#this was both fun and hard because of how long the playlist for her series currently is 🤣 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rrxnjun · 2 years

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blondes are done with fun ✲ h. renjun

pairing. journalism student! renjun x journalism student! fem! reader starring. huang renjun, lee donghyuck, yoo jimin, huh yunjin genre. college au, acquaintances to lovers. angst, fluff, smut warnings. alcohol consuption, swearing, renjun is a dick at the beginning, sexual content (fingering, unprotected sex) word count. 31k (31.320) a/n. awsten knight please stop making music so i can stop writing fics about your songs thanku. also this is my first smut please be gentle with it also if you're my friend please don't read the smut parts orif you do dont tell me abt it or i will literally kms

playlist. cherry red - waterparks ; fake happy - paramore ; heaven angel - the driver era ; blonde - waterparks ; disaster - conan gray ; raspberry - grouplove ; black butterflies and déjá vu - the maine ; fuck about it - waterpakrs, blackbear ; robbers - the 1975

a rumor has it that the popular couple in town broke up after years of being together. having to share your favorite seat in class with the male part of said relationship, you try to find out how to make your heartbroken project partner warm up to you— or— huang renjun goes blonde when he's sad.

✲ PART 1 OF THE SIMPLIFY ROMANCE SERIES ✲

“A rumor has it Huang Renjun and Huh Yunjin broke up,” is the first sentence that lands into your ears when your feet cross the imaginary border of the school premises one early morning, a cup of coffee in your hand as your best friend Jimin breaks the news to you, walking by your side into the university building.

Snapping your head around to look at her in shock and surprise at the news, eyes wide in question, you’re already invested in the love life of your classmates more than you probably should be, but due to multiple reasons that could explain it; one of them being the ordinary human curiosity– mainly created in your brain thanks to the fact that these two had dated for as long as you can remember– another reason being the gossip-oriented side of your personality– the part of it you like to explain through the fact that you’re a Journalism major and the love for gossip is just another part of your (hopefully) future occupation– and the last reason, the one that is probably the most harmless of them all (or maybe the most, depending on how you look at it) is the mere fact that while Huang Renjun had been a taken man for as long as you remember, he is also insanely attractive, and you’re just a simple woman. The idea of him being finally attainable is irking something in your brain, and even though you would feel embarrassed to admit this out loud, you can’t help but wonder what happened between those two after such a long time that made the legendary couple– iconic, even– break up.

“What happened?” you ask, walking alongside the girl as you round the corner of the hall, in a rush to get to your morning class. The two of you slept in by accident, watching too many episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians last night to notice the clock striking well past midnight, and now the journey to school was more difficult than it already is, with your dorms situated 30 minutes away and the class starting at 8 o’clock sharp. The time is now 7:58AM and while you’re already in the building and yours and Jimin’s classes are different, they are both on the fifth floor– and with the frequency of your visits to the gym, the way up there is hard not only because of the time pinch, but also because of the shortness of your breath when you rush to walk up there in less than five minutes before you have to take the walk of shame to your desk, watched by the professor with passive aggressive eyes.

“Nobody knows,” Jimin heaves out, taking two steps at once now, “I just heard from Yizhuo that Yunjin deleted all of their Instagram posts together and she supposedly stopped wearing that necklace he got her for their anniversary. Oh and also, Renjun didn’t drop her off at school on Friday, so something must be up.”

Humming in agreement, you rush up the stairs, the halls already emptied out because all of the students are hidden in their respective classroom. You manage to keep your voice down in case anyone’s listening in on your insensitive gossip, now that your voices aren’t drowned out by any other noise. “That’s weird. They’ve been together for so long, I’m starting to lose faith in real love if they really broke up.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Jimin squints as the two of you finally reach the fifth floor, the girl checking the time on her wristwatch huffing out at the sight of already being late, “something bad must have happened, if they really broke up, because the two of them didn’t seem like they’ve had any problems, you know.”

“Definitely,” you nod, pacing along the hall as you finally reach the door to your classroom, waving your roommate off with a tight-lipped smile, still trying to catch your breath. “I’ll see you after class?”

The girl doesn’t even turn around as she agrees with you, long legs striding down the hall into the last classroom on the left, waving at you with her right hand. “See ya!”

Silently opening the door to the classroom, you notice the professor already standing at the very front of the class, turning around to look at your figure once the almost unhearable noise of the door cuts through the silence in the room. Offering her a shameful smile, you hurriedly scan the space, feeling the eyes of everyone glued to your sweaty and out of breath body, as you try to find a place to sit. Your usual seat is right at the corner of the room, at the very back– it has the window in close accessibility, so you don’t have to worry about being too hot or too cold, depending on the weather, because you regulate the freshness of the air in the classroom. The window also provides a good distraction to you once the class gets too boring to listen to, so you’d say with 100% sureness that the desk you chose to sit at the very first day of your Journalism class was the best option.

However, when you look at the usually empty desk for two– one of the chairs, the one closer to the corridor being your handy armrest as well as a place to put your coat and bag on as you sit on the other one, the one closer to the window– you notice a man sitting at your usual place, eyes glued to the whiteboard. Feverishly scanning the classroom once again, realizing in terror that there is no other empty space for you to sit at, you sigh in annoyance as you near your usual desk, cursing the intruder in your brain for breaking the unwritten seating plan.

Taking the bag off your shoulder, you softly land it to the ground, afraid of making any noise that would interrupt your professor’s lecture again. After sitting at the chair and trying to listen to the words coming out of your professor’s mouth, trying to see what she’s talking about, you find yourself drifting off into the mess of your thoughts, choosing to daydream about the amazing lunch you’re about to have once your classes are over for the day, your eyes knowingly moving away from the whiteboard to their place out of the window. It’s a little harder to gaze out of it in the different position– you tell yourself you’ll come earlier next week so the intruder doesn’t take away your spot again and you can go back to your usual plan of watching people walking through the campus and making up fake stories about them in your brain– when your periphery vision takes notice of the side profile of your seatmate, the curve of his nose and the slight pout of his upper lip sparking interest in you as your brain finally connects the dots.

Only slightly moving your head to the side, so your seatmate doesn’t notice you staring, you observe Huang Renjun sitting at your desk. The image in front of you (or beside you, to be precise) surprises you to an extent nothing has ever surprised you before (no, not even the birthday parties Jimin has thrown you have made this effect on you– but that’s probably because she can’t keep a secret and always spoiled the surprise), and once again, there are multiple reasons for your surprise. To list a few, you’d start with the fact that Huang Renjun almost always sat at the same desk with his girlfriend Yunjin– the desk was at the very opposite corner of the room, leaving you to occasionally observe the couple as he landed a hand onto her thigh or let her put her leg into his lap, away from the eyes of the professor– but due to the news that were broken to you just a few minutes prior, maybe this is the only reason that shouldn’t surprise you with the sight of Renjun sitting by your side. Continuing the list, you’d state the fact that the boy looks lifeless– his eyes lost their usual spark and there are dark circles adorning his lower eyelids, the sick look making you feel almost sorry for your classmate. And to finish the list, you’d state the fact that takes you by surprise the most– the one that shocks you to your core, for it’s the reason why you didn’t recognise the boy when you first sat down in the first place. His hair is now bleach blond, and while the look definitely suits him, it’s something different, something new– because for as long as you can remember, not many things changed in Renjun’s appearance over the years, and you’re not so sure if you can consider this as the side effect of his breakup, or if he really just wanted change.

Blinking at the male, as if to make sure that you’re not dreaming, you take notice of the dead strands falling into his eyes, contrasting well with the darkness of his eyes. Once again noting that you’re just a simple woman and Huang Renjun is simply put, a very attractive man, you can’t help but gaze at him with a newly found interest, everything you’ve learned about the male this morning irking you with undeniable curiosity.

The sad and embarrassing reality of it all is, though, that you’re not the only one who gets that weird feeling of someone staring at you in public sometimes, only for that feeling to be true as you turn around and see someone with their eyes burning through your skull; Huang Renjun gets them as well, it seems, as he turns his head to you with his eyebrows furrowed, as if to silently ask you why the hell you’re creepily staring at his side profile in the middle of your Journalism class. The two of you were never close, despite sharing multiple classes over the course of multiple semesters, and so being caught only made you feel more embarrassed as you sharply turn your head towards the front of the classroom– so much for being subtle and nonchalant about it, erasing all the possibility of playing it off in the process– feeling heat creeping up your neck.

This is not how you imagined your morning to go.

Trying hard to pay attention to the class instead, in order to both learn something and also forget about the events happening only a few seconds prior, there’s no use as your brain now decided to replay the moment over and over again, making sure you never forget about it and randomly think of it in the middle of the night 5 years from now, still not moving on from the shame. In the process of trying so hard to focus, you actually do quite the opposite– as if your brain decided to turn off from the essence of humiliation instead to protect you– and before you notice it, the class is over and everyone is scattering out of the classroom with their things and bags hung over their shoulders. At least it’s finally over, you think, when a voice lands into your ear, shaking you out of it.

“We’re doing the project together,” he says, and as you turn around to face the owner of the saccharine voice to inquire him on what the actual fuck he’s even talking about, before you get the chance, the man is already out of the room, leaving you standing in full dumbfoundance.

Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to the class, after all.

Next week, even though you arrive to class earlier than the last, it seems like your designated seat in the corner of the classroom is now your and Renjun’s designated seat in the corner of the classroom, and if you’re being totally honest, this is exactly the thing you did not expect to come up on your Junior year bingo card. Talking over the whole interaction with Jimin right when you got to dorms– alongside with the takeout you ordered in the restaurant that’s at the corner of the street– the both of you stared into your plates with a newly found sense of absolute, utter confusion.

You also had to shamefully text one of the only classmates from your Journalism class whose number you have– Osaki Shotaro, who you had a thing with in Freshman year because you thought he was an exchange student and would go back to Japan after summer, surprising you with his smiley face in the class in your Sophomore year (and this year, once again) as you had to be reminded of making out with him at a party every time your eyes landed on the poor boy– about the assignment. The truth is, you could just ask Renjun when you got into class, but you also wanted to spare yourself the embarrassment of that action. Through your fling from Freshman year, you learned that you have to work in pairs on a magazine of some sort– and while the assignment still wasn’t clear to you, after Shotaro ended the text message with ‘i’m sorry tho, i already have a partner ://’, you didn’t have enough dignity in you to pry him for any more information.

Clearing your throat as you step inside the classroom with an encouraging slap to your bottom coming from your roommate walking along to her usual class at the end of the hall, you walk over to your seat and put your bag onto the ground, silently sitting on the chair next to the corridor– the thing that makes you the most furious about this whole thing– as you prepare for the next lecture. From what you’ve gathered, the assignment was 70% of your final grade, and you really didn’t feel like failing your most favorite subject, especially if it’s something you could see yourself doing in the future. Working on something like this with someone you’ve hardly ever spoken to was a scary feeling, though.

The class starts as soon as the noise of footsteps fills your ears, your professor standing at the very front of the classroom announcing her arrival with a heartfelt smile on her face. Sometimes you wonder if it’s her cheery demeanor that makes you like the class so much, but then again, you’ve always been interested in the topic– her character is just a bonus.

“Hello class,” she greets, full of energy despite it only being 8 in the morning, “I decided that instead of following with the lectures today, I will leave you some space to plan out your final project for the class. It has the weight of 70% of your grade, so it’s kind of important, so make sure you plan it well and come up with something original and interesting. The contents are 25-35 pages and you have until the end of the semester to complete it, so I hope you all put in some effort!”

Nods and hums of understatement are shared along the class, the pairs turning to each other in soft murmurs as some even take out a journal to note down all the things they come up with. You think it’s not a bad idea to at least brainstorm a little, but with how awkward you feel at the moment with your project partner sitting right next to you, you don’t think you can start. And the thing is, Jimin told you you could just pick a different partner– but as you look across the filled classroom, you really don’t think working with anyone else is possible, since you don’t have many friends in this class and everyone seems to be paired up already. Huang Renjun is your only choice, and although it doesn��t fill you with relief, you wonder why he chose you, when in reality, he’s the popular one– he has many different choices to pick from. Maybe he was just too lazy to ask anyone else. Who knows.

Clearing your throat again, you avert your gaze from the front of the classroom and try to sneak a look on your seatmate. The platinum blonde hair neatly styled on his head doesn’t fail to make you shocked again, but you figure you must start to get used to it now, because you can’t keep living with the constant urge to stare at the boy just because he dyed his hair. Waiting for him to look at you or give you any sign of the fact that he’s willing to work on the project, you continue your little staring contest with his side profile– it seems like he’s in the mood to ignore you today, so you gotta bring out the big guns and actually talk to him instead.

“So… how do you want to work on this?” you mumble out, nervously bumping your knee up and down. Human interaction isn’t your favorite thing in the world, mainly because you don’t like things you’re not good at– this includes sports, but mainly volleyball, drawing, knitting and mixing drinks as well– but you’d say with full confidence that making friends and talking to new people is truly the worst thing you could ever imagine.

You notice that your seatmate finally recognised your efforts to spark up a conversation– he rewards you with a shrug of his shoulders as he not only does not look at you, but also decides to lay on the desk instead, closing his eyes as if this was the perfect time for him to catch up on his lost sleep. “Dunno,” he says, “we have plenty of time, let’s not do this right now.”

Blinking a few times at the male, you are once again struck by lightning that is his weird attitude to things. If this was how he behaved with Yunjin, you can’t blame the girl for breaking up with him– everything about the smug look on his face and the fact that he chose to take your favorite seat in the classroom makes your blood boil with annoyance.

“W-what?” you stutter out, still not quite believing your ears.

The man doesn’t reply to you– it’s too much effort, it seems– only making you angrier. Why did he even choose you as his partner if he didn’t want to work on the project in the first place? You’re no stranger to procrastination and leaving work for last minute, and you’re also not really a fan of the feeling of stress creeping up your back whenever you give in to the inevitable action of procrastinating; so if it comes to a project that is quite literally 70% of your grade, you would rather not do everything the week before.

Seeing that you’re getting ignored again, you put on your brave face as you fold your hands on your chest, determined to do something about the issue at hand. “Can’t you just put in some effort, man? I’d rather not do this last minute. I know that you probably don’t give a shit, but I do care about my grades, y’know,” you get out, seeing as the man next to you finally straightens his back and looks at you sharply– as if he has any right to point you with the killing look in this dark eyes– before he squints in mock agony.

“Do you really have to be such a fucking perfectionist?” he snaps at you, taking you by surprise.

This is not how you imagined Huang Renjun to be. Looking at him over the course of the years, more often than not, you always saw the boy with a welcoming smile on his face. Whenever he was around Yunjin, he was all sweet words and gentle touches, erupting laughter whenever he was around his friends. When you were a freshman, somewhere in the back of your brain, you even envied the circle of friends he had around him, daydreaming about fitting in with them when you were lonely at lunch break. That was before you met Jimin at volleyball practice– the extracurricular you lasted in only for a week with the intention of making some friends (at least it worked) – and moved in with her in your second semester when both of your roommates decided to drop out. The girl provided you with undeniable love and care, and while you no longer desired to fit into a circle like Huang Renjun’s, talking to him now makes you feel like a child with crushed dreams.

“I’m sorry?” is all you get out as you stare at him with shock. If you were in a better mood, you would’ve searched through your brain to find a snarky remark to bite back at the boy. It’s too early in the morning and you weren’t prepared for his attitude, though, so you only opt to stare at him as he sighs in what you presume is annoyance– or defeat– as he scatters through his backpack and takes you a notebook, opening it to the first page and clicking his pen he found somewhere in the depths of his bag so he can write with it.

Too taken aback from his sudden change of mind, you wait for him to initiate any other action. You really don’t feel like getting screamed at again, so you chose to play it safe as you watch the man scribble the words Final project at the very top of the paper, underlining it two times and circling it five, the weird ritual making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“25 pages. We split half and half, so you can come up with whatever you want. We can do the design together and I really couldn’t give less shit about who works on the cover, so if you really want to do it, you can. Good?” he says, not once looking at you as he writes the words down on the paper.

“Amazing,” you bite back with irony, shuffling your chair closer to the table so you can take a look at his notes, “the magazine has to have a coherent theme, though, doesn’t it? If we work on the pages by ourselves and just do whatever, as you said, it’s gonna be shit.”

You chose to accommodate yourself to the pattern of his speech– a habit you always do with new people, but in this situation, what feels the most safe. Seeing the man sigh again, twirling the ballpoint pen in between his fingers, he shrugs at your point and offers you a half-assed solution.

“We can figure that out later.”

Biting back a chuckle at his comment, it’s now your turn to sigh. Why was he being so difficult? Is it really that hard to make an effort on something important, especially when he was the one who said he wanted to work with you in the first place? Shaking your head in disbelief at his actions, you lean back in your chair and take out your own notebook, set on the decision of brainstorming as much as you can, hopefully coming out with some solid ideas you could incorporate in the magazine.

You have no idea what direction Renjun would go with. You don’t know anything about his interests or hobbies, and you surely don’t know what would inspire him or what he would want to write about. And with his new change of persona, you find him even more unreadable than he’s been in the past– and you can’t say you like the way he treats you right now. It seems like his sudden metamorphosis managed to change his brain synapses as well, because this is not the idea of Huang Renjun that you knew until now.

Chewing on the end of your pencil, you take a glimpse of your seatmate. He is messily scribbling something down onto his paper, seemingly realizing that the sooner you start working on this, the better, and with how full his paper seems to be, you wonder if this project won’t be that hard to complete after all.

“We’re doing the cover together,” you mumble out, seeing as the boy tears his eyes off his paper, glaring at you instead.

Almost expecting him to snap at you again, awaiting his suggestion that you will be the one doing all the work, you’re left with an answer that satisfies you with yet another surprise. “If you really insist…”

“Are you really sure you want to do this right now?” Jimin asks you as you put on your shoes at the door, slinging your backpack containing not only your laptop and notebooks, but also snacks just in case you get hungry. Looking at her through the hair falling into your face that you efficiently get out of the way with a poof of breath coming out of your mouth, you chuckle at her distress. The girl’s been watching you get ready for the last 15 minutes, with her robe on and bowl of guacamole in her right palm, eating up on the tortilla chips every once in a while as she squints at you with disbelief.

“Yeah, why not?” you shrug. “If he’s initiating this, I don’t see a problem. Besides, I think that if I don’t take every chance I get, I’ll end up working on the project alone, and I really don’t like that idea.”

Humming in agreement for the first time since you told your roommate that Renjun texted you if you wanted to work on the project today, Jimin motions to the phone sitting at the entryway table next to the front door. “Well, just make sure to text me if anything goes wrong and I’ll come pick you up,” she suggests, making you giggle at her noticeable worry.

“Okay, mum,” you shake your head in disbelief, finally slugging the backpack over your shoulder and walking out of the door of your apartment.

The truth is, you can’t really blame Jimin for her over-protective behavior. Ever since you retold her everything that happened that one time in Journalism class, she’s been wary of Huang Renjun. You would agree with all of her arguments of how much of a dick he is when acting like that, but you also don’t really think you have to put more energy into hating him at this moment, since it won’t really help you with your assignment and you don’t have any other choice. You are stuck with a grumpy project partner and that’s how the rest of your semester will go– you just have to learn how to live with his annoying remarks and snarky comments at whatever you say. Who knows, he may be in his ‘hating all women’ era, considering the breakup and all…

You can’t say you weren’t surprised when he added you on Instagram and messaged you about the project this afternoon, though. Considering that you were always the one initiating the talks about the final assignment over the course of the last few weeks, you weren’t expecting him to finally be the one reaching out. You would be stupid to not take him up on the offer, since you don’t know if it will happen ever again– who knows, he might have accidentally smashed his head into something and get a sudden revelation that is only a one time type of situation– and that’s exactly why you responded to him almost immediately (to which you admittedly, got a bit of an ick from yourself) and agreed to meet him at 6 in his apartment.

You were pleasantly surprised to learn that his place was only a 15 minute walk away from yours when he texted you the address, and after a few more minutes of scrolling through his Instagram that was private– and therefore hidden away from your eyes until now– you set yourself on the difficult journey.

Upon arriving at the apartment building, ringing the door bell and texting him to let you in just in case, so he knows it’s you, you start to feel a bit nervous, though. The truth is, you don’t really know what you’re getting yourself into as you walk into the elevator and press the button that takes you to the fourth floor– as he texted you the moment the door to the complex opened– and you think it’s safe to imagine you could be running out of that apartment at any given moment. Maybe Jimin was right and you should’ve taken at least some self-defense tools with you. You never know these days.

Once the elevator door opens and you step outside of the small space, you get prepared to take out your phone again to text him and ask which door leads to his apartment– the right or left– when you’re surprised with the sight of Huang Renjun already waiting for you in the doorway, loose sweatpants, messy hair and all, expecting your arrival.

Clearing your throat, you tightly smile at the male. “Hello.”

“Hi,” is all he responds as he moves away from the door and disappears into the apartment, seemingly thinking you're going to follow him and get inside, no questions asked. You expected at least an invitation to his premises, even a wave of his hand would be nice, you think, but you guess you can’t really have expectations that high when it comes to men– especially if the man in question is the insufferable Huang Renjun.

Taking your shoes off at the entrance– because even though your host doesn’t have good manners, you still do– the figure of Huang Renjun suddenly appears in the doorway of one of the rooms, watching you put the sneakers into a corner that seems to be designated for footwear. Looking up at him with expecting eyes, he finally breaks the awkward silence as he takes a step inside one of the rooms, calling you to go after him.

“We can work here, I guess,” he mumbles, leading you into what you presume is a living room connected to a kitchen– the place is not that big, but you are a broke university student too, so you don’t have it in you to judge. The place is surprisingly clean and adorned with multiple plants all around the corners of the room and windowsills, the only thing out of place being some dishes at the kitchen counter, waiting to be either used or put away, since they look washed. There’s a sofa in the shape of an L in the middle of it all, a TV sitting right opposite of it on a small TV stand, and when you notice an opened laptop on the coffee table, you presume that this is your work station for the day. You half expected him to invite you to his bedroom, but you guess that you can’t really complain– this feels much less awkward anyway.

Nodding at his words, you move to the sofa and rest your backpack against the foot of it. Taking out your laptop as well, you sit crossed-legged at the soft cushions as you watch Renjun walk over to the kitchen side of the room, opening up a cupboard and taking out two glasses, bringing them to the crowded coffee table alongside with a bottle of soda. You think this is his way of welcoming you in as your guest, but you don’t have it in yourself to thank him– he’s the one being silent all the time anyway. You won’t put effort unless he does.

The boy silently takes a seat opposite of you, but chooses the carpeted floor instead of the sofa– a sight that almost makes you chuckle in amusement when he struggles to fold his legs in the small space– sighing and bringing the laptop closer to himself, rubbing a palm across his face in presumed tiredness.

“Did you work on the ideas for the articles?” you ask, voice low, as if you were afraid to speak first, now that you’re in his space. “If they’re too different from mine, we can make like… sections… in the magazine… or something like that. But I think it would be easier if they correlated, you know.”

Renjun hums, not giving you many words this time either. He’s always difficult to work with, but today, it irritates you twice as much– maybe because you’ve gone out of your way to meet him at his apartment, when it was all his idea to work on the project today in the first place. Sighing in disappointment, the boy takes it as a hint that you expect more of him than tired hums and silent nods, and so he opens his mouth to speak, soft voice echoing through the silent apartment.

“I did,” he says, “don’t really know what you’re going for, but I have a short list.”

Satisfied with his answer, you nod. “Can I see it?”

Shrugging, he looks around for a while, eyes searching through the place as he finally finds the paper peeking out from the bottom of the coffee table– so much for the seemingly clean space– and offers the A4 format to you, scribbles in blue ink almost unreadable as you squint onto them, bringing them closer to your face. Once your eyes finally get adjusted to his handwriting, you manage to decipher a few of the words he’s written down; some of his ideas are neatly described, yet, some of them are just a simple word that barely gives you any idea of what he truly meant to say.

The difference between more thought-out ideas like ‘Karaoke songs (history, questionnaire of favorites across the campus…)’, ‘The importance of art in education’, ‘How to really use wikipedia’ and simple words like ‘campus’, ‘festivals’ and ‘soccer(?)’ almost makes you laugh out loud, but you note that the boy actually took the time of his day to work on the project like he promised you he would the last time you spoke about it in class, so you can’t really say anything mean to him, for you truly think it would hurt his pride. Nodding as you finish reading over the list, you offer the paper back to him, noticing him watching you with eyes full of undeniable expectancy.

“Satisfied?” he asks, irony seeping through his voice.

Rolling your eyes at him– because of course he has to be annoying about everything– you choose to not play by his rules, opting to nod instead and let the tiniest bit of irritation show only through your ironic smile as you reply to him. “Very, actually.”

Seeing as he’s satisfied with himself, you choose to continue to lead this meeting with the same energy as to this moment. You think it’s the safest choice, and it’s also what he seems to be comfortable with, so you don’t beat around the bush and speak up again. “I think it won’t be that hard to combine our lists, since our ideas aren’t that different,” you note, cringing at the suggestion that you and the man in front of you actually kind of think alike, “but I think it would be nice if we chose a few topics and wrote about them together. I bet the professor would like to see some articles written by the both of us, so it shows that we actually worked on it together, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” he mumbles under his breath, taking you off guard. See, maybe you got ahead of yourself when you thought that this afternoon might go by smoothly– you forgot for a moment that Huang Renjun enjoys the idea of being a total ass to the people around him (or you, at least) these days. Huffing at his response, you furrow your brows in disbelief.

“Why not?”

“Just… don’t wanna,” he answers shortly, shrugging in nonchalance.

The sight of him in front of you, not even sharing eye contact as he points his gaze towards his laptop, makes your blood boil. What does he even think of himself? You were starting to think that Jimin was right– you should’ve rethought this interaction over and spared yourself the trouble, because this was surely not going anywhere.

“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you were clearly the one that told me we were project partners, so I don’t know why you’re being so difficult about this-” you huff, but are instantly cut off by your partner.

“I’m being difficult?”

“Yes,” you jump in, “yes you are! And I don’t get why you even invited me over to work on this, when you clearly don’t have the slightest intention to do so in the first place!” you complete, almost ready to stand up from your place on the light-brown sofa and storm out of his apartment.

He chuckles at your outburst, rolling his eyes. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not in the mood to work on a stupid project after arguing the whole day on the phone with my cheating ex-girlfriend,” he mutters.

The moment those words come out of his mouth, it seems like the already silent apartment gets even quieter. Staring at him in dumbfoundance, the spark that ignited the anger in you suddenly dies out as you ponder on your next actions. Because what does one do when your project partner suddenly overshares possibly one of the most traumatic and heartbreaking facts about himself so casually, in between snarky comments and a petty argument? Sure, you do feel sorry for him now– because no matter how shitty a person acts to you, nobody deserves to get cheated on– and you suddenly wonder if the whole change of atmosphere in his character isn’t the direct result of this very fact.

You can’t tell him that you’re sorry– because frankly, you know that Huang Renjun doesn’t want your pity. He doesn’t want to hear that you feel sorry for him and what happened, because you’re not friends and you’re not close enough for you to express such feelings towards him. A question arises in the very same essence, though, making you wonder why he even chose to share this information with you in the heat of the moment in the first place, and even though you could excuse his lack of motivation to work on the project by this fact, it still doesn’t change the reality that he was the one initiating the whole thing, and suddenly, you feel confused.

He invited you over to work on a project, even though his mood was shitty and he didn’t have the motivation to do so. One would find that ridiculous, but if you really look past the sharp eyes and the bleached mess on his head, you could see the true intention behind his actions– the poor boy just wanted a distraction. And with how empty his apartment seems to be right now– his roommate, Donghyuck (a person that Jimin shares a Finance class with, as you learned this very afternoon) is nowhere to be seen– you only bet you were the last option he had instead of wallowing himself in pity and terror.

Jimin would argue that you’re stupid for your next actions– you would even agree, because this truly doesn’t feel like you– but still, despite going against yourself in a way, you close the laptop sitting in your lap and reach over to the soda he placed in the middle of the coffee table, pouring yourself a glass. You don’t leave his apartment like you fantasized of doing just a few minutes ago; instead, after downing the sickeningly sweet liquid, the bubbles hurting your throat, you rest your back against the sofa and watch the boy in a new light.

“Okay, let’s not work on the assignment, then,” you calmly say, “wanna watch something on Netflix instead?” you ask, seeing him staring at you with confusion in his expression.

“I don’t-”

“It’s okay if you don’t have it, I can log in with my roommate’s account. She’s probably watching Single’s Inferno right now, but I’ll text her to find something better to do instead,” you don’t let him finish his sentence– because you already know that he’d try to protest to your suggestion– shrugging in nonchalance as you reach over to the TV remote you find sandwiched between the sofa cushions.

Turning the TV on, not even sparing a glance to the grumpy-looking boy sitting on the floor opposite of you, the shuffling of clothes and socked-feet on the ground lands into your ears, a figure taking the remote out of your hand when you can’t figure out how the TV works, a low mumble full of fake offendance masking the shameful, yet clear gratitude in his voice.

You don’t miss it as you look over at him with a tight-lipped smile, though, seeing the Netflix app suddenly come up on the TV, his shoulders relaxing as he settles into the cushions of the sickeningly colored sofa.

“Of course I have Netflix, what do you think I am, poor?” he grunts.

…and the old Renjun is back.

Arriving at class the next week, you’re finally met with less nervousness than the last few times. After interacting with Huang Renjun more and seeing him break his stone-cold demeanor in front of you as you two watched Netflix– he even made popcorn after the second episode of Unsolved mysteries you decided to watch when you saw the show in his ‘continue watching’ list and gushed about how it’s your favorite (to which he told you that you’re weird, but he’s the one binge watching it too, so you really don’t know why you’re the problem and he's not). Thankfully he doesn’t seem as smug and insufferable as he did before. It’s not like you’re suddenly best friends or anything, but you can feel the ice between you melting with every word he sends your way that isn’t laced with irony– not that there's many of them, since Huang Renjun loves his sarcasm– but it’s progress in your book.

Walking over to your usual seat in the classroom, making your backpack fall to the ground next to your desk with a soft thud, you sit at the chair and take out your things for the class when you notice something standing in the way of your notebook and pencil case in the middle of the table.

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you move the cup of coffee out of your way, closer to your seatmate’s side. Sighing, you mumble under your breath. “Don’t you have enough space for your things on your side of the table?”

“That’s yours,” he deadpans. Gaze switching between the cup of iced americano from the coffee shop at the corner of the campus (you know it by the plastic cup with their logo on it– it's too tacky for your liking and you even gushed about it to Jimin the day the café opened) and the blonde boy next to you, confusion doesn’t seem to leave your insides as you let out an unfocused hum, showing him that you’re still not following.

“Do you not like coffee or something?” he hisses, seemingly annoyed at your expression. If you saw yourself in the mirror, maybe you’d understand his frustration– your brows are furrowed and there's a crease in the middle of your forehead from how hard you're racking your brain to come up with answers– but now, you’re just in utter disbelief. Maybe you are a little slow– it’s only 8 in the morning, to your defense– but you really don’t remember bringing coffee to school today. Especially not an iced americano– you don’t like the bitter taste, opting to choose a sweeter drink like a caramel macchiato or the infamous pink drink that Jimin teased you for the last time you got it. So how did this strange cup of coffee end up on your table?

Looking around the space, noticing another half-empty cup of coffee on Renjun’s side of the table, the label on the plastic the same as the cup that was waiting on your side, you finally connect the dots. “Did you get that for me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, not even looking at you as he agrees, taking another sip of his coffee instead.

Now, you do finally know where the strange cup of coffee came from. Why did Renjun buy you coffee in the first place, though, is still a mystery to you, but you guess with how he’s avoiding your gaze, eyes glued to the white board and an uninterested expression sitting on his face, you think it’s better to not ask him any other follow-up questions. He did something nice for you, and with how your thoughts and rationalization are the only clues you can use in figuring out the reason behind it, you wonder if this was his way of apologizing for being rude to you and thanking you for hanging out with him last week.

“Thanks,” you mumble out instead, smiling at his humming figure that barely acknowledges your spoken gratitude. Taking a sip of the drink, while trying really, really hard not to scowl at the bitter taste, you shift your focus on the class instead, taking notes from time to time. Drinking the coffee as if it was a disgustingly tasting medicine your mother forced you to take when you were little– you hated the taste, but had to get through it anyway– you eventually finish your iced americano somewhere in the middle of the lecture. You feel kind of proud of your acting skills, but there’s also an annoying voice somewhere in the back of your head asking you why you even forced yourself to get through that drink anyway and why is it that you didn’t want to hurt Renjun’s feelings by refusing it in the first place.

But like anyone in your position would, you shush that voice out of your head.

“Did you finish watching the whole season last week?” you ask instead, suddenly interested in having a conversation with him. After you told Jimin about how your weird hang-out with Renjun went, she practically scolded you for not going home right after he let out the first snarky comment out of his mouth. And maybe she’s right and the whole thing you’re trying to do– but what are you even trying to do in the first place? – makes you seem like you’re out of your mind, but at the end of the day, you did finally progress in watching the TV show after putting it on hold for multiple months because your dear roommate wouldn’t stop begging you to watch all of the seasons of Too hot to handle with you instead, so it’s a win in your book.

“I didn’t,” he replies, his voice quiet enough only for you to hear, not interrupting the rest of the class, “Hyuck, my roommate, didn’t come home until like 11pm and I got too creeped out to watch it alone after you left,” he completes, his face completely serious as he utters out the laughable words.

Chuckling at his response, you see him crack a smile from the corner of your eye. The sight is a rather pleasant one, for you think you've forgotten how it looks in what seems like ages since the obvious breakup with his girlfriend happened, the reminder of his squinted eyes and full cheeks making you feel accomplished, in a way. “Didn’t think you were the type to get scared so easily,” you tease him.

“Not scared,” he huffs out, offended, “just creeped out. That’s different.”

“Did you wait for your roommate because you were too scared to go to sleep?” you test the waters with more teasing, your tone light and playful.

“No, I waited for him because the last time he got home late and I was asleep, he came home drunk and broke down the door to his room and we had to get it replaced,” he announces, making you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand as you almost burst out into a loud giggle.

“You know what? Yeah. Valid.”

Your conversation falls silent after that, and it makes your spirit fall for a split second. You don’t even know why you wanted it to continue– you don’t know your seatmate, and frankly, you shouldn’t have the desire to do so in the first place. But the sudden act of service thrown your way, although the coffee was disgusting and he could’ve presented the gift to you in a different, more welcoming way, made you get your hopes up– about what exactly, though?

Jimin always told you that desperately wanting to be everyone’s friend (despite being socially awkward and kind of nervous around new people), is one of your best and worst qualities at the same time. Best, because it means that you’re nice to people– worst, because you’re nice even to people that don’t deserve your kindness; and you also get too disappointed when people don’t share the same enthusiasm with you. Maybe some friendships are meant to keep at surface level, and if this was the type of relationship you and your project partner are about to have, you’re going to have to let go of that annoying voice in your head that keeps telling you to get deeper than that level.

“Why did you dye your hair, by the way?” you ask him nonetheless, after a few heartbeats of silence, curiosity getting the best of you. The moment this question leaves your mouth, you regret it– thinking you somehow could’ve made the boy uncomfortable, your words annoying to his ears– but instead of rolling his eyes at you or telling you to shut up, he replies instead. The reaction surprises you– he really conditioned you to think that every question of yours is going to be met with spite and tantrum, didn't he?

“Dunno,” he says, shrugging, “they say blondes have more fun, so I think it’s only natural to go blonde when you’re sad. To cancel it out, or something,” he snickers as he looks at you, realizing the implication of his words makes the whole statement kind of embarrassing, his tight-lipped smile being the proof of his internal battle not to cringe at his explanation.

You understand, humming in acknowledgment. You’re just a simple woman, after all– you very well understand the urge to change your hair after a breakup. While it is a visible proof of his mental breakdown, you guess you can’t really blame him for trying to feel like there are things that are under his control; even if it’s just the color of his hair.

Walking along Renjun, the atmosphere is thick and a little awkward. Your bag is heavy on your back and you’re slowly starting to feel a bit of an ugly sting in your bones from it; you mourn the fact that you decided to ask Renjun to walk there with you instead of having to take the bus by yourself, too afraid of getting the address wrong and getting lost along the way. You’d love any kind of transport instead of your own two legs right now, since the walk seems to be never ending and you’re pretty certain that the backs of your feet have calluses from wearing your new shoes that you got from a clearance sale from the Nike store at the corner of the town.

Clearing your throat, you decide to spark up a conversation. It seems like you always have to be the one to initiate things when it comes to Renjun– it’s kind of ironic, though, when you think of the fact that he was the one that made you be his project partner in the first place.“Why did you wanna do the article about the shelter? I didn’t know you were an animal person,” you hum, testing the waters with a casual question.

Looking up at you, furrowing his brows, the man offers you an indifferent shrug. “My friend Taeyong works there and he wanted to advertise the shelter a little, so I offered to take pictures for his Facebook page in exchange for me writing the article about it,” he mumbles, “he thinks that would give the shelter more exposure too, but I doubt it. Nobody’s gonna read our fake magazine anyway, it’s just an assignment…”

Humming, you kick the rocks on the pavement, a tight-lipped smile appearing on your face. Huang Renjun must do a lot for his friends, you think. You remember him taking pictures for his friend Xiaoting once– she’s an influencer (a model, if you want) and well known around the campus. When you saw his instagram username in one of the picture descriptions one day, you were surprised at the quality of those shoots (and it also led you to stalking his instagram for a bit, but that’s not the main point of this conversation). You also remember seeing him with his friends Shotaro and Yangyang in a team when it was your school’s annual Sports day (you’d argue that you’re not high schoolers anymore and this day is useless, but your classmates seem to think otherwise) trying his best, despite not really liking sports in the first place– or so you heard and seen from how badly he did in most disciplines except from running– and if that’s not a sign of him doing everything he could just to make his friends happy, you don’t know what is. So to see him doing an article about the animal shelter Taeyong works at, despite being more of a plant person himself, you’re not as surprised as you thought you’d be. He does show affection to his friends, after all– you’re just not one of them to see that side of him often.

Walking some more, you eventually end up in front of a big building painted a light tangerine color, windows decorated with pretty curtains on full display to you. Renjun chimes in like a regular, crossing multiple halls and taking sharp turns before you’re met with the image of a taller man with dark brown hair putting small, pastel colored collars on necks of a few little creatures running around the room, despair clearly written on his face.

“No! Don’t run away, oh god-”

Chuckling at the view of yet another kitten running away from his hands, you admire the fluffy little cats crawling all around the place, your heart quickly softening at the sight of them. It’s been a while since you were around animals yourself– the dog you had back home died the summer before the semester started and you weren’t really in the mood to get a new one, since you weren’t going to be around much anyway.

When yet another kitten escapes the man’s hold, you find yourself watching Renjun as he crouches to the floor and swiftly takes one into his hands, walking closer to the man with collars in his hands, grinning to himself. “Here you go.”

“Man, the cats hate me… where did you two get here?” he shakes his head in disbelief, putting a collar onto the small cat before he pets it on its tiny head.

“Just a minute ago,” Renjun says, “is that one Poppy?” he asks, reading the name tag dangling from the little band around its head, affection filling his words.

“Now it is. I got confused when they all started running around,” he shrugs, sighing as he looks around the room, counting the last few kittens that needed their collars. His eyes soon land on you, a welcoming smile spreading on his boxy lips. “Hey! I’m Taeyong. You must be Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile, trying to make yourself seem as nice as possible. You don’t know what Renjun told him about you, but if they were bad things, you only hope to undeceive the man with your warm attitude.

Renjun then puts the kitten down, and while you’d expect it to run away from him and join its siblings in the corner of the room, the creature does quite the opposite– it stays by his side and lays on the ground close to him, making even Taeyong himself gasp at the image. “Wow,” he snickers, “you should start coming here every time I need to put these on them, you’re like a cat whisperer.”

While the two of them chat, you stay a little behind, not really wanting to intrude. You take off the heavy bag and take out your camera, deciding to take a few pictures of the shelter instead, so you can say you worked on the interview with him. You think it’s expected of you, since he asked you to come along despite being absolutely fully capable of doing the interview with his friend alone, so you do your work and zoom in on the two of them talking, snapping a few quick pictures.

After a while, you take a seat on the ground– being the infamous enjoyer of sitting on the hard surface of it, earning yourself a lot of scolding screams from your mother growing up– and fully take in the interior. The walls are the same light tangerine color as the outside ones, and there’s a little enclosure in the corner of the room that would surely make Taeyong’s job much easier if only he had used it. There are bags of cat food in the other corner of the room, and while the shelter doesn’t look very modern or fancy, you think it’s kinda homey and welcoming. You bet kids would love it here– with the colorful atmosphere and the smiley worker running around catching kittens, and after a while of taking pictures of everything your eyes land on, you find your inner child healing, little by little.

The truth is, you always wanted a cat. But you were never able to get one, because your mother hates them. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how many times you petted strays on the street and begged her to take them home, you never won this battle– so you had to settle on a dog. And don’t get me wrong, you loved your dog, but at the end of the day, you knew you were more of a cat person anyway.

Reaching forward a little, noticing the kitten waddling your way, you think of petting it– it quickly jumps out of your reach, though, too scared of your touch, and you’re left frowning, the bubble bursts at the rejection from the small ball of fluffiness.

“Taeyong?” you hear a voice of a woman call from the door, the man swiftly turning to her with brows raised in question. “They need your help with the big dogs. They keep dragging Yeri on the leash and she’s too weak to get them to their cages.”

“Oh,” the man deadpans, scratching his neck for a bit before he turns to Renjun again, escaping the room in one swift motion, “I’ll be right back!”

The room falls silent after that, no longer having the background noise of their conversation playing as you observe the animals. You feel the atmosphere growing thicker again, and as time passes by, you find yourself taking short glances at your project partner, wondering what’s on his mind. One moment, he’s crouching down and petting the cats that come his way, the other, he is gazing out of the window with a soft frown that takes over his features like a dark shadow, and you wonder when this expression really settled into his face and made itself the default, and why is it not willing to leave. Not really knowing what to say or what to do to make the boy that’s still so out of your reach feel any better, you opt for silence, even though it does get quite heavy and thick over time– and the truth is, you don’t even know why you notice yourself feeling this way so often around him, when all he’s done was give you the cold shoulder so often and then offer you an iced americano you don’t even like in the first place.

Minutes pass and the silence slowly makes your ears ring; you desperately try to find a good solution in your brain– create a script where hanging out with Renjun is easier and less nerve-wrecking– but still, there’s nothing and you’re left with the awkwardness and hesitance. Sighing when another kitten escapes your grasp, you put your hands into your lap and give up on the task, settling on just watching them instead– there was no use in you trying to pet one when all it wanted to do was run away from you.

Watching the group of fluff jumping at each other and sleeping all around the room, your focus only shifts when there’s a kitten suddenly thrusted into your point of view, its big blue eyes staring you down making you awe. You wonder how it got there in a moment of full stupidity before you look up and see your project partner, the cat magnet himself, holding the cat up to you, waiting for you to take it into your hold and pet it. Gazing at him with mouth agape in confusion, he slowly puts the cat into your lap, petting the creature when it settles, and takes a seat opposite of you all in the span of a few seconds, the action making you smile uncontrollably.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” he mumbles, watching as you pet the kitten in your lap, cooing at the soft fur. There’s a hint of you that desperately wants to adopt it once you finally pet the small cat, but you know that it wouldn’t be a smart idea– animals are banned at dorms and you don’t think you’d have enough energy to take care of another living creature right now anyways.

“They are,” you hum, “I always wanted one.”

“Why didn’t you get one, then?”

“My mum doesn’t like them very much,” you mumble, pouting at the small creature in your hold, as if to apologize for the words coming out of your mouth.

He hums in acknowledgement, picking up another kitten that waddles his way, putting it up on his thigh– his body now sitting cross-legged on the floor. Watching as the animal crawls up his body and tickles him with its claws, soft laughter erupts out of him, making you smile unconsciously at the boy.

“I’m not really into animals that much,” he says, further proving your earlier claims. See– in some ways, Renjun is easy to read. Just by looking at him, you could tell he’s not a fan of sweet beverages; you can tell he enjoys black coffee– just like the one he brought you that day– and herbal teas, perfectly matching the image of him in your head that’s surrounded by plants rather than animals, just the bit of greenery you saw around the kitchen very clearly still alive and thriving making you believe you are correct in this assumption as well. One can say a lot about a person by the way they dress, and with Renjun’s casual, yet cozy attire, you can tell he dresses for himself, choosing comfort over style, but still looking effortlessly put together at the same time. You would never strike him as someone that makes spontaneous decisions, rather being more focused on a plan, so to see him dye his hair so randomly is a sign of the fact that there’s something crumbling inside of him– a sense of security, maybe a feeling of stableness– that he tries so hard to grasp.

“They are into you, though,” you giggle when the kitten purrs at his touch, pointing at the cross-eyed creature.

“What can I say,” he shrugs, “I guess I’m that irresistible.”

There aren’t many opportunities for you to laugh at his jokes. Mainly because he doesn’t make many, but also because you always notice them being self-deprecating, and you don’t want to support that idea in his head. At this one, though, you send him a soft chuckle and a roll your eyes, showing how you seemingly think the idea is ridiculous and his joke is corny, but deep inside knowing that you resonate with his words.

In a moment of selfishness– an indulgence you try to mask by the fact that you came here because of the assignment and this was your job in the first place– you take your camera and snap a picture of the boy in front of you, his hands holding the small kitten up in air and snickering when he sees you pointing the lens to him in order to capture him playing with the creature. You don’t know what it is that makes your heart warm up at the image that comes up on the screen shortly after, but you figure that’s a problem of future you and there’s no use in pondering about it now.

You don’t know how many minutes pass with just the two of you playing with the kittens, but when Renjun takes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time, you furrow your brows before he hums. “He’s taking so much time,” he says, sighing.

All while playing with the fuzzy small balls, you didn’t even notice the time passing by so quickly. You don’t know how much time it’s been, but you assume it could be more than 35 minutes of the two of you left alone in the room, Taeyong seemingly too overwhelmed with the shelter responsibilities.

“Maybe we should go,” he offers, catching you off guard.

“Oh,” you hum, “well, maybe. But you haven’t even done an interview with him yet,” you mumble, your hands lost in the soft fur of the kitten still laying in your lap.

“I can just send him the questions to his email. Perhaps, I’m sure you’ve taken more than enough pictures of the kittens for his Facebook page,” he snickers, shrugging, “I don’t see why we should be staying here if he’s busy, we’re only putting more work on him.”

“I- I mean…” you mumble, trailing off at the end. You don’t really wanna say goodbye to the kittens, the healing in your heart not quite done yet, when the boy next to you laughs at what you presume is your emotions showing clearly on your face.

“Unless you wanna play with them more, of course. We can stay a little longer, then.”

The autumn season slowly fades into winter, time passing by quicker than you could even grasp. The shock and surprise of having to work on the lengthy project with Renjun morphs into a feeling of ordinarity, getting used to his mood slowly shifting from reserved and irritated to a one more pleasant, full of hesitant smiles and soft words when he notices you feeling down or disappointed with yourself, and a one more close to a brother-like teasing when he watches you arrive to his apartment to work on things. One would say you hit it off, your energies matching as you slowly get to know the boy, but still, there’s a hint of something inside of you that makes you grow nervous around him whenever he is too close to your figure, your body falling limp and your brain working on overdrive. You wonder if it’s the sheer fact of simply not being fully used to his presence; while Jimin says you’re down bad for the man. She’s wrong– or at least you’re convinced that she is– and that’s why you simply think the uncertain feeling of uneasiness that settles in your bones sometimes is the effect of the fact that you never truly know what to expect when you arrive at Renjun’s place.

Some days, when you arrive, there’s a mess waiting for you in the living room, where you usually work on the project with Renjun. There are pots and pans with dried food everywhere and your partner’s hands are foaming with washing liquid when he opens the door for you, and you giggle at the sight. Other days, the apartment is full of people you don’t know and Renjun has to throw them out with a scream saying that the group was supposed to leave two hours ago, and when you come on weekends, he lets you in wearing sweatpants and bed hair, as if he spent the whole day in his sheets. Dare you say, this is your favorite version of him– his eyes are half-lidded and he moves slowly, even his remarks aren’t as harsh as they tend to get. Jimin once argued and told you that you two don’t even need to meet that often for the sake of the project– and on a weekend as well– but you’d say it adds to the value of the magazine if you two can get opinions out of each other and review each other’s writing in real time.

Some days, his roommate is home, and that’s when you join Renjun in his room so you two get a bit of privacy (not that you’re doing anything that requires privacy. His roommate Donghyuck is just very nosy and he keeps asking you questions you don’t have the time and energy to answer).

Today is one of these days, with his energetic roommate roaming the halls of the apartment, but this time, you two don’t hide away in the comfort of Renjun’s small, yet very organized room. Sitting in the living room of his and Hyuck’s shared apartment, your bottom meeting the carpeted floor instead of the cushions of their couch, your laptop screen darkening when you don’t work on the device for some time and it puts itself to sleep mode. The reason for said action is your attention being somewhere completely else– on Donghyuck’s figure trailing in and out of the room, each time wearing a different outfit than before.

“What about this one, Y/N? Do I look good?” he asks, posing like a model that didn’t pass an audition in any modeling agency, their dream of flashing a smile on the title pages of Vogue fading out of their sight.

You burst out laughing at the weird combination. You don’t remember Donghyuck ever being bad at fashion from the few times you've met him before he left their apartment to attend a party or go to class– you’re quite certain that his habit to always tuck in his shirts into his skinny jeans, the stylistic choice showcasing his long legs making not one, but many girls, boys and others salivate over him. But when seeing him in a tragic combination of cowboy boots and a cow-print shirt, you can’t help but giggle.

“Hyuck, now you’re just taking the shit. That’s your Halloween costume from last year,” the boy next to you on the ground whines, running his hands through his hair in despair.

“Okay, but what if I really want to wear it?” he asks all innocent, his roommate now faking a cry in response, “besides, I was asking Y/N, so you shut your mouth.”

“I think it’s great,” you nod, wiping the corner of your eyes from the stray tears that fall off from the laughter you’ve been doing at the interaction. Your assignment was long forgotten the first moment Donghyuck decided to pay you a visit in the living room, starting with shitting on his professor for making him study on a weekend (which you argued that he could’ve started with earlier in the week, to which he glared at you and asked if he looks like a nerd), and then proceeding to do everything but study– starting with making a smoothie in the living room– while efficiently making so much noise with the mixer every time Renjun spoke up, annoying the short male– to giving you a make-shift fashion show.

“Do you want me to embarrass myself? See, I wore this to test if you were being genuine, but I see now that you’re on Renjun’s side,” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief and escaping the living room, making you burst out laughing even more as you hear the door to his room shut with a loud thud.

He’ll come back soon– you’re sure of it.

And you’re right. After Renjun manages to let out a loud noise of despair at the fact that he has to live with someone like Lee Donghyuck– not only now, he complains about it every other day, when the latter drags him to parties only for him to be the designated driver for the night and get him home safely, or how he makes him pay for dinner he orders for the both of them without asking– the other man joins you in the living room again, now dressed casually in sweatpants and a loose shirt.

“Okay, the fashion show’s over. I think I��ll go with the first outfit, just by the way, because it matches my eyes,” he says, quite seriously, to which Renjun only sighs.

“Hyuck, your eyes are brown.”

“Okay and?”

“That what you wore was– you know what, never mind…” Renjun shakes his head as he stops himself mid-sentence, making you snicker at the mental image of the outfit Donghyuck’s talking about, because frankly, Renjun is right with his frustration. The shirt his roommate wore was blue, and while it didn’t clash in the slightest, it surely didn’t match the brown depth of Donghyuck’s orbs, and that’s what makes the whole thing that much funnier.

Turning your head around to watch Renjun’s roommate moving through the kitchen area, opening up the fridge and pouring himself a glass of milk– you don’t even dare to question him anymore– you ask. “What is the occasion anyway?”

“Jisung’s birthday party,” he mumbles, taking a sip, “you know Park Jisung, right?”

“Never heard of him,” you shake your head, seeing as the man widens his eyes at you with surprise.

“No? Well, you’re gonna get to know him soon, then,” he says, shrugging.

“That sounds like a threat,” you giggle, “what do you even mean?”

To that, Donghyuck shifts his eyes to his roommate sitting next to you on the ground, shrugging. “Well, I assumed you were invited…” he says, grinning to himself.

The man next to you audibly sighs– what is the reason behind his frustration this time, you truly do not know, but with Renjun, there’s always something getting on his nerves. He has a problem with having his anger in control sometimes.

Furrowing your eyebrows at the proposition, you shake your head. “Why would I be invited to Park Jisung’s birthday party?”

“Because it’s quite the event! Park Jisung’s turning into an adult, and to that, he’s throwing a big party, which means friends of friends of friends are invited,” he says, as if it was the most matter-of-fact information you’ve ever heard, “and since you’re a friend of a friend, I’d assume you get a pass.”

Shrugging, you mutter. “Well, I wasn’t invited,” you add, not paying the whole party much thought.

The man squints his eyes at the two of you, eyes drifting from one figure to the other, humming to himself as if he was lost in thought. “Okay, then…” he mysteriously mumbles under his breath before downing the glass and putting it into the sink, completing his visit by exiting the living room.

“Would you come back and wash your dishes after yourself?” Renjun yells into the depths of the apartment, a sneaky remark being thrown his way almost immediately.

“No, thank you!”

And after watching the interaction, you come to the conclusion that if you were living with Lee Donghyuck, you'd turn kind of crazy too. You can’t even blame Renjun anymore. Truth be told, though, you didn’t get much work done that Saturday, and you think his sheer presence might be the reason why.

“What do you think?” you ask, turning your laptop towards Renjun, the two of you currently sitting in the library, working on your project. Originally, you had planned to go to your place– but Jimin texted you last second that she has a guy over, and Renjun said his roommate has a gathering of some sort at his apartment, so you settled on the comfort and silence your university library provides. Not a lot of people are here during this time of the year; the exam season isn’t that close yet and no one’s panicking about last-minute studying, so only a few responsible students are currently scattered across the spacious room on the second floor, working on their essays. You bet they’re humanities students– they always have the most shit to do when it comes to essays. You study Journalism, but your roommate is a Sociology major, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone write as many essays as Jimin in a single semester.

What you’re showing Renjun is an opened Microsoft Publisher document, your shared magazine shining from the blue light of the screen. Renjun sent you his copy of the pages he’s done with the animal shelter interview, and as you were looking at the columns of text and off-centered pictures, the perfectionist in you woke up and forced you to fix the tiny mistakes that didn’t escape your eye.

“It’s different,” he hums, eyebrows furrowing as he examines the two-page spread, resting his head on his hand, plopped up on his elbow, and pushing his rimmed glasses further up his nose bridge. “Did you change anything?”

“I just… played around with it a little,” you mumble, afraid of what he thinks. As far as you know, he could flip out any second and scream at you for doing his work when it was perfectly fine the way he sent it to you– at least the Huang Renjun you met a few weeks ago would certainly do that– and so you don’t think it’s that unexpected of you to be so nervous about his opinion.

“This picture wasn’t here before,” he says, pointing to one of the pictures you neatly slotted into the corner of the page– it was one of your favorites, you must admit with severe embarrassment– with Renjun holding up a baby kitten, looking at it with softened eyes. When you looked at the page spread he sent you the other day, you couldn’t believe he didn’t add that picture. Something about it being your favorite– finding yourself admiring it when you look through the pictures on your camera’s SD card– was enough to make you think it’s surely his favorite as well. It didn’t matter that it didn’t really fit the professional aura the whole spread radiates. For you, the magazine wasn’t complete without including it– think of that what you will.

“It was asymmetrical without it, so I had to add it…” you say, scratching the back of your neck. That’s a partial lie– you could make it work if you moved the pictures around a little bit, but Renjun doesn’t have to know that.

He hums, eyes scanning over the text, shrugging. “It’s nice. As long as you didn’t change the text part, I don’t mind,” he says, relief making your shoulders slouch down, not even noticing how tense you’ve become, “I actually got bored while working on this, so I get that it didn’t really look nice before. Thanks,” he completes, offering you a soft smile as he takes a sip of the black americano sitting on the desk.

“Good,” you nod, shaking off the nervousness from before, “okay.”

Scrolling through the document, moving a few things around, adding better punctuation here and there, the number of pages is still not hitting the criteria for your final grade. That’s okay– you still have a lot of time to complete the magazine and you still have plenty of ideas. To execute them is another thing, but you’re sure you’ll find a way.

“What about your interview?” Renjun suddenly asks, almost making you jump up from the surprise that is created by his voice suddenly cutting through the silence of the library.

“What about it?” you hum, looking at him. His hair is a little tousled– he’s been putting in way less work than you today, laying on the table occasionally when you don’t show him anything on your laptop for a while, acting more as your company than a help. It looks like the coffee on his table is the only thing keeping him awake, and you suddenly feel a little bad for insisting on working on the project even though your initial plans of doing it at your place fell through, because he seems to be exhausted.

“Well, I did the shelter, so you should do something too,” he says, shrugging, “or do something similar, you know… I think it would be nice to have you write about something from a reporter's perspective.”

“Oh,” you nod, “well, I dunno… I had a few ideas, but it’s…”

“Hm?” he motions for you to talk when your voice drifts out, eyes looking at you with patience and genuine interest. The change of demeanor that’s been happening with him lately slightly shocks you, but you welcome the new character in him with open arms. Still, it doesn’t mean you don’t get a little hesitant around him whenever he shows you this side of him– you don’t really know how to react, or what to expect of him anymore. It’s like walking on eggshells, but you can’t say you hate the strange anticipation.

“Well, it’s stupid, but…” you start, seeing him roll his eyes at the beginning of your proposition, “my favorite writer is doing some sort of a fan sign slash q&a thing in the local library next week. She’s coming out with a new book, and I think it would be nice to get an interview with her, but she’s probably very busy and everything, so that won’t work out.”

Looking at Renjun, feeling shy of the sudden revelation of hopes and dreams, you chew on your bottom lip in anticipation. The range of answers he could give you is truly big– he could laugh at you, tell you to go alone, or he could tell you that it’s a stupid idea, a boring one, even, or he could be supportive– the least likely response, you think. Sharing your idea with him makes you a little hesitant again, feeling a little naked in front of him, and you even avert your gaze towards your laptop and aimlessly scroll through the document to avoid his gaze, to seem more nonchalant and not at all bothered by his lack of words, when he gives you a tired hum.

“Well, you could at least do an article about the library, then. To advertise sustainability, and all… And kids these days don’t read much, so I think it’s nice to talk about it,” he says, once again folding over the table and burrowing his face in the space between his folded arms and his chest, half sitting, half laying down on the furniture, “wanna go next week? Maybe we can catch that writer of yours.”

Allowing yourself to look at him, relief once again washing over you at the acceptance, you can’t help but smile at his slurred words of affirmation. “I mean, I’m down…”

Doubting you could get the interview– not even trying to reach out to the writer, already setting yourself up for the expected failure– you make plans to visit the library the said day with Renjun anyway. You’ll get your camera and maybe get some nice shots, maybe ask around for an interview from one of the nice, old librarians instead. It’s not a bad idea, and it fits the vibe of your magazine quite nicely.

Who knows, maybe you could even get your book signed. Doesn’t hurt to try.

You think it was safe to say that you didn’t expect to see a text message pop up on the screen of your phone one afternoon, the black letters shining darkly on the bright screen with a hesitant, yet a little hurried invitation to Park Jisung’s birthday party. The whole interaction you had about it with Renjun and Hyuck was awkward, and so to see getting an invitation for yourself the day of the said event was a shocking concept, leaving you scrambling your things from various places of your apartment and putting them into a handbag before getting dressed for the occasion.

Quickly learning that Lee Donghyuck is a man of his word– meaning that he never lies, especially when it comes to big parties– your mouth hangs open when you arrive to the address Renjun texted you in the afternoon, the big mension-like building full of people you’ve never seen before, leaving you to acknowledge that friends of friends of friends must have been invited to fill up the whole place, since it’s not possible for poor Park Jisung to know everyone at his birthday party. The fact makes you feel less special; the invitation not really making you feel like you were wanted there, the place breaking in its seams making you internalize a thought that you were there just to fill up the blank spaces and Renjun invited you only for the sheer fact of needing a lot of people for his friend’s party. A little disappointed, yet, still kind of amazed at the size of it all, you walk out of Jimin’s car– she offered to drive you there– and hesitantly set your foot to the grass that divides the land from the sidewalk.

Feeling a little lost, turning your head in various directions to try to find anyone you’d know– Huang Renjun being the best alternative, since he was the one who invited you, after all– you start to feel a little out of place when no one pays you any attention and the loud music filling your ears only acts as a distraction that slowly makes you oversaturated with stimulus. Just when you go to take your phone out of your bag to call either Renjun or your roommate to come back to pick you up and drive you to the safety of your apartment, a hand lands on your shoulder and makes you turn around in your tracks, a strange sense of comfort enveloping your insides when you see the short blonde peeking at you from under his carelessly styled bangs, a grin sitting on his face. “You’re here!”

“Yeah. I told you I’d come…?” you mumble, observing Renjun’s sudden enthusiasm at your arrival, letting the man drag you inside of the building.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel all the eyes of the guests on you. While you were a stranger to all of them, you are almost certain the popular Huang Renjun was one of the more known people of the bunch, catching attention of multiple friends of his and also friends of their friends, and suddenly, the feeling of his touch on your wrist as he drags you inside makes your skin burn, your brain almost overheating when you realize this might as well be the first time you’ve had any sort of physical contact with the male. Fixing your gaze on his back, enveloped in an oversized leather jacket, you start to wonder if he’s drunk.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks, finally turning back to you when you arrive in the spacious kitchen. You wonder if this house is rented, or if Park Jisung’s one of the wealthy kids in the town. You truly have no knowledge on the man, and when you hesitantly look around the room, trying to sort out what alcohol they have in store– while mentally thinking of what would make you the least hammered, considering your low alcohol tolerance– you feel Renjun’s eyes glued to you, heat inevitably rising to your cheeks. “What’s that in your hand?” he asks, making you jump out of your haze.

“Oh,” you stutter, “I brought a birthday gift for Jisung,” you mumble, seeing Renjun’s glossy eyes blink at you a few times, his lips suddenly twitching up in amusement. In this moment, you think he truly must be drunk, his fingers reaching towards the gift bag in your left hand as he peeks inside, noticing the handwritten card and a box of chocolates you brought to the boy you’ve never seen before. Your project partner cracks up as he puts the bag away to the corner of the room.

“You’re too sweet for this world,” Renjun giggles as he looks back at you, making you widen your eyes in surprise at the affectionate words falling off his tongue.

“Why?”

“Nobody actually expected you to bring a gift, you know,” he says as he walks through the half-empty kitchen, eyes roaming over the solo cups filled with alcohol, “you don’t even know him. Half the people here don’t know him and I’m pretty sure half of his actual friend group didn’t give him anything.”

“Oh,” you blink, suddenly feeling stupid. “Well, I didn’t want to seem rude…” you sheepishly mumble, scratching the back of your neck in hesitance. Maybe you did go a little overboard– nobody can really blame you, though. You’re not a big party goer, and since it’s someone’s birthday, you only assumed it’s socially expected of you to bring a gift. And it’s Renjun’s friend, on top of that– one would say you wanted to give off a good impression, as his plus-one to the party, whatever that means. If you were considered that, to be exact– with the amount of people here, though, you were starting to feel a little lost in the situation.

“See, you’re too sweet,” he says, shrugging, eyes still fixated on the kitchen counter as he seemingly searches for a specific drink. Arm motioning towards one of the red solo cups, he suddenly turns to you and offers you the contents, smiling. “He loves chocolate, though, so that gift’s gonna be his favorite. Well, if it even gets to him in this whole mess… rum and coke?” he asks, and without much thought, you eagerly take the cup from his hand, nodding.

“Thanks,” you say, tasting the alcohol on your tongue. You don’t tell him that rum and coke is your biggest enemy– not because it tastes bad, quite the opposite, actually. You enjoy the mixture too much for you to control yourself sometimes. You can only pray that you don’t get too loose tonight.

The man’s eyes stay strangely glued to your figure as you sip from the cup, and you almost open your mouth to tease him about it– or ask if there’s something on your face, either or– when there’s a chant coming out of one of the rooms outside, incoherent screams slowly forming into one recognisable word– a name, to be exact– the voices calling Park Jisung, tonight’s birthday boy. Renjun’s eyes widen at that, his body moving fast as he tugs you by your hand again, almost spilling your drink in the process, your figure suddenly standing in a living room seemingly bigger than your whole apartment, the sight in front of you making you laugh.

A tall, lanky boy is thrown up in the air by the arms of multiple men– one of which you recognise to be Hyuck– as the whole room chants Jisung's name, the sight a little comedic in your eyes. Rose tint settles on Park Jisung's face as the whistling only gets louder, a few phones with the flash turned on pointed to his face, the moment captured in time. You wonder what the boy did in his life to get this amount of popularity, but you can only imagine that, as one would say, this could very well be a core memory for him. You only turn adult once in your life, and for some reason, the thought of Park Jisung doing so surrounded by his friends that threw him perhaps the biggest birthday party in the history of your university campus, you get a little emotional for him. Maybe Renjun was right with you being too sweet for this world– in this moment, though, you think you’re too soft instead.

After a while, the men get tired of holding up his weight and the boy slowly comes down from the high, the hollering getting more quiet as it turns into the birthday song, making you join in with the singing. The thought of being an outcast, just a random person in the crowd slowly seeps away when you feel included in the moment, worry leaving you as you watch Donghyuck– the biggest hype man of his friends, or so it seems– shake the birthday boy vigorously by his shoulders before he lets go and plants a sloppy kiss to his cheek, which leads to the two of them chasing each other around the crowded place.

Watching the whole scene unfold right in front of your eyes, you find yourself gazing at Renjun from the corner of your eye, the bright grin on his face making your heart squeeze in a weird way. He seems so happy in this moment, dragging you from room to room excitedly as if he was a regular in this place, the joy of celebrating his friend making his flushed face glow in a healthy way. You got used to seeing his face clouded in a shadow; the worried crease in between his eyebrows and the darkness under his eyes regular visitors in his expression, so to see him seep in the ugly orange lights of the luxurious house tugs at your heartstrings in a way you choose to not recognize or name.

“Y/N!” you hear your name screamed from somewhere in the room, making you tear your eyes away from the man standing by your side. Looking at the source of the yell, you find Lee Donghyuck striding towards you with his long legs, the action almost threatening, yet, his face beams in an excited aura.

“Hyuck!”

“You came!” he yells back in the same energy as last time, although his body is now only a few steps away from you, making you giggle. You recognise his outfit to be one of the multiple he showed you back at their apartment before he started acting all silly, the memory making you laugh in fondness.

“I did!” you nod, “I got invited,” you say, voice almost sounding proud of the achievement.

“Yeah, I know,” he says as his eyes drift from you to Renjun, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively before he earns himself a punch to the shoulder from his roommate, a sharp, over-exaggerated scowl escaping his lips at the motion. “Come meet Jisung!” he quickly switches up the topic, dragging you along with himself like a rag doll in an instance. He must be drunk; you think.

You wonder why you keep being dragged around the house– maybe it’s a sign that you’re too weak and should probably start working out more so you can stand your ground. Nonetheless, you follow the man as you look around, as if to apologize to Renjun for leaving him, when you see the blonde following you to the small group in the corner of the living room, recognising them to be the ones holding up Jisung just a few minutes prior.

“Jisung! This is Y/N!” Donghyuck utters out as soon as you get to the small gathering, all eyes suddenly glued to you. You wouldn’t say it made you feel comfortable or even invited– quite the opposite, to be honest– but the man that was addressed cutely turns to you, a shy smile plastered on his face when he greets you.

“Ah! Hello!”

You doubt Park Jisung even knows who you are. You doubt any of these people do– with how they’re looking at you in examination, but you still bite through it as you force a smile on your face. “Happy birthday,” you say to him, earning yourself a bright smile from the recipient.

“Thanks!” he beams. “You’re Renjun hyung’s friend, right?” he asks in response, almost making you choke on your spit in surprise at the fact that the boy knows who you are, which leads you to believe that you were talked about in this circle before.

“Sort of,” you nod, forcing out a giggle.

“Sort of?” the annoyed voice of Huang Renjun himself fills your ears from your right, making you jump up at the proximity of him that you weren’t aware of before, the mock offense on his face making you giggle when you think of the remorse he treated you with when you first met. He looked like he never wanted to speak to you in his life, and now he’s acting offended at you not fully calling him your friend? Yes, you did that to spite him– because if you weren’t friends, you truly don’t know what you were even doing here in the first place– but you still think the whole thing is a little ironic. “You’re at our house at least once a week and we’re not friends in your eyes?”

“Well, that’s only because I have to,” you argue, when the man only shakes his head at you in disbelief.

“Okay, you’re not allowed to eat our snacks when you come over anymore,” he says, shrugging in nonchalance. Laughing, you find yourself looking over the group you’re standing with, the discomfort slowly fading away when you engage in conversation with Renjun. You catch a few names you can’t really place to their respective faces– mainly because Jisung was the only one formally introduced to you– when you notice a girl staring at you in examination, her figure not noticed by you before.

The longer you stare at her, the longer you start to recognise her, and before you let panic overtake you– in all honesty, you don’t even know why you’d panic at this fact– you realize it’s none other than Huh Yunjin, your friend’s ‘cheating ex-girlfriend’ looking at you with something resembling spite in her eyes, her jaw clenched and her look glazing from your outfit to your face, as if mentally scoring you on your attractiveness, judging every detail of your body, all while a tall boy hugs her to his side– whom you presume is her new boyfriend.

He looks nothing like Renjun– he is quite the opposite, if you really think about it– and even though you tear your eyes away from her figure, your brain still screams at you with arguments that you look nothing like her; even though it shouldn’t really matter. You’re not Huang Renjun’s new girlfriend– not even the object of his desire, or the new girl by his side– you’re just his project partner, a classmate he’s grown to calling a friend, but still, you can’t help but notice her radiating beauty, the outshining features on her face and the charismatic aura she radiates– the polar opposite to everything you’d describe yourself as; and the comfort you felt while talking with Renjun’s friends is suddenly swept under the carpet, long forgotten when you still feel her eyes burning through your skull, her gaze making you like an intruder, someone who’s not supposed to be here, someone who doesn’t belong.

And to make things even worse, you suddenly feel Renjun’s hand around your waist, and when your eyes lock with his you swear you see a hint of understatement in them, something that lets you know that he’s aware of his ex girlfriend’s burning stare; his protective side kicking in, yet still making you question the matter even more.

You bet he did it to soothe you. You can even clearly read his intentions in the warm smile he sends you when he squeezes your side, hugging you closer to himself, but the more you’re aware of his burning palm on your flesh, the more uncertain you become, the less engaged in the conversation you get, and the more uncomfortable you feel under the orange lights of the living room.

“Wanna go outside? I’m pretty sure they have a karaoke machine there, if you wanna play,” you feel Renjun whisper into your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin, the hint of vodka in it supporting your earlier claims and that he was at least a little tipsy after all.

Nonetheless, you nod and find him leading you outside, not before you turn around to look at Yunjin for one last time, though, seeing clear jealousy shading her expression; making you wonder if you were invited just because she was too, and if you just fulfilled your designated role for the night.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” you ask, looking at your companion as the two of you sit on the stairs outside of the university building, your bags carelessly placed at your feet. It’s getting quite dark out, the winter days still being insanely short even though it’s the middle of February and spring is slowly approaching the town. The two of you had worked on your assignment in the library before Renjun told you that he has to wait for his friends Jeno and Donghyuck to pick him up, since they are meeting up with their friends from high school, their friend group living out of town requiring the two of them to take a drive there.

“Of course not,” Renjun shakes his head, “I offered to drop you off, so why would I mind?”

“What about your friends–”

“If they have anything against it, I’ll make sure to choke them, so don’t worry about that,” Renjun softly laughs at his own joke, trying to ease you. Still, there’s something inside of you that makes the atmosphere heavy and thick, having you crack your knuckles as you sit in silence, chewing on your bottom lip from nerves.

“What’s up? You’ve been acting weird lately,” Renjun hums, looking at you from his place on your left.

You tried hard to mask your hesitance, especially because you think the worries inside of you are stupid, but you can’t help but feel a hint of discomfort whenever you think of Jisung’s birthday party. Sure, you had a great time– his friends were nice to you, Hyuck even dramatically sang a song at the karaoke with you when Renjun got tired, the two of you taking shots together when you were done. You danced with Renjun after, the music keeping you close, and when you got tired, he walked you home. Everything felt normal between you– except from the weird closeness and occasional touches he sent your way– but you presume that was the effect of alcohol, so you didn’t ponder on it that much.

The eyes of his ex girlfriend on you the whole evening is what made you feel a bit itsy about the situation, and even though there was no hint that would further prove your previous claims, you can’t help but think about Huh Yunjin from time to time, and that’s what makes you feel at least a bit awkward about the whole thing.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you say, trying to play it off.

“Come on,” Renjun sighs, “tell me. Is it something I did?”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes at his insisting. The shift in dynamic is ironical, to say the least– 4 months ago, he wouldn’t care about what was making you feel so down, he wouldn’t even care about you walking home from university alone in the darkness of the evening hours, but now, the crease between his brows almost makes him look worried about you, and you can’t say you hate it– even though in this moment, you’d rather have him not care at all.

“Okay, so I’ll just play a guessing game, then,” he scoffs, humming, lost in thought. “You’ve been weird since the party. Something happened there?”

“No,” you disagree, tone of voice almost sounding desperate and harrowing, not really wanting him to keep asking about the reasoning behind your mood.

“Okay, so that’s a yes. Did someone make you feel uncomfortable? Do I need to beat somebody up? Oh god, was it Hyuck? That fucker said something to you, right? I’m gonna lock him out of the apartment, I swear to god–”

“It wasn’t Hyuck,” you giggle at his outrage, deciding to save his roommate’s life.

“It wasn’t?” he asks, seemingly genuinely surprised, expecting his devilish roommate to be the reason behind all the bad things in the world. “Okay, so it must have been me, no? What did I do?”

Sighing and shaking your head in disbelief at his insistence, you grunt. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jun, can you just stop asking?” you say, the nickname rolling of your tongue automatically, without much thinking.

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you. It does nothing to help you relax or feel better about the situation, but at least you think Renjun finally dropped the topic and won’t ask you about it again. You’d rather have the ground swallow you whole than to admit what’s been bugging you, especially when it’s Renjun himself you’re talking to about the matter.

You were, once again, wrong in your assumptions. Renjun did not drop the topic– no, he just took his sweet time to hit the nail on the head.

“Was it because of Yunjin?”

The question opens a pit in your stomach, the embarrassment creeping out of your body and making you heat up not helping your case. Hands clammy as you shake your head and gesture, trying to prove your disagreement with the question to the best of your abilities– but only making yourself look stupid and like you’re trying too hard– your words come out weirdly high-pitched, only further proving Renjun’s point.

“No, it– it’s not that, I– I–”

Renjun scoffs at you, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Did she– did she make you feel uncomfortable? I know she’s been staring a lot the whole evening, I’m sorry about that…”

His words do a little to comfort you. You wouldn’t say you were perfectly fine with the fact that he knows that it was his ex girlfriend that’s been on your mind the past few days– because you two aren’t dating, and realistically, this shouldn’t matter to you– but his understanding eyes bearing into yours make you calm down a little when you sigh and avert your gaze, chewing on the inside of your cheek before you speak back up again.

“It’s okay,” you hum, “I– It was expected, I guess?”

Renjun hums, eyes focusing somewhere into the unknown. Picking at the skin on your cuticles, you think the conversation is over and you’ve done a good job at playing it off, half of your worries now soothed, but Renjun is a man full of surprises, it seems, when he looks at you again, licking his lips in hesitance.

“But that’s not all, is it?” he asks, but he gets no answer from you. It doesn’t matter– your silence is enough of a conformation. “Look, I didn’t… I didn’t invite you to make her jealous, or anything, if that’s what’s running through that brain of yours, okay? I didn’t even know she would be there.”

Blinking a few times at him, not expecting him to read you so well, you let out the breath you didn’t even know you’ve been holding, nodding at his reassuring words. “Oh…”

“I invited you because I thought you’d have fun… and because I kind of wanted you there. And so did Hyuck, actually, he thinks you’re his platonic soulmate, or something–” the man rambles, explaining his intentions to you, the frantic words coming out of his mouth making you giggle. Relief washes over his face at that, noticing the ease in the atmosphere, his hand gently squeezing your knee when your laughs get quiet. “Everything’s good now?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “thanks. It was silly, but– you know,” you shrug, awkwardly grinning to yourself.

“Yeah,” he sighs out, looking back in front of him, the moment of silent sincerity between the two of you having him open up to you, “it wasn’t like that. me and her… it wasn’t quite the same for a while, you know? Like, I knew it was over before it really happened, but nonetheless, I didn’t expect her to… to do what she did to end it.”

You hum, not really knowing what words you could offer him to console him. Not really wanting to ask any more questions, you wait for him to talk by himself, to assure you’re not insensitive or prying too much. You’ll let him tell you how much he wants, and you’ll silently thank him for the trust he has in you when holding up his feelings to you on a silver platter, naked and vulnerable for you to see and examine.

“It’s like… I wanted to end it, but not with her cheating on me. That– that hurt more than the actual break up, I think. And maybe it shouldn’t matter, because I wasn’t in love with her anymore anyway, but it still… left a scar, I think,” he hums, and by the way he plays with his fingers in his lap, you can tell he didn’t expect himself to open up to you like this– maybe this is the first time he’s even sharing this with anyone, and the urge to protect him and his heart is suddenly stronger than ever before, even though it’s been somewhere there, deep inside of you, all along.

“That’s valid,” you say, “nobody deserves that to happen to them, no matter how your relationship looked at the time. You were still together, and she shouldn’t have done that,” you mumble, hoping to provide comfort to him, but also hoping your words aren’t unwelcome at this very moment.

The blonde looks at you, an appreciative smile appearing on his face. “Thanks,” he says. There’s nothing to thank you for, you think, but perhaps those are the words he needed to hear for a while now. Perhaps your sentences just mended something in him, perhaps you were the voice that finally made him admit that what he’s been feeling about the situation wasn’t stupid or irrational.

In a moment of weakness, a selfish masochism, even, you let out a prying sentence slip out of your lips– a sentence that could hurt you, have you not been prepared for the outcome. And maybe you were going too far, maybe you should’ve stayed quiet, but you can’t turn back time and the words were already spoken. “Do you ever miss her?”

Renjun thinks for a while– a heartbeat of a second that makes you feel like you’re falling into a deep abyss– before he shakes his head. “Not really. Not her, I don’t miss her. I think that sometimes, I just miss what we had, but… that’s long gone.”

Humming indifferently, you accept his response in a quiet solace.

You don’t know where this conversation brings you, but you bet it’s a step in some direction.

After a while, with Renjun’s head soundly resting on your shoulder when the silence gets too long, yet a comforting aura still shades the two of you sitting at the stairs, there’s a black Ford Fiesta honking at the parking lot, the two of you jumping to your feet. The boy drags you to the backseat, your bags hitting the floor of the vehicle, as Jeno looks back at you from the front, smiling at you with moon crescents in his eyes.

“Hello!”

“Hi,” you breathe out.

“Is Y/N tagging along?” Hyuck gasps from the passenger’s seat, turning towards you two, a face of a pleasant surprise written all over his face. You know what, maybe Renjun was right and you and his roommate are platonic soulmates of some sort. Or at least that’s how Lee Donghyuck’s been acting ever since the day he met you.

“I’m not,” you giggle, shaking your head in disapproval.

“Jeno, can you drop Y/N off at her apartment?” Renjun hums, and suddenly, the previous worries leave you as soon as the tall man nods and tells you to navigate him to your place. There was no reason why you’d be rejected by Renjun’s friends– for more reasons than one, you just aren’t aware of them yet.

The ride to your apartment is filled with laughter. Squinting at your project partner sitting next to you at the back of the car, you notice that he’s glowing brightly in the reflections of the lampposts shining through the windows of the car, a stolen galaxy swirling in his eyes when your eyes meet when you pay your goodbyes to the guys while getting off at your driveway a few minutes later.

And it’s quite funny. You don’t even live that far.

–

Clapping when your favorite writer completes the little interactive Q&A at the local library on a Monday afternoon– all throughout you didn’t have any courage to ask any questions yourself, even though you had plenty– you stand up from your place at one of the little, lanky folding chairs in the back of the room and smooth your hands over the skirt of your dress, getting the creases out. You’ve learned a lot about the author today– all from how she started writing, what inspired her to write your most favorite novel, and where she finds her inspiration for writing. You have a lot of information, yet, you still bet you could master more questions, if you were to do an interview with her– you wouldn’t even have to try as hard.

Reading is one of your passions, it’s something that brought you to the love you have for writing, and although you didn’t stick with fiction for long, finding that the world building and creating plot and characters got boring for you after a while, you found your love for writing shining through when you type articles; making sure your headlines are captivating, that your articles are well-structured and bring something new to the table. It’s a completely different branch– some would say a less creative one– but it’s undeniable that the love for it started in you when you first started reading books, when you were little, in the quiet and comfort of your room.

Glancing back at Renjun, the boy follows you like a lost puppy (you bet it’s his first time at the library, despite him owning quite a few books himself– you noticed so while examining his room one time and found classics in his bookshelf), he offers you a soft smile, nudging you to keep walking. There’s a line forming towards the head of the room, where the writer is still sitting, numbers of passionate readers and fans of her work waiting to get their books signed. There’s a little stand in the middle of the far right wall, containing numerous books written by the person currently sitting in the same room, breathing the same air as you two, and you don’t hesitate to buy the latest one, the one you haven’t had the chance to read yet, with the intention of getting it signed.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Renjun asks, standing close to you and pointing towards the stacks of books on the stand.

“That one,” you hum, bringing his attention to the paperback cover at the very corner of the stand, watching as the man takes it into his hands and flips it over, reading through the summary. He looks like one of those Pinterest boards you’d title ‘Dark academia’ with a series of emojis that fit the ‘aesthetic’, with his plaid coat layered on top of a knitted, light brown sweater, the blonde fringe slightly falling into his eyes.

“I’ll get this one, then,” he looks at one of the ladies behind the stand, smiling at her as he gets his wallet out.

“Don’t you want the latest one?”

“Nah,” he shrugs, smiling at the lady once again when the book is back in his hold, paid for and now in his ownership. His eyes are back at you when he offers you the explanation. “You said you liked this one, so I wanna try it. And you don’t know if the latest one is any good, so at least I’ve heard a good review on this one and don’t have to be afraid of buying a shitty book,” he snickers, making you roll your eyes at the tone of his voice, but still, there’s a little man in your brain screaming at the top of his lungs– screeching, even– at the action, the gears in your brain turning faster and faster as you let yourself indulge and overthink his words. He bought it because it’s your favorite– so he said– and in a split second of delusion, it doesn’t matter to you if it was just because he wanted to be sure the book is good, or if it was just him wanting to read your favorite book as a way of learning more about you.

“As if any of her books could be bad,” you mumble, moving slowly through the line. You’re the last ones waiting for the autograph, and while there’s still a lot of people in front of you, you can’t help but feel a little nervous at the promise of an interaction with the author.

“Well, you can never really know. Everyone has bad days.”

Snickering at his argument, you shake your head in disbelief and move a few steps forward again. You’ve taken a few photographs of the library while you were sitting and listening to the talk; a few of the author– to capture the nice memory– and some of the interior as well, showcasing the numerous shelves filled with books of different genres that the library provides. Still, you take the camera into your hands again, taking a few more– you were sure to get permission from the smiley and welcoming librarians when you arrived– trying to capture the atmosphere and the heartwarming aura of it all. A little selfishly, for your own memory, you turn to your companion and point the lens towards him, seeing as he poses with the book, acting a little silly when you take the picture, and when he breaks into an amused grin after, you take another one– a moment captured in time, his toothy laugh on full display. When you look at the picture again, your heart warms up a little at the image. Maybe you could get it printed out and add it to your memory book alongside the pictures you have from your first university parties and moving into the new apartment with Jimin– just so you have something to look back to.

Soon enough, you reach the front of the room, your bodies only a few steps away from the author. When the last guests in front of you leave, paying their goodbyes, you take a step forward with a little sigh, trying to encourage yourself and also calm down the erratic beating of your heart, ready to face the idol you’ve been looking up to since you were 11. With Renjun on your side, you put on your most picture-worthy smile, clammy hands offering the book to the writer when you reach the long table, choking on your words.

“Hello,” you greet, not really knowing what to say. You would be lying if you said you didn’t rehearse this in your brain seventy different times ever since you talked with Renjun about going to the library last week, trying to make up the perfect scenario and find the best words to use when you finally meet her, but in this very moment, the whole script flies through the window and you’re left silent and hesitant, heat rising to your cheeks when you can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Hello,” you hear Renjun greet shortly after you, bumping into you a little with his hip when he stumbles to the table, seemingly more calm than you, trying to save the day, “my name’s Huang Renjun,” he says, and you want to kick him in his shin– because who even does that? Who tells their full name to a stranger, an author he’s never heard of before actually attending this meet and greet, acting as if he was an old friend of hers, meeting the famous writer after a long time? You almost thought he’d save you from the embarrassment and lead the way, from the way he approached her, but after hearing those words come out of his mouth, you almost go to scold him for his behavior.

To your surprise, though, the writer’s eyes widen in what seems to be realization, nodding to herself. “So you must be Y/N!” she says, looking back at you, a welcoming smile appearing on her lips.

“I- I-” you stutter, suddenly feeling really confused. Is this a dream? Are you asleep? Or is your favorite writer suddenly a psychic too? What are you missing?

“Yeah! She’s just a little nervous right now,” he grins, taking a short look at you before he turns back to the author, “so… I take it as you haven’t changed your mind about the interview?”

“Not at all! I’m actually really happy to hear that students are taking interest in my writing and that they want to interview me,” she says, quickly signing your books on the front pages, offering them back to you, “I usually don’t give interviews just to anyone– you know, it would get a little too busy if I did that– but your passion really caught my attention.It reminds me of myself when I was your age… Just give me a few seconds, I have a phone call to make right now, but after I’m done, I’m all yours!”

“Of course!” Renjun nods, watching as the author stands up from the table and disappears in one of the back rooms, seemingly to take care of the call. Turning back to you, still finding you dumbfounded from the interaction, he can’t help but let out an amused laugh. “Are you okay over there?”

“I- What-” you stutter, shaking your head as if to make your brain reboot, dragging your hand through your hair to get it out of your face, “how did you even manage to- she doesn’t even-” you fail to create coherent sentences, shock and surprise overshadowing your otherwise good choice of vocabulary, confusion spreading over your face like a shadow.

“I have my ways,” he shrugs nonchalantly, as if this was the easiest thing to accomplish, once again breaking into a grin when he sees your stoic face, “maybe try to smile a little? She might think you’re terrified of her if you keep frowning like that.”

“I am,” you mumble, still not quite comprehending the situation.

Rolling his eyes at you, he snickers. “Come on,” he says, “I bet you have plenty of questions for her up in that brain of yours,” he points to the middle of your forehead, shaking his head at your frozen figure.

“I do, but-” you mumble, catching yourself mid-sentence, “how did you even-” the words stream out your mouth, a puzzled expression not leaving your face.

“You can thank me later. Now focus on your job,” he says, turning you by your shoulders and pushing you a little towards the author that has now emerged out of the back room, a welcoming glint in her eye when her eyes land at the two aspiring journalists.

On that Monday afternoon, with sweaty palms and tongue-tied as you stutter out the curious questions, making an interview for your imaginary magazine, you learn that contrary to the popular demand, Huang Renjun is quite full of surprises.

The longer you know Renjun, the more you hang out without the purpose of working on your assignment together. Truth be told, you started working on it pretty early into the semester, and while others were now aimlessly pulling all nighters to complete the magazine, you and Renjun were pretty much done with it already by now, since you forced the man to start working on it as soon as it was possible. He didn’t say it out loud, but you can tell he was thankful for that– it would kill the both of you if you had to focus on the project now, when exam season is slowly, but surely in reach and you’ll have to start studying soon.

It was a little awkward at first– you still remember the first time you watched Netflix with him in the silence of his apartment, with his mood very apparently below zero– starting with the two of you taking breaks in between working on your assignment, talking about the latest episodes of the anime you two have, coincidentally, chosen to watch at the same time; later progressing into full on sessions of gossip with his roommate Donghyuck joining the two of you at the comfortable couch. You’d say your friendship started a little this way, with you and Renjun running to the convenience store when you ran out of snacks in the middle of your study sessions and the two of you randomly laughing at something in your Journalism class, earning yourself scolding looks from the professor. It was unexpected, but you grew familiar with the antics, flowing through the days together, filling the boring days with texts full of TikTok links and Donghyuck sending you random pictures of your project partner all zoomed in on Snapchat. You even invited Renjun over a few times, Jimin accepting the new man in the comfort of your home when she realized he’s not as bad as he used to be before, as you ate up all of your snacks this time around instead, having impromptu karaoke sessions in your room, trying to quiz each other on the lyrics of your top tracks of the last year on Spotify.

Everything felt casual, growing more in tune with the man he was, learning his antics and all about his character. You quickly learned that when he’s feeling down, he gets a little snappy– a bad habit you made him recognise and try to eliminate, at least when you’re around. You found out that when he’s nervous, he bites his nails, and you choose to slap his palms from the proximity of his lips whenever you catch him in the act. When he’s annoyed– much like when you prevent him from the action of gnawing at his fingernails until the skin around them bleeds– he rolls his eyes and sighs, sometimes even shakes his head at you in disapproval. He looks adorable while doing so, but to save both of you the embarrassment, you’d never tell him out loud.

And you’d even dare to say he learns about you too. He’s an observing individual, and you’d even argue that he cares about you at least a little. For one, he’s not rude towards you anymore, the way he was when you two first started talking, and also, he shows his affection towards you in the most Renjun ways possible. He’d argue that he’s not good with words, but he’s always there to affirm you with them in his true love language whenever you’re stressed or overwhelmed with responsibilities. He also remembers your favorite drinks and snacks, opting to save them for you whenever you come by his place, and even slipping some into your bag before you leave his apartment. He’s a caring individual, a big hearted man, delicate in all directions.

You believe it’s impossible not to fall for him at least a little. Not when you really know him– the way you do, from up close, in his most joyful moments and the ones where he tries to battle you away when the ghosts in his brain try to make him shelter himself away from everyone too.

But you wouldn’t tell him that. Never in a thousand years.

“I hate all this fucking snow,” you tell him instead, when you walk by his side with your groceries in hand, the tips of your fingers brittled from the cold. “Why is it even snowing in the first place, it’s the end of February, for fuck’s sake!”

The two of you decided to go for a grocery run together, and while some would say it’s not a fun activity to do, you think you like experiencing mundane things with your close ones the most. If you enjoy someone’s company, you truly do not care what you do together– you always go pick up packages from the post with Jimin, or drive your little sibling to the store when you’re back home, even though the action itself doesn’t provide you any conventionally ‘fun’ experiences, most of these are a fond memory in your brain, because you got to spend time with someone you love. It’s the same right now– even though it’s snowing heavily and you can’t feel your feet from the cold– you went to buy groceries with Renjun when he texted you about it, realizing you could buy some things you ran out of as well, opting to walk there together.

“I thought you liked winter?” he snickers, seeing your grumpy expression.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you said you hated summer,” he says, matter of factly, making you giggle to mask the warmth spreading on your insides from the knowledge that he remembers the random fact you once told him when you were working on your project together.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I like winter either,” you say, shrugging.

“Do you even like anything?”

“No,” you shake your head, totally serious before you burst into laughter, “kidding. I like spring,” you smile at him, eloquently, shuffling your legs along the snowed-in ground, moving closer to the campus, near to where you both live.

“I like spring too, actually.”

“Because your birthday’s in spring?” you snicker, teasing him.

“Maybe,” he admits, laughing with you. “No, but I think spring’s neat for a number of reasons. It always feels… like a new beginning, perhaps? After months of silence, you can finally hear the chirping of birds in the morning, and the sun sets later too, so the days feel longer…” he says, and you find yourself observing him, admiring the love he has for the season.

“Exactly,” you nod, pointing your gaze towards the ground when you notice that he caught you staring, embarrassment creeping up your back before you shudder from the cold, heavy snowflakes falling on top of your head, drenching your freshly washed locks and making your cheeks burn with cold. You can’t remember the last time it snowed so hard– you were in for a couple of warm winters for the last couple of years– and as much as you hate to admit it because of your noticeable aversion towards winter, you must say it looks quite magical.

“Look, I know you hate winter, but you do have windows in your flat, right?” he jokes, making you roll your eyes at the nagging you know you’re about to hear. “Maybe look out of them before you go out, so you could dress for the weather the next time.”

“Very funny,” you snicker, “I’ll let you know, it wasn’t snowing when I was getting ready.”

“Okay then, maybe start using the weather app. It’s great if you want to know how cold it really is outside, and you’re quite good with technology, so maybe you could-”

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, but feel yourself grinning at the teasing.

The man lets out a sigh– a habit of frustration he does a lot whenever you’re around– before you feel him tugging something onto the top of your head, your ears suddenly shielded by soft fabric. Looking up at your companion in shock, you notice that the beanie that had been sitting on his head until now is covering yours instead; and although you appreciate the gesture with a giddy clench on your insides, you find yourself protesting.

“Jun! You’ll get cold,” you pout.

“Okay, but so will you, and as far as I’m concerned, I have more layers on than you right now, so you need it more than me,” he shrugs, all nonchalant, making you hesitantly smile at him and shut up, keeping the warm wool over your head.

Next time, you’ll look at the weather app to save your heart some trouble.

Or maybe you won’t.

Walking closer to your apartment complex, naturally accepting the fact that Renjun decided to walk you home– or just hasn’t realized he’s doing so yet– you fall into comfortable conversation, mostly consisting of you complaining and Renjun finding your tangent amusing.

“My groceries will get all wet! Fucking hell, Renjun…”

“I didn’t force you to come,” he laughs.

“Well, but you have the weather app, as opposed to me, so maybe you could’ve predicted the fact that it was going to snow soon,” you pout, shaking your head in disbelief.

“And if I did?”

“Then why’d you drag me out?” you huff, nearing the steps that lead up towards the front door of your building, being careful not to slip on them as you stand on the first one, towering above the man that takes his position opposite of you while you say your goodbyes.

“Okay, next time get your groceries alone, if you’re just gonna complain the whole way,” he giggles at your fake offendance, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Snowflakes settle on the tops of his cheekbones, the rosy tint in his face taking your breath away, something in his eyes captivating you and hypnotizing you into doing things you would’ve never dared to do as you reach out towards his hair, now wet from the snow that manages to melt away on his body, brushing your hand through the locks.

“It’s gotten so long,” you muse, “the blonde’s all grown out now.”

He hums, the eye contact making you heat up despite the coldness that’s been trying to seep into your bones. “Maybe I should dye it back to black, then.”

Grinning, you shrug as your hand escapes his scalp. “Yeah,” you nod, “maybe you should.”

“It’s a plan, then,” he says before he grins, poking you in your forehead with his pointer finger as he takes a step back from you, heading towards the direction of his apartment. “I’ll text you,” he adds.

Paying your goodbyes to him, you stumble inside and reach your flat, your whole body on fire even though you’ve been freezing until now as you take off your wet shoes and tug the borrowed beanie from your head. Putting away the groceries, you wonder if there’s a significance in his decision, if the change of hair is the same as the reason why he loves spring; if new things are beginning, or if you’ve just tricked yourself into falling for him too hard.

“You have to mix it together with this first!” Renjun whines, sitting at the edge of the bathtub as he watches you open the box dye you bought together at the drugstore a few hours ago, pointing his finger at the white pack containing the mixing solution.

“Oh,” you mumble, clammy hands flying around and trying to read the instructions instead, too worried to mess up again and accidentally burn Renjun’s hair off. After a few moments of you silently turning the big sheet of paper around in all directions, you hear your companion snicker under his breath, standing up from his position at the edge of the bathtub and mixing the dye with the solution in a little plastic container he got from under the sink himself instead.

“Let me do it,” he shakes his head, “didn’t know you were this useless.”

“If you didn’t want me here, you could’ve just said so,” you put the instruction paper down, crossing your arms on your chest as you take a step back and look at him with an offended pout, watching as he gets everything ready. His hair is sticking all over the place and the shirt he has on is stained with bleach– you suspect he wore this exact outfit a few months ago when he dyed his hair blonde– the fabric hanging loosely down his shoulders.

“I’m perfectly capable of dying my hair on my own, if you didn’t notice,” he says, “me wanting you here is the sheer reason for your presence.”

Heart skipping a beat at the sentence, masking it off with a fakely annoyed sigh, you watch him take a seat back at the edge of the bathtub when he’s done, motioning for you to take matters into your hands and start dying his hair. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I’ll do so just to spite you,” you argue back, taking the plastic container with the dye into your hand and standing close to Renjun, parting his hair down the middle as you get the chemical-smelling mixture into his growing locks. Focused on the task at hand, trying really hard not to get the dye all over the place, you almost get lost in the motion of playing with his hair and pay too much attention to each section, your touch gentle not to tug at his hair. It makes you not notice the way you’re suddenly standing in between Renjun’s opened legs, your skin covered by fabrics of sweatpants touching.

His head suddenly moves, making you almost dye his whole forehead black, when he plops a gummy worm into his mouth and regains his previous position.

“Stop moving or else it’s gonna look bad!” you scowl, frustrated with the fact that he made you lose your focus.

“Want a gummy worm?” he asks, looking up at you with an innocent smile instead– as if to make you forget all about his actions from before– and you reward him with an annoyed shake of your head that shows him disapproval which he seemingly chooses to ignore as he reaches into the pack of gummies again and holds one up to your lips, fingertips brushing against the skin of your mouth making you feel heat in your cheeks. You didn’t want a gummy worm, but with the proximity of his hand to your face and the starry gaze he offers you when you meet his eyes, you don’t hesitate to take the gummy into your mouth and chew on the candy, earning yourself a satisfied smile.

Turning towards his hair again, the last few strands left undyed waiting for your attention, the man suddenly squeezes your thigh, making you wince. “How is it going up there?”

“Good,” you choke out, suddenly hyper aware of his hand resting on the skin of your leg, as if to hold you in place, his other hand working almost on auto-pilot as he completes the symmetry and grazes your other thigh, his touch on you so gentle you could almost miss it if you didn’t pay enough attention.

“If it’s patchy, I’m blaming you and not the dye,” he teases, drumming against your leg with his fingers, each little gesture making you less and less focused on his hair and more on the way his eyelashes fan over his cheekbones from above, biting down hard on your lip to keep yourself from making any sound close to frustration or the sound of perhaps losing your mind.

“Well then, maybe you shouldn’t have bought the cheapest one.”

“I’m staying on budget,” he says, making you snicker.

Forcing yourself to focus back onto his hair, you finally complete your task of dying the man’s hair back to its original color. Taking a step back from him and putting the plastic container onto the sink, you start to miss the feeling of his hand on your skin; his hair slicked back by the dye makes him look oddly amusing, though, so you let a grin slip out at the sight of your companion sitting at the edge of the bathtub like a scolded child, his legs outstretched right in front of him and a pack of gummy worms once again firmly gripped in the palm of his hand.

After cleaning up the mess you’ve made on the bathroom sink, with Renjun singing to himself as he put up a timer on his phone for 20 minutes, you find yourself in his kitchen, walking around and finding a pot in which you could cook some ramen for dinner. It’s getting quite late and it’s rare that you find yourself alone in Renjun’s apartment with him, his roommate finally getting out after the dreaded exam season to celebrate, and you can’t help but find the domesticity of sharing his space with him– although this is not the first time– overtake you in a deep feeling of intimacy.

Stirring the noodles around with a fork you found in one of the drawers, listening to the low hums of Renjun singing in the bathroom as he cleans up the skin on his forehead and behind his ears with a wet cotton pad, you wonder how you managed to get used to this– how you even managed to find yourself in the presence of Huang Renjun so often, after only hearing about him from gossip around the school halls and hating his presence when you first had to work with him. It’s ironic, but you don’t hate it quite as much as you would think.

“You’re making ramen?” he asks as he finally reaches the kitchen, big eyes full of thankfulness meeting yours when he notices you getting out some plates to transfer the meal into, since you’re close to being done.

Humming in agreement, you see him lean on the kitchen counter from the corner of your eye, a satisfied smile reaching his lips. “I should invite you over more often.”

“I’m here like twice a week, Jun,” you mumble, focused on not spilling the meal all over the place.

“Well, if it means you’ll cook all the time, you can even move in, if you want to” he jokes, making you shake your head in disbelief as you take the plates and move them to the coffee table you are so used to sitting at by now, since the boys don’t really have a dining table in their apartment, making them (and sometimes you joining) eat all the meals at the coffee table, sitting on the ground.

“And where would I sleep? On the couch? No, thank you,” you shake your head, digging into the noodles and blowing on them to make them cool faster.

“I’ll kick Hyuck out, so you can have his room,” he mumbles in between bites, following you.

“So you just want me to be your maid, got it,” you nod.

“That’s not what I said,” he looks at you with offense, before digging into the noodles again, mumbling under his nose before taking a bite, “although you would look nice in a maid dress-”

Kicking him in the leg, seeing as he chokes up on the food from laughing, you shake your head in disbelief at his antics. You think it’s the hair dye getting to his brain, so when his timer goes off in a few minutes after you’re both done with the food, you thank god for bringing you out of your misery.

Listening to the sound of the shower as he washes the hair dye off, you take it upon yourself to clean up the dishes. You’d feel bad for leaving a mess in his kitchen, and you also think it’s a nice thing to do. It only takes a few minutes before he’s out of the bathroom again, hair damply sitting on his forehead, his figure twirling like a ballerina– reminding you of the way you did little fashion shows for your father whenever you came home from shopping with your mum– waiting for what you have to say about his new look, although in true reality, he looks just the same as a few months ago.

“Does it look good?”

“I can’t tell ‘cause it’s wet,” you say, squinting your eyes at the mess on his head, “go blow dry it.”

“Fuck no,” he shakes his head, protesting, “I hate blow drying my hair.”

“Why? I can’t tell if it’s patchy this way,” you say.

“My hands get tired and I get bored and I just really don’t enjoy the experience,” he simply states, and he wins– whether this was his intention or not– as you drag him back to the bathroom and get out of him where he keeps the blow dryer, plugging it in and moving to do it for him.

There it is again– that funny feeling in your stomach as you move your hands through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his forehead as you blow dry his locks. The feeling makes you weak in your knees as you look at the boy who now has his eyes closed, seemingly enjoying the motion of your fingers threading through his freshly dyed strands, and when you finally turn the device off and watch him open his eyes, looking at you half-lidded and seemingly a little tired, you once again notice his hands on your thighs as he sits at the bathtub, although now the touch is more firm, pulling you close to him.

“Are you happy now that your hair is black?” you find yourself asking, your eyes bearing into him as you reference the dialogue you two had when he dyed his hair blonde, when you two didn’t know each other well just yet and he told you the wishful secret of wanting to have more fun as a blonde since he was sad when his hair was black.

His smile looks a little drunk, despite the both of you being completely sober as he replies, acting as if he was getting tipsy off your proximity and gentle touch. “My hair’s black because I’m happy, not the other way around,” he mumbles, your eyes momentarily drifting to his pretty lips as he talks, their rosy plumpiness making it hard for you to unstuck your gaze from the curve of his smile and focus on other features of his face.

“Good,” you nod, your hands finding their place at his shoulders, almost going for a hug, but never really completing the action.

“So how do I look?” he asks again, your conversation growing quiet in the intimate atmosphere, voices not wanting to interrupt the calm, yet tense harbor.

Examining him, you find yourself once again attracted to the boy you see in front of you. He looks exactly like he did before his break-up– yet now, you’d argue and say he looks even better; healthier and more radiant, his features gentle, hair a little longer and his smile reminding you of an angel. Humming to yourself, you brush your hands through his black strands again, letting yourself indulge in your growing feelings for the man for just a second, before the moment is gone. “Really pretty,” you mumble, watching as his smile grows for a mere second before his eyes drift from yours down to your lips, making you forget how to breathe.

Your hands continue to get lost in his hair as you stare at each other for a while, silence in the bathroom making you listen in on each other’s breathing, before your brain fails you and you let yourself operate on auto-pilot, leaning down to his face, surprised to see him meet you in the middle. You kiss him as if you’ve been waiting ages to do so, your lips molding in with his in a perfect harmony, firm, yet still unmistakably gentle contact making you shiver.

It feels like a century before you pull away, ready to face the consequences of your actions, when he captures your lips in another kiss, drunk on the action. Feeling him standing up from the edge of the bathtub and moving his hands to firmly grip your waist before he walks you backwards against the tiled wall, the coldness of it mixing with the heat spreading across your body makes you gasp into the kiss and invite his tongue into your mouth.

Your hands fall from his hair and find their way around his neck, tugging him close, while one of his gentle palms rests on your jaw, angling your face in a way that lets him take control and have you even closer, two bodies seeking each other’s presence.

“Renjun…” you gasp when his lips move away from yours, leaving kisses down your jaw, slowly reaching the delicate skin of your neck and the conjunction of your shoulder.

He hums into your skin, a cold hand sneaking under the hem of your shirt making you wince, all of his actions making your senses hyper aware to the touch and feeling of his lips pressed against you, especially when he finds the sweet spot behind your ear and makes you squirm under him, the feeling of his smile against your skin turning you crazy.

Finding yourself tugging his face back to yours, taking back his lips, his hand travels up your side, leaving goosebumps all over your skin with the cold motions of his fingertips, you shiver under his caring, yet teasing touch. The kiss feels as if it’s one step away from heaven, letting out a satisfied sound when he softly brushes the underside of your breast.

Pressing him closer against you, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his neck, you feel him hard against your thigh, neediness overtaking you as you lightly move against him, hearing him choke out a breath. “Is- is this okay?” he asks, voice not louder than a whisper before you continue with your motions, answering with your actions before using your words, breathing growing quicker with the way the friction makes you feel.

“More than okay with me,” you mumble, seemingly encouraging him as he presses you firmer against the tiled wall, helping you guide your desperate movements. Foreheads pressed against each other, breathing mixing in the silent room, you can’t seem to find it in you to stop, completely losing yourself in him and in the way he makes you feel, selfishly chasing down release from all the butterflies and electric stares he’s been sending your way.

Grunting when you press up against him in a way that sends sparks down his spine, his hand reaches up under your thigh, almost on the skin of your butt, holding up your leg to make more room and get you even closer to him, before he heaves out a sigh. “Let’s go to my room?” he asks hastily before you nod and let him plop you up against his figure with your legs entangled around his middle, escaping the cold tiles of the bathroom and walking over to the his room smelling of fresh laundry detergent and vanilla, soft sheets enveloping your body when he lightly drops you into his mattress.

A giggle escapes your lips at the contact of your body with the bed, earning yourself a playful roll of Renjun’s eyes as he leans over you, plopping himself up on one elbow above you, caging you in his embrace. Maintaining eye contact with him, blissful smiles stretching on your lips, you almost think the moment is over, but he quickly brings you back to the neediness you felt before as he leans in again, kissing you painfully slowly while his hand reaches under the hem of your shirt, letting his palm travel against your body. His actions make you shiver as his fingertips softly tickle your side, moving towards the dip of your waist, then back up across your stomach as he traces mindless shapes against your skin, occasionally letting himself travel up towards the fabric of your bra. Cupping one of your breasts into his hand, you let out a soft grunt when he squeezes the flesh softly enough to make you yearn for more.

Mirroring his actions, your hand moves under his loose shirt, hypnotized by the heat of his flesh. Enveloped in his warmth and the smell of him in his bedsheets, you let yourself roam up his abdomen, embracing the way his muscles jolt a little under your touch, before your hand settles onto his back, fingertips dancing up and down his spine.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles, making you break into a blissful smile, before his hand lazily dips down your belly, seeking approval in your eyes, “can I?”

Nodding, afraid of seeming a little too eager– although maybe he would welcome that with open arms– you feel his fingertips messily dragging down the waistband of your sweatpants a little by little, leaving you in front of him only in your underwear, his lips swallowing your sighs when he hesitantly brushes his thumb against your clit.

His movements get more confident as he adds more pressure, making you let out a few more muffled sounds he welcomes with a cocky smile, demeanor shifting as he presses a wet kiss against your cheek when he drags your underwear down and gets back to where he was before, but now acting more gently– as if the contact of your bare core with his fingers made him afraid you’re gonna break in his hold. Softly nudging your thighs, opening up your legs and softly tracing his pointer finger down your slit, he makes your cheeks flush from the contact and the feeling of air against your naked bottom half.

He doesn’t say much as he tests the waters, dragging his digits along your folds, examining your reaction when he circles your sensitive bud and sees you crumble under his touch. Your hands grip his pearl white sheets, not really knowing what to do to ground yourself back to reality, the man above you finally finding enough courage in him to insert one finger, then two inside of you, watching you react to his actions.

“Feels good,” escapes your lips, and truthfully, you didn’t even catch yourself saying it. It left your mouth on itself, your tone a little fragile but full of eagerness, wanting more– and seemingly understanding, he moves inside you with more reason now, hitting the right spot that makes your eyebrows crease and your breathing hitch in your throat.

“There?” he asks, as if to tease you. In any other circumstance, you’d find it in you to bark back something full of sarcasm and irony, but now, vulnerable and sensitive to his every move, you only nod eagerly and meet his eyes which are now clouded with lust, a view you’ve never experienced before, but welcome with undeniable curiosity.

Angling his fingers inside of you just the way you need them, you quickly feel yourself reaching your high, one of your hands flying to his forearm as if to let him know or warn him, somehow. Judging by his actions, he got the memo– showing his experience when he continues with the same speed and pressure, keeping still– before he slowly trips you over the edge, having you clenching around his fingers as you let moans slip out from your lips, euphoria taking over your whole body.

His figure leans into you, holding you close as your breathing comes back to normal, his lips press soft kisses to your temple. It’s almost a hint that the act is over, his actions growing more tender as opposed to the way he had you just a few moments prior, but you find yourself not wanting it to end, tugging his shirt up and earning yourself a questioning look.

“More?” you mumble, looking at him, grabby hands helping him take his shirt off. Your please sound almost like a question– they may as well be, for you don’t know if he wants this too– but he reacts to you positively when you have your eyes roaming across his bare torso, hands flying towards your own shirt, taking it off before you chastly press against him, both of you sitting at his bed, meeting him in a kiss as you settle yourself into his lap.

In this moment, there’s nothing but him. Your head spins with his essence, your brain painfully aware of everything; of your hands holding his cheeks when you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, chasing after his neck in a desperate need of leaving a mark, wanting evidence of you being there the next morning, so you could remind yourself that this wasn’t just a dream or a product of your own imagination. When you press down against his lap, dragging your naked core against his hard on, his hands grip your sides, sneaky fingers trailing up after a moment as he tugs the straps of your bra down before slipping it off completely, leaving you naked in front of him.

Lifting you by your hips and moving you back against his pillow, laying you into his sheets, he lets you drag his sweatpants down, your fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxers and gently dragging along the sensitive skin, feeling needier at the sounds of satisfaction escaping his lips. Bringing him closer with your other hand, he takes a moment to confirm with you one last time.

“Are you sure you… want this?” he doesn’t seem to find the right words, leaving you softly laughing at his puzzled expression.

“I am,” you nod, assuring him, “I- I want you,” you mumble, still loud and clear, and he wastes no time in freeing himself of his underwear and aligning himself with your entrance.

He slowly pushes inside of you, his whole length filling you up. He leaves you some time to adjust, checking in with you with a look to your eyes, fingertips gently dragging your hair out of your face before you confirm with him that you’re okay with a soft nod, making him move and gently thrust inside of you; painfully slow at first, but reaching deep, taking in every inch of you. Pleasure builds inside of you as his thrusts become more quicker, finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl and your hands fly to his back, scratching down along his skin when he hits your spot and your eyes shut in a spell of satisfied sighs.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss against your lips, a sentence sweet enough to make your cheeks flush under him– yet you think the heat you feel is more than shyness from his words, but from the contact of his skin on yours, driving you absolutely crazy.

His finger gently plays with your clit, slowly, but surely tipping you over the edge. You hold back a moan, head falling to your side on his pillow, Renjun’s lips pressing kisses into the now exposed areas of your neck, still going at a steady rhythm.

“Fuck,” you let out when he picks up at speed, the imaginary glass of pleasure in you getting fuller and fuller, making afraid of it spilling out when he keeps going, your hand flying into his hair, tugging at it in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, “I’m close.”

He hums against your neck, softly biting a bruise into your flesh. He doesn’t say much, again– his loving is quiet, only occasionally letting out needy noises out past his lips here and there, grunts slipping out when you feel just right around him. You find it hard to keep up with the silence, blissful sounds escaping you when he takes you over the edge. Your walls clench around him as he’s still thrusting into you, chasing down his climax and making the most out of yours. You swear you can see stars, the tips of your fingers starting to tingle when you get a little too overstimulated, but before you can do anything about it, he slips out of you and warmth spreads on your stomach, his body crashing next to yours.

He doesn’t say much after either. The room falls into silence, your bodies heaving with deep breaths as you try to calm down the erratic beating of your hearts. Mindlessly threading your fingers through his hair, you stare at the ceiling, his arms draped over your middle, occasionally playing with the flesh of your hip, squeezing it with his palm and dragging his fingertips across the soft skin. Looking down at him, not seeing much other than the raven locks falling into his forehead and his closed eyes, you try hard to appreciate the closeness of his body, just in case you don’t get to experience it ever again.

Feeling his nose nuzzling into your skin, you wonder if he’s happy.

Dark, wallowing pit opens up in your stomach, the harrowing feeling you didn’t know you could recognise fills you up to your rim; your vision goes a little blurry at the sight in front of you and after a few seconds of torturing yourself by watching, you feel the bitter taste of blood on your tongue from gnawing at the gentle skin of your bottom lip too hard. That alone wakes you up from the weird transe you’ve been put in, making you turn on your heel and chime outside of the building, the iced americano in your hand thrown in the nearest trash can as you take the short way home, suddenly wanting to hide away from everyone and everything, too fragile to deal with the outer world today.

You open up the door to your apartment with a little struggle, your hand shaking not making it easy for you to put the key inside the keyhole, and when you finally get to the comfort of your little place, you’re met with Jimin’s concerned eyes waiting for you in the hall, her figure hesitantly walking over when she heard you struggle with the door.

Closing the door behind you a little too loudly, careless in your actions from how hard your heart is hammering against your ribcage, your roommate approaches you with gentle words. “What happened? Weren’t you meeting up with–”

“No,” you shake your head, cutting off her sentence before his name manages to come out of her mouth, your throat closing as you choke out the response; the soft gaze she offers you at the stern words of disapproval makes your eyes water even though you already promised yourself you wouldn’t cry over this.

“Oh, sweetie,” Jimin mumbles as her long legs make their way towards your shrunken figure, enveloping you in her arms. You let yourself be comforted, almost yearning for the slow strokes she gives your back, her long fingers threading through your hair. There aren’t many instances where you two had to hold each other in the entrance hall, too afraid of letting go before one of you breaks. You remember her breaking up with her boyfriend Jaehyun– they dated for a couple of months last year before he had to move away and a long distance relationship wasn’t something either of them was willing to put each other through– but that time, it was in the comfort of her bedroom and you watched the first season of Too hot to handle together after it was done to take her mind off things. You, however, don’t have much dating experience. Not a significant one anyway– you only dated in high school, and even though the boy you crowned your first in many things was sweet, you simply fell out of love with him after a few months and called it quits, with no tears shed and no hearts broken.

“I think I was just a rebound,” you get out in between your quiet sobs, the image of Renjun sitting at the cafeteria with Yunjin, his soft gaze offered to her as she leaned over the table and said something quietly to him before pressing a kiss to his cheek only further proving your claims.

And you guess you were the stupid one– you guess you were silly for thinking he was over his ex already, even if it’s been a couple of months since they broke up, even if he told you he didn’t miss her, but was sad to let go what they had– because the sweetness in his eyes when he looked at her hurt you more than you could’ve ever imagined, because you think you remember him looking at you like that the evening you dyed his hair black; you remember him looking at you like you hung up the stars on the sky, and you believed the gentle gaze– you believed there was something more than sex to it, you believed he felt the same feelings as the ones you’ve been harboring for the boy ever since you first hanged out at his place and watched Netflix with him to take his mind off the said girl.

Jimin doesn’t ask any questions– she knows you’ll tell her eventually, you just need comfort right now. Sniffling as you try to come down from the heartbreak you’ve caused yourself, you groggily get out a sentence that hurts to say out loud perhaps the most from the feelings freely roaming around your brain. “I don’t think it meant anything to him– I– I don’t think I meant anything to him.”

As if to torture yourself even more, the images of you two getting closer over the time flash through your brain– and you wonder if you were just lying to yourself the whole time. If his words weren’t what he made them out to be, if his gentle nature that overtook him when you were around was just him treating you as one of his friends. If he hooked up with you only because he was horny, and not because he cared for you enough to want to explore you further, deeper– if you were the only one in it for something more, if he was just keeping himself busy while trying to get over his ex.

And much like that time at the party, where he held you close and spent the whole night pretty much glued to your side, right in front of everyone’s eyes, you wonder if you just fulfilled your purpose in his life.

“Shh,” the girl shushes you out of your self-destructive thoughts, still not getting any context on what happened, but being there for you anyway, “let’s just watch something, okay? We have the whole day off to ourselves, let’s watch this new anime I’ve been eyeing, what do you say?” she mumbles, seeing as you tiredly nod and she affectionately squishes your cheeks together, leading you towards the living room.

If you weren’t so numb right now, you’d even giggle. Jimin doesn’t watch anime– the amount of reality TV she watches is quite concerning sometimes– and her effort to aimlessly search through the internet for the first episode of an anime she randomly saw on Tiktok one day and thought would suit your watching style both amuses you and makes your heart warm just a little. Indulging in TV series is one of the only coping mechanisms either of you can ever come up with, it seems.

When the opening credits roll, you hear your phone’s notification sound pop up, your hand reaching for the device. You don’t even get an opportunity to look at who is texting you before your roommate snatches the phone out of your hand, swipes across the screen and turns it off with one swift motion, forcing you to focus on the animation going on the TV.

Sometimes, all you need is your caring roommate to take over everything. Today, more than ever, you’re more than willing to give yourself into her hands.

After that, you do what you think anyone in your situation would (or wouldn’t do, to be precise). You don’t text Huang Renjun random things throughout the day like you used to– you no longer laugh at weird memes he finds funny with him and you no longer read his texts that are full of random complaining, mostly about his roommate Donghyuck, throughout the day. You don’t meet him to work on the project together. It’s almost done and you still have time– you are planning on just finishing it by yourself and turning it in on the day it’s due, with no contact with the male. You also don’t call him when you’re walking home alone in the late hours of the evening, scared and yearning to find comfort in his saccharine words. You don’t even look at his messages– he sent you multiple– only letting yourself to check the contact name before you swipe the notification away without giving it much thought, making yourself ignore all of his calls the moment you hear your ringtone go off. Worst of all, you don’t even attend class anymore. You’re glad for the past you that managed to attend every single class, because now, you have more than enough absences to use up before the semester ends and you go on spring break.

You do everything in your power to erase him out of your life. It takes an admirable amount of self-control, you must admit.

And sometimes, it even feels silly. It feels stupid to react so much to seeing him with his ex girlfriend, because frankly, you two weren’t dating. No amount of touches, gentle words, hang-outs after the sun sets and intimacy means that you are a couple; it didn’t matter that you opened up to him so much when neither of you confirmed to this being inclusive. The day before you dyed his hair back, you two were just good friends, after all. Sex didn’t change anything– even though you thought it would.

And maybe that’s what’s making you feel even more angstier about the whole thing. You gave him every last ounce of yourself you had, every inch of your body, from the inside out– so now, you feel thrown away, as if you were useless.

The cold nights slowly turn into warmer evenings, birds chirping outside waking you up in the mornings even more reminding you of the man you lost somewhere along the way. Spring was the favorite season of you both, but somewhere deep inside of you, you’re starting to dread it. Maybe it’s the fact that you were yearning for a new beginning for yourself in spring; for something to be born seemingly out of nothing– but it seems like you are supposed to bloom by yourself now, and you’re finding it harder than ever.

It’s the beginning of the second week of March. Warm sunlight makes your feet spring up from your bed in the early morning, forcing you to take a walk. You’ve gotten used to going on these, as many call it, ‘mental health walks’ lately– you read on the internet that they help your mood, and even though it’s a slow progress, you’re willing to try anything, at this point.

You chose a fixed destination you walk to every other day. It’s on the opposite side of the campus– where the Science buildings are– and you would be lying to yourself and everyone if you said you didn’t carefully craft the journey so you wouldn’t get in contact with the man you’ve been trying to avoid for the last two and a half weeks. It’s far away from your apartment, and even further away from his. There’s no reason for him to visit those parts of the campus, and you find comfort in the fact.

Finding a bench under a cherry blossom tree– it’s slowly starting to wilt these days– you sit in silence for a while on some days, and on others, you put in your earphones and watch the world around you go by without you moving a single finger, trying to find comfort in the fact.

Listening to the playlist you made in the crack of dawn last night– Renjun always made fun of you for the fact that you once listed ‘making Spotify playlists’ as your hobby– you fall deep inside of your thoughts. When this happens, it’s hard to control your mind and think of something positive. The only thing left for you to do is to hope and pray you don’t spiral.

Why did it even matter so much to you anyway? It was just a kiss to his cheek. It’s not like you caught them in the act…

However, still, the image of them looking so comfortable together broke your heart; because somewhere along the way, you thought he’d always feel resentment towards the girl. She broke his trust, she made him feel worthless, and it was left for you to take all those broken pieces of him and glue them back together. You didn’t realize it back then, but just the fact that you didn’t give up on him back when he was being difficult was enough for the boy to feel at least a little better again. Your nagging, yet silent acts of meeting him somewhere in the middle, even on his worst days, was a source of comfort for him. And after a while, you started noticing that– you started noticing him warming up to you every time you met, you started noticing his gratitude towards you in the little acts of service he brought with himself when he bought you snacks or texted you if you came home safely after your meetings.

You guess that seeing Yunjin talking so freely with him, seeing her kiss his cheek with such tenderness, made you feel so deeply, easily replaceable in his life. You guess you always feel like that with everyone anyway. It’s a bad habit you find hard to break– maybe you too, just need someone to be patient with you while you heal.

“What are you listening to?” you hear a voice, tone close to honey, ask from the place next to you. It makes you jump in terror, both from recognising it so easily and from not expecting him to find you here, so far away from everything, as you look at him with surprised eyes.

You don’t know what it is that keeps you silent. Perhaps it’s surprise. Perhaps it’s pettiness. Perhaps it’s shame.

The feeling makes you stiff in silence, everything in you refusing to respond to his sudden casualty. “Okay, I’ll just stalk your listening activity on Spotify when I come home again, then,” he shrugs, his uninhibited demeanor making you boil inside. You feel like your insides are on fire, you feel like the whole world came crashing down on you because of mere seconds of seeing him with someone that he once held so dear to his heart, making you feel replaced and forgotten, and yet, he comes to you so easily and doesn’t even acknowledge your hurt?

“What are you doing here?” you ask, voice soulless as you turn your music off and put your tangled earphones into your jacket pocket, finally choosing to recognise his presence.

“Talking to you,” he shrugs, “I… brought you coffee,” he smiles, showing you the Starbucks take-out cardboard holding two drinks together, one iced americano and one caramel latte, the sight making your heart warm up quite dangerously at the thought that after all this time, he got your coffee order down, he noticed you sweetening your drinks, and he remembered.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you scoff. “How did you know I’d be here?”

The man shrugs. “I didn’t, at first. I… I came to your apartment to talk to you, but Jimin said you weren’t home, so after a few minutes of begging her to tell me where I could find you, she gave up and sent me here.”

You guess you’ll have to have a serious talk with your roommate when you come home.

“Why… why are you here, then?” you ask, still feeling the bitter pettines on your tongue when the words escape your mouth.

“Well,” he starts, taking a deep breath in, collecting his thoughts, “at first I thought I’d give you space. I thought you didn’t want to talk with anyone and you kept ignoring my texts and calls, so I texted Jimin to ask if you were okay, and when she told me you were doing fine, I figured it had to do something with me. And then– and then I thought I’d give you some space, since you looked like you needed some, but… but I think I need to face the problem now, since it’s clearly… something big, you know…”

It’s undeniable that Huang Renjun is quite the smart individual. His ability to instantly sense your emotions and decipher the meaning behind them never fails to catch you off guard, though.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you suddenly notice the nerves he tried to mask by fake casualty. He keeps chewing on his bottom lip and he’s picking at his cuticles so hard you think they’ll bleed at any minute, his frame small and hesitant as he turns away from you, afraid to meet your eyes. He looks so, so guilty, and you suddenly feel stupid for making such a big deal out of something that shouldn’t have mattered to you in the first place.

“What… What did I do to hurt you?” he asks, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Because you must be hurt, if you’re avoiding me this much.”

Taking a deep breath in, you shake your head at the whole situation. He’s right, though– perhaps it’s time to finally face your problems now, so you can move on. Maybe this closure is what you need, maybe you need to hear it from him– to hear that it didn’t mean anything to him, to hear that Yunjin apologized and he’s gonna get back together with her, because somehow, your brain convinced you this was the case– to finally let him go and stop mourning something that was never there in the first place. “I–”

Your words fail you.

“Do you… regret it?” he asks, voice so small you almost don’t hear him.

The sentence takes you off guard. Looking at him, you can’t even bring yourself to speak, confused eyes roaming over his tense features. Opening up your mouth to ask for clarification, he mumbles again before you get a chance to speak. “Do you regret sleeping with me?”

Blinking at him a few times, a crease appearing in between your eyebrows, you shake your head. Is this really what was running through his brain? Is this why he left you alone for more than two weeks? Because suddenly, it makes sense– the way he gave you space and let you avoid him for two weeks before he came to find you in person– but again, this is not at all what was running through your brain all these days. Never once did you regret what you two did, no matter how shitty you’re feeling about it now after your brain convinced you of things that weren’t even real in the first place. “No,” you simply say.

A hint of relief washes over his face, his shoulders relaxing just the tiniest bit– it looks like this was what he’s been scared of the most; it looks like he feared he hurt you in this way. Still, he insists on talking it out once and for all. “What is it, then?”

Shameful to meet his eyes, you point your gaze towards your feet. Convincing yourself that your feelings are valid and that you were right to feel the way you do, the same way you did to him all those weeks ago at the stairs in front of the university building, you confess to your worries. “I saw you with Yunjin the other day.”

Now it’s his time to stay silent, and somehow, your brain can’t find a way to deal with not getting a response from him, so you ramble to cope. “At the cafeteria, I mean. I– I wanted to surprise you, and you said you were getting lunch alone and I was at the campus, so I thought I’d come to keep you company, but then… then I saw you with her, and you two seemed so comfortable together, so close, and then she kissed your cheek and it made me… it made me feel like… like you maybe wanted to get back together with her, or something…?”

“And really, it’s fine, if you want to do that, I guess I just… for the sake of both of us, or maybe just me, I think… I think it’s better for me to keep my distance from you, then.”

Watching as his expression shifts to one full of disbelief, you swear that what you want the most in this moment is to disappear. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me those past two weeks?” he asks.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, suddenly feeling insanely silly and unreasonable when you say all of those things out loud, you avert your gaze from him, pointing it somewhere into the distance.

“Is this really it?” he asks again, insisting, full of disbelief. “You made me feel like you regretted having sex with me, and this is it?” he chuckles, and you don’t know if it’s because he’s looking down on you, or if he just truly finds the situation funny.

“Look, I–”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gets out, looking as if every nerve and stress in his body finally let go, relief washing over his face like waterfalls, “I was so scared, and this is what’s been bugging you?” he asks, shaking his head in disbelief as he runs his hands through his hair. “She came to apologize to me. Not that it mattered something to me, and not that it made any difference, but I didn’t have it in me to tell her to fuck herself, you know? That’s what you saw. She told me she wishes me well and that she hopes I find joy in someone else too. She didn’t even– she didn’t even sit with me at lunch. She went to eat with her boyfriend.”

And here it is– the inevitable notion of shame intensifies. Finally having the explanation you’ve been wanting to hear, but purposefully avoiding for two weeks; finally feeling relief in your chest, your worries escaping out like the summer wind, and even though you should be happy, you can’t even bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“No, I mean– it’s just… I’m sorry too, it’s just…” he trails off, making you look at him with examining eyes, eyebrows raised in question. You don’t really know what he’s apologizing for. Maybe for leaving you space even though he was convinced that’s what you needed– had he approached you earlier, you wouldn’t have to avoid him for two weeks.

“It’s just…?”

“I find it ironic how you thought I wanted to get back together with her, when in reality… you were the one I wanted to get together with in the first place, you know?” he asks, and if you squint hard enough, you could still see hints of nervousness in his body when he asks the rhetorical question, soft eyes scanning your face when your eyes meet.

“Oh,” you hum, mouth agape in surprise.

“Yeah,” he nods, lips pressed into a thin line, “cause I like you… like, a lot, actually, so…” he mumbles, the confession reminding you of your first weeks with Renjun– tense and awkward, but with a promise of something new the more you got to know him.

“Oh,” you repeat again, your brain still not catching up to the situation.

Suddenly, the two weeks of avoidance feel even more silly. You don’t know what happened in you to cause this much distress for the both of you, but you’re filled with delight with the fact that even though you expected him to get mad at you– to call you unreasonable, maybe even a little stupid– he seems to be understanding of your emotions. He seems to accept them, willing to put up with them and everything that requires of him; he seems to be willing to find you even at the end of the world and try to get you back into his life. Because only god knows how much he appreciates your presence in it.

“So…” he mumbles, a silent question hanging in the air, making you realize you were too caught up in your thoughts to really give him an answer.

“I… I like you too, if that… wasn’t obvious,” you snicker, shrugging as a wide smile spreads across your cheeks. The words fall a little bashfully off your tongue, the confession ringing strangely in your ears, but you don’t mind the little uncomfort the shyness in your demeanor brings you.

There are no long confessions, no deep words of love. Once again, Huang Renjun is a man of few words– he shows you his care through actions.

He finds you when you’re avoiding him. He makes sure you get home safe. He tries hard to work with you on a project he originally wanted to avoid, only because he notices you finding interest in it, your passion slowly sparking up his.

He keeps annoying the publicist of your favorite author for a week straight to let you make an interview with her, even though he got declined twice over an email with messages filled with bitter and annoyed words. He remembers your coffee order and he invites you to hang out with his friends to show you that you are now a part of his circle, that you are one of his close ones. He lets you make fun of him with your roommate, but doesn’t give you the same treatment he gives Donghyuck when he tries to bully him. He sends you all the cat pictures he gets from his friend Taeyong, sometimes even asking for some when he hasn’t sent you ones in too long, and he also thinks of you any time he sees the snow– because he gets reminded of the walk you two had in the midst of the snowflakes, even though you hate the cold.

He reads your favorite book and finds pieces of you scattered all across the pages, he feels his love for you in the poetic words and metaphors hidden in the plot. He lets you dye his hair to signify that a part of his life is now over and a new one started– with you being the main actor of the subtle metamorphosis as he slowly shifts back into his old self, yet now a little wiser.

He is a man of few words, affection coating them only sometimes, when he reassures you over a mug of hot tea in the evenings before you present your assignments in class and when you get too scared of crowded places; but somehow, the words he keeps to himself translate to you despite not being spoken.

In the beams of the warm sun, you gravitate to him like you’re two planets in the solar system, always sharing the same space. And when his smile meets yours in another kiss, you think that after all, you get the kind of new beginning you wanted in spring.

You and Huang Renjun may be the prime example that love, just like cherry blossoms, always blooms in patience.

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thecoolerliauditore · 2 months

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long post: the neck kisses playlist on joel's spotify is about jimmy (and kind of etho too a little bit)

it's not actually about jimmy it very much is not about jimmy. however I had visions when I listened to it and I know at least one person really wants me to put this into words so

"I Miss Having Sex But At Least I Don't Wanna Die Anymore" is a pretty straightforward song about Awsten Knight's post-break-up life as well as his frustrations with his fanbase.

The feelings post-break-up are described as freeing, hence the title ".. don't wanna die anymore" but the ending of the song hints at some nagging regret despite that, with the desperate repeating mantra of "but I think it's fine, it's cool"

While I don't think all of these songs signify chronology (and some I don't think are literal at all unless c!Joel has some weird daddy issue lore I'm unaware of), I do like to think the start of the playlist calls to pre-3L jimmy/joel, most specifically their relationship in x-life.

In x-life, Joel establishes a totally-not-cult religion he dubs "Jeremyism", Jimmy being his first member after he fails to trick Lizzie into joining. He later gives up his leader title, quote, "for content". Jimmy is unhappy with this development and begs Joel to stay, but Joel refuses. While their relationship in x-life would be hard to define as romantic in any sense, they were clearly fond of eachother before Joel eventually broke away.

Things get a bit hazy here since "for content" doesn't really translate to anything in-universe, but I think it's interesting to note that both the song and Joel mention an audience, specifically one that they feel the need to appease. Whether this is a metaphor or watcher lore or some secret third thing I have no idea but it sure is there 👍

In my mind, it goes like this: Jimmy and Joel meet, they hit it off, Jimmy is affectionate and Joel starts to catch feelings. Joel cuts Jimmy off for making him feel weird.

the second song in the playlist reinforces this, being a much angrier post-break-up song.

While this seems out-of-order (why does the immediate anger come after the song about life after the break-up?), I think it's interesting if you look at it from an angle of this not being fully Joel's feelings towards Jimmy, but Joel's frustration towards himself for messing it up.

with a little bit of frustration being placed on jimmy too:

pictured: joel in third life with a message from jimmy that he very much. does not answer.

personally I like to think Joel held a lot of resentment towards Jimmy in Third Life, both for homophobic reasons (i.e. you made me feel gay and now I'm gonna punish you for it) and for jealousy reasons (start of his number one scott hater arc)

this one's just in the wrong playlist first of all why does he insert this between two waterparks songs. whatever man.

anyway this song's interesting to me because it's literally just about a hot babe getting rejected by some fuck who refuses to be ball-and-chained.

there's two directions this could go imo: one is that this is, once again, evoking joel and jimmy's relationship. Joel acknowledges that he a life with Jimmy would be nice, but he refuses to settle down because it would rob him of his identity/freedom.

the other is that brandy is joel and the sailor is etho, since brandy shows an admiration for the sailor but also an awareness that he loves his job more than her

this storybook like description of how brandy saw the sailor's tales is very smalletho to me idk. very hand-in-hand with joel's child-like view of who etho is.

I don't have much for this one tbh it's pretty much just a love song and Joel really liking waterparks (king)

That being said, there's some fun imagery to play with here:

yellow = jimmy makes a lot of sense (blonde hair, canary imagery, yellow also representing people on their second life in the life series which evokes neither the assumed skillfulness of a late game green name nor the danger of a red name), as does green = joel (the green streak. shrek. yeahg. and while red joel is iconic "green like my insides" could also be read in this context as "deep down, I am safe to be around" which I think is neat)

"natural blue" is a bit harder to interpret (especially considering the original context of this being a joke about Awsten dyeing his hair) but blue is of course scott's colour. this could be read spitefully as Natural blue (was in love with jimmy first) vs scott's dyed hair or it's. joel saying that's he's gay idk man.

"at least I match your eyes" is pretty simple, with both of them having brown eyes, "jealous and hypnotized" once again alluding to some jealousy, likely towards FH again if you believe the blue line is alluding to scott.

however joel has plenty of people to be jealous of in regard to jimmy so. shrugs. hey you can even interpret this line as talking about jimmy's desirability. neat.

there's also this, which again might allude to flower husbands, implying in this fake world I've created that Joel doesn't view them as actually "married"

ok this is getting too long lmao see you guys next time i feel like writing about this stupid fucking playlist again

#random thoughts #trafficshipping #smallidarity #do i tag joel/effo if they're only mentioned like. once #nah i don't think so

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

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Passenger / Chapter 1

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter One: Vermont

[ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Series Summary: In her time tramping across the United States, Charlie Wanderlust has found life on the road to be challenging, but rewarding. When she makes enemies with a powerful figure, a bounty is put out for her capture. Din Djarin, a long-haul trucker and occasional bounty hunter, takes the job as a means to gain financial stability. Their paths cross, and as a result, the winding route of their lives are forever altered.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 3.3k+

Content / Warnings: modern-day au, alternating pov, second person pov, slow burn, vagabond ofc, dog grogu, enemies to lovers, bounty hunting, violence, swearing, truckers

Notes: Heeeeyyyy buddy. Rated explicit because the whole series is just gonna go under that umbrella, I don't care to get into nitty-gritty of rating systems with each chapter lmfao but it will eventually be explicit. I made a Spotify playlist for the series and cross-posted on AO3 (un: glitter_deity), links to both are on the masterlist! OK BIG KISSES HAVE FUN!

Charlie’s Rules for Living on the Road, RULE #3: Keep your wits about you.

The tiny bar you’re in is shabby and crowded. All-American beer signs reflect red white and blue off the nicked-up mahogany bar top that’s so sticky and rich it reminds you of maple syrup. Fitting, considering you’re in Vermont, of all places.

It reeks of expired hand sanitizer. A strange combination of rubbing alcohol and rotting fruit that your nose doesn’t really know how to sort, but you just know you hate it. Thought it would be worth gagging through, but apparently not.

Despite how crowded the small dance floor was during your set, the tips were a fucking joke. Sixteen dollars.

Anyway, Rule #3.

The Paul Bunyan-esque bartender who agreed to let you play for tips must recognize that his patrons are cheapskates, because he approaches you from behind the bar and says, “Tough luck. Want me to make you a drink?”

“I’ll take some water.”

“Can make something harder if ya want. On the house,” he offers, pressing his wide palms against the bar.

“How about,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, then tilt your head at the hard plastic menu display standing erect between his splayed hands, “some mozzarella sticks?”

He raises a thick reddish-brown eyebrow at you, “Sure.”

A satisfied smile spreads across your face and you lean against the bar, propping your chin up on your fist, “You’re a lifesaver. What’s your name?”

“Jim,” he scoops ice into a tall glass and sprays water into it.

A man wearing tawny carhartt overalls and a blaze orange stocking cap approaches the bar. Jim tosses a cardboard coaster in front of you and sets your water glass down, then ambles over to take his order. He tends to a few more customers and you surreptitiously size up their wallets.

Once the demand for his attention wanes, Jim slides a parchment paper-lined basket of sizzling mozzarella sticks across the bar to you.

“You’re a fucking saint, Jim, thank you,” you crack one open, revealing the gooey, cream-colored innards. Steam bursts from the chasm and scalds your fingertips.

When you hiss and drop it, Jim chuckles, “Careful, they’re hot.”

“Thanks for the warning,” you tease, flashing a playful smile.

He pulls up the sleeves of his heavyweight green and black flannel, “So what’s your deal, where you from?”

“I’m from everywhere, and nowhere,” you sigh, then meet his unamused dark eyes and explain, “Kind of a roamer. I’ve been tramping around the country for a while.”

“All by yourself?” Jim raises his eyebrows, and when you nod he frowns, “Ain’t that kinda dangerous?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle. Get to meet all kinds of people, see all kinds of places. Always an adventure. It’s real living.”

“And how long you been doin’ this?”

“A few years now,” you answer, poking at the busted mozzarella stick to test its warmth, “Are you from the area?”

“Born ‘n’ raised,” he looks around the bar, surveying the faces he must have seen hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

“Do you like it?” you pinch off a piece of the fried food and pop it into your mouth.

“Ain’t too bad,” he shrugs, “It’s familiar, ya know. It’s my home.”

You hum in acknowledgment as you swallow your food, then press your elbows into the bar and lean forward, “Ever think of leaving it all behind? Seeing what’s out there?”

Jim shakes his head and chuckles, “No ma’am, that’s not for me.”

“Why not?”

“You’re just a curious thing, ain’t ya?”

Before you can retort, Jim is flagged down by another thirsty patron. You scarf down the greasy, scorching hot mozzarella sticks as he makes more drinks, then you push the bar stool out and call over to him, “Hey, can I leave my stuff here while I use the bathroom?”

He glances up at you and nods in the affirmative.

On your way back to the bar after your bathroom break, you stroll by a stack of heavy winter jackets sitting unattended at a table. It’s been on your radar since a group of four tossed them down about an hour ago. Since then, the jackets have only been revisited when their owners found their beer pitcher dry and in need of a refill. You couldn’t help but notice the sea of green inside one woman’s wallet before she returned it to its (terrible) hiding place.

RULE #8: Take care of yourself.

You squint up at a sign on the wall while your hand plunges into the pile of jackets. Your fingers brush up against the metal clasp of a wallet. You unfasten it and feel around for two bills, slipping them up your sleeve before walking away.

Adrenaline thuds through your heart, flooding your body with a weightless, buzzing energy. No matter how many times you’ve stolen, it’s still a rush.

When you return to your seat, you heave your rucksack over your shoulders, then your guitar strap, adjusting it until the guitar is safely fastened at your back.

“Taking off?” Jim asks as he clears your empty food basket from the bar.

“I suppose,” you meet his gaze and flash him a cordial smile, “Gonna see if I can find a place to set up camp.”

“You’re not sleeping outside, are ya?” he frowns, “Gonna drop below freezing overnight.”

You shrug, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aww hell, I can’t let you do that,” he protests, then ushers you closer, “Tell ya what—There’s an empty apartment upstairs, why don’t you sleep up there? No furniture, but I figure you have a sleeping bag or something, yeah?”

You search his face, trying to read his intentions and determine whether or not this is a safe offer to take.

He must recognize your hesitation, because he adds, “I’ll give you the key, you can deadbolt it from the inside. Just leave it unlocked in the morning, ok?”

“Really?” your eyebrows press together, “That would be… fucking amazing, actually.”

He tugs a key ring from his front pocket and wrestles one of the keys off, then slides it across the bar to you, “First unit around the corner. Don’t make me regret it, ya hear?”

Din slides his pen into the logbook’s spiraled spine and tosses it onto the empty passenger’s seat. He taps the tablet mounted on his dash and pulls up the load board, surveying available pickups in the area.

After factoring in fuel prices and time on the road, he determines that none of them have a particularly high net gain. Not enough to take his 1999 Peterbilt 379 in for the repairs it so desperately needs, anyway.

With a dissatisfied sigh, he pulls the cell phone from his pocket and dials Karga.

“Din, my old friend, to what do I owe the pleasure?” the man’s jovial voice booms through the speaker.

“Do you have anything in New England?”

Karga hums to himself. Din hears a few computer mouse clicks and the rapid clack clack clack of a keyboard, then Karga responds, “Let’s see here, I have a few bail jumpers, nonviolent offenses, in Maine, New Hampshire…”

“How much?”

“Five thousand for Maine, ten thousand for New Hampshire.”

“Anything bigger?”

More humming, some clicks, then, “Ah! Look here, there’s a private bounty, last seen along I-89 in Vermont. Deliver dead or alive to Portland.”

“Portland, Maine?”

“Oregon.”

“That’s too far.”

“It pays one-hundred fifty thousand.”

Din raises his eyebrows. He’s silent as he considers this. His truck is in a tenuous state, but if he can make it there, he could get every repair needed. Hell, he could buy a whole new truck and still have excess money to donate to The Academy.

“I’ll take it.”

After hanging up, Din gets a new email notification on the mounted tablet. He leans forward and opens the message from Karga listing the details of the bounty.

Name: Charlie Wanderlust DOB: Unknown, assumed to be aged mid-to-late twenties Race: White Sex: Female Height: Estimated between 5’0” and 5’4” Weight: Estimated between 130 and 160 lbs Hair color: Blonde Eye color: Brown Last known location: Near Williston, VT, Travel Plaza of I-89 10/14. Prior possible sightings: near Londonderry, NH, RMZ Truck Stop off I-93 10/12; near Newburgh, NY, Pilot Travel Center off I-84 10/8.

Included are blurry CCTV stills of a petite woman, dressed head-to-toe in black, face mostly concealed by a bandana, stringy white blonde hair spilling down her back from beneath a beanie. The stills appear to be taken in some kind of warehouse, and show the subject pointing a handgun directly at a man whose hands are raised behind his head.

Another collection of photos, much clearer than the shoddy CCTV stills, show the target on her tiptoes, talking to a trucker through his rolled-down window. The snapshots depict them trading a plastic baggie and cash. A bloated dark green rucksack hangs off her back, and an acoustic guitar strap spans her chest, leaving the instrument hanging upside down, flush against one side of the sack.

Din observes her profile and notes the pointed chin and hooked nose as distinguishing features that will make her easy to spot. He surmises that she’s using an alias, because there’s no way that’s a real name. Her posture and trigger discipline in the CCTV stills tells him that she boasts familiarity with gun safety, and is probably armed. She’s backpacking, likely hitching rides with, and selling drugs to, truckers.

When he pulls up a map on the tablet’s screen and traces the path between the sighting locations, he notices she’s trending north. Probably trying to cross the Canadian border, considering most bounty hunters won’t find the difficulties that would come with re-entering the United States worth it. Try explaining to the border patrol why a pretty blonde woman is being held against her will. That will go well.

He zooms in on truck stops and gas stations further along I-89. The stretch of road he wants to search is approximately 200 miles away. It will take 3 hours to get there, maybe less. She doesn’t seem to be moving at a particularly fast rate, but her trajectory indicates she’s close to Canada. Probably only needs to hitch one or two more rides to get to the border.

Din glances over his shoulder into the sleeper cab, at the wrinkly, white, satellite-eared French bulldog sitting at attention on his bed, “What do you think? Should we go catch a bad guy?”

The dog tilts his head in response.

“Come on, boy,” Din pats the passenger’s seat, then the dog hops off the bed in favor of the front seat.

At 7 AM, just as you’re rolling your sleeping bag up, a knock sounds at the door, then the doorknob jiggles.

You jump to your feet and approach the noise, hollering, “Yeah?”

“It’s Jim.”

You unlock the door and swing it open to find the lumberjack bartender standing there with a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand. He’s wearing a new flavor of flannel long sleeve, this one checkered black and red, tucked into his dark blue jeans. His reddish brown hair is damp and slicked back, pale skin tinged pink by the cool air. Or rosacea. Or both.

“Good morning,” you greet and step back to let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him. The thuds of his heavy leather boots echo across the barebones efficiency apartment.

“I got you a coffee,” he says and sets one of the cups on the kitchen counter.

“Thank you so much, Jim,” you smile and meet his eyes. In the bright light of morning, they gleam a rich golden brown that feels warm and inviting. You drop your gaze and tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind your ear, then clear your throat before returning to your sleeping bag.

As you roll it up, he tells you, “Figured I’d stop by and make sure everything went ok last night. You takin’ off this morning, then?”

“That’s what it looks like,” you tie your sleeping bag tight with practiced efficiency, shove it into your pack, then zip it closed while muttering, “On the road again.”

“Need anything else before ya go?”

This man’s kindness and generosity is almost overwhelming. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smitten with you. A concept that curdles your heartstrings.

“Um… well,” you sigh and raise your eyes to meet his, “If you’re offering, I could use a ride to the truck stop off I-89.”

“Sure thing,” he grins, the apples of his cheeks pushing his eyes into crescents, “Ready to go now, or you wanna get some breakfast first?”

“I’m ready,” you stand with a grunt and pull on your coat. He watches you do this, and when you glance up at him, he looks away and strokes his bushy beard, then takes a sip of coffee.

Jim insists on carrying your bag out to his black pickup truck. You follow behind him, coffee in one hand, neck of your guitar in the other. The ride to Jolley Truck Stop is accompanied by a Sunday morning country music segment dedicated to Christian songs of the genre. The trees are all ripe with autumn colors, their leaves a gorgeous array of reds and oranges.

“It’s so beautiful this time of year,” you comment as you watch the scenery go by, “Look at that foliage.”

Jim chuckles, “We have a name for the types of folks comin’ around here to look at the trees in fall.”

“What’s that?”

“Leaf lickers.”

You swing your head over to look at Jim, who’s sporting an amused grin, then start laughing, “Leaf? Lickers?”

He snorts and nods, “Yes ma’am.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you shake your head and look out the window again, “Have any exciting plans for the rest of the day?”

“Church, then a Patriots game,” he answers, “Where do you think the day’ll take you, Miss Charlie?”

“Hopefully to Canada,” you murmur, “But we’ll see. Rule number six of living on the road: Embrace change.”

“Good rule to live by,” Jim responds, flicking on his blinker to turn into the truck stop, “I’ll have to try that out for myself.”

“You should, Jim,” you cast a warm smile his way, “Really, I mean it. There’s more to life than Milton. I think you’d like it out there.”

When his truck comes to a stop, he shifts into park, keeping an eye on you as you open the passenger’s side door and hop out.

You grab your rucksack and guitar, then tell him, “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I wish you the best of luck on all your future journeys, Jim.”

“It was nice meeting you, Charlie,” he nods and gives you a wistful smile.

With this, you slam the door shut and approach the sidewalk next to the truck stop, then take a moment to organize your belongings. After verifying you have all the things you need in the most accessible locations, you secure your rucksack and guitar on your back. Jim’s truck rumbles in idle for a while, but you don’t turn around until you hear him pull away.

RULE #9: Do not get attached.

Din is 5 miles out from the last place on his list, Jolleys Truck Stop, when the CB radio crackles to life.

A voice cuts through, “Anyone see that blondie wandering around at Jolleys? Rusty Crawler, Over.”

“With the guitar? Interstate Blackbeard, Over.”

Din’s heart skips and his spine straightens.

“Aye-firmative, Blackbeard. She a lot lizard er what?”

“Negative, Rusty, she has party favors.”

He picks up his mic and asks, “Do you have eyes on her, Rusty Crawler? 38-91, over.”

“Do I ever, 38-91, wheeew,” the man jests.

Din looks over at the dog, who was jolted awake by the radio. He starts panting, his buggy black eyes darting around the cab, little nub of a tail wiggling with excitement.

“Are you ready?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question to his companion.

“Boof.”

“Good,” Din chuckles in response, then turns his eyes back to the road.

You knock on the red Freightliner’s window and squint up at the driver as he rolls his window down, “Hey there. Are you looking for a west coast turnaround?”

He grins and shakes his head, “No, darlin’, but I reckon I’m lookin for a friend if you’re offerin’ your company.”

“Not on the table, I’m afraid,” you crinkle your nose and wave, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Same goes for you, pretty girl,” he hollers at your back as you walk further down the row of idling rigs. An intuitive shiver runs down your spine; you suspect the man’s foul vibes are at fault.

There’s a newcomer in the lineup: an old, silver Peterbilt, shiny with chrome details. The driver is wearing a black baseball cap and aviator sunglasses, but seems to be looking in your direction, so you wave.

He waves back.

As you draw near, he opens the driver’s side door and hops out of the cab. He’s broad-shouldered and tall. The sleeves of his black crewneck sweater pull taut around his chest and biceps. His posture is impeccable, his steps metered, and you’re immediately struck by the assertive energy radiating off him in waves.

Another shiver creeps along your backbone. And it’s just an off kind of feeling that gives you pause, but you stop in your tracks.

RULE #2: Listen to your gut.

He puts one palm up towards you in a gesture of peace and says, “Charlie Wanderlust—”

“How do you know my name?”

Your eyes flick to your distorted reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. The hair back of your neck stands at attention. You take a cautious backwards step.

“I can bring you in warm,” he slides a gloved hand to the back of his cargo pants, “or I can bring you in cold.”

Static booms in your chest. Your stomach plummets to the asphalt beneath your feet, and you scoff, “Fuck you, man, what the fuck are you talking about?”

He tilts his head, as if to mock your feigned ignorance.

A dog barks.

It pulls his attention away for just a second, but it’s long enough for you to turn and bolt in the opposite direction.

All you can hear is your ragged breath and blood whooshing behind your ears and boots pounding against the pavement.

Not just your boots.

His, too.

They get closer with every beat.

A tug on your rucksack makes your heart gallop. You yelp and duck between two semi-trucks, pushing yourself as hard and fast as your legs can go. You reach the end of the rumbling trailer corridor and glance over your shoulder, only to find he’s not there.

That moment is enough to blind you.

It’s like you hit a wall, he’s just that fucking solid.

You bounce off of him, and before you realize what’s happening, he’s slamming your face against a trailer door. His thick fingers tangle in your hair and close into a fist.

“Fuck, that fucking hurts! What the fuck is your problem?!” you wail, thrashing in resistance as he rips off your guitar and tosses it to the ground with a twangy thunk that breaks your heart.

“Hey!” you bellow, “Be fucking careful with that!”

The man strips your rucksack off next, dropping it at your feet. He grabs one wrist, pinching a handcuff around it, then the other.

“Stay there,” he pants, then picks all your worldly possessions off the ground and slings them onto his shoulders.

He yanks the chain of the handcuffs, sending you stumbling back a few steps. You steady yourself, only for him to push you forward and throw you off balance again. Your vision goes red with anger.

“Fuck you,” you spit through gritted teeth, “Fucking asshole.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, just presses his hand between your shoulder blades and prods you onward.

Rage bubbles between the layers of your skin. Every single insult in the book simmers at the back of your throat, but all that comes out is a strained growl.

Then you put one foot in front of the other and let him lead you to your fate.

[ Next Chapter ]

#passenger #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #trucker!din djarin au #modern day au #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic

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twig-tea · 1 year

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5 Songs Tag - QL Shows Edition

Created by @troubled-mind (see the original chart-like list and the first 5 QL Song Tag entry). The rules:

When you get this, list 5 songs from Asian QL shows that you actually listen to. 🎶They do not have to be custom-made for the series. 🎶Non-western tracks only. Let's support Asian music and languages! 🎶Feel free to tag anyone who may be interested in participating. 🎶Add #5qls tag to your post for others to find the new favourites!

Note: I'm going to play by the original rules that the show had to introduce you to the song, because otherwise I would not be able to narrow this down. Also, to everyone who already went so that I could narrow down my list, you're all doing God's work and have great taste (esp. to @lurkingshan, all five of her songs were on my shortlist; @bengiyo for his selections from About Youth, Like in the Movies, and Gameboys 2 (all five were excellent songs but those three were on my shortlist; and @absolutebl's top 10 OSTs listing songs from Wish You and To My Star which helped me let go of including them too!). I went with one song per country to help me choose, and it was a very fun agony. Here we go!

Silly Fools - วัดใจ [wad jai / measure your willingness (i.e. test your heart)] (Theory of Love; Thailand, YouTube)

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I debated on the Thai song for so long but this is the song that started my obsession with Thai rock; Khai and Third rock out to this in the car as a moment of nostalgia for them and I sat up and took notice because it reminded me of 90s alt rock from my own youth; that scene is such a perfect encapsulation of what that felt like and it tied that feeling to this song for me. And the lyrics are also great as a hype song; they're all about how the singer isn't going to give up in the face of any obstacle or hate. Every time I hear it I think about sitting in the car yelling with my friends (even though we did that to Alanis Morisette and not Thai rock music, the feeling is universal). Even though I'd been watching Thai shows for a couple of years by that point, and had some OSTs on my playlist, this song inspired me to branch out into finding more Thai music and it's now been the genre I listen to the most for the past few years.

Đỗ Hoàng Dương, Cody - Không Yêu Cũng Chẳng Cô Đơn [Neither Love Nor Loneliness] (You Are Ma Boy, Vietnam, YouTube)

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These two are musicians first and actors second, which is probably why the OST is so good. Cody is part of Uni5, and Đỗ Hoàng Dương is a solo artist. Large reason why this is on here is because I like Cody's rap so much. The lyrics are translated in this video so I don't need to paraphrase, but essentially they're about how love in youth is a lot of feelings, so let's just be together and love one another.

Shania Ann Bajen - Once You're Mine (Filippines, Win Jaime's Heart, YouTube)

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Taking advantage of the change in rules from the original post to post a song in English because it's my favourite by this artist. Shania Ann's voice is mesmerizing, when this song appeared in the show I went searching for it and was so happy when they finally posted it to Spotify. This is what she said about her song:

This song is my original composition. 💕 It's about our loved ones, whether it'd be family, friends, or significant other, that we lost in our journey but never failed in making us feel loved and accepted despite our imperfections 🥺 Hope you all like it!

周予天 / Alex Chou - 分手放手 [Fengshou fangshou / Hard to Let Go] (We Best Love: No. 1 for You, Taiwan, WeTV)

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The lyrics to this one are so painful in the context of the end of season 1 and the time-skip. They're translated in the video above, but essentially it's about breaking up and letting go when you don't actually want to. I really went back and forth with this one and Ray / 黃霆睿 - 我們 [Wo men / Us] from the Miracle book trailer, hilariously both for Lin Pei You vehicles, but finally decided that this song just hits harder (you didn't notice me sneaking a second rec in there nope).

センチミリメンタル / Centimillimental - 冬のはなし [Fuyu no Hanashi / Winter Story] (Given (anime), Japan, WeTV / CrunchyRoll)

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This is either a really obvious answer or a polarizing answer depending on how you felt about the Given adapatation, but IDC it's on my list because I love Centimillimental and can't listen to it without getting shivers. I saw this anime and burst into tears the first time I heard the bridge. I used the official version for each of these links so that creators get views, but I have to also shout out my favourite version of this song, with Centimillimental (the guy who wrote the whole soundtrack for the anime and the movie) and Shogo Yano (who voiced Mafuyu in the anime) performing together. If you haven't seen the show, the lyrics are about having a love one torn away from you and struggling to let yourself move on. I had a hard time between this and the main song from the movie (僕らだけの主題歌 [bokura dake no shudaika / Our Theme Song]) but this is the one that hits me hardest.

BONUS(es) (don't judge me):

樹林座 [Shulinzuo / Grove ] - 水火 [Shui Huo / Fire and Water] (The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty, China, YouTube)

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This song was as far as I can tell written for the series and it punches me in the gut every time. I don't know what it is about this song? It has me in a chokehold. It's basically about fighting for justice against an unjust world and how it's possible even if it seems to not be. It's also just a banger. Something about the irony of them using a very modern-sounding song for a historical drama tickles me (electronic rhythm sounds? electric guitar? For 15th century China? Love it). Put in the bonus round because the show is censored bromance.

Spencer Geronimo - Magkaibang Mundo [Different worlds] (Lakan, Filippines, YouTube)

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Rest in Peace to the actor Kennedy Nakar who costarred in Lakan and who just died (on July 25, 2023) of Leukemia; He was 24. Kennedy and his partner Paul Cervantes were an out gay couple and starred in this series together, and were supposed to also star in Turbulence. This song is all about fighting for a love that people think is wrong, against the odds, and wondering how long you'll have to fight and wait to be together. In that context, it becomes even more heartbreaking. Since this song was in my favourites, I could not skip the chance to give their work some love.

Tagging @callipigio @pandasmagorica @formayhem @dribs-and-drabbles @redxblueihateloveyou no pressure but if y'all feel like it!

#5qls #tag game #theory of love #you are ma boy #win jaime's heart #we best love #given anime #the sleuth of ming dynasty #lakan

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rosewood-multifandom-writer · 8 months

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My ideal female character types:

It’s the Month of Love, so I decided to just ramble and gush about the types of men and women I am attracted to in fiction. Ladies first:

The morally complicated badass lady. (From left to right: Juli Kidman from The Evil Within, and Naomi Kimishima form Trauma Center, Second Opinion)

Juli is a more recent example as I completed both TEW1 and TEW2 and to me, she’s the best blueprint for a morally complex character. Not to mention that she is attractive without having her design be trying way too hard to cause a boner like the typical bland skimpy bikini “outfit” with little to no substance. Plus she has a similar look to Helena Harper, and I already find Helena attractive, so seeing Juli only made it better. Also, the hair is magnificent. That aside, Juli working for MOBIUS and reluctantly doing their dirty work as well as being the MVP in TEW2 as much as that game gave me mixed feelings and saving Sebastian and Lily. Girl single-handedly saved a dad and his daughter all while taking out a corrupt organization like MOBIUS, how can you not love her?

Naomi Kimishima is also hella attractive. Whenever her levels popped up when I watched a playlist of someone’s Trauma Center playthrough, I would be excited because I loved her levels, her levels were my absolute favorite to play and because I love her design and her voice, like wow. Not to mention that she is one of the best doctors in the series. Not to mention that she briefly worked for the company that was guilty of spreading around the viral infection GUILT so that she could research the virus and get information on it. She even owns up to it and confesses it to Derek Stiles the other main character. She also gets bonus points because of the silver white hair and blue eyes. 👌🏽

Physically strong women with iconic weapons. (Left to right, Nariko from Heavenly Sword in fact she is my favorite female hero of all time hence my banner and Samus from Metroid)

Samus is a funny one because the only Metroid game I played was Prime on the Wii and that was it. I only know her because of Super Smash Bros. It was Brawl that revealed that Samus wasn’t a dude, it was a woman. And the way she looked in Smash Bros 4 and Ultimate? Best design. I also love how fit she looks. Fit and muscular women are so underrated it kind of makes me want to draw and write about more muscular woman. I can’t say too much about Samus since I only played Prime and did not finish it and I only played the Smash Bros games she appeared in, so that’s where this paragraph is gonna end.

Now Nariko, she is the best video game woman from the 2000’s. Not only is her design attractive in my opinion, but her personality and her strength are also attractive. The main focus was always on her strength. There were no gratuitous camera angles nor were there scenes that sexualized her, it just showed her personality through her dialogue and how fun the gameplay was. I love her determination, her protective and big sister-like nature towards Kai, and I love how selfless she is. Female characters like Nariko are now rare these days, which is sad because Nariko is a good example of what a strong female character can be.

I also just now realized that they both sport long ponytails, so that is a bonus point they both get.

The Ambitious Female Rival (I only came across this one that I liked which was Klara from Pokemon Sword and Shield because she is a toxic cutie):

When she was first revealed, I liked the fact that despite her cute demeanor, she was poison type and the fact that she was a DLC rival. By the way, GameFreak sucks for having her be a DLC rival instead of being in the main game! *ahem* Anyways, when I saw her design, I was like, “ooh, okay, I like it.”

When I saw her in the station with the Galarian Slowbro, I was like, “Okay, I like it even more…”

Then I get the DLC for Sword (because she’s in Sword), and she proceeds to be an arrogant, toxic, and ambitious rival who also tried to bribe me with better fashion picks for both the boutiques and salon. “I love you, you toxic and cute brat.”

I’m not kidding. That’s basically how I felt towards her. And then when she mellowed out, I was like, “Oh my god, can she get any cuter?” I’m glad that her toxic traits were slightly kept in after she redeemed herself and became a Poison type gym leader and I’m actually tempted to write content of her over on my A03 since I don’t see much content of her there that I like. She also doesn’t have a voice apparently, so I’m gonna make some voice claim suggestions in the future, but for now, in Sword, I like her. Her and Avery are WAY better rivals than Bede, like seriously, Bede can just retire as a fairy gym leader already, I just wanted him off my screen very quickly whenever I saw him.

And finally, the dominant and/or independent. AKA, Dominatrix vibes. (Left to Right: Bayonetta from… well, Bayonetta and Emma Frost from the X-Men comic series)

Bayonetta may cry not be a game I haven’t played yet, but either way, from what I have witnessed from her appearance in Super Smash Bros 4 and Ultimate, she does give me those vibes that she is dominant and independent, plus I love her sass in her taunts. The taunt feature is honestly made for her. And of course from clips I’ve seen of her (for research purposes) she can also be a troll towards this Luka guy who tries to make a move on her but it fails spectacularly on him. I also love her “if you want to learn how to talk to a lady, ask your mum” quote. That taunt alone tells you all about the type of character she is. Not to mention that she like the other women on here has a sexy design that doesn’t try extremely hard to turn the male audience on (because not every guy wants to see the one millionth skimpy bikini design on a female character).

Last is Emma Frost. I don’t read comics I only ever watched the shows and movies about comic book characters and I watch some of the information about said comic book characters on YouTube to learn more about them. With that in mind, Emma Frost is another recent lady I fell for and it’s because it’s both her design and character. Once again, a morally grey character that sometimes leans to the side of good, and she has cool powers and is intelligent. And as we all know, intelligence is attractive. I mean, she is a teacher after all. She is also protective of her students too, so that is another point from her. I really want Emma Frost to have her own movie, but then again, I know Hollywood is just gonna screw it up with cheap and ugly CGI for her diamond form and write her character so far off that they make her unlikable, which is a common mistake made with morally grey characters like Emma. So for now, in the movies and in the comics, she is great. Side note, I think Emma would look better with a platinum blonde hair color than the yellow-y blonde hair color, but that is a minor nitpick.

I know that the majority of these have been from video games so it’s weird to end it on a comic book character, but… 🤷🏽‍♀️

In general I’m attracted to feminine women. Feminine women are very attractive to me and I am also feminine. Hence why all of these women are femme than masculine, which there’s nothing wrong with masculine women, obviously, I’m just more attracted to the feminine girly ones.

The next one is gonna be about the guys + more women because there have been female crushes that also fell into the same category as those men.

#the evil within #trauma center second opinion #heavenly sword #pokemon #bayonetta #metroid #x men #ramble #rambles #fictional crushes #lady crush #hot ladies

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fifthrideroftheapocalypse · 2 months

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Fic Writers Q&A

thanks for the tag @liminalmemories21 !

How many wips do you have currently?

so. many. do you want a rundown? i'll give you a rundown.

buck lightning: a buck/tommy fic where buck still has ptsd from being struck by lightning. vibe: psychological horror, pondering

buck's an ally: 5 times buck's an ally, and one time's he's not. vibe: silly

rwrb swimming au: high school swimming firstprince au meant to finish in time for the olympics but oh well. people already jumping on that au b/c of the olympics i saw, which reminded me of it. vibe: long

gabriel fakes his death: gabriel unwillingingly fakes his death and conducts his murder investigation underground. vibe: investigation, regret

meet me at the movies old guard fic series: 1 installment written a few years ago. follow ups in the works. nile decides to bring her family into the know but the fallout from the movie catches up to them first. vibe: going to the movies, plot heavy

shadowhunters missing moments: inspired by @paperstorm's lone star missing moment series. episode by episode fic series of missing moments, centered around alec and magnus. vibe: long. introspective

there's more i think but these are the ones currently occupying my thoughts.

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

all of them. these are all ones i really want to finish but it's finding the time to sit down and focus on just one that im struggling with. just have gotten really busy with life things.

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

hmm idk. opening a google doc and typing what kind of fic i think it's going to be. but sometimes my excitement about it gets ahead of itself and that's all i can muster for it because then i start worrying that it's not going to come out the way the inspiration first manifested itself. so basically, anxiety.

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

no, but that would be fun to do i think. ive found some really great play lists other authors have put a lot of thought into that i really enjoy.

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

i guess both. the only way a fic gets published is if i did just sit down and write it all in one sitting. which is why i have only published short 500 - 3,000 word fics because that's all i can handle, really. the longer ones i outline but i tend to lose momentum on them quickly and then find it hard to get back to. really hoping i can break free from that haha.

no pressure tagging @alrightbuckaroo @bonheur-cafe @lemonlyman-dotcom @rmd-writes @welcometololaland

@paperstorm

#fic writer asks

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hp-lawofattraction-fest · 1 year

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FAQs and Further Info

banner by @fantalfart

How do you define Lightning Era characters?

By Lightning Era, we mean characters who were students at Hogwarts during the years 1991 to 1997, when Harry studied there, not exclusively in the same school year as him. It doesn't mean you can't use other characters in your work, only that both characters in the main pairing must have frequented Hogwarts during this time (again, not necessarily joining the school in 1991, but being there during this 7 year span in whichever school year).

How do you define queer pairings?

For the purposes of this fest, one or both characters in the pairing should be queer in some way. This means M/F ships can be included as long as at least one of the characters is queer (for ex: trans, a-spec, bi, etc!)

I want to submit an aesthetic compilation: i.e. a moodboard/playlist. Can I?

Absolutely - however, we request that this is accompanied by a work of your own creation. This fest is meant to be an opportunity to push yourself creatively and try out new ideas in response to your giftee's likes and your assigned prompt. Mixed mediums are encouraged! For example, we would love to see artwork inspired by a moodboard you created, or a playlist to listen to while reading your fic/poem/drabble series, for example. But because someone is going to be working hard creating something for you, we'd rather your submission not be solely an aesthetic compilation.

I'm finding it difficult to use only one half of my 'Opposite Theme', what should I do?

It's okay to include both sides of the opposite in your work, we understand it might be hard not to, but remember the focus is on your assigned theme. (E.g. If your pair gets light and dark, and you get light… It's okay to have elements of dark, as long as the focus of your work is still on the light.)

Further Info

Maybe you are thinking to yourself, “I really want to sign up for this fest because it looks so fun and amazing, but I am nervous and and uncertain and very small in a vast universe.” Well REST EASY, precious buns! We have gotten wildly overexcited and written out sample sign-ups from which you can draw inspiration and see how the process will work.

We know the fest concept and themes might be hard to grasp; so we, the mods, devised an example with one 'opposites theme' for your reference. That theme won't be used again for fests participants, so there's no risk of repeating!

For our Theme example we'll use Left and Right. While brainstorming the theme, we got to several options that could be explored:

Left and right could be about two sides of the same thing, literally and physically or metaphorically, or right and left hand, eyes, ears.

Right can refer to the right side of something, but also to being correct or doing something correctly, to righting something physical, a concept or a deed. To trying to get something right, to always doing the right thing, to being proper and honourable. The right one has to do, to be, or to live. To be true to oneself. Fairness.

Left could speak about someone who left or was left behind, about an abandoned place or thought, something incomplete or cast away.

Test Run

If you're still confused and would like how to apply all that, we've developed a "Test Run" for easier understanding. Feel free to refer to this if you're still unsure about the concept and how to work it out. The Test Run was made with the mods' forms and ideas.

(Test Run under the cut)

Consider a pair with these forms:

After randomising the themes:

Person A got Right and Person B got left

For what they could come up with as gifts:

Person A...

Who got Right, is creating an illustration for their giftee, with the pairing Luna x Ginny. Ginny and Luna can be in a fake/pretend relationship to get Harry and Ginny out of the pressure to date after the war, but by trying to do the right thing (in her head), she's hurting the people she loves by lying. For the illustration, it could be a small comic without text of how they reach the breaking point, where people find out the truth but they also realise they were in love, and they were right for each other all along, while the comic panels move a bit to the right of the screen. It could have colder undertones (green and blue) and show a few moments of their fake relationship (a Weasley's lunch at a Mexican where they have to pretend, an argument between them, Molly's disappointment when she finds out, then their epiphany on how they like each other).

Person B...

Who got Left, is creating a piece of fanfic about Drarry. Person B might think about Harry's struggles after the war, how he feels left behind, cast aside, abandoned by everyone who's moving on and guilty at the same time. He's struggling with creating a Patronus, which has always been a source of pride for him, when Draco comes in and they both learn how to deal with what is left of them now, how to cope with what they don't have anymore and won't come back. They start creating new memories, leaving old ones behind, and learning how to create a new Patronus.

You can also find our FAQs on our collection page.

#hplawofattractionfest #loaf #hp fandom #hp fests #faq post

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vodid · 2 years

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MORE QUESTIONSSSS

Sooo, first one is, what advice do you have for aspiring writers and artists that follow you? Follow your passion, practice a lot, don’t get distracted, etc?

What’s the best part about being an author and a writer? The satisfaction when you finally finish a piece, or when a lot of people like and share your artwork and book?

Do you read any fanfictions? I’m wondering because I’ve almost ran out of good Prowl/Jazz fanfictions and I want more to cure my need for cuteness and angst with those two 🤲

Do you listen to music when you write/draw? If so, what kind of music, or does it depend on the scene when your writing/drawing. It definitely depends on what I’m writing at the moment to determine the music lmao

Will you ever make your Obsidian King fanfiction into a little series? Like after you’re done the first one with Prowl and Jazz whenever, will you plan on doing one with like Bluestreak and a love interest and how that would all play out? Or is the Obsidian King just a standalone?

Have you ever cried when you were writing your books? The Obsidian King, Vulnerability or otherwise? I cried during Vulnerability :( poor Bumblebee man and I relate to it so much too! Like, I absolutely love your writing in both because it feels as if I’m actually there, y’know?

Do you plan on continuing to learn German despite when you finish your Vulnerability fanfiction one day and only need a bit of German for it? I find it cool to learn German! I’m learning French at the moment, but I’m thinking about learning German after.

ANYWAYS, too many questions, I have more though. I was planning to send this before you woke up at some point, but then I had to go to a doctors appointment and I ran out of data unfortunately. Can’t wait to hear your answers if you respond to this!

hello anon <3

advice for aspiring artists/writers? you hit the nail on the head lol gonna preach the three P's i told myself and others years ago: practice, patience and passion. when you're a growing artist (which you always will be) you need to have patience with yourself as you navigate through the mistakes and learning curves as you practice. the passion keeps you motivated. if you don't have that passion and patience, you might have a hard time with the practice and growth

best part of being a writer? short answer: i love getting comments that analyze my work. long answer: i have been trying my best to focus less on the end product and its reception when it comes to writing, much like my art. this can even lead back to the first question: i personally believe you should not focus most on those things, but the process more. the things you learned, the steps you took, the parts that felt therapeutic for you. that's what should be the best part. (but ofc, i do love the comments i get on my writing and it certainly makes it feel even more worth it. analyses on my writing? THE best.)

j/p fanfic recs most of my favorites come from beloved rizobact. winner takes all and crystal ghosts are my favs from her. it's been a long time since i read this one, but domino milkshake was a fun one as far as i remember. if you've already exhausted those, the j/p zine just published some fics ',:)

do you listen to music when you draw/write? lot of times, i focus best with no music or a single song on repeat. tho i don't like the silence as much, it's quite boring. i like to have something so i'll either listen to music or put on a youtube video, usually mark or jack, sometimes reaction videos from other youtubers. i don't usually switch up what i'm listening to based on what i'm writing bc most times, it's the music that determines the art but it's not the biggest influence. i tend to listen to whatever my neurodivergent brain decided to attach to that week ...or month. rn, i'm still working through exhausting a german playlist and "rising kingdom" (yes, the minecraft song lol)

will obsidian king be a series? this is the plan as i realize i may not be able to juggle the various stories all in one fic (i'm sure i could but the way i had started the obsidian king wasn't the right setup for it) the next one i want to tackle after j/p is megoplita's story. from when they all first fell in love to the beginning of the autobot-decepticon war. bluestreak and the twins may not get their own story for a long while, if at all, since i do not have anything figured out post-war.

have you ever cried while writing a fic? not any of my current ones, no. but i have cried writing you are my flower iirc and infinity (i took prowl's death HARD, man.) vulnerability does hit home with me since it's just pure projection with bumblebee, a lot of it was actual sensations and thoughts i've experienced, but it was more therapeutic than upsetting for me. take care of urself anon <:)!

do you plan to continue learning german after you finish vulnerability? hell yeah, i hope to! i don't have a solid end goal going into this, because i highly doubt i will reach any sort of fluency, but it will always be a fun and interesting thing to learn. if i did have to give myself a goal, it would be to write a fic in german to test my knowledge! but for now, it's mostly just keeping my brain busy and engaged with something new

u can always drop more questions if u want <3

#vulnerability fic #obsidian king au

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iwanthermidnightz · 2 years

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Shattering stereotypes is part of this journey, particularly harmful ones that members of this community are transphobic. "I think that it's been really hard to break those stereotypes and stigmas that society has just placed on so many people that have been unwarranted and unwelcome, she says. So we're getting rid of those, hopefully, as more people learn to love themselves and exist and change the way others see one another."

"I think being a lesbian has been such a journey, and I've always known I was a lesbian since I was 5,” she adds. “So I've really grown a wonderful relationship with that word, knowing that being a lesbian is powerful, being a lesbian is beautiful, being a lesbian looks many ways. And it's been exciting to reclaim that word and what that means to me and what it means to the world, truly."

In recent years, the number of other pop artists who are sending the same empowering message has grown exponentially. It used to be that just a few artists among them, Kiyoko, Janelle Monáe, Kehlani, Halsey, and Tegan and Sara — were singing about sapphic love on pop playlists. Today, dozens of singers and bands like Muna, Fletcher, Zolita, Carlie Hanson, Rina Sawayama, Chloe Moriondo, Rebecca Black, the Aces, Sarah Barrios, King Princess, and Dove Cameron are making music that revels in the joy of being queer and loving women.

“It’s been incredible. I think that it’s long overdue. And I’m so grateful that we are normalizing our queerness in mainstream and in pop music,” Kiyoko says. “Growing up, I never could have imagined I’d have the opportunity to sing about women so boldly and still chase my dreams of being a pop star and to be mainstream. And it’s been an incredible journey and ride. And a win for one is a win for us all in just moving the needle forward in representation.”

Kiyoko sees this joyful tone as a welcome shift from the sadder lesbian songs of yesteryear. “It seems as though there is more space for us to celebrate our wins and our joy and our happiness,” she says. She points out that queer artists have always written about joy; it just wasn’t always accepted by the mainstream. “A lot of times in the media, it’s focused on our trauma and how challenging it is to exist. And so it’s finding the happy balance of validating both of those experiences,” she says. “I think we have a long way to go in Hollywood and television and film. But in the music space, I feel like we are able to listen to songs where we can just celebrate ourselves for who we are and celebrate finding love.”

Now that Kiyoko has helped create this freer music landscape, Lesbian Jesus is planning on expanding her queer kingdom. Fans of Kiyoko’s work in projects like Disney Channel’s Lemonade Mouth or The Fosters should know that she’s not giving up on acting. The former softball player even has one show in particular she’d love to be on.

“I watched A League of Their Own on tour, which was so fun,” she says of the new Amazon Prime Video show inspired by the classic 1992 sports film by Penny Marshall. “And that was really exciting to see queer narratives at the forefront…. I feel like that was something that we don’t really get to see.”

To remedy that, Kiyoko is also focusing on directing. She’s already directed most of her music videos and now wants to expand to feature films and television in order to tell queer narratives. The road isn’t easy. “It’s been really interesting to navigate that space as well and how challenging it is for [queer creators],” she observes. “There’s a reason why we don’t get to see a lot of queer narratives in shows because it’s just so hard to get them made.”

She also recently announced that she has written her first novel, a coming-of-age romance based on her breakthrough song “Girls Like Girls.” The novel of the same name is set to come out May 30, 2023 from Wednesday Books. She also has said that her “biggest dream” would be to adapt the novel into a series or movie. Let’s pray to Lesbian Jesus that that happens.

As an artist, Kiyoko says she always has “4,000 things” going on in her head at a time, and that she’s excited to show as many of them to fans as she can. Even as she’s wrapping up her current tour, she’s planning headlining one where she hopes to get to perform every song from Panorama. Lesbian Jesus has worked hard to build her message of self-love and queer joy, and she’s going to spread this gospel as far as she can.

(LINK)

#loved this read

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hummingbird-hunter · 2 years

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ok wait maybe I'm not lazy (because I'm a lil bit insane!)

Jose Mauro (Google him tho his whole story is fucking insane ngl!) Makes I think stuff in Portuguese.

Kit Sebastian makes stuff in I think English & French?

Azymuth is a Brazilian funk/jazz trio.

Arthur Verocai is Brazilian as well, he's made some cool stuff.

Lily Allen did a version of Smile in Simlish which is always fun if you have both in your playlist because it's a horrible 50/50!

The Mauskovic dance band is an interesting band, I think they're from the US?

Hypnotic Brass Ensemble is like 8 siblings and a random dude they hired to be a drummer, really good band, Ballicki Bone is very good.

I'm not sure what language it is but Haydar Haydar by Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek is fun.

Out Of Reach by Klaus Johan Grobe is in German?

People, Let's Dance by Public Service Broadcasting & EERA is in German.

I think Men I Trust has stuff in Quebec French.

Utu by Eno X Dirty is a bop.

Sonos Cor De Rosa by Tiawa is Spanish & English.

Sudan Archives is in English but she makes really fun & interesting art pop especially in her current album cycle.

CASIOPEA is Japanese like Jazz, Mint Jams is a really good place to start.

MF DOOM & BadBadNotGood's song for GTA is partially in Spanish.

Also Madvillian by Madvilliany is one of the best albums I've ever gotten to listen to.

SAULT makes amazing music, they've pit out a crazy amount of music since 2019.

Birds Of Paradise by Karnan Saba & Hone Be Good is really good. (I really like the label it came from)

Ethel Cain's debut Preacher's Album is definitely something, I loved it, be warned it's fucked up, and long.

Pip Millet has a series of Amazing EP's, still need to listen to the album though).

MĀ has an amazing album (Breakfast with Hades).

Deltron 3030 by Deltron 3030 is a great album.

Leak 04-13 (Bait Ones) by Jai Paul is amazing, it's a tragedy that it ruined his creative drive.

Caroline Polachek has done 2 art pop records under her own name, both are amazing.

Ravenna has made some beautiful music.

Ayonha by Hamid Al Shaeri got me into Arabic Jazz.

Balkan - Honey and Blood by Jordi Savall is a really investing album, idek how i found it.

La Sabotesue by Yazz Ahmed is a really good album.

Dub Yalil by Natacha Atlas is just, an amazing song.

Cosmic Funk by Lonnie Liston Smith and the Cosmic Echoes is good, my brother loves it and he has amazing taste.

Todo De Ti is really good pop, it's all in Spanish but I'm surprised it didn't get a Dua Lipa remix.

The Nu Deco Ensemble version of I Am The Antichrist to You by Kishi Bashi is beautiful. but haunting

Rosalia's Motomami is amazing. Hentai is a really beautiful song.

Celeste's album "Not Your Muse" was a really good listen.

All You Get From Love Is A Love Song & Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft (The Recognized Anthem of World Contact Day) made me desperately to find this album from The Carpenters.

If you're feeling Horny the remix of Wizz by Coucou Chloe is fun, same with the Cupcakke remix of Good Puss. Also anything off Alias by Shygirl.

Roisin & Crooked Machine are great albums.

Tinashe's 333 is an amazing album, it's so good.

Orville Peck is gay country music.

Revulva is an 8 piece jazz band, Stop Pulling On My (Hair) is so pop though.

Lava La Rue makes amazing (and very queer music).

If I Sleep by Dystopia hits really hard.

Code by The Comet Is Coming had my friend jamming out because it sounds like the comet is coming.

I Feel Love by Donna Summer is one of the most important songs in moden music history and its so fucking good.

Nia Archives makes jungle, it's Drum & Bass but more fun.

Giving Up Air was a really nice EP by Bloodmoon, amazing production.

Julia Jacklin & Stella Donnely are both kinda sad Australians, thank you land of Muck for these artists. And the story of Engadine Maccas in 1997.

TRYON by Slowthai is really amazing, espech the A/B side differences.

Blood Orange's 4 songs are a nice chilled out 4 songs.

Self Esteem, I too do this all the time, but yet I don't Prioritize Pleasure.

She's So Kind by Harve is the sibling song of Theirs13 by JGrrey, both artists wrote the songs about eachother, truly a queer love story.

Wolf Alice's Blue Weekend has some moments more Blue than others.

The Danger Mouse & Black Thought album is well produced, with amazing features. Do not skip Strangers.

Doomsday by MF DOOM is an essential song, same with Nobody by Nas & Ms. Lauryn Hill, also recommended is One Mic, One Gun by Nas and 21 Savage.

Body Dysmorphia. by RAYE is such a constant mood!

this is the hits from my like 7.3k song spotify playlist

Thank you I am saving this

#answering your riddles #music recs

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rebelwhodoesntknow · 1 year

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Ahhhh my godh I'm so happy seeing someone get this much into Aikatsu this late!!! It's so long it's a little daunting to most people I've recommended it to and a lot of people can't see past the first season's animation quality, so i just haave to hope random new people will just find it on their own

Your thoughts on Ichigo and Akari was the general consensis in the fandom too, most people love them both but Akari didn't have as much luck thrown her way (I am not trying to throw shade at ichigo at ALL I adore everyone in aikatsu and that's that!!!)

I found aiaktsu because the music kept getting recommendeto me and something about the original series music is that, to A LOT of people, they just sound like songs, and not the typical insert songs in anime, so a lot of people enjoy them even if they typically don't care for idol music

the music has stayed in my life for so many years now and it really is so fun to sing 😭💗💗💗 (I will check out your playlists soon, I love seeing which ones people like best!!)

Same about choosing an idol type oh my GOD!!? like my favorite brands are fuwafuwa dream, dolly devil, angely sugar and I would kill to wear all of them literally what type is that 😂

Yeah I really wish I had gotten into Aikatsu when it had an active fandom! It seems somewhat dead now :(. I blame Planet although I haven’t seen it lol. I got into it in a very similar way to you. I liked Precure and kept watching their 3D ending dances on YouTube and then kept getting Aikatsu stages recommended to me.

You’re right about the music, i really like it all despite the fact that I’m not typically into jpop at all! Perhaps it’s the liberal use of brass in many of the songs? Idk but the horns go hard in Aikatsu. I’m also just baffled by how many different genres of music there are! You have goth rock, not rock but still gothic, things that verge on pop punk (Sweet Spice mostly), techno-adjacent, standard idol stuff but really good, and something that sounds like it could be played at a ren faire? In one anime? Like holy shit! (Seriously how did the writers come up with Hadashi no Renaissance like what was in the concept room when they thought that up)

You mentioned how bad the animation was in season one, and yeah… I wish I could have seen Glass Doll in the new animation. so now I have to ask: what’s your favorite cg style of the series? Mine is the og from season 2 onward, with Friends coming in second. Stars’ cg always but a weird uncanny valley for me at certain moments, I think it has something to do with the mouths. But it’s still leagues above the og.

If there were to be a new series I think it’d be cool to explore more of how idol types are selected and maybe have a character without one! Maybe I’m just self-inserting though fjfjfjhdjsk but talking about this is so fun!!

#aikatsu

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chelleztjs18 · 2 years

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Hello almost healthy eyebag haha

That's cool, I start thinking of stories when I listen to music too, then it goes away when the song changes 😅 so, when you write, do you put yourself into the main character or it's all just their own personality?

So you think of the title after the whole story is written? How fast do you come up with the title idea?

And you are right, not all eyebags are the same. Especially those who sleep with one eye open hahaha

That's crazy! Yeah, she told me that she just wanted me to be right handed, and I didn't ask any other questions. I gave her a "you're weird but I love you" look because when she told me that, I was telling her that I may be dyslexic. So I don't even know why she brought it up lol

I can still write with my left hand but that's it. Everything else I mainly use my right.

I believe it too, but then I do a double take to make sure it is real ahahaha just kidding. No yeah, that's how it was with my partner.

So your ex girlfriend was she your first girlfriend?

-CuriousGeorge

haha yeah that's why mostly before I start to write something, I usually tries to find songs or playlist in spotify that fits with the vibe of the story or i will save it to mine n listen to it in repeat. so I wont lose the vibe or the ideas especially when the idea is flowing.

for the Y/n's personality, it's a little mixed of both. Sometimes i put my personal character in it but sometimes i put the character in general. I always try to bring my story as close as i can to reality. So i would think, what would I do if i'm y/n's shoes or what would someone do if they r in that position. what's the most makes sense, you know?

Fun fact, I always make Y/n's in my fics left handed, wear glasses and drinks iced tea / iced coffee. those are 3 most common things that I always put in my y/n's because that's me. I wear glasses, I was born left handed n wish I'm left handed, and I always drink iced tea / iced coffee. I dont know if you notice. I always try to describe it at least once or at least one of those 3 things, so maybe I can make it as my signature if people notice. lol.

for title it's 50/50. Sometimes I picked it before I start writing sometimes after the fic done. I dont know exactly how long it takes for me to pick the titles actually. :D I tried to keep it as simple as I can, or something that's connected or i try to pick the title that can be posibly in the line of a dialog somewhere in the fic or just in the line of the naration of the fic. sorry if i confused u.

Ah i see. what's funny is my bestfriend does the same thing to her son. it seems like he is left handed but she "forced" teach him to be right handed because of the culture thing.

There are things that I have doing with my right hand but then when i try doing it left handed, turns out i do them better such as archery shooting, hitting baseball, miniature golfs.

The latest thing that I try to do it with left hand to see if i do it better was bowling. I did it better left handed in accuracy but it wasnt hard enough. so I guess for bowling I will do it right handed. lol.

aawww that was sweet. your partner was your love at first sight, may i know when was your last relationship?

Yes, she was my first girlfriend. It was beautiful, i fell in love head over heels for her but ended bad n broke me bad. Do u read my lost in assistance series? if you do, y/n's story with her ex gf Gwen was based on my story with her but i changed it a little bit so it wont be too obvious, just in case she found my tumblr page. lol. because Gwen in that story was a shitty ex-girlfriend. lol. dont get me wrong, she was a sweet n great but slowly she turns toxic. :D

Cheerio!

#chellez answers #ask answered #anon answered #curious george anon

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rrxnjun · 3 years

Text

the borders ; huang renjun

pairing: huang renjun x fem! reader genre: childhood friends au, slice of life, coming of age, slow-burn, angst word count: 14.6k (14.618) warnings: swearing, mention of food, mention of toy guns, mention of a fist fight, broken families, mentions of alcohol, mention of domestic violence, minor character death (suicide), being pinned to the ground. this story contains heavy topics, please read only if you’re sure nothing will trigger you. a/n: this is the first ‘long’ nct fic i’m posting i am literally shITTING MY PANTS also this may be the most personal thing i’ve ever written please handle this fic with care

synopsis: you and renjun have known each other for your whole life-- growing up together in the backyards of your houses in the small neighbourghood. the two of you had been joint at the hip for as long as you can remember, but eventually, life has other plans for you. both filled with rage and violence, trying hard to accept the fate life has for you in store, can the two of you trust each other again?

blue monday series || playlist

v. your dad took off when you were a baby

They say that a friend in need is a friend indeed, and even though you and Huang Renjun, the quiet boy you met just because of your mother, have only just met, you would go as far as saying that you confirmed this statement right in front of his eyes just at the sheer age of 5.

Your mum dropped you off at a stranger’s house-- telling you it’s her friend Mrs Huang she met in high school and that she will watch you for the afternoon, trailing off to work right after. At times like these, you despised not having an older sibling to stay at home with, not having to spend your free afternoons in a stranger’s care. That’s where you meet the tall lady with an exhausted look sitting on top of her face, wrinkles decorating her eyes and the area around her mouth, looking so much older than your mother. You learn later that your mum is the same age as Mrs Huang, the information surprising you on a sunny afternoon once you’re older and back in your own backyard, since it seems that fate hasn’t been as nice on your new friend’s mother as it has been on yours.

You meet Huang Renjun under unusual circumstances. His mum leads you to their backyard with a sad smile on her face, nudging you closer to the boy sitting in the uncut grass, fingers angrily plucking the greenery around him and throwing the stems back onto the ground where they belong. The woman pays no more attention to the two of you, disappearing into the house and leaving you to yourselves-- painfully awkward and shy, sitting right opposite of each other with pouts on your childish faces.

You watch the stranger with interest. You take notice of the long eyelashes brushing his cheeks and his pouty cheeks. You’d want to poke them if you’d known him for longer, but the desire dies somewhere deep inside you the moment your eyes meet and you are welcomed with a glare.

“Who are you?” he asks.

Your heart beats quicker under his gaze, insides squeezing in frightnance. You aren’t good with strangers. Socializing wasn’t exactly your best suit, even your mother calling you a late bloomer when it came to making friends and having fun. It’s not your fault, though-- you’d spent your whole life pretty much tucked under her skirt, hiding from the world. It was comfortable there and your mum never pushed you to do anything you weren’t okay with, until the day came and now you didn’t know how to introduce yourself to a boy in his own backyard.

“I-I’m Y/L/N Y/N,” you mourn, biting on your lower lip so hard it almost bleeds with the force, hands curling into small fists as you try to calm yourself down. “Who are you?” you repay the question in a new wave of confidence.

His eyes scan you up and down, a questioning look on his face. You can see that he was prepared for your visit just as much as you were, surprise coating his features as he looks down into the grass again. “I’m Huang Renjun,” he says, “I live here.”

You hum in acceptance, your own words failing you as you wonder what you should talk to him about. Is this your mum’s poor attempt at trying to get you to make new friends? Did she force her poor friend to let her introduce her daughter to their son? Hesitance is all you feel when you look up at him again, opening your mouth to speak some more, when you close it again in the instance, bewildered at what you see.

The boy-- Renjun, as you learned-- is looking down, still, angrily plucking the grass out of the ground and throwing it in front of him, sniffling. There are tears falling down his big cheeks, ponds of sadness filling his dark eyes, and you are confused, because what happened? Is it you that made him cry?

“What happened?” you ask. You didn’t think beating around the bush was the correct option here. You didn’t know Renjun and he didn’t know you, and maybe that’s what made the little boy speak up so soon.

“My parents are getting a divorce,” he mourns.

A pit opens inside of your stomach, nervous hands clasping in your lap as you try to think of words that could console him, sentences good enough to make him feel better. It’s hard, though-- you are only 5 years old and you are yet to learn what true pain is, what departure and betrayal feel like. You don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say. You are just a clueless girl, desperately wanting to make the poor boy stop crying.

Why? You don’t even know. You barely know him, there’s no way you could really care about him.

You were always a smart girl-- a logical one, be said. You swiftly stand up from the ground, striding back into the house in search of his mother. She’s an adult and your mum always made you feel better, so in your mind, this was the only solution. You search around their small kitchen, peeking into the dark living room, finding no one but empty rooms and cold air inside. You don’t dare to walk around their house. You’re still a stranger, after all.

A pack of crayons and papers are laying on the ground, the yellow colored one broken in two as you see a smudge of color on the top sheet, taking the items off the ground and walking back outside, taking a fierce seat next to Renjun on the ground.

You can’t explain why you do what you do-- it’s like your intuition knew better than yourself. You offer the crayons to the boy, putting the white sheets of paper into his lap, watching his reaction. His dark eyes follow you in surprise, teeth sinking into his lower lip to stop himself from crying. Small fist comes in contact with his tear-stained cheeks, wiping them away quickly before he takes the red crayon-- the biggest one, and leans over the sheet of paper, putting it on the grassy ground.

Grabby hand makes contact with the paper, full force swinging along the material, red crayon smearing over the flawless surface in violence. His hand moves quickly and the tears on his cheeks never stop falling, looking like a disaster, a small boy falling apart.

Renjun is grateful for you that afternoon. He may not even know you, yet, you are there with him, letting him feel things, meanwhile, his mother is laying in her bedroom upstairs, watching soap operas with a glass of wine on her bedside table. At least with you, he felt visible.

You see Renjun that afternoon, a beautiful disaster of feelings-- they are mixing and overlapping, battling on his inside. Tears falling down in sadness and hands working with anger, fighting for dominance in the inside that was his small body.

This was the first time you saw Renjun crying. While he got sad many times after, no tears ever left his eyes, no tears ever painted his rosy cheeks in times like these.

This was also the first time you saw Renjun angry.

And ever since then, anger consumed him.

viii. we were afraid of your mother

Your feet burn with the speed you are running at, reaching Renjun’s house in 15 minutes since the moment the boy looked at the watch his grandma gave to him, proudly sitting on his wrist, frightened to realise that you two were outside way past your curfew. It usually didn’t matter that much, because your mum understood when you came home a little later than usual, even though she never forgot to scold you for it, and Renjun’s mum was always busy working. You two had your curfew at 5pm. You were just little kids, small 8 year olds going for ice cream after school or hanging out in the park where you found the best slides in the town. Renjun’s mum always got home at 6 and that’s why it didn’t matter if you got home a little later. Today, though, it was way past 6pm and Renjun’s dark eyes moved in fear as he grabbed you by the hand and ran with you to your neighbourhood.

He pays you a quick goodbye in front of his house, running inside with clammy hands and out of breath. You knew Huang Renjun as the fearless boy who always picked fights with the rude kids on the playground, the boy who had to try everything and never got frightened even from the biggest challenge.

The boy anxiously running inside of his house wasn’t the Huang Renjun you knew. It was new to see him like this. It was hard to understand for your little brain.

You two are hanging around in their backyard the next day after school. Something inside of you tells you that Renjun didn’t want to risk it today, too afraid to come home late again. Your mum scolded you the day before, telling you she’ll ground you if you came home late ever again. You didn’t want to test her patience-- you liked being outside with your friend a little too much. So you understood his fear, in a way. Maybe he didn’t want to be grounded either.

Renjun’s backyard was like the second home to you and your mum liked how quickly the two of you grew close. There was no trouble in making you stay at the Huang’s when there was no one to watch you for the day.

There is a sheet of paper in front of you, crayons messily laying on the grassy ground. The backyard often looked unkept, just like the first time you saw it. You figured it was due to the lack of a man in the house. You never met Renjun’s dad-- you befriended the boy the day he left for good and never came back. Sometimes, you were angry at the man you didn’t even know for making your friend so sad. Your 8 year old self didn’t understand things too well back then.

Your hand calmly moves along the white space, feeling like a skilled artist painting on a blank canvas. You try to draw a sunflower, because your friend has told you yellow is his favorite color.

When your art piece is done and you are ready to show it to your best friend, you shyly glance up and onto his piece of paper. You knew he kept every single drawing he ever made in the drawer of the wooden desk in his small room. He let you look through it just once, though. That day felt like a holiday. There were countless pretty drawings of the trees and houses with small backyards, lonely dogs and a pair of kids, sitting in the grass. Most of all, though, he used to draw the sun. You wonder if he drew it this time too, glancing onto his drawing.

His small hands move delicately, coloring the white in the prettiest colors. His hands are a little dirty from the ground and the constant grass picking he never really grew out of, the green under his nails catching your attention. The sleeve of his sweatshirt rises up a little, making you see the skin under the fabric. It is painted in color, hues of brown and green imprinting from under his skin, imitating a touch not so gentle holding him by his wrists.

Something inside of your mind tells you to ask about them. Even your young self understood that those are bruises that you see, bruises you shouldn’t be seeing. Most of all, bruises you don’t want to see-- bruises that shouldn’t even exist.

You open your mouth to ask, yet, only air comes out when you hear the door to the back porch open, Renjun’s eyes sharply glancing that way. His fingers quickly tug down the sleeves of his sweater. You notice him chewing on the inside of his cheeks, hands clumsier than before when his mother approaches you, not sparing her a glance.

Renjun’s sun had a sad expression on its face, you notice.

. eight years old with a replica gun

“You’ll never catch me!” you scream, giggling as you run around the spacious backyard, the long grass tickling your feet. Your sneakers disappear in the greenery, a hat to shield you from the sun sitting proudly on your head. Your dad bought it for you when you went on a trip last summer, a souvenir to never forget the place you liked so much.

“I’m going to win!” he yells from the other side.

You swiftly move behind a tree in the far corner of the property, back close to the tall wooden fence, holding the replica gun in your hand. Your mother wouldn’t be too happy about the choice of your toys if she knew, but your mum wasn’t here. She never is these days. Work is too important for her, and you can’t even hang out with your dad in the afternoons, because he is busy too. You grew up with Renjun, in a way. It’s not like your parents don’t care or spend time with you, no, it’s just that opposed to the time you spend with your friend, it looks a little funny.

It’s like the two of you are raising each other. No parents in sight. They are always too busy to take care of their children.

Did your mum even know that Renjun’s mum sometimes comes home late in the evening, just a few minutes before the two of you go to sleep on the sofa in their living room? Or did she just not care?

You were convinced you could take care of yourself even at home, alone. You used to do it all the time anyways, but with a companion by your side.

Renjun found the toy guns in their attic. He didn’t know where they came from, but you were convinced they used to belong to his dad. You didn’t tell him that, though. He rarely speaks about him and you fear his reaction if you ever brought it up.

“I see you, loser!” you hear a scream from next to you, making you laugh out loud and sprint your way along the fence, your small legs carrying you swiftly along the property. You turn around on the way, pointing the gun at him like in the thriller movies you sometimes watch when you and Renjun get too tired of drawing in the backyard, laughing at the violence and imitating the acts in the soft cushions of the sofa.

Renjun is quick, though, and so instead of you getting the first shot, you are quickly put to the ground, his stronger hand pulling your arm away so he’s no longer in the way of your gun, making sure you can’t shoot and win this round of your little game. You laugh when your bodies reach the ground, rolling around the dirt, his arms securing your wrists above your head.

You watch the boy from up close, grinning into his face, noticing the way his eyes glint in carelessness. The mischief behind them only makes you more intrigued with your friend, when your eyes move from his head to the arms holding you down, the bruises on his skin in your full view.

You don’t miss out on your question today. You wish you would, though.

“Jun, did- did your mum do this?” you ask, nudging your head to the place where his skin blooms in millions of colors, painfully writing on the boy’s body.

His expression changes in the instance, the grin falls off his face as his eyes turn from joyful to cold, frown hiding his features as he holds you down with one hand, the other one holding the gun moving to the side of your head, sinking into your skin. The cold plastic meets your temple as he breathes heavily above you, a stern warning coating his voice.

“Don’t tell anyone!” he yelps out. “You can't, okay?” he grits his teeth.

Your eyes move all around his face, panicked irises scanning his expression. Your lips pout in surprise, a hint of anger and frustration in your best friend reminding you so deeply of the boy you met when you were five, destroying the crayons with the force of his disturbance. You don’t see this side of Renjun often, but when you do, it scares you.

You don’t answer. You’re too shocked to do so.

He only lowers his voice, glaring at you hastily before a threat comes out of his mouth.

“I’ll kill you if you do.”

xiii. you still hate me for my dad stuck around

A lot of bad news have been shared in Huang's backyard over the years. It all started with your first meeting, when Renjun’s parents were getting a divorce. It continued with telling each other about bad grades, about the cat that the lady from across the street owned dying, about how he lost the 2 dollars his mum gave him the day before were gone and how it started raining the other day when he was drawing outside and his piece got ruined.

This time, though, you’re sharing bad news sitting somewhere else-- in your small room with the blinds open, the sun peeking through laughing at your saddened state, Renjun sitting hesitantly at the other end of your bed. You clasp your hands in your lap as your lower lip trembles and your head hurts from too much crying.

“What’s going on?” he asks. He’s not that young anymore. He knows that there’s something serious going on when you can’t seem to stop crying. Crying isn’t like you-- it seems like you never had a reason good enough to have shed tears over it.

“They’re- they’re getting a divorce, Jun,” you mourn out, sobs echoing through the small room, “can you believe that? They lied to me! They lied!”

You don’t understand your parents’ decision. They were so happy together! They always brought you on trips, smiled at you at the breakfast table, told you you were doing a good job when you got a good grade in school. You always found them sitting together in front of the TV on Sunday evenings and the three of you always had lunch at the same table. It’s a shock for you, to hear them telling you the news at the same exact kitchen table, smiling at you sadly as you tried to process their words.

“They didn’t look like they wanted to get a divorce. You said your parents fought all the time before they divorced! It was good here, they- they didn’t even- it’s-” you sobbed, your breath hitching in your throat. Renjun anxiously chews on his bottom lip, fighting the urge to reach out and hold your hand in his.

“Calm down, Y/N, it’s gonna be okay,” he says.

And you should have believed him, right? He’s been through it. And he’s fine. Or so you think. But still, you don’t trust his words, because how could it ever be fine?

“It’s not.” you reply, hiccups raising up your throat.

You see him shaking his head through your glossy eyes, sighing. “I can’t believe they’re doing this to you. I’m so mad at them right now! I thought they were different!” his voice raises, hands swinging in the air from frustration.

You don’t find it in you to reply to him, only opting to pull your knees up to your chest, hugging your small figure, trying to protect yourself from the world. You feel betrayed for the first time, you feel hurt. You’ve never felt this amount of pain ever in your life and suddenly you realise just how much it must have burdened Renjun when he was so little.

“And then your dad’s gonna leave and you’ll never see him again. They always do that!” he huffs out, glaring at the ground.

Disapproval fills your guts, shooting a hurt look at the boy.

“That’s not true. My dad said he’ll visit. He said I’ll be at his place every other week and that he loves me and he’ll never leave.” you shake your head, angrily wiping away your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

“They always say that,” he huffs, “and then they leave.”

“Don’t say that!” you argue.

“Well, it’s true! It happened to me, it happened to everyone! Your dad doesn’t love you anymore, and that’s why he’s leaving you and your mum.” he says, standing up from his place on the bed, shooting words at you like daggers, cutting you up alive.

“Huang Renjun, take that back!”

“I’m just telling you how it is.” he comments, voice high.

The door to your room opens, your mum standing in the doorway with a concerned look on her face. The two of you have known each other since you were 5 and she’s never heard you argue before. It was strange even for your mum to see Renjun so disturbed, speaking so loudly to his daughter. She looks at him with surprise, watching as the boy breathes heavily and pays you a glossy look, hands curled up in fists.

Renjun takes it as a signal to leave. He mumbles a low goodbye to your mum, escaping the house that once looked so lively with a heavy heart, stomping his feet on his way down the stairs.

There are some things your 13 year old self has yet to understand-- the reason behind your best friend’s outburst, the reason for your parents’ divorce. You didn’t realise why the things Renjun’s said hurt you so deeply back then-- why he spoke them with such spite. Perhaps he was hurt by the same words before. Maybe he didn’t know better.

You also hadn’t realised why your parents never argued before they filed for divorce. They barely even met each other when it wasn’t for the Sunday evenings. They had no time to fight, because they were too busy working all the time. They had no time to love each other. No time to fight.

Not all relationships end with a storm and thunder. Some end on a sunny afternoon, with a silent agreement, washing away like the sea on the shore.

xv. i remember my mother when she found a new man

Two years can do a lot to a person. It’s been exactly 24 months since you and Renjun had an argument in your room the last time, and it’s also been 24 long months since the two of you talked like you used to. The summer when your parents divorced was the summer you two parted ways-- both going to another high school, finding other friends and meeting with other people. You still saw him on the streets from time to time, looking much different than he used to when you called him your best friend, the position so secure in your life you never dared to imagine it ever changing.

The Huang Renjun you see at the streets downtown isn’t the Huang Renjun that drew with you in the backyard of his house. It’s not the same boy that played catch with you and watched movies with you in the afternoon-- simply said, he’s changed and it’s hard to recognise him now. It’s like he’s trying to be turbulent, going against every single rule known just so he could feel something, just so he could be heard, be seen. You have no idea what the future you two no longer share had in store for him, but you’re sure you’d like to know. You’d like to be the person he needs, even after all this time.

You see Renjun not so far away from your house. The neighbourhood you live in is still the same as it used to be, looking more and more abandoned as all your neighbours that have lived there all your life decided to move into better parts of the town. It’s like everyone’s doing amazing but you and your family-- the family that’s so new to you you don’t even recognise them sometimes. Renjun, even though he changed, still somehow feels the same, though. His figure is sitting at the doorstep of one of the old houses that has not yet been sold, both looking abandoned in their state. His hair is dyed now and a little longer than it used to be when he was just 13 and you find yourself staring a little, even though you shouldn’t. His clothes are dark and his knuckles are bruised. You wonder what he’s doing in his free time that makes him look so damaged.

“Hi,” you find yourself waving at him when you pass the house, his eyes drifting off the ground onto your figure. Something inside of you jumps when he nods at you in greeting, mumbling a low ‘hi’ back, averting his eyes shortly after.

You know you shouldn’t be asking invasive questions. You learned your lesson at the age of 8, yet, you still can’t stop yourself from wanting to know too much as you open your mouth to speak and break the ice, somehow believing he’ll let you in again.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

He shrugs, nonchalant expression sitting on his slowly maturing face. His eyes meet yours again, his soft voice contrasting with how sharp he looks on the inside, responding with no disturbance in his voice that somehow surprises you. You don’t know when you learnt to see him this way. You have no idea why you always expect him to push you away.

“I guess I didn’t want to go home yet,” he says.

You know your next step might be a reach. You know you might be going too far, you fully realise that you must be kidding yourself when you ask him your next question, but you do it anyway, because, well, it’s Renjun. You’ve known him your entire life. And even though you try to act like you don’t, you still think about him way too often, when your days get long and you long for the connection you had with the boy you grew up with.

“Do you maybe wanna come over? My mum’s making that vegetable soup for dinner tonight. I think it was your favorite,” you prompt to say, stepping from one foot to another, anxiously playing with your fingers as you await his response.

It’s not as bad as you expect it to be. It surprises you.

“Sure.”

You don’t know what happened that day. You have no idea why he chose to come with you, even though you two drifted away two years ago and fighting was one of the last ways you two spoke to each other. There’s a spark warming you up from the inside when he follows you home, just like he did all those years ago, something bright shining in the deep pit of your stomach hoping that maybe, you two can speak again, you two can talk like you used to.

You welcome him in your dining room, your mum welcoming him with a bright smile. You silently thank her in your mind for not bringing up your falling out in front of him and take a seat next to his figure sitting at the table, waiting for the soup to be served.

“I didn’t know we had a guest today,” your step-dad joins you three at the table, wearing his stupid white button-up, looking so out of place in your forgotten neighbourhood.

Your mum met him a year ago and even though you should be used to him by now, you despise him with every inch of your being. He tries to be the perfect step-dad, sometimes even forgetting you have your own father that takes care of you and meets you every other weekend. He walks around your house and acts like he owns this place. He greets you every morning with a smile on his face and you wish no more than to wipe it off. Your mother finds time for him like she never did for your own father and it makes you angry. You don’t like him. You never will.

“Yeah, it was kind of unexpected,” Renjun tightly smiles. You wonder if it’s a dig into your behaviour. Was it your fault you two drifted away? Did you make him distance himself?

It can’t be just your fault, right?

“And who are you, young gentleman?” your step-father asks. He looks at Renjun with expecting eyes. You wonder if he thinks you’re dating him, not knowing the history you and Renjun have together, a silent chuckle leaving your mouth as you’re once again reminded of the fact that the stranger living in your house knows nothing about you. And you will never even give him a chance to know.

“I’m Huang Renjun, mister,” he introduces himself politely, offering your step-dad a hand to shake, “me and Y/N are… friends,” he completes, hesitating a little before speaking the word, making your heart ache a little.

He hesitated. It’s no secret that you and Renjun are no longer present in each other’s lives, but it still made you a little frustrated to hear the quick silence before the blunt lie. He knows the two of you aren’t friends. He just didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the stranger he’s met for the first time today clearly living in your house now.

“That’s interesting,” he hums, “I’ve never seen you around.”

You bluntly roll your eyes at his argument, trying hard not to sigh in front of the whole table. Does he really have to be so nosy? It’s none of his business who even Renjun is anyway. It’s not his house to begin with. He doesn’t have to know the people you talk to, because he is no one to you. It’s unfair, how politely everyone treats him.

“I’ve been away for a little while.” Renjun says. You’re surprised with his ability to lie so easily. It’s like he’s been doing it his whole life, the words coming out of his mouth with ease.

It’s easier to pretend there were no walls between you and Renjun than to tell your new step-dad that the two of you argued because of the thing that was now the reason for his happy relationship.

Renjun and your step-dad make small talk. You don’t listen, their voices going over your head as the tones melt into each other and you can’t seem to pay attention to what they have on their minds. The sound of Renjun’s laughter wakes you up from your daydreaming, your heart swelling after seeing his lips tug into a wide smile after such a long time, finding the corners of your lips rising into a slight smile at the sight of him. You almost don’t believe he’s here. It’s like you made him up, dreamt him back into your life.

You end up in your room after. Renjun offers to help your mum with cleaning up. He’s always been a polite boy. Good thing to know the streets haven’t changed him.

A bitter memory fills your brain after the two of you sit on your bed. The last time he’s been here, it didn’t end well. You pray for it to end differently now. He’s at the tip of your fingertips, you’re so close to having him back in your life again. You have no idea what happened and why the universe chose to give you a chance tonight, but you want to make the best out of it. You can’t just let it go.

“Your dad is great,” he says, a gentle smile still playing with his features.

“Step-dad,” you correct him.

“Oh, right, sorry,” he nods, furrowing his brows, “he’s great, though. I’m glad your mum found someone like him. He looks reliable.”

You sigh at his words, raising your brows up in disbelief. Is that how your step-dad looks to people? Reliable? What more? Will he say that he’s a good guy now?

“He’s not great.” you mutter, averting your eyes from him.

“What do you mean?” he examines your face. Something inside of his eyes shifts, as if he’s searching for any sign in your features that would tell him more. You’re not sure if he’s as good at reading you as he used to be.

“It’s just like-” you throw your arms into the air, chewing on the inside of your cheek, “I don’t know. He walks around like he owns the place. He acts like my fucking dad, even though that place is occupyed already, he smiles at me every morning and acts like he wants to change my mind and wants me to accept him into my life…” you ramble the built-up frustration spilling over after such a long time.

“Unbelievable,” you hear Renjun snicker, “he smiles at you every morning and you despise him for it.”

Your eyes slowly move to his face, now feeling like he’s mocking you with his gaze and the look he has sitting on his face, nose scrunched up and lips pursed. You open your mouth in surprise, but close it back shortly after, sighing. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re just selfish.” he spits, eyeing you.

You feel like daggers are thrown deep into your heart, cutting it up from the inside, your hands sweaty and clammy as he glares at you longer. You’re being selfish? For not wanting a stranger living in your house? He must be out of his mind.

“That’s not it, it’s just- you- you don’t understand-”

“Right, how could I ever, right?” he chuckles, licking his lips as if to prepare them for the lava of words coming out shortly after. “You know what, you’re right. I could never understand, because my mum chose to date another fucking trainwrack again. A shithead that has more loans on his head than hair. A fucking psychopath that beats her when he’s drunk. I could never understand you and your picture perfect step-dad, I know.”

You gasp, your hands sweaty as you watch your best friend leaving your room. The feeling of deja vu sinks in, because this is exactly like you ended your friendship two years ago and it’s happening all over again right in front of your eyes, making you despise yourself for the words that made him leave again. Maybe it’s inevitable for the two of you, to end up like this.

He storms out and you find it hard to move for a while. Something inside of your mind doesn’t register as quick as you would like it to when you hear the words coming out of your friend’s mouth with spite, and suddenly, you understand just how privileged you must have been when your mother found herself a new man. Renjun might be just a few months older than you, but the truth is, life taught him much more than it’ll ever teach you. He must be right when he tells you you are selfish and you finally understand-- because that’s just how it is. You are not letting your mum be happy with someone new just because you haven’t gotten used to them coming into your life. And that is selfish.

You run out of your room and stride down the stairs, bursting the front door open.

“Renjun! Renjun!” you yell, looking around. His small figure is nowhere to be seen in the dark, your heart thumping when you notice that he’s disappeared. Maybe you were too slow, maybe he just made sure you won’t find him if you go after him. Or maybe, he just learnt how to run fast. You guess you’ll never find out.

“Renjun, come back! You were right!” your eyes skim the place, shaky breaths cutting your lungs. Desperation is what you feel at your worst, pain clutching your insides with the broken realisations of what you just did-- you made him leave again.

“Please come back?” you yell, running around the neighbourhood.

You don’t find him. You think he must have gone home.

And so you do the same, slowly dragging your feet up the stairs, your trembling body pushing past your worried mother, because there’s nothing left to be done now. You don’t let her ask questions. You don’t feel like talking about your heartbreak now.

You lay in your bed and turn around, your body too restless to find peace, not even the sleep taking you out of your misery for a few hours as your thoughts swim with the picture of the boy with stars in your eyes you must have lost forever on this cruel night.

Huang Renjun’s always been full of anger. He let the smoke rise inside of him, he let the frustration build up, striking sparks all around him and watching the world burn with his impact. He let anger consume him. He doesn’t know better.

No wonder he can’t stand you. You can’t stand you too.

xvii. your godmother repaired the anger in me

Years pass quickly. You haven’t met your best friend for two years now and even though it hurts, you threw away the idea of recolliding your relationship long, long ago. You don’t even meet him on the streets anymore. It’s like he’s disappeared, like his body was avoiding you on purpose and not just because your schedules were different. You lived in the same neighbourhood. There was no way you couldn’t have met him at least once or twice over the two years if he wasn’t purposefully trying to avoid you.

Years pass and relationships end, friendships get distant, acquaintances drift away. You are growing up so quickly and it seems like you are slowly losing everything and everyone-- from your friends to family to even the classmates that stopped talking to you over time, because none of them truly got you and your feelings.

Years pass and friendships get distant, yet, so it seems, the friendship your mother and Renjun’s mother have is never ending with the way the woman is sitting at your back porch with a wine glass in her hand, gazing over the well-kept grass with your mother on her right side. Your step-dad bought the pretty ratan furniture your mum fawned over in the store and even though it made your mother happy, you despised him for it, because it only meant he was slowly occupying your house with his stuff, making it its own. This place can never be his home. Not when it’s yours at the same time.

You lazily step outside, sitting at the floor of the small terrace, listening to your mother speak. She talks to Mrs Huang with joy, a sense of familiarity only old friends can replicate, and you suddenly miss the way you would sit in the backyard with her son, because the truth is, no one ever made you feel so at home ever since.

The words coming out of their mouths come over your head. You hear, but you don’t listen. You have no interest in what they like to fawn over and discuss with a bottle of wine placed on the small rattan table, you just like the feeling of being somewhere with someone. The silence of your own room was starting to scream at you over time. You wish there was someone else to scream over the silence for you. Your throat is starting to get tired.

Your mum excuses herself from your ‘ladies’ night’ and trails into the toilet. The atmosphere grows thick with only Renjun’s mum present. The weight of the knowledge that you have to talk to her now if you don’t want it to become even more awkward sitting hardly on your shoulders. You feel like she’s scanning your behaviour, watching you with curiosity. It feels like you’re naked under her gaze. You’re fairly certain both of your mums know the friendship their children had ended long time ago.

Do they talk about it sometimes? Do they worry, pick it apart and throw the fault at the other child? Did the conversations grow empty when there’s no one to mention at the dinner table?

“Do you want some?” Mrs Huang offers you her glass of red wine, making you turn around in your place on the ground, so you’re now facing her. A polite smile is sent her way as you shake of your head in disapproval.

“No, thank you.”

The chirping of the birds is heard as the sun slowly starts setting over the horizon, orange hues hitting her face as she sighs, locking her honest eyes with yours. You see Renjun in them, in the depth and fondness they stare at you with, making you realise just how similar the two of them look. You’re glad he has so much from his mother. You bet he’d hate it if he had to listen to people telling him how he looks like his dad all the time, words scratching him and burning with spite.

“You know, you and Renjun are quite similar, in a way,” his mother says, nodding her head.

Shock grows in you upon her words. You didn’t expect her to talk about her son tonight. At least not with you present and listening. Sometimes you thought there was a silent promise kept within your families-- no one talks to you about Renjun and no one talks to Renjun about you. Your eyebrows shoot up at her in question, nervously licking your lips before you speak up.

“Why is that?”

“You’re both just... full of anger.” she says, looking into the distance.

Her words dwell on you. How can she speak such words about you when she has no knowledge of who you are? You yourself don’t even know who you truly are, you don’t even know what you feel and what the emotions swirling around in your insides are, what do the thoughts running around your brain mean. You open your mouth to reply something smart back, something that would silence the woman, but she cuts you off with another point that makes you sit in silence, listening to her with interest instead.

“I can’t tell this to Renjun, because he won’t listen. He doesn’t care anymore,” she starts, swallowing he apparent lump forming in her throat, “and that’s okay. He will learn along the way, when things get better.” she says, “I tried to explain some things to him, but now I know that I don’t have to keep trying on a dead end. I can still try to speak to you, though.”

Ignorance seems to be Huang Renjun’s solution to things. He ignores his feelings and the feelings of others, because he’s not prepared to think about what they mean. He had to grow up quickly, yet, there’s still immaturity coating his brain.

“You have to let this anger go,” his mother says. You almost want to silence her and tell her you’re not angry, that her son is the only one dealing with these issues, when the realisation dwells on you with her following words, “you have to let go of the grudges you have against your step-dad. You can’t keep hating Jinyoung, sweetheart. He did nothing wrong.”

“Why do they keep telling me that my dad did something wrong?” you snap, glaring at her. There’s a fire in your stomach as you speak, hands clutched in your lap.

She sighs, shaking her head. “There’s always two sides to the coin. I know damn well it’s not your mum that’s turning you against your dad. And the people who are, didn’t know him. You know how the divorce went. You were there. You know there’s no bad guy.”

“Exactly,” you nod, glad someone finally understands. You like the way she speaks to you like an adult. You like how she’s not telling you the well-known phrases of ‘you’re too young to know’ and ‘you wouldn’t understand how things go’ you had to get used to hearing over the past few years. She’s talking to you like you understand and like your feelings are valid-- something you have been dreading for your whole life. You just wanted to be finally taken seriously.

“So why should Jinyoung be the bad guy?” she quirks up a brow, questioning you.

You play with your fingers in your lap, suddenly feeling nervous. “He doesn’t belong here. He can’t keep acting like my dad when he’s not.”

She takes a moment to think and collect her thoughts, a sip of the wine hitting her tongue, examining the whole backyard. When she speaks up again, her words are calm and collected, smart, even, the words she’s saying making way more sense in your heart than anything anyone’s ever told you before.

“You don’t have to feel like he belongs. You don’t have to feel like he is your dad, because, well, as you said, he is not. No one’s asking you to replace your dad with him. I just wish you were a little more understanding of your mother. She found someone she loves and someone she trusts. She found happiness and it makes her unhappy that you don’t feel good with him in your house,” she mumbles, “she doesn’t want anything from you, she just wants acceptance.”

“Accept that he’s here. Accept that he’s in your life, that he’s in your mother’s life, and stop burning yourself up about it. Sometimes, in life, you have to learn how to let certain things so. Otherwise, they’ll eat you up alive.”

With those words, your mum comes back with a warm smile on her face. You see the fondness in her eyes when she stares at her favorite rattan chairs and the red wine she bought with Jinyoung in the pretty winery yesterday, you see the blush on her cheeks when Mrs Huang asks about the necklace he gave her on their second anniversary. In that moment, something inside of you clicks. It’s when you gaze upon the well-kept backyard, funnily enough, that you realise Renjun’s never had this much luck. You realise how selfish you had been acting, how much grudge and anger you’ve been keeping inside of yourself just because you couldn’t accept the simple fact that life doesn’t work just like you’d want it to.

And with that, you decide to let go. You decide to accept it. Because this is your life and you can’t change it, you can’t stop the time. You can’t turn it back and redo it.

Life just goes on, and you have to go too.

xviii. see her in the night, there in the corner of my eye

“She overdosed on pills.”

You hear the sentence replaying over and over in your head, every single day ever since you’ve first heard it. You hear your mother telling you one morning while you were eating your breakfast, getting ready for school. The food didn’t taste like anything after and you still went to school even though your mother told you you can stay at home. You wanted to occupy your mind, even though you don’t remember anything from what happened that day. You operated pretty much on autopilot.

You hear the sentence in your head when you go to sleep that evening, when you brush your teeth the next day, when you walk to the grocery store to get some milk alone, since your mother forgot to do the shopping after she heard the news.You hear the sentence in your head when you wake up the day of the funeral, when you put on your dark formal clothes and when you drive with your mother to the cemetery. You hear the sentence screaming at you in your head when you stand at the corner of the small crowd, you hear it when your mother takes the flowers she’s bought for her and puts them on her grave.

Only once you don’t hear the sentence, and that is when your eyes meet with the boy standing above the hole dig into the ground, gazing into the dirt with no clear emotion meeting his face.

Guilt washes over you.

You haven’t talked to him in three years, three long years, but still, the weight of your realisation sits at your shoulders when you think of the fact that it was his own mother and he had to take that in all alone.

Huang Renjun has no one. Not even his own mother now.

You could have gone to him. You could have tried to make him feel better, if that’s even possible. You could have tried to ring the bell on his door and ask for him, be the shoulder he could cry on. But you didn’t. You did nothing from the above, opting to let the poor boy alone to suffer, to hold the weight of his mother passing on his shoulders just a few months after he turned 18. He was an adult now. A clueless adult without anyone to lean on.

The ceremony passes around your head. You stand there and let the tears fall from time to time, you mourn the woman that cured your anger a year ago in your backyard, you mourn the woman that let you play with her son until the sun went down when you were just nine. You knew her your whole life. You knew she wasn’t a perfect mother to your friend. But nonetheless, she was his mother.

You want to crawl out of your skin, you want to scream and yell and tear something apart, and it’s all your fault, because you hate yourself-- you could have been there for him. You had to be there for him. And you weren’t.

You try to run after him when the service is over. You try to follow him after everyone leaves, you try to take him by his hand and tell him you are there for him, even after all this time. He was your childhood friend and the reality slaps you a little too hard when you realise that he had just lost his childhood.

Your heartbroken eyes search for him, blurred with tears, yet, you don’t find him. It’s like he’s disappeared the same moment his mother did. Huang Renjun vanished into the thin air.

Your mum holds your hand on the way back home. She cries on the kitchen table until late at night, and you figure that even though you couldn’t be there for Renjun, you can always stay there for her. She crushes your palm in hers, she hugs you so tight you feel like you’ll suffocate, she holds onto you for dear life. There’s pain in your bones, digging deep into your stomach.

Your step-dad helps you put her to sleep. He walks you to your room with a sad smile on his face, dark circles sitting under his eyes. You’re glad there’s someone for you here to rely on.

You fall asleep that night feeling heavy. Just as you’re about to drift off, there’s something jolting you awake as you open your eyes and see a figure standing at the foot of your bed. Quiet whisper of cold hits your feet sticking out of the blanket, the silver brimming your eyes with sublte hue you graze over in the corner of your room. You don’t feel scared to see her, you don’t feel frightened to see the woman that’s long under the ground. You figured you’d be at least a little angry at her for leaving her son and her best friend here alone, but anger’s not what she taught you.

And so you let her go. Because that’s what she would have wanted.

You find out Renjun dropped out of high school and left the town a few days after. You haven’t heard of him since the funeral and you guess you won’t ever see him again. The hard fact that no one’s there with him to help feels bitter on your tongue. He leaves his step-father alone in the empty house. No bond ties the two together, hatred stares no longer being kept in the other’s lifes.

You guess neither of them could hold the fault of what she did.

Even they couldn’t save her.

xix. heard you glassed a boy back in the borders

If there was one thing you learned in your whole life, it was the fact that you really, truly, can’t expect anything. You can’t predict how your life is going to turn out, you can’t prepare yourself for the impact. There’s nothing you can do to make life hurt less, because it doesn’t happen as you want it. Life is an endless cycle of things and actions and you can’t stop any of them, you can’t make any of them any different, and perhaps, that’s the hardest part of life itself. You can’t prepare for what’s about to come.

Renjun couldn’t prepare himself for the divorce of his parents in his early childhood. He was just five and needed a father. His heart has been broken so early on, maybe he didn’t even know how it felt to be whole again.

You couldn’t prepare yourself for your parent’s divorce either. It was, perhaps, the most unexpected thing to happen to you. One day, it was all okay and the other one, it was not. It took you long enough to accept that you didn’t lose any of your parents just because things changed and you don’t live together as a family anymore.

Renjun couldn’t prepare himself for the asshole of a step-father that came into his life. No one taught him how to battle on his own. He had to learn it all by himself. He had to learn how to cope, he had to learn how to survive with a mother that sometimes lacked the ability to raise him and a stranger in the house that only made his life feel more like a living hell.

Renjun couldn’t prepare himself for his mother’s suicide. Or for what life had in store for him later. You don’t expect things like this to happen. You can’t.

Renjun had to learn how to cope with the sadness in his heart somehow. There was no one there for him to stand by his side and help him secure the broken pieces of his heart into a gauze, waiting for them to mend together. There was no one there left for him at his side, watching over him and encouraging him to do right steps and let go of the bad ones. And so he learnt how to cope with everything in his own way-- and that way was anger.

He let anger eat him all up from the inside until he exploded, until he did things he never wanted to do, until he broke promises and friendships and left the town just because he tried running away from everything that was weighing him down.

You heard a lot of him from your mother. It was like she kept a silent promise to her gone best friend to somehow watch over the poor boy. She told you that he left the town and went to live with his uncle. It was too far for you to visit, and you weren’t even sure if you were wanted for a visit in the first place. And so you never tried to reach him again. Every step you could take started to feel unsafe from the first time you two fought in the quiet of your room. Maybe if you two knew better how to cope, you could have left things on a better note. You could have tried again, you could have fixed what was broken and work on your friendship together. Again, though, life is never how you expect it.

Your mother told you that he started working in the local supermarket. You never imagined Renjun to be a cashier, but you guess life has unpredictable plans for all of us. You’re just glad he is trying to put himself back onto his feet.

His stepfather, Jongin, left the town a few weeks after him. There was no reason for him to stay in an empty house with an empty promise sitting on his right finger. He dropped off the keys to the Huang’s house at your doorstep one day and you never heard of him since. You didn’t dare to visit the poor family’s home. It’s like the place was prohibited for you to see.

Your mum also told you the unexpected news one day at breakfast. Sometimes, it bugged you that you know so much about a boy you don’t talk to anymore. Sometimes, it bugged you that you had to get this information from your own mother. You guess you just hated the fact that you still wanted to hear how he is doing, even after all those years.

“He beat up some guys at The Borders,” she said one day, catching you off guard. Some days, she didn’t even have to say his name. You knew who she was talking about anyways. You didn’t know a lot about the town he went to live in, but you knew enough to realise The Borders is a pub at the corner of the city, dark and shady. Nothing good ever went on in The Borders-- you heard enough from the passerby that stopped in your local bars on their way home from vacations.

Shaky hands place the slice of bread with jam on the kitchen table, your own body feeling like you’re operating on autopilot once again. It happens often in your life-- an ever so noisy reminder that most of the time, you’re not living. You’re just surviving. It’s not panic that you feel in your heart. It’s not even a surprise, per say. Deep in your heart, you knew that this was always coming. There was no way the anger inside the boy could go somewhere safe, there was no way the violence could have ended somewhere else. It was only a matter of time, the clock ticking, laughing at you in spite as it watched you try to take the information in, when you decide to inquire from your mother more.

“Do you know why?” you ask.

A shake of head accompanies the sigh that leaves her lips. “His uncle said he didn’t want to talk to him about anything. He just found him with a bruised face and blood on his hands. If it wasn’t for the rumours, he wouldn’t have known anything at all.”

You nod in understatement. Renjun was always secretive, to an extent. Mystery clouded his feelings and his actions, his random outbursts sometimes so strange to your brain. You couldn’t decode him even if you tried hard to.

“He said some guys are after him. The guy he beat up has a lot of brothers that want to take revenge. I don’t think this will end well, Y/N-ie.”

Your mother has lived through enough crises to know. She is always right, and that fact scares you, because only god knows what will happen to your ex-friend now, with a bunch of older men running after him like wolves, just like in the movies you two watched together on your lonely childhood afternoons. You never expected it to get to this point when you were so young and clueless.

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” you whisper.

But the truth is, Renjun has been hurt worse before. No scratches, no bruises and broken bones could ever compare to the pain he’s been through. He shouldn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He shouldn’t have to run away from one place to another over a past that keeps haunting him in his darkest nightmares. But that’s just how he lives his life now.

. your eyes, the door to hell and all within

The beaten-up boy arrives in his hometown a few days later. You don’t hear this information from your mother this time, because it’s a hot topic in your little blue neighbourhood, rumors spreading like the morning news. The poor orphan slungs his body through the empty streets with a single black backpack thrown over his shoulder and a cap sitting on his head-- at least that’s what your neighbours told you, the image tortuting your mind for a whole week.

You don’t see him leave the house. It’s like he’s isolating himself from the world. Is he trying to hide? Is he too ashamed of walking down the streets of the small town, where everyone knows each other's secrets way too dearly? He doesn’t care, you think-- because that’s how you still see Renjun. The rebellious boy that stopped talking to you when you were thirteen, the kid that raised himself on the streets, running around and stealing candy from the local convenience store.

Insomnia is your most frequent visitor these days. The presence of Huang Renjun just a few houses away from you feels like friction of tectonic plates, only begging for the volcano that were your emotions to erupt. Guilt slides all over your insides, making you sick to your stomach. Some days, you despise your own breath, because you didn’t have to do anything for it, yet, Renjun’s here all by himself, struggling. Desperation and wrath chain you up from the insides and suddenly, you don’t want to keep crawling inside of your own skin anymore.

Apology seems like the only thing that could help you feel better about yourself. Maybe even the honest words won’t make you let go of the grudge you hold against yourself, but you guess it doesn’t hurt to try. Temptation hugs your veins all day long, a temptation to visit your friend and see how he is. You feel like if you don’t know anything about him, you’ll explode, you’ll suffocate. You got too used to knowing just how he’s doing from your mum, the lack of information making you feel like you’re suffocating out of worry. Something ties you to him like black magic and you can’t break the bond you two had when you were young even if you tried.

A knock on the door, a ring of the bell. They both go ignored as you stand at the doorstep of Huang’s house. The grass is still as unkept as you always remembered it, perhaps even growing taller and more bushy than ever before, since the house had been left alone for a few months now. The windows are closed and there’s darkness shining deep from the inside, begging you to come in with hushed whispers.

You reason to your last hope-- your last, desperate tool of silent plea of forgiveness. You doubt it’s your smartest idea, but it’s the only one you have, and so you take out the key Jongin left at your house the day of his departure and open the door for yourself, silently unlocking like a criminal on their way to steal. A realisation of the fact that you just basically broke into a stranger’s home hits you once you cross the doorstep, but you don’t find it in you to turn on your heel and leave. Instead, you continue, taking big, careful steps, looking around the dark rooms.

The air is thick. You can tell the windows have been closed for a long time. The whole house looks like it was struck by lightning or swept by a tornado. Things are laying around the floors and empty bottles decorate the corners of the entrance hall. A smell of smoke is ever still present, reminding you of the man that lived here for a while when Mrs Huang found herself a new boyfriend, making you scrunch up your nose in pure disgust.

“Renjun?” you dare to call out, hoping to hear his soft voice calling at you back from one of the rooms. It feels like a dangerous game of hide and seek when you pace around the house and find the first floor empty. Your legs take you upstairs, skipping the bathroom and instinctively entering his mother’s bedroom, the door squeaking at the slow motion of your hand opening it with cautience.

Your eyes land on a small figure sitting by the foot of the bed, crawled up into itself, soft sobs shaking with the person’s whole body. The upsetting reality is that you could recognise the body at any time, anywhere. It’s been years since you last hugged him, but you’re fairly certain you can still remember how he felt in your arms, his figure latched to you, holding you firmly against his chest. Oh how you want to feel that way again, secure and hidden from the world, silently waiting for the lost planet to start turning again so you could pass some time before you two can be okay again.

It takes you three long steps to get to him, your sneakers rubbing against the rug making you feel guilty for not taking your shoes off at the doorstep like you always used to when you visited him when you were young. You’re not sure if he hears you, if he feels your presence the way you felt his in the darkness of the soulless house standing like a lonely shell no longer providing home to anyone, when you reach out for his shoulder and gently rub it with comfort.

“Renjun…” you mumble, not knowing what to say.

He acts on instinct. Defense is all he’s ever known, anxiety clutching his insides as he quickly snaps back into reality and clutches your wrists in his hands, pinning you to the ground. His hands are above your head, heavy breathing being the only thing heard in the small room. The smell of alcohol hits your nose when his face gets close to you, tears threatening to fall to your face from his eyes and smear your face in saltiness.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks. Angry eyes point to you, helpless emotions swirling in the orbs as he clenches his jaw. The air is even thicker now, when he stares you down and questions you with a single look, the force on your wrists suffocating you from the inside. This is not how you know Huang Renjun.

Each time you meet him, he’s a different person. He keeps changing and turning his face quicker than the pages in the books you read, leaving you shocked every single time. You should have learnt to not have any expectations. Because really, you no longer know Huang Renjun. You no longer belong to his life.

So, in reality, he was right, he was completely allowed to ask you the question and you should have done the same before entering the dark house-- what the fuck were you doing there?

“I just wanted to check up on you,” you silently explain. Your voice breaks and you hate yourself for sounding so fragile, so desperate, when his face inches closer to you, examining you like a wild animal.

“Check up on me?” he chuckles. He looks manic. Broken. A few moments before or after a terrible crisis, a hopeless mental breakdown. You wish you could have stopped it from happening when you arrived.

You’re too scared to move, anxiety burning up all your insides as you aimlessly lay under his touch, your chest heaving with what feels like panic attack quickly jogging into your heart. You feel your hands sweating and your body growing weak. You’re scared.

Now is when you finally learned that you can’t expect anything, now is when you truly realise that you can’t predict life.

You couldn’t have predicted Huang Renjun pinning you to the ground with force when you’re nineteen, tears staining his cheeks and spite burning in his tone.

“Where were you when my mother died, huh?” he snickers in disbelief. He shakes his head, finding you pathetic, maybe even laughable under him. Pain settles into your chest when you see the emotionless eyes scanning your face, the way his arms start to sweat on your wrists makes your heart physically hurt more than the force of his hold ever could. This is not the Huang Renjun you know. This is simply not Huang Renjun.

It’s not him. It’s what was left from him after life took everything from him-- an empty shell with nothing left, but anger.

“I- I-” you stutter, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Stealing my inheritance, or am I wrong?” he spits out his words at your face. Surprise rings in your ears, shaky breaths leaving your mouth.

“W-what?”

“There’s nothing here! Nothing, do you hear me?” he exclaims, momentarily pushing you harder to the ground with his knees on either side of your body, “You left me nothing! You threw away all of her clothes, took all her saved-up money, sold all her jewelry! There’s nothing, do you hear me?! Nothing.” he cries out, biting down on his lower lip to suppress sobs that shake his body again. You’re not sure if he believes the words coming out of his own mouth. There was no way you could have stolen his mother’s things.

“That wasn’t me, I swear,” you mutter, hurriedly shaking your head.

“Like I could trust you, after all these years,” he huffs, staring at you with a scowl on your face.

“Jongin left the key at our doorstep one day. I- I promise it wasn’t me. We both know he was a fucking dick, Renjun, you have to trust me. It wasn’t me or my mother,” you desperately repeat, explaining. You want him to believe you, you need him to believe you. Trust is a thing you two no longer feel for the other, but in this moment, you tremble like you’ll surely crawl out of your own skin if he doesn’t spare you just a bit of his understatement, a tiny part of belief.

“Why did you even come?” he asks, suddenly sounding tired.

“I-”

“Why did you fucking bother? After all these years. There’s no use. Did you just come so you could feel better about yourself? Do you feel fucking guilty, Y/N?” he shoots daggers into your heart, paining you in all the right places, hitting a little too close to the truth. You and Renjun haven't been friends for a long time now, but it seems like he still knows you like the back of his hand. Perhaps you were the only one that didn’t change at all.

“Let go of me.” you silently beg, chest heaving.

“Do you feel guilty? Tell me, Y/N! Tell me!”

“Let go!” you yelp out. It seems like your voice managed to snap him out of his daze, his arms finally weakly leaving your wrists, the force on your hands loosening as he climbs off your body. He watches you hurriedly standing up from the ground, whole body shaking in what he only can identify as fear when you walk to the door, knees weak and wobbly. You’re nearing your escape.

“It’s too late, Y/N!” he yells after you when your legs cross the doorway, your hand shutting the door after you with force.

A shriek of the glass follows your exit as Renjun throws an empty bottle against the closed door, watching the deep green splashing all accross the wooden floor of his mother’s bedroom. Hopeless shatters of fragile glass decorate the doorstep, ensuring no one dares to cross the boundary of prickly little daggers sitting all around him, preparing them for danger. He feels like an animal kept in its cage, a lion silently scared of people that dare to go too near.

You wish you would have known not to visit him sooner.

You examine your bruised wrists at the foot of your own bed, crawled up into yourself, just the way you found him, clutching your hands to your chest as the tears finally spill down your cheeks and you let yourself panic, because this is something even your darkest nightmares couldn’t prepare you for.

Huang Renjun is 19 now and it feels like this time, all of his anger finally consumed him.

. we were like brothers

Rocks hitting your window is not how you imagined your night ending on one peaceful sunday. It’s been almost three weeks since you last saw Renjun and the colors blooming from under your wrists are almost gone, their vibrance long forgotten despite the fact that the chaos and hurt will never not be engraved deep into your soul even after the bruises are gone.

You pay your backyard a hesitant stare, finding the once disturbed boy standing there, playing nervously with his fingers as he scans the empty property dressed in black, the single lamppost standing proudly right in front of your window being the only thing illuminating his face with the moonless sky above his head.

Something inside of you wants closure, at least. Something inside of you wants to go out and ask him what he wants, try to get to him calmly, for once, and get to the bottom of the problem. Even the last bit of desperation in your bones hasn’t died yet when you see him step from one foot to the other in nerves, making you slowly and hesitantly leave the house, stepping through the short grass steamed with the settling dew of the night, the droplets wetting your socked feet you managed to slip into your step-father’s slippers sitting by the front door in hurry. You reach him in no time, yet it feels like eternity.

You’re not as daring as you were three weeks ago. A wall higher than the both of you stands firmly between your bodies, guarding you, lost friends, from what the other one’s about to do. You wish for some clarity, for the cloud of difference and confusion to leave the two of you, you beg the stars for some light, when it seems like your silent plea has been heard by someone there above and Renjun takes the first step.

The tears hitting his cheeks welcome you first. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just looks at you in painful silence, lips pressed tight to not make any sound. You can’t see no violence. There’s no rage behind his glossy orbs and somehow, you think this is progress. You think this is him opening up, letting you in, or at least-- accepting the fact that you tried, even if it was too late, and trying to let you know that it was okay and that you don’t have to beat yourself up for it anymore.

One hesitant step his way is taken before you stop and do what you didn’t when you first approached him in his house. “Can I hug you?” you ask for permission.

He nods. Quiet sniffles escape to the open air when your body finally reaches his, your arms enclosing warmly around his body. It feels all too familiar, the presence of him around you, the way he fits into your arms just right. Comfort is not the exact word you’d give to this emotion, but you think it comes close to it as you rub patterns into his back and let him crush you with his arms, holding you tighter than ever before.

You don’t try to speak. You know your words will fail you and you also know they will never be enough. ‘It’s gonna be okay.’-- but is it? ‘I’m here.’-- but for how long? ‘I’m sorry.’-- that doesn’t make it all better. There are no words, no verbs left in the whole dictionary that could reassure the broken boy in your arms and you know that. You hate that, because you’d really like to try. It may be too late, but you are somehow reassured that you can always try again next time.

After he’s calmed down a bit and you feel the discreet sign that now it’s time to pull away from him, you two take a seat in the moist grass, plucking the stems with your restless fingers, avoiding each other’s gaze as if it made the whole situation better to take in.

“Why did you beat up the guys in The Borders?” you opt to ask. You think it’s safer to speak now. You feel like there’s no rage left in the short one’s body-- it seems like he burned alive, he used it all up.

He sniffles for the last time, twirling the stem of grass in his hand. You take a look at him from under your eyelashes and find him staring at the dark sky when he lets out the breath he’s been holding and speaks up again, voice groggy. “They talked shit about my mother.”

You nod in understatement, even though he doesn’t see you. You almost think it’s good he had a good reason for his actions, but you quickly stop yourself to fix your point of view. Fights are never the answer.

You think of his mother for a while. You remember her in a lot of ways-- with a towel on her wet hair when she came down the stairs one evening and found you watching the news on the TV. You remember her with a bottle of beer in her hand when you passed by their house when you were fifteen, her short figure standing at the front porch. You remember her with dark circles under her eyes the day after she learnt that her son stole something from the convenience store again, shopping in the supermarket 5 minutes away from your house. An image of her staring aimlessly out of the window invites itself into your mind, reminding you of the many times when you saw her unhappy and didn’t know why.

You think of his mother and remember the way he feared her sometimes when he was a child. You guess there’s a hint of truth behind the cruel words you heard your therapist tell you once-- the abused will turn into abusers if there’s no time for them to heal.

But most of all, you remember his mother as the woman that spoke to you on your back porch and finally made you believe that the grudge you’ve been holding is not what you should focus your energy on. You remember her as the woman that made you realise there was no use crying about things you couldn’t change. You remember the woman that taught you how to let go of all the anger you felt, the woman that, perhaps, helped you heal the most.

“I really loved her, you know?” he says, “Even though she wasn’t the best mother sometimes. She said some things she didn’t have to and dated a guy that only made it worse, but after all, I know she loved me. And I really, really loved her too.”

You watch his side profile, noticing the curve of his nose, his parted lips and the dark eyes that once so deeply invited you in. He looks like a painting, a bittersweet painging you’d see in the gallery and wonder the story behind it.

“I used to hate her when I was little. At least that’s what I thought,” he says, “she… remember when I made you swear you’ll never tell anyone about my bruises?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for your reply. “She stopped shortly after. She went into therapy and things got better, for a while. It hurt, the memories and all, but I… I forgave her. She wasn’t in her best headspace after the divorce.”

You shakily inhale, watching his composure change. You don’t ask questions, you only listen. It feels like after all the years you’ve known Renjun, now is when you finally really get to know him-- when he really opens up to you and tells you just what’s been weighing him down all the time when you failed to be there for him to listen.

“It broke my heart to see that motherfucker ruin everything she’s been building up for so many years.” he mumbles.

You see him spiraling into himself, his eyes averting the sky and focusing on the fingers in his lap. You can’t let him dwell too hard in his thoughts. Sometimes, your own thoughts don’t help you just as much as you would like them to.

“What did you do when you left the town?” you ask.

“I stayed at my uncle’s,” he hums, “found a job. Tried to get my shit back together. It felt too suffocating to stay here. I had no one,” he shrugs. “And I… tried to look for my father.”

All your attention turns to him, eyes big, watching over the boy. You didn’t expect him to do such a thing, not after all the hatred he’s kept for the man his whole life.

“How did it go?” you ask.

“Bad,” he chuckles, “I should have expected it, really. It was stupid of me to try. He threw me out immediately and didn’t even want to talk to me. When I told him my mother died, he didn’t even bat an eye. I went for some drinks that day and it didn’t end well. Some guys brought up my mother and I just… I just snapped, I guess.” he explains, hands noticeably more shaky in his lap, “I had to leave the town because they were after me. I went from one trouble to another.”

An incredibly big urge to hold him washes over you, a need so urgent you almost reach out and hug him. You know better than to do that, though. Sometimes, people need some space to open up and you’re willing to give him all the time he needs. You watch him shake his head, as if he was trying to make some memories leave his head, shortly gazing at you.

“I’m sorry for what I did. I’m really, really fucking sorry. You can’t even imagine how much I regret it. It’s just- I found the house half empty. I should have expected that he’d take everything with him, but at taht moment, it just didn’t click and then you appeared and I-I didn’t even know I could ever act such a way to you, I- I-” he rambles, tearing down all the walls, crawling his hands into fists in his lap in a desperate need of grounding himself, “I lost control. I shouldn’t have. But I did. And even though I don’t even want you to forgive me, because what I did was unforgivable, I want you to know how much I regret it every. Single. Day.”

He shrinks into himself. He appears smaller than he is, guarding himself with his hands folded over his knees, head popped up on the top of them. A frown is sitting on his face, fear wrapped around his expression as he remembers the actions of the past, his biggest mistakes and biggest regrets replaying in his head like a movie. He never wanted it to get this far. He didn’t mean to.

“You just… needed a way to cope. It’s okay.” you mumble. His head turns to you, eyes honest and open as pools of water, roaming your face up and down.

“It’s not, though.”

“It is,” you nod, “I’m not saying it was right. But life… it just happens. And at that time, it was all you could do and I understand.” you say, licking your lips in nervousness.

Silence overtakes the scene, two old friends sitting in the backyard watching the starless sky, only the sound of wind whispering into your bones clearing their minds up. Somehow, this all makes sense. It feels like it all led to this.

“How could you be so forgiving?” he asks. Honest curiosity coats his voice. Maybe if he knew how to forgive so easily, a lot of things wouldn’t have to go the way they did.

“Believe it or not, there was one woman who spoke to me with such honesty and care that taught me how to let things go,” you say, looking at him. It feels like he understands, like he knows exactly who you’re talking about, but you say it just in case, just so that the wind hears you and somehow makes the message reach her, wherever she is. “It was your mum.”

He smiles sadly at you, nodding. He bites his lower lip, lost in thought, laying down in the grass. You watch him for a while, taking in the presence of him, the fact that after those long years, you might actually have him back in your life for real and a wave of fondness washes over you. It’s like you’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life.

You lay next to him in the grass, watching the dark blanket lay over the two of you. “You look a lot like her.” you point out.

“Do I?” he asks, a hint of a smile reaching his voice.

“Yeah.” you nod. “And somehow, you both feel like home.” you add.

You move your head to the side so you can look at him, meeting his eyes in the instance. It seems like your friend had the same idea, smiling warmly at the coincidence when he lets his orbs skim over your features.

His smile feels comforting. You weren’t so sure of the emotion before, but now you’re sure it’s there. It’s been a while since you last saw Huang Renjun smile and it feels like a new beginning, a new recollection, a comforting whisper on your skin telling you that from now on, you’ll finally be alright.

Because you won’t repeat the same mistakes. You’ll be there for each other now.

His smile feels peaceful. Healing, even. You wish he’ll never stop smiling.

“You’ll be alright, Jun. You’re not alone, okay?” you whisper into the thin air, chills appearing all over your body when he nods and you turn to look back at the sky, not baring the intensity of his eyes anymore.

A lone star falls down the sky, the tail illuminating the dark, when you feel his touch on your hand, so gentle and soft you almost forget the rage he’s held you with the last time.

He squeezes your hand and you feel yourself making a promise to yourself-- you’ll love him. You’ll be there for him, and you’ll wait, because he’s worth it. He just needs some time to heal, mending himself together like the ancient potters did with their broken pottery in Asia, filling the cracks of the beauty with gold.

“We’ll be alright.” he repeats.

Huang Renjun is no longer the only match in the small box, waiting for the spark to set him to burn. Anger used to consume him, but now he was just an empty shell-- with nothing left to set on fire, nothing left to hurt. His mother was right, in a way. He had to let things go.

And now, he was ready to heal. He was ready to be filled with something new, ready to bloom like roses the spring again.

You decide to wait for him. You decide to love him. As always, after all.

You’ll be alright.

588 notes · View notes

pretendingboyfriends · 3 years

Text

A/N: ok WOW first off, i’m so sorry i literally haven’t posted since december. these past few months have been so wild what with new classes and my mental health declining. i can’t promise the last few parts of this lil series will come at a timely manner just because my mental state can be very unpredictable, but i will try my best to get them out as fast as i can, especially when summer is right around the corner. i wanna thank @thestyleswritings and @friendlyneighborhood-mendes for being my lovely beta readers. as i’ve said before, my writing is nothing without betas so thank u for taking the time to review my piece and give me honest feedback. anyways, i made this part extra long for you guys and i really really hope you love it. <3

Warnings: explicit language, panic attack, anxiety, deidre being a megacunt (as always), smut

Word count: 9.3k+

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It’s been a few days since your first date with Harry, the two weeks you’ve planned to spend at the beach feeling far too short as each day passes like a whirlwind. And over these days, you’ve found that getting comfortable with him is an easier feat than you’d initially imagined. Moments with him are hardly fleeting. You find yourself spending most of your time with him, whether it be going for a swim on the beach or sneaking off somewhere in the house to make out. If this were anyone else, you’d feel suffocated spending so much time with them, but with Harry it’s so much different. You can’t keep yourself away from him, even if you try, and you’re beginning to think that the feeling is quite mutual for Harry as well.

The air is humid and warm, a quaint breeze sifting through the leaves of the palm trees that surround the pool’s fence, finding its way to where the three of you lounge. The kiss of the sun blesses your exposed skin as you and Deidre lie side by side on the poolside chairs. You've lost count of how many hours the three of you have spent in the afternoon sun, but, as hot as it is, you're thoroughly enjoying every moment spent actually being with Deidre for once. Even if you aren't actually doing anything but lying in the sun, just the fact that she's spending time with you for longer than an hour makes you happy.

Your eyes scan each line of the book in your hands, allowing your brain to paint a picture of each image as best as it can. Deidre snores quietly beside you, arms draped over her face to shield her eyes from the blinding light and Harry splashes around quietly in the pool, occasionally pulling himself under for a few moments before coming back to the surface for air again.

As you turn the page of your book, the sudden splashing of water fills your ears before several cold droplets hit your warm skin. It immediately draws your attention away from your book and up to where Harry stands in front of your chair.

"Hi," You muse, pulling your legs up to curl beneath you.

"Hi back," He smiles as he pushes his fingers through his long, dripping wet hair.

You pluck your sunglasses from your nose and gingerly place them on the top of your head so that you can get a better look at him. "Need something?"

"Could you grab me a Coke from the cooler, please?" He asks, yanking his towel from the edge of his own chair and wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Yeah, sure." You nod, sliding a bookmark into the spine of your book and placing it beside you on the chair before reaching into the cooler next to you for an unopened can. The chilled perspiration dripping down the aluminum can causes a chill to travel up your spine as soon as your fingertips make contact with it. You reach forward to place it into Harry's hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment.

He mutters a quick 'thanks' before cracking it open and lifting it to his lips. As he does this, you're given an opportunity to allow your gaze to fall down the rest of his body. His tanned skin glistens delicately in the sunlight, each droplet of water illuminated like tiny specks of glitter all along his chest and arms. The dark ink that litters his skin has somehow become a shade darker as well, each detail becoming more apparent to your eye the longer you study the expanse of his chest and shoulders.

"Enjoying the view?" Harry hums, very obviously amused by your mindless ogling.

You clear your throat, feigning innocence as you internally burst into flames of embarrassment. "I don't know what you're talking about." (Luckily, Deidre is still snoring peacefully beside you, completely oblivious to the flirtatious comments being thrown back and forth between you and Harry.)

He chuckles, sipping his drink one last time before placing it on the ground by his chair. "Are you sure you don't want to come join me for a bit?" He motions back to the pool as he drops the towel back on the chair.

"I think I'm alright staying here," You hum, tilting your head to the side as you gaze up at him. "I'm quite enjoying my book." You sigh, picking your book back up and waving it in the air to show him.

He sighs in disappointment, shaking his head. "That's a shame. The water feels fantastic."

You watch him turn back towards the pool, admiring the way the muscles in his back flex with his every move. He crouches down at the edge of the water, placing one hand on the cement as he slings himself into the pool, water splashing all around him. He swivels around in the water so that he's facing you again, his eyes trained on yours with a mischievous look on his face. You squint in suspicion, tilting your head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Nothin'." He shrugs, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. He continues to wade out a little further and you roll your eyes at him, turning your attention away from him and back to your book.

There are a few moments of silence in the air as you're pulled back into the imagery of the book, paying no mind to whatever mischief Harry is up to in the pool. But then, before you have even a second to process what's happening, cold water splashes up onto your legs, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as the book slips out of your grasp.

"Harry!" You screech, sitting up on your chair to scold him. He's standing in the water at the edge of the pool with an evil smile spread across his face, his hands scooping up the water and splashing it up in your direction. The mixture of your screeching and the cold water reaching her side of the pavement, causes Deidre to wake from her slumber, scrambling up into a sitting position.

"Harry, what the fuck!?" She screams from beside you, grabbing her sandal from the ground and hurling it in his direction. He cackles dramatically as he dodges the shoe by swiftly slipping beneath the surface of the water. The shoe falls into the water behind him with a loud 'PLUNK' and then resurfaces, floating aimlessly.

He rises back to the surface within a few seconds, chuckling as he pushes the sopping wet hair out of his face. "Sorry, did I get ya?"

Deidre scoffs, angrily wiping the water droplets from her legs with her towel. "I was having such a good nap and you ruined it."

"Oh, come on," He rolls his eyes, dragging out the 'n' with a teasing lilt. "I was just playin' around. It's gettin' kinda boring being in here all alone."

She lies back against the chair exactly like she had been before, draping her arm over her eyes once again. "Suck it up."

Harry wades back to the side of the pool, folding his arms against the warm cement and leaning his chin against them with a pout on his lips. "Pretty please?"

Before either you or Deidre even has a moment to respond, Deidre's phone begins to sing loudly with the sound of her ringtone. She pats her hand around the chair for her phone for a few moments, not bothering to lift her arm from her eyes to look for it. She finally grasps it, sliding her thumb across the bottom of the screen and lifting it to her ear.

"Hello?... oh, hey, what's up?" She speaks to the person on the other end, finally lifting her arm from her eyes so that she can sit up on the chair. "Yeah, I'd love to! I can be there in, like-" she pauses to glance at the time on her phone. "10 minutes?" Another pause. "Okay, sounds good, see you there!" She lifts the phone from her ear, tapping the screen once to end the call before quickly standing up from the chair.

"Who was that?" You ask, tilting your head at her in curiosity, though you sense that you already know the answer.

"That was Jeff and the rest of the gang. They invited me to mini golf with them," Deidre replies, folding her towel over her arm and picking her sandal up from the ground. "You can come along, if you want."

Immediately, you feel your mood begin to plummet as you watch her get ready to leave, barely even giving you a second glance as she retrieves her sandal from the water. You know she's not doing it on purpose, but it's hard not to feel hurt by her inability to spend even so much as a day with you.

"That's okay," You respond, trying to mask the shakiness of your voice with a cheerful lilt. "Have fun, though."

"Okay, well, I'll see you guys later!" She smiles, waving back to both of you as she turns on her heel and bounds up the porch stairs.

After the sound of the back door swinging shut fills your ears, you glance over in Harry's direction to find that he's watching you intently. His playful expression from just a few moments ago is exchanged with a concerned frown. You sigh, picking your book back up in hopes of finding a distraction from the sinking feeling deep in your stomach, but Harry has other plans.

A fleeting, silent moment passes before Harry decides to speak.

"Hey,"

The sound of his voice pulls your attention away from the book in your hands, forcing you to move it from in front of your face so that you can look at him. "Hi," you make eye contact with him, finding that he's still in the same position from before, arms folded on the pavement as his chin rests against them.

"You alright?" He questions, tilting his head to the side as he watches you.

You shake your head a little, glancing down at the book in your lap. "It's fine. I don't really know what I was expecting, she's been doing this for the past week and a half. I shouldn't even be surprised at this point."

He's silent for a moment, gazing at you thoughtfully as he thinks of what he's going to say in response. "You really should join me in here. It'll help you get your mind off things."

You hesitate, rubbing the back of your neck with the palm of your hand as you mull over his proposition. It'd be nice to have a distraction from the nagging feeling of betrayal deep within your chest, and you know Harry will do anything in his power to make sure you feel better. After a silent debate with yourself on whether or not you really want to join him, you push yourself up from the chair, muttering a quiet affirmation before slowly padding over to the edge of the pool.

You crouch down, moving to sit on the warm pavement as your legs hang over the edge and dip into the cool, clear water. Harry pushes himself off from the wall, spinning himself around 360 degrees.

"Come onnnn," He sings, wading closer to you. "Come swim with me."

You scrunch your nose, kicking your legs in the water and staring down at the way the water splashes up into the air. "Gimme a minute to get used to the water, jeez." You scoff, kicking a bit of water in his direction.

He rolls his eyes, wading closer to you so that you can feel his warm breath against your knees and the current his kicking feet create beneath you. "That's an excuse if I've ever heard one," his fingers curl around your right ankle, giving you another mischievous smile identical to the one he gave you earlier.

"What are you doing?" You squint your eyes at him, cautiously tugging your leg against his grip.

"M'helpin' you get in," he hums nonchalantly. "Seems like you need a bit of coaxing."

A small smile breaks across your face and you roll your eyes, placing your hands on the pavement behind you and leaning back against them. "I'm quite comfortable right here, actually."

"Alright, then you leave me no other choice..." Before you can even process what he's saying, he's grabbing your other ankle and yanking you into the water in one quick movement. The water splashes around you, engulfing you beneath the surface and immediately soaking into your bathing suit.

You resurface, sputtering and choking on the water as you rub the chlorine from your burning eyes. "I hate you so much right now," You huff, dropping your hands and squinting up at him. He's wearing an mischievous smile, fully content with his successful attempt of getting you into the pool.

"It's really not that bad," he rolls his eyes, wading further away from you. "You'll get used to it."

You glare at him, shoving your hands forward beneath the water to splash him directly in the face, but he merely laughs and swiftly wipes the droplets from his eyes like it's nothing. You watch as he slinks towards the very edge of the pool several feet away from you, turning back to face you before grabbing a small, foam ball floating on the surface. He tosses it in your direction, watching it land directly in front of you, splashing the water gently.

"C'mon, toss it back to me,"

You take the ball into your hand, squinting up at him. "Is this your idea of fun?"

He shrugs. "Got any other ideas?"

At that, you roll your eyes and reluctantly hurl the ball back into his direction. He catches it swiftly with both hands, tossing it up into the air a few times as he contemplates his next move.

“Oh, my god,” you groan, rolling your head back onto your shoulders in dramatic exaggeration. “I’m not doing this.” You turn to wade towards the side of the pool.

“No, wait!” He calls, immediately running (more like bobbing) through the water towards you as fast as he can.

You ignore his call and start to climb the side of the pool, but he catches you before you can fully climb out, curling an arm around your waist and tugging you back against him.

“Please,” he mutters, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck. “I know you’re upset, but I just wanna help you get your mind off things.”

You sigh, reluctantly dropping your hands from the edge of the pavement. You’re silent for a moment as he rests his chin against your shoulder, small puffs of air hitting your damp skin.

“I really thought she was going to try to spend time with me today,” you whisper, turning in his arms to face him. “She didn’t tell me she wouldn’t do it again, though, so I guess I’m the only one to blame.”

He frowns at that, shaking his head. “Don’t blame y’self for any of this. You had expectations for this trip and she completely obliterated them.”

Jutting your bottom lip into a pout, you avoid making eye contact with him. You know he’s right. She promised you she’d spend the trip with you, just you, but she’s almost done everything in her power to do the opposite.

Harry leans forward, pecking your pouted lips gently. He starts to pull away, but you want more so you lock your arms around his neck and he takes that as an invitation to continue, pecking your lips in quick intervals. Even though you’d only just begun to show affection towards each other in this short period of time, it feels like you’ve been together for years. Everything is just so easy with him. It helps that you grew up with each other, but your interactions were so scarce over the years that you didn’t even feel like you really knew him until this trip.

As you’re opening your mouth ever so slightly for him to stroke his tongue over your bottom lip, the feeling of his fingers creeping along your waist has you chuckling nervously. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothin’...” He hums, hooded eyes gazing into yours as he traces his fingertips up against your sides. He leans in for another kiss with a lazy smirk on his lips and you hesitantly grant him one, wary of his wandering hands.

Suddenly, his hands aren’t so gentle anymore and the seemingly harmless pressure of his fingers has turned into almost painful tickling. You throw your head back against your shoulders with a cackle, pressing your palms into his chest in an attempt to push him away but he doesn’t budge. The vicious assault of his fingers draws giggle after giggle from your lips with the occasionally squeal of frustration as you squirm in his unyielding hold.

“I. Hate. You.” You grunt between each word, smacking your hands against his biceps, chest, and shoulders playfully.

Finally, you’re able to tear away from him, nearly diving into the water to get away from him, but he’s faster than you and within moments he has a large, tattooed arm curled around your waist once again. You scream out in frustration, kicking your legs in the water and causing it to splash out in front of you nearly six feet into the air.

“You can’t escape that easy,” he chuckles into your ear, continuing his assault on your poor midsection as you whimper and struggle limply.

Suddenly, a loud rumble of thunder pulls your attention from Harry’s abuse and up to the sky. You've been so distracted by Harry’s stabbing fingers that you hadn't seen the dark cumulonimbus' gathering directly above you in the sky, uttering low groans of warning to anyone near. It begins as small, harmless droplets, but quickly blossoms into a violent downpour, pounding into the surface of the water.

“Fuck!” You screech as you scramble to get out of the pool. Harry is taking his time, though, laughing at the way you’re panicking. “Do you want to get struck by lightning?!” You yell to him, yanking your towel and book from the chair you were lying in before.

He laughs at you, climbing out of the pool and standing by the edge briefly so that he can wipe the moisture from his eyes. The sight of him standing there in nothing but a tight, wet pair of swimming trunks, nearly causes your mouth to water. If it weren’t for the raging thunderstorm pelting you and everything around it, you’d take a few moments just to soak in the view, but you have no time for that.

You bound up the stairs leading to the back porch, holding your book and towel close to your chest to keep them from getting any wetter than they already are. Harry soon follows with his own belongings, giggling playfully like a little boy as the screen door slams behind him.

“Shit- that came out of nowhere!” He chokes, pushing his hand through the sopping curls sprouting from his head and framing his beautiful face.

You shake your head at him with a small chuckle as you toss your towel to the side and yank the sliding door open so that you can step inside. Harry tosses his own towel over a porch chair before he follows you inside, sliding the door closed behind him. The contrast of the roaring sound of the storm outside compared to the silence inside the house is almost deafening. Both of you are wet and shivering on the carpeted floor, looking shamelessly like a pair of greasy rats.

Both of you shower (separately) and change into more comfortable, dry attire, soon finding yourselves in the kitchen scavenging for something to eat.

“Y’know what I’m really craving right now?” Harry asks, standing in front of the open refrigerator.

“What?” You reply, popping a grape into your mouth as you lean back against the counter.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

You pause for a moment, contemplating the prospect of freshly baked cookies melting in your mouth. “Now that you mention it, I'm really craving some as well."

"I think it's something in the water." He hums sarcastically, scrunching his nose to emphasize the sarcasm.

“Perhaps,” you hum in response, a smile itching to spread across your lips.

"Alright then, let's do it!" Harry says, pushing himself away from the counter. "Let's make chocolate chip cookies."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! Come on, we've got nowhere else to be. This will give us something to pass the time!"

Soon, you find yourself hip to hip with Harry at the kitchen counter, a large spread of every required ingredient to make chocolate chip cookies laid out in front of you. You'd found a few old aprons in the back of the pantry and of course you'd both thrown them on to make the experience as authentic as possible.

Harry's apron of choice is a bright yellow number with tacky, purple frills lining the edges and the words "Grandma's Kitchen" stitched across the breast in that same purple color-all you can do is giggle at the sight of him. Yours, however, is nearly the opposite of his; a plain white piece with a pattern of small, black flowers.

Harry frowns at you when you begin to laugh at the sight of him in the apron. "What?? You don't like it?" He huffs, placing his hands on his hips.

"No, no-" you snort, attempting to hold in the cackle itching to escape your throat. "It's great, I love it. Really suits you."

He smiles to himself, turning to the counter. "Thank you, I think it's quite tasteful as well."

You notice that he's pulled his hair up into a bun, so you're able to admire his face in the close proximity. He really is handsome, you think. His eyes are shockingly vibrant - piercing yet kind all at the same time. When he smiles, the very edges of his eyes crinkle as if they're smiling with him and it's getting harder for you to keep yourself from getting lost in them. You'd always found him attractive like that, but within the past week and a half you've gained a different, more meaningful attraction to him. He isn't just your childhood crush anymore - he's Harry. Harry, the boy who remembers how you take your coffee; Harry, the boy who takes you out to coffee and bookstores and proceeds to buy you nearly half the store without you even knowing; Harry, the boy that would rather spend his entire vacation with you when he could easily spend it partying with a new girl every night.

You shake your head at him with a small chuckle, turning back to the counter before looking down at the recipe shown on your phone screen. "So..." you begin, scanning over the first few steps on your screen. "First, we need to combine all the dry ingredients into one bowl and then combine all the wet ingredients in another bowl."

"Alright," Harry hums through a nod, selecting all the dry ingredients from the layout in front of you and collecting them into his corner. "I'll mix the dry ingredients."

You acknowledge him with a quiet murmur before you continue to scan the list of instructions. As you do so, your vision begins to blur slightly. You ignore it at first, hoping it goes away, but when it doesn't, you're forced to blink a few times in an attempt to clear it. Your attempts are in vain, however, because your vision does not improve. Nevertheless, you choose to ignore it in hopes that it will go away on its own.

As you begin to crack eggs; scoop perfectly measured cups of sugar; and combine softened butter all together into a bowl, a slight wave of light-headedness overwhelms you. It's unexpected, so you place the bowl on the counter, sliding it away from you slightly so that you can grip the edge of the counter to stabilize yourself.

Harry seems to notice the shift in your behavior, nudging your arm gently with his elbow to grab your attention. "Is everything alright? Y'look a bit flustered,"

Before you're able to respond, your heart rate suddenly and noticeably begins to increase as well, causing your breathing to become more labored and frantic. You shake your head, gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles are white, head hung on your shoulders as you attempt to catch your breath. "I think I'm- I think I'm having a panic attack,"

You sense him moving closer to you, a warm palm pressed against your back in a soothing manner. "Can I- What can I do to help?"

"I just- I need to sit down," You mutter between breaths, turning slightly to slide down the cabinets and onto the floor with your hand still firmly placed against your chest. A slight numbness begins to form around your nose and your hands begin to shake uncontrollably as you crumple onto the kitchen floor.

Harry follows quickly, moving to sit directly in front of you and gently taking both your hands into his own. "Can you try to breathe a bit slower for me?" He mutters, rubbing his thumbs against your knuckles soothingly. "Maybe in through your nose and out through your mouth?"

You nod to him, taking deep breaths in through your nose and then breathing out through your mouth just like he'd instructed. The feeling of his thumbs rubbing against your skin so gently helps to ground you in the moment, although the feeling of panic and anxiety still rages through your veins. Just his presence alone gives you a level of comfort, but it isn't enough to obliterate the numbness in your face and the hot tears gliding effortlessly down your cheeks.

You don't know how much time passes, but eventually your breathing has gone back to normal and you're left exhausted and still shaking.

"Are you feeling better?" He hums, gently pressing his lips to your knuckles as he gazes up at you with the same concerned expression he'd been sporting as soon as your episode began.

"Yeah- Yes," You stutter in response, leaning your head back against the wooden cabinets. "Fuck, I don't even know where that came from, I'm sorry."

"No, please, don't apologize. Just wanna make sure you're alright,"

You give him a weak smile. "I'm pretty exhausted, but I'll be okay after lying down for a bit or taking a nap."

"Yeah? Need me to help you up or do you want to sit here for a while longer?" He asks, tilting his head to the side as he smiles back at you.

"Do you think you could get me some water, please?"

"Of course," He nods, immediately standing up in front of you to grab a fresh glass from one of the upper cabinets and fill it with water before kneeling back down to place it into your trembling hands. "There you are, babe."

You smile up at him. "Thank you."

He smiles back as if to say "you're welcome" as he gently rubs his knuckles against your arm to give you some form of comfort.

It takes nearly 10 minutes for you to gather your bearings on reality again, but having Harry there helps so much more than if you were experiencing this alone. He watches you intently the entire time, hyper aware of every breath you take like he's afraid you'll fall apart in front of his eyes, and all you want to do is reach up and smooth out the deep creases between his eyebrows.

"Could you help me up now?" You croak, squeezing his hand gently.

"Yeah- yes, of course." He scrambles to securely wrap an arm around your waist, his other hand still clutching one of yours as he lifts you from the kitchen floor. Once you're fully stabilized on both of your feet, you look at Harry, hands resting on his shoulders as he cups his hands around both your elbows, searching your face frantically for any sign of distress. "You alright?"

You nod, giving him a weak smile and sliding your arms up around his neck to pull him in for a hug. His arms immediately fall to wrap around your waist, pressing your body into his in a warm, comforting embrace.

"Sorry I couldn't finish making the cookies with you," You mutter into his ear, pressing your face into his neck.

"S'alright, I can manage on my own." He replies, rubbing his hand up and down the length of your back. He can feel the erratic thudding of your heart against his chest, your slow, shaky breaths fanning directly over his ear simultaneously. His heart aches.

After you take yourself back to your bedroom to rest, Harry finishes the cookies by himself. Due to his previous baking experience, the task is a breeze, but during the time he spends mixing and preparing the cookies, all he can think about is how angry he is with Deidre. He'd seen her, time and time again, take advantage of your kindness without a single thought as to how it might make you feel. She's selfish, and you're far too good for her. Deidre doesn't deserve to call you her best friend.

Just as he begins to pull the steaming, golden cookies from the oven, the sound of the front door swinging open from behind him catches his ear. Deidre stumbles in from the pouring rain, fumbling around as she removes her sandals and tosses her tote bag to the floor next to them.

He pokes his head into the living room to look at her. She's almost completely soaked-- her long, dark hair is sopping wet, clumping together in thick strands, and her thin cover-dress is soaked completely through, sticking to her figure like a glove. He hadn't even noticed it's been raining this entire time.

"Hey! Mini golfing got cut short 'cause of the rain." She smiles, pushing her hair out of her face as she looks at him.

He responds with a low grunt, stepping back into the kitchen without a single word. Her peppiness annoys him.

"Did you bake something?" She continues, sauntering into the kitchen. "Smells fantastic!"

"Chocolate chip cookies," he replies bluntly as he wipes the counter down with a damp towel.

"Can I have one?"

"Sure, do whatever you want." He snaps, tossing the towel into the sink in frustration.

She frowns at him, her shoulders dropping a little at the sight of the slight scowl on his face and the sudden outburst he'd just had. "What's your deal?"

He turns to her. "What's MY deal? My fucking 'deal' is that you were meant to come here to spend time with your best friend and the longest you've spent in the same vicinity with her is when you're sleeping! She came here expecting to find a distraction from the shitty time she's been having at school and you've made it worse for her!"

Deidre stands in shock, the hand that had been reaching for a cookie now fallen limp at her side.

"She's in bed resting right now because she had a panic attack on the kitchen floor not even an hour ago-"

"That's not my fucking fault!" She interrupts him, throwing her arms out expressively.

"Maybe not, but you're not doing anything to help her! You knew she was having a hard time at school and invited her here as a distraction, yet you left her to spend two weeks all by herself! If I hadn't have come along, she'd have been left on her own or forced to join you on your little escapades without a single choice." He huffs, yanking the strings of his apron to untie them from each other before pulling it over his head and hurling it to the ground.

“You know, I asked her every time I went out if she wanted to come with me,” Deidre grumbles, shaking her head, “but she turned me down every single time.”

“Yeah, y’know why she turned you down?” Harry immediately retorts with a growl. “Because she didn’t want to spend time with a couple of random blokes that you know far better than she does!”

She snaps her mouth shut, a deep scowl etched across her brow as she stands in front of him.

"You have no regard for anyone else besides yourself and I am not going to let you ruin this trip for her. So, PLEASE, keep doing exactly what you're doing because I'm positive she's had more time with me than the two of you ever had together!" With that, Harry storms out of the room and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Deidre standing speechless in the kitchen.

Unbeknownst to Harry and Deidre, the quarrel wakes you from your slumber in the other room, causing you to become a bit curious and move closer to the door so that you can listen to the lava spewing from both sides. The fight isn’t long, but you hear nearly every word. The way Harry so passionately defends you in the situation, which had initially caused you to feel so unbelievably helpless, gives you a sense of comfort. You know he cares about you, but there’s something so endearing about actually hearing him defend you with so much fervor.

The slamming of Harry’s bedroom door echoes down the hallway, indicating the end of their conversation. You step away from your own door, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the mattress as you sit. You can hear Deidre walking down the hallway, so to make it seem like you weren’t eavesdropping on their entire conversation, you return to where you were on the bed previously and pretend like you’re asleep.

“Harry?” Your knuckles rap against the wood of his bedroom door gently, careful not to wake Deidre in the other room by knocking too loudly. There’s a brief pause and a shuffling of bed sheets from behind the door before it cracks open, revealing Harry in his sleepy, disheveled state.

“Hi,” He croaks, licking his lips and crossing his arms over his hoodie-clad chest. “Is everything alright?”

You sigh, scratching the back of your head nervously. “Yeah, um- sorry, everything’s fine, I’m just- I’m having some trouble sleeping and- this is stupid, but… could I stay in here with you?” It takes a moment for him to process your words, but once he does he’s nodding and stepping aside to beckon you into his room. “I’m really sorry, I know you were probably sleeping-”

“S’alright, babe, don’t worry about it,” he shakes his head. “Why don’t you go and get comfortable on the bed while I grab us some tea?”

You nod, giving him a small, tired smile as he steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked slightly. You make your way over to his bed, the duvet pulled back along with the sheets, indicating where he’d been lying on the bed moments ago. Your knees land on the soft fabric as you crawl further into the queen sized bed, finding your place on the other side where the duvet is untouched. A warm mixture of chamomile, jasmine, and a hint of cedar wood engulfs you when you lay your head on his pillow. The smell is intoxicating, one whiff could send you into a peaceful, drunken slumber. But, instead of actually falling asleep, you lie there for a few moments, listening to the gentle sounds of the ceiling fan spinning above your head as it lulls you into a quiet reverie.

Soon, Harry is entering the room again, breaking you from your thoughts as you look to find him stepping through the door with two white, porcelain mugs filled to the brim with steaming tea.

“I hope you’re alright with green tea ‘cause that’s all we have,” He murmurs, moving very slowly towards the bed.

“Green tea is perfect, thank you.” You smile, making sure not to burn yourself or spill any of the precious beverage as he crawls onto the bed beside you and places one of the mugs into your welcoming hands. Once the tea is secured, you adjust yourself so that you're sitting against the headboard, body tilted slightly in Harry's direction.

“So,” He starts, blowing on his own tea in an attempt to cool it down faster. “Is there a specific reason why you aren’t able to sleep?”

You take a deep breath, crossing your legs comfortably. “I'm, um, having a bit of anxiety and sleeping with Deidre just isn't helping since she's always making some sort of noise."

“Anxiety?” He frowns, moving his lips away from his tea so that he can be fully attentive to what you're saying. “Are you alright? Do you need me to help with anything?"

“I guess I'm still a bit on edge from earlier, so there isn't much you can do besides just keep me distracted,” you reply, forcing a small smile. "And the tea helps a lot as well."

"I can definitely do that." He smiles, leaning in to peck your lips gingerly. Of course, you welcome the kisses happily, pulling him in for a few more after he pulls away from the first one. He chuckles into your lips, deepening the kiss by tilting his head every so slightly to the side. Your free hand rests against his chest, so you can feel the gentle vibration of his chortle through the fabric of his hoodie and it makes you smile.

“Oh, also-” you continue after you've parted from his lips. “I never properly thanked you for the books you bought for me. I really do not deserve all that, but thank you, really. They will definitely be of good use.”

He smiles and shakes his head, “S’no problem. You seemed so enthralled by each of them and I thought it’d be a shame for you not to go home with at least a few.”

You smile to yourself, glancing down at your tea. "You really didn't need to do that, but, again, thank you." You reach up to gently cup the side of his face, leaning a little bit closer so that you can capture his lips between yours once again. This time, the kisses aren't as innocent. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, drawing him closer to you as his tongue slowly slides against your bottom lip. If it weren't for the steaming mugs of tea in both yours and Harry's hands, it would be so much easier for either of you to take more control of the situation and move into something more than just kissing. You can sense that he wants to do something, and admittedly you do too, but you pull away before anything can happen.

"That isn't the only reason why I came here tonight, though," you speak again as your lips part from his.

He frowns slightly, tilting his head to the side as if to ask: "what's the other reason?"

"I overheard your conversation with Deidre earlier."

His eyes widen. "Oh, fuck- listen, I'm sorry I got kind of carried away. It just made me so angry to see her continuously treat you like that and I- I didn't mean to, like, speak for you-"

"No, Harry, it's okay," You interrupt him before he can continue rambling. "I appreciated it. I probably wouldn't have been able to do it myself, so thank you."

“I really didn't want to make it seem like you can't stand up for yourself, but I know it's just been affecting you so much lately and she needed to be put in her place, even if it made her angry."

"Thank you, really. Usually, Deidre would've been the person to stand up for me for something like that, but lately we just haven't felt as close. Even before this trip. Kinda started to think she just invited me here out of pity... And I honestly wouldn't blame her if she did. " You shrug, staring down into the tea to avoid direct eye contact.

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t think like that-- I’m sure she really did want you to come, but just got distracted by other things. She tends to do that sometimes.”

You shrug wordlessly, keeping your eyes trained to the gently swirling liquid in your cup.

When you look back up at him, you realize how cozy and warm he looks just sitting there in his hoodie and sweatpants, mug of steaming tea sitting at his pink lips. Your tank-top and shorts aren’t doing much to help with the chilled draft wafting throughout the house, so seeing him like that makes you want to crawl into his arms in search of warmth.

He notices the way you’re shivering and moves to set his mug on the bedside table. “Are you cold?”

You smile sheepishly. “Yeah, a little. The anxiety gives me cold flashes.” He quickly tugs his hoodie over his head as soon as the words leave your lips, carefully taking the mug of tea from your hands and placing it on the bedside table before holding the hoodie open for you to slide your arms in easily. Your heart nearly melts at the sentiment, sliding your arms into the sleeves and pulling the piece of clothing over your head. It’s warm, soft and smells just like him, and it immediately gives you a sense of comfort. “Thanks.” You smile.

“S’no problem,” he replies, reaching over for your mug to offer it back to you. You carefully take it from his hands, thanking him before taking another tentative sip. The liquid is still a bit hot, but it has cooled down just enough for you to sip at your own leisure.

“You’re way too sweet to me, Harry,” you sigh, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie over your fingers.

“Y’know, I don’t think I am,” he shakes his head, moving closer to you on the creaky mattress. “Think I should be sweeter, show you how much you deserve it.”

You scoff quietly, looking away from him to hide your flustered expression. “Oh, shut up.”

He falls silent, the only sound that can be heard being the shuffling of the sheets and creaking of the mattress as he moves closer to you again. And then you feel it: his lips pressed to your shoulder through the thick material of his hoodie. It’s soft but it’s there and as soon as you turn your head to look at him, he pulls away, staring directly into your eyes with an almost unreadable expression.

“You deserve so much more than what you think you deserve. I wish I could show you that.”

You maintain eye contact with him, breath caught in your throat. You’re rendered speechless at the depth of his words, forced to take slow, deep breaths to calm the pounding of your heart as he inches closer. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re unable to speak a single word other than the faint murmur of his name.

His hand finds both of yours as they clutch the warm mug of tea, (tighter than you’d initially intended due to the tension clouding your brain) carefully prying it from your fingers before placing it on the bedside table. You angle your body towards him, taking his face in your hands before moving forward to plant your lips against his. He immediately returns the kiss in a slightly more fervent manner, pushing you to fall back against the pillows as he cages you in with his arms.

Despite the unexpected escalation of what began as an innocent conversation, Harry begins kissing you slowly, his tongue laving over your bottom lip and into your mouth. You allow his body to move between your legs as he kisses you, your hands holding desperately onto the nape of his neck and curve of his jaw.

“Wanna show you,” He mutters between hot, wet kisses. “Can I do that?” His face hovers over yours for a moment, waiting for you to say something.

“Yeah- yes, please.” You breathe, reaching up to place your hand on the back of his neck and pull his lips back into yours.

Immediately, Harry’s fingers curl into the waistband of your shorts, helping you tug them down your bare legs and toss them to the side before he lets his hands glide down your legs from your thighs to your calves, reveling in the softness of your skin. He pulls his lips away from yours, staring down into your eyes as his hand falls between your legs, fingers slowly finding your clit over your warm, damp panties.

You hadn’t planned any of this so, of course, so your panties are nothing special, but when Harry lets his head fall down to look at where his fingers meet your sex, a shaky sigh leaves his pink lips. It sounds as if he’s in pain just from the sight of you and he hasn’t even taken your panties off yet.

His lips fall to your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses along each side before trailing down the front of your hoodie clad chest. Once he reaches your lower region, his arms hook beneath your legs, slinging them over his shoulders as he moves to lie on his stomach between them. His hot breath washes over your clothed cunt, causing your legs to quiver around his shoulders at the sensitivity and you suck in a breath to hold back a gasp.

He starts slowly as he peels the soft cotton of your panties from your skin, dragging them ever so slowly down your legs before nudging them aside on the bed. You’re finding it increasingly difficult not to squirm beneath his scorching gaze, but with his arms locked tight around your thighs, your movements are clearly limited.

Harry begins to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses to the supple skin of your inner thighs, nipping lightly between each kiss. Much to your dismay, he pulls away, his knees still planted on the mattress between your legs as he scoops his luscious hair into his hands and pulls it back into a quick, messy bun. You lie there watching him, chest heaving with your labored breaths and he smirks.

“Haven’t even started and you’re already out of breath,” he drops back down to hover over your body and you're left to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, feeling the heat radiating from your skin to your palms. His long fingers circle your wrists, gently tugging your hands away from your face so that he can plant another firm kiss to your lips. "You sure you wanna keep going?"

He stares down at you with a cautious and gentle look in his eyes as he waits for you to respond. His need for consent is comforting and you can tell he really cares. "I'm positive. Please, keep going."

Content with your response, Harry smiles, pecking your lips one last time before crawling back down your body and slinging your legs back over his shoulders just like they were just moments ago. Since he'd removed your panties, there's no barrier between his lips and your glistening sex, his warm breath washing over your sensitive skin and causing your thighs to quiver ever so slightly.

"Ready?" He asks quietly, virescent eyes meeting yours through thick, brown lashes.

His purposeful prolonging has caused you to grow a little impatient, so you huff a frustrated "please," to him in hopes of speeding up the process. He chuckles a little, but finally brings his mouth to your hot skin, tongue peaking out from between his lips to slowly drag against your clit. A shaky breath escapes your lips at the initial contact, and then he presses forward, wrapping his pink, swollen lips around your sensitive button, sucking gently and it causes a much louder moan to tumble from your mouth. Your hand falls to his head, fingers pushing into the hair that was once pulled tight against his head by the messy bun. He lifts his head slightly at the sound of your moan, bringing a finger to his glistening lips as he gazes up at you, mischievous glint behind his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry." You whisper breathlessly and he shakes his head, shoulders shaking with his slight laughter.

His mouth finally returns to your lips, eyes trained to yours to ensure that you don't make any more loud noises before he delves back in, fully devoting himself to your pleasure. Your lip slips between your teeth in a feeble attempt to contain the breathless whimpers and moans itching to spill from your mouth and your hand continues to press into his hair. The pleasure you feel from just his lips and tongue is undeniably amazing. It's obvious the man doesn't shy away when it comes to foreplay and that only eggs on your aroused state.

Languid strokes of Harry's tongue gradually turn into quick, firm flicks that cause your thighs to quiver with pleasure as you clamp your own hand over your mouth to muffle your involuntary noises. He hums against you purposefully so that the vibrations double the work of his tongue and lips into a delicious harmony of blissful ecstasy and your back arches from the sweat-damp sheets beneath you. Your skin is clammy and hot from the heat being emitted from your body, yet the uncomfortable, tacky feeling of it is the last thing on your mind. His mouth is a drug and you're an addict, beseeching for the next dose.

Muffled moans and the sound of his swollen lips colliding with your dripping folds fills the small bedroom and it only makes Harry move faster, desperate to have your release glistening against his chin and upper lip as he gazes down at your heaving body. He wants you to fall apart; he craves to watch you find that burning release within the pit of your stomach and melt into the sheets from the pleasure of it. If only you knew how many times he dreamt of having you in this exact position, nearly sobbing from the work of his skilled mouth.

"Thought about this so many times-" he pulls away, allowing his thumb to take the place of his lips and rub gentle circles against your throbbing clit. "Taste better than I could've ever imagined. Just wish I could really hear you."

His drawled words and the lack of warmth directly against your cunt draws you to look down at him breathlessly, unable to muster a response to his confession. He chuckles at that, not expecting a response before he returns to the task at hand. By now, you're teetering over the edge, aimlessly grasping for a pillow to press over your face in an attempt to silence the growing sounds that emit from the back of your throat. Finally, you find yourself toppling over the notorious edge, the pillow that's pressed firmly against your face throughout the entirety of your orgasm doing its job in muffling your noises.

Harry watches you pulse and shiver helplessly for just a few moments before his hands are pulling the pillow from your face and tossing it above your head so that he can kiss you again. His lips and tongue taste of you as he explores the depths of your mouth and your heart continues to pound against your chest with your labored breaths.

He pulls away from your face after a moment, smiling as he tilts his head to the side. "How was that?"

"That was-" a puff of air leaves your lips, "that was good."

"Just good?" He frowns, pecking his lips down the column of your neck.

“I- fuck, Harry I don’t even know what to say, it was amazing.” You laugh breathlessly, tucking your fingers into his hair.

“Amazing, hm?” He smirks. “Would you say it was five out of five stars?”

A broken laugh leaves your lips again. “Yeah, I’d say it was five out of five.” Heat thunders across your face as you breathe another flustered giggle and he chuckles along with you, leaning forward to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. He presses a few soft, wet kisses to your skin and exhales, his warm breath causing goosebumps to bloom there. His ego has inflated quite a bit from your confession, but that doesn't hinder his desires to make you as comfortable and satisfied as possible.

“Do you need some water, or maybe a snack?”

You push yourself up onto your arms, frowning at him. “What about you?” It’s almost unbelievable to you that after he worked so tirelessly to make you come, his first thought is to ask you if you need anything more, as if he hasn’t already done enough for you.

He rolls over onto his back beside you, staring up at you. “What about me?”

You briefly glance down his body, noticing the visible tent in his sweatpants. “Can I do something for you?”

“If you want to,” he shrugs, trying in vain not to show his agony. He’s obviously uncomfortable. “But I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do anything.”

You nearly roll your eyes at his unwavering chivalry, wordlessly lifting yourself up and slinging your leg over his hips to straddle him. “I want to.”

At that, Harry lifts himself up off of the bed and wraps an arm around your waist to press you into him, that small bit of friction alone causing a low whimper to slip past your lips. His mouth finds yours, fervently pulling kisses from your lips as he guides your hips against his own. You’ve imagined this scenario so many times, yet the feeling of your own fingers frantically coaxing you to release is nothing compared to the feeling of Harry’s warm body beneath you.

Even through the fabric of his sweatpants, you can feel how thick he is and it only makes you want to move faster. His lips have attached themselves to the spot between your jaw and neck, skillfully biting and sucking at the skin as your hips gyrate against his. You can already feel the burning sensation growing between your legs due to how sensitive you are from your previous orgasm, and Harry seems to be reaching his own climax as well. He’s clawing at your hips and ass, desperate to have you as close to him as possible as low grunts fall from his lips.

It doesn’t take long for you to find your release, choking out Harry’s name as your fingers tug and yank at his now lopsided bun. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, continuously swiveling your hips against his as he chases his own impending orgasm.

“Shit!” He groans a little too loudly as he comes, but you’re quick to shush him, slapping your palm over his mouth while your hips work him through his climax. Your thighs are burning and beads of sweat break out along every inch of your skin, but the satisfaction of knowing you’re working him down to his very last drop is enough to keep you going until neither you, nor him can take it anymore.

Once you finally fall limp against his body, he musters enough strength to roll you onto your back, pressing a few chaste kisses along your jawline.

“Was it five out of five?” You breathe, keeping your eyes shut as you lean your head back against the pillow.

“Hm?” He hums, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Would you rate my skills five out of five?”

“Oh, definitely.” He chuckles breathlessly.

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