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takadasaiko · 4 years

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Best Laid Plans (a Veronica Mars one shot)

FFN II AO3

Part of my Spanning Years. Continents. series.

Summary: Logan tries to surprise Veronica with a romantic vacation and things don't go exactly as planned.

Best Laid Plans

Surprising Veronica Mars with more than a small gift or a dinner out took a tremendous amount of patience and planning. Every step needed to be carefully mapped out - but definitely not written down in any way, shape or form that she could come across - and executed. It had to be flexible, but too much improvisation was a recipe for disaster. It typically took others that were both willing to help and that wouldn't underestimate her pension for uncovering something she hadn't been specifically looking for. It was an art form, really, and Logan thought he'd done a damn good job all things considered.

The first step had been to find and actually submit a request for leave. He couldn't remember requesting two full, consecutive weeks since he'd enlisted, but he had managed to snag the days and get them set, leading him into the next steps: the actual planning portion of the surprise. This was where things got a little more complicated. He worked to keep any physical files he needed at Dick's suite at the Grand and had forwarded any related calls to Riley's cell rather than his own. Still, that had been easy compared to the balancing act he'd had to go through to both make sure that Veronica freed her schedule during his leave time and didn't tip her off that he had a trip planned. That had taken some next-level finessing that he thought he'd pulled off right up until the night before they were supposed to leave.

Logan had left late that evening, tying up any loose ends on base before his two week vacation. Veronica should have beat him home by at least an hour or more on any normal day, but he found all the lights off at the apartment and a veryeager Pony at the door who was ready for his walk. Logan had checked his cell - no messages - and had called her phone as he walked their dog down down to a green patch. It rang through until it connected to voicemail. Okay. No need to jump to conclusions. She'd told him earlier that week she was going to make sure she took some time while he was on leave. Maybe she was just wrapping up a case.

Dinner came and went, and by the time that the front door opened Logan had already cleaned up the dishes, put their bags together for the trip, and was stretched out on the couch with a video game controller in hand. He hit pause and peeked up over the back of the couch. "Hey, you're in late."

Veronica jumped a little at his voice and shook her head. "Hey, sorry. This huge case dropped in our lap today. Kind of took over."

"But you wrapped it up?" he asked, even though something in him already knew the answer.

"No, actually brought it home. It's fine. You can keep playing. I'm just gonna set up shop at the desk."

Logan set the controller down and eased himself off the couch. "I thought you were going to take some time."

She shot him a confused look and he saw when she turned into what he'd meant. "Your leave starts tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. It's time sensitive."

"Most of them are. Can't your dad take this one?"

"I mean, maybe, but I don't think we should risk it."

Logan quirked an eyebrow. "If you thought you told what the case is, you didn't."

She hesitated. In general, they didn't discuss the details of her cases, but as Logan waited as patiently as he could manage, he saw her make a judgement call on it. "Kidnapping," she said at last. "This dad's been trying to get custody of his son from his abusive ex-wife but the lady took off with the kid. The sheriff's office is being less than helpful and the dad hired us. There's a chance I may actually have to fly out at the break of dawn tomorrow."

Okay, yeah. That took precedence over his plans. No wonder she looked stressed. "That… yeah, okay. Don't worry about it. Just get the kid home safe."

She tried for a smile. "It'll be fine. You've got two weeks, right? I'll make it up to you as soon as we…." She dropped her bag on the desk in the corner and stopped at the sight of the suitcase and duffel bag that he'd stacked there. Slowly, Veronica turned back to him. "Were we going somewhere?"

"I thought we could take a few days," he offered vaguely.

"And you were going to surprise me? You did surprise me. I'm impressed. Where'd you make plans?"

"Napa Valley," Logan lied, hoping it was convincing enough.

She managed a tired smile, crossing the living room to wrap her arms around his neck and tipping up on her toes to press a kiss against his lips. "I bet they'll let you push the date back a few days. Let me get this kid home and safe and we'll go celebrate, okay?"

"Absolutely," he answered and kissed the tip of her nose. "Go get 'em, bobcat."

She lingered for half a second more, her gaze latched onto his, before finally releasing him to return to her files she'd brought home with her. He reached over to save his game and turn the TV off, giving her the space she needed to work.

------

Logan was in bed and asleep long before Veronica, and he didn't dare risk a look at the clock when he felt her climb in with him. He rolled over, wrapped an arm around her, and felt her fold into him, her hair tickling his nose as he settled back in to sleep.

For once, it was her alarm that woke him the next morning, and Veronica was out the door and on her way to Arizona by ten till six. He had stayed in bed - a rarity once he was awake these days, but he told himself he was staying out of her way so she could move without tripping over him - until she bent over and gave him a quick peck on the lips, promising she'd call.

Around six thirty he finally admitted that sleeping in was no longer something his brain allowed him to do even on vacation and he rolled out of bed. His bare feet hit the floor and it was time to decaffeinate and try to be productive. An hour after that he had canceled their trip and was out the door for a run, dragging a very reluctant Pony with him. Two miles with the dog and three on his own later he rounded back around to the apartment and decided to remind himself that he could and should take some time to relax, even if things hadn't gone as planned. Good thing the waves were always perfect on Neptune beaches.

"Weren't you supposed to be on a plane to Paris or something like that today?" Dick asked as they paddled out and away from the beach.

"Yeah, that didn't work out."

"Ronnie bailed on ya?"

Logan cringed at the complicated question. "She had a case she couldn't get out of."

"Not cool, man. Work over a vacay in France? I told you you shoulda booked at least a month. No one vacations in Europe for two weeks."

"A lot of people go for a week or two," Logan chuckled as he flattened himself out on the board, ready for the incoming waves. "But I didn't tell her where we were going. The whole trip was supposed to be a surprise."

The wave started building and he popped up on the board, finding his balance as he rode it up and over. It felt good, relaxing, even as he finally tilted and ducked down under it.

"That was your first mistake," Dick called as they surfaced. "No one surprises Veronica Mars."

"Hey now, I've managed once or twice."

"But did you really?"

Logan snorted, pushing saltwater out with the breath through his nose, and glanced over at Dick who was straddling his board next to him. He shoved him hard, sending his best friend tipping over and into the warm water. He smirked as a mop of blond hair surfaced, but didn't have time to let himself get too smug - or escape - as Dick returned the favour and both men found themselves treading water next to their boards.

"I mean, it's not like France is going anywhere, man. Just take more time off."

Sometimes Logan forgot that Dick had very little real world experience, especially hen it came to the way the Navy functioned. He could explain things in detail and it was the old cliche of in one ear and out the other. Dick would nod, give the occasional uh-huh at times that Logan would swear meant he was actually listening and comprehending what was being explained, but it was like all of the data got deleted at the end of the day. If it was the drugs he'd indulged in over the years or just the way Dick's brain worked, he still wasn't sure, but at least his heart tended to be in the right place, and if nothing else he was trying to help. That had to count for something.

"Eventually," he chuckled.

"Piece of advice, buddy," Dick said as he flopped over the board again, working his way back onto it. "Next time, just tell her. The big ol' romantic gesture only works if she shows up."

Logan wrapped his fingers around the opposite side of his board, using it to stay afloat as he looked at his friend. "Maybe you're right."

"Definitely, man. C'mon. That one looks good."

Logan glanced back to see the wave rolling in. Well, he could think of a lot worse ways to spend a vacation, even if the plans had fallen through.

-------

Nearly four days after taking the case, it was finally finished and closed. They had found the missing little boy and gotten him home to his father. It had been a mess of interviews with both Neptune's illustrious sheriff's department as well as the local police force in Arizona and the FBI after they had found out that the mother had crossed state lines in the kidnapping case. Count Lamb's disinterest as yet another knock against his reelection. Really, he just continued digging his own grave. It was going to be a glorious day when they booted him out of office.

Veronica dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment and dug in her bag for her keys. The lights were on and she could hear the muffled sound of music from inside. Logan must be cooking and as her stomach gave an audible growl she knew she couldn't find her keys fast enough and rapped her knuckles against the door.

There was a long moment, then another, before she saw her boyfriend peek out the large window next to the desk and shake his head. "Sorry, we don't want any," he shouted loud enough for her to hear and she flipped him off with a smile.

He undid the locks on the other side of the door and finally pried it open, but just a little. "Fine. Just one box of thin mints. That's it."

"Asshole," she laughed and pushed her way in, wrapping her arms around his neck and suddenly she was kissing him. Interesting. She hadn't realized quite how much she had missed him until that moment.

Veronica felt Logan's strong arms around her and without warning he was lifting her up and off the floor, bag still draped over her shoulder and all. He spun her a little, pulling her fully into their apartment and she wrapped her legs around his middle for support and found herself looking down at him. "Miss me?"

"So much." He pulled her down into a kiss and she grinned into it. She thought he might forget whatever he was doing and just take her straight back to the bedroom, but instead he set her down, pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead. "You find him?"

"We did. Everything's good."

She felt a twinge of pain at the relief that flashed across his face. She knew what abuse cases did to him, even if he really had nothing to do with it other than being near to her. "Good," he breathed. "You hungry?"

"So hungry. You have no idea."

He brushed a stray strand of hair back and let his gaze linger on her a moment before returning to the kitchen. She followed him, finally giving herself half a second to both see and smell what the meal-in-progress was. "Oh. Look at you. I thought I was the only one that could convince you on a steak night. Is there some leggy brunette hiding back there I should be aware of?" she asked, her tone light and playful as she circled around behind him, her fingers against the small of his back.

"More of a pairing thing. I picked up that Bordeaux we liked."

Veronica hummed a soft agreement, letting her hand drift down his arm and she laced her fingers into his as he shifted to use his now free - left - hand to awkwardly flip the steak. "Enough there for both of us, flyboy?"

"I think we can manage. You wanna grab some of the frozen green beans?"

"No veggies? You really were being bad while I was away," she teased, finally - reluctantly - releasing him as she turned to grab the frozen veggies he'd requested.

"I'm on vacation," he answered and flipped the steak in the pan with some effort.

"You know dad would totally have been cool if you went over to his place to use the grill, right?"

"Bold of you to assume I can grill."

She smirked as she bent down to grab a pan to boil the green beans in. "I just remain impressed you can cook." She filled the pot with water and she saw him reach for a fresh wine glass and pour her some of the Bordeaux he'd gotten into that night. "So, you talked to whatever vineyard you booked us that surprised trip to?"

"You remember that, huh?"

"The amazing wine is reminding me."

She grinned at the way his eyebrows danced at that one and took a long sip, waiting. "We'll figure something out. I still have some time on the books."

There was something in his tone that, even as exhausted as she was, caught her attention and she peered over the lip of her glass at him. "What's up?"

"What'dya mean?"

"I mean something's up."

"Nothing's up."

"Logan, as much as I love fun games, but I know when something's up," she said pointedly, turning so that she could lean back against the cabinets. Did he really think he was hiding it that well? She didn't know what was going on, but she was about to find out.

He loosed a long breath. "It's really nothing."

"But really something you're gonna spill," she popped back, her tone lighter than the meaning was. He was starting to push her buttons and she was letting him to know.

She saw his gaze flicker towards her and he flipped the steak again. There was a moment in there when the resolve finally cracked. "I didn't plan a trip to Napa."

"Then what were the bags for?"

"France?"

The answer came out more like a question and Veronica felt a tightness in her stomach. "France?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he murmured, looking more like a kicked puppy than she would have liked.

"You booked us a flight to France?"

"You'd never been," he answered, as if that was an explanation. She shot him a look and he kept going, motioning at the bottle of wine with those long, expressive fingers of his. "Flight was into Paris, I figured we'd rent a car once we got there and after you saw what you wanted to in the city we could drive down to the wine country. I had two weeks."

"And now you don't," she breathed.

He gave a dry chuckle in response and moved the steak from the pan to the plate. "Next time, and I won't try to surprise you."

Veronica wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. "It was sweet."

"It didn't work."

"Still sweet." She tightened her hold until he dropped a hand down to cover hers. "You think you might be able to pull some of that Echolls magic in Napa? Or… somewhere?"

"Maybe. It's not France."

"But it's with you."

She felt him tense at that and for one brief, terrifying moment she thought she'd said something wrong. He turned in her arms, though, and she saw that look that said she'd said something right instead. He reached a hand up to her face, cupping her cheek and holding her gaze, his smile slow but real. "You sure you're good with work?"

"Definitely."

"Then I'll call them first thing in the morning." He ducked down, catching her in a kiss.

Veronica tightened her grip on his shirt at the small of his back. "Hey," she murmured against his lips.

"Hmm?"

"Still starved."

He chuckled at that, finally breaking the kiss and he reached for a spoon to start stirring the beans in the pot as she split the sizable steak in half for them. He dished out the veggies and they started in on it, Veronica's gaze fixed on him as he started going over some spots he liked in northern Cali that would make for a good vacation. She listened, nodding along and commenting when she liked one, but her focus was on the thought behind his original plans. Despite the cost of the trip - something she was desperately trying not to think about - it had been absurdly sweet that he was trying to take her to a place she'd never been for a getaway. They needed it, not because things were bad, but because they were good. She wanted to spend time with him and him with her. Northern California wasn't Paris or the wine country of France, but they could still get away, just the two of them, and that was the point. The best laid plans didn't always pan out, but they didn't have to to be perfect anyway.

#Veronica Mars #Logan Echolls #LoVe fanfiction #VeronicaMarsFanfic

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pluto-fics · 4 years

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Inspiration is Motivation － Prologue

Fanfiction | Artist!Taehyung x SingleMom!Reader

Genres: Fluff, Romance, Humor, Smut

Rating: G (for this chapter)

Word Count: 2.385 words

Chapter Warnings: none

Your brows furrow at the earlier statement of your best friend, Hanna.

"Believe me, it'll help you to relax for a few hours and I'll take good care of Ty."

You have no doubt about the latter. Hanna might be that stereotype single woman who likes to go out for a couple drinks every so often, but she is a reliable caretaker and one ridiculously good cook. Based on this, she was an absolute blessing the last two times she watched over your son. However, you still feel a little uneasy about her suggestion.

"I don't know... Tyler is kind of stubborn and moody lately, how could I leave you both alone for nearly four full hours? Not to mention that I can paint at home if I want to, I don't need to go to some weird art course..." you try to defy yourself. The idea of entrusting Hanna with your five year old son for so long worries you. Just the thought of it causes a bad feeling to spread throughout your body. Hanna just rolls her eyes, however. "Listen. I already signed you up for that course this Saturday. It's supposed to start at eleven, won't go past three in the afternoon and you can calmly come back home to Tyler and me having a great time without setting your apartment on fire."

You can't fight down the amused giggle at her statement before you sigh. "Hanna, I really don't-..." you begin, only to be interrupted mid-sentence. "Yes, you do want to try it. I'll be here at 10 this Saturday and you can either go to that course or stay here with us and bathe in my judgment."

And here you are, two days later and sat on a chair in front of an empty canvas and an A3 sized sketchpad, surrounded by strangers who, just like you, are waiting for the course to begin.

You take this time to inspect the equipment provided to you. Brushes and pencils of rather good quality, however accompanied by a cheap, fizzy eraser. The watercolor paint seems decent enough. But the big bottles of acrylics and oils on the desk in the middle of the room, accessible for everyone in it, clearly are not top-notch quality. That of course does not mean it is bad per se, you just might have expected something fancier in the art department of the local Community College.

Your train of thoughts comes to an abrupt stop when you hear someone opening the big wooden door and entering the room, a deep but smooth voice wishing you and your fellow course participants a good morning. The slender figure who just stepped into the room makes your eyes grow wide the second you lay your eyes on him. He is tall, with model like features, facial as well as bodywise. His fashion sense clearly is a little extravagant, for he wears a way too oversized dress shirt with a pair of what almost seemed to be pajama pants of some sort, and a matching beige colored beret topping his head. The big round glasses topping his nose make you curious. Does he need them to see? Or were they simply added to this retro outfit because they fit the vibe?

"I'm glad you all made it here on time, unlike myself" he then speaks while rummaging in the bag he has just placed on top of the desk in the front of the room. You hear quiet giggles erupting from two slightly older women in the back. His lips curve into a handsome smile, not even needing to show the whites of his teeth to make you doubt the existence of a man with such impressive visuals. Yet, you feel kind of stupid for the way you swoon over his looks like a teenager, despite being a grown woman with a child waiting for her to return home.

The young man claps his hands together as if to catch everyone's attention, even though he already possesses the full concentration of everyone in this room. "Now, I'd like to start by introducing myself, if that's alright by you."

He swiftly turns to the chalkboard behind himself and writes down what you assume to be his name.

"My name is Kim Taehyung and I teach traditional art at the local University. But as you can tell, I'm also hosting art courses like this one once a week, while also working as a hobby freelance artist. So I guess you could say that art is my passion."

There it is again. That charming smile of his as he tends to the attentive group of people in front of him. "But enough of me, I think we're all here to improve our skills, so how about we start with some easy warm ups to get creative first?" You notice everyone responding by nodding or already flipping over the cover of the massive sketchpad in front of them to reveal a blank page. Imitating your 'classmates', you flip open your sketchpad and face Mr. Kim again.

He begins by instructing everyone to warm up their wrists by drawing circular shapes of several sizes and shading them to your heart's content to make yourself familiar with the medium you're using. Another hint of his is to try the different art materials provided to each one of the participants and see which one you'd preferably work with today.

A couple minutes later, you can tell Mr. Kim valued his participants' individuality. Only giving a rough theme for the artwork you are supposed to create, he left everything else to you. "Warm Autumn" was the theme he came up with and your mind immediately drifts off into what you would like to call your ‘creative mode’. Images of brown leaves, soft breezes of air and fluffy fabrics of knitwear come to your mind. Thus, you begin by settling on a color palette in warm brown, red and yellow tones and soon start by sketching an idea.

Mr. Kim does no longer talk to the whole course. Instead, he begins to slowly walk around the classroom and take a look at everyone's approaches on the topic. Usually, you'd get so engulfed in your works that you would blend out most of your surroundings. However, Mr. Kim's presence makes it hard for you to fully concentrate on the sketch before you like you usually would. You don't even need to look up to know where Mr. Kim currently stood at, while he gradually comes closer to where you are seated at.

The sound of his steps approaching you slowly sends shivers down your spine, just like the feeling of him standing right beside you, wordlessly examining your sketch. You can't keep from glancing up at his face as his gaze remains locked on the paper before you, an approving look surfacing on his face. He then glances at your face, his eyes meeting yours immediately as he leans down a bit to speak to you with a quieter, low voice. "Nice choice of motives. Do you have an idea for the final composition already?"

You feel your cheeks heating up as you mumble out a shy "Um, kind of", unsure of how to feel about the genuine interest Mr. Kim shows. It's been a while since someone other than your son Tyler had commented on one of your works. The young artist next to you smiles. "You're a fast one, huh? I like that. But let me know if you need anything, alright?" His voice is just as unique as his appearance. And the more you get to hear of it, the more you come to like the sound of it. Nodding your head with a smile, you thank him before he smiles back and moves on to the next participant of his course.

By the end of the course, you have created a piece you are rather proud of - the motives assembled in a harmonic way, adding to the calm and welcoming atmosphere of your painting. Throughout the creation process of it, Mr. Kim came around every once in a while to praise you for your ideas or help you improve parts of your piece in ways you wouldn't have been able to think of yourself. You have actually truly enjoyed today. At the end of the course, Mr. Kim gives his final speech in which he thanks everyone for participating and gives some last advice before sending everyone home with their final artworks. You had just put the materials you had used back to where you got them from, ready to pack your things to leave, when Mr. Kim approaches you with a gentle smile. "(Y/N), am I right?" He addresses you, your heart seemingly skipping a beat at the way your name sounds when spoken with his smooth voice. "Yes, that would be me" you say, turning to him with faked confidence. In reality, something about this Kim Taehyung makes you feel like a shy teenager again. He smiles apologetically as he asks "Do you perhaps have a minute or two to talk? If you're not in a hurry to be somewhere, that is."

To be honest, you want to apologize and leave right now. Tyler is waiting for you at home, after all. And so is Hanna. But your head nods on it’s own accord before your mind could stop it from doing so. What are a few minutes anyway, right?

"Great! Actually, I was curious to see how your piece turned out. To be honest, I didn't really get to look at it yet," he then says as he regards your artwork which is still on the easel at your seat. Examining it interestedly, he chuckles. "You're really talented, you know? This can't have been the first time you’ve painted something like this."

Your lips curve upwards in a bashful smile. "Ah, well actually... It's kind of my hobby. It's just that I haven't had much time to pursue it recently..." you answer. A soft humming noise resonates in his throat before he faces you again. "Are you interested in modern art too?" He suddenly asks, catching you a little off guard. "Modern art?" You repeat, to which he nods. "There's an art exhibition at the City Hall next friday. The main focus of it lays on contemporary artists and most works shown there are paintings and sculptures, rather than installations or anything like that. But I have a feeling that you might like it." You aren't sure where he was aiming at with this information, but you appreciate it. Mirroring his friendly smile, you say "It does sound interesting, yes. But I'm really busy lately, I'm not sure if I'll be able to go."

Mr. Kim seems understanding as he nods. "Well, if you do make it, maybe we'll meet there." He responds, making you nod slowly as you mumble a barely audible "That'd be nice." You want to ask him if there'd also be works of his exhibited there, remembering that he introduced himself as a freelance artist earlier, but the sound of your phone vibrating in your pocket interrupts you. "Ah, sorry" you then say, quickly looking at your phone to see messages of Hanna coming in. It’s nothing serious, just questions about whether Tyler still takes naps after lunch or not, since he apparently got a little energy boost after having eaten well. But it is urgent enough for you to decide that it is time to go home now. "I better get going now. Today was really nice, thank you. And thank you for telling me about the art exhibition, too. As you said, maybe we'll meet there." You speak as you collect your belongings and art piece, Mr. Kim nodding calmly and smiling as he wishes you a nice day before you leave.

On your way home, you keep thinking about today's events. About the fun you have had while painting for the first time in months and the useful help Mr. Kim had offered. The giddy feeling you got whenever he would lean in to talk to you quietly with that soothing deep voice of his. You have really had a great day, even if you still feel a little awkward for being so affected by the male's looks and kind words. But who could blame you, if said artist looks like a piece of art himself?

Arriving at home, the first thing you notice right after opening the front door is the welcoming scent of warm pancakes coming from your kitchen. Peeking past the doorframe, you smile at the sight of your best friend and son pouring dough into a frying pan together, your little son giggling in excitement.

"Hello you two" you greet the diligently working duo and laugh when your son immediately comes running to you to hug your legs and welcome you back excitedly. Crouching down to meet his eyes, you then give him a kiss on his cheek and smile at him. "Did you have a nice time with Hanna?" You ask, your smile widening when Tyler nods eagerly. "Yes! Hanna knows so many fun games for two! We played hide and seek too!” You give Hanna a glance, relieved to see her smiling just as happily as your little son. For some reason you’re always worried that he might be a little too challenging for her sometimes, but seeing her reaction to his happy storytelling, you have no doubt that she adores your son almost as much as you do.

Getting up to greet your friend properly with a short hug, you then look at the pile of pancakes on the kitchen counter. "Someone seems to be hungry, huh" you comment, Hanna rolling her eyes as she speaks, avoiding the topic. "How was the art course?"

You can feel Tyler leaning against your legs, silently requesting your attention. Picking him up to hold him close, you then begin to tell Hanna about the building, the people there, the fun you had when painting something from start to finish for the first time in ages, and in the end you thank her for having made this possible. Yet, a very specific detail you keep to yourself for now － Kim Taehyung.

Thank you for reading the Prologue to my new series “Inspiration is Motivation”!

If you can’t wait to read the next chapter, check out my Series Masterlist and follow @pluto-fics to be notified of new updates.

Stay safe and see you soon! 💜

- Pluto 🌑

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

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Lost In Your Eyes: Heechul x Reader

Genre: high school au; i’m a believer in fluffy endings, but there are some kind of deep issues explored in this work. namely, beauty standards.

Word Count: 10k (this is actually my longest drabble!)

Tracklist: “Lost In Your Eyes” by Debbie Gibson & “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany (bc your girl is 80s pop trash)

Note: y’all why do I have no self control when it comes to Heechul? this was literally just supposed to be a short piece based on a dream I had & it became a novella lol. honestly, I could have kept writing this forever & I could definitely be convinced to revisit this story’s universe!

fyi: to explore the themes of this story, the reader character is of Korean and Hispanic heritage.

You almost made it through high school without attracting a single boy. While you didn’t rejoice in that fact, you certainly weren’t losing sleep because the high school boys didn’t fawn over your naturally curly hair and eternally bronzed skin. Long ago, you had accepted that you did not fit their standard of beauty; you never would.

“There are far more important things than boys,” your father said often— whenever he found time to look up from the books that detailed the financial records of the Korean-Mexican restaurant he operated with your mother.

You believed him just as much as you believed your mother when she patted your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your cheek, saying, “You’re beautiful, baby.”

And yet, when your father hired him to work as a host and server so you could focus on studying for the upcoming graduation exams, you wondered if he would look at you if you resembled the girl on the cover of the magazine you read while stuffing your mouth full of rice.

His name was Heechul— or so you gathered from your father’s praises of his salesmanship and the excited chatter of girls who visited the restaurant, clad in tiny shorts and bikini tops, just to get a look at him.

“Come on now, ladies.” He would wink at the girls when they delayed in placing an order as long as possible in an effort to admire him for as long as possible without having to pay for food they didn’t care to eat. “You’ll order something, won’t you? Every penny you spend here goes toward my dream of buying a new motorcycle. Maybe if you help me enough, I’ll take you for a ride.”

Heechul’s dream changed every day. Sometimes, he dreamed of buying a new motorcycle, sometimes a new car, sometimes a new guitar or a new drum set (that he would use to write a song especially for whoever bought the most food). The girls never noticed that he never held a dream for long; they were all too happy to be a part of his fantasy of the day.

You couldn’t blame them for leaning into his every word. Aside from the fact that he was beautiful— his sleek shoulder-length black hair often falling from its ponytail to frame his face— Heechul crafted his sentences carefully. They probably didn’t recognize his wit. How could they even notice it when they were lost in his eyes or enchanted by his smile?

You could appreciate Heechul’s cleverness at first, though, because you only heard his punchlines while reviewing a practice test or while penning your answers to a magazine quiz to learn which K-Pop idol would totally fall for you. Heechul didn’t look at you, so you couldn’t get lost in his eyes. He didn’t smile at you, and yet you were very much enchanted by him long before he sat in the seat across from you in the corner booth.

“Hey.” His eyes met yours over the top of the magazine. Tapping his index finger against the cover, he asked, “Is this nonsense really more important than your studies, Y/N?”

Burning with the question, “How does he know my name?” you dropped the magazine onto the table and closed it over your open textbooks. Heechul pointed again to the neon decal advertising, “Want porcelain skin like your crush’s ideal type? Try these 5 tricks!”

“No.” You shook your head. “That’s not important to me at all. I was reading about this.” With your pink highlighter, you circled the text: “How to tell him you’re not interested.”

Heechul’s face flushed pink when he met your gaze, and once he recognized the teasing smile spreading across your face, he laughed. That high pitched scream of a laugh didn’t seem like it should have come from such a delicately pretty face, but it did; it turned heads, and the stares deepened your own laughter.

“Careful there,” he warned, expression suddenly grave. “You almost had me convinced that you weren’t interested in my attention.”

When you shrugged, feigning disinterest, and dropped your gaze back to the magazine as you flipped through its pages, Heechul yelped, “Hey! If you’re going to neglect your studies, at least pay attention to me!”

He snatched your magazine and fanned himself with it so the hair that escaped his ponytail blew in the breeze. He smirked at your glare— apparently of the belief that all attention is good attention— and you realized that Heechul wasn’t talking to you because of any genuine interest. He just couldn’t live knowing that he hadn’t stared into the eyes of every girl who entered the restaurant.

You had been content with being just another girl who admired Heechul, but you didn’t want to be another girl who inflated his ego. You didn’t want to be another girl who felt special just because he glanced your way.

Frowning at the realization that you couldn’t like him anymore— and you really enjoyed having such a harmless crush before he ruined it— you asked, “Shouldn’t you be working?”

Heechul retorted, “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

Hoping to drive him away by refusing him any attention you agreed, “You’re right,” before grabbing a pencil and reading through the instructions of the next practice test.

Heechul groaned at the lack of admiration and jumped out of the booth. “Right. So you don’t get distracted again, young lady—” he couldn’t have been more than a year or two older, so you rolled your eyes at his condescending language— “I’ll be confiscating this.” He flashed his glittering teeth when you watched him tauntingly lift the magazine higher and higher out of your reach.

“Give that back, Heechul!” You hissed as you stood in your seat to reach for the magazine. It hadn’t cost much, and you weren’t all that interested in it, but that wasn’t the point.

Who was he to make you feel small— first figuratively with his games and then literally by holding your property over your head? He couldn’t get away with being annoying just because he was gorgeous.

Except he could. His behavior had probably been excused every day of his life on account of his appearance. And he probably never paused to consider how his actions— how flaunting his good looks— impacted others.

“Oh, so you do know my name!” Heechul jumped as you tried to grab at the magazine. “It actually sounds better than usual when you say it. Do it again!”

Your fingers caught the cover, but Heechul wouldn’t loosen his grip around the pages, so when you pulled, the staples binding the magazine together snapped. Brightly colored pages depicting celebrities’s faces, detailing fashion advice, and instructing teen girls in the art of appealing to boys scattered across the recently mopped floor. They were ruined.

Heechul’s wide, guilty eyes met yours briefly before he set to gathering each page while muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You would have accepted his apology if you weren’t crumbling under the stares of the customers, many of whom were young women who hated you for holding Heechul’s attention for a moment when you were clearly so unworthy— so unappreciative. Too embarrassed to speak, you slumped into your seat, crossed your arms over the table, and buried your face in the bend of your elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Heechul repeated. Had you looked up, you would have seen how delicately he placed the poorly stacked pages on the table’s corner. You would have seen how he leaned forward, his face almost level with yours, to implore you to look at him so all could be forgiven.

You didn’t look, though, because you didn’t want him to see your face scorched by a crimson blush. “Just throw the pages away, please.”

“Are you sure?”

You doubted whether he could see that you nodded into your elbow, but when you looked up minutes later (after the waves of embarrassment subsided) the remnants of the magazine were gone along with every trace of Heechul.

Of course, you hadn’t been foolish enough to think that you wouldn’t see Heechul again just because he had taken care to avoid your table for the rest of his shift. You knew that it was likely just a matter of time until he spoke to you again, but you hadn’t expected his next correspondence to come so soon through a note that you found on your table.

After tossing your backpack into the booth, you read what he scrawled onto a sticky note likely grabbed from the host’s booth: “Sorry I ripped your magazine. Here’s a new one. And here’s my number if you want to call/text to cuss me out.” Carefully, you peeled the note off of the magazine and saw that Heechul used a red marker to circle a featured article titled “Five Ways To Say Sorry.”

It was silly: the fact that he had gone so far to apologize for ruining a cheap magazine filled with superficial thoughts you were supposed to hate and the fact that your heart raced just from reading his handwriting.

Unsure of how to reply to your cousin, you tossed your phone down on the table, rubbed the fatigue out of our eyes, and resumed your work. Sometimes, you thought, studying was less stressful than talking to AJ.

You didn’t think anything about leaving your phone unlocked, screen facing upward, until Heechul settled into the seat across from you and declared, “I see my name!”

Your eyes flicked up to find him scrolling through the texts. When you reached for the phone, knots tying in your stomach as you wondered how much of your cousin’s insanity he had read and taken as truth, he held the phone out of your reach.

“Apparently—” your face burned as you dared to look into his eyes— “you don’t learn from your mistakes. Does this scene look familiar to you at all?”

“I apologized!” Heechul reminded, and he probably would have clung to your phone longer if your father hadn’t appeared at your side.

Clearing his throat, your father asked, “What is going on here?” His stern gaze wandered between you and Heechul.

While you sank because disappointing your father was your deepest fear, Heechul responded promptly. Setting the phone down on the table, Heechul said, “I just came to check on Y/N’s progress. You know, I thought I could offer her some tips because I took the graduation exams just a couple of years ago, but I was never half as smart as she is.”

When Heechul glanced into your eyes, which were narrowed, confused by the sudden flattery, he smiled. “I guess I’m not much of a tutor, then.”

Mouth pressed into a thin line as a wrinkle darkened between his eyebrows, your father suggested, “I suppose that means you should get back to work, then.” It wasn’t a suggestion so much as an order.

Heechul’s smile faltered. Your heart sank at the thought, and you realized that your heart had been swelling with the growth of his smile. You had been leaning across the table, subconsciously willing yourself closer to him. You were just like everybody else: enchanted by Heechul’s smile.

Chewing on his lips as if embarrassed by your father’s reprimand, Heechul nodded. He tucked stray strands of hair behind his ears. “Yes, sir.” He dropped your phone— now locked, as evidenced by the darkened screen— atop your book and encouraged, “Keep up the good work,” before setting off to help your mother carry a tray piled high with enchiladas.

Your father then patted your shoulder and, after praising your hard work, reminded, “There are more important things than boys.” The twitch that moved his eyebrow when his icy eyes fell on Heechul from across the room was in stark contrast with his past boasts about the young college student who nearly doubled profits with his charisma.

Had your father mistaken Heechul’s interest in you too?

He wouldn’t walk away until you promised, “I know,” and proved your belief by fixing your stare on the math practice sheet when you really just wanted to watch Heechul laugh with your mother.

Once satisfied that your father wasn’t watching— he was too busy talking to a longtime customer— you unlocked your phone to see that Heechul had sent a text.

Despite your cousin’s professed interest in visiting, you didn’t expect to look up from your studies to find her sitting across from you, smiling broadly as she twisted one of her long blonde curls.

“AJ!” You would have smiled if your jaw hadn’t gone slack from the surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Okay, so here’s the official answer.” She tapped her French manicured nails on the shine black tabletop as her peach colored lips pulled more tightly into a bright grin. “It’s my spring break, and your mom paid for me to fly out here as a part of your birthday present!”

Your birthday? Surely you hadn’t forgotten.

When you scrambled through strewn papers to find your phone, you blinked at the date. It was your birthday— the one day of the year that was yours— and you hadn’t even realized until after wasting half of it studying in the corner booth of your parents’ restaurant.

“But unofficially,” AJ divulged, “I’m here on my quest for a baby daddy.”

At that moment, Heechul decided to appear at the table. Wearing his apron and name tag, hair tied back as he held the pen in one hand and notepad in the other, he looked like a model employee except for the devilish smirk twisting the corner of his mouth when he asked, “Who needs a baby daddy?”

Your face flushed crimson, and he laughed when you mumbled, “Damn it, Heechul, why did you have to show up right this second?” Since he called you beautiful, you hadn’t been able to look at him without blushing; this topic deepened your embarrassment.

Placing both hands on his hips and tilting his head at AJ, he asked, “How much will you pay me— to be your baby daddy?”

Anyone else in the world would have melted at his wink, but AJ didn’t crack the smallest smile. She didn’t flatter him with the faintest blush. She only shook her head. “Sorry, sir—”

Heechul glared when you giggled at the word ‘sir,’ but he ultimately broke into his own laughter until AJ concluded, “But you don’t have the assets I’m looking for in a baby daddy.”

As if you had been the one to offend him, Heechul gasped and looked to you for an explanation as he clutched his notepad over his chest. Rolling your eyes at his theatrics and AJ’s ideal type, you started, “She’s into buff—”

“I’ve heard enough!” Heechul decided, waving his hand dismissively as it fell from its place over his heart. “I didn’t come here to get insulted! I came to look at a beautiful girl—” He blew a kiss at you and delighted when you fixed your flustered gaze away from him— “and to take your drink order,” he said to AJ.

“That won’t be necessary.” AJ laughed at your embarrassment with Heechul. “I was just about to drag Y/N off to the beach if you wanna tag along. Maybe we can talk her into wearing a bikini!”

Heechul’s eyes widened at AJ’s proposition, and you wondered, glaring at her, “How are you going to talk me into wearing something I don’t own?”

“We can go shopping!” AJ suggested enthusiastically. “I saw a cute little boutique on my walk over here! Let’s just swing by on our way to the beach!” Then, as if a lack of funds was the cause of your reluctance, she offered, “I’ll buy the bikini— just consider it a birthday gift from me to you!”

Heechul asked, “It’s your birthday?” and he frowned when you nodded. “Damn! Now I feel really terrible about turning you ladies down. I’m on the clock, ya know?” He gestured sadly to his work attire.

Noting how your shoulders slumped, weighted by disappointment, AJ tried to make you laugh by joking, “Damn! Now how are we gonna assess your tiddie situation, Heechul?”

Again, as if you had spoken, Heechul scoffed at you. “Wow! I didn’t know you could be so bold!” He caught his tongue with his teeth as he smirked, his dimples deepening. “If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was ask.”

Winking, Heechul set his pen and notepad on the table, reached around his back to untie his apron, and he might have reached for the hem of his shirt (as AJ slapped her hands on the table, roaring with laughter, while you concealed your burning face with your hands, peeking at him through your fingers) had your mother not approached the table.

“Oh, hi, ma’am.” Heechul bowed and donned a smile so sweet it made your teeth hurt. He waved both hands, and your mom mirrored the gesture.

“Hi, Heechul! And hey, AJ— I’m glad to see you made it here safely!” Your mom’s forever smiling eyes landed on you as she asked AJ, “You’re still walking down to the beach with Y/N, right?”

“Yeah, if I can convince her to walk away from her work for just a few hours!” AJ huffed in exaggerated frustration because she knew that would appeal to your mom, who feared that you didn’t spend enough time doing ‘normal teenager things.’

You mom told you, “You can take a break at least for today.”

Before you could argue that you weren’t reluctant to leave your work— you were just uncomfortable about having to wear a bikini— your mother set to closing your books and stacking your papers. “You can take the day off too, Heechul, so you can look after these girls. Make sure to have them back at the restaurant by 7 to have cake; you can stay for that, if you want.”

The beach was less than a mile away from the restaurant, and you had never been in trouble a day in your life, so there was no rational reason for mom to send Heechul to escort you and AJ. Still, you didn’t point that out when Heechul nodded, promising, “I’ll keep them out of trouble, ma’am!”

Nobody could have kept AJ out of trouble, though. As soon as the three of you entered the boutique across the street from the restaurant, she abandoned you and Heechul to strike up a conversation with the boy running the cash register.

While you rolled your eyes at her nerve, Heechul grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to the rack of bathing suits. “Guess that leaves us to shop alone.” He didn’t seem at all affected by AJ’s misplaced priorities.

Heechul usually laughed at your blush, but his gaze softened when he noticed that you were staring down at your sandals. “Hey.” He nudged you until you looked up at him, and he smiled— a small closed mouth grin that wasn’t supposed to make your heart thunder— as he released your hand.

“You don’t have to wear anything you don’t want to wear. See— here’s a modest one.” He plucked from the rack a striped black long sleeved bathing suit top matched with black shorts and held it out for your approval.

You shook your head, and when Heechul looked at you with gathered eyebrows, you explained, “Horizontal stripes aren’t flattering on me.”

“What—” His tone was harsh until he remembered that he was trying to make your birthday happy. Swallowing his annoyance, Heechul forced a grin, returned the striped bathing suit, and reached for another. This one was a ruffled cotton-candy-pink one piece.

“Ruffles exaggerate my curves.” You frowned as you picked at your nail beds.

Heechul groaned, “Y/N, curves are good—” and he bit his tongue only when you cut your eyes at him, cheeks reddening. “Fine.” He slammed the hanger back on the rack and asked, “Where do you get all this stuff, anyway? Is it from those magazines—”

“It’s fashion advice,” you maintained, but Heechul continued to argue.

“I don’t think it’s good for you to read things that tell you ‘You look bad in this, this, and that.’”

Had the shop been busier, you might have been embarrassed by his volume. Maybe then, you still would have been too flattered by his rage on your behalf to care who overheard.

Calmly, you explained, “They don’t just tell me what I look bad in. They also say what’s flattering for my body type.”

Heechul rolled his eyes as he humored you by asking, “Well, what do the magazines say flatters you?”

You pointed to the polka dotted red one piece. Heechul grabbed it and ushered you into the dressing room in the back of the store. In another attempt to make you laugh, the tried to walk into the dressing room with you.

He laughed— that high pitched cackle that drew everyone’s attention— as you snatched the bathing suit from his hands and pushed him out of the room, chuckling, “Nice try, Heechul.”

Even after all his skepticism toward magazine advice, Heechul frowned when you walked out of the dressing room without modeling the bathing suit.

“Patience, Heechul,” you urged as you rose to your tiptoes to pull the elastic that held his hair back. You had never seen him with his hair down before; he looked more beautiful this way. “You’ll see it at the beach.”

He grumbled, “Whatever,” while raking his fingers through his hair. He smiled only when you absentmindedly slid his hair tie onto your wrist before skipping to meet AJ at the register.

“Cute,” AJ cooed when you dropped the bathing suit onto the counter. “Very 1950s chic! Your almost-boyfriend has great taste!” You shoved her as she turned to wiggle her eyebrows and wave at Heechul.

Heechul’s frown returned when AJ whipped her wallet out to purchase your bathing suit.

“Hey!” His eyes spat fire. “I wanted to buy that!” Stepping by your side, he had also pulled his wallet from his work pants’ front pocket. He wore an indignant expression that clearly meant, “And I have every right to buy it! I helped her pick it out while you were sidetracked by your baby daddy quest!”

AJ mimicked his face, going so far as to stick her tongue out at him while adopting his whining tone. “Too bad! This was my idea first, so you’ll have to think of some other present for Y/N!”

While the cashier watched their exchange with raised eyebrows, you offered him an apologetic smile and tugged anxiously at one of your twin braids. “Guys, I’ll just buy it myself—”

“No!” Heechul and AJ shouted in unison, causing you and the cashier to jump and raise your hands in surrender.

Shoving his wallet back into his pocket, Heechul grumbled, “It was AJ’s idea first, so whatever.”

AJ stood triumphantly, beaming as she counted the money likely given to her by your Mom, and Heechul stood over by the door. He crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressed out into a pout.

You couldn’t explain that his presence alone was a gift without sounding like a lovesick fool, so you smiled as you walked to his side and said, “We’ll need towels and sunscreen and stuff, right?”

Heechul blinked until he understood that you were offering him another way to financially contribute to the beach trip since, obviously, that was so important to him. He grabbed you around the shoulders and grinned as he instructed, “Wait here.”

. . .

“What was the point of buying a bathing suit,” AJ asked as she plopped onto the checkered blanket with you and Heechul, “if you’re just gonna sit here the whole time?”

You tossed a towel at her, kicking with your bare feet to drive her off of the corner of the blanket she was soaking with ocean water. “Why did you drag me to the beach for my birthday if you’re just gonna flirt with every guy on the beach?”

The red patches that rose over AJ’s cheeks were either the beginning stages of a sunburn or her first blush. “Well, forgive me for not wanting to interrupt you and Heechul.”

At his name, Heechul propped himself up on his elbows and lowered his sunglasses to cock an eyebrow at AJ. “Excuse me? We aren’t doing anything. I am being a remarkably well behaved boy.”

“Right,” AJ said skeptically before rising to her feet and dropping the towel onto the blanket. “Well, I’m gonna go get ice cream. Might swim some more. I’m not sure yet. But you won’t see me again ’til it’s time to walk back to the restaurant.”

You thought AJ was mad at you until she winked before prancing away.

So that’s why she had been elusive all day: she didn’t want to be the third wheel. In her mind, this was a date that she had coordinated with your mom’s help.

Heechul rolled onto his side. “You can go swimming if you want.” Lying like that, with one hand supporting his head and the other resting on his hip, clad only in his black slacks, you couldn’t bear to look at him. You fixed your gaze on the not-too-distant shoreline as he said, “I wouldn’t mind. It’s your birthday, and your cousin is visiting from across the world, so do what’s fun to you.”

It occurred to you that there was an imbalance between you and Heechul. While you had vaguely admitted your attraction to him as some kind of crush similar to one every girl developed when looking at him, he had been open about liking you. Liking someone is different from having a crush. Liking someone is different from thinking they’re pretty.

The thing was, you did like Heechul. You couldn’t exactly explain why or when it started, but you figured you must have tripped some time during your first conversation. You must have fallen without realizing it until you looked up at him from your place on the ground.

You hadn’t ever liked somebody before, so you didn’t know how these things worked. You didn’t know what marked the distinction between crush and love, but you knew that you liked Heechul, and you didn’t want to swim because he couldn't walk into the water wearing his work uniform.

You knew, “I am having fun,” so you told him.

Heechul didn’t tease you. He simply lowered his sunglasses again to look at you without the barrier— to check your expression for any signs of uncertainty or deceit. He handed the glasses to you, explaining, “You’re squinting. Here.”

As you slid them onto your face, he crawled in front of you, sat with his back to you, and asked, “Do you know how to braid hair?”

“Yeah,” you answered, “but I don’t have a hair tie.”

He advised, “Check your wrist,” and you saw that you were wearing one.

Unable to remember where it came from or how Heechul noticed it, you set to combing through his hair with your fingers. “Do you want, like, a French braid, or—”

“I don’t care.” Always a little too honest to believe, Heechul explained, “I just want you to touch me, okay? And not in, like, a pervy way, so stop blushing.”

It wasn’t so impressive that Heechul knew that you were blushing without watching your face burn; you were almost always turning red while talking to him.

“Okay,” you agreed, playing with his hair without pausing for even a moment. Your movements didn’t falter until Heechul leaned back so that his back was flush with your chest.

“What are you doing?” He whirled around when you pushed him away. His voice had been grating— irritated— until he noticed that the color had drained from your face. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you or—”

Shaking your head, you explained, “My heart is racing. I didn’t want you to feel—”

Heechul gently grabbed your wrist and held your palm flat over his chest— bare and warm from the sun’s rays— so that you could feel it too: the rapid booming of his heart. Somehow, that made it okay. Somehow that made it right: the fact that he felt this way too.

Once you nodded, Heechul returned to his position with his back against your chest. When you said, “I can’t braid your hair when you’re this close,” he repeated, “I don’t care,” and he reached for his phone.

So he really did just want to be close to you.

You sat there for a few minutes, gaze shifting from the clouds overhead to the shoreline to the children building sandcastles to the couples sitting on blankets in positions to yours and Heechul’s. You sat there for a few minutes, stiff and unsure of what you should do, unsure of what you were expected to do, uncomfortably aware of what you wanted to do.

Finally, you gave in to your desires. You wrapped your arms around Heechul’s waist and hid your burning face in the scalding crook of his neck as you awaited his reaction.

He gasped at the unexpected affection and dropped his phone. His hair tickled your nose and lips while he asked, “What are you doing?” For once, he was the surprised one. He was the breathless one.

You replied, “I just want to touch you, okay? And not in a pervy way, so stop blushing.”

“Me?” His voice cracked as his arms grazed over yours. “I don’t blush.”

Hoping to call his bluff, you tried to raise your head, but he held you where you were, saying, “Don’t move. I want to stay like this for a while.”

“But Heechul,” you whined against his skin, “how am I supposed to kiss you from here?”

“Yah!” Heechul jumped out of your embrace and rounded on you again. He leaned forward on his knees, hands pressed down on the blanket on either side of your body, face just inches from yours. He couldn’t truthfully deny that his face was scarlet when he asked, “What’s gotten into you? Your cousin shows up, and suddenly you’re a shameless flirt?”

“Don’t blame AJ.” Somehow emboldened by Heechul’s blush, you accused, “It’s your fault that I’m acting like this.”

“My fault?” His jaw dropped, and he shook his head.

You nodded. “Yeah! You’re a terrible influence!”

“I resent that.” His growing smile suggested otherwise. His blush faded as he adapted to the situation; if you wanted to remain dominant, you would have to take action quickly.

“Besides, Heechul—” you teasingly lowered the sunglasses he gave you so he could see your wink— “hasn’t anybody ever told you that you’re irresistible?”

It was quick— almost too quick for you to appreciate the cherry flavor of his barely chapped lips against yours— over in the blink of an eye, but you would never forget that first dizzying kiss.

“Ah, damn it.” Heechul huffed when he backed away from you. His hair fell over his face, and he didn’t bother to move it (probably) because it acted as a curtain between his blush and your wide, curious eyes. “I’m supposed to prove myself worthy by waiting for you, and then I got all impatient like an idiot.”

At first, you thought that he was throwing a theatrical fit to lighten the mood— maybe he thought you were overwhelmed by the kiss— but then his shoulders slumped. He didn’t meet your eyes because he was focused on his balled fists.

You tried to comfort him by acknowledging, “I went out of my way to tempt you,” but that only seemed to make matters worse.

“That’s no excuse. You clearly said that you don’t want to date, and—”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, annoyed by his efforts to dampen the moment, “but I didn’t know that sharing one sweet kiss means we have to get married next week.”

Heechul blinked and opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but then he broke into a bashful grin. “Oh. Yeah, maybe I’m overthinking things.” When he moved to sit by your side, he was careful not to brush his hand against yours; evidently, he wasn’t done overthinking.

A part of you— the part that forced your lips into a heavy frown— wondered how long things would be like this. How long would he, who never hesitated before, fear crossing the boundary you had drawn before trust was (somehow) established?

A part of you— the part that compelled you to toss the sunglasses into the beach tote so you could look at him without the slightest obstruction to your vision— said, “You’re a really nice person.” Then, that part of you said, “You’re a beautiful person, Heechul.”

“Why are you saying that?” He looked at you with an apprehension you recognize from the times you caught your reflection at school. He didn’t believe you. “You can’t say something like that just because I kissed you—”

“I’m not,” you argued, voice sharp as a blade although your heart was flooded with burning compassion. “I’m not trying to— I’m saying that you’re beautiful because you’re not going to kiss me again.”

Heechul sighed. “I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’re confusing me like this, but—”

“It’s beautiful that you care so much about waiting for me. It’s beautiful that you’re not pressuring me to just hurry up and date you just because the feelings are there.”

“That’s not beautiful,” Heechul murmured, smoothing the patch of blanket before him. “That’s called not being a total jerk.”

“Well,” you breathed, “I think it’s beautiful that you’re not a total jerk.”

When Heechul swallowed, his eyes still clinging to his mistrust, he seemed to realize that he couldn’t change your mind. Maybe he didn’t want to change your mind. “Okay. I believe that you think I’m beautiful, so I think you should try to believe that I think you’re beautiful.”

You gasped. When would you get used to the fluttering in your chest those words caused? Did you want it to end so that you could breathe more comfortably? Or did you want the feeling to last forever?

“What? What’s wrong?” Heechul finally pushed his hair aside so you could watch his face contort as he complained, “Y/N, you make me a little bit crazy. I know there’s a lot going on in your head, and maybe I wouldn’t get it all, but I— try to trust me a little. Please?”

“It’s not an issue of trust,” you claimed, but maybe it was. “It’s just—” adjusting your denim shorts, you worried aloud, “what if you think I’m weird?”

“Who gives a shit what I think?” Heechul apologized when you winced at his tone. “Well, obviously, you care what I think, huh?” He clicked his tongue. “Don’t worry then. I don’t think being weird is bad. I don’t think anything about you is bad.”

“I was just thinking,” you confessed when he linked his pinky with yours, “that I can’t breathe when you call me beautiful. And then I wondered how long I will feel this way. And then I wondered what’s wrong with me.”

“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with you,” Heechul said matter-of-factly. “It’s okay to be happy when somebody calls you beautiful—”

At the risk of sounding like a fool, you elaborated, “It’s not about being called beautiful. It’s about you calling me beautiful. I don’t want to be one of those girls who only feels special because a boy— even a boy like you— compliments her.”

Heechul frowned and scratched at the back of his neck. “See, I don’t know what to say about that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you feeling special because— get this— you are. And if I help you realize it, then, well, I don’t see any harm in that.” As if wounded, he asked, “Why can’t I be one of the things that make you happy? I get why I can’t be everything— I don’t want to be everything— but why can’t I be something?”

You shrugged, unsure of how to process his question (much less answer it), and Heechul started guessing, “Because I’m a boy? Because I like you? Because I’ll kiss you every chance I get? That’s not very fair, if you ask me.”

“It’s not because you’re a boy or because you like me or because you want to kiss me,” you admitted in a small voice, gathering your legs so you could rest your chin atop your knees. “It’s because— what do I do when you change your mind?”

Your question knocked the breath out of Heechul. He tried to mask his wheeze with a laugh. “Change my mind about what? Liking you? Falling in love with you? Thinking you’re beautiful?” He looked to you, again, for answers. Again, you shrugged, so he reasoned, “Well, Y/N, I’m not gonna lie or sugar coat things. People change, people grow, and sometimes people leave. I’m not going to promise you forever, and you shouldn’t trust anybody who does.”

Everything he said— you already knew it. Those truths were among the many fears that prevented you from leaping into the unknown with him despite your repressed desires. Hearing them spoken aloud should have stunned you, maybe terrified you, but the words were a comfort.

Heechul understood; Heechul wouldn’t pretend to hold the authority to silence your concerns forever. Perhaps above all, you appreciated his honesty.

“I like you now. I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you now,” he confessed. You knew he wasn’t speaking for a reaction, as he often did, because he wasn’t even looking at you. “Now is all I can give you.”

“Now,” you wanted to say, “is beautiful,” but you couldn’t find your voice, or you couldn’t find the words.

“But—” he looked at you briefly, stuttered when he found that you had been admiring him, and fixed his gaze up on the sky— “I will always think you’re beautiful. Even if you cut my heart out and stop on it— and I know you would never intentionally hurt me, but come on, that’s one of those things people do— you won’t stop being beautiful. Maybe you don’t know it yet, maybe you never will, but your beauty is one of those few forever things.”

You said, “I don’t believe in forever,” and Heechul breathed an airy sort of laugh that wasn’t born from amusement.

“Well, I guess we have more in common than we thought.” He looked at you, took your hand, and said, “I guess when it ends—” he gasped and amended— “ah, I don’t want to think about that, so let’s say if— if it ends, I’ll be able to look back and know that I loved someone truly beautiful.”

Heechul’s face burned when you said, “I don’t think that’s so important.” Lacing your fingers through his when he tried to pull away, you supposed, “That’s not as important as knowing that you were loved by someone who knows you are truly beautiful.”

Moments passed in silence, with the two of you looking at each other.

“You need to let go,” Heechul whispered, “because if you don’t, I’m going to kiss you again.”

“I’m not going to let you go.”

This time, you crossed the distance and caught his lips with yours. This time, the kiss lasted long enough for you to memorize the feeling of Heechul’s cool breath against your skin, the feeling of his one hand squeezing yours while the other moved to cup your cheek. This time, you knew that you would never catch your breath again, and you didn’t mind.

. . .

“Nice lipstick, Heechul.” AJ smirked on the walk back to the restaurant. “I’m sure Y/N’s parents are really gonna love how it compliments your complexion.”

Heechul smiled even as he reached up to wipe at his lips and cheeks. You blushed, realizing that he hadn’t stopped smiling like that since your second kiss.

AJ squealed, “Ah! He’s so damn happy he got kissed on the beach, he doesn’t care if he gets scolded by the ’rents!”

“The ’rents?” You rolled your eyes at AJ’s vocabulary while straining to remove the red stains from Heechul’s face. “What kind of— Heechul, stop pushing me away!”

“I like my kiss marks!” He shrieked before lifting you off the ground, arms secured around your waist, and peppering your face with light kisses.

“Children!” AJ playfully scolded, cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. “Behave!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as a sharp breeze blew Heechul’s hair against your face. Cursing, he set you back onto your feet and set to combing through his hair. He was too focused on making his hair presentable to distract you from wiping at his face with a towel from the beach bag.

“My dad won’t like them,” you reasoned to his childish pout. “You don’t want him to make us break up so soon, do you?”

“Obviously not,” Heechul grumbled as you fished his red button-down shirt out of the bag.

Tossing the short at him, you ordered, “Put this on, then—”

Smirking, he jested, “That’s not usually how these things go. You’re asking me to put my clothes on?”

“— Nobody is gonna react well if you walk into the restaurant shirtless,” you concluded, gaze stern in response to his perversion.

AJ observed, wiggling her eyebrows at you, “You don’t seem to mind the sight so much,” and Heechul joined her in laughing at your spreading blush.

Their laughter didn’t die until the three of you walked into the restaurant and met with your father’s disappointed scowl behind the host’s podium. “Where have you been?”

Although his gaze was fixed solely on you— your breath gasped past your lips and, in your shame, you dropped the bag onto the floor— AJ answered your father as Heechul knelt to stuff the escaped towels back into the bag. “Auntie said that as long as we were back by 7—”

AJ fell silent as your father eyed her sharply. He turned his attention to Heechul, who stood up straight while holding the bag’s strap. Fearing that your father could somehow see the lipstick stains you had meticulously scrubbed, you shrank.

“Where have you been, Heechul?” Your father asked. “Weren’t you scheduled to work until closing?”

Shifting from one foot to another, Heechul started, “I—”

You would never hear his response. Your mom walked out of the kitchen carrying a birthday cake and smiled as she asked, “So, kids, how was the beach? Heechul, AJ didn’t act up too badly, did she?”

Apparently, it didn’t matter much (or at all) to your father that your mom had given the three of you permission— encouragement— to go to the beach. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he said flatly, “AJ, I’m used to you being a bad influence—”

Rather than listening to your father’s scolding and crumbling under the weight of his disappointment, AJ rolled her eyes and stormed past you and Heechul, who were frozen stiff, to help your mom set the table.

“— but Heechul, I expect better from you considering your circumstances. You have a lot to prove.”

Heechul’s circumstances?

You glanced at Heechul for some kind of explanation, knowing well that this wasn’t any time to talk, but he had fixed his gaze down at his dull black shoes. The circumstances— whatever they were— must have been dire, judging by the dark maroon that colored Heechul’s entire face.

“And Y/N—” your father’s stern tone faltered when you looked away from Heechul to meet his stare with tear-filled eyes. Quietly, he asked as if he truly couldn’t understand why you would want to do something fun for your birthday, “You were supposed to be studying— don’t you care about your future at all?”

“Alright!” Your mom slammed the plates down on the table, stormed toward the conflict, and you were thankful that the restaurant closed early; at least nobody else would have to witness your humiliation. “Don’t start saying things like that! Your daughter slaves away in that corner booth every day of every week, and I don’t want her to become one of those zombie kids who don’t know how to crack a smile, so I sent her to the beach with AJ and Heechul because she likes them. She deserves to spend time with people she likes—”

It wasn’t often that your mother lost her temper, but it was never a pretty sight. She was so loud, and your father was so distracted by her wagging finger, that they didn’t notice you slip out the door.

Nobody would have seen you lower your head as your threw your back against the building’s rough brick exterior had Heechul not followed you outside wearing an expression of genuine concern.

“Are you okay?” He leaned against the wall too, and reached for your hand that was much colder in the moonlight outside your parents’ restaurant than it had been under the beach’s sun.

You nodded and wiped at your tears with your available hand. “Yeah. Dad will apologize for being so strict after you and AJ go home. He’ll be proud of me for studying in that corner booth hours before the restaurant opens, and— and—”

“It’s okay to be upset.” Heechul offered, “If it means he’ll apologize sooner, I’ll go home—”

“I don’t want you to go home,” you blurted. Thinking that Heechul would tease you, a hand automatically clamped over your mouth.

He didn’t laugh at you, though. A kind, gentle sort of smile curved his lips as he agreed, “Okay. I won’t go home then.” You nodded gratefully, and he promised, “I’ll wait out here with you until you’re ready to go back inside.”

And he waited patiently.

It turned out that Heechul really did have a motorcycle. On days when the sun shone brightly through the morning clouds, he used it to drive you to school and to pick you up during his break or on his way to start his shift at the restaurant. A far sweeter boyfriend than you dreamed was possible, he always pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and fastened your helmet before every ride.

On overcast days when rain threatened to fall from gray morning clouds, Heechul drove you to and from school in his car. Although meticulously cleaned and well functioning, the car wasn’t exactly new.

Upon entering it for the first time, you joked, “So your little sales pitch to the ladies at the restaurant— ya know, ‘buy today’s special, help me earn money, and I’ll drive you around town in a new convertible—’”

Heechul, who had been resisting laughter since you started to mimic his voice, interrupted with a wink. “Those were empty promises, baby. I only ever had eyes for you.”

“Right. Of course.”

You couldn’t quite understand how Heechul could be so indifferent to all of the girls, many of whom were devastatingly gorgeous, but you believed him when he called those interactions mindless flirting. After all, that was all it had been to those girls— non-committal conversations with one of the prettiest boys they had ever seen.

Moments passed in relative silence. The only noise was the drumming of Heechul’s fingers against the steering wheel until you asked, “What time do you have to work today?”

That was how your conversations went when you weren’t busy making fun of each other. Although it didn’t affect him, Heechul would ask about the tests you had scheduled for the day. Although it didn’t affect you, you would ask about his work schedule. It was just nice to express an interest in each other’s day, even if you wouldn’t be there for most of the moments.

“I’m off today.”

You gawked at him. “You don’t have to go in at all?” You couldn’t remember the last time Heechul hadn’t worked at the restaurant for at least a few hours.

“Baby,” Heechul laughed, bringing his eyes away from the road for a split second to look at you. “That’s what it means to be off.”

As always, you rolled your eyes in instances like these when Heechul pretended to be much smarter than you. “Don’t be a butt.” He chuckled at your weak insult. “I’m just surprised that you woke up early to drive me to school when you could have slept in. I can take the bus when you’re unavailable, you know. That’s what I’ve done for years.”

Granted, you embraced Heechul’s role in your morning routine, and your day wouldn’t start nearly as happily without him, but you didn’t want to be selfish with his time.

“But I’m not unavailable,” Heechul argued, shutting the radio off when a song he didn’t like played through the speakers. “I enjoy our morning chats, so you’ll just have to get used to the passenger seat, alright?”

You adopted the tired tone he usually used when groaning, “Whatever,” before offering your sincere thanks.

Instantly, he replied, “You’re welcome,” and you smiled because he no longer squirmed when you spoke to him in genuine admiration.

As he pulled into the parking lot of your school, bringing the car close to the building so you wouldn’t have to walk far in the rain, you looked at him with a pout.

“Ah damn,” Heechul sighed, working a hand through his hair as he took in your expression. “What do you want?”

“Let’s play hooky!” You suggested just to see how he might react.

Heechul snorted. “I’m out of school for the summer, so I’m not pulling some delinquent stunt by driving out of this parking lot. He raised an eyebrow at you. “You, however—”

“Come on, Heechul, pretty please?” Bringing your hands together, you poked your bottom lip out. “I’m just a few weeks away from graduating, and I’ve never skipped a single day.”

“Your father is never going to approve of me if I aid and abet in your first act of truancy, Y/N,” Heechul deadpanned, shaking his head. “I’ve made a lot of progress during the family dinners, and I’m not about to see all my hard work and good manners go to waste just because you look at me like that with your pretty eyes.”

Your effort to skip school had been half-hearted at best, so you forfeited the fight almost as soon as it started. Zipping your backpack, you huffed, “Fine, fine,” biting back your amusement that, for once, he was being the responsible one. “I’ll see you later.”

“So you’re going to leave without giving me a kiss just because I’m not giving you your way?”

That hadn’t been your reasoning at all, but when you turned to face him, hand on the door handle, and saw that Heechul’s lips were puckered disappointedly, you shrugged. Your only motive to play along with his narrative was your amusement with Heechul’s frustration.

“That’s really childish.” Very rich coming from the king of childish behavior.

You shrugged again, and Heechul asked, “Where would we even go if you didn’t go to class?” He carefully phrased the question as a hypothetical, but you understood that he was giving in.

Settling back into your seat, you chewed on your cheek. Because the rain was falling in full force now— pounding against the roof of Heechul’s car and sliding down the windows— the park, beach, and nearby outdoor shopping center wouldn’t be too fun. What was even open at that hour?

Remembering that on an earlier car ride, Heechul mentioned that he was renting an apartment just a few miles from your school, you suggested, “Your place?”

“Wow.” Heechul chuckled at your nerve. “There you go again, being all bold like I can resist you.”

“There you go, being a pervert again,” you squirmed when he smirked at your suggestion. He probably wouldn’t notice the blush rising beneath your makeup, but you turned to face out the window anyway. “It’s not dirty unless you make it dirty, Heechul.”

“Do you want me to?” He reached across the center console to poke at your ribs like an annoying child. As you reached again for the door handle, he blurted, “Sorry, sorry! I won’t make it dirty if you really want to visit my place.”

You skeptically narrowed your eyes at him, reluctantly leaning back in your seat. “Promise?”

Heechul promised, and once you buckled your seatbelt, he drove away. His only condition for allowing you to skip school was that you text your mother to tell her where you were, preparing for the likelihood that the school may call home to report your absence— he didn’t want to worry her.

“Call me crazy,” he said, “but I feel like your mom will be overjoyed that you’re doing a normal teenager thing for once.”

“You are crazy,” you teased, giggling when he rolled his eyes, “but not because of that. While Dad has always been worried about me growing into a successful adult, I think Mom has been worried that I was never really a happy kid.”

Casually, as if the question weren’t deeply personal, he asked, “Were you? Were you a happy kid?”

Why couldn’t you answer straight away?

In all honesty, you couldn’t remember laughing as much in your entire life as you had in the last month with Heechul. You couldn’t remember the last time you looked up from your textbooks before that day he sat across from you and ripped your magazine.

Maybe it wasn’t so much that you were unhappy before Heechul’s smile became the highlight of your day. Maybe you just hadn’t known before that happiness could be a priority.

Heechul pulled you out of your thoughts by calling your name as he opened your door. Offering his hand, he wondered, “What are you thinking?”

All you could think was, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” the feeling magnified by his touch, but that hardly seemed like the right thing to say when Heechul led you into his spotless all-white apartment, out of the rain.

“Doesn’t it stress you out?” You asked as you anxiously eased onto the red couch at his urging. “Living in a place like this, I mean. I would be afraid I would spill something or somehow ruin the pretty white paint.”

After kicking your shoes off, you pulled your socked feet onto the couch, afraid of soiling the shiny white floor that appeared untrodden.

Heechul said, laughing at your behavior, “You can’t be afraid of making your mark on the world.”

Taking that as encouragement to follow him into some other room, you leaped off the couch. Heechul almost collided with you when he turned out of the room, clutching a guitar in hand.

“Wow,” he grinned despite his promise not to make things weird. “If you’re so eager to come into my room, come on ahead.” He pushed the door open, probably expecting you to run, blushing, back into the living room.

Driven by curiosity and a desire to surprise Heechul, you walked past him into a white bedroom covered with posters, housing guitars— electric and acoustic— and lined with bookshelves. Upon closer inspection, however, you realized that the shelves weren’t filled with books; they were overflowing with alphabetized CDs ranging from all languages, all genres, all decades.

Apparently unable to stand the silence, Heechul remarked, “I just re-organized those. I change it up a lot. This time it’s alphabetical order, but I’ve tried organizing them by genre, release date, language— oh—”

When you turned to face him, he was sitting with his back against the headboard and blushing. Sometimes, like when he chewed his lips to cope with mild embarrassment, Heechul was adorable.

“Oops.” He mirrored your smile when you sat on the foot of his bed. “I’m rambling.”

“Did you write me a song?” You folded your hands in your lap as you teased, “You know, like how you used to promise those girls—”

Throwing his head back, Heechul groaned, “This again!” He couldn’t dampen the bright smile that illuminated his face when you giggled at his reaction. “I don’t write songs about other girls! Only about you!”

Assuming that he was joking as usual, you disregarded that remark until he started strumming on the strings and filled the air with his gentle hum. Heechul sang often in the car, and you often complimented his talent, but there was a softer quality in his voice now.

Why was his voice so different? Was it because you were in his room, whose atmosphere was somehow different— almost forbidden— from his car’s atmosphere? Was it because his voice was accompanied by a dulcet acoustic guitar rather than the full hard rock ensemble he sang along to in the car?

Maybe Heechul sensed your questions, and maybe he wanted to give you some answers. “I haven’t written the lyrics yet. Or maybe I have, and I’m just too embarrassed to sing them while you’re looking at me like that—”

Like what? Like there had never been anybody so beautiful in the history of mankind? Like he held your heart in the palm of his hand (and probably didn’t even realize it)? Like you wanted to admire him for the rest of time?

“— but I kind of thought it would be nice— like something romantic from one of your magazines— to tell you that I love you with a song, but—”

Heechul paused again as if you weren’t leaning in to his every word. His strumming ceased as he looked up from the guitar to gauge your reaction. Once satisfied by your sharp gasp, he continued, “But you know I can’t ever really stick with a plan. I see you, and I get so excited that I can’t just think to myself that I love you. I have to tell you.”

He set the guitar down on the floor, crawled to your side of the bed. Balancing on his knees and maintaining a small distance between your faces that instantly flooded your senses with memories of your first cherry flavored kiss on the beach, he breathed, “I love you.”

Then, as if to spare you the burden of having to return the three simple words, Heechul brushed his lips against yours.

Not too long ago, Heechul would have tried to debate when you breathlessly responded, “I love you too.” He would have said something like “Why are you saying that? You can’t just say that you love me because I said it first.”

Your feelings must have been obvious from the expression he admired on your face when he broke the kiss; Heechul’s only response was a smile as he pulled your body against his.

. . .

“He really likes you,” AJ said over the phone when she called to congratulate you on graduating.

Applying the last touches of your makeup, you agreed. “I know.”

Your father decided that the best way to celebrate your graduation and acceptance into an online summer college program was to host a small party. Beaming too radiantly at your achievements to cling to his disapproval of your boyfriend, he had said, “You can even invite Heechul!” as if Heechul didn’t work at the restaurant where the party would be hosted. Still, you smiled at your father’s effort to encourage your happiness.

Maybe it was silly to put so much effort into your appearance when Heechul considered you beautiful during all those days when you didn’t bother wearing makeup, but maybe you weren’t dressing up to impress him. Maybe you were trying to demonstrate with your appearance some transformation that occurred over the past few months; after all, your magazines called fashion a form of self-expression.

AJ teased, her smirk almost audible, “I bet you’re doing that adorable thing where you smile down at the ground, just lost in the thought of him.”

AJ was right about one thing: you were smiling, but not at the ground. You smiled as you met your bright eyes in the mirror.

“Of course, I don’t blame you or anything. He really likes you,” she repeated, and you almost wanted to brag that he loves you, but that seemed too special to share over a phone call. That detail needed to be reserved for an in-person conversation (or at least a FaceTime chat).

She continued, “You barged into his bedroom, and nothing scandalous happened? That’s true love.”

Or maybe, you thought, smile fading, Heechul just didn’t think about you like that.

It was ironic. AJ (the self-proclaimed wild child always searching for a fling) admired the lack of physical intimacy in your relationship while you (the lifelong good girl who found love without looking) frowned.

Why were you upset, though? Did you genuinely crave that kind of connection with Heechul? Wasn’t it enough— more than enough— beautiful— that he loved you? Was this knotting in your stomach just the latest manifestation of your fear that, maybe, his attraction to you was limited?

You couldn’t understand, and that confusion about your own feelings deepened the frown lines around your cherry red lips.

Calling your name, AJ asked, “Are you still there?”

“Sorry.” Although nobody was there to see it, you forced a smile as you swept your makeup into a drawer. “I have to go, AJ. All this talking about Heechul has made me lose track of time.” You hoped that by distracting her with a joke at your own expense, she wouldn’t be able to imagine your sudden discomfort.

Too consumed by your spiraling thoughts on the short walk from your family’s home into the restaurant, you didn’t see him coming until he had you pinned against the cold, hard floor. Before you ever looked at him, you felt Heechul’s heart thundering against your chest.

He grinned, reaching up to pick pieces of crushed taco shell out of your hair. Apparently in no rush to stand despite the stares and laughter of party guests— comprised mostly of family members and your parents’ friends— Heechul traced the outline of your lips with his thumb. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You were just about to hiss for him to get off, heat rising to your cheeks at his close proximity, when you made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

On the bright side, looking at him— loving him— distracted you from the burning embarrassment of having fallen in a restaurant full of people. You probably would have laid there, heart racing, staring at Heechul for hours if he hadn’t suddenly jumped up.

As if realizing at once that the people closest to you (and your family) were watching, Heechul dropped the tray he had been carrying onto an empty table and offered both hands to help you off of the ground.

The restaurant wasn’t entirely closed to the public— your father probably determined that he couldn’t afford to miss a day of profit. A table full of girls clad in brightly colored bikini tops giggled when Heechul pulled you past them to the back of the restaurant.

Stupidly, as if you couldn’t read the sign that marked the ladies’ restroom, you whispered, “Where are we going?”

“You have lettuce and tomato and beef all in your hair,” Heechul explained as he led you into the restroom. He ushered for you to sit atop the bathroom counter. “And that’s my fault, so—”

“You can’t be in here!” As if transforming into your mother, you wagged your finger as you scolded him. “What if somebody—”

“Look at us. Anyone who walks in here and thinks it’s a little suspicious that the waiter and the owners’ daughter are alone in the women’s restroom, they’ll quickly realize that this is some kind of emergency.” Heechul spun you around to face your reflection. Both of you were covered head to toe, as he said, in lettuce, tomato, beef, and whatever else Chef Leeteuk piled onto the tray.

Having only soiled his apron— which, technically, was made to be dirtied— Heechul frowned only when he noticed your frown in the mirror.

“Hey.” Heechul turned you to face him before he lifted you onto the counter. “I’m sorry.” He ripped a paper towel from its dispenser, ran it under the water faucet, and wiped at some sauce staining your cheek. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Stirred by the guilt flooding his eyes, you didn’t hesitate to explain, “I’m not hurt. I’m just— I know you probably think this kind of thing is stupid— but I spent a long time getting dressed, and—”

Heechul followed your gaze down to your white dress that had been stained by the food. “Shit. I’m sorry—” He moved to wipe at the stain, but faltered once he realized that it covered the majority of your chest. Tossing the paper towel onto the counter, he repeated, “I’m really sorry. It’s not stupid that you dressed up for your graduation party; it’s stupid that I ran into you with a tray full of tacos. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you responded to each of Heechul’s apologies, but he didn’t seem to hear you.

“I know this won’t be nearly as pretty as your dress—” Heechul looked you over again and cast his eyes up to the ceiling as he hissed, “Damn it, you really dressed nice. You still look pretty post-incident, so I know you looked drop dead gorgeous when you walked in. And I barely even got to see it before I tackled you.”

“Heechul.” To make him hear, you had to hold his face in your hands. His cheeks scalded your palms. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Yeah, this dress is probably ruined—” he groaned— “but it’s not the end of the world. This is one of those one time dresses, anyway. It’s fine. Really,” you said to his skeptical expression, “it’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Heechul shook his head before catching your lips with his. Maybe he thought the sweet act of affection would lessen his guilt. Maybe he wanted to gauge whether you were truly upset by your response to his kiss.

Maybe he was satisfied by the urgency with which you drew him closer, forgetting (or not caring) that the food still sticking to his apron would further taint your dress. Maybe he was smiling into the kiss until, without warning, your hands gathered the fabric over his chest and shoved him away.

“What’s wrong?” Heechul asked so often that the words rolled off his tongue without much thought. He gave you that look— brows furrowing and eyes twinkling with curiosity— that always preceded his request for you to trust him with your deepest thoughts.

“We can’t do this here.”

“What?” Heechul quirked his head at you, hair falling from his ponytail holder to fall into his eyes. “Kiss?”

You nodded, and he kissed— the frustrating tight-lipped pecks that were ending and beginning again before you could react— your lips again and again until you gathered the strength to push him away.

“We are in a public restroom, Heechul,” you reminded him between pants, “and we are in my parents’ restaurant, and—”

“I promise I’m not just being an insatiable pervert.” Heechul retied his ponytail before saying, “I know when you’re embarrassed. You’ve been blushing since those stupid girls laughed at us—”

Us, Heechul said, but they had been laughing at you. Knowing that Heechul wouldn’t want to hear that— explaining that would send him out to their table to harshly deliver a piece of his mind— you bit your tongue.

“— and I would just rather think that you’re blushing because I kissed you over and over again— not because I ran into you with a tray of tacos like an idiot.”

Again, like every other day of knowing him, you were struck by the realization, “You’re nice, Heechul.” Sometimes, because he teased you so much, that fact was easy to forget; rediscovering it every day was a joy, though.

“Only to you,” he conditioned before kissing you. “Oh— like I was trying to say earlier before I got distracted— I know that this isn’t anywhere near being as pretty as your dress—” He frowned, tracing his fingers along the ruined fabric— “but I brought clothes to change into after my shift, before I joined your party. They probably won’t fit you right, but—”

“Heechul,” you wiggled your eyebrows teasingly, “was this all an elaborate scheme to get me out of my clothes?”

Because he was honestly trying to atone for his actions, Heechul wasn’t prepared for your playfulness to strike at that exact moment. His face turned beet red, and he stuttered, “No— I— no—”

“If you wanted me to take my dress off,” you jumped off of the counter and reached for the zipper, biting back laughter, “all you had to do was ask.”

Heechul kept his eyes fixed on yours, either trying to call your bluff or daring you to follow through. When you started to tug on the zipper, however, he clapped a hand over his eyes and whined, “We can’t do this here! We’re in a public restroom, and we’re in your parents’ restaurant!”

Once you doubled over laughing, he dropped his hand, wheezing, “Aish, everything’s a joke with you, huh?”

Thoroughly unashamed— proud, even— you nodded your head. “A funny joke!”

“You win this round, baby,” Heechul warned, “but watch out.” He brushed his lips against your forehead before walking out of the restroom, you assumed, to retrieve the clothes he offered.

Leaning against a stall door, you passed the time as you always did when Heechul wasn’t by your side: by imagining the next time you would get lost in his eyes.

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Note

Happy Belated Birthday! Hope it was fun! If you're looking for a request, how about Brook and Nami for "Birthday Card"?

Here you are, hun! :3 I hope you enjoy it!

A Straw Hat Birthday Party

“Dearly beloved, we are all gathered here today to commemorate a very special occasion,” Sanji announced dramatically as he stood at the head of the kitchen table, held tilted back and his hand over his heart in the epitome of a regal air. Nami jumped slightly as he slammed his hand down on the table and pointed at her with the other, hearts beating wildly in his eyes. “Nami-swan’s birthday~” Nami rolled her eyes nearly into the back of her head at the ridiculousness of it; her birthday was a month ago, in July, one month before they had reconvened in Sabaody Archipelago and set out to Fishman Island. They had surfaced this morning and were currently sailing onwards in search of another sort of business for Luffy to poke his nose into, and they had all been very confused when Sanji had suddenly summoned them for a premise other than lunch.

“Sanji, it’s been over a month since my birthday- and technically, almost all of us have had two birthdays since we were separated, so is it really fair to celebrate only mine?” she pointed out with a wave of her hand. Not that she was unappreciative of the sentiment- it was actually really nice that Sanji had committed her birthday to memory, though not entirely unexpected- but it didn’t sit well with her to leave everyone out. Sanji instantly deflated to sink into a chair, grumbling and lighting up a cigarette to sulk. “Look, all I’m saying is, maybe we should have like a joint birthday party for everyone!” she suggested. She didn’t want to ruin all his fun.

“Oooooooh! That sounds like so much fuuuuuuun!” Luffy cried and filled the air with the happy clacking of the soles of his flip-flops slapping together. “Let’s do it, Sanji! Please? Please?” Sanji took a long drag of his cigarette before cocking his head to the side, blowing the plume of smoke through his mouth and nose.

“Nnh, it doesn’t sound too terrible an idea. I could make a hell of a tiered cake with everyone’s favorites…” he began to mumble to himself as he unconsciously rolled up his sleeves and got up to begin rooting around his kitchen for various supplies. Luffy crowed ecstatically and flung his rubbery arms into the air before stretching out his head across the table to where Usopp and Franky were sitting together to begin yelling at them about party decorations. Chopper got up and ran across the table to Robin bleating about scrounging up small little presents for everybody, to which the woman smiled and responded calmly that she was sure they could find something. This led to a slew of construction paper, scissors, glue, and various other art articles from Usopp’s cache being slung across the table to create birthday cards, while Usopp, Franky, and Sanji worked around them on their respective duties. Luffy was attempting to be helpful but kept letting the balloons loose to fly around because he thought it was funny, and Zoro decided it wasn’t worth all the effort and was sleeping on the floor. It was absolute chaos, but somehow Nami had wrangled in the mania just a bit to provide a menial amount of order; she had divvied up the birthday card assignments between herself, Brook, and Chopper. Robin was using her Devil Fruit power to help out in various ways and was lounged back beside Chopper as he sat down on the table in front of her coloring with some crayons.

“Nami? What do you think of this? Yohohohoho!” Brook chortled beside her and held up his card for him to critique his handiwork. Nami instantly grimaced; she should have known better than to ask him to make a card for her. He had drawn an actually cute-looking pair of panties on the front with the simple phrase “It’s your birthday! Show me your panties!”

“Brook, come on, take this seriously!” she tutted and waggled her finger at him. “It may seem like everyone is taking this lightly, but look at how hard everyone is working for all our sakes!” she said with a gesture around the room. Sanji was slaving over a large bowl whisking frosting into oblivion while an automatic mixer churned his cake batter into creamy goodness; Usopp and Franky were kneeled on the floor painting a very elaborate and tasteful banner; and Luffy was actually getting serious enough to actually begin tying the balloons together into arrangements. Brook’s calcified face frowned and he looked down at the card, his bony eyebrows narrowed in concentration.

“I see… I apologize, Nami. I haven’t celebrated my birthday in fifty years. I suppose I forgot how much it meant to others.” Nami’s heart immediately twisted into contorted guilt. She hadn’t meant to upset him! Gosh, darn it, now she had to cheer him up, dammit. The skeleton man was obviously blue. Nami smiled sweetly and reached up to pat his bushy afro.

“Don’t sweat it, okay? I didn’t mean to be harsh! Look, all I meant was that I would rather you pour your heart and soul into it! You don’t need my approval. Do your best!” she said with a nervous edge to her smile. Would it work? God, she couldn’t upset anybody on their joint birthday celebration! Luckily enough, Brook instantly brightened and bent over his card, pencil flying with renewed gusto. Nami breathed a small sigh of relief and went back to working on her own birthday cards.

~~~~~~~~~~

Considering it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, their little joint birthday celebration was underway right as the sun began to sink towards the endless horizon. They had moved their party to the spacious dining room; the birthday banner was strung across the wall, splashed with brilliant color and bubbly font that simply screamed celebratory cheer. Balloons were placed all about, bouncing along the floor and bobbing along the ceiling, and tied in great bunches at each corner of the room. Sanji’s work of art, the tiered cake with sections catering to each crew member’s taste, was situated on the middle of the table which was draped in white tablecloth. Chopper eagerly went about delivering the cards to their respective recipients before clambering up into his seat between Robin and Nami, drooling as he held a fork and knife and eyed the beautiful cake.

“Carve it up, Sanji, I’m starving!” Luffy whined in a wheedling voice as he banged his fists on the table impatiently. Sanji shook his golden bangs from his face with a snort of derision and a glare that warned “don’t piss off the man with the massive cake knife.”

“Keep it up and you’ll get yours last!” he snapped. Luffy did not take kindly to that, melting into a puddle against the table, but obediently ceased all impatient grumbling while Sanji set to cutting up the cake and delivering pieces around. Nami and Robin got theirs first, of course, but she patiently waited for everyone to get theirs before trying it; oh, but it was so hard to wait, because it seemed simply delectable! It was a tangerine sponge cake with lemon-orange whipped frosting and flecks of strawberry to add some conflicting tang. Nami’s mouth began to water just staring at it, and she practically dove into it when Sanji announced that they could. The icing was simply divine, melting into tasty sugar on her tongue, and the cake was the perfect level of moist and had an incredible texture.

“Sanji! This cake is immaculate!” she cried with a mouthful of her second piece.

“Ah! Only the best for you, Nami-swaaaaaaaan~!” Sanji trilled while pirouetting on the table so fast that she could imagine him little beating pink hearts all over the place.

“Cards! Let’s read the cards now!” Chopper begged while holding his up over his head. They eagerly complied and began reading off the little messages in the cards; it was pretty obvious who wrote who’s. Choppers all had some iteration of “Happy birthday, you bastard!” but also featured adorable little renditions of the tiny reindeer with whoever the card’s recipient was; they were so charming and child-like that Nami’s heart melted just looking at the drawings. It was clear that he put his heart and soul into them. Of course, he grew very bashful with all the gratuitous remarks and tried to laugh it off, but the brilliant grin on his furry face was plenty evidence that he was overjoyed at his handiwork’s reception.

Comparably, Nami’s cards were a bit simpler and had an almost store-bought craftsmanship to them, decorated with floral patterns and containing simple yet heartfelt personalized notes to the recipient. Sanji of course was one of them and he pirouetted so hard that he activated his Diable Jambe, warbling like a deranged songbird about how it would be an artifact that he would treasure for all time. Zoro was smiling wryly because she had made a pretty cheeky comment about his less-than-healthy rate of alcohol consumption.

Finally, it was time to get to Brook’s cards. The outside was unassuming, scrawled with wave patterns, but when she opened it she was bewildered to find that it contained no message or inscription of any kind. She looked up to Luffy and Usopp’s confused expressions to find that theirs suffered an identical issue. Before any of them could inquire, Brook cleared his non-existent throat and stood up to his full towering height, violin in hand.

“I am afraid that I struggled quite a bit in what to put in your cards. Ultimately I realized that I have far too much to say, yohohohoho, so hear it is in song instead!” He flipped the violin about to tuck it beneath his chin before drawing the thin instrument across the taut strings, producing a melodic wave of sound. Nami leaned her cheek into her hand with a small smile; his voice really was amazingly pleasing to the ear, and it seemed that he really had taken her advice to heart. There was nothing that Brook put more heart and soul into than his music. He sang about Usopp first, chronicling his bravery and adventurous soul, moving the elated Usopp to tears (which really wasn’t that hard considering he cried over almost everything). He sang about Luffy next, commending his indomitable spirit and good-naturedness, and though he had no idea what the words were, the straw hat-wearing captain hopped up onto the table and began dancing around singing random notes. Usopp soon jumped up with him and they linked arms, stomping in a circle. The rest of the crew found themselves clapping along, although Sanji snapped at them that it was their funeral if they ruined his cake.

Finally, Brook arrived at his verse for Nami. It was a song of the wind and the sea and tangerines and the navigator’s strong will. Nami felt like he plucked the strings of her heart rather than those of the violin, because she was just so moved by it. She leaned back in her chair while giving Brook a serene, warm smile, and he tossed her a wink while he continued to sing his birthday card for the three of them.

See, Brook? It’s not hard at all- not when you love us as much as you do. Sometimes you just have to put in words a little differently, huh? She thought contentedly as she tapped her foot along to the raucous beat. Nami couldn’t have asked for a more thoughtful birthday card than that.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to perusemy Tableof Contents!

Tag List: @searchfortheonepiece

#one piece #straw hats #straw hat crew #straw hat pirates #nami #cat thief nami #brook #humming brook #friendship #fluff #general fluff #oneshot #oneshot collection #one piece fanfiction

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sevenseasofrog · 5 years

Text

Lads ‘n Lasses

pairing: highschool!ben x fem!reader

summary: single sex schools are never boring

word count: 2982

a/n: wagwan gs, this might not be to everyone’s taste but i’ll see how it goes, this is the first time i’ve imagined myself as the reader while writing ?? not as someone else reading it ?? it’s also set in a manchesterish sort of place bc i had a major mind block trying to write about anywhere else other than where i actually live ,, that probably sounds weird idk aha, it’s defo an au where ben basically is still in education and all sorts of chaos takes place as the year moves forward ,, anyway ,, enjoy !! if you have any questions or likewise feel free to send an ask bc i see how it could be semi confusing ,, love u all a lotta :) ❤️

here’s also some stuff that could make it less confusing (especially if you’re not familiar with lingo from north west england, i’ll maybe add to this with each new chapter that comes out :)

St. Mary’s/ Mary’s- the all girls school the reader attends, quite middle class and full of students who like to make drama for their own entertainment, strong focus on languages and arts

St. Peter’s/ St. Pete’s - the all boys ‘brother’ school to St. Mary’s, very laddish with a focus on sports and science

Niamh & Maria - the reader’s two closest and longest friends

Tram/Met - British version of an overground subway?

Shout - another word for a houseparty

Snide - unfair

Swear down - saying you are telling the truth

also, the reader and ben are between the ages of like 17 and 18ish, the whole thing isn’t very accurate to the uk school system but it works a little better like that so yall are gonna have to go with it aha

ps, this chapter is spilt in two bc i got very carried away when writing it and tumblr has a word limit, hmph. however, that does technically mean that i can say i’ve written two chapters not just one ?? go me !!

Chapter 1: September

4th of September, the night before a new term, new academic year and a nearly fresh start. Your last year at St Mary’s had not been something you were dreading so to speak, and now it was finally here. Thanks to upcoming exams, you only had a little over five months to get through before freedom, and eventually, a completely clean slate at a new, far less intimidating school environment. Anticipation building, you called it a night

6:15am. You woke up to the painful sound of your alarm clock, early morning sun peeking through the split between the curtains. Eager to silence the blaring noise you crawled out of the comfort of the duvet and hastily clicked the stop button in the centre of your phone screen. You made your way into the bathroom, careful not to wake your parents, brushed your teeth and quickly got undressed before stepping into the shower, letting the cool water run down your back without getting your hair wet, since you had it cut and washed yesterday afternoon. Slipping on your school uniform you caught eye of yourself in the mirror and decided that you had nothing to lose by putting on a little makeup, you had time after all. It was about 7am when you made your way downstairs, the house still quiet with only you awake. These mornings were the ones you liked best, just you and your own thoughts, with no one to bother you other than the dogs. It was still relatively warm during the September days so you chose to leave your jumper hung over a chair in the kitchen, putting just your blazer over your crisp, white blouse. Throwing an apple and cereal bar into your bag for later in the day, you figured that you might as well also pack some paracetamol and chewing gum for good measure, knowing it would come in handy eventually. You headed into the hallway to sit on the bottom step of the stairs to put your shoes on, tying the laces as tight as you possibly could, slung the black tote over your shoulder and grabbed your set of keys, which were usually on a hook which your dad had attached to the wall earlier in the year.

The walk to the tram stop was pleasant enough. There was no real breeze and you walked with your hands in you pockets to the beat of the music. Skipping down the steps to the platform to buy a ticket for the week, the change rattled in your pocket, and you had to cover it to stop anything flying out. Once you had finally managed to get the machine to produce a ticket after it spat out the coins you tried to use a few times, you spun round and walked towards the sheltered seats down the further end of the stop. It was only 7:45 by this stage and there were still very few people around. Missing the school rush was certainly worth it for you, and it also meant there was time to grab a coffee on the way to school with Niamh and Maria, who both got on at later stops anyway. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, deciding to text your parents, as you did every morning to let them know you were okay. You skipped a few songs before slipping your phone back into your pocket and looking up to examine your surroundings, following a good few weeks of not coming to the somewhat grimy metro stop, nothing had changed. The ground was still caked in chewing gum, graffiti littered the ticket machines, and the bin was, as ever, overflowing.

There was one thing different though, slightly odd too. A blonde haired boy who you had never seen before was stood on the opposite platform. Weird. It was then that you noticed he was in the uniform for St. Peter’s, with a backpack hung on one shoulder and a gym bag on the floor- grim move from the newbie. It suddenly hit you however. He was on the wrong platform, and could end up getting on a tram further into the city centre rather than away from it. God, this was awkward. You could leave him? it would be kind of funny? but also a bit snide.

No.

Don’t do that you told yourself. Deciding to ‘start the new term right’ you cleared your throat before shouting across

“You going to St. Pete’s mate?”

He looked up from the ground, obviously somewhat confused, checking to see whoever the person who had shouted was talking too. Luckily, this was quite easy, given that he then noticed that he was in fact the only person on the platform. You gave a wave and as friendly a smile as you could muster given it wasn’t even 8 o’clock yet, in a desperate attempt to get his attention, which just so happened to work.

“Um, yeah. Why?”

“Because given that you’re on the wrong platform, you’re gonna have a very hard time getting there”. His jaw dropped a little

“You are joking, right?”

“Nope!”, you popped the ‘p’, just for emphasis, “So... are you just gonna stand there like a lemon or change platforms then?”. He quickly picked his bag off the ground and jogged up the steps to the bridge. As he crossed you rolled the waistband of your skirt up, realising that you previously looked a little to nun-ish for your liking. By the time you had finished fixing up your appearance the mysterious blonde was plodding down the steps, towards you. Shit. Now what?

You had just about composed yourself by the time he reached you.

“Ben. Ben Jones” he spoke, before offering his hand to shake.

“You’re very proper aren’t you!?”, you thought out loud “guessing you're not from up here then hm? Name’s y/n l/n by the way, I go to St. Mary’s”, you said, trying to remain friendly.

“Yeah, moved up from Bournemouth at the start of summer. My parents wanted to come up here so I had a chance of getting some sort of sports scholarship or something for rugby, y’know, for uni and that”. He spoke with quite a low, quiet voice, but definitely had a southern accent that you couldn’t imagine going any time soon. Now he was stood nearer, you had managed to get a clearer picture of Ben; he was very well built and had the physique of a genuine sportsman, He wasn’t too tall- but still taller than you by a considerable amount. His facial features were mostly soft, although his nose looked like it could have been broken in past games and he had the most striking green eyes.

“Well, you’d have had a pretty difficult time getting anywhere if you were stuck in the centre of town.” you both let out a laugh.

“Honestly, I’m such a melt, only I could do that on one of the few days that being on time actually matters”. You broke eye contact momentarily to see that a tram was approaching.

“Right then” you said, stepping towards the edge of the platform. “We’re a bit early but I normally get a coffee anyway, you can come if you want? I mean, you don’t have to get this one if you don’t want but if you do then the offer’s there..” You trailed off, noticing that you had waffled on a bit.

“Aha, no it’s fine! I’d be happy to get this one, you’re literally the first person I’ve spoken to who’s like, my age so it’s not like I have anyone to wait for. Plus, I’ll probably get lost if you abandon me now.” He looked up with puppy dog eyes after picking his gym bag off the floor again.

Stepping on the tram, you decided to offer him your first piece of valuable advice; “Right… Well. If we’re gonna be mates I better give you the rules of the road up here”.

“Go on then, local expert”, he said with a smirk.

“First things first. Don’t put your bag on the floor. It’s crusty and makes you look like a gimp”.

“Noted”, he spoke as the pair of you sat on the grey seats.

“Second. Most of the boys are maniacs and the girls are awful bitches, I’d say that I’d help you figure out who’s who but you’ll probably be able to decide for yourself”.

“Hm, you’re really selling it to me. The brutal honesty is a nice touch”. You gave a playful punch to the side of his arm, with a grin smeared across your face.

“Swear down mate, you’ll thank me later for this though.”

The journey passed in a flash, the pair of you talking like friends reunited. You learnt that he had a beagle named Frankie, lived not too far from you, he played rugby for teams but also enjoyed drama and music.

“You’re quite the character aren’t you! can’t say I took you for a performing arts kinda guy”

“Well… What kind of person did you take me as then, all knowing-y/n”

“Well Ben from Bournemouth.. that would be telling wouldn’t it, I can tell you however that this is our stop though”. You both stood up, grabbing your bags and heading for the doors of the carriage. You had a text from Niamh and Maria earlier on in the journey saying they’d be late and there was no point waiting for them, so you carried on the walk alone with Ben.

“If I left you here right now, would you have any clue where to go?” you questioned, genuinely intrigued.

“Erm.. no… I would have to stand around for a bit and hope someone takes pity on me”

“What about google maps though??”

“Hmm.. Let’s just say that there’s a reason I don’t take geography”

The coffee shop was about the same distance from the tram stop as is was from school, and it was about 20 past 8 when you pushed open the door with a small chime. It was a cosy little café, situated on the corner of the market street with wicker chairs outside and brown leather sofas inside. You never stayed in however, much preferring to enjoy whatever you brought during the rest of the walk to school. Today was a latte day, no questions asked. You liked to rotate throughout a few different drinks, depending on your mood. Ben stood close by as you explained how you’d most definitely be on black coffee by this time next week, but you might have the odd pumpkin spiced latte as September moved into October, just for novelty really. He gave out a small chuckle,

“You really are in a league of your own aren’t you? I’ve known you like an hour and I’m convinced you hold the secrets of the universe or some shit”. You liked Ben. He was good company and you had a fair bit in common;

“and what if I did hold the secrets of the universe huh?”

“I’d use the black market to sell you to a looney philosopher somewhere or other and make myself some fat stacks.” You both doubled over in complete hysterics. Would it be weird to say that you’d never bonded so quickly with someone? yeah, probably you thought, brushing the idea away quickly. Your giggle fit was quickly broken up however when the barista announced that your drink was ready, you fished the loose change out of your pocket and handed it over moments later,

“keep the change mate” you said politely, turning on your heel towards the door once again.

“You really are quite the angel aren’t you?” the boy walking next to you said “ooooo, keep the change mate, I’m y/n and I am the source of all life and joy” he mocked.

“You know it blondie”, you retorted with a smirk.

You had walked a fair deal further, now following the main road and considerably nearer to school when Ben reached into his inside pocket .pulling out a cigarette and lighter. You silently watched out of the corner of your eye as he held the stick in his mouth and lit one end, he inhaled deeply before taking it from between his lips to exhale. Before his could bring his hand back up however, you plucked it from his fingers and drew a breath from it yourself before throwing it down and stamping on it. Ben simply stood with his mouth hung open looking dumbfounded. “Whoa steady on...What the fuck was that about then? Oh… and for the record, you owe me a cig now!”, he spoke with a tone of shock mixed with annoyance

“Boo-Hoo”, you spoke back, “But neither of us can have a first day back if we get excluded before we even get to school you dimwit. There’s teachers stood by the traffic lights down there”, you pointed further down the pavement. “See for yourself if you want…” you trailed off. Ben looked a little guilty, realising that he could have got you both in a good deal of trouble,

“Ah, Right, Okay… Sorry about that..”

“Don’t worry about it. Honestly. It’s fine, you’re new! You’ve got a lot to learn still”, you gave him a reassuring smile, but you could tell that he still felt a twinge of regret.

The pair of you carried on the walk in a comfortable silence, and as you approached St. Peter’s a thought struck you. “Right. After school, wait for me here, I don’t really want you being lost in a new town stuck on my conscience all night”

“How noble of you, Miss y/l/n! How will I ever repay you for this selfless act of charity!” He exaggerated, running his hands through his hair as he spoke.

“We’ll have to see about that one won’t we, I guess”, You hitched your bag back onto your shoulder properly. Before he turned into the courtyard of his new school he grabbed your arm,

“Wait a minute... you give off way too much chaotic energy for things to run smoothly. What’s your snap or your number or something incase something goes horribly wrong” He spoke again, with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

“Hm, go on then, I’ll give you my number then you can just add me on snapchat with it too if you really want. Two birds with one stone ‘n all that”, you reached into your bag and pulled out a pen. “Gimmie something to write on, chop chop matey!” you spoke hurridley, realising that you only had 10 minutes before you needed to be sat down in your first registration of the academic year. In a panic, he stuck out his hand, and you began to scribble down the first few digits.

“Fucking hell! I thought you were writing it down not tattooing it!”, he took in a sharp breath.

“Hm.. What.. Wait! Shit, sorry.. I’m a bit heavy handed”. You finished writing the numbers down with a conscious attempt not to press quite so hard and then threw the pen back into your bag.

“Aight then, I’ll see you later yeah?” He looked up at you,

“See ya later lemon boy”. You shot another smile before continuing on a few meters further down the path and approached the gates of St. Mary’s.

Hello old friend, you thought before taking a deep breath and turning into the school, with no way out for the next few hours at least. You stepped hurriedly through the labyrinth of corridors before reaching the room where you’d be registered. Throwing your bag onto your usual desk you could feel two sets of eyes on you.

“y/n l/n, You have some explaining to do! go on then, who’s the boy?” Niamh began, a devilish grin on her face.

“Gimme a second to sort my life out yeah? I just need to get my bearings then you can interrogate me”, you spoke, followed by a heavy sigh. After you put your bag in your new locker you returned to the desk where you were greeted by your long time friends once again. “Wait a minute, how do you even know? started hiring government spies or some shit?”

“Erm, no. But that’s quite a good idea actually. If you’re that desperate to know, Lewis sent me a message asking if you’d got a boyfriend over summer..” You let out a scoff before Maria could continue. “He still really likes you ya know?”

“Yes mum, I do know, you remind me most days” You all let out a laugh, attracting some attention from the neighboring tables.

“We’re off topic, you still need to explain yourself and we have like, 3 minutes until the bell goes” Niamh interrupted, she had always been the most conscious member of the group, as much as both you and Maria hated to admit.

“Right, I’ll keep it simple. I was at the met stop and he was stood on the wrong side so I told him to switch otherwise he’d never make it to school then he told me that his name’s Ben and he’s new and he’s in our year and then we got on the tram and then we went to get coffee then he decided he wanted a smoke and then I told him off and then we got to school and then I told him I’d meet him after school then I walked into school and now I’m here with you two” You barely paused for breath and gasped before either of your friends could continue, both of them looking shocked and rather confused.

“Right. You can explain that all again later in a bit only at least 76 times slower. ok? thanks? nice” is all Maria managed to respond before the door swung open and your teacher walked in...

Hope you enjoy !!❤️

Let me know if you want adding to the taglist !! :)

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flowercuco · 5 years

Text

Veil Episode 2 Part 3.5+4

Previously, we played what was supposed to be a short session that I didn’t summarise in which the gang sans Synch took crescent moon to go shopping for some casual clothing!

A lot of things happened in that one but the important take-aways were...

Ariel and Fortuna were told about the kamen rider man having kidnapped Crescent Moon’s mother figure, Heartful Vale, Ariel cried about the date that she had with Crescent moon, Will asked Fortuna to talk to Ariel and Crescent Moon about their budding relationship, unaware of her part in the equation, Will continued to harass Old New Underground teens, and Blessed Lee Outrageous tried to get Senza to talk to Denno’s Coil, but framed it in such a way that made it seem like he was trying to get her to perform emotional labor so she told him to fuck off.

Also Fortuna drank 5 Crescent Shooting Stars, the Constellation Coffee exclusive Crescent Moon themed drink, winner her Official Crescent Moon Wolf Ears. That was that session more or less, then they went to Quid University.

Synch started the focus of our next session, today, waking up before everyone else at the place the Eyes on the Inside are staying at, leaving a note for Burning, and then leaving out the window, having stolen a Crescent Moon shirt from him. They then checked their texts and took a taxi to the school to meet up with the others.

Quidama-Dre University is, a very interesting school, described as a mix between being extremely brutalist utilitarian and also having a large number of post-modern buildings, the kind that look like they’re melting or glitched or have other various things like that. There’s also a hideous modern art piece.

Crescent Moon is in awe at the sight of all of these people, and having only seen such numbers when people were there to see her, and not just hanging out or being there or just living their own lives. However, rather than try to go off or observe and wonder, or try to steal the costume of the mascot, Qutie the Chakat, Crescent Moon instead is struck by the look for horror on Fortuna’s face of dread at having to solve her problems. Crescent Moon asks whats wrong, causing Fortuna to give an about face as she says that she just has to deal with her responsibilities and then gives Crescent her number, so that she can give any advice related to love.

Synch arrives as Fortuna leaves to deal with her duties, informing the party about getting their texts. Senza hands Synch a fancy looking box, claiming that as there is a Thicker than Blood event on campus, this will help convince them that Synch’s ruse (that they’re dating Senza) is legitimate. Synch checks if its ticking (it is) and decides to open it, finding a rather fancy watch that has some gears, an arcane weird knob, and a very particular kind of aesthetic. Synch says they’ll wear it later, which Senza uses as an opportunity to chastise them, asking if they even know what time it is.

Crescent walks up and asks the group whats going on, and Senza vaguely gestures at the fake dating situation, then starts to lead Crescent to the quad, to show the idol more people, and fufill her curiosity.

Fortuna has at this point gone to her lab and corners her T.A., a horned dude with a flannel shirt named Pierce, who is the T.A. Fortuna has worked with the most, and coincidentally actually likes Crescent Moon the least of all of Fortuna’s T.A.’s. Fortuna wants Pierce to not go to the concert like the other T.A.’s so that they can administer an important test instead of Fortuna having to do this, when she is planning on still protecting Crescent Moon then. Her angle to convince Pierce to do this is to introduce him to the virtual idol, to which he isn’t convinced, not really believing her and going back to doing what he was doing after posting about how nonsensical the situation is online. Her problems remain unsolved....

Upon seeing that the quad is overrun by Thicker than Blood, for the purposes of their recruitment event, Ariel pushes for the group to visit the library, partially so that they can also do some research. On their way there, Senza and Crescent moon are caught on camera, and when they arrive at the library, Senza gets a call from a friend in the literature department who asks if she’s with Crescent Moon. Senza figures out that she was caught on camera with the idol, hangs up, and tells the group about this. Synch blames Senza for their lack of subtlety and Ariel decides to do their research and asks if theres anything they need to know first, to which Synch says yes, but that they need to talk privately first. Senza also wants to speak with Ariel, but Will needs Senza’s help dealing with people who have maybe noticed Crescent Moon, as she’s a teacher.

Synch and Ariel talk about the Angelic Threads, the group that created Ariel, the very name adding even more disgust and contempt for them. They want to make them pay for what they’ve done, but they assume that Synch isn’t going to help. Ariel then tells Synch about the things they learned last night involving the masked armored man. Synch asks about when the picture was taken, then whines when there isn’t an answer. The two agree that maybe this situation shouldn’t be underestimated and that they shouldn’t have gone to such a public place, that the people following Crescent around seem to be extremely dangerous.

Meanwhile, Will is making some mild success at making Crescent Moon more inconspicuous while Senza attempts to use LACUNA to hack into some of the libraries filters to prevent people in the library from talking about the idol. What happens instead is that LACUNA uses the access to the libraries systems to spy on Synch and Ariel, learning all of the secret information they gave each other. Ariel notices that they’re being watched, or something, and learns that LACUNA is watching her. Senza opts to warn the friend that called her about things going wrong soon and then takes Ariel into LACUNA’s reading room so that it will be easier to try get the important information that they desire.

Ariel begins with information on their attacker from the other night, finally allowing me to name the kamen rider man as Blood Root and learning that he was an alleged psychic who Snow Vision Structure apprehended, and was presumed killed. Ariel then tries to find out stuff about the Angelic Threads, discovering through various means, that these people call themselves Angels and desire to advance humanity as a means to Open Heaven. Ariel also discovers that they have agents in at least the Investigative Bureau, Snow Vision Structure, and the Seat of Judges. Senza, who needs more time to process this says that they should begin to leave when Ariel asks why Senza was spying on them. When she stumbles on explaining, not wanting to give Ariel the details on LACUNA, Ariel gives up and lets it go for now.

Synch is found by a harried Blessed Lee Outrageous who warns Synch about TtB going after them on Denno’s orders. When they ask why, he says that he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t trust it. Synch calls Denno’s a bitch and tells the group about it as Blessed Lee runs away. Senza tells Synch that she didn’t tell them about Blessed Lee’s previous conversation because it seemed to be about something more personal and less weird.

Fortuna’s troubles meanwhile are that she once again fails to convince Pierce to do her job, citing the ability to have him work with Emperor Epoch, who’s lab focuses on far more interesting and real archaeology rather than hers. She could set up a transfer as he owes her a favor, but Pierce once again is disinterested. At this moment, Bicker Boulder, the Investigative Bureau person who requested an interview with Fortuna asks for her time, seeming very worried for one reason or another. The two go into Fortuna’s office and Bicker asks about Denno and Senza, saying that she saw something but wants to speak with Senza about it, as she isn’t sure about other things. At that moment, Pierce tells Fortuna that some TtB goons came looking for her, but they sent them away. Fortuna thanks Pierce and then asks Bicker how badly she wants to come with her. When Bicker affirms her desire, Fortuna locks her door from the inside with a chair, takes a coffee maker, and prepares to leave via the window.

She falls, breaks the coffee maker, and Bicker follows and drags and then lifts her up.

Senza was prepared for this situation and gives out disguises for the group, giving Crescent Moon a rather fashionable disguise while the others get less pretty people. They all appear to be just normal college students. She also sends out a distraction, a fake Crescent, elsewhere on campus. The group manage to elude Thicker than Blood but overhear some of them running and trying to find Fortuna. Senza offers to go find her and Synch follows along. Will doesn’t have a reason to think this situation is serious, something that she will learn she is wrong about later.

Synch and Senza arrive at Fortuna’s lab, a bit messy but otherwise empty, finding the door to her office blocked. Synch uses their detective vision (psychic powers) to discern that a lot of nervous and scared people were around, with a group of people trying to come into the lab, leaving, then trying to go into the office before another person came in and they all left. Synch then explodes the door open and sees the Fortuna shaped marks on the floor outside the window.

When the duo go down there, there’s a Thicker than Blood person upset over the lackluster trail, who asks what Senza (in disguise) wants. She explains that she was sent by Senza to find Fortuna, to which the TtB guy tries to use to his advantage, asking her to guide her to her professor. Senza says she will, guides him to the woods, and then neutralizes him, tying him up to a tree and confirming via his confiscated walkie-talkie that Fortuna hasn’t been apprehended yet.

Synch and Senza unite, the former secretly using their psychic powers to make the captive less scared and more peaceful, so that the latter can interrogate them. They explain that the reason that all of them are so hectically going after the group is because Denno cut a deal with someone scary looking, who made an example of one of them via the nanomachines that all of the Thicker than Blood people consume as a part of their initiation. Senza uses LACUNA to isolate the nanomachine’s signals, neutralize them, and then figure out where Denno’s Coil is. He’s on his way to Snow Vision Structure, because, of course he is.

Senza then gets a text from Fortuna, saying that she’s ok she just fell.

Back at the apartment, Will, Crescent Moon, and Ariel, in that order, are watching television. Will texts Ariel that she wants to talk about work and they agree and then leaves. Will excuses herself as well and in the other room, asks about what she found with her research. Ariel decides to lie about finding nothing of value, which is obvious to Will, who can read body language. Will attempts to ask about why and how, to which Ariel just talks about having done her normal methods and getting nothing, which Will sees and pierces through, learning that Ariel is angry at her and wants her to go away. Will realizes that appeasing Ariel will not work, says that she knows they’re lying, and that they just want to deal with things, they just want to keep Crescent Moon and everyone safe, that she should start acting like she really cares about fixing things. Ariel rebukes by going off on the Seat of Judges, saying that they only care about maintaining the status quo, and can’t help her, chastising Will for not knowing the name of her creators! Will responds with simply saying that it’s true, she doesn’t know anything, she can’t know anything because Ariel doesn’t tell her anything, and she can’t help if she doesn’t know anything in the first place. Ariel angrily reveals that they don’t trust Will because the Seat of Judges is in her creators pockets, something Will can’t respond to easily. Instead, she tries to use the obligation that she has on Ariel in order to get the information out one way or another. Ariel promises to tell Will the information later, when Crescent Moon is safe, so instead Will asks for the information on Blood Root, which they give.

Will goes into another room and contacts her hacker, Zed, and using him and the Seat’s database, discovers Blood Root’s location and discovers that he’s somehow shackled to SVS, being unable to go very far from them for very long, currently holed up in a warehouse both owned and not owned by SVS.

She sends this information to Ariel directly.

We end on Denno inside a SVS vehicle, speaking with a mysterious and dangerous person with a chiselled body, long hair, and military clothing with a patch that has a stormy snow insignia that in a mysterious flash of the veil’s light, changes to the symbol of the Angelic Threads. Denno says that they shouldn’t have made all of the TtB so scared, to which the other man says that it was necessary to make them understand the gravity of the situation. He also says that their deal is still on, and to just not worry about it anymore. Denno asks if Senza and the others are going to be okay, and he laughs saying that Whitefall is committed to doing whatever it takes.

#quidama dre #concert at quid central

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theoriesontheory · 3 years

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The Making of - ‘Disney’s Hyperfantasia’ - Sal Viejo

How do you (or I) write a cathartic song? The more I look at this question the more it becomes increasingly simple and complicated in my mind. On one hand, I know how to do it. I’ve done it for three years as Sal Viejo, listened to cathartic music from other bands and watched performances that sent waves of catharsis through the room. You just do it. On the other hand, saying “you (or I) just do it” is an answer that is unsatisfying, and I know that there have been times where I have been unable to write a cathartic song where the advice “just do it” would have sent me into a rage. So, I decided to write a cathartic song, as I have done before but this time, using autoethnographic research methods, explore my process not only documenting what I was doing but reflecting on the parts of my real life that went into the song.

Catharsis as a feeling is difficult to define, especially from an academic perspective. An interesting note from some of my reading into music therapy is that the music we listen to shapes our lives and experience. (Barnes, 2013) Continuing from this idea, Barnes points out a case where a neuropsychologist was struggling down the side of a mountain with a broken leg and eleviated some of the mental strain and pain by focusing on a song. (ibid.) Looking specifically for references to catharsis I found an explanation of the phenomenon in a film text, “Catharsis is Aristotle’s term for the experience of audiences at the end of tragedy – overwhelming feelings of sorrow, pity, or some other strong emotions caused by the representation of tragic and piteous events… Aristotle and most of his commentators agree that catharsis, whatever it is, occurs to the beneficial effect of the audience.” (Plantinga, 2009) I feel that mainstream media has changed the meaning of the cathartic experience, in that rather than leaving stories on tragic endings, the trend is to send the crowd home happy. There has been a trend in media to end stories on more tragic notes recently, in my view closer to how things end in real life, Breaking Bad is a great recent example. Tying the two ideas together now, when looking for information on catharsis through music, there proved to be some gaps in the literature. There are discussions of how works have been performed in contexts that have made them cathartic, (Ansari, 2013) how communities use musicking to cope with their economic and social stresses (Stamatis, 2015) and even how music is being used in physiotherapy sessions, showing the role of psychology in pain treatment and management. (le Roux, 1998) My approach to this question hinges on creating a song that provides some level of catharsis, either for me or the listener. Despite my reading, coming to a clear and understood definition of catharsis seems difficult and thus, I think it makes sense to g to the original, Aristotelian definition as provided by Plantinga, overwhelming feelings at the end of a tragedy.

My understanding of autoethnography as a research method comes from some time considering it in the course of my honours and masters study up to this point. One of the core elements that draws me to it is my understanding that at the core of the research is the individual and their creative work (in the context of creative autoethnographic projects). Adams, Jones and Elis describe autoethnography as practice that; uses a researchers personal experience in describing and critiquing culture, acknowledges and values the reasearchers relationships, uses reflexivity – reflecting on the way the individual interacts with the world, shows “people in the process of figuring out what to do, how to live, and the meaning of their struggles”, balances emotional and intellectual work and strives to make the world better. (2014)

I was inspired to write in this way by David Carless whose paper Throughness was the first autoethnographic study of song writing that I came across. In reviewing the literature there were many papers focused on performance or composition of art music pieces but when looking for contemporary song writing used as autoethnography the field was sparse. In this paper Carless asks many of the same questions I face myself,

“How do we write songs as qualitative research? What kinds of processes matter when writing a song? What can we do to support and nurture these processes? What might we draw upon when writing songs about our own or another’s life? And how is it that culture, politics and personal biography can become so powerfully entwined in a song?” (2018)

In answering these questions Carless submits a series of Diary entries that they call a story that details the specific moments where the creation of the song was happening as well as their personal reflection on their own song writing process. In a similar way, I have been drawing from a journal I use specifically to write thoughts I have when I am in a negative mental headspace for lyrics and ideas and building songs up around them. Unlike Carless’ work, I will be covering not only the song writing process but also the process of cutting together a demo version of the song for release on Bandcamp. In putting together my story I will be including transcriptions of events based on my personal notes and my memory, images from my journal and other writing and personal reflections, some of which will touch on themes of self-harm, depression, and suicide. Please read in a safe mental place and look after yourself. If you need help, please seek it:

Lifeline: 13 11 14 Beyond Blue: 1300224636 Suicide Call Bank Service 1300659467 Process: In late July of 2021 I found myself experimenting with chords in open D after having uploaded a cover of Hot Mulligan’s I Fell in Love with Princess Peach. Open D feels like such a powerful tuning, so easy to get big brash sounds. I have been avoiding writing in alternate tunings because the idea of tuning on stage stresses me out, but I have a show coming up and want to play that Hot Mulligan cover to impress someone I think might be there so to justify the tuning I figured I would try and write another song using it.

I always have way more chords or instrumental parts for songs before I have lyrics. I find that I will often even have a vague melody line that I can hum or make random syllables around while I play the parts on my guitar. I have been trying to just say the first thing that comes to mind, trusting the part of my brain that knows what good lyrics sound like to figure something out under pressure, but I have found this process works best with some stimulation.

My mental health is something I have struggled with, largely in silence for my life, since probably my mid to late teens. I was on medication for a while, it didn’t go so well (see twelve) and since then have been trying to come to terms with my mental health through mindfulness, mediation, and introspection. PLEASE NOTE I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL AND DO NOT ADVISE THIS. GO AND SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP BEFORE UNDERTAKING ANY CHANGES TO MEDICATION OR TREATMENT. One way I have done this is by having a specific journal to write in on nights where I feel I am having particularly negative thoughts, the idea being that when I have these thoughts, I find they tend to circulate inside my head and writing them down is a way that I can get them out of my head. Additionally, it allows me to go back and reflect on the patterns of thinking and try and figure out where they come from. On one night, I’m going to guess late June, early July based on my memory I was having negative thoughts that led me to write down this across two pages

Transcription: Im sick of all my friends being worried.

No matter how hard I try I can’t see what comes next Static the cards the stars everything Static

I wish I could still dream, maybe I could if there was a future to see

Why do I keep seeing myself in a carcrash?

When I drive around at night I think about driving into the side of the road. Not really thinking about it but it just happening. I feel Like I’ve done it. I feel like I am doing it. It’s beautiful, its silent. I am calm. No more thinking.

I DON’T WANT TO DIE YET (the word “breathe” is written five times through the lines underneath the statement)

One day at a time -Next Page- (a crude single line drawing of a sunset over an ocean above the margin)

I clearly need to go talk to someone

Most of the time i feel like I look normal –

Everyone is suffering, its easier to pretend Its harder to tell the people you love youreinpainbecausetheycant… (I can’t read what I wrote) Head feels like static

Trying to fill the noise Beniah knows too

Amy asked if I was doing ok I said yes I don’t think she believes me anymore I hate the Look in their Eyes when they See me Everyone knows youre sick Can’t have them know… (I can’t read what I wrote) I think Im doing ok now

I feel like I am good at adjusting to how I feel. Didn’t go for a drive

Remembering parts of this night I know that I didn’t write all of this at once. The first page was written largely at the same time, the second page in bursts, idea by idea, sometimes writing new ideas in and around older ones, writing more frantically. I feel like there are two stories being told here, on the first page, an internal negative feeling, I have never told anyone about the car thing until releasing this song. The second page, the negative feelings growing and being self-aware about wanting to appear ok around my friends and housemates and feeling that pressure.

So now I had a couple of pages of personal emotional outpourings, some chords that I like the sound of and a quest to make a song cathartic. More important to me than how cathartic the song is, as with all my song writing, is that it was honest so in sorting through my scribblings I wanted to put together an accurate representation of my mind at the time. I first jotted down what felt like the most unique imagery to me, the false memories of being in a car crash and coming to terms with that. I am not sure what it means, but it is scary at times. I thought that because it is such a unique experience that detailing might be an interesting part of the song and thus the pre-chorus and chorus were put together. I had the melody of the chorus on a voice memo on my phone when working on the guitar part and I remember thinking to myself, for such happy chords the melody was lending itself to something almost being howled out, it felt like a question almost. After I had written the pre-chorus and chorus the next thing that felt natural to do was to frame the response to that statement which is the second verse. Reflecting on the pages, a lot of my worries on the second page seemed focused on how my friends and the ones I care about perceive me. I think this is a common feeling for people who struggle with their mental health and something that I am less concerned with when I am not in a negative mental space. The lyricism in the second verse is intentionally a little frantic, I wanted it to mimic in a small way how my mind can jump from idea to idea. I always find opening songs difficult; I think it’s important as a songwriter to have an impactful first few lines, especially in a song that is being made with the intent of an emotional experience in listening to it. I decided to borrow the writing style from some of my favourite US mid-western emo bands who often frame difficult to swallow truths in upbeat melodic phrasing and whimsical turns of phrase. A quite extreme example can be heard on The Front Bottoms’ “Father” which opens with some quite graphic imagery and is about the lead singers strained and complex relationship with his father, but I have seen people cheer and sing and dance along when the song is played live. And so, I decided to be very honest about the background of the feelings, maintaining some semblance of the narrative that I am ok while showing really that I am not, heading into the pre-chorus. The bridge was the last section to come together, both musically and lyrically. The rest of the piece was pretty much put together and being fine polished as far as vocal phrase lengths and how I would play the guitar part. The lyrics for the bridge started as what could have been a verse, describing the images but I decided that the pre-chorus was a more functional way of doing that, introducing the idea in a semi-palatable way. I knew I would close the song with the bridge (potentially put a chorus at the end) and decided to add some weight to the end of the work, almost like a Shakespearian tragedy, everyone dies at the end. I don’t think I make it feel like there is death at the end of the piece but the way I stack the layers of the pre-chorus and bridge sections before cutting right at the end to the first line of the pre-chorus was designed to add to the emotional impact at the end. Initially the guitar part for the bridge was more complex, I wanted to try and show that I was a good guitar player and had been practicing. This led me to retuning the guitar to Open D to come up with a pretty and impressive riff. I had a few ideas but in the context of playing solo and recording a demo I want the core guitar part, the part I play, to be something that I can do while I sing and give an overall engaged performance, which I’m not quite good enough to do with impressive guitar bits yet.

Lyrics: I feel well adjusted, sometimes I feel fine, or I lie which I know I shouldn’t do to my friends But we all pretend, because it’s easier than admitting how scared we are Have I told you about the weird thing that happened the other night in my car?

I’ve been seeing pictures, almost like memories in my head Of me losing control, on the free way And it plays in slow motion And the strangest thing about it to me always is

I don’t scream I don’t scream

I know I worry you, I’m worried too don’t think I want to die yet Look at the sunset, take a deep breath, hold on for one more day I’m ok, that’s what I say but I don’t think you believe me Static on the TV, looks like my tea leaves, Don’t worry about me

I’ve been seeing pictures, almost like memories in my head Of me losing control, on the free way And it plays in slow motion But the strangest thing about it to me always is

I don’t scream I don’t scream I don’t scream I don’t scream

As I watch bumper meet divider, Sparks and metal fly up Into the night sky I wonder how it would feel I wonder how it feels to…

As I watch bumper meet divider, I’ve been seeing pictures, Sparks and metal fly up almost like memories in my head Into the night sky of me losing control I wonder how it would feel on the freeway I wonder how it feels to… And it plays in slow motion But the strangest thing about it to me always is

As I watch bumper meet divider, I don’t Scream Sparks and metal fly up Into the night sky I wonder how it would feel I don’t scream I wonder how it feels to…

I’ve been seeing pictures, almost like memories in my head

Once the song was structured, I began practicing it, getting ready to cut a demo to put out into the world. In practicing it, I found the song easier to engage with on some days rather than other. I make recordings of me playing new songs so I can remember how they go at later dates but also to watch back and think about melodic choices and I found on one particular day while I could technically perform the song ok, I know I had played it better in the past. I have this relationship with most of the Sal Viejo songs that are about hard things from my life. I can perform most of them at the drop of a hat, but I know the performance is better when I am in the right mental place. I find it is a fine balance between being where you were during those hard times, but still able to perform. I feel like ‘Sal Viejo’ almost acts like a mediator sometimes, an outside observer who can sing about these things because they didn’t live through them, they saw them happen.

Heading into the day of recording I was a little stressed. Not only was I recording something still pretty fresh with the intention of sharing it to the world, but I also had just moved, had just gotten out of quarantine due to a secondary covid contact, was working a new job and had lots of uni work to do. I started the day by going and getting a coffee, thinking about the song as I went on my morning walk. My thoughts were mostly about the melody, the chords, the rhythm but also, I was beginning to make some mental adjustments to get me to the place I felt like I needed to be. When I got home, I had the intention of going slowly, setting up at my own pace and warming up but I felt the compulsion to just get it done. I started with guitar tracking, taking a signal from a mic set up near the body of the guitar and a line from the guitar, through an acoustic reverb pedal. It was during the guitar tracking process that I realised I had to simplify the line in the bridge. To get the timing right, I was playing to a metronome and singing to myself to figure out where the chord hits were and realised that I couldn’t actually play the part and sing, making it useless for live shows. After I finished the guitar did a quick mix and took lunch. I decided that I would try some vocals, but I didn’t know how they would go. I started singing and quickly realised that the phrasing would prove difficult and so I would have to punch in some of the sections. I found this really challenging because a part of the emotional engagement with the song comes from singing whole phrases, not just particular lines. What I decided to do was do multiple, full length takes, each one hitting the entrance of a section and cut it together. This meant that I could stay in the right emotional place while performing for recording and worry about the engineering side later. I wanted the mix to be fairly transparent for the demo, wanting people to hear the emotion and the story without too much distraction. I cut the vocals together and did a mix that I felt like let the vocals pierce through enough while still feeling tied to the guitar. There is a charm in the small amounts of string buzz and mic popping in the demo for me, in the mixing process I tried to get rid of some of it but decided that macro level edits would take away some of the human delivery. One decision I did make at this point was editing the lryics. The original lyric in the bridge was, “I wonder how it would feel, I wonder how it feels to die” I thought that the impact of that phrase would be increased if that word was censored, as subtly as possible but in a way that leaves listeners hanging on what the end of the phrase is. There are clues in the rhyming structure and content around it and you can figure it out if you listen to it, also I don’t know that I necessarily want a song in the world where I am explicitly asking what death feels like, I don’t know that I am at that level of openness as a songwriter yet.

In the rush of creative energy, I also cut a DIY, proof of concept music video which I attached the master of the song to which can be watched and heard here.

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A post shared by Sal Viejo (@sal_viejo)

Reflections: Digging into my song writing process has proved an interesting and at times challenging experience. In many ways I think I was fortunate to already have the bones of the song together before I started approaching the writing and making of the song as research as I don’t know that I could have been as honest in my lyricism knowing that I might have to explain where it came from. One observation I made is, through digging through the emotional distress that lies at the heart of this song, I found myself having cathartic emotional responses, forcing myself to consider where my songs come from. Also, as I practiced I found that having the research idea and the goal of catharsis beneficial as I made performance choices. I am unsure whether or not I have definitively answered the question, ‘how does one write a cathartic song?’ But in conducting this autoethnographic study of my process of writing a song with catharsis in mind I think I have answered, here is one way that I can do it.

References:

Adams, T. E., Holman, J. S., & Ellis, C. (2014). Autoethnography. ProQuest Ebook Central

Ansari, E., A. (2013) “Vindication, cleansing, catharsis, hope”: interracial reconciliation and the dilemmas of multiculturalism in Kay and Dorr’s Jubilee (1976). American Music, 31 (4), https://go-gale-com.saeezproxy.idm.oclc.org/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=T002&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&hitCount=1&searchType=AdvancedSearchForm&currentPosition=1&docId=GALE%7CA401094780&docType=Critical+essay&sort=RELEVANCE&contentSegment=ZEAI-MOD1&prodId=EAIM&pageNum=1&contentSet=GALE%7CA401094780&searchId=R1&userGroupName=saeinstitute&inPS=true

Barnes, H. (Ed.). (2013). Arts activism, education, and therapies : Transforming communities across africa. ProQuest Ebook Central

Carless, D. (2018). “Throughness”: A Story About Songwriting as Auto/Ethnography. Qualitative Inquiry, 24(3), 227–232. https://doi.org/10.1177/1077800417704465

le Roux, F. (1998). Music: A new intergrated model in physiotherapy. South African Journal of Physiotherapy, 54(2), 10-11. doi:https://doi.org/10.4102/sajp.v54i2.593

Plantinga, C. (2009). Moving viewers : American film and the spectator's experience. ProQuest Ebook Central

#CIM406.1 #Creative Inquiry #diy #emo #midwestern emo #music #new music #music video #academia #research #autoethnograophy #australian #canberra #musician #producer #process

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breitzbachbea · 3 years

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(p1) okei, what i think I can gather about you from your art/writing,(bare in mind i haven't read your long fics/most drabbles yet tho). Your 200+ OC's of different nationalities show you want to live in a thousand cultures, have a thousand lives and live in every part of history, but as you cannot, you have 200 OCs which is almost like containing 1000 souls (very relatable tho).... But 200+ OCs and your longest AU's are massive, show yeah 👀👀 And you enjoy ships that bicker... cos....

(pt2) cos the intimacy needed for that is HUGE. You love the 'i love you, i hate you, but i cannot escape from you' -> bonus points if it's history, language or culture that ties your ship together. Additionally: -completed devoted to the one they love (and would suffer for them) is a dynamic that interests you -u think the italian language is hot af -i get the feeling that michele is either how u want to be loved (idyllic love), or michele is how you love, cos that's your comfort ship (sic/ire)

1. That's pretty accurate! I have this fear that I'll never have enough time on this earth to do what I want (but I've been working on getting rid of that fear. There's enough time). I'm so fascinated by the world that we're living in, what used to be and how it relates to what is. The endless multiplicities of identity that a group can contain or even an individual.

So indeed, I make OCs based on what I learn about the world and in turn the OCs give me a good way to interact safely with the knowledge I find. It's a perpetuum mobile of creativity and knowledge.

And history is just the entirety of human experience on this planet, so trying to breathe some more life into it via Historical AUs is one of my favourite ways to engage with it. I love writing term papers as much as trying to apply the scientific findings to actual people. (I think one of my favourite things may be Sexuality in the res publica AUs, the do's & don't's that aren't the same as they are now. I freed Michele & Lovino from their catholic guilt, only to immediately constrain them with the class & gender expectations of the Roman Republic lmao).

2. I never thought about it like that, but yes! I enjoy bickering because it's an admission of closeness! You can't have friendly bickering if you're not close! (Which is why Hugo & Alois Are Like That. I enjoy them constantly mocking each other greatly, but it's never friendly and it always ends in a mess).

My family had and has its shares of problems, but I know that we love each other. Immensely. We're also that kind of family to constantly poke fun at each others, so I think that's why I instinctively resort to this kind of dynamic, with any kind of close relationships. It's not the ONLY one, because that would be boring, there are so many more ways to express love and it naturally doesn't suit every kind of character.

(I just remembered when we were at the lunch table and my dad spotted a magpie on the stable roof.

Mom: " ... why are my curtains pulled back again?"

Dad: "So that I can watch magpies.")

Here are some more non-romantic examples from my work/with my characters:

AA(The last one was a response to a tiktok that was basically "Asking your nice friends for fashion advice vs asking your mean/honest friends for advice")

3. I DO love the "i love you, i hate you, but i cannot escape from you". Maybe also for personal reasons, we're not getting that private on here. It's one of the inherent tragic aspects of Hetalia that has fascinated me for a long time: They're human and they feel like humans, but they lack part of their free will. They somehow have to survive entire lifetimes, loving and hating and remembeand worse, they have to bear decisions they themselves don't necessarily make. The relationships they form with the only other people like them, whether it'd be bonds of platonic, familiar or romantic love, the only solace and stability might have, may be snatched away from them. It can turn to hate or grow cold or another nation can disappear afterall and there is nothing they as individual people could have done about it. It's a double-edged sword - You tie yourself to someone who could be your raft as well as sink you to the bottom of the ocean.

I inevitably ended up keeping this kind of relationship in my "Like Father Like Son" Universe. Now, quick disclaimer - I am not saying they are solely the victim of their circumstances. They're all criminals in my AU and I have zero patience for making excuses for the Organized Crime. I worry greatly about the problematic aspects of my work and am well aware of them. The last thing I ever want to do is actively romanticize the Mafia. I want to add for the following part, too, that I draw as much on the real world as possible, but the structures of the organized crime in LFLS are a little more reminiscent of Monarchy or Aristocrazy.

With that out of the way however, the worldbuilding in LFLS mirrors their existence in Hetalia. Escaping their position would come with great dangers, even though their existence as is will never allow them true happiness. They're different from the people around them and there is a special connection between the Hetalia characters as bosses here - All of them inherited this position. They all basically suffer under the same yoke, they all are faced with the same difficulties. And, like in Hetalia, some of their decisions are out of their control. Business overrides their private life. They have to look out for their own people and families, for their own survival, so they may hurt the ones they love. And yet, and yet, they cling to one another. Try to make it as functional as possible. Take the pain for the relief. It's not pretty, but it's fascinating as an onlooker and fictional tragedies are also a great outlet for one's own emotions.

4. That also kind of ties in with "completed devoted to the one they love (and would suffer for them) is a dynamic that interests you". Hells yeah it does, because two people losing themselves is beautiful. Yes, it can be toxic, yes one should take care of oneself and have boundaries. But unconditional love is something I believe we all yearn for and I hope I one day get to devote myself to someone else again, as much as is healthy.

Again, it's also not just perfect for lovers, but for siblings and guardian figures. Paddy would lay his life down for Harry, Charlie & Soph. ("There's no pain that I won't go through/Even if I have to die for you" - Starset; "I love my children more than anything in this life! I will chose their happiness over mine, every time!" - Slightly changed version of Congratulations from the Hamilton Mixtape).

Gilbert who's so eager to be here for Ludwig and to protect him; to take anything off his brothers shoulder that he can.

And on the romantic side, is there anything better than two people simping head over heels for each other??? Or when a character wants to kiss/fuck another one so bad that it makes him look stupid??? I also love more quiet, more serene relationships, but to appreciate their calm, you have to make a storm to compare them to. All storm or all calm only gets you bored and exhausted.

5. Hell yeah do I think the Italian language is hot af, who'd disagree with me? It also unlocks emotions that were previously unavailable when I listen to Italian music. (German does the same. There is just something to each language that it can express certain feelings in a way like no other). YOU tell me that you listen to Shimmy Shimmy by Takagi & Ketra and aren't hypnotized by Giusy's voice. No other soundtrack for my Sicilians, Greeks and Turks fooling around on a beach and being highly erotic with each other.

6. Hm, this may be tying in with 2 again. I think I'm more of a Harry, personally, to be honest! (Nerdy, got aggression problems, cheeky, hothead, can't really cook). I think SicIre is my comfort ship because it's the type of love my parents had. It's what I am most accustomed to and there's also just a beauty in not caring what the rest of the world has to say and doing your own thing. And Harry isn't the prettiest bloke on the block and will probably never think of himself as beautiful, but that is fine because Michele looks at him like a sky full of stars. And the entire world can tell him Michele's a bastard, Harry won't listen to them. From a hetalia standpoint, these two are islands who had to suffer a lot from foreign occupation and being regarded as backwards & weird. Sicily tries to keep the autonomy it has and makes sure that others know they aren't like the mainland and Ireland fought hard for its independence from the British empire. From a LFLS standpoint, Harry embraces Michele with all of his past baggage and jagged pieces. Harry is the first person Michele never fell out of love with, the only one, and he's here to reassure Harry that he is worth caring for every step of the way.

#beareplies #amber #wow this was LONG lol #about me

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afangirlsplaylist · 7 years

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Rhink and the Harry Potter AU

- Quidditch -

In the wake of Harry Potter, Hufflepuff house hadn’t hoped for a piece of glory in years. So when Rhett joined the Quidditch team in his third year, it was amidst jeers that he was yet another soft pick. In the lead up to the first game of the season whispers followed that he was simply too young, too large, and had all the wrong build for a seeker. He towered over his own team captain and had the muscle to match. So surely someone of his size, they murmured, wasn’t right?

But after a spectacular save where he’d caught the snitch by the tips of two fingers, they were forced to conclude that he was nothing less than the greatest seeker since Diggory. For days, much to Link’s annoyance, Rhett had replayed his win - out loud and in detail.

“Yes I know, it was very good Rhett.” Link sighed, losing patience. “I was there.”

To Rhett’s delight, his first save was followed by several, equally impressive captures - with the result that a great deal of excitement was now buzzing around the upcoming match.

Unwilling to face the excitement of the school once Saturday arrived, Rhett waited before going to breakfast, dressed in his robes with his Firebolt over his shoulder. The broom had been a gift from his dad upon joining the team, and although it had long been outmatched by the newer, faster, Starstriker model, it was his pride and joy.

Adjusting the broom more securely on his shoulder, Rhett grinned when he found Link waiting for him at the entrance to the Great Hall. The brunette’s face was painted half yellow and half red in preparation for the game, conflicted in his support. The colours clashed violently with the emerald of his scarf and robes, but it didn’t seem to bother him as he held out a slice of beans on toast.

“You want to head over a little early?”

Rhett sighed, gratefully taking the toast. “You have no idea.”

Ignoring the turn into the Great Hall they made their way through the entrance hall, the last of the toast devoured before they'd reached the foot of the stairs.

It was only then that Rhett remembered Link was missing breakfast too. “Have you even eaten?”

“I ate before I saw you. Had to get up early to finish that paper for Barnes.”

Professor. Barnes taught Defence Against The Dark Arts and hadn’t been sighted at a Quidditch match in years. He’d seemed to have lost taste for the sport after a rogue bludger had breached the stands and hit him squarely on the side of the head - resulting in a small, permanent indent he liked to boast was from a troll’s club.

On a memorable day, Link had recounted raising his hand to ask for advice on how best to defend against an oncoming bludger. To the shock of no-one, Barnes was not amused. Link had arrived at dinner a half hour late, smelling of magical mess remover but looking very proud of himself at the Slytherin table.

Throwing open the doors to the grounds they enjoyed the rare quiet, taking advantage of the silence while the grounds were empty. Thankfully the sky was a clear blue with only a slight breeze tempting the air, and the ground broke away easily at Rhett’s heel. The conditions were so ideal that his Firebolt was actually vibrating a little in his hand, a feeling that only grew stronger as they got closer to the pitch. If brooms had feelings he’d almost think it was as eager to play as he was.

Just a little longer he thought, his thumb caressing the wood like he was comforting an irritable animal. Just a little longer.

Eventually, the sounds of the rest of the school grew steadily louder behind them as the Quidditch pitch came into view, as imposing and inviting as ever.

“I’ll see you after. Good luck!” Link called, running off to claim seat.

Not wanting to get caught in the crowd Rhett headed for the changing rooms, ducking through the entrance to find the rest of the team already waiting.

Their Chasers - Belle, Lucas and Nicki, were all lounging on seats in the corner, looking thoroughly bored with the pre-match talk. Belle and Lucas, Rhett knew, were as close as any brother and sister would be and came from a long line of Quidditch players. They were also extremely skilled in their own right and flew almost telepathically, passing the Quaffle like they could sense where the other was. When Nicki flew she somehow managed to blend into their dynamic seamlessly, and Rhett would forgive someone for thinking they were three siblings rather than two.

Their beaters, Mike and Alex, were leaning on their bats. Though smaller than the average beater Mike made up for it with precision, finding his mark almost every time. Alex, meanwhile, specialised in force, and had been known to hit a bludger halfway across the pitch in one swing.

Shaking himself out of a fond memory in which Alex had shot a perfectly aimed bludger at Gryffindor's former Chaser, Rhett turned his attention to their captain.

Ben was a no-nonsense person but also fair, with a friendly smile and a respectable Keeper’s record. It was obvious to anyone, even as the team fought to stay interested in his words, that he cared deeply about the game.

Today, Ben reminded them, they’d be playing Gryffindor - and he made no joke of it.

“I better not see you going easy on Levine, Rhett.” He warned. “I hear she clocked in two hours on the pitch yesterday."

Rhett rolled his eyes, having heard this same warning a million times. “When have I ever?”

It was true. On the ground, Stevie was the closest thing he had to a sister at Hogwarts, but when they played they were merciless. She was light, determined and built for speed with her slim figure - tying her long blonde hair in a bun to keep it out of her eyes. They had only played Gryffindor once since he’d joined the team, but it had been their closest match all season, with Stevie so close on his tail that her fingers could have scratched his face. Gryffindor’s recent 200 - 20 win against Ravenclaw only made him take her all the more seriously.

“Alright.” Ben resigned, “let’s go.”

As one they filed out into the stands, and were met with a wall of cheers. Scanning the crowd, Link was instantly noticeable as the only hint of yellow on the Slytherin end of the stands, the rest of his house choosing not to wear colours at all. Chase, holding a large sign that alternated between GO HUFFLEPUFF and GO GRYFFINDOR, sat on Link’s left. At the sight of Rhett and Stevie, they hollered from the stands, each shaking one end of the sign and chanting their names. His heart warming, Rhett waved, as he came to a stop near the centre of the pitch.

Meeting Stevie’s eye they nodded politely as the Captains shook hands, and Rhett thought he might’ve seen her wink as she mounted her broom. Following suit, he mounted his own and tore away from the pitch at the blow of the whistle.

Finally.

In the confines of the castle, Rhett thrived in the quiet. But on the pitch, with the roar of the crowd and the wind rushing in his ears - he felt awake.

There was nothing quite like the tread of loose dirt as he kicked off from the ground, or the ringing commentary announcing their names. Unable to contain himself he did a few loops of the pitch, grinning as he recognised the voice of Greg, a fellow Hufflepuff he’d befriended in first year - commentating.

"Look at him go! That's Mclaughlin for Hufflepuff on a firebolt. Honestly, I keep telling him I'm surprised he fits on his broom at all. At 6'7" -”

"Gregory!"

Rhett turned his head to see Professor McGonagall, aged but formidable as ever, staring Greg down sternly.

“Sorry, Professor,” Greg said quickly, catching himself. ”Hufflepuff in possession!"

His attention back on the game, Rhett ignored the action to scan the field for the snitch. On the Gryffindor end of the pitch, Stevie appeared to be doing the same, drifting from one end to the other. He could tell by her face that she had no more of an idea where the snitch was than he did, making no move to dart in any direction.

“Gryffindor swipes the quaffle from under the hands of the Hufflepuff chasers. Come on now Belle… Gryffindor in possession.”

Rhett was only vaguely aware as Lucas stole the quaffle mid pass and shot for the goal posts on the other end of the pitch - bringing the score to 10 - 0. Good Rhett thought to himself. The higher the lead they held the stronger their chances of winning the house cup. His only concern was that Stevie, now rising several feet to survey from above - didn’t catch the snitch before they had that.

“Bennet for Gryffindor with the quaffle - passes to Mcallister. Mcallister heads for goal. This will be the first test of the match for the Hufflepuff keeper. Mcallister shoots -”

Greg groaned audibly along with the Hufflepuff end of the pitch. “Mcallister scores. Gryffindor ties 10-10.”

Rhett saw Stevie pause near the goal to high five her team mate, before speeding off again. Not wanting to give her time Rhett kept scanning the air too, glancing every so often to be sure she hadn’t seen anything.

Several minutes on, the scarlet end of the stands had more to cheer about as Gryffindor earned two points a piece, bringing the score to 10 - 30. Beginning to feel a small twinge of anxiety now, Rhett swung his broom around and looked up, cursing under his breath when he mistook a spot of sunlight on Mike’s robes for the snitch.

Thankfully Lucas, Belle and Nicki quickly landed a goal each, pulling them ahead a little again. Vaguely he heard Greg announcing the score somewhere above him, “40 - 30 to Hufflepuff.”

Meeting Lucas’ gaze briefly, Rhett offered a thumbs up - which he returned before passing the Quaffle on.

“Hufflepuff still with the quaffle.” Rhett heard Greg call. “Recent find Nicki Jones swerves the Gryffindor Chasers and heads for goal and - ouch! Excellent shot by Gryffindor beater Matichuk. I have said she does have excellent muscles...”

There was a pause in which Rhett glanced to be sure she was okay, breathing a sigh of relief when saw Nicki looking dazed but otherwise fine.

“Gryffindor with the Quaffle,” Greg announced, pulling his attention back to the rest of the game. Cursing under his breath, Rhett searched for any sign of Stevie or the snitch, but both were momentarily lost to his sight.

“Bassett heads for the goal.” Greg continued, “She dodges a bludger, excellent manoeuvre there, and - Rhett stop her!”

At his warning Rhett’s gaze whipped around in mid air in time to watch Stevie, now a streaming blur of scarlet, speeding rapidly towards a speck of gold.

His heart thumping wildly, Rhett urged his broom forward desperately, tearing through the air in pursuit and almost unseating the Gryffindor beaters.

Why had he taken his eyes off of her? What made him think, while he was fretting over everything else - that he could abandon his search for the snitch even for a moment?

The crowd held their collective breath and a score for Gryffindor went almost entirely unnoticed as Rhett drew neck and neck with Stevie. She, meanwhile, acted as if he wasn’t there - stretching her arm out as far as she could. She was faster and closer by a mere inch, but Rhett’s arm was longer, leaving the match far too close for either of their liking.

Panicking, Rhett made a wild decision and looped under her, coming at the snitch from below. Swiping madly as he shot upwards, he came to a stop as the crowd went suddenly silent.

He knew even before he felt the small wings beating against his hands that he had done it, as the crowd realized what happened and erupted in noise. It all happened so fast that he was descending before he could even remember guiding his broom down, surrounded the second his feet touched the ground.

Link ran down from the stands, squeezing Stevie’s shoulder affectionately before gathering Rhett in a tight hug.

“That was awesome!” He beamed.

Soon the rest of the team landed and gathered around Rhett, each patting him on the back until Rhett wasn't sure whose body was whose. Finally, they let him go and turned their attention back to the Gryffindor’s - each shaking Stevie’s hand respectfully.

When the last of them had let go, the pitched started clearing to take the festivities into the castle - where no doubt mounds of food and flagons of butter beer were waiting.

“I’ll beat you one of these days Mclaughlin,” Stevie said playfully, nudging him in the side as she shouldered her broom.

“In your dreams Levine.” He smiled.

Stevie only smirked, holding out a fist for him to bump before leaving the stands, arm in arm with her team’s beater Jen. It was of some comfort to Rhett that she didn’t seem to be crestfallen, as he saw the pair talking animatedly until they were out of sight.

“Ready to go?” Link asked. “You’ve probably got a party waiting for you, man.”

He grinned, thinking hard as he followed Link out of the pitch. “Yeah… but I’ve got something else in mind too.”

No one could say how long the celebrations went on in the Hufflepuff common room that night, and no one questioned why the star of the evening was missing for so many hours. All anyone knew was Rhett had disappeared a mere two hours into the party. No one saw him slip quietly into an empty classroom with his hands full of butterbeer and cake, at the heels of a boy in Slytherin robes.

They talked at length about the match, clinking and sinking copious amounts of butterbeer and laughing as Rhett held out a piece of cake for Link to bite into. The smaller boy emerged with a white nose of cream, before promptly swiping some more cream off the top and rubbing it over Rhett’s face. It wasn’t long before their own houses and the risk of being caught were forgotten, the glow of victory still burning strong.

Meanwhile, Stevie and Jen, Rhett heard the next morning, could be seen downing fire whiskey and talking tactics in the Gryffindor common room well into the early hours of the morning.

It was good to be at Hogwarts.

#rhink #rhink fanfiction #Harry Potter AU #my stuff #Rhink and the Harry Potter AU #sims attempts writing

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