down. "I don't know, Carlos. Something that takes you out of this―" she gestured towards him with a hand, making circles in the air. "Work-mode you always leave on. If I didn't think you're brilliant, I'd find it absolutely annoying."

"Well, don't limit yourself. Particularly, I think you're both brilliant and annoying," Carlos said with a far-too-innocent smile on his face for it to be genuine. Delilah only side-eyed him, her mouth twisting in annoyance, and Carlos didn't let his smile fall at that.

"I shouldn't even worry about you," she said, rolling her eyes again and then accepting the hand he offered one more time. "You're a complete freak."

"Yet, you're taking me out for dinner," he retorted, his tone always cheerful and provoking. "Doesn't it sound lovely?"

Delilah rolled her eyes and accepted his hand to jump the last step of the staircase.

"Just as lovely as that many staircases we just walked down," she responded. "Why don't you choose a lower floor like any normal human being, Carlos?" the woman complained.

"Because the higher the floor, the longer it takes for you to reach me," the man replied. "Have a good night, Mrs. Ward. See you tomorrow!" Carlos greeted the man in the front goodbye, waving a hand and getting a smile and the identical words right back at him. Then, Carlos directed himself to Delilah again. "And because it cuts the social interaction for quite a bit," he added.

"Of course, it does. People come here to read, not to do workouts," Lily stated, smiling and waving Mrs. Ward goodbye as well.

"You're aware there are many elevators here, right?" the man asked. "So the joke's basically all on you?"

"Oh, hush," she said. "Or I'll give up buying you dinner."

"That's quite a way to woo a man, uh?" Carlos joked. "Where are we going?"

The fresh air of soon-to-be-winter night hit Carlos' face when they stepped out of the library, the sounds of the city catching up to his ears in the blink of an eye. Above them, the stars perhaps glistened, but it couldn't be seen through so many lights ― courtesy of New York and its passion for Christmas.

The arrangements started sooner than mid-November, with fairy lights and Christmas trees were placed all over the streets and sidewalks. The cold was slowly making its way to settle among the rubicund trees and leaves, and the lights and snow globes and coats slowly took over the sights and the people.

By then, when December was almost arriving for real, Carlos could almost hear Mariah Carrey's songs blaring in somewhere between the horns of the cars and the shouting crowds that hurried home after a busy day. Most houses already had ornaments and decorations hanging from their doors and balconies by then, and December was yet to make itself present on the calendar.

He breathed in the air, the coldness causing a pleasing feeling to his nostrils and lungs. Carlos gripped the strap of his bag tighter with one hand and his suitcase with the other, looking around for a second before looking back at his friend.

"I thought about going to Cinthia's," Delilah answered. "What do you think?"

"Always the right answer," he replied.

"Quite a way to woo a man, isn't it?" Delilah repeated what he said before. Carlos chuckled, following her gesture, indicating where her car was parked, not too far from the library itself. "Wanna drive?"

He shook his head.

"Tonight, I'll pass," he said. "Unless you're planning to kill us, that is," the man joked, and Delilah rolled her eyes while circling the black vehicle and opening the back door to throw her suitcase and bag there.

"You really should learn to let things go, Carlos," she said. "It was one ― and one time only ― that I ever almost crashed my car."

"Yeah, and I was inside the car," he retorted, getting into the vehicle when she opened her door to do the same, after throwing his things in the backseat as well. "I really don't plan on dying so soon, you know?"

"Considering the number of hours you spend working and the lack of them with which you take care of yourself? That's a controvertible statement," Delilah said. "Not to mention, there's only so much you can speed in New York. If you forgot, this place is a mess."

"As if I could," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I don't even need an alarm to wake up in the morning. Someone's cat does the job," Carlos told her.

"Do you actually sleep?" she questioned, jokingly making a surprised expression. "Now that's something new."

"Oh, hush," Carlos expressed. "You say as if I don't even get out of the apartment."

Delilah scoffed.

"The apartment-library rotation you do daily is not considered a living, Carlos. You do the very same thing in both places," she accused. "And I don't think you get actual, quality sleep in neither of them."

Carlos rolled his eyes one more time, tilting his head a bit to the side.

"C'mon, there must be something, anything, that you might try," his friend spoke up again, looking around as the city passed by them from the outside.

Her eyes analyzed the surroundings whenever they got a chance, and she was pretty sure Carlos wasn't actually paying attention to whatever was outside the window. She knew him well enough to know that any car trip would have him looking out the window with blurry vision and a lost expression on his face ― yet, she didn't quit talking.

Because she also knew him well enough to know that Carlos is nearly a genius and could make a conversation get lost forever just to escape it.

Her eyes flickered around when they turned a corner, a park Carlos didn't remember the name showing up in crows and more Christmas decorations hanging from the trees.

"What about ice skating?" she asked, then, when her eyes found an ice-rink lost in the distance. Her friend seemed to immediately snap out of wherever dimension he had gotten into, turning his head quickly at her and adjusting his posture.

"No," Carlos said. "Not ever."

Delilah grunted.

"Why not?" she asked, stopping at the red traffic light. "It's a beautiful sport!"

Carlos snorted.

"Absolutely not," he said. "It's beautiful, and what? Sincerely, it's quite honorable that you think that I am capable of even standing up on ice," Carlos continued, laughing a bit between words.

"That's why people train, Carlos," Delilah argued.

"I am refusing more trips to the hospital lately, Lily," he answered. "I don't want an open skull, nor a broken bone. Being stuck on ice doesn't sound as appealing as you think it does," he concluded.

"Oh, please. Have you never thought about sliding on ice? Almost fly? And get pretty shoes with it?!" she asked, and Carlos laughed a bit more, this time.

"Lily, we don't even have snow in Texas. And I grew up on a farm. Ice skating is one of the last things I'll ever think about trying," Carlos reasoned, and Delilah rolled her eyes briefly before stepping again for the car to move when the light turned green.

"Yeah, genius, but you're in New York right now, not in Texas," she responded. "New city, new possibilities."

Carlos arched one of his eyebrows at that.

"I don't live here, Delilah. Besides, I don't think I have ever seen an ice rink back home. If I like it, what will I do? Find something else?" he said.

"Yeah? I mean, there are endless possibilities in Texas, Carlos. It's a hell of a big state. Not to mention," the woman looked at him through the corner of her eye. "I do believe you've told me that you used to ride horses to spend time back when you were a teenager. Why don't you try it again?"

"I don't have the time to," he said. "No ice skating, Lily."

"Why not?" she asked again, and Carlos side-eyed her, quite ruffled. "Alright, okay. Hockey?"

"Yeah, a walking― sliding death trap," he rolled his eyes. "Not a chance."

Delilah groaned.

"Uh, alright. God, you're― argh," she grunted. Her bothered face fell in a smile for a second when she found a vacant parking spot close to where they needed to go, and then her expression fell sober one more time when she killed the engine. "At least walking? At the park? With earphones on, perhaps? Or just looking around? Anything that takes you out of the bizarre machine-like mood you get when studying?"

"Hm," he grumbled before opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle.

The woman did the same thing, though she waited for Carlos and his gentleman manners to round the car and open the door ― something she had learned to wait for when he was around. He offered his hand so she could step on her heels and offered an arm for her to grab after closing the door.

"Hm?" she grumbled, too, but searching for further explanation. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Hm," he repeated, now shrugging, too.

Delilah bit her tongue at that and fought the urge not to roll her eyes as they got closer to the restaurant's entrance. The two of them smiled at Jeremy, the young man receiving the clients that night, and asked for their table ― that was always vacant when Carlos was in town because Cinthia was more than an angel to the two of them and missed Carlos, too, when he was back home.

Walking in, Carlos still remained silent, and Delilah did her best to ignore completely the man holding her arm because she knew her friend quite sufficiently. Whatever was going through his mind, it took a few speechless minutes to figure out.

They both sat down and waited for the menus to be placed in front of them, which wasn't really necessary ― because Cinthia and Rodney would show up soon, excitedly offering something new for them to try. Delilah waited, looking around just because it was invariably a lovely place to be, and Carlos seemed to be focused on the towel over the table, anyway.

"Will you come with me?" he asked a few minutes later, and the woman turned her head to stare at him again. "If I choose a hobby?"

She shook her head.

"I know the two of us far too well to be naive and think that we wouldn't talk about work sooner or later," she explained, and Carlos nodded, smiling a bit. "But," she said again, highlighting the word. "If you choose something, I will start something new, too."

"So we can fail together?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Hey, that's quite a Christmas gift," she replied, blinking an eye at him. "Either will cry or laugh about it; sounds like a good result, don't you think?"

Carlos smiled, almost childishly, and chuckled, but nodded too.

"Alright," he said, then. "I will try to find something, then."

"It's all I ask," she said, smiling widely at her friend. "Can I ask you to have a healthy, or at least human, sleep schedule, too?"

Carlos arched an eyebrow, frowning right after.

"Hush," he said, and Delilah laughed again, taking the menu in her hand after her friend did the same to escape any additional topic that might lead to that same subject one more time.

.

The clatter of blades on the frozen surface was the only audible echo among the empty field of the park, followed by soft thuds and crackles that faded quickly amidst the silence. Light, controlled gasps also dissipated, sometimes accompanied by disgruntled grunts or practically whispered curses.

Gliding across the ice, a slender silhouette, contoured by its black clothes and supported by its impeccable posture ― and though solitary, such a scene could not be categorized as unusual. The soft thuds repeated themselves every couple of seconds, and the beckoning figure continued on its pre-established path with smoothness, grace, and impressive strength in its long legs.

For a time, its shoulders seemed to give way to the weight of expectations hanging over its head, only for them, in a subsequent moment, to again appear tense and sustain every movement of the choreography that seemed so much carried by muscle memory. The silent dance continued, and the echoes were the only record of its subtle and graceful presence.

Not much farther, near the few trees scattered around the park, there was another solitary figure, standing and watching the ice rink with its head tilted to the side.

His outline, though also slim and correctly upright, was obviously more relaxed than the one sliding on ice, with its narrow shoulders covered with a scarf undoubtedly laxer than the tense muscles of the skater.

Whereas that silhouette's existence in that background is just as subtle as the dancing figure.

His eyes hung on the graceful figure, analyzing it in silence for a couple of minutes and a little more ― the dark orbs held respect and a strange, pained glow that was much overshadowed by the city lights and Christmas ornaments overhead.

Silently, as much as he had gotten there, stood, and watched, the slightly shorter figure set himself in motion, his steps brief and slow towards the skating rink. Halfway there, when the skater let another curse leave his lips and echo into the void, he allowed a sigh to do the same, shaking his head from side to side as if to deny what he had just heard.

"I wasn't aware that you came back to New York so you could nearly kill yourself again," his voice echoed, surprising the silence but not those around it. The skater, with messy strands over his head, turned quickly to meet the arched brows of the man at the edge of the rink, mirroring his expression. "Do you know how long you've been here?"

The skater, with only a shadow of a smile on his lips, spun quietly in place, staring at the skates on his feet and not the figure standing a few feet away. He, in turn, sighed, looking up before crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not enough, I suppose," the skater replied. "Have you been counting, though?"

"Yeah," the man answered. "And I regret each hour I had to add to it. You know, I keep waiting for the hospital to call me one of these days. 'Hello, sir. We have TK Strand in― apparently, his muscles gave up working. The curious part is: his brain seems to be dead for years already,'" the man joked, making a high-pitched voice tone when saying the last sentence.

The skater smiled at that.

"As if they'd share that much information through the phone, Paul," he said, spinning one more time and smiling still. "What brings you here, anyway?"

"What brings you here, anyway?!" Paul copied, mocking his friend by making the same high-pitched voice. Then, he huffed, and TK only raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for his answer. "Are you serious, TK?"

The other man just shrugged. Paul puffed, quite annoyed.

"You've been here since early morning, TK," his friend said. "Have you lost your mind?!"

A tiny put seemed to spread on TK's lips, right before it disappeared while he slid gracefully around the rink one more time.

"Not quite yet, I don't think so," he replied. A second later, his voice sounded a bit more solemn than it had previously been in the conversation. "I can't perform a spin, Paul," TK declared, and the other man gasped, unconvinced. "I need to know how to do it; you know that."

"I do," he agreed, nodding. "Just like I do know you can do it. Have you forgotten that I've been watching you for a while, now?" he asked, rhetorically, and the other man cocked his head to the side, letting a dissatisfied sigh echo around him. Paul narrowed his eyes. "Don't offer me any excuses, TK, and don't make a fool of me."

"I'd never do that," he said, holding up one hand. "Neither of them. They're not excuses, Paul; I really can't do it. And if I have done it before, then it's just plain incompetence coming from me."

The black man laughed.

"Of that, you can be sure," he responded. "Exhausted as you are, what do you want to happen? Grow wings?" he ironized, smiling sarcastically and following each one of the other man's calm moves around the ice. "You know all too well how things work, Strand. By pushing yourself to the limit like you're doing, you're going to get hurt. And badly."

"Don't be pessimistic," the skater said, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I know when to stop."

"I beg to differ," his friend replied, tucking part of his scarf over his shoulder. "I've been waiting for ages for you to stop being an idiot, and so far, nothing," he joked, drawing a satisfied smile from his friend's lips. However, his tone returned to a serious one when he spoke again. "Pack your things. Let's go."

TK frowned, bothered.

"I'm practicing, Paul."

"Not anymore," he stated, straightening his back once more. "I'm not kidding, TK. We agreed you wouldn't go full-crazy on training if we came to New York and wouldn't spend your days skating, so we'll come back tomorrow at a reasonable hour. That's enough for today," he said.

TK narrowed his eyes, still annoyed, and stopped sliding around to look at his friend. The man bit his tongue inside his mouth, an attempt not to throw a tantrum, and waited for whatever Paul had left to say.

"And I'm keeping the keys tonight," he added.

The brown-haired man snorted.

"Really? Even that?" he asked, and Paul arched one eyebrow. "What am I? A child?"

"No, but you're stubborn as one," his friend remarked. "And I know you well enough to know your tricks, TK."

"Tricks?" TK asked somewhat incredulously. "You're being a bit dramatic, Strickland. I'm just practicing a few spins; it's no big deal. I don't need to be treated like an idiot."

His voice saddened a tad when his last words came out, and Paul tried to offer him a small, comforting smile.

"It wouldn't be a big deal, TK, if you hadn't stayed here the whole day, just like you have been doing the last week." he pointed, eyes narrowed accusingly in the man's direction. "You're insane if you think this is normal. A few hours a day? I can't say I didn't expect it," Paul said. "But this? You're going to get hurt, man."

TK didn't look at him, somehow too busy tracing the patterns carved on ice with his eyes. If he meant to say something, anything, to retort Paul's words, his mind didn't seem to gather it before his feet were sliding towards the edge of the ice rink silently. Paul didn't move, watching his friend sit by one of the benches set around.

He's known TK for longer than a year, but he already knew enough of his friend to know that, whatever he had to say, he would once the words made sense inside his head. He'd be silent for a while, which didn't bother Paul and, if then he got to the conclusion that his thoughts were worth sharing, he'd come around.

TK was quick to remove his skates and stow them properly in his bag, doing it silently as Paul watched only a few feet away. Within a few minutes, the green-eyed man had his worn-out, black boots back on his feet and his standard hoodie over his body, messing his hair up a tad more than it already was.

He stood up and threw his backpack behind his back, hanging it by one of the straps on just one of his arms. Then he took a few steps towards his friend, an attempted smile being mirrored by Paul, who also tilted his head, indicating that they should start walking.

Their footsteps were noisy while marking the snow on the ground, and none of them said a word for a while as they walked towards the park's entrance. It was considerably empty, though it never really had too many people in there ― which was the reason why TK loved that specific park so much.

His father never really understood, for Owen had spent most of his life going to Central Park daily, and TK didn't really care about explaining. Although he loved New York with all its lights and vitality, some silence, some sense of peace, was never something to turn down, and empty, quiet places were a rare finding when it came to the Big Apple.

Not to mention, the park was always beautiful in winter, and the ice rink hardly got crowded as any others did ― and skating out in the open was a habit he had created back when he could barely perform a spin without falling down. Both his laughter at his failures and his cheering at his accomplishments would echo in the open field, and he would have the impression that, somewhere, someone would hear it and know that he was trying.

Though he didn't fall anymore and the cheering became silent smiles, the impression of someone knowing that he was improving his skills still followed him around.

"I'm sorry," he said, all of a sudden, as they got farther from the ice rink. Paul turned his head to look at TK, brows furrowed and his hands on his pockets. "I know you're trying to help, but I need to get better―"

"You're already good, TK," Paul cut him out. "You're good, you're―"

"Good isn't enough, Paul," TK cut him out, too, and Paul closed his mouth at how bitter and desperate his friend sounded. "Good isn't enough. I need to be the best. I need to leave no choice but to say that I am the best one to find out there ― I need to."

TK's tone was wavery, and his voice was almost wet. The despair could hang on the sharp air around them or even be cut in half with a knife, and Paul couldn't help but feel his heart clenching a bit on behalf of his friend.

"Man, aren't you being a bit harsh on yourself?" Paul asked, his voice low and worried.

"I messed up, Paul," he said, shaking his head and taking in a deep breath, his eyes always looking ahead of them. "It's been a year; they've found someone to replace me, to fix what I've fucked up. And if I want to make it back to where I was, then I need to train ― I need to be fucking perfect," TK nearly hissed the last word. His fists were clenched inside his pockets, and he was biting his tongue whenever he got the chance to. "They can't have a single doubt that they would be idiots by not having me back."

"TK..." his friend called, both cautious and worried. The skater only shook his head, not letting him speak.

"You know how this world works, Paul," he said. "Either you're the best, or you're out, and that considering you haven't caused such problems before. I don't even know if I'll be allowed to ever skate professionally again," he huffed a bitter, acid laugh, an equally bitter smile on his face.

"Don't be pessimistic, man," Paul said, and TK snorted again. "Look, you've messed up, alright. But you're no worse than you were ― you got even better if that's somehow possible. And I know that's not what you wanna hear, but competitions and tournaments aren't the only things you can do with this skill, TK," he said, and TK looked anywhere around him, just not at his friend.

Paul sighed.

"I get it, alright? Why you've been working so hard and sending a ridiculous amount of time training ― I get it. But you can't wear yourself off every single day, man," Paul said. "That's insane, and if you get hurt, then you'll never compete again. And you know that."

TK still didn't say a word, and they both walked out of the park in silence. The city which never sleeps was alive as it always was, and the lights and the trees offered an extra inch of liveliness to the sidewalks and tall buildings. It was something beautiful to see, indeed ― but TK could really use a bit less of so much brightness.

The thing was: he knew, and well, that Paul was right. Though inconsequent most days, TK wasn't stupid nor an idiot, and he had had that same conversation years ago, when he first started, and he hurt his leg bad enough to be out of the sport for three months. He knew he was doing too much ― but, at the same time, TK couldn't seem to stop himself from it.

He couldn't help training more and more, not when the city seemed to scream his stupidity right at his face, and skating was the easiest way to get his head out of his thoughts ― and his body out of his bed, for that matter.

His silence seemed to speak up instead of his words, and Paul sighed beside him. His friend, always patient and calm, even when the world came crumbling or people acted like idiots, turned his head a bit, smiling small but encouraging, at TK.

"Alright," Paul said. "Look, if you want to spend your day skating, that's fine ― but training isn't. I mean, you could just slide around and do your crazy spins once in a while; that's fine," he continued. "You could even do something else with it."

TK arched an eyebrow.

"Such as?" he asked.

Paul shrugged.

"Teaching?" he suggested, and TK snorted. "What? I bet that people would love to learn how to skate with an Olympic champion, dude," Paul reasoned.

"Yeah, of course," he rolled his eyes, moving to avoid hitting someone who passed by them. "No, Paul."

"Okay, now; why not?" his friend asked, arching his eyebrows high.

"Just no!" TK exclaimed again. "I've never taught a soul in my life, Paul. This isn't going to work," he said, and his friend rolled his eyes.

"How do you know?" his friend retorted. "If you've never taught a soul in your life, how can you possibly know? I mean, you could train the next Irina Rodnina! The next you!" he said, and TK frowned his nose at the last part.

"God forbid that to happen," he muttered. Paul sighed, frustrated.

"Man, you know I love you, but you make helping you a bit hard," he said. "At least, if teaching someone, you wouldn't be totally tempted to train hard as much as you do. Besides, you would have human interaction," the man added, and TK shook his head slightly.

"I have enough human interaction, Paul. You're way worse than me when it comes to that, by the way," TK replied. "And, honestly, your point doesn't make sense. How teaching anyone would help me?"

"Again, human interaction. And you'd be distracted, too. Ain't that why you skate?" Paul asked. "To forget the world and all that?"

"It doesn't mean I have to teach anyone," he replied.

"I'm not saying you have to. I'm simply offering a possibility," Paul remarked. "And don't speak as if teaching was the end of the world ― it's just a suggestion, you don't even have to do it. I'm just giving options," he said, lifting both his arms almost defensively.

"Is having dinner an option?" TK asked, then, his voice sounding more playful than anything else. Paul made a funny face, shaking his head slightly and sighing, almost like who gives something up.

"Rude," the other man complained, and TK chuckled. "For that, you're paying dinner, man."

TK only laughed, nodding his head in agreement and then throwing his arm around his friend's shoulder, getting an annoyed yet gentle groan in response.

.

Carlos was hardly an impulsive person.

From the day he got a consciousness of his moves and steps, he had barely been a whimsical someone; Carlos would think things through, evaluate every single something to its finest details, and then, perhaps, consider it less than three times before actually doing whatever it was.

That was something that hadn't changed with time, for he managed to always judge too much before making any decision that could change things permanently ― which, somehow, was almost everything in life. Which movie to watch, which book or t-shirt to buy, or even what to get for lunch? ― it would become a silent debate inside of his head.

Carlos knew that it was something dangerous ― he had heard before that such behavior could be harmful in the world and could get him in problems throughout the years, but there wasn't much he could do about being like that.

Mainly because he had gone through problems and, yet, things remained the same.

Yet, on a random, cold, and dark November night, he was walking around New York with a pair of ice skates under his arm.

It had been a tough couple of days, and Carlos couldn't quite remember when he had decided to try something new, but there he was. After another work-day straight out of hell and gathering the courage to leave piles and piles of work behind, he was walking down a sidewalk towards a park.

It wasn't because of Delilah ― relatively, not absolutely because of her. Carlos knew she was right about how he spent too much time working, and he was glad they were close enough she could be sincere about that, her words echoing in his head from the moment they were spoken.

He knew she was right ― he knew it; he did. Yet, it was hard to make a change out of nowhere, or even a change at all, and Carlos had the horrible tendency to overthink everything, which usually led to doing nothing about it.

When it didn't, it led him to do things such as purchase a pair of boots with blades that he probably would use once in a lifetime and walk down a street in New York to a usually half-empty park.

Carlos didn’t have a clue about what led to that situation, all things considered. It had been a normal day of work, the simplest things on Earth to be solved that morning ― which consisted in fitting more appointments to his calendar before Christmas ― and then having to head back to the University to solve a few other complicated things. It wasn’t like Carlos wasn’t used to be awake before the sun could unhide from behind the buildings, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with that type of migraine before.

Yet, after he had left the building and saluted his colleagues goodbye by then, Carlos was somehow walking towards a sports-thing store of which he couldn’t even recall the name. The seller, Gabi, was kind and sweet while explained the differences between each pair, and none of them quite made sense. Still, Carlos smiled, and decided for the pair she had recommended that wasn’t too costly, and walked out of the store wondering why he was doing that at all.

Once he had spent the money, though, his brain traced a map to the nearest, and most empty park.

He wished it hadn’t.

It was a small park, at least compared to other parks around New York ― then, it was a tiny park ― and Carlos couldn’t like it any better if he tried to. The crowds there were always smaller than the ones in the streets, and there was always somewhere quiet to sit under a tree and listen to music while studying, which Carlos would do whenever the work didn’t require too much attention.

It had a lot of trees around, and a cycle track, and a skate park, as well ― there were picnic areas, a playground for kids, and one for dogs, too. There were lights, and snow, and Christmas stuff, too, just like the rest of the city.

And there was a not-so-small ice rink, too, a bit further from the entrance, and close to a few trees. It was oval-shaped, with borders that Carlos didn’t remember if were always there, and had patterns on ice already from use.

Approaching the ice rink, though, Carlos can’t really get himself to admire the view around. His mind is racing, again with regret, and there is no much he can do to stop it ― even though he is, by all means, cursing himself and all following generations that might exist after him for allowing such a dumb, reckless decision to be made out of thin air.

He could lie to Delilah, and tell her that he had tried but it didn’t work out. He could, indeed ― but he wouldn’t. Carlos wasn’t a liar, and he would never try to fool his friend over such an idiotic, dumb thing like sliding on a frozen lake. When he failed, anyway, he would already be able to move on to something calmer than challenging physics.

Knitting couldn’t be so hard, could it?

Skating couldn’t be so hard either, right? Just find some sort of balance, and put a foot in front of the other slowly, until things get easier. It couldn’t be so complicated like Carlos had been imagining it to be. And he wouldn’t be trying to stand up in front of a crowd of thousands, so there was no problem if he fell over and over and o―

His feet got stuck on the snow when his eyes darted to the ice rink just a few feet ahead of his frame. His mouth went dry, his heart stopped a tad, and his hands didn’t know if they should let go of the skates of let them fall to the snow-covered ground under.

There was an angel sliding around the ice.

Carlos wish he could do anything other than just stare, openmouthed, at the figure that seemed to float over the frozen water.

The man was slim, his frames contrasting with the moonlit night and his gestures seeming enchanted by the lightweight of air. He moved quickly, his movements leading him everywhere with grace and smoothness within the silence and the edge of the day.

Carlos found himself spellbound.

His steps ceased, and he stood where he was, closer to the trees than to the ice rink he targeted to get to. Carlos’ eyes couldn’t leave the silhouette that seemed to dance to a song no one else could hear, in a choreography highlighted by the snow’s glow and the lonely hours.

He found himself unable to move as the man slid around the ice, and all his intentions to try to stand up over skates melted off his head as the dance composition went on, so beautiful it was to watch and so amazing it could be to imagine how it felt.

The man on ice didn’t seem to notice a thing around him as he kept moving, and Carlos could tell that his face carried a solemn expression of concentration. His eyes moved faster than his feet did, calculating each sequence and pattern a second before it would be perfectly executed, as if it was the simplest thing on Earth.

For him, Carlos thought, maybe it was.

And before his brain could connect one dot to the other, the professor heart his phone buzzing inside his pocket. As he took it in hand, hesitantly taking his eyes away from the dancing skater who didn’t seem to get tired for a second, Carlos realized he had spent a while ― far more than recommended or even acceptable ― watching the other man from afar.

When he caught up to such a thought, Carlos quickly found a way to move his feet again and grip the pair of skates tighter, moving as fast as he could without being noticed by anyone.

Walking out of the park, Carlos cursed himself.

There was no explanation on Earth that would make sense to a single soul if he ever got questioned about staring at someone for ages, sort of hiding in the shadows, and then walking away.

As he made his way through the crowded streets again, Carlos hoped that he had been as invisible as he had always been in live, while he was there.

.

There was a creep watching him.

He had noticed the person in the shadows a few days ago, when he supposed it had started. It was a large figure, someone tall and perhaps a man, that stood in the shadows, closer to the trees than the ice rink TK was sliding around. From the ice, TK couldn’t really see of differ whoever it was, and he hadn’t mentioned a word to Paul, on the first day.

Not that he mentioned it on the other three that followed, either.

The figure came silently, and TK would notice it only a while after, when he felt eyes over his frame. Whoever it was, they would move, sometimes, but never really get closer.

For that, TK didn’t know if he should be thankful.

On the fourth day, though, it was getting inside of his head. Again, when the night fell and the park was even emptier than usual, and it would still be a while before Paul showed up to talk him out of training any longer, the figure was standing there again. Silent, far, and a bit more fear-inducing that the other days.

It was already stalking at that point, wasn’t it?

TK didn’t know. He did know, though, that he should probably call the police, just in case it was, indeed, a maniac, and not just some weirdo that decided to follow TK around just to ask for a picture ― which had happened before, and the girl turned out to be harmless as a flower.

TK couldn’t risk, though, because it was still a creepy figure watching his every movement.

So, like he wasn’t supposed to do, he spoke up to the figure in the shadows.

“Hey,” he said, sliding through the ice to get a tad closer, and watched as the person seemed startled at being noticed. “What’s up, man?”

The person in the shadows seemed scared, which was something TK hadn’t expected to happen. Whoever it was, they seemed to trip over their feet while trying to move and, opposite to what anyone would have predicted, the person got closer. Each fumbling step caused TK’s heart to race, and left him wondering why, on Earth, he had called the person out on their creepy stalking.

He slid backways the closer the man got, and tried to recall each feature of his face. If he was meant to die, considering the whole “I’ve been watching you” thing, then he could at least be a tad smart and recall the person’s face, just because there were a few cases in which people survived attacks.

And, honestly ― TK cursed under his breath when he noticed that, dammit; that was a gorgeous person.

It was a tall man, with messy curls on the top of his head and tanned skin. He had big, brown eyes and broad shoulders, and seemed to be a walking mess while trying to get closer to the ice rink, apparently embarrassed. There were a pair of glasses hanging on his face, and a scarf that was neatly wrapped around his neck.

Gorgeous, indeed.

But still a creep.

“Uh, I―” he tried to speak, and TK stopped sliding back. “I’m sorry, I―”

“You’ve been watching me for days,” TK stated, and the man flinched. “What the fuck is up with you? Why were you watching me?”

“Because is beautiful―” the man said, and apparently immediately regrated doing so. His eyes widened, and TK slid a bit back one more time. “The skating, the―!” the man sighed, and tired to put himself together.

“I will call the police,” TK said, and the man could only sigh again. He muttered something to himself, and then looked up at the skater on the ice.

“Look, I apologize for my behavior,” he said, his tone leveled and calm. “My name is Carlos Reyes, and I work in the NYU, in case you do call the police and need to find me. And I really am sorry, sir,” Carlos continued, and TK eyes him again.

“Why were you watching me?” he asked.

Carlos shrugged, and sort of smiled little.

“As I said: it’s beautiful. The― the choreography,” Carlos replied. “I mean, I don’t know if you just make de movements as you go or not, but it’s beautiful the way it― the way you seem to float around, and―” he interrupted himself, suddenly weirdly self-conscious. “I― I’m really sorry, sir. I’ll just―”

He started to move to turn around, and TK’s eyes followed him, his brows furrowed and his gaze curious while over the other figure. When Carlos moved, TK noticed something glisten on his hands, and while it should be scary, the blades were familiar enough for him to grasp what it was.

It was almost involuntary, how he called the man again.

“What were you doing here, the first day?” he asked, and Carlos stopped. “Did you come to watch me?”

“Wha― No!” Carlos hurried to reply. “No, I― I mean,” he let out a snort, and shook his head. “This park is emptier than any other I know, and I― I bought these,” he lifted the skates on his hands, and shook his head slowly. “And I figured― I mean, I was told I should try to, you know, wear them,” the man shrugged. TK had his brows arched. “So I came, and― and, honestly, I don’t know why. I don’t have any balance, and just…”

“And you kept coming back?” TK asked.

Carlos seemed embarrassed, though TK couldn’t see the dark red shade on his cheeks within the distance.

“I didn’t intend to,” Carlos said. “That first day, I came to try to use these, or at least learn how to tie them correctly. And I would have tried, but―” he shrugged again. “You were here, sir, and I just― If I wasn’t embarrassed before, then when I saw how easy you made it look like and… I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I just figured it was more worth it to watch you do it so beautifully than ending up in the ER by trying to stand up.” TK found himself holding back a snort at the other man’s words, and then looked back at the man, who seemed a little more relaxed due to his reaction.

“You said NYU?” he asked, perhaps to confirm information, and perhaps just to talk to him a little longer. The other man nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Carlos replied.

“A professor, then?” he asked again, and the other man confirmed just the same. “What do you teach?”

“Literature,” Carlos told him, a slightly bigger smile over his lips. “Philology and etymology, too,” TK frowned at that. The man stuttered a tad. “Uh, words. I teach words, mostly.”

TK arched an eyebrow.

“A walking dictionary?” TK questioned, more jokingly than not. Carlos laughed a bit, and yet confirmed with a nod. “What can you tell me, then?”

Carlos himself arched an eyebrow at that.

“The word ‘sorry’ means ‘distressed, grieved; full of sorrow,’” Carlos said, and TK tilted his head to the side. “Comes from Old English ‘sarig’ and Proto-Germanic ‘*sairiga’”he explained.

TK laughed a bit.

“And I really am sorry, by the way,” Carlos added, and TK nodded. They stared at each other for a second or two, and then the other man cleared his throat, preparing to turn around one more time.

TK still didn’t know why he called him once more.

“Why did you bring the skates?” TK asked, and Carlos turned back to stare at him. “If watching me was better than ending up in the ER. Why did you bring them?”

Carlos, again, shrugged.

“Guess I hoped you’d go home sooner,” Carlos said. “Or that I wouldn’t chicken out because someone is far too good at skating.”

“You didn’t try to skate because of me?” he asked again, and Carlos tilted his head to both sides. “Really?”

“Look, although the whole skating thing is beautiful, your presence while doing it is a bit… Threatening,” Carlos said. “Especially for someone who never stood on ice before, like me.”

TK wrinkled his brows a bit, side-smiling. Yeah, it did make sense, particularly because Paul loved to mention just how much TK would keep a bored, pissed-off -kind-of expression whenever he was trying to focus on something, and mainly when it came to skating and rehearsing. And although TK still needed to keep a step back when talking to a completely stranger ― who, apparently, wasn’t a stalker ―, his reasons were not completely stupid.

But TK might as well be, though.

Paul did say he needed to find something to distract himself with.

“So, you came all the way here and are not going to skate?” he questioned, and, sincerely, Carlos’ surprise was understandable. “If it really is because I’m here, then―”

“No!” Carlos cut him off. “I’m sorry, I― it’s not because of you. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Or to creep you out, for that matter,” he said, apologizing one more time. “I’m not― I won’t―”

TK tried not to smile.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” he asked, and, legitimately ― he should pay more attention to criminal and horror movies. Carlos probably thought the exact same thing, because he seemed more puzzled than he had been when he got caught in his observation schemes. “To the rink,” he clarified. “Are you?”

Carlos sort of nodded.

“I think so?” it sounded more like a question.

TK nodded, too.

“Alright,” he said. “If you don’t get on the rink, then, I’ll be calling the police,” TK told him, and Carlos widened his eyes, somehow not in fear, but definitely in shock. When the ice skater smiled at him, though, small and someway sweet, his tense shoulders seemed to relax, and he smiled back.

“Okay,” the other man agreed. “It sounds fair.”

It sounds like a trap, TK thought.

But it didn’t quite sound like a mistake.

.

It had been a mistake.

He was lucky the ice skater didn’t call the police, undeniably, but he didn’t even know what he was doing by somehow agreeing to meet him again. Sincerely, Carlos doubted the skater himself knew what he was doing by inviting an apparent ‘creep’ to meet him again.

Thatwas inconsequent, by all means.

He could almost hear his father’s voice saying how much he had taught him better than that, if Carlos ever found himself in such situation. Which, he did ― but on the creep’s side, apparently.

If he had called the police, Carlos would’ve understood. Actually, a part of him almost encouraged the skater to do so, because he wasn’t proud of his behavior. It was weird, and one way or another bizarre ― and Carlos knew that. He had acted like a stalker, and some sort of obsessive maniac, and there was no apology to make up for that.

Even if, seemingly, meeting the man again could team up to his expression of regret, someway.

He was starting to regret that, too.

It could be a trap, if Carlos thought about it. Meeting him again could be a trap, and the man could’ve thought of that just so the police could catch him on act ― which would be smart, for sure. It could also end up in a lot of different ways than just in the ER, because Carlos also didn’t know if that man was a serial killer or a maniac.

Not to mention the fact that the man seemed to know everything about ice skating, and Carlos didn’t even know how to deal with the shoelaces on those things.

That was probably he first day in forever that Carlos didn’t spend with his head completely orbiting his work, the files, and the calendar he had to follow. Instead, his mind kept leading him back to the fact that he, probably, would have to stand on ice and try to move.

God; he really hadn’t planned on ending up with a broken leg before Christmas.

Yet, there was, walking towards the ice rink on the small park he didn’t even care about learning the name of.

It was insane, more than he had let himself consider it until the very minute he was standing beside the empty rink, by now. Part of him, seeing that, kind of wished he had been fooled and that the skater wouldn’t actually be back there ― which was understandable ― but he didn’t hold on to it. Considering his luck, he wouldn’t escape from falling on ice and getting a giant bruise.

At least he would have a colorful proof to tell Delilah he had tried.

As he got there, Carlos walked slowly towards the bench on the edge of the rink, placing there his folder and the backpack he had brought with him, just as the small bag that carried the pair of skates. The professor, then, sat down, shivering as the cold crept through his clothes and touched his skin, and looking around with expectation.

Sadly, or not, he didn’t get to wait for too long.

A while after he had sat down, Carlos could see a slim figure show up in the distance, with a backpack in hands and a coat over his arm. He walked fiercely towards the ice rink, head held up and his steps decisive as he got closer to both the rink and the back.

Carlos, who was already tense, tried to keep his posture as the man arrived.

He also tried to ignore just how handsome he was, for that matter.

“Carlos?” the skater called, and the professor nodded. “I was wondering if you would really come,” he said, his tone weirdly joyful, and not whatever Carlos expected it to be.

“Yeah, me too,” Carlos said. “About me coming, I mean. I, uh― I’m sorry again, also,” he said, and the other man nodded. “I don’t― I don’t know your name.”

The ice skater chuckled, and then stretched his arm.

“TK,” he said, and Carlos shook his hand quickly. “It’s nice to meet you, I guess.”

Carlos smiled, too, a tad embarrassed.

“Yeah, I think,” Carlos said. “Though I wouldn’t blame you for calling the police, I should say,” he joked, and the other man agreed slowly.

“It’s not a smart move to make You a real-life thing, for real,” TK said, and watched as Carlos frowned, confused with how the scene was built.

“I’m sorry,” the professor apologized. “What?”

TK arched his eyebrows.

“You,” TK repeated, and Carlos pointed to his own chest. TK chuckled. “No, not you. You, the Netflix show?” he asked, and Carlos frowned even deeper. “With― with Victoria Pedretti?” Carlos tilted his head. “You really don’t know?”

“Should I?” Carlos asked.

“Yes?” TK retorted. “Do you live in a cave?”

Carlos snorted at that.

“My friend would say I do, yeah,” Carlos agreed. “How is the show ever related to the situation, though?”

TK snorted, this time.

“It’s about a psychopath that watches his victims for weeks and learns everything about them before killing,” TK narrated, and laughed a bit louder when the other man went pale with his sentence. “Really? Not a clue?” Carlos shook his head.

“I am a bit worried that I was somehow supposed to know such a thing, though,” Carlos told him, and gulped. “God, I am so sorry for what I did,” he said again, and TK nodded smiling.

The ice skater walked past him, then, and sat on the bench as well, being followed by the other man. Carlos, though, didn’t take the skates out of the bag when TK did, watching him curiously.

“It’s alright,” TK said. “I actually did check the data you gave me, last night, just to be sure. So, I think it’s fine,” he told him, and Carlos nodded, scoffing. “You’re still going to skate, though.”

Carlos let out a peal of laughter.

“I’ll fall, you mean,” he corrected, and TK arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but I’ll just bother you. I absolutely cannot stand on ice,” he said, and the skater laughed.

“Let’s start with the basics, then,” he said, getting up and sliding on ice like the show-off he was, then stopping in front of the other man. “Getting the skates on. Simple, uh?” Carlos bit his tongue.

“In thesis,” he agreed, and TK laughed.

“C’mon,” TK said. “You won’t regret it.”

.

Carlos might not regret it, but TK did.

And badly.

Because Carlos was nothing other than staggering, both as a learner and a person to just spend time with.

And TK, without a sign or a warning, found himself expecting to meet the man every sunset on the ice rink, and wave him goodbye as his tired eyes seemed to light up with expectation and kindness.

Even though things started as a tragedy, because Carlos wasn’t lying when he said he could barely stand on ice without falling down and bumping his legs, side, or even his head. It was something more tragic than funny to see, TK should be honest ― but then, Carlos would start laughing on his own expense, and TK would find himself doing the same.

He didn’t even see days going by, the calendar changing into December, and the excitement to see Carlos growing bigger each afternoon before meeting the man and each night after it had happened.

And, God; that was a mistake.

Which, of course, TK ignored, just because he tented to do it frequently in his life.

Days and weeks went by, and TK could only find himself more and more engaged into meeting Carlos every single day. Because it was easy to talk to him, and even more to want to do it ― Carlos was kind, and funny, and one of the best people he had met his entire life. His eyes were sweet, his voice was always leveled, and TK also discovered that some people could learn and spit random facts whenever they wanted to.

He adored discovering it, too.

And now, when he was trying to show Carlos how to spin in the air ― because he was a ridiculously fast learner, and TK couldn’t be more impressed ― the professor was telling him about how names changed from language to language, and how “James” in English was the same as “Thiago” in Portuguese.

It didn’t make much sense, but it was sweet to hear his excitement.

“How do you even figure these things out?” TK asked, and Carlos chuckled, shrugging.

“Documents,” Carlos said. “Some deep level of boredom, too. For example, how do you find out you can slide over ice and spin in the air?”

“Point taken,” TK said, spinning around Carlos, who chuckled.

And he didn’t know how, on the next second, his feet tripped on something ― maybe on air ― and Carlos was the collision point in front of him. From a moment to the following, they were both on the ice, and somehow TK’s back against the frozen surface was handling more than his own weight.

Carlos was over him, his face far too close, and his hands on the side of his face.

And when the brown orbs wandered towards TK’s lips, the ice skater felt the panic rising inside his chest.

So, he pulled Carlos away, startling him for a second before he noticed what he had caused and apologized, which was dismissed by a forced laughter from the other man.

They never mentioned it again.

And TK wondered what he was supposed to do with the urge to be close to Carlos, right beside the urge to cry about it.

.

“So, he didn’t want to kiss you?” Delilah asked, her heels echoing quickly as she tried to keep up with Carlos’ steps as they moved around the large hallways. “That’s the summary to last night?”

Carlos shrugged, laughing a bit at her indignation.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I misread things. Or maybe it just wasn’t the time,” he stated, slowing down his pace so Delilah could reach him more easily. “Who knows?”

Delilah breathed heard behind him, and Carlos wondered if that was an attempt to scoff or she was just tired of almost running in heels.

“You okay there?” he asked, laughing a tad.

“Shut up,” Delilah hissed. “My legs are shorter, and you seem to forget that,” she murmured, lacing her fingers around Carlos’ elbow and forcing him to step behind, so he wouldn’t fall back. “And don’t you chance subjects. Did he react badly? Did things get weird?”

“I don’t think so?” Carlos replied, his words sounding more like a question. “He just turned his face and then we got up. I apologized, he said it was fine and apologized for tripping on me, and then we kept skating,” he narrated, and Delilah arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“Really?” she asked. “Like that?”

Carlos chuckled slightly, his face squirming as if trying to understand what she meant with that.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Like normal human beings, I guess? You know, like adults,” Carlos explained. “This is not a romantic comedy, Lily. We can solve problems by having dialogues and putting it behind us,” he said, and his friend scoffed.

“Don’t talk to me like I am delusional, Reyes,” Delilah adverted. “I know how life works. But,” he remarked. “I am also a dreamer, excuse moi. And you’ve been narrating the perfect romantic-cliché scenario ― of course, I’ll be picturing what is going to happen.”

“Then change any ending you’ve made, will you?” Carlos requested jokingly, laughing with her.

“What? You don’t want five children?” she asked. “That’s not a problem ― I’ll lower it to three,” Delilah added, a mischievous grin plastered on her amused face. “And what do you like best: New Jersey or a small village somewhere in Colorado?”

Carlos frowned.

“The type of village that is completely safe until the most horrible crime possible happens in the middle of August?” he asked, and Delilah snorted. “Guess I’ll stick with Texas, Lily.” “Oh, so you’re making the skater move out,” she said, and his frown deepened. “Noted. Do you think he’ll suggest it himself or you’ll have a long, heartfelt conversation after almost breaking up and then realizing you can’t live without the other anymore, and the world only makes sense when you two are side by side?”

“The world doesn’t make sense no matter who you’re with, Delilah,” he stated, and she perked up at that, too.

“So, it’s the type of conversation that leads you two to realize that it would be nice to face the mess together, I see,” she declared, and Carlos huffed. “What do you think you’ll fight about? Distance? Insecurities? The way you always cut your curls out when they grow?” the woman asked, having more fun with that than Carlos found hilarious.

“What’s the thing with my curls?” he asked, and she scoffed.

“Which ones? You kill them all,” she complained, and Carlos rolled his eyes. “So that’s the fight’s topic?”

Carlos groaned again.

“Thank God I don’t live here,” he muttered, getting elbowed on the ribs by the woman.

“Oh, shut up, you―” she started, getting her sentence interrupted by another voice that came lightly around them.

“Carlos!” someone called behind them, and both friends stopped walking to turn around. A man, with messy hair and crumpled clothes was running ― or trying to run ― towards them, breathlessly stretching his arm as if trying to reach the pair. Carlos, specifically. “Excuse me!” he said, and both friends stared at it other before looking back at the man.

“Mr. Savoia?” he called, too, when the man got closer. “What can I help you with?” Carlos asked, his voice as straight and professional as it always was when it came to his co-workers.

The man, Mr. Savoia, stopped close to them, and took a second or two to breathe in correctly one more time. Carlos and Delilah waited, curiously questioning what was the scene about.

“I apologize for my behavior,” the man said, gesturing to indicate that he meant the running. “And I appreciate that you have waited. You too, Mrs. Russell,” he greeted, and Delilah nodded with a smile. “I was wondering if we could talk?”

Carlos frowned, but nodded anyway.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Should we search for a meeting room?”

Mr. Savoia shook his head.

“I was hoping for something fast, for I don’t want to bother your plans more than what I probably will do,” he said. “If you don’t mind, of course,” and Carlos nodded again. “Mr. Reyes, you’ve been an incredible presence here with us, and that have attracted more people than we had originally thought it would,” Mr. Savoia started, and Carlos could almost hear Delilah smiling beside him. “Which led to more days needed of speeches and classes.”

Carlos arched an eyebrow, though he already knew where the conversation led to.

“So, we were wondering if there is any possibility of you being free on Christmas Eve,” Mr. Savoia continued, and Delilah was the one to widen her eyes in surprise. “Which, I know, it’s too much to ask, and I feel ashamed to have to do it. But that is the only day before the next year that we could fit so many people together here in New York,” he explained.

Carlos blinked a few times.

“Mr. Savoia, I was informed that the last speech would be on the twenty-third,” he stated, and the man in front of them nodded, sighing.

“So was I, Mr. Reyes,” he said. “And that is why I am asking. If you cannot do it under any circumstances, then we were wondering if you could come back sometime in January, or perhaps February, to do so,” the man offered, and Carlos bit his tongue to think.

Delilah knew he would accept it before he did it himself, and sighed beside him. Later, Carlos would have to convince her that he was okay, and didn’t have a thing to do on Christmas anyway ― and that it was easier to leave the city with everything done already, without anything yet to be done.

By then, he only nodded, and said he would get into planning it as soon as he could.

And as he walked towards Delilah’s car with his friend arguing with him, Carlos mentioned to himself that he should find a way to warn TK about his absence that night ― and then he noticed he didn’t have the other man’s number.

By the time he got to the loft, though, he had the impression that something had escaped his mind. But he didn’t take his time to dwell on it for too long as he dug into work and tried to have it done as soon as possible.

The skates were still on the bag by the door, when sunlight came. And so was the feeling of disremembering.

.

Sliding around the ice alone was something weird to do, Carlos noted to himself as his feet drew random patterns over the frozen surface.

He also recalled that he sort of deserved it after not notifying TK he would’ve been unavailable for the past five days, even though it wasn’t his fault that they hadn’t exchanged numbers when they met.

It was his fault, though, that he couldn’t make it to the park for five minutes just to explain things.

So, when he got to the park as the Sun said goodbye and didn’t find a slim figure dancing over it, Carlos swallowed his sadness and disappointment, sitting on the bench for a while to think and wonder if he should stay there and hope for someone to show up, or just pack his anticipations one more time before heading back to the loft, his work, and the coldness of New York.

Not so wisely, he had chosen the former option.

And as the sunlight waved its last goodbye for the day, leaving the night to the moon and the stars, Carlos could only get to the conclusion that skating alone was weird, especially when, at some point, he had stopped doing it for himself ― if that had ever happened, too. It didn’t have the same emotion, or the same reason, and not even the same warmth, just because of the hypocrisy of it all.

Yet, he didn’t leave, and slid around aimlessly and without any hint of grace. His hands were on his pockets, his eyes watched the ground, and his feet slipped their path once or twice every few passed minutes.

It wasn’t horrible, no; it was peaceful, even.

But it didn’t make it any less weird.

Mainly when his head seemed to follow the patterns carved on ice, and turn around places Carlos had avoided to visit for a while ― how TK must have felt, if he had felt something at all, or if he was mad at him. If he had waited for him for more than that one day ― if he had waited at all ― or if he had given up straight away, leaving the ice rink and pretending that it didn’t happen.

No matter how it went, though, Carlos begged that he hadn’t caused TK to be sad because, then, he’d absolutely regret accepting Mr. Savoia’s offer.

And although there wasn’t much more to do, by then, Carlos couldn’t help wondering how things could’ve gone if he had come back on that next day as his feet wandered around the ice. And it was mostly wishful thinking, that much he was sure, for talking too much with Delilah about those things, but it was something to do as the night fell and the silence took over the park and his presence.

While TK always had a choreography in mind when he stepped on ice, even on those moments when he didn’t plan on training, Carlos couldn’t care less about what he was doing. It was nice, indeed, to have some sort of control over his movements in there, and it did feel like flying, sometimes ― it felt like some shaped freedom, and it would always make him laugh.

So, he spent his time sliding from side to side, turning and trying to spin around like TK did so easily. When he almost concluded it, Carlos laughed, and then tried again until he felt his head spinning alone with so many attempts.

And when, at some point, he found the courage to jump and try to spin around without falling straight to the ground, he couldn’t stop a bark of laughter that came with it.

He couldn’t stop the fright another presence caused him to feel, either.

"That was a nice spin," Carlos heard a voice behind his back, then turning his body and snapping his head around to look at the silhouette close to the borders of the ice rink. His legs wobbled a little, and the man was almost sure it had no relation to the ice beneath his feet but with the warm, green irises that stared at him rather shyly.

He turned around fully, then, with much more grace than he had at the beginning, and smiled kindly at the man staring at him. A few of Carlos' curls fell to his face, and he didn't bother putting it back in place, both his arms folded behind his back.

"Thank you," he said, smiling warmly, almost as shy as TK seemed to be. "It's better than falling by only stepping on the ice, I think," he said, and TK smiled a bit at that.

"It's― uh, it was truly nice, actually," the man said again, and Carlos side-grinned at him, accepting the compliment. "Uh― a-also, I would like to talk to you, if I may?"

"Of course," Carlos said, sliding closer to where TK was. The skater's voice waved a bit, and he seemed to be a tad nervous, which was enough to light up the other man's concerns. "Is everything alright?" he asked, and TK nodded.

"Yeah, uh― I would like to, uh, to apologize, in reality," he said, and Carlos' frown was immediate. "For, uh― for that day when we fell on the ice."

It took Carlos a second to try to understand what he meant, and the man almost choked on absolutely nothing, but managed to put himself back together before his voice came out of his lips.

"You're... apologizing because you didn't want to kiss me?" Carlos asked, and TK seemed to flinch at that. "Why, on Earth, are you apologizing for that, TK?"

The man before him almost winced, and it somehow caused Carlos' chest to ache. TK, then, shrugged, and Carlos only waited for whatever he would reply.

"I don't―I― don't really know?" TK said. "I―I mean, it happened and― or it didn't happen and then you didn't come the next day, so I supposed that either you were mad or hurt or―"

Carlos' warm, brown eyes widened, and he hushed an apology.

"Oh, my God. No― No, TK; no. For God's sake, I―" he started, stuttering just like the green-eyed man had done before. "Jesús Cristo, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It wasn't because of that, I―"

"No, look, Carlos; it's okay. It was― I mean," the man cut him off, awkwardly moving his hands one against the other. "I somehow hurt you; I shouldn't have expected you to―"

"You should," Carlos cut him off, too, and TK stopped talking, looking at him. "You should've expected me to come because that's just what I would've done if they hadn't invited me to make a speech before Christmas," Carlos explained. "And I forgot to tell you― I mean, I don't think I have your number?" he laughed awkwardly. "I'm sorry, TK. God, this is―"

"Embarrassing," TK said, then, and Carlos could tell he wasn't talking about anyone, or anything, other than himself by the way his eyes drifted back to the snow under his feet. "Shit. I―I'm sorry I assumed things like that, I―"

"TK," Carlos said, and it was the moment the skater noticed that he was much closer than he had first grasped, now mere steps away from him, although still over the ice. "You didn't have to kiss me, okay? Whatever you're thinking about it ― you didn't have to. Not me or anyone who might have been in that same situation," he said, smiling funny at the memory.

"I made things weird," TK said in a low voice, then; still looking at anywhere that wasn't Carlos' eyes. The shadow of a smile ghosted over his lips, though his eyes expressed some kind of shame.

Carlos smiled playfully.

"I doubt there's anything other than weird when it comes to falling over someone while ice-skating, TK," Carlos said, and TK tried to swallow a chuckle. It came out anyway, shaped as a strangled, gagged sound from the top of the other man's throat, and it made Carlos himself giggle. "I am truly sorry that I made you think that you had some kind of obligation, though," he added, his tone much more solemn than the second before.

TK opened his mouth to protest, Carlos guessed, but the professor was quicker to take over the silence again.

"I do want to kiss you, TK," he stated, and TK swallowed a choking sound. No one had ever been so open about his intentions towards him before, and that was something new. Strange, to say the least, but not unwelcomed. "I don't think I've tried to hide it. But that's about me, and me solely. You don't need to do anything you don't want to; if you want us to be friends? Best friends? I'll take it," Carlos said, with an adorable smile over his face. "If you don't want to see me anymore after you leave New York?" he shrugged, more playfully than anything. "I'll take that, too, I guess. I mean, ending up in prison for stalking doesn't sound appealing."

The last joke caused TK to chuckle, not hiding it this time. He nodded slowly, still not encouraged to look up at the man in front of him but a bit more relaxed.

It was the bare minimum; TK knew it. Not to be judged or doomed for not wanting something ― it was the bare minimum. Yet, knowing the world the way he did, those words became endearing.

"And I am sorry, too, for ghosting you," Carlos said, now a bit embarrassed himself. "It wasn't my intention, but it did happen anyway. I mean, I kind of knew that it would happen, and I did try to find a way to tell you that I wouldn't show up, but the only way that could happen was if I showed up, so it wasn't quite helpful," the man said, almost in only one breath, rambling one word after the other. "And then there were piles of paper and requests for speeches over my desk, and I ended up so overwhelmed that I forgot, and when I remembered, it wasn't like I could ask anyone for your number because then I realized you're the only thing about you that I know."

His words were fast, and TK would've seen it a bit strange if he didn't find it entirely and utterly endearing. A smile spread across his face slowly as Carlos rambled, and he was almost sure that the lightness on his chest wasn't something precisely normal.

"Not that it's a bad thing!" Carlos added, looking at his own feet. "I mean, I just― I had no way to contact you, and I couldn't come because there was just so much work, and I couldn't spend a single minute if I wanted it to be done. And every minute that I stopped working, I would remember that I didn't tell you I wouldn't come, and I swear that I thought about sending Enzo and his last-minute ideas to he―"

TK perked up when he said the word.

"Wait, Enzo?" the ice-skater interrupted him. "As in Enzo Savoia?" he asked, and Carlos frowned as he nodded. TK chuckled with the confirmation. "Oh, you could've asked him for my number, then."

Carlos' frown deepened, and TK wondered if someone could legally be that adorable while confused.

"Why would Enzo have your number?" Carlos asked.

"Enzo is my stepfather," TK explained, a playful smile on his face, which only grew when the professor's mouth fell open. "He married my mom when I was seven."

Carlos' expression was every word above "comic."

"You're joking," he said, and TK shook his head. "Oh, really? Come on," he grumbled, looking up at the sky, looking downright annoyed at it. "How come I didn't know that?"

TK shrugged, clearly having more fun with the situation than he should.

"I don't think you've even mentioned who you worked with," TK said. "NYU has quite a lot of people, just so you know."

"Oh, really?" Carlos asked sarcastically. TK nodded again, anyway.

"Yeah, quite a bunch," he said again, and Carlos scoffed a peal of laughter. The green-eyes man didn't quit smiling, though it fell shy from a second to the other, and his hand went up to scrape the back of his neck. "Uh― Will― Will you come tomorrow?" he asked, some inch of vulnerability, even hope, covering his voice.

Carlos smiled sweetly, as always.

"Yes," he replied. "Well, if your mean stepfather doesn't decide that I have to give another speech on the twenty-third," Carlos added, an ounce of fake bitterness in his voice.

TK huffed another laughter.

"Mean stepfather?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "What am I, now? Cinderella?" TK crossed his arms over his chest, and Carlos shrugged.

"You do have the princely looks," Carlos argued. "But for it to be Cinderella, then you'd be the one to have to suffer in Enzo's hands," he said, frowning a bit while reaching for the logic on the statement. "And, in that case, I believe you'd be the one not to show up?"

TK frowned, too, somehow as invested as the other man in that (not so) logical line of thought.

"No," he said. "Technically, I would show up. But run away," TK added, and Carlos nodded in agreement. "Which, technically, happened already. And instead of not getting each other's names, we didn't get each other's numbers."

"And we didn't even have a crystal shoe to solve our lives," Carlos said, somewhat profound in his statement, his brows furrowed and his head tilted to the side, shaking it a bit. Then, he shook it quickly as if to come back from a trance and smiled at TK, just as gracious as ever. "Well, in any way, yes, I plan to come tomorrow."

The smile on Carlos' face, albeit not as wide as it could be, sent shivers through TK's arms and to the base of his neck, so sweet and bright it was at him. He smiled back, his lips perhaps trembling with how much he realized to like the other man's grin and tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke up again.

"Look, I―" he started and then corrected his own choice of words. "If my mean stepfather doesn't doom you to mesmerize another crowded room, could you meet me earlier?"

"Earlier?" Carlos' smile didn't falter, though he did tilt his head to the side again. TK could swear that Buttercup does the same when something confusing or crazy happens in front of him.

"Early," TK said, correcting himself. "In the morning," he added, clarifying what he meant, and Carlos blinked. "For breakfast, perhaps?" he asked, now, not entirely sure of how the conversation would end.

"Oh," Carlos expressed, then, now sliding a bit to the side.

TK pretended he hadn't forgotten that he was still on the ice and focused on reading the other man's reaction to his question. At that point of knowing the professor, he doubted he would refuse ― yet, he had also been wrong about Carlos avoiding meeting him after the almost-kiss fiasco.

The taller man's smile spread a bit more across his face after a second, though, and TK let out a sigh he didn't even know he had been holding in.

"Of course, TK," he agreed, his tone as velveted as his lips seemed to be. "It would be a pleasure."

TK smiled too, because how could he not?

"Alright!" he displayed and then almost moved before realizing what he was doing. "Uh, I believe I don't have your― uh, your number?"

Carlos widened his eyes for a second and then chuckled a bit. TK did the same, mirroring the man's movements when he reached for his phone on the pocket of his coat and then offered in his direction.

He typed it as quickly as he could after taking his gloves out and then retrieved it back to the professor. Carlos looked at the new number, read simply "TK" ― the skater didn't know how Carlos saved his contacts ― and smiled, which caused the green-eyed man to do the same. Again.

The professor moved his fingers a bit, his hands cold, and then tapped the screen a few times, looking back at TK when he heard the other man's phone ring shortly. TK took his cellphone out of his pocket, opened the notification from the unknown number, and smiled at the simple "hey, you" typed there.

As simple as it could be, it still made him grin.

"There's a bakery I like quite a bit," TK said, then, saving the new contact just as he had saved his for Carlos. "I'll send you the name."

Carlos nodded.

"Does eight-thirty sound good?" the green-eyes man asked again.

"Oh, I'm always awake," Carlos said, laughing a bit embarrassed. "Any time you choose is suitable."

TK arched his eyebrows.

"Nine, then," he said, and Carlos nodded. "Just so I can pretend to be awake for forty more minutes after I open my eyes," he continued, almost as a joked justificative, and Carlos laughed again.

"Sounds amazing," he said, the sweet smile now almost painted to his pretty face. TK found himself too attracted to it to simply take his eyes away and stared at the other man's smile, and cheeks, and eyes, and nose for seemingly far too long. Carlos didn't say a thing, but when TK's lips dried under the air, he could tell it's been a while without moving.

"Uh, I'll―" the skater stuttered a bit, taking his gaze away from the other man's face. "I'll go, then, and―"

Carlos frowned, and it took him a second to cut the other man out.

"Wait. So you came all the way here and are not going to skate?" he asked. "If it's because I'm here, then―"

"N―no!" TK cut him out, then. They seemed to be pretty good at that. "I mean, I didn't mean to disturb you― I didn't even know you'd be here, and― ugh," he grumbled, and Carlos did his best to contain his laughter. TK didn't notice, and Carlos took his frustration as an opportunity to speak.

"Alright," Carlos said. "Then, come on," he gestured towards the ice rink by waving his hand. "You're not wasting your trip down here, right? Besides, I do appreciate some good company," he said, just as kindly as anyone could ever say a single word.

TK smiled at the man in front of him, just curving his lips upwards. Then, he nodded briefly, and it took him no longer than five minutes to have his skates on his feet and his hand holding Carlos' firmly, more for the sake of the professor than his own ― although, of course, he wouldn't deny the touch.

"Anything in mind that you want to learn?" TK asked, then, and Carlos turned to be face-to-face with him, beaming happily.

"Hm," he hummed. "I thought that maybe we could just spin around?" he asked, and TK was quite surprised but no less delighted to the suggestion. "I think I don't suck at it anymore; you know?"

He chuckled, and TK could only smile warmly at him. He nodded again, then, and spun first, a simple thing, just because there was no hush, no pressure, and no one there but the two of them. When he stopped, looking at Carlos again, the other man's smile was wide and bright, and he was almost sure that his heart had made some unhuman thing inside his chest.

Carlos, then, copied him, spinning around simply, yet gracefully, and TK couldn't stop staring when he did it again, and one more time, and then just went away from him, spinning quickly like a child discovering the ice. Carlos barked out a laugh, and TK could only do the same, repeating the man's movements ― uncoordinated, unrestricted, and silly.

He was almost sure that was also how he felt.

Carlos laughed more and then spun around one more time, and then again, which at some point became a game of catch one, catch-all within the two of them, both somehow slipping sometimes and falling over each other repeatedly. When it happened, they'd try to push the other away as fast as they could and then try to get up before the other did, sliding away as quickly as possible.

If Carlos was asked to describe what he was feeling, he would simply spin around again.

And, if TK was asked to sum it up in a single word, TK would say "happy."

.

Carlos was there at eight-twenty-five in the following morning.

He had barely slept, though he couldn’t quite grasp the reason ― if he was anxious, if he was nervous, if he was only overthinking things that didn’t even happen for him to actually think about them ― but it didn’t keep his brain shut. He had tossed and turned between the sheets, trying to find a comfortable position to fall asleep, and it did work for a while.

Not that an hour and a half count too much, in that case.

When he gave up, around three-forty-six in the morning, Carlos just got up and walked towards the table where he had left his laptop shut from the moment he had left the loft to go to the park. It was something new, he couldn’t help but notice ― he hadn’t even remembered to turn it on from the second the ice rink was in sight.

Time didn’t even make sense when TK appeared.

It broke Carlos’ heart, sincerely, just how much the man held himself back at the professor’s presence, and it also didn’t make much sense. He wondered what he had gone wrong ― except for the failed attempt to kiss the other man ― to bring such a distance between them, and if TK was there to simply tell him that he wasn’t comfortable around Carlos anymore.

He couldn’t have expected TK to be blaming himself over a simple wanting of his, though.

He wanted to laugh, and hug TK tight against his chest. He wanted to, somehow, take that idea out of the other man’s mind, or even protect him from those thoughts whenever they came around, causing TK to feel guilty about wanting or not anything, such as a kiss. Carlos wanted to make things clear, and tell the ice skater that although he was already head-over-heels for him, he would accept any boundaries TK would set.

That made him feel uneasy, when it crossed his mind. Perhaps, that was the reason TK wanted to meet him in the morning, after all ― to say he needed them not to see each other anymore, and that he wouldn’t want to keep in touch.

Carlos wouldn’t object to it, of course; but he would walk out of the cafeteria with a cup of tea and a broken heart, just a while before Christmas.

At least, that is usually how Christmas romantic movies begin.

Yet, it wasn’t the happiest of thoughts.

Carlos waited patiently, though his foot would be bumping against the floor for a while. He dismissed the kind waiter that came to ask if he was ready to order, and tried his best not to look at the doors every two minutes, waiting for the slim figure he’d been waiting for to show up with messy strands and another colorful hoodie, holding part of his anxiety in hands.

And when his eyes weren’t directed at the doors, the little bell over it rang, and his eyes darted in its direction just because it was a common response of his body. When he did so, though, Carlos couldn’t help but to smile, his action being mirrored by TK, who wore a light-blue hoodie, this time.

“Hi,” he greeted the man that approached the table.

“Hey, you,” TK greeted back, taking a seat. He seemed nervous, Carlos could tell, although his face was technically relaxed. “Been here too long?” he asked, and Carlos shook his head.

“Not really, no,” he said. “Want to order something and stay here or just take a walk?” Carlos asked. TK pressed his lips together, wondering what to do, and then shrugged.

“We could take something to drink and take a walk at the park?” he asked. “I really need to talk to you, and walking helps me to think things clearly,” he told Carlos, who nodded briefly.

“Is everything okay?” Carlos asked as they got up, and TK nodded with a small grin.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just… I think I should be honest with you,” he said, and Carlos gulped. “It’s not bad, I promise!” he assured. “Or I think so, at least.”

Carlos nodded, then, and tried to calm down his racing heart as they asked one of the waiters for their drinks. The same man that had approached Carlos before was the one to talk to them, and smiled kindly as he prepared each one, probably sensing that both met were nothing more than a pile of nerves walking side by side.

And, even though the two of them seemed to exhale anxiety as they walked, the silence was just as comfortable as it had always been. The Central Park wasn’t far from the cafeteria, and they got there without sharing a single word, perhaps because they were both trying to find out what they should say, or maybe just because it wasn’t exactly necessary.

The park was crowded as it ever was, though it wasn’t a problem when it came to such a large area in the middle of the city. They could walk without bumping on others and could talk without catching anyone’s attention, even if they kept quiet until they were quite far inside of the park, the shallow layer of snow causing their steps to echo the farther they got.

Before TK spoke up, he seemed to hold his breath inside, almost as he feared letting it go with words he shouldn’t speak up. Carlos, wrapping his hands firmly around his warm cup, could only wait for whatever the other man had to say, hoping it wouldn’t get him to walk out of the park’s gates by himself.

“I’m an addict,” TK said, then, all of a sudden.

And that wasn’t something Carlos expected to hear.

The professor snapped his head to stare at the other man, who was looking down at his on cup of coffee ― black, without sugar ― and waited for him to develop the previous sentence. Carlos couldn’t actually put a thought together in one piece, so he waited, his grip tight on his tea.

“Recovery,” TK added quickly, almost as if he had made a mortal flaw by not saying it before. “I’m a recovery addict. I’m clean, now, I―” he breathed in. “I’ve been clean for a year and eight months.”

Carlos nodded, because he didn’t think he was supposed to say something just yet. TK looked up, facing whatever was in front of them, and refusing to look at the man standing beside him.

“I’ve been clean for a year and eight months after I overdosed,” he told Carlos, who felt his heart clenching when the words hit him. The words faltered a bit when TK spoke, and the professor found himself being careful not to trip over his feet. “And my father found me without a pulse on the floor of my apartment,” he continued. “In Brooklyn.”

Carlos opened his mouth, but it seemed that his breath only escaped his throat when he did it. He closed it, then, when no sound came out of his lips, and no thoughts could actually be formed inside of his head other than the impulse of hugging the man beside him.

Which he didn’t do because TK still wanted to talk.

And Carlos couldn’t do anything but to listen.

“I hate thinking about that day, though it feels like all I do is to be brought back,” he said, his voice with a bitter smile. “It was― stupid. A stupid, dumb mistake over something so―” he breathed in. “Something so ridiculous,” he spat, a humorless chuckle coming out with it. “A broken heart. How pathetic is that?”

Carlos didn’t reply, because he knew it wasn’t a question meant to be answered. Not yet, at least, as TK seemed to choose what he would spit out next.

“I had a boyfriend,” he continued. “At the time, we’d been together for four years. I thought everything was alright, you know? I thought we were okay, and happy, and that we would be together forever. He was like a prince, and I was just so high on drugs that―” he swallowed hard. “That I didn’t see things crumbling down.”

TK took a few seconds to breathe in deeply, and to look around for a while. Carlos tried not to stare at him all the time, but it was quite hard to do so when all he wanted was to bring the ice skater to his arms.

“That night, I was going to propose,” he continued, and Carlos did his best to hide his surprise. “I thought that it was a long-term solution, you know? To― I don’t know to what. I guess I knew, after all, that we were doomed; I was just in denial. And high all the time,” he spat, and Carlos frowned in sadness.

TK sniffed, and then shrugged.

“Long story short, he said ‘no’, I traded the ring for― God knows how many pills, and I woke up three days later with my mom crying close to my legs, my dad staring at the ceiling with a ghostly look, and Enzo holding my hand and whispering something,” TK said, and then sighed. “Then my dad and I moved out of the city to halfway across the country,” another deep breath in. “I haven’t been with anyone, or close to anyone, ever since. Haven’t been back to New York either,” he sniffed again. “Or to competitions.”

For a minute or two, both men stood silent as they walked aimlessly through the snow-covered field. Then, TK cleared his throat, and Carlos looked back at him.

“I’ve been trying to get my life back ever since,” TK said. “Not― Not New York, but skating. I probably won’t make it back to the Olympics or the worldwide competitions but,” he shrugged. “But I don’t want to let that― I don’t want thatto end everything I love. I can’t let it happen.”

There was another beat of silence as they both let the words settle around them, heavy and weighing the air as their steps echoed in the distance. Their drinks remained untouched, and Carlos doubted they were still drinkable after so long outside in the cold, but he couldn’t care less about it if he tried his best to do so.

“If that was an attempt to make me give up on wanting to kiss you,” Carlos spoke up, then, after a while. His tone, cheerful and playful, caught TK’s attention, for he turned his head to look at the other man. “Then I think I should tell that it didn’t work the way you meant it to.”

TK stared at him by side-eyeing his frame, and then snorted at his tone. Carlos smiled a bit because of it, and waited for a reaction.

“You’re not―” TK cleared his throat, and lowered his tone. “Bothered? Or upset? Or thinking ‘bout a way to run away from whatever this relationship is?”

Carlos chuckled.

“If you want me to tell me what I feel right now, I’d have to say I’m surprised,” Carlos said. “And proud of you.”

TK snorted at that, and turned his face, meeting Carlos and trying to find any sign of joke on his face. For there weren’t any, he frowned, and his bitter smile faded.

“Really?” he asked, and Carlos nodded.

Then, the professor took a deep breath.

“Do you like who you are now?” he asked, his tone now serious and low, and TK frowned.

“Who I am now?” the man repeated, and Carlos nodded. “I― I don’t think I hate it, no. It’s, uh― I’ve been told is a process. So, I―” he inhaled. “Yeah. Perhaps you could say that.”

Carlos bowed, smiling kindly now.

“There’s your answer,” he said, and TK’s expression squirmed in deeper confusion. “You asked how pathetic a broken heart was.”

TK let out a peal of laughter.

“Like those people who say ‘it doesn’t matter the problem, just how you deal with it?’” he questioned, and Carlos chuckled lightly.

“No, not really,” Carlos replied. “It’s more like… Those people say it as if a problem simply dissolves on thin air if you just don’t freak out over it. What I mean is,” Carlos breathed in, too, and the wrinkle on the top of his nose deepened. “Things have different importance depending on who you are, were, and become when they come to be in your life. What now seems meaningless and even pathetic for you, once wasn’t,” he explained. “Like… Someone is on an important meeting, on a party, and something goes wrong. They upload the wrong file, or ― or a glass of red wine stains their light-blue dress. That is going to be the end of the world at that moment, and maybe for the next few months,” Carlos narrated, and TK observed him curiously. “But on their next meeting, on another job or position, or on another party when someone walks in with the same dress they had and never really washed the stain off, that same moment wouldn’t feel the same. But it would still matter.”

TK could only watch him silently.

“The moment isn’t any less meaningful in their lives, you see. It was a bad moment, a terrible thing that happened ― but it happened, and they’ve grown out of the person who seemed to think would never recover from such thing,” Carlos continued, fidgeting a bit as the words came out of his mouth. “A broken heart isn’t pathetic, TK. It could never be. Now, you see those things that happened with the eyes of someone who changed both mind and life, and such thing might seem small ― but at some point, it wasn’t,” the man went on. “Besides, what is the misfortune of the storyteller, might just be the treasure of the poet.”

TK smiled a bit.

“And what does that mean?”

Carlos lit up in a grin.

“Tell the same ending in a poem and a chronicle, and then see what sells more,” Carlos explained. “People love misery when it comes in rhymes and hard words, I’ll tell you that much. It’s like a bad gift with a pretty box.” TK arched an eyebrow.

“A bad gift with a pretty box?”

Carlos shrugged.

“At least you got to build up expectations,” he replied. “And can still take a picture of it under the Christmas tree.”

TK laughed, just because he couldn’t seem to figure what else to do. And Carlos smiled, because that was apparently the natural reaction to the other man’s voice and presence, and the professor wasn’t about to fight that simple rule of nature.

The few minutes that followed in silence, then, were again as sheltered as they could be. Their drinks, by then cold and probably tasteless, got sipped once or twice as the two pair of eyes searched for nothing around the grass clothed in white and life.

“Thank you for listening,” TK broke the silence around them again. “And for your words. It means― they meant a lot to me,” he said, and Carlos smiled.

“Whenever you need,” he said. “I meant it, by the way. That I am proud of you.”

TK smiled fondly, and the two of them went back to walking aimlessly throughout the park. The skater’s fingers didn’t seem to stay still on the cup, though, as he fidgeted and hummed something to himself, as who makes a hard decision and thinks of it until the very last second.

Then, he sort of cleared his throat, and tried not to choke before speaking up one more time.

“Do you have plans for Christmas?” TK asked, and Carlos stared at him by the edge of his eye. He shook his head, and shrugged one more time.

“Haven’t thought about it, actually,” Carlos replied. “Guess I never really noticed just how much work took over my thoughts until recently,” he huffed. “Do you?”

TK shook his head, too.

“Not really,” TK said. “Haven’t felt really ‘merry’ this Christmas, frankly. This year’s been…” he shook his head, and Carlos chuckled.

“Yeah, it has,” Carlos agreed. “Also, I’m sort of stuck here in New York. And I’m terrified of crowds, so…”

“Not going to the Times Square?” TK asked, and Carlos shook his head.

“Not even if that’s what it takes to save my life,” he confessed, and TK laughed. “Really. I wouldn’t go there if the world was crumbling down and that was the only safe place to be.”

“A bit extreme, isn’t it?” TK asked. Carlos moved his head in denial.

“Not at all,” he said, laughing still.

Hardly any more steps further, and TK talked one more time.

“There’s a calm place,” he said, catching Carlos’ attention over again. “This calm place I know, actually. It’s a― uh, it’s a bit far from all the city lights, a simple inn. It’s hardly crowded, and the owners are a couple I met at some point in life. They invite me every year to spend Christmas with them,” TK said. “There’s food, gifts they either give you in person or send through mail, and is very, uh. Very nice, actually,” he concluded.

Carlos smiled little.

“Sounds amazing, TK,” he agreed. “Will you go?’

“Do you want to come?” the ice skater asked before Carlos could even finish his own question, startling even himself. “I― I mean, it’s calm and nice, and― and,” he stuttered. “And it’s always great to spend time with you, too,” his voice lowered, and Carlos smiled happily at him.

“I’d love to, TK,” he replied. “Won’t your friends mind, though? About you bringing a stranger to spend Christmas with them?”

TK snorted.

“Not if the stranger is you. Trust me,” he said, gladly, smiling almost childishly at anything that came to be in front of them as they still walked aimlessly around. Carlos laughed, and tried to hide the redness spreading over his cheeks and face.

.

As a child, Christmases would be a little out of place. His parents were hardly around, the decorations, if ever brought out the boxes, would be placed late in December, and taken off as soon as sunlight came up on the twenty-sixth day of the month, and midnight would come with silence around the walls.

He would try to wait for his parents so he could open the gifts, but they would hardly make it on time. His mother would be busy while trying to solve things to the firm, and his father would almost always take the shifts on the twenty-fifth ― because ‘no one should give up time with their family just because the Captain could do it’ ―, so TK would end up opening the wrapped boxes with Enzo, who would make him forget a bit about his loneliness.

He hadn’t celebrated Christmas for a few years, though ― he would have dinner with Enzo, sometimes at the fire house with Owen, but never something with lights, wrapped gifts and warm drinks.

So, driving at night towards a little inn on Christmas Eve, listening to the radio and stealing a few glances on Carlos’ direction was something brand new.

Not bad, though.

TK got rid of the feeling that he could get used to it, anyway.

He had met Carlos in front of the NYU library, for he had just finished another speech and yet didn’t give the little trip up. He was wearing a dark-blue suit, sharp and well-fitted, at which TK stared for more seconds than he should have, and his usual pair of glasses. Carlos was smiling when he got there, and offered TK the kindest of glances when he hopped on the passenger’s seat, asking the skater how his day had been.

And just like always, the conversation was light and warm from the second Carlos started it until the moment they got on the road, the two of them laughing between silences and lighthearted jokes. Carlos didn’t leave room for doubt nor fear of any reaction, and TK couldn’t help to be enchanted one more time, and then again, and even once more ― because it was Carlos, and it somehow meant something he dared to like more than he should.

Getting out of New York by the end of the day got them to the inn a bit inside the state in about three hours, in which they divided who was driving ― ‘because you invited me, and it’s only fair you don’t get there tired enough not to enjoy anything, TK’ ― and the lights already flickered against the darkness. As they parked, Carlos seemed bewitched by the place itself, and even more with the decorations and how sweet the air smelled.

The inn was simple, and looked like a long cottage taken by well-cared vines and flowers, and now by fairy-lights. The white walls contrasted with the dark tiles and the wooden windowsills and doors, and the stone path on the little path that led to the main pair of doors seemed to make Carlos’ eyes shine brighter than before.

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” TK asked, delighted with how Carlos seemed excited about it as the two of them took their backpacks and locked the car.

Carlos nodded, his smile wide on his face.

“It’s wonderful,” Carlos corrected him, his eyes frozen on the building. “This is amazing, TK. Oh, my―” he laughed. “This is amazing!”

TK laughed.

“Really? You like it that much?” he asked as the two of them started walking towards the door, and watched as Carlos nodded, almost as happy as a kid.

“It’s picturesque! And― oh, it’s amazing,” Carlos repeated, looking around. “One day I’ll live in a house like this,” he said, and TK arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t let Elena hear you,” TK warned. “Or she won’t let you even leave this place,” he said, and Carlos laughed a bit more.

Elena, turned out, was the owner of the in. When TK walked past the doors, her head immediately turned around to find him, getting up from where she was sitting on the table and opening her eyes as she walked towards both men, her eyes focused on the skater.

“TK!” she said. “Oh, my boy. I can’t believe you’re here,” the woman continued, her golden curls covering TK’s shoulder as she pulled him to a hug and kissed both his cheeks as a greeting.

“Hey, Elena,” he greeted, too. “Thank you for having me here,” TK said, and she dismissed the words with a gesture.

“Don’t say it, boy. I can’t believe you finally came,” she repeated, looking at him up and down before having her eyes finding Carlos’ frame a little behind. Then, she perked up, smiling kindly at him as well. “And who’s this?”

TK chuckled.

“This, Elena, is Carlos,” he introduced, and Carlos bowed his head politely. “A friend of mine.”

The woman let TK go, then, just to hug Carlos the same way she had hug TK at first, which took him by surprise.

“It is a joy to meet you, madam,” he said. “I value your gentleness for letting us spend Christmas here, also.”

Elena turned to look at TK, who shrugged and smiled.

“He likes hard words,” the man explained, and Elena smiled kindly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, sweetheart,” she turned to Carlos again. “Come on. I hope you’re all hungry.”

Taking one hand of each one in both her hands, Elena dragged them inside the warm environment the decorated house provided, the air smelling like cinnamon and welcoming. There was a huge Christmas tree in the middle of the living room, and a man trying to place a star without knocking it off ― Oscar, Carlos learned, who was married to Elena and just as sweet as she showed herself to be.

The night went on without anything other than happiness and lightness, TK and Carlos smiling and laughing most of the time, and somehow always close to each other. Oscar showed himself interested in ice-skating once TK mentioned it, and Elena was captivated with everything Carlos knew and could tell about History and the world he had visited a bunch of times.

They ate the food Elena had cooked, and TK found out that Carlos loved cooking, as well, as both him and Elena shared recipes and tips about baking and deep-frying things. Oscar would try to engage the conversation, too, but both him and TK would end up chatting about something sport-related or a random show they’ve watched from edge to edge.

Close to midnight, when Elena handed TK a sweater and apologized at Carlos for not having one for him ― which was dismissed and assured with a warm hug ―, the professor also handed skater a box, getting a surprised look in return.

“For the classes,” Carlos tried to justify. “And for being who you are,” he continued, and TK bit his lip so it wouldn’t tremble.

When TK opened the box to find a necklace with a little snowflake pendant, he held back a hiccup and looked around to find Carlos walking out of the room to help Elena in the kitchen. Then, he ran towards the professor, grabbing his arm and bringing him closer, nearly chest-to-chest, before thanking him in a low tone.

Carlos smiled, and then looked upwards, just for TK to copy and blush at the sight of a mistletoe.

The professor smiled sweetly, and TK gulped, but didn’t get the chance to gather words before Carlos bent a tad, pressing his lips to the skater’s cheeks.

TK, confused and delighted, smiled.

“Merry Christmas, TK,” Carlos said, and TK smiled even more.

Merry, for sure.

.

When TK’s flight back home came, Carlos was working.

They’d talked about it on New Year’s Eve, and got to say goodbye the night before the flight, with a tight hug and a promise none of them knew what was about.

He knew it was never permanent ― they both knew that.

Yet, it felt like he was leaving something behind.

Read the rest on Ao3.

[holisticalecsecareanu]

This interview by ERA News Beta speaks to Alec about a varied number of subjects to do with his film casting and debut in GOC, but farther than that, Alec speaks in great detail about his journey in Romanian theatre,  his views on the state of Romanian theatre today,  his acting philosophy.

I found this an incredibly revelatory article about Alec because you don’t fully realize, until an interview like this,  the depth and breadth, not only of his intelligence, but of his strong beliefs and views regarding his chosen profession. It’s very different going from little snippets in interviews where Alec discusses mostly just one project, to this really comprehensive presentation of who he is as a person and an actor. Also, obviously being able to discuss such complex subjects in his native language, I believe, really allows him to open up more comfortably.

He has a -LOT- of strong feelings and responses to the questions the interviewer asks and he expresses them eloquently, intelligently, and also pretty bluntly, sometimes. It shifted, a little, and not in a bad way, who he is in my head, or rather, it fleshed out who he is in a way that all the quick sound bites and magazine interviews don’t.

I know, from this, that he will never strop striving to push himself and his abilities, to discover new and different ways to learn in his craft. This interview also goes a long way towards explaining how Josh, Francis, and he,  formed such a bond, because I believe they also hold these beliefs and commitments to the roles they take on and the projects invest in. It’s almost like kismet because what are the odds that these three individuals would have the same kind of approach to the story they were telling? I think that is why God’s Own Country is such a superlative and luminous film.

Also, the Fight Club production sounds KICK ASS and I wish I had seen it and I can’t believe someone didn’t tape it!

And, yes, that photo, because it never, never ceases to rock every aspect of my world.

This interview is in Romanian but, at least on Google, there is a Google translate button that appears. I have also provided the Google translated version below; am not able to vouch for it’s accuracy, but at least it is something!

Thank you if you’ve read this far. :-D

Google Translation of Interview Below. : 

The first British film brings a London agent to Alec Secăreanu

There is also news that one of the young aspirants managed a movie in Hollywood, and for a second people hold their breath, dismayed, wondering "what the hell is this?", Before the engines start again. and to see life beyond its course - Radu Iacoban once said to me, referring to an entire generation, actors who are making their way to a glory that neither they nor we know much about yet . It could have the American endorsement or the greatness of the European trophies, in any case it will no longer be possible to rely on the applause of those who built their illusions in the theaters where they were taken by force or on the admiration of those who dreamed of the two hours of the program. television of yesteryear.

Alec Secăreanu is not one of the 10-15 actors who appear constantly in the distribution of each of the films of the new wave, fueling the impression that only a few people have managed to finish the theater institute in Romania lately. But it has the merit of entering Tyler Durden's mind. And to enter Tyler Durden's mind is courage, especially since it is a dark mind, split into two completely separate universes, and in each of them reigns revolt in all its forms, revolt against the system, against consumer society, against to an absent father and, therefore, against God himself. It's an even greater courage to do this after a perfect director has already passed by, who explored his corners, in tandem with an iconic actor.

The first six rounds of Fight Club demonstrations were, at the end of last year, an absolute success in Bucharest, so the complete version follows, with sophisticated projections made by Les Ateliers Nomades - the company that made the famous mapping on the Parliament Palace - and imagined stunt figures under the guidance of experts from the Gladiator Association, which works in the good tradition of its illustrious founder, Szobi Csech. It's like we lost sleep. Anyway, Tyler Durden doesn't sleep either… Alec Secăreanu certainly sleeps quite a bit himself, since in the meantime he finished filming the first feature film in which he took the lead role, a kind of Brokeback Mountain with a farmer from Romania, the debut film of the British director Francis Lee.

There were nine weeks of filming in Yorkshire, enduring the "bipolar weather" of England, during which time he learned, among other things, to cut the hooves of cattle, to make cheese, to witness the birth of lambs. Oleacă already knew from the Fight Club. And in few percussions I surpass him, after Alexandrul Dabija's Requiem, from the National Theater in Bucharest. In addition to stories about the British system, a show business performance machine, news about new theatrical productions in Bucharest or evaluations of Romanian theater in general, from Alec Secăreanu I found out that there is an online radio that takes you far, Nice Cream FM , and something even more interesting, that there is Radiooooo, with five "o's", which allows you to choose from the map of the world what kind of music you want, in decades, from the beginning of the twentieth century to the present. «You can understand your decade and your country and listen to, say, Mongolian music from the '60s. It's something like Wikipedia, users are still uploading music, so they've already reached an impressive database, "says Alec.

Rep: Actors of your generation make most of the film and most make film outside. Ana Ularu, Iacoban, Bucur… a long series in which you have just been included, in the most honorable way, with a British production, a kind of Brokeback Montain as far as I understand, a love story that happens on a farm and involves a character born in Romania

Alec Secăreanu: The first feature film in which I had the main role, "God's Own Country" is Francis Lee's debut film. I really wanted a Romanian for the role, because the character in this story is Romanian, and the director wanted everything to be as authentic and organic as possible. Of course, the character has only a line or two in Romanian, not at all significant, by the way, for the story, so they could take absolutely any other actor who speaks English with an accent. But he wanted everything to be organic. The casting director from Romania gave more than 40 rehearsals and, a few weeks later, the director came to Bucharest and wanted to meet about 13 of us, a group from which he chose three actors. The three were in London for a final test, a so-called chemistry test with the other actor, the one who had already taken the role.

YOU HAVE TO HAVE EXTREMELY STRONG NERVES THOUGH, ESPECIALLY WHEN THE STAKES ARE HIGH. PROBABLY THE FIRST THING YOU NEED TO GET USED TO AS AN ACTOR IS TO BE REJECTED. YOU GO TO DOZENS OF CASTINGS, TO HUNDREDS OF CASTINGS, YOU GET FIVE OR TEN PERCENT OF THEM, TO THE OTHERS YOU ARE REJECTED AND, MOST OF THE TIME, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.

 They are simply looking for something else, the sooner you understand this system, the better. To keep your lucidity and show signs of mental health.��And you have every reason to protect your health, since, in the end, the tool you work with is yourself and, if you break this tool or if it is defective, it no longer serves you properly. My character's name is Gheorghe Ionescu, he is a young Romanian farmer who went to work in England, who ends up working somewhere, in an isolated complex in Yorkshire, and there he meets a guy, the boy of the farm owners. An unexpected meeting for both of them, surprising, a friendship and a fascination are linked and the two end up living a love story, although neither of them identifies as a gay person. In fact, the film does not want to be a gay movie, but, rather, a story about people, a plea that some encounters are love. A very interesting creative connection was created between me, my colleague, Josh O'Connor, the director Francis Lee and Joshua, our operator.

We had two weeks of rehearsals, in which we discussed very well each stage of the script, each sequence, what happens to the characters, the history of each of them. When I started working, everyone in the frame knew what to do. I filmed a lot of exteriors, on which occasion I got to know very well the weather in England, which is dementia, you

have four seasons in one day, it starts with snow, followed by a storm, then hail, then the sun rises, then again it snows a little and so on. In fact, the weather was a real problem at the connections, because I was starting a frame in the sun and when I resumed it, it was snowing outside, so things didn't fit.

THE TWO WEEKS OF REHEARSALS HELPED ME BUILD THE CHARACTER, BECAUSE I HAD TO WORK ON THE FARM, I LEARNED TO WORK WITH COWS, SHEEP, TO WITNESS THE BIRTH OF LAMBS, TO CUT THE HOOVES OF CATTLE, TO MAKE CHEESE , LOTS OF THINGS. IF THIS THING WITH ACTING DOESN'T WORK… I LEARNED SOME EXTREMELY USEFUL THINGS, WHAT CAN I SAY.

Rep: I understand that the benefits were even greater, you chose an invitation to the British actors' union and a London agent…

Alec Secăreanu: I had the opportunity, for nine weeks, to work in a healthy system from the ground up, starting from the way the union works, to the fact that the actors from the British schools learn notions of personal discipline from college, in a broader framework for the management of the profession. I was treated as a member of their union. A month and a half after I finished filming, my agent received an email from the union asking if I had been paid for the work done, so that the warranty that had been withheld from the producers at the time could be released. in which they announced the film. What can I say… welcome to Romania!

I told them that I am not part of this union, they told me that such a contract in the UK guarantees me these rights and allows me to become a member. I'll be back on the 20th for a series of meetings, and we'll probably finish the talks on this occasion. In the meantime, I also have an agent in London, in addition to those who represent me in Romania. I started the relationship with my agent from Romania, Alexandru Harsany, from RAA (Romanian Artists Agency), two years ago, when I was just returning from Venice, where I stayed for about three months, at the Art Biennale, where I was a performer in an installation built by Alexandra Pirici. Alexandra…, a perfect artist… two days ago completed a performance that will be presented at the Tate, in London…

Returning to my professional path, my stake, I once told my agent, is to work abroad, because in the country, unfortunately, you have nothing to do. You just have nothing to do. Seven to eight films are made a year, which usually have the same cast. In fact, if you look at Romanian films from the last ten years, you might get the impression that only 15 actors have graduated from the University of Romania lately. Beyond this shortcoming, there is no market, the options are few, I do not understand how many of my colleagues manage. Well, I'm in this situation too. Outside, once you have a major project, some doors open, everything goes on.

HERE, I HAVE COLLEAGUES THAT PEOPLE RECOGNIZE ON THE STREET, BY SUBWAY AND BY BUS, WHERE THEY ARE MAINLY BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE TAXI MONEY. IT'S FRUSTRATING.

I worked with my agent in Romania, I updated my casting photos every six months, which means to make available to potential producers a picture of the state, in which you must be relaxed, not to frown and to highlights your features as best you can. We have updated, to the necessary standards, the video materials or CV presentations, ie that series of things without which you have nothing to look for at the door of a casting director or an agent. While filming in England, the producers there issued a press release announcing that they were filming and that they had a certain distribution. At time number two, Alexandru's mail exploded, hundreds of requests, questions and offers came, sent by casting directors, agents, an entire machine was set in motion.

During the filming in London, I had five days off at one point, and the producers arranged for me to meet with some other directors, agencies, to see how things worked. They are somehow looking for unpolished stones, hoping to find the next great talent. We don't have this culture. I know only one casting agent who goes to shows or to UNATC, to see new faces, and that is Domnica Cârciumaru. The others always work with the same people, and that's especially because they don't know other people, they don't look to see what actors there are on the market, they don't care. Romanian agencies do not have casting databases, for example.

There are real platforms out there for that. Our casting directors work from project to project. 'What I need, a 40-year-old woman. Where else have I had a 40-year-old woman? Aha, in the gum commercial. Well, let's call that one too - that's how things work. In London I had meetings with three agencies and I opted for a rather large one, The Independent, which deals not only with actors, but also with directors, screenwriters, a total of about a thousand people. I liked that it works as a boutique agency, they have 40 agents, every week they meet and discuss the projects that are on the market and to which they have access and then they try to promote the people they represent. In addition, this agency is open to the States. We will see…

Rep: Returning closer to home, you have a few shows in Bucharest, including Fight Club, one of the revelations of last season. The first six rounds of Fight Club demonstrations were an absolute success, so the full version follows… 

Alec Secăreanu: In addition to the most recent premiere, Fight Club, we have an extraordinary show at Godot, «Flowers, Girls, Movies or Boys», which we have been playing for ten years with great success. It is one of the first texts written by Mimi Brănescu, he being a basic actor, but lately he has reshaped himself on dramaturgy and screenwriting. A show about relationships, which follows the evolution of two couples, from the moment when future lovers know each other, until a little later, when they may lose love. It's a good, funny text, it catches the audience very well. I'm one of those lovers, a filthy neighborhood wannabe, the kind who feels like he knows them all, and obviously he's not.

His evolution is very interesting, he hits a person he underestimates, in any case he did not expect to have such an impact on him. The girl is from another social class and this very conflict between social classes arouses him and makes him get closer. In time, however, the two realize that they do not have much in common.

I KNOW, I KNOW, THERE'S A THEORY THAT OPPOSITES WOULD BE DRAWN, BUT THEY'RE MOST LIKELY DRAWN TO THE POINT WHERE THEY REALLY HAVE NOTHING IN COMMON. THEY MAY NOT EVEN MEET AT ALL, AND THAT'S THE STRANGENESS OF THE COUPLE WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.

I have another show at the National Theater, Requiem, directed by Alexandru Dabija, entered the seasons last year, things are going well. We expected him to be selected in the National Theater Festival, but it seems that was not the case. It is a text Vişniec, first placed in Romania, with references to an area that seems to be of great interest to Dabija now, more precisely the area of ​​war, the world of soldiers. Vişniec was also interested in this form in one form or another, if we think of "The Woman as a Battlefield in the Bosnian War".

most spectacular staging of this text. There was another show, once in France, he told me that he had seen it, but that it is much more extravagant. Dabija thought of an image show, there are costumes, there is scenery, there are quite a few actors on stage, about 20, some of them employees of TNB, most of them - collaborators. It is sung, it is sung beautifully, the music is by Ada Milea, some songs are really very nice, it is a kind of music specific to the instruments with which it is played: an accordion, a big drum - where I play… We have some marches and various others pieces that lead to the military music area.

I play the role of a soldier who still believes in victory. The story takes place in a cafe Chez Vişniec, a place where soldiers meet who are preparing to return home, who dream of the triumphant march and the glory of reception in their cities. All sorts of people gather at this cafe, some who have never believed in victory, others who have believed, there are some who still believe that victory is possible - all sorts of psychologists synthesized from this theater of war.

What did not delight me about this text is the fact that the characters do not have an evolution from one end of the show to the other. A logic does not have to exist, it is an area of ​​the theater that Vişniec has accustomed us to, but the characters, although very vehement, with a very strong speech, were suitable for a well-deserved development.

Rep: Do you believe in victory? Or have you not fought your big battles so far?

Alec Secăreanu: No, the great battles did not take place. But we started with a few fights, some of which we lost, others we won, others are still contested. I lost, for example, the struggle with the idealism I had at the end of college. I was very disappointed when I finished college, very disappointed… I had high expectations from the Romanian theater market, I hoped to have a vision, a coherence, a general enthusiasm. Of course, everyone wants to be part, at some point, of a movement that means something. I'm still part of the independent theater area, so I never relied on the state theater to do anything for me.

BY THE WAY, I THINK THAT THE STATE THEATER HAS ENTERED A KIND OF SHADOW CONE, IN THE SENSE THAT, AT LEAST THAT IS MY IMPRESSION, IT HAS BECOME MANNERIST, IT HAS NO IMAGINATION, IT HAS STUCK IN SOME RECIPES THAT SEEM TO WORK AND, WITH FEW EXCEPTIONS, NO ONE SEEMS WILLING TO DEVELOP NEW THEATRICAL EXPRESSIONS.

And in the latter case, the high hopes and high expectations were primarily for them, because they manage the funds needed to do that. Every year they have to put on a number of shows and I look in amazement that they are not trying to discover anything, they are systematically going to areas where they have been before, they only walk on dirt paths. It's not the commercial that has to bring the world to the theater. There may be a commercial area, but I think it is our duty, of artists, actors, directors, to push the boundaries a little, to invent new ways.

But the independent theater is currently identifying itself as an area of ​​precarious means. You do shows that catch the audience - logically, otherwise you can't finance yourself, the setting is, most often, modest, consisting of two chairs and a table - since there is no money for something more sophisticated, the costumes are also as they are - most often the actors come with their clothes from home. It's a poor theater, let's face it. If you try to look for what is happening in the independent theater, the first time you notice the lack of funds, and you notice it as a spectator and it would not be your job as a spectator to see things like that. It can be seen that the director made a kind of compromise with the money to make this show. While in the state theater a lot of funds are lost.

There are exceptions, of course, but my huge frustration is that you see shows with extraordinary budgets and you don't understand why the money went for such a show, which doesn't bring anything new. While in the independent theater there are so many ideas and so much desire to work, but there is no funding for their realization. I was really talking to someone the other day, because we're looking for funding for Fight Club, and I was asked, okay, beyond funding, what's the business? Let's get along, we're talking about an art form, and monetizing art in this brutal way is harder to imagine, because our stake is to try to develop new theatrical languages, we need grants, state aid, maybe even the private area, the effort is not made for a show to be sold like this, to fill the halls.

If you want that, you have a party, you call the world, you play a few more instruments, you say three more poems and that was it. Either way you want to go, the discussion inevitably reaches the area of ​​the diseased system, which you have little to do, except to try to build it from scratch.

I have a cultural association with some colleagues. We realized in 2007, when we finished the University, that there is no point in hoping, that we will not receive any kind of help from the theaters, where even now the places are blocked.

I WOULDN'T SAY THEY AVOID YOUNG PEOPLE, BUT RATHER THAT THEY ARE WARMER WITHOUT US. THERE ARE A LOT OF EMPLOYEES IN THEATERS WHO DO NOTHING, BUT KEEP THE SEATS BLOCKED, TWO OR THREE SEATS APPEAR ONCE EVERY THREE YEARS.

IT'S A KIND OF SLAVERY, PEOPLE WORK IN A WELL-GROUNDED SYSTEM, WHICH NO ONE REALLY WANTS TO CHANGE.

In fact, the same situation is in every state institution, many people who receive a meaningless salary. And these are not theater companies, to say that they are families, but they are state institutions, financed from the budget. One is an independent, self-financing theater company and theoretically is allowed to do whatever it wants with its money, and another is a budget-funded theater, obliged to function for the public and to educate it, to arouse it, to motivate it. . If you put the same pieces of Caragiale and Chekhov every year, and only that, and only that…

Rep: There are all kinds of public calls lately for the elimination from the scene - from various scenes - of the generation we call, coded, "golden", as we saw calls of some intermediate generations, I would not know how to define them , to finance somewhat less intellectual productions, which have at least some connection with the public. Where is the truth? And with the golden generation, what should be done, ideally, from the point of view of the new wave you represent?

Alex Secăreanu: Who else is today a consumer of magazine theater, for example? They are nostalgic, and they know where to find their shows, and they somehow look for them by virtue of inertia. I have no problem taking care of established actors. I appreciate them as history and there are some from which I had a lot to learn, because they are better than me. Victor Rebengiuc, for example, with whom I worked for a short film called Casting Call, written and directed by Conrad Mericoffer, is a man from whom I learned a lot. The story follows an elderly actor, who is called to a casting, but it is not necessarily about the elderly actor, but a generic meditation on the condition of the actor, because we are all, in fact, in the same situation. I played, Paul Ipate, Victor Rebengiuc and Sergiu Costache.

I learned a lot in the short time I spent with Rebengiuc, how to behave in a team, how to approach a role…

IT'S LIKE CHESS. IF YOU PLAY WITH SOMEONE WHO IS BETTER THAN YOU, YOU LEARN FROM HIM. IT'S NICE TO HAVE SOMEONE BETTER BEAT YOU, BECAUSE YOU LEARN FROM HIM.

There are cases, however, in which it would be in the best interest of the actors in question to give up, as is the case of Radu Beligan, for whom I have a huge respect, but who has advanced a lot in age, goes through natural stages of life, to simply remember the lines, it is simply no longer possible. What we want from this story is already doing him a disservice. It's just an example. With reconfigurations and reinventions it is harder… but actors like Victor Rebengiuc and Marcel Iureș believe that they went in different ways from the very beginning, they wanted more than they were offered and they looked for more.

In this profession you never stop searching, because as soon as you get the impression that you know them all, you enter a very dangerous area, an area where you don't come up with anything new, and the viewer feels that. You have to surprise him, he has to see you doing something new, otherwise there is no stake.

Rep: Fight Club… You were able to get into Tyler Durden's mind, a courage, probably, after his twisted imagination was once explored by David Fincher, with the iconic film released in 1999. What you found there ?

Alex Secăreanu: Fight Club… is a story that, for me, started many years ago. I read Chuck Palahniuk's book in 2006 and I thought that this book must be a theater show. The idea bothered me for many years, until last year, when the stars lined up, I said it would be time to do it, especially since I found an exceptional team. We developed ideas, we had a lot of meetings in which we kept challenging the imagination, to see where the story can take us, and finally we were ready to put everything into practice. Sure, we hit the funding. Arcubul financed us for the show, which is a complex one, with multimedia elements, videomapping, fight scenes, music,

It was a test for us first of all, to see if our ideas work, if the team works. After the first six rounds, we realized that we are on a very good road, which must be continued. We can bring new elements to the theater, we can develop new languages ​​in the theater, we wanted from the beginning to make an experience for the spectator, a one hundred percent experience made for him. We wanted the spectator, when he left the theater, to feel that he had received a punch in the stomach. We got pretty close to the goal, all the people said, after the show, that they lived that thing that we felt when we were little and we watched a karate movie, and after the movie you wanted to jump around the house, to give more and you a fist, try another scheme.

He left absolutely no one regardless of this show, which is very important. We need some more money to set it up the way we thought it would. The amount is not large for a state theater, but huge for an independent theater. About 60,000 euros. Usually, in the independent theater you say, come on, how much do we have, 5,000 euros? Let's do it, we come home with more clothes, we cut another set, we give up that one, the other one and we did the show. When you have thought of an artistic approach in a coherent way, you cannot make concessions like this. You can not. There are elements, means that you absolutely need to build your convention fluently, to say what you wanted to say.

THERE ARE ALSO PRODUCTIONS AT TNB OF ONE MILLION EUROS, APUS DE SOARE, THIS ONE FROM TEN YEARS AGO OR WHEN IT WAS MADE, TWO SEASONS WERE ALSO PLAYED AT REVEDERE.

There is also a record amount for a show that has never been played before. I don't know how much the funding was, but let's remember that in the year of Caragiale, a theater wanted to do D'ale Carnavalului somewhere, at the Metrorex Halls. They equipped a hall with bombers, cars, an entire fair built from scratch, and the show was never done again

[rkiverse]

masterlist

THE RKIVE: Masterlist

KEY: ★ personal favourite | ☾ newest | ☐ in progress | ✓ complete 

LAST UPDATED: 05.04.20

with love (the heartbreak series)  ✓

make you feel my love | kim taehyung ➵ friends to lovers!au, angst, fluff | ~1k

because at the end of the day, you’re just his best friend.

all in my head | jeon jungkook ➵ college!au, angst, fluff | 2.4k

because at the end of the day, he’s your best friend’s boyfriend.

dear no one | park jimin ➵ angst, fluff | 1k

because at the end of the day, he’s still in love with his ex-girlfriend.

inferiority complex | jung hoseok ➵ college!au, angst, fluff | 1.6k

because at the end of the day, you’re too shy and your actions go left unnoticed.

philophobia | min yoongi ➵ enemies to lovers!au, angst, fluff | 2.2k

because at the end of the day, he’s scared of the growing and threatening feelings he has for you.

japanese denim | kim namjoon ➵ college!au, angst, fluff | 1.4k

because at the end of the day, he’s just way out of your league.

a little too late | kim seokjin ➵ friends to lovers!au, angst, fluff | 2k

because at the end of the day, he’s getting married and you’re just his best friend who happens to be his wedding planner.

jeon jungkook

one shots:

ILYSB ✓ ➵ fluff and angst | 11k

The last thing Jungkook wishes is to be heartbroken forever. However, it’s been a painful year of sobbing and trapping himself up in his room and his best friend, Taehyung, takes this matter into his own hands and brings him to none other than a love clinic.

series:

growing pains 01 | 02 (on-going) ➵ athlete!jungkook, athlete!oc, highschool!au, college!au, slice of life!au, coming of age!au, fluff, angst 

Puberty wasn’t really your best friend until she introduced herself to you when you hit your early twenties. However, you wish puberty had befriended your seventeen-year-old self and gave you a huge makeover so that you could impress your long-time crush slash high-school quarterback, Jeon Jungkook. On a journey of finding confidence and self-love, you befriended fate, who had somehow drawn you back to nostalgia; to Jeon Jungkook.

otoñal ☐ 01 | 02 | 03 (on-going) ➵ professor!jungkook, college!au, e2l!au, fluff, angst

Of all the women Jeon Jungkook can have, he goes for the ones he can’t. And so when he’s faced with an arranged marriage, his best buddies come to the rescue with a proposition that leaves him with no choice but to go with. Little did he know, said ‘proposition’ has something to do with a student he doesn’t get along with quite well.

jenga ✕ discontinued | 01 ➵ sugar daddy!jungkook, fluff, angst, light smut 

You knew that falling in love with a man like Jeon Jungkook would have its consequences, especially with you being a low-class citizen and him being the country’s #1 billionaire. But you had no idea that he, out of all people, would fall in love with you too.

get you ✕ discontinued | 01 | 02 ➵ bad boy!jungkook, college!au, e2l!au, fluff, angst

Jeon Jungkook just has a strong attraction towards you, but his way of trying to get your attention only pushes you farther away. But maybe his way of finding love is incredibly different than he expected when you came bustling into his life without warning. However, before he could even settle a score and get along with you, it seems as though he already was. In fact, he’s afraid that it will end up growing into something stronger that even words can’t even describe it.

kim taehyung

one shots:

everything you’ve ever wanted ✓ ➵ gucci!taehyung, model!taehyung, angst

I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.

series:

things i wish i said ☐ 01 | 02 | 03 ➵ fluff, angst

There are many things I wish I said, and sometimes - just sometimes - I’m glad that I didn’t.

we find love ✕ discontinued 01 | 02 ➵ soulmate!au, idol!verse, fluff, angst 

In a fixed, black and white-filtered world, you find your soulmate through color. All the places they’ve been to and all the things they’ve touched gain color. But the only problem is, everything you see starts to gain color at a faster rate the moment you hit nineteen. And before you could even figure out who your soulmate is, the whole world is already engulfed in color. Beware, though, when you start to fall out of love for your soulmate, the colors disappear, and you wouldn’t even know.

park jimin

coming soon!

jung hoseok

coming soon!

min yoongi

coming soon!

kim namjoon

coming soon!

kim seokjin

coming soon!

© rkiverse - all rights reserved. no reposting, translating, or claiming any of my work as your own!

note: this blog hasn’t been touched in quite a while, so i figured to just put the whole blog under construction and revamp everything. if the links are broken, i’m sorry, i am in the process of fixing them! also, as you can see, there are some pieces that i’ve categorized as discontinued. before you ask, i will clarify this once and for all: if the work is categorized as discontinued, it means that i have lost inspiration and motivation to continue it, therefore, i’m not going to finish it. hope you understand! i’m glad to be back and up and running!

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.3

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Ao3 link here.

ch.2 - ch.4

~~~~~~~~~~

“Good girl, Spots, good girl.” Stan coached and then turned his head away from the sheep. “Jackie! That water n’ towel sometime today would be great!”

“Shaddup, I’m coming!” Jackie called back, a dark towel over her shoulder as she drew a tub of water. She hurried as fast as she could without spilling much water and hurried into the bigger of the two barns. While the smaller one was for Luna and Truffles, the bigger one was for the sheep. All but one was outside, enjoying the nice weather, while a white sheep with black spots like a cow was taking deep breaths as she laid in the soft hay.

“Atta girl, atta girl,” Stan soothed as Jackie joined his side and put down the metal tub and gave him the towel. “Thanks, now watch this.”

Part of her wanted to look away and the other part of her was mesmerized, so the boss’ order helped Jackie to make up her mind. She rested her hands on her knees and watched as Spots pushed very slowly. Just under her tail what looked like uncooked chicken was seeping out. Stan pressed his mouth tight, a sign he was concerned, and Jackie watched as the farmer gently patted a little head, just by the neck. “C’mon, c’mon…”

Jackie’s eyes adjusted to what she was seeing as the little lamb jerked, not even fully born yet, but already making wee cries. Jackie wondered if something was still wrong, but Stan relaxed and smiled as the lamb jerked around some more, and the new farm-woman was sure everything was alright. 

“Well, look at that.” Jackie awed as the lamb slipped out and Spots immediately got up, turned, and began to lick her baby clean.

“Good girl, Spots, good girl.” Stan praised as he petted her neck, her back tender and sore, and therefore it wouldn’t be appreciated to be petted there right now. “Right, we’ll let her clean her lamb as much as she wants to n’ then we’ll just look it over to make sure everything’s as it should be. Most of the time s’long as they’re movin’ they’re fine.”

Jackie nodded, enjoying the scene. Yes it was gross and Jackie could probably use a glass of water right now, but she had never seen anything give birth before, so it was kind of nice to check that off her bucket list. After another minute or so, the new lamb was beginning to stand. That made Stan grin. “That’s it, fellow. That’s it, take your time, now.”

The lamb, now nearly clean, was white all over and already had an impressive coat. Stan chuckled and scooped the lamb up in his strong arms, his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair tied back. “Sweet Lord, this one’s got quite a coat.”

“Does it?” Jackie asked.

“Oh yeah,” Stan said as he began to gently wash the lamb. “See, most sheep when first born got thinner coats, cuz they don’t need thicker coats inside their moms, but this one’s just a right ole little cloud.” Was his voice becoming more strained? Was he getting choked up?! 

Jackie looked at his brown eyes and thought they looked more wet than normal. “Stanley Pines, are you crying?”

“That’s not important right now!” Stan snapped as loud as he dared, his voice still somehow managing to be soft and quiet for the baby. When back in Stan’s arms as he rubbed it dry, the lamb “bah”ed happily with big shiny eyes. The farmer happily gazed at the newest member of the flock until Spots “bah”ed at Stan, making him laugh and set the lamb down. “Alright, alright. Here’s your Dot, Spots.”

Dot nuzzled her mother and began to drink her milk. Spots licked her back as she nursed and Stan stood up to leave them be. “They'll rejoin the herd later. Just keep an eye on Dot to make sure she’s okay.”

“Gotcha.” Jackie followed Stan with the tub since he had the towel.

“Grayback had her lambs last week,” Stan pointed out and he and Jackie watched a gray sheep with a white head and legs snap at a gray lamb and a white lamb, bigger than Dot and much more troublesome. “N’ Clover should have her’s any day now, then that’s all for the season.”

Jackie caught the eye of a big white sheep gnawing on some grass and smiled at Clover as she followed Stan towards the house. “Do they need us to be there?”

Stan shrugged. “Nah, they can do it alright by themselves, but better be safe than sorry n’ be there in case something goes haywire, you know? Just keep an eye on ‘em n’ if things don’t look good call for me.”

Jackie mockingly sallutted her boss. “Yes, sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It was Sunday and it rained all day, so while Jackie should be more productive since she rested yesterday, she didn’t really have the energy to do it. Which was fine, nobody else seemed all too keen on doing more than they have to. Stan was watching TV by the wood-burning stove as he used a piece of glass to cut at a long piece of wood and Ford used the extra time to teach Jackie how to make butter. 

It really was simple. Jackie had no idea why, but she expected it to be more complicated, but Ford simply took a carton of Luna’s milk and poured it into an electric mixture, let it mix on low for a minute, and then on high for three, then he showed her a special mold the family had, a perfect rectangle shape, but along the edges there would be a forest field with pinetrees. When the cream was separated into butter and buttermilk, Ford put the butter on a plate and poured the buttermilk into a jug to use later for cooking or whatever. Then with clean hands, Ford pressed the clumps of butter together to drain it of liquid, made sure it was clean and smooth, and then packed it into the mold. Then, like magic, Ford flipped the mold over and a perfect stick of homemade butter appeared on the dish, earning him a jaw-drop from Jackie.

“There’s enough milk for another stick.” Ford said and gestured to the mixer. “Would you care to do the honors?”

“Sure! Thanks!” Jackie said excitedly and got to work on making the second stick of butter.

Ford smiled, excused himself from the room, and went off to watch TV with his twin and try to finish knitting that extra blanket for Tate’s bed before the McGuckets arrived in two days.

Jackie counted to sixty after setting the mixer on low and then set it on high and set the little timer to three minutes. To entertain herself, she turned away from the counter and looked out the big window that decorated the wall. Displayed was a beautiful view of the woods and the driveway that housed the red Diablo. All the animals were tucked away safely for the rainy day and it gave the farm an odd appearance. The rain was heavy, but there was no thunder or lightning. Even a little bit of fog played with the grass.

Jackie crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at the scene, until something unusual caught her eye and it made her smile drop. Now, she couldn’t be sure, but swore she saw a little ball of white fluff moving farther and farther away, closer and closer to the woods.

At once Jackie shut off the mixer, snatched one of the boys’ rain jackets from the hooks, slipped it on, and bolted outside. She ran to the driveway, past the small berry garden, and squinted with a hand shielding her eyes from the falling water. Sure enough, a little lamb was skipping and playing in the rain, and soon disappeared in the woods.

“DOT!” Jackie cried out and ran towards where the baby sheep had last been seen. “You come back here! Dot!”

The young woman was too small in the blue rain jacket, the hood often covering her eyes and the sleeves rolling past her fists as she ran, but it would have to do. Jackie’s feet were already chilly, but thank goodness the work boots were doing their job for awhile at least. Jackie paused to look around and try to catch a sighting of Dot, but no white could be seen in the sea of blues and greens and browns.

“Dot!” Jackie called out and walked carefully so she wouldn’t pass the lost sheep. “Dot, here girl!”

The farmhand held herself tightly in the overgrown jacket and blinked the rain drops off her eyelashes. She had never been in the woods before, except for when Stan took her on a Truffles-drawn cart ride through the woods and into town and up to Boyish Dan’s house for lumber in exchange for some wool. But this was different. Last time she was on the main path and safe with Stan on the reigns by her side. Now she was by herself and in the middle of nowhere and she could understand why Stan ordered her to never come here.

It wasn’t scary, rather it had a bigger-than-life feeling to Jackie. As she passed towering oak trees and old pines that housed many sleepy owls and fuzzy squirrels, she had a borderline creepy feeling in her spine, like there was so much more to these woods, like they were hiding something. But that was ridiculous! Woods can’t hide anything, like how a child would hide candy wrappers from their parents. No, it’s just the rain creating a dearry feeling in the forest.

“Dot!” Jackie called again, her face becoming damp and her thighs were cold. “Dot, please! Let’s go home!”

She paused and looked around. She allowed herself a minute to think as she cupped her hands by her mouth and blew into them to warm her cheeks and fingers. It wasn’t terribly cold, but the spring rain did make it a bit chilly and uncomfortable. But then, thank goodness, Jackie heard some bahs coming from her right. She hurried, pushing through branches and bushes, and there she found Dot. The lamb’s back-right leg was caught in a branch by the thick wool and she fought and tugged and pulled but could not get free.

Jackie smiled and went to her lamb. “Dot! That’s what you get for running off. How’d you even escape the barn and the fence, huh girl?”

Of course Dot didn’t answer. Jackie scooped her up one armed and untangled the bush from the wool. Now Jackie could snuggly hold the lamb. Poor Dot was wet and shivering; she may have a slightly thicker coat than other sheep her age, but it still wasn’t quite as thick as it should be to protect her from the bitter cold. Jackie retracted her arms inside her jacket and then unzipped it quickly to let the lamb in. Now Jackie had a closed oversized jacket hanging by the hood on her head and a lamb in her arms. And she was lost.

Jackie looked around the woods for any sign of the farm, but she had strayed too far into it and saw no sign of a clear field. Well, she wasn’t going to find anything by standing still. If she could find that dirt road, then at least she would either hit town or the farm. Jackie carefully stepped over tree-roots and wildflowers and lightly scolded Dot to give her something to occupy her thoughts.

“Dot, just wait until I tell Mama Stan about this. He’s gonna scold you good.” Jackie snorted as she remembered when Truffles snapped at Jackie and Stan scolded at his horse, much like how a parent would scold a child. Really, there was no point in hiding the fact that all the animals were his babies. Let’s just say that when the time comes Stan will make a wonderful father and leave it at that.

Dot licked some droplets off Jackie’s chin and snuggled up against her chest. Jackie was damp, but not as bad as she would be without the blue rain jacket. Really, she couldn’t stay mad at Dot. Moses knows she was nothing but trouble as a kid, but every mistake she had ever made helped mold her into a better person, helped her become the person she is now. And she would like to think she was alright.

Jackie stepped on a twig that snapped and she kicked it aside as she ventured onward. She might not even be heading towards a road. She wished she could see the sun. At least then she would know East from West and could make a better guess on which direction to go. And… oh, crap! She left the butter unfinished! Damn it. Jackie groaned to herself and walked on, but then her left foot plunged into a dip in the earth and was now ankle-deep in mud. Jackie swore loudly and pulled her soaked foot out and walked on. Dot shook in her grasp and licked her hand to try to calm her down.

Jackie rubbed the lamb’s back. “I’m sorry Dot, but I’m having a rough day right now.”

Then something else made her stop in her tracks. Was it… whispering? Or wind through the trees? No, the air was still. Jackie looked around and lifted her hood up lightly to see better. “Hello?” She called out.

The sound was gone. Someone was definitely out there. “Hello, can you help me out?” Jackie called and looked around for a shadow or a light. “I think I went in the wrong direction.”

She was silent and listened carefully through the symphony of rain. “Yes… yes, she will do fine.”

Jackie’s heart skipped a beat. She had seen enough horror movies to know what happens to young women alone in the woods. Jackie turned right around and ran for her life. Dot cried out in shock and uncomfortably, bouncing around, but Jackie ignored her and only held the lamb tighter.

Puddles splashed and wetted her legs up to her knees. The hood fell off her head and now the over-sized jacket was barely hanging by her shoulders. Jackie freed some fingers from Dot to grab the jacket so she wouldn’t lose it and have to explain to the boys that one of their jackets went missing in the woods. Lightning flashed and a few seconds later thunder rolled. The heavy rain was turning into a storm. Dot cried out again and buried her head in Jackie’s chest. Jackie gasped for breath but did not stop running.

Now she couldn’t be sure. She was moving too fast to get a good look at it, but Jackie could have sworn on her life that she saw some sort of triangle on top of something circular, like an upside-down ice cream cone. Or a gnome.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Pines twins had been laughing too loudly over a joke on the TV to hear the door slam when Jackie left. A few minutes went by and Jackie hadn’t joined them in the living room, which was fine, she probably was starting on dinner or wanted to be alone. Her disappearance hadn’t even been noticed until Ford went into the kitchen for some orange juice and he frowned at the electric mixer. The butter was only half done and now a whipped, melting mess. Ford restarted the mixer and after a minute deemed the cream salvageable. If Jackie didn’t want to make the second stick of butter she should have said so.

Ford finished the chore and left the dishes to soak in soapy water in the sink. He went into the living room as Stan laughed at the TV. “Haha! That guy got hit in the head with a coconut!”

“Stanley, have you seen Jackie?” Ford asked.

“Huh? Uh, no. Why?”

The front door flew open as wind howled and lightning stuck and thunder roared. Jackie hurried inside with the jacket hanging by her shoulders, her hair soaked and sticking to her skin, and her lungs nearly empty of oxygen. She leaned against the door and tried to catch her breath while the men stood at the doorway of the living room and stared.

“Sweet Lord!” Stan gasped and helped Jackie out of his rain jacket. “What were you doin’ out there?!”

“Dot… got… out.” Jackie panted, swallowed and handed the sleepy lamb to Stan, who was completely dumbfounded. “I caught sight of her escaping just in time. Poor thing ended up stuck on a bush.”

Stan was at a loss for words for a minute, but then cradled Dot in one strong beefy arm and wrapped around around Jackie’s shoulders. “Here, let’s get you warm n’ dry. Sixer, go get a towel or two, will ya?”

Ford nodded, hurried for the bathroom, and Stan walked Jackie into the living room. He pulled a short stool out in front of the wood-burning stove and gently guided Jackie to it. She could walk on her own, she was only cold, but she was grateful for the help and decided not to fuss. She watched as Stan slipped off his red button-up and wrapped it around Dot like it was a blanket. Jackie smiled at seeing Stan rubbed the lamb dry and how his eyes sparkled and shined. Dot licked his strong chin and he chuckled and scratched Dot under her chin.

“I wonder how she got out.” Jackie said quietly.

“Must be a whole somewhere in the barn.” Stan guessed. “We’ll take a look tomorrow.” He looked up at Jackie and smiled kindly at her. “N’ hey, thanks for brinin’ her home.”

Jackie’s face suddenly felt hot, and she wasn’t sure it was from the fire. She smiled and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Ford then returned and handed the towels to Jackie. She thanked him and wrapped one around her hair and draped the other one over her shoulders. She watched as Stan threw some wood in the fire one-handed, the other holding Dot and then he sat next to her on the floor and let the lamb rest in his lap. Dot yawned and buried her face in his arm, his other hand petting her back. Jackie, without registering her actions, put a hand on Stan’s shoulder.

Ford smiled at the scene before him and decided to go read a book elsewhere.

[animeniacss]

6 Years - Hoseok x Reader - Chapter 33 - Coming to a Close

Synopsis: 6 years. That’s all it can take to take another look at someone and see that they have completely changed. You were once an eager 20-year-old, with your dreams all in view, and Jung Hoseok at your side to view them with you. However, after a break up the end of your junior year of college, everything seemed different. Now, you’re a recently divorced single mother of two, and your life is nowhere near what you thought it would be. However, after reuniting with Jung Hoseok, you may just be able to capture a little bit of that exciting youth you once knew so long ago.

Feat. BTS Members, Nayeon (TWICE), and Yuna (itzy) 

Genre: Romance, SingleMother!AU, Past Relationship, Drama, Some Depictions of Violence/Domestic Abuse

Length: approx. 4k words 

Chapter 33 - Coming to a Close

           “What the – What is she doing here?! This is highly inappropriate!” The lawyer shouted angrily. You gulped, feeling Chun-Hei lay a gentle hand on your shoulder. “There is absolutely no reason for her to be here.”

           “She wants to be. Don’t worry, I got permission. Besides, she wanted to come.” Myung-Dae said simply. Weong-Bin quickly stood up, walking straight in your direction. He expected you to cower in his approach, however, other than a deep and noticeable breath, you didn’t flinch. You stood tall, a stern expression on your face. The shaking in your hands had slowly begun to stop, and you were gripping the SD card. To say it threw Weong-Bin off was a total understatement, it absolutely shocked him.

           “What are you doing? Don’t be stupid.” He said. “You should be rest-.”

           “Don’t try it.” You said softly. “You have until the audio is over to think up a good reason why this is happening.” Without another reason, you walked towards Myung-Dae, who kindly pulled out a seat for you, and in return, you handed him the SD card for him to slip into a tiny portable laptop. Weong-Bin was motioned to his seat by Chun-Hei, who then joined her superior, who was typing away on the computer to pull up the audio files. Weong-Bin glanced at his lawyer, but the lawyer was just as silent and stoic as you had seemed to be. There was a moment of silence, other than the tapping of the laptop keys. Weong-Bin felt as though that noise would make his eardrums burst, it felt almost deafening to him. His heart was pounding as Myung-Dae’s fingers clicked one final button, and finally, Weong-Bin’s voice crackled into the room.

           “Just stay around. I’ll be in touch. Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t desperate. This guy has ruined my life for long enough…and I’m tired of it.”

           “Just promise me that you will kill. Jung. Hoseok. It’ll probably get your family a nice Christmas this year.” There was a moment of silence before Shin-Il responded with his promise to do so. Weong-Bin looked at you. Your eyes were glued to the computer screen. He could see how wet they were getting, and you had to chew on your lip to keep yourself collected. Weong-Bin groaned in annoyance, and Myung-Dae looked up.

           “What’s wrong? Don’t worry, my favorite part is coming up too, just wait.” He teased, hitting the fast forward button. “All this is specifics on where your family lived, where Hoseok worked, his hours, your daughter’s schools, and even your ex-wife’s work. I’m sure you remembered every anniversary too, didn’t you, smart boy?”

           “Not once.” You said softly, earning a glare from Weong-Bin that you had to cast your eyes even farther down onto the keyboard to completely avoid. Myung-Dae laughed, before finally hitting the play button again.      

           “I need you not to just kill Hoseok. I thought about it for the past few days. I can’t handle not being the one in their lives, and I won’t watch while someone else is. I need you to just kill them all.”

           “Turn it off.” The lawyer said. Myung-Dae quickly obliged, and Chun-Hei gently reached out to offer you a tissue. You took it, using it to dab your teary-eyes. “Where’s the punk Shin-Il that my client identified in these calls?”

           “Arrested.” Myung-Dae said. “In fact, what he told us was a huge help too. The records are just the sprinkles on this delicious sundae I like to call ‘payback’, Mr. Cho.” Myung-Dae looked at the glaring Weong-Bin.

           “Don’t be cute.” The lawyer hissed. Myung-Dae shrugged. However, the lawyer knew a punk in trouble with arson testifying against Weong-Bin was one thing, but these audio clips were legally obtained, and therefore, extremely beneficial in putting Weong-Bin away not only for the assaults but attempted murder and conspiracy. That’s a long sentence for this guy. “…What if we make a deal?”

           “A DEAL?!” Weong-Bin snapped. “Are you fucking nuts? No way.”

           “Listen to your lawyer, kid. If we get the prosecutor in here and make a deal then we can get you in jail for a much shorter time than honestly, you deserve. You may get found innocent for the assault, that’s one thing. But once these audio clips and Shin-Il’s testimony, along with Officer Song, yet another individual whose life you’ve manipulated for your selfish gains, you’ll be found guilty before the judge even leans back in his chair to take a breath. Then, you’ll never get out. Be smart.” Weong-Bin looked at you, finally seeing you staring right back at him.

           “Honey…” He said gently, sitting back down. His cuffed wrists reached out to you, hoping you would take them. You didn’t move. “This has to be a setup. There’s no way I would ever hurt you and the girls, you know that…” You hummed, reaching out and taking Weong-Bin’s hands into your own. He smiled a bit.

“Can we talk alone?” you asked, looking at Myung-Dae. He glanced at the lawyer, who looked at Weong-Bin. Weong-Bin looked over.

“Officer Oh has to stay.” The lawyer said, motioning to the cop in charge of Weong-Bin. You nodded, your eyes focusing on the hands that you had gently placed inside Weong-Bin’s as you heard Chun-Hei, Myung-Dae, and the lawyer exit the cell, assuring you they would be nearby in case anything occurred. Once they were gone, you took a shaky breath, and Weong-Bin was unsure what to say as well. Silently, your fingers enclosed around his, allowing your nails to dig deep into his flesh. He winced a bit, and when he tried to pull back his hands, your grip prevented him from doing so. “Ow. Let go.” He huffed.

           “No,” you said softly. “Please tell me what put you in this position. How could you…even think about burning your daughters alive?” Weong-Bin blinked. “The two girls you claim are your whole world…You were willing to end their lives because of what? Your jealousy?” Weong-Bin was silent again. You looked up at him, eyes pooling with tears. “TELL ME!” You snapped.

           “Don’t yell at me.” He hissed, glaring at him.

           “Why? You’ll find someone else to try and kill me if I do? I’m…not scared of your threats anymore.” You said shakily.

           “It’s a setup! You know I love you and those girls more than anything!” He said angrily. “I just don’t want to lose you to someone else.”    

           “We’ve been divorced for like two years, Weong-Bin. Stop living in your fantasy world, please! I don’t want to live there with you, it’s an awful, torturous place where only you make the rules. I can’t handle this anymore.” You looked down at his hands again, seeing that your nails were leaving signs of red markings. “Please…if you have any respect for me at all, you’ll come clean and tell me why…just why?” You choked out. You wanted to cover your mouth, but you didn’t want to pull your hands away from his fists. You were enjoying the slight control that this simple act filled you with, but at the same time, you were mortified he would lash out the second he was free.

           “I already said I couldn’t bear to watch you and the girls with someone else.” He said simply. “You’re my family, not anybody else’s. I made the three of you into what you are today, nobody else knows you like I do.” You groaned.

           “You’re a monster….” You sniffled. “An absolute monster.” You looked at him, releasing your tight grip on his hands, but not moving your hands entirely. “You tried to kill the people you claim to love so much.”

           “You guys were going to leave me for good. What was I supposed to do?”

           “Serve your assault sentence and come out a better man for your children! I’d at least have some respect for you if you did that. I never would’ve expected this from you…I couldn’t believe it at first.” You glanced up at him. “You’ve ruined so many lives with your selfishness, do you know that?”

           “Oh, have I?” He scoffed. “Whose?” You couldn’t help but laugh at his response.

           “Officer Song is at risk of losing his job because of you, Shin-Il is imprisoned and may never see his child again because you manipulated him with money, Min Ja’s anxiety has only heightened after the fire, Hoseok’s lungs were almost as black as a chain smokers, your ex-girlfriend Sooyeon had to listen to you talk endlessly about your disgusting obsession with control over us, and your lawyer has to put up with you, which is torture enough.” Weong-Bin’s lips turned into a deep frown, and you shivered. “I’m sick and tired of dealing with you.” Slowly pulling your hands back, you stood up. “I advise you to take the deal being offered to you.”

           “I’m not doing that. I don’t lose.” Weong-Bin hissed, hopping out of his seat. Officer Oh approached, prepared to hold Weong-Bin down if necessary. You stepped back. “You’re so stupid. If you guys had died, you would’ve been so safe and happy together until I got there. I would have been at peace until I saw you again…what am I supposed to do not knowing what you’re doing?” You blinked, staring at the face of Weong-Bin. It made you think back to the small smiles he could give you as you passed on the college campus, the face of the handsome, yet the slightly mysterious and aggressive man that all the girls swooned over. Yet, for some reason, he had chosen you, over all the girls on campus that would’ve killed for a glance. You felt so lucky that Weong-Bin was there to help you get over not only the break-up with Hoseok but the time after losing your child. The face of that beautifully mysterious individual was now replaced with dark, emotionless eyes. Eyes that only feasted on control and selfish intent. If Weong-Bin ever was a good person, which you now began to fully doubt, that person was the only person that died within the fires he tried to cause. It was if you were staring at a stranger for the first time, their life story a total mystery to you.

           “…Oh my God, you’ve cracked.” You said softly. “This must have been what you’ve always been like.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He hissed.

“I used to tell myself sometimes that something happened that caused you to be so different from when we first met. Was it the difficulty we faced having more kids? Was it the divorce? Was it before that? Did I do something to make you this way, was I not a good enough wife or mother to our children? Those thoughts ran through my head all the time, every time I was hit and demeaned. But nothing changed. You’ve always been this way; you were just good at covering it up until you had me in your grip.” Nodding your head, you sighed. “I was going to say for you to try and find that Cho Weong-Bin that I had fallen in love with back in college while you rot in prison, but…that Weong-Bin never existed, so any form of soul searching or praying will be in vain. It’s a shame…” Scooping up your bag, you sighed. “Don’t expect me to bring the girls here to visit either.”

“You can’t do that; those are my kids.” He choked out. You didn’t respond. “Hey-.”

“I told them I’ll never judge them if they chose to love you because you’re still their father. But until they’re old enough to make those choices themselves, I won’t let them in this building. But by the time they are that age, they’ll never want to see you again just like I don’t.” With that, you slowly began to walk away. Weong-Bin called your name a few times, but as you approached the exit of the cell, you didn’t respond.

           “ANSWER ME!” He snapped. “You can’t…you can’t end on that.” You stopped in your tracks, turning to look at him.

           “You’re right. There’s one more thing…” you said softly. Slowly, you walked towards him. Lifting a hand, you quickly punched Weong-Bin in the stomach. He grunted, doubling over a bit. Without hesitation, you took his arm and yanked him up onto his feet.

           “What the fuck was that for?!” He shouted. “I’ll sue you for harassment!”

           “That was for me, and for Yoo Hyun, who now has to grow up parentless because of her father’s stupid decisions that can be traced right back to your selfishness.” You huffed. “But don’t worry, I know where to hit that won’t show any marks. I’ve had enough experience that I’ve learned all the good spots.” Weong-Bin scoffed as he watched you exit the cell, only for Myung-Dae and the lawyer to return.

           “She just punched me!” Weong-Bin snapped. “I want her charged for assault! Officer Oh saw it-.” When he looked to the officer for back up, Mr. Oh shrugged, simply shaking his head. “What?!”

           “Alright enough horsing around. Our prosecutor is here. Ready to make a deal?” Myung-Dae asked, sitting back down.

           The moment you were out of earshot of Weong-Bin, you collapsed right onto the ground. Chun-Hei knelt beside you.

           “Are you alright, Miss. Cho?!” She gasped. You nodded, gulping a bit. “You did wonderfully, I’m sure. Weong-Bin will finally be put in jail and away from you for good…” You nodded, finally taking the moment to let all the tears you tried your best to hold in while in the cell escape your eyes and onto the floor. Chun-Hie silently watched as you sobbed hysterically, your body shaking and make-up smearing. She rubbed your back, looking towards the cell where Weong-Bin was finally sealing his fate.

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

           Finally, the day arrived. Weong-Bin’s trial was coming to an end, and everyone had gathered to watch him plead guilty in the promise of a lesser sentence. Lesser was a tame term, he was expected to be in jail for 40 years instead of over 60, allowing him to get out of jail at age 67, depending on his behavior. Shin-Il’s testimony as well as the audio recordings and camera evidence were not needed due to Weong-Bin’s plea. Shin-Il’s trial would be within the next few weeks, and follow a similar pattern at Weong-Bin’s, as he also planned to confess to what Weong-Bin told him to do in exchange for some money. You planned to attend that as well. But for now, you sat stiff as a board in the courtroom. Since Weong-Bin was pleading guilty, the judge found no need for there to be multiple people-watching in the room. However, you were given permission and found yourself sitting in the front row, giving you a perfect view of Weong-Bin as he stood responsible for his crimes. Myung-Dae had joined you as well, as support, but that was it.

           “Does the defense agrees to all terms that come with their plea of guilty?” The judge asked curiously. Weong-Bin glanced at his lawyer, who nodded. Despite the absolute agony he must have been feeling, Weong-Bin nodded. “Excellent. Then, after reviewing all evidence regarding both the assault charges as well as the attempted murder and conspiracy charges, I final Cho Weong-Bin guilty on all charges and sentenced to a maximum of 45 years in prison, allowing him a chance to receive bail in the year 2065. That is all.” The judge slammed the gavel down onto the table. Weong-Bin immediately looked at you, and you could hear a slight commotion from the people you had waiting for you outside. You stared directly at Weong-Bin he was guided out by two cops. All of the memories you two had shared, good or bad, where exiting right out the door along with Weong-Bin. He was not putting up any sort of fight anymore, he was just watching you until the door closed behind him and ended his view.

Myung-Dae put a hand on your shoulder as Weong-Bin was led out, and you glanced over.

           “You did a great job.” He said gently. You smiled a bit. “You okay?”

           “I think so…” you said softly, your hands fiddling together in your lap. “It…doesn’t feel real at all…to think, he’s really in prison.”

           “He deserves it, the jerk.” Myung-Dae hummed, standing up. “Shall we go?” You glanced up, watching as the judge, the lawyer, and the other cops exited.

           “…Can I just sit here for a moment?” You asked. Myung-Dae nodded, smiling.

           “Sure, I’ll go outside and tell your family.” Myung-Dae offered you a gentle pat on your head before exiting the room, leaving you alone in the empty courtroom. You let the silence take its time to envelope you, and you closed your eyes, resting your face in your hands as your elbows balanced in your lap.

           It was all finally over.

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

Weong-Bin was led out of the courtroom and down towards the car that was waiting outside to transport him back to jail. This meant that he had to pass through the hallways of people, which he honestly dreaded. He watched as all of your friends and family entered his view, talking to Myung-Dae. They were all grinning, and it pissed him off immensely. As he got closer, they looked over to him, the first one to move from their spot was Yoongi. Fuck.

           “I hope this finally taught you a lesson.” Yoongi hissed angrily. Namjoon fixed his glasses.

           “No need to engage with the idiot, Hyung.” He said simply. “Don’t stoop to his level.”

           “Well I can!” Taehyung huffed, pointing at Weong-Bin, who forced himself to stop in his tracks and turn to the young man when he heard his deep voice. “I hope you enjoy your new home you piece of garbage! I knew this would happen one day and I’m so glad I’m alive to witness it!”

           “TAEHYUNG!” Jimin held his shoulders as his friend continued shouting insults. “I know you’re happy, we all are-.” When he said that, he looked right at Weong-Bin, who scoffed. “But don’t make a scene. You’re upsetting your parents.” He glanced at your mother and step-father, who was watching this along with the prosecutor.

           “Why not?!” Jungkook asked. “All that humiliation to Noona and he can’t get any in return!?” He pouted.

“Jungkook understands!” Taehyung shouted, the duo giving each other an extremely strong high-five. The cops tried to lead Weong-Bin off, but he refused to move.

           “I want to hear what these idiots have to say.” He said. “It’s the last time I’ll ever see them, I hoped we could part with some KIND parting words.”

           “Parting words? Are you a madman!?” Jin huffed. “You think you’re so funny, I can’t wait to see how smug you are behind bars for a few more years, you know?”

           “Seriously! Don’t act so pompous, asshat. And if we ever find out you’re bothering Hoseok or any of his family again-.” Yoongi smirked when he saw Weong-Bin grimace at the comment. “You’ll be getting a visit from me, understand?”

           “Okay, let’s go.” Weong-Bin scoffed, finally deciding to go along with the cops. As he headed towards the elevator, he continued to hear Taehyung toss out childish and stupid insults that he simply shrugged off with slight amusement. However, just as the cops were to guide him down a separate staircase to e sure privacy, the elevator doors beside them opened. Hoseok, who had been out of the ER for a few days, stepped out, and Weong-Bin stopped in his tracks again, mostly out of shock. Hoseok had a bottle of water in his hand, capping it as he came face to face with Weong-Bin.

           “…Jung Hoseok.” Weong-Bin said simply. Hoseok blinked.

           “Cho Weong-Bin…” he said. “That jumpsuit looks good on you. Better than any suit I’ve seen you in.” Weong-Bin scoffed. “I knew this would happen. I’m so happy, you have no idea.”

           “…I hate you.” Weong-Bin scoffed. Hoseok smiled, but Weong-Bin found no joy in that smile whatsoever.

           “The feeling is mutual. That’s why you weren’t going to be invited to the wedding regardless.” He smirked.

           “Wed- WHAT?!” He snapped, finally being pushed forward by the guards. Hoseok waved him off as Weong-Bin was led off.

           “Bye, byeeee~.” He cooed, Once he was gone, Hoseok let out a soft sigh. “Idiot.” He hummed, turning back to the crowd of friends. Just as he did, he saw you walk out of the courtroom. Hoseok stood in place as he watched Jungkook be the first one to spring into your arms.

           “NOONA! I’m so proud of you!” he said happily. You quickly hugged him back, grinning at the 22-year-old. “That jackass won’t bother you ever again so long as we can help it, okay?”

           “Don’t curse.” Seokjin said, Jungkook blinked.

           “Hyung, I’m legally allowed to drink, cursing is nothing.” He said, nudging his older friend playfully in the stomach, as he grunted in slight pain. You smiled a bit. Suddenly, you were embraced by another hug, this time, a collective one of Taehyung and your parents.

           “You were amazing. Congratulations.” Your mother said gently. You nodded, resting your head on her shoulders. Almost immediately, Jimin pushed everyone together.

           “Group hug, group hug, group hug!” He chanted, and everyone did just that. You laughed a bit as the courtroom hall was filled with chanting young men who were circling you in a huge hug.

           “You’re making a scene.” The prosecutor said, crossing her arms. The group hug finally broke up, and everyone looked around to see the confused looks of passing by individuals that had witnessed…well…whatever was going on here. You smoothed out your dress and hair, unable to control the giggles at the boy’s utter stupidity. However, before you knew it, those giggles were turning into whimpers and choked out sobs. Eyes fell onto you as you quickly wiped your eyes, sniffling as you felt yourself beginning to cry again.

           “I-I can’t believe I’m still crying…” you sniffled, wiping your eyes. “I shouldn’t have any more tears by this point.” Jungkook wasted no time pulling you into another hug, which you quickly returned to the boy. “Heh. I’m honored you’re giving me so many hugs.”

           “It’s only for you, Noona.” The normally girl-fearing boy mumbled shyly.” I wouldn’t do this normally…” you smiled a bit. As you continued to hug Jungkook, you heard footsteps approach. When you looked up, you saw Hoseok walking over, water bottle in his hand. He passed it over to you and smiled.

           “I figured you might need this.” He said simply. You smiled, taking the bottle into your hands. “You did amazing…I told you it would be a walk in the park.”

           “I know.” You said softly. “How are the girls?”

           “I just called Yuna. They’re waiting for us to come home.” You nodded, smiling a bit. “Oh, Uhm…” Hoseok shifted a bit. “On an unrelated topic, completely unrelated, do you want to go on a picnic Friday?” You blinked.

           “A picnic?” you asked.

           “I need fresh air in my lungs.” He grinned. “All I’ve been inhaling other than smoke is Lysol spray and plastic tubes.” You giggled a bit.

           “Okay…” you said simply. “Can we…get something to eat now, though? I’m starving….” Hoseok laughed a bit.

           “Chicken?” Jimin asked, peeking around Taehyung’s shoulder because trying to go over would be a failed attempt.

           “CHICKEN?! Yes, chicken.” Taehyung said. “My treat. We can go get the girls and Yuna and just go eat until we’re full or until I’m broke, whichever comes first.”

           “You’ll be way broke if you put Seokjin-Hyung at the table.” Jungkook said simply, only to receive a playful shove by his Hyung. You smiled, and the group of you finally left the courtroom together, to go get some well-deserved food in your stomachs. The entire walk, you gripped tightly onto Hoseok’s hand. He had no problem with this, of course, as he held you close to him and offered you kisses on your hand every single chance that he got. Walking to get chicken with every single person who had done nothing but provides support and love when you needed it most was the best way you felt this entire experience could end.

           Now, there was only one thing you had left to do before you could finally declare this story a happy one.

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