#what a miserable fucking life you must lead to spend so much time hating on someone who doesn’t even know you exist

[dan3avocado]

he showed that he doesn't think women drivers are good enough to compete against men in f1 "good is subjective". if given the chance, any woman driver could easily outrace his ass

Again, anon, where exactly did he say anything about women drivers not being good enough? Because there is video evidence of him saying the opposite if only you could look past your bias.

Secondly, ‘any’ woman driver could easily outrace an f1 driver with more than a decade of experience? lol ok. You’re clearly not a fan of f1 or motorsports in general.

Also since you are so vocal about all of this, why not come off of anon? why hide if you’re right?

[4xiaojun]

DEAR DIARY, I HATE JUNGWON !

SUMMARY | you hate jungwon- like a lot. everyone at your school knows it at this point, so why is it the minute you see him shed a tear, you feel bad? with this new found guilt, you're able to see new sides of jungwon that your anger blinded you from before. it doesn't take you long to realise that you don't hate these new sides of him as much as you'd like to.

PAIRING | jungwon x fem!reader

WC | 18.2k

WARNINGS | profanity, violence, vandalism, mentions of alcohol & sex

FEATURING | second lead sunghoon, heeseung is mentioned & ITZY

TAGLIST | unofficial taglist i just need the hype pls @tyunni @geombyu @yjwfav @junityy @jaeyunverse @ijhyo @equalheart @odxrilove @iyeonjuni @fairybinie

A/N | before u come at me for plagairising I AM HYUKAAS OKAY THIS IS MY FIC AHAHA IT'S A REPOST initially i was going to rewrite this but u all loved the og version so i'm going to give u the og version i literally have not changed a word. u guys gave this a lot of love on my old acc so i hope u enjoy :)

-

you: wtf

jung_1: ?

you: chemistry club??? really?

jung_1: i wanted the piano club

you: so what? me going isn't going to stop u

jung_1: u think i wanna see your face every day after school? 

class is enough smh

you: so u signed me up for chem?

jung_1: it was the only one left lol

you: stfu

jung_1: k lol

From what you can remember, Jungwon hasn't always been like this. You've tried to sit down and pinpoint a date back to when this all started, but the best you could come up with was when he blew out your candle at your eleventh birthday party. That was the first and last time you had ever invited him over to your house.

The two of you are neighbours, and yet you've never had a single decent conversation with the guy in your entire life. Ever since the two of you were little, Jungwon always found a way to laugh at you, talk shit about you or do something to purposely annoy you. Your friends always warned you not to do anything back, that he was only doing it to draw out a reaction, but it was so hard not to whenever you saw his stupid face. The fact that he's so popular in school doesn't help either. Whenever you complain about him to anyone, you're always met with the same thing: "But he's so nice to me." "He's not like that with me." "You must have done something to upset him, Jungwon is the sweetest."

Yeah, sweetest pain in your ass. There is literally nothing about him that you like. It's clear to everyone that you hate Jungwon. 

-

Sitting on your chair, you rest your chin on your palm as you stare at the whiteboard. You're fuming, to say the very least. Written on the board are everyone's names under the club they'd be joining as soon as the bell rings. Yours is supposed to be under piano club but instead it's under chemistry with only one other person who signed up. You barely even know who he is.

"Who's Sunghoon?" Your friend, Yuna, whispers.

You recognise the name (being in the same school for 3 years, it would be kind of rude not to) but you don’t really know who he is. “I think it’s the guy that ice skates.”

"He's so cute," Yuna gawks, "you're lucky you're gonna be alone with him for the rest of the year." 

You scrunch your face at your friend, before letting out a long sigh. "Yeah, doing chemistry." Fuck Jungwon, signing you up for a club that you're already failing in class, just so he can go to piano. You purposefully ran to the piano club stand so that you could sign it before him, but that asshole must have rubbed out your name and written his instead. As much as you despise him, you have to admit that was a clever thing to do. 

Yuna slaps you lightly, "Maybe you can get him to tutor you for free. I heard he gets people to pay him ₩75,000 per hour."

"No, I'm pretty sure the point of chemistry club is to have fun. He's probably gonna be a nerd the entire time," you grumble into your palm, already miserable about the hours and hours you're going to have to spend with a science nerd. There must have been dozens of clubs with spaces still available; Jungwon could have picked another music club, a sports club, literature, art, history, debate, politics, or even maths for God's sake. But the boy chose chemistry. He knows that you're failing all three of your sciences, so not only did he remove you from your favourite club, he put you into your worst enemy—second to Jungwon. God, did you want to pull out his stupid black hair right then.

“You’re not going to let him win this one, are you?” Yuna deadpans, probably bored from your endless war with Jungwon. You don’t blame her, if the tables were turned, you’d probably say the same things she does. “Just leave it.” “If you ignore him he’ll stop.” “Be the bigger person.” Blah blah blah. It would be humiliating to let Jungwon get away with anything. You can’t even imagine it, coming into school everyday and hearing him laugh at you as if he has the upper hand. You would never ever let that happen, not even over your dead body.

Brushing your hair out of your face, you chuckle breathlessly. “As if.” There is absolutely no way in hell that you would let Jungwon get away with ruining your after school club for the rest of the year. You had to come up with something big, something that would make him suffer just as much—no, more—for the whole year, too.

-

Sadly, you didn't have enough time to come up with a plan.

"Okay, so why is a fluoride ion bigger than a sodium ion?" 

You groan loudly, whacking your head against the table for what feels like the fiftieth time. You've been in this room for ten minutes with Sunghoon, and he's already managed to make it boring as hell. Optimistic, you came into this room hoping that Sunghoon would come up with some cool science-y project for the two of you to do. Instead, his idea of fun is extra homework. The guy seriously brought question packs for you two to do for a whole hour. 

What a joke.

"Sunghoon, why are you asking me like I know?"

He gives you a judgemental look, and at this point you're too bored to care about how stupid he thinks you are. You should be practising the piano and making keyboard remixes on the iMacs, not memorising the periodic table with a nerd. 

"Come on," he breaks into a nervous giggle, "this is like, the third question. We haven't even gotten to the hard part yet."

No. There's no way he's taking this club seriously. Dramatically, you push back your chair and glare at him. "You know what, I'm going to go get something to drink. You answer some questions while I'm gone, yeah?" You fake smile at him, unable to look at his nerdy face any longer. God, you hate science kids.

Skipping out of the classroom, you make your way to the vending machine. You need a warm drink to calm your stress down but the cafeteria is too far away so a bottle of apple juice should do. Anything that gives you an excuse to stay away from Sunghoon so that you can focus on your plan to get your revenge on–

"Oh, Y/N! What a coincidence!"

There it is, that dreaded, child-like voice you've grown to hate. Turning around, you're met with his half closed eyes and grin so upturned you can see his baby teeth. If you weren't in the middle of paying for your drink you would have slapped that smirk right off his face. Okay, maybe not, but it's really pissing you off. 

"Yeah right, you probably came here to laugh at me." You grumble, fumbling with the vending machine that's choosing not to be on your side today. 

He smiles again, shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging like the oh so innocent boy he is. "I just wanted to check up on how you're doing in your new club. I understand, Y/N," he puts a hand on his chest, pouting, "I really do. Chemistry isn't for everyone."

You whip your head at him immediately, causing him to snort into his hand and break into a laughter that echoes in the empty hallway. "Wow, Jungwon, you're so funny. Don't think for a second that I'm going to let you get away with this."

He comes closer and leans his elbow on the machine so that his head is right above yours, his eyes locking right onto you. Every time he gets close, you're reminded of when Yuna tells you to take a good look at him to see what all the girls in your school sees. But all you can see is an arrogant, stuck up piece of shit—his only entertainment being getting on your nerves. You can see why someone would find him attractive. But his personality is so strong that it practically covers all of his charm to you.

"Admit it," he laughs, "you can't beat me this time. This is one of the best things I've done, I'm kinda' proud of this one. I mean, nothing beats the–"

"Shut up, I am going to beat you. As soon as school's over, I'm coming up with something." You scowl, punching the vending machine so that it will let your bottle fall.

Jungwon coos at you, finding this whole situation amusing. "Aw, is it that hard that it's taking up all your brain space?" He asks in a baby voice. "You can't think of a plan better than mine because you're so busy trying to figure out what O stands for?"

Too focused on the stupid machine, you ignore the menacing voice coming from your left. You've smacked it, shaken it, kicked it, you're not really sure what else there is to do.

Jungwon pushes you out of the way and resets your order, making your jaw drop as you see your bottle that was so close to falling go back to its spot. You shove him back, annoyed that he thinks he can do whatever he wants just because he's stronger than you. "Hey, that was–"

Jungwon sighs dramatically, before bringing out his wallet from his pocket and pulling out a credit card.

"Show off." You mumble, crossing your arms as you watch him dial his order.

"The machine clearly doesn't like you." He smirks, as his coke falls immediately.

You try to hold back how shocked you are, and the urge to ask him to order for you. But with the way Jungwon snickers at you, you can tell he already knows. It isn't like he's going to order for you anyway.

And you're right, because here he is, popping open his can and sipping it right in front of you. He's acting like he's in a commercial for the drink, all just to wind you up. But you can't let him win, you'll never let him win. So you stay, and watch him drink until the last drop and walk away slowly. 

Absolute pain in your ass.

Dear diary,

I hate Jungwon.

You're starting to get sick of starting all your diary entries with the same thing. Jungwon isn't even here; you're in your room, alone. There's nothing to remind you of him. Yet every night, you sit at your desk and scribble in your diary. And every night, you start off each entry reminding you that you hate him.

You flip through your diary entries of the past few weeks, and they're all starting to blur together. Each entry is almost as similar as the last. It's all the same thing—you hate Jungwon. You see him in the morning of school, your mood changes. You're reminded of him in your chemistry club, you get angry. You walk behind him on the way home from school, the two of you are arguing. 

When the hell is this going to end? 

To be honest, thinking about this is just making you hate him even more. The worst thing about this is that you can't even walk it off like you usually do at school. You're used to pacing the school corridors or the track field whenever he makes you really mad. But outside of school, you always meet him. It's either him, or his annoying and inappropriate older friends, or his evil dog. You'd rather rot in your room than risk having to waste your energy fighting with him, or running away from his dog, or pulling your skirt down from his friends. 

You're trapped. He gets to enjoy his life while you're trapped at home, writing “I hate Jungwon” in your diary every single day. The power this guy holds over you is huge, and you just can't wait to move out to college to finally get rid of him.

Walking down the hallway, you bump into your chemistry partner of the past two weeks. To be honest, you don’t think you’ve ever seen this boy outside of the chemistry club, so seeing him now, walking tall, hands in his pockets and a lot of other students around him was quite a shock. You really thought he was nothing more than a nerd. 

As soon as Sunghoon lays his eyes on you, he smiles widely and you can’t help the way your heart flutters a little at that. Did Jungwon really make you so angry about chemistry that you never noticed how good looking Sunghoon is? Or are you just that bad at it that you had no time to focus on Sunghoon’s looks? As he walks away from his friends and towards you, you gulp, brushing down your hair and skirt with your palms that are starting to sweat. You see this guy every single evening, what difference is it now? 

“Hi Y/N,” he smiles, one hand sitting attractively in his pocket and another rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hi,” you reply, but your voice comes out as barely a whisper. You’re a little frightened at how shy you are in front of Sunghoon right now, when you were literally cursing him off in your head yesterday because he laughed at you for not knowing an equation. 

He chuckles, and you swear your heart flips at the way his eyes crease when he does. “You know, I was starting to think that you didn’t even go to this school. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around.”

Well, at least the feeling is mutual. “Yeah, me neither. I didn’t realise you’re kinda popular.” You say as you eye his large group of friends that are all waiting for him. “It must be the ice skating, right?” You joke, mentally slapping yourself for being rude.

Sunghoon laughs anyway, and he leans forward when does, making your heart nearly jump out of your chest. “Yeah, either that or my brain.”

“Nerd.” You playfully roll your eyes, finally being able to mix together the Sunghoon that gets all excited when he’s got a hard question right, and the Sunghoon that’s standing in front of you right now.

A voice interrupts the two of you. He always does. Whenever you manage to find a little bit of peace at school, Yang Jungwon always finds a way to ruin it. You’re so close to getting him charged for stalking at this point. Both you and Sunghoon turn around to see who was clearing their throat, and you almost growl when you do.

“What do you want?” You snap, not giving him the time of day.

Jungwon tilts his head with an offended look on his face and a hand on his heart like he always does. “That’s rude, Y/N, I was just–”

“She said what do you want.” Sunghoon deadpans beside you out of nowhere.

Jungwon furrows his brows, as do you. Nobody has ever come between the two of you bickering before, this was new to the both of you. You decided to stay quiet and see what Jungwon would say, a little nervous at how this might all play out. 

“What?” Jungwon chuckles, jutting out his chin to make himself appear taller. The two are practically the same height, but something about Sunghoon’s figure makes him seem so much taller than Jungwon. Are you about to witness an alpha brawl out?

Sunghoon doesn’t move, you don’t even think he’s breathing right now. His eyes are trained on Jungwon’s with a glare so intense even you’re a little scared. “Is there something you need to say to Y/N?”

Jungwon’s brows remain furrowed as his eyes narrow and an annoyed look spreads across his face. How ironic, he’s starting to look like you. You don’t think you’ve seen Jungwon this physically frustrated since the time his bike broke when he was thirteen and he tried to kick it but ended up spraining his ankle. He always looks amused. No matter the situation, Jungwon always has a smile on his face. Seeing him like this—threatened—caught you a little off guard.

“I can say whatever the hell I want to her, pretty boy.” He muttered, his face inches away from Sunghoon’s.

Someone behind you whispers something about their sexual tension, almost making you snort at the scene. You have to purse your lips together to stop yourself from laughing, because now you can’t unsee it.

“Well, too bad we have somewhere to be, don’t we, Y/N?” Sunghoon turns to you, and all of a sudden you can feel everyone’s eyes focusing on you.

You giggle awkwardly, before making eye contact with Jungwon. He’s never glared at you like this before, and for the first time you can think of, you feel small in front of him. “Uh, yeah, we should, uh, get going.”

Sunghoon grins at Jungwon as soon as you speak, and barges past his shoulder aggressively before pulling you by your wrist to go and follow him. For some reason, though, you can’t help but turn around to see Jungwon standing there, already looking right at you. 

-

“Sooo,” you sit on a desk as Sunghoon closes the door to the empty classroom the two of you are hiding in behind him, “you gonna’ explain what just happened?”

Sunghoon leans on the desk right in front of you and looks at you blankly, like what just happened didn’t happen at all. “What? You didn’t like it?”

“Like what? Jungwon’s probably going to be so mad because of this.” It’s true, the bike incident when he was thirteen led to him being extra rude for the whole time he was injured. You figure this time it’s his pride that’s hurt, so he’s going to lash out at you until he makes himself feel better. You haven’t even gotten back at him yet for the chemistry club situation, so you really don’t want to be dealing with a moody Jungwon; you’re scared of how creative he’s going to be.

Out of nowhere, Sunghoon lets out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back in vexation as he does. ���Come on, Y/N, aren’t you bored of it?”

Confused, you answer. “Of what?”

“This whole cat and mouse deal you have going on with Jungwon? I remember being in the same class as you in our freshman year of high school, and everyone in the class was sick and tired of you two bickering everyday. I thought it’d blow over eventually. How are you still letting this go on?” 

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. Of course you’re tired of it. Of course you want it to end. Of course you want nothing to do with Jungwon and you want a peaceful last year of school to focus on your exams and college. Of course you want to be able to hang out with your friends without thinking about Jungwon. Of course you want to write in your diary without mentioning him. Of course you’re sick of this all. But how the hell are you supposed to end it? You hate his guts and he hates yours. His pride may be thick but yours is definitely thicker.

This situation reminds you of the time you did try to be nice to Jungwon once, with the hopes all of this mess would end.

Your mum just got off the phone and suddenly bursted her way into the kitchen. A little startled at her fast movements, you followed her and sat on the counter. “Mum? What’s wrong?” Panicking, she gathered different ingredients and kitchenware to cook something, and you couldn’t be any more confused. “Mum! What’s going on?”

“The Yang family,” she started, already mixing away two eggs, “their son is sick. This is the only time she has ever asked me to do anything, Y/N. That family has looked down on us ever since we moved here, and not once has Mrs Yang ever asked for help. But she’s away, and her boy is at home sick without anyone to feed him. If I don’t make a good impression on that snobby little boy, they’ll think we’re incapable and cruel human beings. I have–”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, not really thinking much of it. As far as you could care, Jungwon could starve. “As long as I’m not the one delivering it,” you mumbled, leaving the kitchen.

Of course you were the one delivering it.

Releasing a long sigh from the pit of your chest, you tried to put aside your pride and hatred to drop off the tray of food for Jungwon. You tried to remind yourself to have some humanity, that he was sick and alone and needed some food. The only thing that managed to help you push through was imagining him begging on his knees for food from you and you holding the tray away from his sick hands’ reach. A little evil, but it helped you press his doorbell.

When Jungwon opened the door, you could feel your heart sink to the ground. All those mischievous thoughts in your mind about teasing him flew out of your mind as soon as you got a good look at his face. He was extremely pale, and his eyes were red and glassy. He looked frail, like a single touch could knock him over. You gasped when you saw him, and immediately took a step inside to go and help him anyway you could.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” You asked, placing the back of your palm on his head that was drenched in his sweat. “Oh, my God, you’re boiling. Jungwon, take your coat off.” Placing the tray on the ground, you tried to help him take off his coat but he wouldn’t budge. Looking back at him, he had a disgusted look on his face.

“What the hell are you doing? My mum said you came here to give me food, not baby me.” He shrugged his coat back on to stop it from sliding off his shoulder and snatched the tray up from the ground.

“What? I’m trying to help-”

“Who asked you to? Piss off, Y/N.”

Standing outside of his house, you were shocked. You were just trying to help him. You put aside the feelings you two had towards each other because he was sick. Even sick Jungwon is an asshole, you thought. That was when you made a mental note to never be nice to this guy ever again. He didn't deserve it.

“Y/N?” Sunghoon waves his hand in front of yours, forcing you out of your daydream. 

You shake your head, “Oh, sorry. What were you saying?”

Sunghoon stares at you for quite a while without saying anything, letting you scan his features freely. His dark hair extends at the back of his neck, kind of like a mullet, and it suits him a lot. His eyebrows are sharp, and you inwardly frown at how they look better taken care of than yours. His eyes aren’t anything special, but they’re looking at you intently right now; they look heavy, like he has a lot to say. Sunghoon’s lips, however, God you could stare at them forever. They’re so pink and plumpy, he’s definitely a good kisser.

“Are you staring at my lips right now?” Your eyes snap back to Sunghoon’s eyes in horror that he caught you. He laughs at your reaction, so you follow, covering your mouth with a hand. “So what’s the deal with you and Jungwon?” He asks after the two of you have calmed down. 

You shrug, wanting to avoid his question since you already ask yourself that every single day. “Nothing, really.”

“So, you just argue for fun? Masochism, I like it.” He chuckles, and you dart your eyes at him. “No, no I’m just saying, if you can’t even tell me why you two argue, what’s the point of doing it?” 

It’s a genuine question. It’s a question Yuna has asked you, your teachers have asked you, the other girls in your friend group have asked you, your parents have asked you, but most importantly one that you’ve asked yourself countless times. And you’re annoyed because the answer is there is no answer. You don’t ever remember doing anything to offend Jungwon when he first moved into your neighbourhood or your school. You just remember him being a little shit, thinking he could walk all over and bully you. But your dad brought you up differently, to stand up for yourself. That’s why Jungwon’s always on offence, and you always seem to be on the defence.

“I never start anything,” you look at Sunghoon, and you find it heartwarming how he’s listening so intently, “He’s always the one that approaches me, so I just bite back. If I never did, I would be crushed by now.” You explain, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“So Jungwon’s a bully?” Sunghoon asks, and your body suddenly feels tons heavier. You hate that word, it just doesn’t sound right. 

“No, not a bully.”

“Sounds like it.” Sunghoon shrugs. “He’s mean to you so you’re mean back. Except it’s been going on for years.”

You get up from the desk and sit on another, feeling a little uncomfortable with this situation. “Um, I guess? It doesn’t bother me that much. It’s just becoming repetitive at this point. Today’s the first day he didn’t say something stupid. It was relieving, you know.” You explain, a smile unconsciously growing on your lips. 

“Don’t worry,” Sunghoon comes over, his wide chest blocking your field of vision, “now that you’ve got me around, he won’t bother you as much.”

-

Dear diary, 

I had fun today.

It’s only half way through your diary entry that you notice you didn’t start it off with the infamous “I hate Jungwon.” Actually, reading the entry made you realise how little you even saw him today. The only time you spoke to him was when you were with Sunghoon. How long has it been since the two of you didn’t have a petty argument? You find yourself smiling down at your diary, a wave of relief washing over your body at the thought of Sunghoon being your first step to freedom. 

You also find yourself smiling when you started scribbling down how fun your chemistry club was today. You and Sunghoon barely even finished a question, the two of you talking and laughing the entire time. He even promised that if he was ever free, he’d give you occasional free tutoring for chemistry. Life would be so much easier if Jungwon was more like Sunghoon, wouldn’t it?

Somebody should have warned you that your happiness is short lived, because while you were giving Yuna a detailed update of everything to do with Sunghoon, Jungwon’s voice echoed behind you. You promise yourself that one day, you need to creep up behind him and his friends and cut them off because this was really starting to piss you off.

You and Yuna turn around, both you offering him the exact same defeated look. 

“That Sunghoon guy,” Jungwon starts, taking slow steps towards you. “Since when did you two get close?”

Yuna scoffs loudly, putting a hand on her hip. “Why? You jealous, Yang?” Yeah, as if he would be. He’s probably jealous of you, seeing that tension between them yesterday.

Jungwon laughs sarcastically before turning back to you so fast you had to flinch your head backwards. He was a little too close for your liking so you stepped back. “Yeah, you wish. No, I’m just asking because he’s an asshole, and I don’t want to have to talk to him every time I wanna annoy you.” 

You push his shoulder away from you and laugh in disbelief. “Well, why don’t you just stop trying to annoy me then, huh?” You could tell what you said threw Jungwon off guard a little by the way he twitched his brows. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him take a second to come up with something to say, usually it’s second nature to him. You smirked, thanking God for giving you the upper hand today. “Aww, are you insecure, Jungwon? Does Sunghoon make you insecure?” You ask in that irritating baby voice he always uses on you. “Are you jealous because you’ll never have hair as good as his? Or because you’ll never be as good looking as him? Are you sad that–”

“Y/N, I’m not the one that attracts the opposite sex through pity.” 

That shuts you up completely, and your confidence withers to bits. He’s got that same disgusted look on his face as that day you went to visit him. It’s not like he’s never said something as harsh as that before, so you’re not really sure why this is affecting you so much. As embarrassing as it is to admit, that really hurt.

“First, he has to witness how horrible you are at chemistry. Then he saw you speaking to me, and probably felt bad for you. And let’s not even mention your looks.” Jungwon continues, peeling off every layer you’ve been forced to wrap around yourself ever since you met him. Slowly, he’s stripping away your pride, your dignity, and even your self esteem. “You think I’m jealous of a guy that sleeps around so much he probably has STDs? I think our fighting has made you forget that I also get girls, Y/N. I just don’t flout them for attention like he does.”

“Let’s go,” Yuna whispers, tugging on your sleeve. Your eyes are on the ground, unable to meet Jungwon’s. You’ve never felt so insignificant and helpless in front of him before, your body is unable to catch up with all these new emotions. “Come on, Y/N.”

The two of you are walking down the hallway, making your way to the bathroom. Tears are pooling in your eyes, something Jungwon has never managed to make happen. You feel so stupid, so stupid for letting him break you after all these years. All these years you wasted arguing with him almost every single day of your life. For what? What did either of you get out of it? You’ve never even stopped for a second to consider the words that you two were saying to each other, how much you were hurting each other. Well, you doubt you’ve ever really hurt Jungwon. He’s probably jumping up and down right now, cheering at the thought of finally winning. You just hope this means that it’s all over. You’re exhausted.

“Y/N?” Sunghoon’s voice appears just as you’re about to follow Yuna into the bathroom. 

You feel your breath grow heavier at the sound of his voice, humiliation rippling throughout your body. Maybe that’s why this affected you so much. Maybe it’s because Jungwon was calling you an idiot for thinking Sunghoon liked you. Because apparently he’s just another popular boy. And because apparently, he's just been fooling you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Hurriedly, he walks up to you and places a hand atop your head, his doe eyes boring right into yours. You want to push him away so hard and tell him to go find another girl to play with, but all you can do is stare back at him. “Look, come here.” He pulls you away from the safe space of the female bathroom and right into the disabled ones. 

You don’t know why, but as soon as Sunghoon locks the door, your tears start falling against your will. On instinct, you turn away and bring a hand to stop yourself from sobbing audibly. If what Jungwon said is true, you cannot let Sunghoon see you crying. You’ve read enough romance books to know that bad boys love it when a girl is vulnerable. But Sunghoon doesn’t speak; you’re not even sure he moves. The room is silent, albeit your quick breaths and occasional sobs. At this point, you’re just letting your body move on its own. Your mum always tells you it’s best to cry it out, to let your emotions ride out their course. So you decide to stay there and continue to cry into your already soaked hands. 

Once you’re done wiping away your cheeks and rubbing your eyes, you make your way to the mirror to see what you look like. If Sunghoon wasn’t in the room you would have cried all over again just from seeing your reflection. “Ugh, I’m a mess.”

Sunghoon giggles, and lifts himself up from leaning against the door to come stand behind you. Gently, he brushes away strands of your hair from your face and fixes your collar for you. “I think,” he makes eye contact with you in the mirror, “you look just fine.” 

-

Dear diary,

Unfortunately, I still hate Jungwon.

“No, why are you starting it like that again?” Yuna huffs beside you, probably disappointed at your relapse. It’s been a week since Jungwon made you cry, and it’s been a calm week, too. You never told Sunghoon what happened, but he’s been staying by your side at school since. He likes to call himself your personal bullmastiff, and that he scares away Jungwon who’s only a sheep. Although you’re still terrified that what Jungwon said about Sunghoon being a manwhore is true, there’s still a part of you that hopes it isn’t. You’re hoping he isn’t just hanging around to get in your pants.

“Because I’m mad, Yuna. If we’re really ending this, I can’t be the only one that’s upset about it. I need to think of one final thing to get back at him. Something that will really hurt him.” You explain, really disappointed in how much you’ve been lacking this school year. You haven’t gotten him back once, and it’s frustrating you.

“Hm, what about his motorbike?” Yuna asks, an evil glint to her eyes.

“No.” You shake your head. “No way. I would love to, believe me–”

“So why not?”

“Because his parents would kill me!”

“Oh come on, that bike costs to them what a piece of gum costs to us, Y/N.”

“No, I heard him tell his friend. You know that pervert, Heeseung? Yeah, they were talking about it and Jungwon was saying that it’s from a limited series and that his parents had to fly out to Thailand to bid for it.” You whisper, for some reason you don’t really know. “Thailand, Yuna.”

“Okay, why don’t we wear masks? We can get Sunghoon to help us, too. You know, like them ski masks.” Yuna motions the mask with her hands, a persuasive look on her face. You’re tempted to, you really are. The thought of taking the only thing that Jungwon seems to have human feelings for away from him is very tempting.

“But wait, he wouldn’t know it’s me.”

“Uh, Y/N, that’s a good thing? If he knows it’s you, you’d be sued.” 

“Oh, yeah, true.”

“We can enjoy our victory from afar, okay?”

You suck in a deep breath. “Okay.”

-

This may be the worst idea you’ve ever thought of in your entire life.

Here you are, standing in between Sunghoon (who Yuna had to convince for hours to come along) and Yuna. The three of you are wearing your ski masks, but Sunghoon is too much of a cheapskate to buy a new one so he’s wearing his dad’s bright blue mask and making the three of you look stupid. 

“Okay, on the count of three–”

“No wait!” Sunghoon’s voice squeaks as he whisper-shouts.

You and Yuna whip your heads into his direction, stunned at his voice crack. “Sunghoon, you’re the only guy here!” You whisper-shout back. “You can’t be the scared one.”

“I have never broken the law before, if I get caught doing this my parents are going to kill me, Y/N.” He panics, yet neither of you can take him seriously with his idiotic mask on. 

“What are you talking about? I’m pretty sure you broke about five laws driving us here in your mum’s car.” You snap, before looking at Yuna. “But maybe he’s r–”

“No, guys it’s now or never.” Yuna whispers, before tugging on both yours and Sunghoon’s sleeves, running ahead. Your veins are booming so loud you’re worried someone will be able to hear it. Arriving at the tail of the motorcycle, you raise a trembling finger to touch it. You gasp when you do, already mentally hearing the sounds of sirens coming closer and closer.

Yuna pulls out a hairpin and shoves it into the keyhole of the motorcycle while you and Sunghoon crouch and cower behind her, failing to keep a proper look out. This feels so wrong, but it’s too late to go back now. Sunghoon’s stupid mask is probably plastered all over the CCTVs already. You’ll probably need a miracle to not get yourself landed in prison.

Yuna whimpers as she struggles to switch on the engine. You’re starting to panic even more now, the thought of this all going horribly wrong circling your mind repeatedly. “It’s not working!” She yells, and you and Sunghoon look at each other with wide eyes. 

“Go help her!” You motion at him, your heart drumming louder than it ever has before.

“What do you mean go help her, why don’t you go help her?!” Sunghoon doesn't budge and only tightens his hold on the tail of the motorcycle.

“No, I’m keeping look out!”

“No you’re not, you’re looking at me!”

“Will you two shut up and come help me?!” Yuna screams, and you shoot up to go over and help her. It’s useless, though. No matter how much the two of you twist and turn the hairpin, the engine doesn’t turn on. “Why isn’t it working? We practised this like a thousand times!”

“I don’t know! Maybe because it’s a limited edition?!” You scream back, the plan blowing up in your face. 

“Fuck!” Yuna slams the head of the bike in anger as you start to lose control of your breaths. “I think I’ve broken the keyhole.” 

You groan loudly, closing your eyes to think of a way to fix this. Trying so hard to calm yourself down, you attempt to come up with another plan. It’s either that or the three of you need to escape—now

But as always, Jungwon’s voice interrupts you. His timing is probably his only positive attribute.

“Hey!” He barks at the other end of the road, making you and Yuna look at each other like you’ve seen a ghost. He’s running as fast as he can, so much so you can see his forehead shining under the street lights. 

“Let’s ditch the bike!” 

“No! We can’t let this all be for nothing!” 

“Out of the way ladies!” Sunghoon’s voice appears out of nowhere, and you turn to see him standing over the bike with a large pole in his hands. Oh, my God. Instinctively, you and Yuna jump off the bike and run behind Sunghoon to watch him do his dirty work.

You poke out your head, trying to catch your breath and a glimpse of Jungwon. “He’s close, hurry up!”

“No!” Jungwon screams, reaching his arms out, dread written all over his little baby face. “Stop, please!”

Sunghoon ignores him and draws back the pole before slamming it against the metal of the motorcycle. He hits it again and again, parts flying all over the place each time. He yells at every impact, like he was beating up a person. 

Jungwon arrives, and you can't help but notice his breaths are shaky and the strands of hair sticking to his forehead. He pulls Sunghoon away from you and punches him right in the jaw, a roar ripping right from the bottom of his lungs. The light sensors of the neighbouring houses switch on, and some neighbours even come out to take a peek. With the rush of the scene flowing through your veins, and the fear that all of this is for nothing, you pick up the pole that fell out of Sunghoon’s hands and hit the bike yourself. Hearing Jungwon beg like that so helplessly for the first time in your life only fuels your anger even more. Each whack, each hit, your mind flashes back to the times Jungwon hurt you, the times Jungwon forced you to build another wall.

“What’s the point of going to the school dance? It’s not like anybody wants to go with you, anyway.” Whoops, there goes the headlight.

“Oh, my God, you might as well go home if you’re going to be dressed like that the entire trip. Stop embarrassing us.” Oh no, the brake is broken.

“You failed chemistry again? Look, guys, she got 10%! What a loser!” Aw man, now the gas tank is leaking.

Before you can damage the bike anymore, Yuna pulls you back into reality. She’s yelling something at you, but your eyes can’t help but focus on Jungwon struggling against Sunghoon’s hold. 

“Please! No, please stop! I’ll give you anything you want, just get away from my bike!” 

He’s crying. 

Your surroundings suddenly blur as Yuna pulls you towards the car you guys came in. She shoves you in while telling you something but you can’t shift your attention from Jungwon who’s now given up and is laying still on the floor. He isn’t even fighting Sunghoon anymore. He’s just still, the base of his palms rubbing his eyes as his tears roll off his cheeks and fall onto the floor.

You made Jungwon cry. You made Yang Jungwon cry.

-

You're ashamed. You can't even step outside your house without making sure your hood is well over your head, hiding your face for anyone to see. There's no way anyone in the neighbourhood could know that it was you, right? You were completely covered; it could have been any two girls and a guy who smashed Jungwon's precious bike and brought him to tears.

Literal freaking tears.

In all the years you two have fought, Jungwon only ever smiles. He grins, or laughs that really annoying laugh where he throws his head back and stamps his feet on the floor. He pretends to be upset by putting a hand on his heart and squeezing his eyes shut, letting out an exaggerated gasp. He pretends to be mad by putting his hands on his hips and tilting his head so far sideways his hair looks like it's about to fall off. Jungwon is expressive, he enjoys winding you up by acting out his emotions—real or fake—dramatically. You've always hated it, but now you're praying that you're going to meet him on your way to school and he'll pretend to whine about how much you hurt him last night.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, waiting at the end of the road for Jungwon to appear. You're not really sure why. What are you even going to say if you see him? You can't even apologise for what you've done, his parents would definitely put you behind bars. The wait is killing you, impatience stirring in your stomach at an outrageous speed. Gulping, you contemplate whether you should go knock on his door or not. Maybe he's oversleeping because he's tired from last night. Maybe if you knock, he'll wake up and nag at you for babying him like he did before.

Without really thinking, you head straight to his front door step with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. Breathing in, you press the doorbell. His house is huge, and the noise the doorbell makes almost frightens you out of your skin. The loud ring echoes in your mind loudly as you tap your foot on the ground and keep your eyes locked onto the door. You press it again. And again. And again.

And then you wait.

But Jungwon never comes out. Nobody does. Not him, his sister or his parents. You're even hoping some sort of maid will come and open the door. But nobody does. You're trying not to overthink the situation: maybe he's just being a teenage boy and angry that his bike is broken so he's decided to skip school today. 

The thought calms you down a little bit, so you turn around to leave. While turning back to the entrance, something shiny catches your eye around the corner of Jungwon's front yard. Curious, you scuttle towards it and poke your head around to see what it is. Your heart drops when you do. There it is. Jungwon's motorcycle that you smashed to pieces last night. Laying next to it, is an open box of tools, an unfinished cup of coffee, and Jungwon's jacket that he always wears under his blazer. The guilt at the pit of your stomach spreads around your body, squeezing your heart and scraping at your throat. Did he really stay up all night trying to fix it all by himself? 

Did you go too far?

-

"Come on, you're being weird." Sunghoon crosses his arms, not shifting his gaze away from you.

Usually, you appreciate his attentiveness because it makes you feel special and gets you all shy, but today it isn’t doing you any good. You chuckle breathlessly and pull the sheet of paper towards you. "So I just need to calculate the mass of this mole, right? Using this equation?"

Sunghoon sighs, "Y/N, you know you can tell me what's wrong, right?" 

You look up to meet his heavy gaze, his face already so close to yours. "No? Just because you chose to follow me around at school doesn't mean we're best friends, Sunghoon. It doesn't mean I can pour my heart out to you."

His expression doesn't falter, a blank look sitting on his face. "Then what are we?"

You pause, not really knowing how to answer that question. You're aware that he gives you butterflies, and that you find him attractive. But what about what Jungwon said about him sleeping around? Hasn't Sunghoon stayed around long enough for it to be more than that? Or is that all you guys are - good friends? But then why would Sunghoon ask that question? 

Confused and already emotionally drained from your crime yesterday, you scrunch up the question sheet in your hand and get up from your chair. Without saying a word to Sunghoon, you leave.

-

At home, you’re lying on your couch, flicking through the channels on the television. Nothing is exciting you since you can’t seem to pay attention to anything. There are only two things on your mind right now. Jungwon and Sunghoon.

As for Jungwon, you can’t stop picturing him in that little alleyway beside his house—sweating away, hurting himself trying to fix his motorcycle. He’s probably not eaten any real food in awhile, desperate to get it back to how it was before you and Yuna came up with that stupid plan. You groan into your hands, thinking about how you never thought you’d live to see the day you’d feel bad for Jungwon. Doesn’t he deserve this? Why does this bike mean so much to him? He can just fly out to Thailand and buy another one, right?

Then your thoughts suddenly shift to Sunghoon. If he really is the manwhore Jungwon pinned him out to be, how come he’s been nothing but supportive since you and Jungwon stopped talking to each other? There are no girls, you can’t see them. The only way it would be possible is if he has this whole other life outside of school. The partying, drinking and sex type of life. He said he’s never broken the law before, but he seemed pretty confident driving his mum’s car with one hand on the wheel and another on the radio. Do you even know Sunghoon? Sure, he’s a science nerd and likes to ice skate. But what else is there to him?

You sigh when the sound of the doorbell interrupts your thoughts. It’s 10pm, who could possibly be ringing at this time of night? Groggily, you get up, fixing your bun so you look a bit more appropriate for whoever it is that’s ruining your free time. Peering through the peephole, you’re only met with a man in a black hood who’s purposefully hiding his face from the door. A little worried, you call your mum over. “Mum! There’s a creepy man at the door!”

She hops out of the kitchen with a meat knife in one hand, a frying pan in the other and a terrified look on her face. “You take the knife,” she whispers, “and hide behind me while I hold the pan and see what this guy wants.”

“Wait, why am I holding the knife?” You point at yourself, your mum’s behaviour starting to affect you, too. 

The doorbell rings again and you both flinch. “Because if he sees the knife in my hand he might attack. So you hide behind me, okay? I’m just going to open the door like an inch wide, don’t worry.” Her eyes are wide while she tries to convince you to follow through with her not-well-thought out plan. 

You do anyway. “Okay.”

You take the knife from your mum before the two of you sneak towards the door. Hesitantly, she opens it, and the thought of her life being taken right before you flashes in your mind for a second. Right before she lets out a relieved laughter, a hand on her chest. “It’s just the Yangs’ kid, Y/N. Don’t scare me like that again.”

Jungwon? What the hell is he doing here? You poke your head out from beside her and see Jungwon looking down at his feet that are awkwardly kicking the floor. “I didn’t know it was him, sorry.” You mutter, furrowing your brows at him.

“I am so sorry, Jungwon. Is there something you need?” Your mum asks, widening the door. When he looks up, you can’t help but cringe. His eye bags are heavy, and his lips are so chapped they’re peeling. Not to mention how red and sore his eyes are, he’s struggling to even keep them open. He’s worse than the time you went to give him the tray of food. You don’t even realise that you two are staring at each other silently until your mum speaks up again. “Is something wrong?”

His eyes quickly divert to your mum’s and he clears his throat aggressively. “No, uh, I just wanted to know if your husband is here.”

Your mum shakes her head, “No, he’s visiting his brother right now. He won’t be back for a few days.” 

“Can you call him?” You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungwon speak so meekly before. It’s odd, and the thought that you may have broken him makes your toes curl.

“Yes, yes, what do you want me to say?”

“How to fix a motorcycle brake. I remember that he had one a few years ago, so I thought he’d know.” 

“Oh! Was it your motorbike that got smashed by those teenagers?” Jungwon nods, his eyes falling to the ground again. “Ms Jung showed me her CCTV cameras and how horrible those kids were. Their parents really need to sort them out.” She tuts, pulling out her phone.

Even your mum is disgusted by your behaviour last night. Of course she is, what you did was way out of line. You play with your fingers as the guilt travels further, making you a lot more jittery than usual. “My dad’s break broke once and he showed me how to fix it. I can, uh, help if you want.” It’s the least you can do, an easy repair, indirectly apologise, and throw away this stupid guilt so you can focus on getting your school life back on track. Maybe after you help him fix his bike, the two of you can finally be even and put your pettiness in the past once and for all.

Jungwon only looks you in the eyes, not saying anything. They remind you of Sunghoons’; loud and heavy. 

“Oh, okay, that’s perfect. You go and help him. I’ll bring some snacks later.” Your mum pushes you out of the house, and you curse her for doing so when all you’re wearing is a hoodie, a pair of cycling shorts, and slippers. “Bye!” She waves, shutting the door in your face before you can even speak.

Well, this is awkward. Turning around, you try to put on a smile to Jungwon, but his eyes flicker straight from your eyes to your mouth before he storms back to his house. You follow him with a huff, realising that this is going to be a long hour. Catching up to him, you throw your hood over your head and stuff your hands in your pockets to try and stay warm. “So,” you start, trying to get straight to the point, “if we’re lucky, all you’ll need to do is clean the pistons. You know, those little metal things that open and close w-”

“I know what a piston is.” He grumbles, opening his gate. “I would have done that if that girl didn’t smash it off my bike.” 

Your eyes lower as he unknowingly mentions you, and try to shake off the feeling of guilt again. You never would have guessed this would have hurt him this much. But then again, isn’t that what you wanted? “Oh,” you chuckle awkwardly, “well then this is gonna take a long time.” 

The two of you arrive at the corner, and that’s when you notice there are three more cups of coffee lying next to the bike. You purse your lips, trying to throw away the imagination of him desperately attempting to stay awake, pushing his body well past its limits all in order to fix what you broke. 

“Okayyy,” you whisper, copying Jungwon by getting on your knees, followed by a hiss once you feel the cold rocky ground. Clearing your throat, you turn to him, who still has an emotionless look on his face. You really wish he would do something right now. You wouldn’t even mind it if he made fun of you. Staring at him like this, like an empty shell, is too much to bear. “So, where’s the brake?” You put out your hand, and Jungwon complies by giving it to you. Observing it, you’re relieved that it hasn’t been damaged too much, and that it’s okay to put it back on the bike. “First, we need to take the callipers off the bike.” You don’t explain what it is this time, since he got agitated when you did it before. “Should I do one side and you do the other?” 

He nods, so you crawl over to the other side, and together, the two of you start working on the bike.

After around twenty minutes of silent working, you decide to ask a question that’s been on your mind since the second you saw him cry. “Jungwon?” You ask. He doesn’t respond, but you know that he hears you. “Why don’t you just get your parents to buy you another one?”

It takes him a while to reply, you assume he’s just busy with the clamps. “They can’t. There’s no more on sale.” 

You’re aware that it sounds a bit harsh, but you still push. “Can’t they just buy another brand?” 

Jungwon’s eyes meet yours through the tiny gaps between the motorcycle parts. “I don’t want another one.”

You sigh at his vague responses. “Okay, what about hiring someone to come and fix your bike? Or getting a friend, literally anyone-”

Abruptly, Jungwon throws the clamp onto the floor, the ring of the metal bouncing around your skull. “I didn’t ask you to come and help, you know? You offered. If you don’t want to, there’s nothing stopping you from leaving.” He spits, his eyes piercing into yours angrily. 

You put your hands up in a feign defence. “I’m sorry, I was just asking.” You mutter under your breath, a little shocked at his reaction. “I’m okay with fixing the bike, it just looked like you didn’t wanna ask so I was telling you there are other options.” 

Jungwon sighs, before picking up the clamp and getting back to work. “I know.” He mumbles, and you can hear the piston creaking under the pressure of his clamp hold. “I know there are other options, but I don’t trust any of them with this bike. I’ve known your dad for a while and I remember how much he cared about his bike, so I thought I’d just ask him to help.” The thought of Jungwon trusting your dad over his creepy friends makes you feel a lot better, but the sound of the piston about to snap distracts you.

Crawling back over, you return to Jungwon’s side. You don’t even notice that your thighs are touching each other when you reach out to take the clamp from his hands. He looks at you a little alarmed, but you respond with an awkward smile. “You’re putting too much pressure. You have to unstick one piston at a time, if you do it like that it’ll snap.” You explain, opting to do it yourself to save some time.

“How come you know how to fix a break?” He asks randomly, startling you a little bit. 

You stay focused while you answer him, your eyes not moving from the clamp. “Sometimes my dad teaches me things like this. He says he does it because he doesn’t have a son.”

“What other things has he taught you?” 

Since this is the first real conversation you’ve ever had with Jungwon, you decide not to question why he cares about your relationship with your dad so much.  “How to ride a bike, how to play football, how to put up a shelf, how to fix a laptop that’s had water spilled on it.” You giggle at the last one, memories piling into your head. Jungwon doesn’t say anything else so you turn around to see why. He’s just staring at your hands working with the clamp, so you choose to fill in the tense silence. “The time he broke his break, he called me over while I was studying. I told him that it’s not important since a motorcycle break and a bike break are two completely different things and that this would never come in handy.” You face Jungwon again, and his eyes meet yours. “Turns out it did come in handy.” 

There’s a moment, a long moment of comfortable silence with the two of you staring at each other. For the first time, you notice the shape of his eyes and how delicately pulled out they are. They’re kind of pretty, in a boyish sort of way. You can’t really believe you’ve been staring at these eyes for the past eight years without ever finding yourself swimming in them until now. 

Jungwon scoffs, breaking eye contact before taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m surprised you didn’t turn out heavy handed since you were basically brought up as a boy,” he mutters against the cup.

With that, you unconsciously suck in such a deep breath of air. A wave of relief washes over your body as you let out an incredibly loud laugh at his comment. There he is, the asshole that is Yang Jungwon. You seriously thought you broke him, but hearing him say something so rude wiped away any and all of your doubt. 

He’s back. And you couldn’t be more than happy about it. 

-

Walking into school the next day, you’re a little bit anxious. You’re anxious because:

You might bump into Sunghoon and he might start asking scary questions again

You might bump into Jungwon and have to start fighting again

You don’t want either of those scenarios to happen. So when Sunghoon spots you and says goodbye to his friends, you panic and pull onto your friend’s sleeve. “Quick, pretend we’re having a really serious and private conversation.”

She panics and tries to think of something to say. “Uh, I made out with Sunghoon at Ryujin’s party!” With her eyes shut, in front of everyone in the hallway, your friend, Chaeryeong, admitted to sleeping with Sunghoon. You spot him from the corner of your eye, freezing once he heard what Chaeyoung said, and you wait for him to come over and ask why you two are making up shit about him. He doesn’t. 

“Are you being serious right now? I said pretend, Chaeryeong.” Your hand slips away from hers as you look at her in pure disbelief.

“I’m sorry, it’s been on my mind a lot recently because he’s been hanging out with you so much. So when you said say something serious, that was the first thing I could think of.” She rushes, clearly panicked by your response.

“Wait,” you take a step closer to whisper, “When was this? Recently?”

She gives you a worried look, before turning around to see Sunghoon and then turning back to you. “Last, uh, Saturday?”

Saturday. Last Saturday. That was only four days ago. Four days ago you were FaceTiming him while he was helping you with your physics homework. Four days ago was when you asked if he could help you finally get over the Jungwon situation, and he told you that he really wanted to help because he couldn’t stand to see you so hurt. Four days ago was when you told Yuna you think you have a crush on him.

Stepping away, you give one last glance at Sunghoon. “I can't believe you,” you mutter, before turning around and storming away. You tell yourself the reason why you didn’t go up to him and scream in his face is because of the attention you would have gained, but it isn’t; you’re too scared to face him because you were already warned about him ages ago. As funny as it sounds, you should have listened to Jungwon.

-

“What?! Chaeryeong? Our Chaeryeong?” Yuna chokes on her water, surprised.

“Yeah,” you sigh, scribbling away in your notebook. “I’m not really bothered about that, I mean she can sleep with whoever she wants. It’s just, I really thought there was something between me and Sunghoon.” 

Yuna kisses her teeth before shaking her head. “Even I thought there was. Why is he always with you if he’s sleeping with other girls?” Her body simultaneously shivers with yours. “That’s just gross.”

“Maybe he just sees me as a friend. You know in those romance books where the hot guy who gets all the girls appreciates the girl who doesn’t wanna have sex with him and likes hanging around with her?”

“Y/N, they always end up falling in love.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not happening, is it?” You slouch in your seat. 

Jungwon walks into the room, and you smile at Yuna, happy to know that he’s back on his feet. You wait for him to say the same thing he always does when he walks past you to get to his seat. Anxiously, your foot taps on the ground as you nibble on your bottom lip, your eyes not moving from Jungwon’s.

Yuna taps you and leans in to whisper, “You can see it now, right?” Her eyebrows giggle, a huge smirk on her lips.

You cringe at what she said, refusing to let her silly thoughts get to your head. “Shut up,” you mutter, before turning back to see Jungwon talking to another classmate. You hate to admit it, but your eyes do linger on him a little longer. You can’t help but notice the long, dark strands of hair that almost cover his eyes. His nose and jawline are sharp, contrary to his soft and small lips. Your eyes trail down to his Adam's apple as he speaks, and you watch as it bobs up and down attentively. It’s strange that you’ve known Jungwon for so long, yet you’ve never actually taken the time out of your day to really look at him. Because he’s actually really good looking.

“See?” Yuna giggles, slapping your arm playfully. “You’re staring.”

Your head darts to her direction with wide eyes. “I’m just waiting for him to come over.”

“Nu-uh, you’re finally listening to me. I told you he gets girls.” She motions for you to lean in closer while she whispers. “Last year, I peeked into his locker on Valentine’s Day, and I counted thirteen letters, Y/N. Thir-teen.” 

Thirteen girls gave Jungwon a love letter last year? You scoff, resting your chin on your palm as you look at him again. If they knew what you knew, that Jungwon is a total asshole, you bet they’d run far away from him. “I don’t get it. Is it just because of his looks? Are they that shallow?”

Yuna shrugs from beside you. “Well, I’ve heard a lot of good things about him.”

You laugh sarcastically, “Are you gonna talk about the time he helped that one new student when she dropped her books on the floor again?”

“Well, there’s that. But there are other things, too, that I’ve tried to tell you but you just turn down because you hate him so much. Like the time he stopped a boy from getting bullied. It was so cool, Y/N, he just shoved the bully in his shoulders and looked him right in the eyes and told him to fuck off.” 

Something twists in your stomach at that word. It reminds you of when Sunghoon asked if 

Jungwon is just a bully. You can’t be staring at him now, talking about all the good deeds he’s done and why all the girls in your school have a crush on him. He’s mean. He’s insulted you, belittled you, degraded you. You could go on and on about all the times Jungwon has hurt you and laughed in your face whenever he did. He’s a selfish, spoiled rich kid that derives entertainment from picking on you. And like all your friends warn you not to do, you react, dragging it out longer. Maybe if you just stayed silent in the first place, this would have never continued for so long. 

Blinking, you suddenly realise that Jungwon is batting his eyes at you right in front of your face. You gasp, furrowing your eyes and jerking back once you realise how close his face is to yours. Shit, you spaced out and he caught you staring.

“What you staring at, number 23?” He asks, his old grin back on his face.

“Number 23?”

“Class ranks are up on the board.” He explains, and your heart drops to your feet when you realise what he’s saying. “You know,” Jungwon gets up, hands in his pockets as he peers down at you with that familiar evil glint in his eyes. “I thought signing you up for chemistry club would at least get you into the teens. But you only moved up one spot? One?”

Okay, you may have wanted normal Jungwon back, but did his first strike have to be so harsh? Getting up, you realise your legs are trembling. Something inside of you is telling you not to bite back this time, that it’s not worth it. If you truly want this war to end, then you have to be the bigger person and back down. Pursing your lips, you simply walk past him to follow the crowd of students into the hallway to see the class rankings. 

“Oh. My. God, Y/N. You should have seen the look on his face!” Yuna laughs, but you can’t join her. It was embarrassing to let him talk down to you like that. You wish you said something, but this needs to end. This is the first step you need to take.

“Let’s just focus on our class rankings for now.” You say, approaching the wall. 

Although Jungwon made fun of your rank, you have to hide a smile when you see it. It’s not high at all, but at least you’ve improved. With everything that’s been going on recently, you need something positive to cling onto. You pull out your phone to call your mum about your improvement, excited to hear about how proud she’ll be. 

But a voice from behind stops you. You can feel the heat of his body so close to yours, and your heart immediately starts doing backflips. “23rd? That means I’m going to have to spend a lot more time tutoring you, right?” His voice is uplifted, and that pisses you off even more.

Turning around, you furrow your brows and fold your arms. “Really? Are you just going to pretend that–”

Sunghoon, with his hands buried in his pockets and his lips pursed, shrugs. “I asked you what we are, and you just left.” 

That is very true. You did, quite rudely, leave. You erased that part of your day from your mind, and even avoided writing it down in your diary. All you needed was time, because the following week was when you and Yuna figured out what your feelings are towards him. Sighing, you answer. “I know.”

“I helped you break–” he pulls on your blazer to drag the two of you away from the crowd as he leans in to whisper, “I helped you break Jungwon's bike. I know you think that that's a normal thing for a guy like me, but it isn't. I don't go around, smashing people's things, you know. I did that for you, and all I got was a little thank you text.”

Everything he's saying is true, and that's frustrating you further.

“You can't be mad about who I sleep with, Y/N. I've been hovering around for so long, and still, the only guy you think of is Jungwon.”

“What are you even hanging around for, though? Jungwon he-he told me that you treat girls like trophies. I thought–” The eye contact Sunghoon holds with you is intense, he doesn't turn away once. You're too scared to break it because you've never seen him this serious before. 

“So you believed him over me? Someone that you ‘hate’ over a friend? You didn't even bring that up with me, Y/N!" He whisper-shouts, pressing an arm against the lockers beside him so that he can lower his head to meet yours. “You need to ask yourself what's your deal with Jungwon, because I'm not sure you really know what it is.” Gently, he lets go of your blazer and dusts it down with his hands, causing you to blush intensely. 

“You're gonna keep me up all night because of this, now, you know that, right?” You chuckle sarcastically, keeping your eyes on his hand that's lingering above yours. 

He chuckles back, “I know.” His hand stops hovering, and goes back to his pocket.

Looking up at him, you smile endearingly. “We can still be friends, right? Even if whatever this is doesn't sort out the way we want it to, you'll still be my friend.”

"Ayyyyy,” Sunghoon laughs, but it seems forced, and presses a finger into your shoulder. “You're just saying that for the free tutoring lessons.” 

-

Dear diary,

I hate Jungwon.

You groan into your arms after you realise what you've just written, disappointed in yourself. It's embarrassing to admit that Sunghoon is right, that Jungwon is constantly on your mind. If it's not the awful things he's said, or the stupid pranks he's played, then it's the way he puckers his lips together when he snorts out a laugh, or the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you to try and piss you off. You've probably never even scratched the surface of Jungwon's mind, yet he somehow lives in yours constantly.

A ping from your phone distracts you from your thoughts.

jung_1: my tire popped

you: and?

jung_1:  use your daddy skills to come and fix it

you:  if u think u can jus tell me what to do ???? then you're vv wrong :/

jung_1:  u came before what's wrong this time?

you: im busy

jung_1: so am i but i can't get anything done without my bike

you: u need to get it checked out professionally

ik u have some weird attachment issues to it but fixing the brakes and tires isn't enough to get that thing up and running again

jung_1: well, miss 23, unlike u i have a brain

fixing everything one at a time v slowly will work eventually

patience is key

so can u jus come already

you: what's in it for me?

jung_1: idk wtf

food?

you: do i look like a dog to u

jung_1: idk??? u name it ill get whatever u want

you: ok fine whatever

After you get dressed to go to Jungwon's house, you scribble one last thing into your diary before you go. 

Let's hope that when I come back, I won't be saying that I hate him again.

-

With a bag of food from your mum to give to Jungwon's parents, you ring his doorbell hesitantly. You will never get over the difference between your house and his despite the fact that you two live just a few houses away from each other. While yours is small and cosy with a garden full of roses and apple trees, Jungwon's stands tall—so modern that it doesn't even have a front garden, it's all just rock hard concrete. 

Opening the door you're met with a sour face when Jungwon looks you up and down. “What's that?” He asks, pointing at your carrier bag.

You inwardly sigh, reminding yourself of the trouble he's putting himself through because of you. “Homemade kimbap.” You hand it to him and he takes it cautiously, eyeing the bag like you hid a bomb in it. “Relax, my mum made it.”

Jungwon's head pops right up when you say that, and you swear his lips are trying their best not to pull up into a smile. Clearing his throat, however, he returns to his normal bitter expression and brushes his hair out of his gaze. “Whatever, come inside while I get dressed.” 

It's only when Jungwon mentions it that you look down and notice that he’s only wearing a pair of underwear. Making a mental note to never visit a teenage boy's house unannounced again, you awkwardly hop inside and sit on the kitchen counter that he directs you to wait at. 

While Jungwon is away, you're left with the housemaid. You've always guessed that they had one, yet you've never seen her leave the house before. Anyone could mistake this for slavery, how scary. 

“Are you Jungwon's friend?” She asks, opening the bag of kimbap that you brought. You nod, deciding it's best not to explain your confusing and infuriating situation to Jungwon's housemaid, and she smiles endearingly, taking out the food. “I'm surprised. He's only ever brought those two hooligans over.”

“Jeongseong and Heeseung?” You ask, chuckling.

She laughs with you at the mention of Jungwon's awful friends who you are secretly afraid of. “They're like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, them two. It's nice to see that some of his friends are sane.” As soon as she unwraps and sees the food, however, the housemaid gasps, a repelled look on her face.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, worried.

“Jungwon can't eat this, it isn't fresh.”

You open your mouth to explain that it had only just been cooked a few hours ago, but choose not to. This is Jungwon's rich and snobby lifestyle, there's no point arguing with someone who knows him a lot better than you do.

“What a waste,” she sighs, “I'll just have to throw it away.” You really want to yell at the woman for disrespecting your mother's food, but the thought of Jungwon's parents catching you screaming at their trusted maid through a secret camera and suing you scares you too much to do so.

But just before she's able to throw it away, Jungwon appears in a zipped up coat and joggers, an arm in front of the bin. “No, no, no, no, Mrs Kim, it's okay.” He says softly, a hand resting on her back as he smiles at her.

Smiles. Like, really smiles. He's acting so gentle around her it's scaring you. Lightly, he takes the dish from her hands and settles it on the middle counter opposite you. He doesn't look up, he just opens the tinfoil and lets his jaw drop slightly at the kimbap your mum forced you to roll for him. You'll never let him know that, though.

“Jungwon, it isn't fresh, you'll get sick.” Mrs Kim retorts, but he's already digging one out. You and Mrs Kim both silently watch Jungwon eat his food contently, and you hate to say it but he eats in such a cute way. His cheeks puff out and he takes such small nibbles of the food, like he's savouring it all. 

“Your mum made this?” He asks, his eyes wide. 

A little thrown off by him, you play with the strings of your jacket. “Uh, yeah. She just told me to bring this when I said I was coming over.” You answer awkwardly. He isn’t throwing any insults at you, and that’s something you still haven’t gotten used to. 

He raises his brows while nodding, continuing to eat his food, leaving you and Mrs Kim standing beside each other in an odd silence. That is, until she leans in to whisper something to you. “He’s never eaten my kimbap so happily before, I wonder what your mum put in this one.” There’s a scowl on her face as bitterness lingers around her words.

You chuckle breathlessly, not really sure why Jungwon’s devouring your mum’s kimbap either. “It’s nothing special.”

Jungwon eyes the two of you before mumbling, “Stop staring.” and grabbing the rest of the food and making his way towards the door. You hesitantly scuttle behind him after giving Mrs Kim an undeserved bow. What a rude woman.

“How’d you pop it?” You ask, staring at the tire in horror as you realise the inner tube is punctured and this is going to be a very long job.

He chuckles, rubbing his hand at the nape of his neck, “Uh, I left my glass out and when I was pushing the bike it kinda just rolled over it.”

Sighing, you give him a defeated expression, “Seriously? You just added to the list of things that I’ve already broken.”

“What?”

You have to stop your breath for a second in order to hide the look of down right fear on your face as you almost slipped the crime you committed. “List of things that need fixing, I mean.” You shake your head and tut, trying to act out feign annoyance. Slowly, you peer over to Jungwon to see if he’s caught on, and he’s just staring blankly. Clearing your throat, you decide changing the topic is your best option right now. “Uhm, do you have a puncture kit?”

Jungwon, after a very long staredown, eventually replies and hands over the kit to you. You have to thank the skies for not throwing you under the bus because that was way too close. Even your hands are shaking a little as you open the kit and get on your knees, the nerves making you very tense. You don’t even have the courage to start up a conversation, and so the two of you work in silence like you did the last time. 

After about an hour in, Jungwon speaks up. “My parents bought this for me.” 

Ignoring the way you jumped at the way his voice suddenly appeared out of nowhere, you scoff. “Well, it’s not like you’ve had to work a day in your life to earn enough money to buy this.”

The dark haired boy huffs, clearly vexed. “No, I mean, they actually bought it. Like it wasn’t just a written cheque, or money into my bank account, or bought online. They flew to Thailand with me to buy it.” He explains, and when you turn to him, his eyes are boring into yours. 

“Okay, and?” You chuckle again, not really paying much mind to his words and focusing on your work instead. It’s just a bike, what is he trying to say that’s so important?

Abruptly, he brings his hand to his laps and flashes you an offended look. Worried that you’ve pressed the wrong buttons, you stop too, quietly letting him continue. “You asked why I only wanted your dad’s help. I’m answering you, okay?”

“Okay, I get it.” 

“It’s- they don’t do that, they don’t go out with me for..me.” You still don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but you nod anyway. “This bike, it’s the only reminder I have at this point that my parents love- not love, but, ugh, you know what I mean.” He rambles, playing with the strings of his tracksuit bottoms nervously.

Trying your very best to put the pieces together, you tilt your head and ask, “You don’t think your parents love you?”

“I mean, yeah,” he panics, “I’m sure they do, but they’re not like your parents, for example.”

“My parents?” Well, now you’re really lost.

Jungwon sighs, averting his gaze from you to the bike. “You know, like my dad never taught me the things yours did. My parents never dropped me off to school like yours did. My mum doesn’t even know how to cook..” He mumbles, his voice slowly drifting off with each sentence. 

“Jungwon,” you furrow your brows, “Have you been..comparing your parents to mine all these years?” Now that you think about it, there have been many times where you would be talking to your parents, and from the corner of your eye you’d stop Jungwon staring. You’ve always brushed it off, not wanting to think about the boy any more than you needed to, but now you’re thinking that maybe you should have. It’s common knowledge that money doesn’t buy you happiness, and you and Yuna have always blamed Jungwon’s lavish lifestyle for his bitchiness. But loneliness? That’s something you’ve never associated with him. 

Jungwon lets out a groan, before picking up a screwdriver again. “No.” He mutters under his breath, before turning his back to you completely.

Not wanting to prod at the situation any further, you hesitantly get back to work, too.

It’s been three hours since the two of you started working on the bike. Out of fear that Jungwon had caught on to what you said about you being the culprit, you tried helping him fix the other parts of the motorcycle, too. (Albeit your lack of knowledge of how to do so.) The alleyway has been silent for hours, the only noises were your uncomfortable giggles, shaky breaths and your nails tapping against anything they could find. Jungwon didn’t ask about your slip up, so you are hoping to God that he has no doubt about you because that would just be a one way ticket to jail. 

You don’t even realise that it’s 8pm, dark, and absolutely freezing until you find yourself shivering and brushing up your hands against your bare arms. Jungwon probably hears your chattering teeth as he looks over and juts his chin out at you. “You cold?” He asks, expressionless.

You nod immediately, standing up to stretch your legs and shake them to circulate some warmth around you. The only light the two of you have is the spotlight above you and it’s wearing out a little, making it difficult to see. “Just a little.”

Jungwon eyes your outfit, “You should have brought a coat,” he mutters, before doing the absolute unexpected.

Slack-jawed, you watch Jungwon unzip his puffer coat and hand it to you like it was normal for him to do so. With furrowed brows, you stand still, trying to find the catch behind his actions. “What?” He grumbles. “You’d rather freeze?”

Crossing your arms, you laugh at him. Seeing your breath fog up in the air, you start to reconsider declining his offer. “The last time you offered me a coat, Jungwon, it was from a dumpster. Everyone laughed at me because I had no idea and I wore it the entire PE session.” You explained, hoping he’d catch on to your lack of trust in him.

“Well, this isn’t from a dumpster, so just take it.” His arm is still extended, but you can’t bring yourself to take it from him.

“Just because I’ve come over to help you a few times,” you glare at him, “it doesn’t mean we’re friends now. This isn’t enough for me to forget everything you’ve done to me, Jungwon.” Saying this out loud to him for the first time feels weird. Neither of you have ever confronted each other about your situation. It’s always been avoided. 

Jungwon pulls his arm back towards him, before taking a few steps towards you. “I never said we’re friends, just take the fucking coat.” He curses aggressively, making you flinch a little.

But the two of you are fully aware that you won’t back down from anything without a fight. “I don’t want your coat, Jungwon. It’s bad enough that I’m here, fixing something that you have enough money to do yourself. I don’t need your stupid pity either.”

Chuckling in disbelief, Jungwon rolls his eyes and shoves the coat into your arms. “Again, all I asked was for you to fix the tire. You chose to stay longer. I told you last time that you’re more than welcome to leave if you don’t wanna be here!” He yells at you.

Jungwon has never shouted at you before. It’s always been snarky comments and childish insults. This is new, and you’re not really sure how to react to it.

“Fine! I will leave! I can’t believe I fucking rolled that kimbap for you myself because I was scared you hadn’t eaten anything.” You shout back, throwing his coat on the floor before storming to his gate. “You’re never going to change, are you?” You mumble, while trying to open his gate. 

Suddenly, you feel Jungwon’s hand belligerently pull your shoulder back so you can face him as his fingers tightly grip around your upper arm. His face is merely inches away from yours, eyes piercing right through you like a new found anger has lit inside of him. “I’ve not changed? I literally just offered you my coat.”

“Oh, wow, you’re such a saint, Jungwon.” You seethe, despite the fear running through your blood at the intensity of his glare. “What about me? Huh? I helped you fix half of your bike, I put up with the shitty chemistry club stunt you pulled on me, I helped make your food-”

“And I am trying my best to return the favour!” He snaps again, letting go of your arm.

It’s not until then that you notice a delivery driver parked right outside of Jungwon’s house. Looking over at him, you notice the bags of food in his hands as he awkwardly smiles at the two of you. Your gaze shifts between Jungwon and the driver a few times. “You ordered this?” You ask, pointing at the man who's given up smiling and is now impatiently waiting for you both to collect your food. “For us?”

“I don't like burgers.” He spits, picking up his coat off the ground to pull out his wallet.

While Jungwon is apologising and paying the delivery driver, you stare at your feet in regret. That was way too stubborn of you. Jungwon really was just trying to be helpful by giving you his coat, but you were too prideful to take it. You thought you were better than this, you thought you were better than him. Maybe this issue has always been a two-sided conflict and you've just been too angry to see otherwise.

“Here,” he hands you the bag, and this time you take it reluctantly. 

Pulling out the box to open it, you're met with a fresh little burger meal. It's not much. Hell, it's nothing at all since you're sure Jungwon can afford way more than this cheap rubbish. But it still warps a guilt around your body so twisted you feel too sick to eat the meal. 

A gasp falls from your lips as soon as it hits you; as soon as the realisation of why the bike Jungwon adores so much hits you. He’s connected to it emotionally. It’s the only form of love he’s ever gotten. And you broke it. You can’t believe you broke something so precious to someone. The silence is thick. You can't bring yourself to look at him. There's only one thing running through your mind right now.

He deserves to know what you did.

Your chest feels heavy as Jungwon goes back to sitting on the ground and working on his bike. Agitation punches at your heart while its beats echoes around your head.

He needs to know what you did.

Biting your nails, you turn around to face him. He's been working so hard for days, and it's all because of you. You went too far, and he's paying the consequences—when it should be you. Clearing your throat, you waste no time telling him. 

“I did it.”

Jungwon's hands stop moving, but his gaze remains on the motorcycle.  

“I broke your..I broke your motorbike.” You say hurriedly before nibbling on your bottom lip. He still doesn't move. “It wasn't just me, but I did pretty much most of it.” 

You wait for him to lash out and scream at you, to call the police and have you locked away for life. You wait for him to cry, or yell, or insult you. Anything. But instead he does nothing.

He just quietly says. “Get out.”

“Jungwon, I'm so sorry, I wanted to tell–”

“I said get out.” His voice is low and empty.

“I–”

He cuts you off by darting his head towards your direction and glowering at you. So you decide to leave.

-

Dear diary,

I messed up. Big time.

With not enough energy in your system to write anymore in your diary due to the hours of homework you’ve just spent, you pull out your phone instead. Opening Instagram, you decide to aimlessly scroll through your friends’ stories.

First up is Ryujin—dolled up and singing into the camera with a few other girls you mildly recognise. There must be a party, you think. Swiping, you see a picture of Yeji and her boyfriend with red paper cups in their hands, smiling really cheesily. You chuckle at the photo, swiping up and replying to her story with “couple goals fr”. The next video on Yeji’s story, however, forces you to sit up in your chair.

While it seems like a normal video of a normal high school party with Yeji and Jisu dancing away and screaming to the music, your eyes can’t help but wander to the person dancing by themself in the background.

Yang Jungwon. And he’s alone.

This throws you off completely, because from the few parties you’ve visited and from what you’ve seen on people’s stories, Jungwon’s always been one of the lives of the party. He’s always in his huge group of school friends, dancing in the middle of the room, screaming into the microphones, spraying people with water guns. Jungwon was in fact one of the reasons you don’t go to parties often, because you can’t escape his loud personality. So seeing him in the corner, alone, with a bland expression on his face, you feel your heart sink.

And for some reason, you find yourself throwing on an outfit, fixing your hair, putting on some makeup and rushing out the doors.

“Hey!” Yeji approaches you, squeezing your side. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming, we would have got my man to pick you up!” She screams over the music, looking at you excitedly. 

Before you can answer her, Yeji’s dragging you further into the house. “It’s been so long since you’ve come to a party, Y/N!” She cheers, putting down her drink to hold onto your other hand and start dancing with you. Smiling awkwardly, you dance along a little, but your eyes keep batting around the room, searching for that one familiar face. Yeji leans forward to yell into your ear, “Is something wrong?!” 

You wince at the volume of her voice, flinching away in fear that she’ll damage your eardrum if she shouts any louder. “I’m fine! Have you seen-?!”

“Sunghoon?!” Yeji asks, both of your bodies still swaying along to the music. “Chaeryoung told us you broke it off with him! That’s why she’s over there with him now!” She points over to the kitchen where the two of them are. You watch as Chaeryoung giggles at whatever Sunghoon is saying, leaning into his taller frame and shyly touching his forearm. 

Well, that was quick of him to move on. 

Yeji holds onto both of your arms before looking into your eyes endearingly, “Do you still like him?! You know, we really need to talk about stuff like this more!” She explains as you squint your eyes, the LED flashing lights and blaring music making it difficult to focus on what she’s saying. “I miss our girly talks where we’d all talk about boys, and-!”

“Y/N!” Yuna appears from your left, immediately hugging you as she does. “You should have told me you were coming, we could have got Yeji’s boyfriend to pick you up!”

You and Yeji giggle at Yuna repeating the same phrase—realising that your whole friend group practically rely on Yeji’s boyfriend for travel. “It’s fine, I just came here for-!”

“Sunghoon?!” She asks, giving you an empathetic look. “He’s with Chaeryoung!” 

Now why does everyone assume you’re here for Sunghoon?

“No, I’m here for Jungwon!”

“What?!” Both your friends yell in unison, animating their confusion with their furrowed brows and cringed noses. 

“Jungwon!” 

Yuna eyes Yeji a little worriedly before she bends down to speak in your ear. “You’re not going to confess, are you?” Unfortunately, you haven’t given your best friend the news of what happened between you and your so-called-enemy, so you chuckle awkwardly when she asks. “Because my parents will kill me if they find out, Y/N.”

You shake your head and offer her a fake smile, “No, don’t worry, I just need to speak to him.”

Reluctantly, she lets you go and you search the house for Jungwon. But instead, you’re met with another distraction. Perfect.

You don’t even need to turn around to know that a certain black-haired tall boy is standing behind you as you recognise the feeling of his chest almost pressed against your back. Sighing aggravatingly, you turn around to meet him. “Hey.”

Sunghoon takes a few seconds to respond, his eyes roaming your face and outfit longingly. “It’s been awhile!” He shouts, giggling at the awkwardness of having to speak over the music before stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. “You look really nice!”

“What?!”

“I said, you look really nice!” He repeats, this time a beautiful smile washing over his strong features. He grins at you, smiling so wide you get a perfect view of his teeth and tiny eyes.

“Thank you! So do you!” You laugh, but your smile turns sour once you remember your last conversation with him and the reason why you’re here. 

Swiftly, Sunghoon pulls you by your waist, taking you by surprise. Keeping your attention on him distracted you from the shift in music from EDM to a much slower song, so when Sunghoon tugs you to dance with him, you’re panicking. His fingers hold you softly, barely touching you at all, and when you look up into his eyes, they’re already staring back down at you. He’s perfect; practically everything anyone wants in a partner. So why is Jungwon still the only person on your mind right now?

The room is a lot quieter now, so the two of you don’t need to scream in each other’s faces anymore. Thank God for that. 

“Who did you dress up for, pretty?” Your cheeks can’t help but flare up at the pet name, and you have to purse your lips from smiling like a child. “It definitely wasn’t for me, was it?” There’s a sad smile to his lips, causing you to break the heavy eye contact.

“I just didn’t want to stick out, that’s all. It’d be weird if I came in normal clothes.” Mumbling, you notice the way Sunghoon lets go of your waist with one hand, only to interlock it with yours. 

“So if you didn’t come here to party, why’d you come?” He asks, and all of a sudden the spinning is starting to make you a little dizzy.

You gaze up at him with round eyes, knowing full well that he’s aware of why you came here. You hate the fact that he’s forcing you to say it out loud—to come to terms with your emotions that you absolutely despise right now. Your life could be so much easier if you really did have feelings for Sunghoon (despite the fact that Chaeryoung likes him too, maybe that would have been a bit messy) because showing up to a loud, rowdy place like this for a boy who absolutely hates your guts is just too complicated for your heart to handle.

Liking Sunghoon would have been easier, and even though you’re dancing in his arms right now, you’re still choosing Jungwon.

“I need to tell him.”

“About the motorbike or about your feelings?” 

You gulp, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I already told him about the bike. So now I need to apologise.”

“He’s hurt you, Y/N, really bad. I don’t get why you picked him.” His face is stern, making you tug your bottom lip between your teeth.

Slowly, you let go of Sunghoon’s hand, and take his other off your waist. Looking up at him, you offer him a heartfelt smile before resting your hands on his chest. You take in a deep breath before looking up at him directly and say, “Neither do I.”

And like the two of you are some characters ripped out of the pages of a novel, you break away from each other, time slowing down as you walk away from him. Seeing Chaeryoung latch onto him while you walk backwards puts you at ease a little, you hope he sees the charm in your friend, you really do. 

You’ve been searching for Jungwon for around ten minutes now, and you figure he’s left since you can’t go too far in a house, can you? You end up proving yourself wrong, however, when you walk into the upstairs balcony and spot him staring into the view. 

Quietly, you lean against the balcony beside him, keeping your eyes on him in case he makes an indication that he wants you to leave.

With his gaze locked onto the city, not even sparing you a glance, Jungwon sighs deeply. “What are you doing here?”

“I just needed some fresh air,” You lie, unable to muster up the courage to explain the real reason.

“Okay, well, I think you’ve breathed in enough and you can leave now.” He mutters through jarred teeth. He looks just as angry as the day you told him about the motorbike, the steam still whistling at the top of his head. His jaw is shut tight, making his jawline look sharp enough to stab you with, and his eyes are doing their own damage to the sky with how narrow he’s piercing them.

Turning to face him, you instinctively reach out your hand to hold his arm, “Jungwon, I’m sor-”

Of course he recoils his arm away and of course he gives you a disgusted look. It’s only natural—you kind of deserve this. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

His tone flicks a switch inside of you unknowingly as you retort, “I was just apologising?”

“No, you don’t get to apologise,” He points at you with one hand, his other leaning against the balcony frame. His brows are lowered and his tongue is occasionally poking the inside of his cheek. “You broke my..you broke my bike.” His voice breaks, and you notice the way his bottom lip quivers. “My bike. Do you know…do you know how many memories me and my parents made in Thailand? My dad taught me how to ride it, and my mum sat at the back of it while I drove on the beach and..” He sniffles, bringing up his hand to wipe at his eyes before turning away from you. “And then out of all people you ended up helping me fix it. You’re messed up, that’s-that’s not normal.” He mutters, in between quick and raspy breaths.

Watching the scene unfold in front of you, your eyes begin to tear up, too. You made Jungwon cry again. That’s twice. That’s one more than he’s done. Just when you thought you brought the old Jungwon back you broke him again. Seeing his shoulders shudder as he cries quietly into his hands has you clutching onto your chest tightly in hopes you don’t break, too.

“I’m sorry..” You whisper.

“You don’t get to say that!” He repeats, shouting into his hands. 

“But, I mean it,” you say a little louder, wiping away the tears that managed to slip out to keep your voice as still as possible.

Hastily, Jungwon turns back around, “No, you don’t get to say that because..” The dark haired boy brings down his hands to reveal his face. You’ve never seen him like this; eyes soaked and his nose red and swollen. “Because it should be me. And that’s why I’m so mad.”

“It should be you? Apologising?” You ask, unconsciously inching towards him, unaware of how close your bodies are.

His eyes wander around your face for a little while before he sucks in a deep breath, “Yeah, whatever.” Sniffling, he turns his head back to the view of the city. “Obviously, you only did that because of me.”

“No, Jungwon, that was something personal to you. I-I went too far.”

Taking you by surprise, he groans into his hand loudly before looking back at you again. “You didn’t know that it was personal!” He yells, forcing you to jerk your head back a little with wide eyes. “You didn’t know that because we don’t know each other! We don’t-!” His chest heaves laboriously as his brown eyes bore deep into yours. “We’ve known each other for so long, longer than Heeseung or Jongseong or..Sunghoon.” He mumbles the last part, his lips forming into a pout. 

“Yet we don’t know anything about each other?” You finish off his sentence, making sure to keep eye contact this time, because now is the time to let it all out. Now is the time for the two of you to confront the stupid situation you’ve trapped yourselves in for years. “I know,” You whisper, before pursing your lips, trying not to spill out every thought running through your mind right now.

You spot the way the shape of Jungwon’s eyes change from slitting to more rounded. They’re large and round at the front but pull out at the sides, similar to those of a cat. For some reason, his eyes are comforting. 

“Yeah..” He lets out a shaky breath. “All I know is that you’re this girl that lives across the street that has the most perfect life.”

You scoff, “Well, if you call bad grades and single-”

“You have parents that hug you every morning when you leave the house for school. You have friends that will stick by you even when you ask them to do something as stupid as break your neighbour’s bike.” You both chuckle at that bit. “You’re just.. I’ve always wanted to have that. Sometimes I think of what it would be like if I switched places with you.”

Naturally, you respond with, “Well, if you had to deal with a certain someone that makes you hate leaving your house everyday, I don’t think you’d want to be me.” You laugh at your joke, before noticing the way Jungwon’s face drops. Shit—he’s the certain someone. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like-”

“No you did. That’s why you broke my bike.” He says firmly, and the urge to look away pushes through and you turn your head away from him. 

You should know by now to always expect the unexpected when it comes from Jungwon. Because the next thing you hear is a muffled snort followed by a soft laughter. Looking back at him, you’re perplexed. Was this a joke? Was this all just another prank? Does he really have no feelings? Are the police waiting at the bottom of the house to lock you away for years? 

Jungwon breaks into an even louder laughter when he sees your expression, resting his elbows on the balcony rail and burying his head into his hands to try and quieten himself down. “I’m sorry,” he giggles, shaking his head, “It’s just.. I was such an asshole to you. My bike getting broken was just karma if you think about it.”

“Are you saying you deserve it?” You ask doubtfully, scared you’re dipping into hot water.

“It feels like it. I couldn’t stop thinking about how shocked you were when I was being nice for once. Like, I was really that bad, huh?”

You join in on his laughter, “We shouldn’t be laughing about this.” You say, before taking another look at Jungwon and bursting into another fit of giggles with him at the same time.

This is weird. Your arms are bumping against each other, you’re laughing so much your cheeks and throat are sore, and you can’t stop gazing into Jungwon’s eyes as you both smile with each other. You know. You’ve known since Sunghoon told you that you think about Jungwon way more than you should. You’ve known since the first time your legs touched each other accidentally that day you were fixing his bike. You’ve known since the time you watched him happily munch away on your mum’s kimbap. 

You know exactly why your heart is racing right now. Racing for the idiot you’ve been hating since you were eleven years old. Racing for your so-called-enemy of six years. Racing for the guy that just laughed about how badly he’s treated you. You’re so dumb, catching feelings for someone like Jungwon. Your cheeks should not be burning right now. He’s just Jungwon, you try to remind yourself.

Buried deep in your thoughts, you didn’t even realise the two of you have stopped laughing. It’s only now that you notice Jungwon’s eyes flickering between yours and your lips, and that he’s steadily leaning towards you. If your heart was racing before, it’s sprinting down a freaking marathon now. You stay still, waiting to see (or feel) whatever happens next. You’re too scared to initiate anything in case you freak the boy out and he backs away. Because what reason would he have to lean in right now? What reason would he have to like you back?

What reason would Yang Jungwon have to kiss you?

All of your questions fly out of the window as soon as his lips latch onto yours softly. Letting out a little gasp, although you were already expecting this, your hand flies to the balcony rail immediately. This is your first kiss. You always expected it to be more romantic; on a date with a guy in the park, or under a sakura tree at school. You never thought you’d kiss someone a few minutes after watching them cry their eyes out.

His lips are soft, though, so you close your eyes to feel them more. A hand reaches the back of your head as he tilts his head, a shaky breath blowing into yours. You can’t help but smile into the kiss, giggling at how inexperienced you both are. You both pull away, and you’re a little disappointed at the lack of..well..kissing there was. You’re pretty sure your lips are actually supposed to move in a kiss. So, pulling on every string of courage you have, you place your hands on either side of his shoulders and pull Jungwon in for a second round. This time, you tilt your head and open your lips a little, your stomach filling with butterflies when Jungwon lets out a sigh of relief against you. His movements are gentle, and the tenderness of his small lips opening and closing within yours causes your head to spin a little. He’s a little too good at this, his thumbs rubbing circles on either side of your waist making you feel all mushy inside. 

You hate him. You hate how good he is at kissing even though it’s his first time.

Pulling away, you can’t help but cover your face. Jungwon giggles at you quietly, making your body heat up even more. You feel his hands clasp around your wrists as he pulls them away from your face, shoving his right in yours. You’ve never seen this expression on his face before. His cheeks are bright red and puffed out, his lips are a little puffy and his eyes are rounder than you’ve ever seen them before. A genuine, really pretty smile sits on his lips as he speaks up again.

���We cannot tell anyone about this.”

“Agreed.”

-

A/N | and that's a wrap! i'm ngl i dont really understand the hype for this fic i wish i did things a lot differently ahahah,, but u guys really enjoyed it and that's all that matters!

[spesphire]

( tragedy)

It was nothing more than a dream.

But something felt so vividly real, it was hard to forget. Him holding me oh so tightly and saying, “you sure you want this? There is no turning back. Promise me you want this and you want me. Promise me you won’t let go and love me through my worse.” I didn’t let him go. I kept holding him tightly without any regrets. And then we kissed. I woke up to my bittersweet dream. In a dream where we were having conversations about stuff. Me knowing I fell for him first, but he fell harder. Oh wow, such a quirky drama that dream was. I woke up with a nauseating feeling. My roommate was awake the whole night studying. I feel fell asleep because I felt tired and, well, suicidal. SHE DIDN’T SLEEP THE WHOLE NIGHT AND I DIDN’T STUDY THAT WELL! My food had gone bad. Which I was technically saving up till December. I got seemingly bad grades in math test. Nothing is going in my way, so how the freak am I supposed to calm down and study. It’s a war in my head. It’s all too much for me. I failed my bio test and I told my parents for the third time I want to kill myself. I’m a God Awful daughter. Oh, yeah, I have the busiest lab of the semester today and a chem midterm tomorrow. Don’t know how that’ll go. 

Oh yeah, the labs. Where they expect me to know everything and where this bitch owing my name ends up putting me in disadvantages.

Oh life, my life.

Everything would be so much better if I killed myself. No money for my parents to spend, no uncertain future, no crying till you feel numb enough to fall asleep, no midterms, no being a disappointment and oh my what life.

I feel sick. Like my heart's about to burst out if I don’t do something with it. No one to heal me. Well, even if they do heal me, it just doesn’t do anything. Sometimes it’s best to lie about my miserable state. Lie that I’m fine and I can do this. A lie that I tell myself and my family pretty often. It hurts. Everything hurts. Like how having a crush hurts. Hurts to know that no one, including that silly crush, will ever love me like that.

Hurts to be all alone, even though my favorite people say you aren’t alone.

Well, I was born alone and most probably die alone. I want to ask for help, but I can’t. Even when I get the help, it ends up being a blob of nothing.

Sorry for this rant. Thought I was going to write a fictional book based on my dream but look what it leads to.

My roommate is like 5 years younger than me and achieving more than me. 

I mean, I wouldn’t feel bad about it, but it’s my mother who makes sure I don’t feel great about it. Something about success means so much to her. To the point, I see ‘successes’ as a successful elder sister my mom loves the most. And I’m abandoned and constantly compared with her.

My mother is a whole different character to study. Sometimes I see her as the good witch. Even if she’s good, she is still a witch. Manipulation, base-minded, offensive, abused, unhappy for the good days ‘cause there’s no point of it and lastly psychotic in nature (sometimes).

Maybe that’s just every mother.

Or maybe, just perhaps, it’s only my mother.

The pages of feels is about to end. I must go back to my studying. My excuses are too much, but they are still invalid somehow.

Saying that everyone feels the same. It’s really normal.

I remember how bluntly the student advisor told me to drop my course that day. How bluntly she said, “it’s all over for you, try again next time.” Well, she didn’t say these exact words, but that was the summary of it. Huh, guess that’s what happens when you pressure the girl to become what she doesn’t want to become. A microbiologist. In my dreams, possibly.

The thing is, I don’t hate studying. I freaking love studying and doing homework. But the exams and evaluation is where I fuck up. Very badly, actually. I’m a girl who doesn’t want to taste defeat but gets defeated every time.

It’s just the beginning, and I’m really not sure how can I go on.

Along with my thoughts to end it all is scary enough. 

Hey.

I just want to live with a peaceful mind. I just want to function and do my studies like a normal freaking person. Making my parents proud seems good enough.

[ladyalienist]

Radical Fatphobia

I just gotta love how in all the "hot topics" radfems got (surrogacy, sex industry, TRA/queer nonsense, abortion ban, you name it, we got it) the discourse about beauty standards seem to revolve around shaving and make-up.

Don't get me wrong, those are important issues, both for us and the enviroinment. But... aren't we kinda sleeping on the other big thing about beauty standards for women? Which is... being thin?

I mean. Many of you will speak about eating disorders and starving one's self in order to reach the unattainable body standard we have or about how body standards change every decade or so causing women to never feel good in their bodies, but I'm afraid that so many of you are totally... not understanding just how much "being thin=being morally good" is ingrained in your brain.

Like, when I started peeking into feminist (liberal ones) circles back into 2014-2015 sometimes I would stumble upon the occasional fat-positive thing. "It's ok to have a belly!", "Fat and fabulous!", and I'm pretty sure liberals are still sometimes giving these little pills of comfort to us fatties. In radical feminism... this topic seems to just not exist. Not being discussed. Nada de nada, just the occasional "oh so many young girls are starving themselves to look like literal skeletons :(", and that's true but what about those girls who do not look like skeletons?

I'll be brutally blunt: I think that many of you do not give a fuck.

I've seen positivity posts being derailed into talking about visceral fat and lectures about how we're gonna die soon. I've seen every possible critique to HAES approach, from very grounded to very stupid.

Trust me: FAT WOMEN KNOW THIS. We know we're gonna die soon, we know visceral fat is killing us, we know every fucking stat in the box, because THE WHOLE WORLD IS EAGER TO TELL US, the whole world wants us to be miserable every time, and guess what? That's mostly because of capitalism. The very same capitalism radfem ideology tries to fight, you know.

The science behind weight and nutrition is not as black and white as so many of you want to believe it is. Dieting is a multi-billion dollars industry that relies on its own inefficiency - this means: DIETS. DO NOT. WORK. In 95% of cases. The only thing that gives a hope for consistent weight loss is surgery, with all the associated risks, and even then... it's not GRANTED. We do not know how to make fat people thin, and it is NOT OUR FAULT. We do not know how to properly "cure" obesity - hell we struggle even to define it, because BMI is a shitty way to do so.

"Fat people should keep in mind that they will die young" yeah and you know what makes our lives even shorter? The constant, unavoidable knowledge that being fat means people will be disgusted by us. The guilt we feel for enjoying a fucking plate of pasta. The stress of being targeted and harassed since age five, of being put on diets soon after, of being the bottom of every joke, of having fewer chances not only at a fullfilling love life (I could write another long rant about what relationships are like as a fat woman) but also at a satisfying career in every field and good social circles, of having things (clothes, cars, public transport) not designed for us. Stress fucking destroys every system in human body but somehow it's just visceral fat's fault, and thus fat people do not deserve any positivity in their life, they do not deserve to think "my body can be ok the way it is even if I have a tummy", no, they must feel miserable all the fucking time even in self-called radical feminist spaces. No fucking fat person, let alone woman, wants to be fat: if we had a safe, functioning way to become thin we would do it. But God forbid we ever, ever stop hating our bodies, no matter how much in every other instance it's clear that it leads us nowhere.

Honestly fuck you and your faux concern for health. I never see you this eager to tell smokers that they will die young, I never see you talking about how legal drugs can and will cause health problems, or about the toxicity of sugary food in general. It's always about visceral fat.

If you are not fat yourself I don't care how much you seriously think you're in the right for saying that fat is a risk for health under any little fat positivity post, fuck you. The person behind the post most likely perfectly knows and you've just made their day a little more miserable with no reason other than... you still thinking you're morally superior.

And just so you know, even if your BMI is 18 and you only eat salads and spend all of your spare time at the gym... you will, eventually, die. Just like us fatties.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

(/rp! also, huge trigger warning for assault, graphic violence, death, abuse, possessive behaviour, obsession, mental breaks, hallucination, really fucking creepy treatment of a corpse, unreliable narrators, the perspective of a villain, torture, manipulation, and gaslighting! this gets pretty fucked up).

When Dream sees Tommy for the first time, there is no dramatic shift, no acknowledgement that his life had changed forever. No knowledge of the fact. All he sees is a skinny little kid who's obnoxious and loud, and he catalogues him just as one of Philza’s strays and leaves it at that.

No, it’s when Tommy drives the sword into his chest for the first time, and Dream wakes up from his non-canon death smiling despite itself when it clicks. He’s not sure what “it” is, exactly, but it’s just something about him Dream hadn’t seen in anyone before that has him hooked, captivated from the beginning.

(There's the vague recollection that he was like Tommy once, a bright eyed naive youth too loud for his own good, but that’s not unique. It’s not that, at least not entirely.)

The conflict was not started by Tommy, nor was he of any particular threat to Dream, but he was fun. So he ignored the rest, and took the boy's music discs. He knew Tommy well enough that he’d fight for them, and fight he did, and even though Dream lost in the end he laughed all the while. He’d played many a game before, but none quite this fun!

They both know this isn’t where it’ll end. Only one hopes it will be.

——

Dream didn’t care much about Wilbur's little revolutionary movement at first. As long as he obeyed the rules, and stayed in the server, it wouldn’t matter whether he delusionally thought he was under his own governance or not.

This changed immediately when he learnt Tommy was involved.

L'Manburg, a name he didn’t bother to remember until he learnt Tommy named it, was tiny, barely any more than a scavenged old world vehicle and some trees. It’s populace was peaceful, only Wilbur even an adult. None of that mattered. It wasn’t that the nation was a threat, though he certainly wouldn’t dissuade his friends fear that it was. But fighting L'Manburg meant fighting Tommy, and Dream wouldn't pass up the opportunity for anything.

He grinned with glee behind his mask as he blew Tommy's strange dirt hovel “embassy” sky high, enthusiastically threatened Tommy before remembering half heartedly to threaten the rest of the nation. He made dealings, found weak links- a new immigrant to the SMP that joined L'Manburg after the war began, it turns out. He offered extravagant promises in exchange for their betrayal, hiding the strings attached to his fingers.

Oh, but it was all worth it when the person with the eyes of an old god lead the revolutionaries into a trap, all worth it when they descended on them at once. It was definitely worth it to kill Tommy, kill Tommy, see him scream and cry in pain and stumble trying to escape and him taking a shuddering last breath. Dream had never seen anything as beautiful.

(It was a war, and feelings like this were okay in wars, right? It’s not like he was obsessed, it’s not like he was a monster. He’d been trying to be good, and killing your enemies was good, right?)

He killed Tommy a second time, too. The boy with shaking hands and a leg hanging limp challenged him to a duel for his nations future. His loss was assured, and Dream knew Tommy knew that also. This one was quicker, Tommy dead between the arrow entering his skull and his broken body make a loud thud against the planks, but it was no less fascinating. If only he had infinite canon lives, Dream would happily give up any ambitions and spend eternity seeing the boy die in so many fascinating ways.

(No, what the fuck was he thinking? The SMP was worth more than some stupid kid, and Dream wasn’t so inept with morality to know torturing someone over and over, killing them, was wrong.)

(Yet, it was so tempting he was almost ready to renounce morality wholeheartedly.)

It eventually comes to the discs again, Tommy handing Dream his prized possessions for some silly little nation. Dream knew Tommy would do anything to get them back. Having so much control was addicting, even more than control of anything else. Dream had learnt long ago that if you didn’t have complete power over anything, people would take the power from you and make you hurt.

So why did he care more about control of some kid than avoiding his own pain?

——

Dream would have sided with Tommy. Really, he would have, but Schlatt just had the better deal.

He holds the book in his hands, power filling him. He repeats the incantation, sacrifices the blood from his veins. He stares into the face of a man near-identical.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, voice level. “”What do you wish of me?””

Dream grins behind his mask. “”Tommy.””

—

Wishes must come true, Dream thinks, as he sits on the beach of Logstedshire, Tommy passed out and leaning against his arm.

Oh, what he’d give for this moment to last forever. Alas, it passes, like they all do. Still, Tommy's getting so obedient lately- barely even grumbling as he threw his item into the hole. Part of him missed when Tommy would fight back all the while- his pained screams were entertaining. Still, it was safer this way, and more enjoyable in the long run. He’d hate to have his little songbird break it’s neck against the cage doors, never to sing again.

He’s not sure when life outside of Tommy became a chore, but he remembers dimly that it wasn’t always like that. There was a Dream long ago that wouldn’t give up friends and family, who'd cry over losing them even if he’d cut their threads voluntarily. He wasn’t that Dream anymore, the numb feeling in his chest a sign of growth. It didn’t matter that everything outside of Tommy was so miserable, because just being around the boy was a feeling a hundredfold better than any happiness he felt before.

Still, he had duties and responsibilities. Ones that seemed so important long ago, so fulfilling. Maybe one day they’d feel like that again. He had plans, from what he learnt. Government had not left him satisfied, but- whatever you could call what his relationship with Tommy was, it definitely did. Family, he supposed, recognising the boys actions towards him and his brothers. If he could make the entire server like that, that’d be a happiness greater than any other, apart from how Tommy made him feel.

He spent time with Tubbo, getting further and further towards getting that stupid fucking ram boy to calling him a friend and giving him Tommy's disc, all he wanted from him.

(He wasn’t jealous, of course he wasn’t. The anger he felt whenever Tommy called Tubbo a friend, that wasn’t jealousy. That was just logical).

Far more interesting was checking on the prison's completion. When it’s completed, it’d truly be a thing of beauty. Of course, his favourite part was the main cell, that he’d put so much thought into. He’d included all the little things that made Tommy squirm, made his breath hitch and eyes dart around fearfully. That would be so much fun.

(Tommy would learn to appreciate the fun in time, too. He was a smart boy, if irritatingly yet fascinatingly stubborn. He just needed to be taught that if he listened and just played along, Dream could give him the world.)

It took far too long, but eventually it finished, and he could return to the ugly mess of tents and logs he’d made so sure Tommy could never leave. He always started shaking when Dream showed up, trying desperately to hide his fear in his voice, and it was absolutely adorable. Dream savoured it, savoured everything about Tommy as they spent hours talking. Everything, his hysterical laugh, his nervous glances for escapes, the way he flinched whenever Dream grabbed his shoulder, his wrist, the poorly hidden look of pain when he held tighter, just hard enough to irritate the bruises that painted his skin a canvas of black and blue, it was all perfect.

Only he could love Tommy this much, and in time he knew Tommy would learn to appreciate that.

——

The second time he used the book, a tower extended from the ruins of the makeshift prison he’d made for Tommy. DreamXD stated ahead of him.

“”Brother dearest,” he said, “why are you calling on me again so soon?””

“”Bring him back,”” he said, voice painfully numb.

DreamXD shrugged a shoulder, golden hair waving around like in water. “”Who?””

“”Tommy.””

“”I cannot,”” DreamXD said. “”He lives.”” Dream couldn’t help but smile at hearing that.

“”Then bring him back to me.””

DreamXD laughed, a sound like church bells. “”That would be unnecessary. Did I not already grant you the mortal?””

Dream clenched his fist hard enough blood dripped onto scorched earth. “”He left me-“”

“”And you shall find him, no matter what.”” DreamXD smiled under the mask. “”You are bonded to him, and neither death nor distance shall break that. Just look, and you will find him, til the end of time and even past.””

“”Thank you,”” Dream said, genuinely for once.

“”Only the best for my little brother and sister. And I know you would do the same for us, brother dearest.””

——

His planning had come to fruition for once.

They were alone, in the depths of the Earth, just him, Tommy, the fucking hilarious excuse for a “president” Tommy called a friend for some reason, and his axe.

Finally, he could bring his dreams to fruition. He could get rid of any loose threads, and claim what was rightfully his. And once he’d taught Tommy to be grateful, he could get to work on the rest of the server.

It’d be beautiful. Everyone would be his friend, his brother, his sister, something in between. There would be no more wars, just peace. Everyone would be safe, he’d know they’re safe and they’d never rip him to pieces and laugh at his pain. And oh, it’d like be hard work, breaking everyone into obedience but not too much to the point they become boring, but so enjoyable and satisfying. He’d almost be disappointed when it was over.

Tommy- his Tommy, his Tommy, was crying, and it was amusing but he almost wanted to reach out and comfort him and explain it’d all be for the best. He’d do that later, once he’d secured him and any loose ends were gone forever. He couldn’t afford weakness until they were alone, but Tommy made it so tempting.

The ram and Tommy hugged a final goodbye, and the adoration he had towards Tommy, hiding his fear behind a smile, made Dream fucking sick. He should know Tommy was his. They all should know. He’d teach them, when he made the server a perfect family. Even Tubbo, if Tommy begged enough. Dream would do anything to hear Tommy's pathetic, gorgeous begging, breaking through his aggressive walls, and bringing back some random sheep was easily in his brother's power.

See, he could be kind. He wasn’t cruel, he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t even care if he was anymore, fun was so much more important than nonsensical human concepts, but it wasn’t even true. He could be incredibly, selflessly kind, as long as he had a reason. They’d learn, once he fulfilled his dream.

The sound of a nether portal, of betrayal, shatters his dreams and at this point he wonders why he’s surprised.

——

He’d had doubts, during the weeks (months, years? he had no way of knowing) he’d been trapped in the cell, but Tommy being here with him confirmed his design was excellent.

Oh, Tommy was being fucking obnoxious- and Dream knew he was doing it on purpose- but he saw it in the way he never was able to look at the lava properly, the way he always woke up in a cold sweat calling for his daddy like the child he insisted he wasn’t. It was perfect.

(Of course it was, though. It’s not hard to build on something already perfected, and Tommy was the perfect little toy.)

Tommy was so frustratingly different though. He tried not to take it out on him- it wasn’t his fault that everyone else spread lies, planted nonsense in his head about Dream being bad and not trying to do the best for everyone but especially for him- but he struggled sometimes, and it was always so tempting to hurt Tommy anyway, and get lost in the melody of his screams. It wouldn’t teach Tommy anything though, and that’s what was important. He needed to teach Tommy what was best for him.

Tommy had unlearnt all the lessons Dream painstakingly taught him. That wouldn’t be an issue- it was so, so fun to teach- but he knew, painfully deep down in his heart that he could not hold Tommy forever, not yet. The lockdown wasn’t forever, and Dream had no escape route yet. Tommy would just forget everything again, at the hands of his “friends” that couldn’t love him as much as Dream did. They needed to learn far more than Tommy did.

(Except Ranboo of course- oh, the purple eyed boy had the silly naive thoughts in his head everyone seemed to have that friendship was anything but possessing another, but he agreed family came first, listened to Dream, helped him, even with clenched teeth.)

And when one day the frustration got to Dream one day and he was so furious he hit Tommy again and again against the walls of the prison and strangled him until he was cold all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh.

It was so, so funny, because of course he’d be the one to destroy everything he loved.

——

This time, when DreamXD is called, he looks upon his brother with concern.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, “”are you quite alright?””

Dream laughs, because of course he’s alright! The tears staining his face must be joy, because of course he’s alright. He’s holding Tommy here, with him, and he was quiet, he must be listening. He can’t be dead, he can’t be, then there’d be no point to any of this.

“”Drista has been concerned for you for quite a while, you know,”” DreamXD continued. “”Is this because of your mortal?””

“”He’s been ever so quiet lately,”” Dream said, with a voice hoarse from crying and laughter. “”I’m not sure to be concerned or happy with him.””

“”You’re not well, Dream.”” DreamXD said, with a tone of finality despite clearly being wrong. “”The boy is dead.””

Dream laughs. “”And yet he does not slip from my grasp.””

“”Then, brother, why did you call me?””

The silence pierces through air like a knife. Eventually, through hiccuping sobs, Dream says “”Just, please, bring him back.””

Tommy sputters to life with ghostly eye and pure white streaks and more bruise on him than corpselike skin and Dream thinks he has never been more perfect.

——

Quackity's left, he thinks, because the pain's stopped growing.

He laughs, because he doesn’t know what to fucking do anymore but laugh. He can’t give up the secrets of the book, of course he can’t. Family comes first, after all, and he dreads to think what the bastard would do to his brother. But the pain was awful, never ending in waves through his whole body, and he almost just wants to confess so he can die.

He cradles what’s left of his arm since the bastard cut it off at the elbow, and he sobs. He doesn’t even care to hide it with his mask. It’s not even the pain that hurts the most, even. It’s that Tommy's gone, and by the time Dream escapes- because he’s going to escape, he’s got to- he might be so far from his grasp even their fates being tied might not be enough.

“Of course that’s not true,” a fake voice says in his head, and wavy form approaches. Fuck, the blood loss must be bad today. It always is when he sees things. Usually it’s George or Bad or Sapnap, and it leaves him with a numb feeling in his chest that he’s familiar with, but today it’s Tommy, and that’s worse. It reminds him of what he cannot hold.

“Fuck off,” he mouths at the apparition, voice too tired and hoarse from screaming to speak properly. Not-Tommy laughs, and the sound is so similar to Tommy he almost thinks that his desperate prayers have been answered, Tommy is there again, but he reached his fingers forward and they go through his tired hallucination.

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Not-Tommy says, and laughs again. “But I know you mean the best.” Dream shrugs his shoulder at the fake, and then curls up, new waves of pain curling up his arm.

“I don’t know why I was ever friends with that bastard.” Not-Tommy lies, and Dream wants to believe it. “You’re just having fun. He’s cruel.” Tommy would never understand that clear distinction, no matter how much Dream explained it, but the fake said it with such conviction it was almost enough for Dream to fall for it.

“When you get out, I’ll be there, Dream. And then we can all be a big happy family,” Not-Tommy says, the thoughts so obviously Dream's and not Tommy’s but- the idea that Tommy understood, that he saw sense, was so tempting, Dream allowed himself to believe it, just for a second. Just until the pain started anew.

Broken and bloody, Dream drifted into unconsciousness with a smile on his face.

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 2)

This chapter took me so fucking long but after much struggle I have completed it!

It was supposed to be 3-4k words. It was exactly 6069 pre-editing according to google docs.

You're welcome.

Chapter Title: with your blessing i will go

Chapter Wordcount: 6073

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, discussion of death, non-graphic injury.

AO3

Chapter 1

i know they're losing (companion fic)

Actual fic under the cut:

The next few weeks are miserable, and if Scott tried to claim anything else, he would absolutely be lying to himself. Not that he doesn’t already do that, but he’s not too proud to admit that not seeing Jimmy is torturous. He knows he can’t, he’s firmly placed Jimmy on the off-limits list, but that doesn’t make the self-imposed rule any easier to follow. There’s still a part of him that wants to go running back to Jimmy’s arms, to beg for forgiveness and pray that Jimmy’s warmth is enough to curb the chill in his bones.

Scott shoves that part of him down firmly. He has no time to hesitate or regret, and he will not spend his days pining and sighing over a human. (Or so he tells himself.) He will be the perfect model of an elven king if that’s what it takes to gain his people’s respect, and he will make his parents proud, not that they’re around to see it. He will . Because Scott may not care about what the Council of Elders thinks of him- he hasn’t for twenty years now- but he does care that the people of Rivendell get a leader who cares for their wellbeing. It’s the least he can do, really.

So he takes on the meetings and the paperwork and the aching, gaping hole in his chest with grim determination, ignoring the way his hands always seem to shake a little and he can never quite get warm. It’s fine. Scott is fine. He’s not going to think about golden smiles or warm brown eyes or the look on Jimmy’s face when Scott told him it was over. He’s fine .

Flipping through the stack of official mail he’s received, Scott’s startled when his hand falls on an elegant cream envelope stamped with the crest of the Ocean Empire. How long has this been here? He hurries to get it open, nearly slicing himself on the letter opener in the process.

Out slides an official invitation in neat cursive.

To High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor, Lord King of the Rivendell Empire,

You are cordially invited to a royal ball to be held at the palace of Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs, at 8 pm on the fifth of August.

Formal attire is required.

RSVP as soon as possible.

At the bottom of it, there’s a note in slightly more rushed handwriting.

Smajor- elvenking or not, I will not appreciate it if you mess with Jimmy in any way, shape or form. This ball is to be a peaceful affair, and I will not hesitate to intervene should anything occur.

Lizzie

Scott winces. He...can’t say he doesn’t deserve the warning, any more than he can say that it doesn’t hurt to be warned away from his own husband. Ex-husband, he quickly reminds himself, reaching for stationary to pen a response.

Dear Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs,

He stops, giving it a bit of thought. Would avoiding Jimmy be worth the political consequences of refusing an invitation like this? No, he concedes reluctantly, it wouldn’t. He can always just avoid Jimmy at the ball- Lizzie would probably be happy for it, honestly. She’s been protective over him from the start. Scott puts the pen back to paper.

Luckily, I will be able to attend the ball. It sounds like a wonderful event and I eagerly anticipate it. As for your note, I will avoid antagonizing Jimmy as much as possible. I would hate to sacrifice diplomatic relations between our kingdoms for a petty squabble. Will that be satisfactory?

Sincerely,

High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor

What’s going on between him and Jimmy is far more than a petty squabble, but Lizzie doesn’t need to know that. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to run into Jimmy anyways, right?

The day of the ball arrives, and Scott spends far too long choosing an outfit. He’s not vain, not usually, but...Jimmy will be there. You’re not supposed to want to impress him , Scott scolds himself, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing his nicest golden jewelry. The rest of his outfit is far more strategically planned- long skirts to hide how terrible his balance is when he’s near-constantly struggling to get a full breath into his lungs, gloves to keep his dance partners from questioning his cold hands.

The ball is already in full swing by the time he arrives, the trip from Rivendell taking longer than he thought it would. He’s still greeted by the Ocean Queen herself, though, gliding over in her stunning ballgown of blue and green.

“Welcome!” Her smile is bright, warm in a way he almost envies.

Scott dips his head just enough to be respectful but not so much as to truly defer to her. He thinks that’s right, anyways; he hasn’t had to think about that particular part of etiquette lessons in some twenty years. “Thank you, Queen Lizzie. I apologize for my lateness, the trip was a bit harrowing.”

“No problem at all, I just hope you enjoy the ball!” Lizzie’s smile gains a sharper edge. “I appreciated your letter, by the way. Thank you for your promise to keep it civil, King Smajor. Now we just all have to follow through on our words!” She accompanies that bit with a little laugh, but Scott’s not a fool enough to take it as anything but a warning. She doesn’t want trouble at her ball, and who would, really?

“Hopefully we can manage at least that,” he offers wryly, earning another laugh and a bright “Hopefully!”

Scott doesn’t mean to cause trouble at the ball, he really doesn’t. But before he has a chance to even get a look around, Jimmy’s standing in front of him. And oh, this really isn’t how he hoped it’d go.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jimmy cleans up nicely- really nicely- but Scott’s eyes keep going to the scar on his throat, the permanent reminder of how fragile and mortal Jimmy really is.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy says. The formality sounds awkward in his bright voice, and Scott wants to kiss the uncertainty right off his face. “Care for a dance?”

He can’t- he should, Scott knows. There would be value to an alliance with Jimmy, and he has no good reason to turn him down. That’s not why he says yes, though. It’s that look in Jimmy’s eyes, the hope poorly disguised by indifference. He’s so optimistic. Scott shouldn't encourage it, but he can’t find it in himself to break that fragile hope just yet.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” Scott says finally. He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one; Vilya rests on Jimmy’s finger, still, and it’s a battle to keep the memories of giving Jimmy that ring at bay. He wins that battle, though, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and Scott knows it. He steps on Scott’s feet, he gets off-rhythm- he’s frankly not made for dancing, much as the way he hums along to the tune is adorable. His hair, which was probably once nicely styled, has already fallen out of place, and his tunic is a little wrinkled. His hands are rough, tough from all the work he does with them, and his face has a tiny bit of mud on it that he must have missed when getting ready. He looks very much like a sweet little swamp boy, out of place in the midst of all the more elegant and powerful rulers.

He’s the most beautiful thing Scott’s ever seen.

Unlike the last time they danced, back in 3rd life where Jimmy leaned on Scott for balance as he tried to learn the complicated steps, this time it’s Scott clinging to Jimmy for stability. He feels bad about how harsh his grip gets, but he can’t afford to show weakness. He has to stay on his feet.

Scott’s silently thankful when the dance ends and he can lead them off the dance floor. He’s exhausted and shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be around Jimmy without breaking down or doing something very stupid.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He takes a step back, banishing the lingering emotion of their dance.

A beat of silence, and then.

“Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?” Jimmy demands, earning a ripple of gasps from nearby guests.

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back, anger rising to fill the gap in his chest.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. “Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I can still be in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says. He sounds so bitter, so tired. “I know , trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

Jimmy cuts him off, a rare occurrence. “Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf! You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

His chest tightens, and he can barely force the words out. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

It’s Scott’s turn to cut him off. “I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me.” It hurts, but it’s true. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.” Jimmy’s so wonderful, there are bound to be others who see it.

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy says. It’s almost childish, but his next words still break Scott’s heart. “I want you. ”

“You can’t have me.” Scott is vividly aware of the fact that there are eyes on him, that their little spat has attracted the attention of the rest of the ballroom.

“But why? Why, Scott?” Jimmy’s voice breaks, and the crack in it is damn near enough to make Scott lose his tiny bit of remaining self-control. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.” It sounds like an accusation, and maybe it is. Scott did promise him that, after all, and then he went back on it.

It wasn’t for no reason, though. He needs Jimmy to understand that it was for a reason. “I can’t give you that!” He snaps back, and his hands tremble when they try to form fists by his side. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.” It’s bitter, but it’s true. Scott can’t be enough for anyone, in the end.

“Enough for me? For ME?”Jimmy’s voice rises in outrage. “All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existence once in a while!”

Scott’s voice rises in response. “And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

Scott falls silent, breathing hard as the ballroom goes quiet around them. He spots Lizzie sweeping through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Jimmy.

“Is everything alright, boys?” She’s smiling, but it’s strained, and her eyes promise death if this quarrel was Scott’s fault.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” he says, and he tries to gather his composure as he dips his head to her. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.” He doesn’t look at Jimmy.

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and he only nearly stumbles when he turns to leave.

Distantly, he can hear Jimmy shout after him. “Coward!” The word is harsh, but there’s hurt beneath it. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott stumbles away all the quicker.

He keeps composed all the way out the doors and most of the way down the stairs until he’s sure no one can see him from the ballroom. It’s only then that he breaks into a run, lifting up his stupid skirts so he doesn’t fall. One shoe falls off, a twisted parody of a children’s fairy tale, and he doesn’t bother to retrieve it. The prismarine stabs at his exposed foot, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he beats his wings, trying to get enough momentum for a good takeoff.

For a few precious moments, he gets off the ground, and then he remembers Jimmy’s face as he left, wingbeats stuttering with the sudden emotion, and tumbles back to the rough prismarine path. It hurts , it does, but it’s nothing on the pain in his chest. Nothing on the words still echoing in his head. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!

Scott lays there for a moment, half-wondering if anyone’s coming after him. It’s unlikely, he knows, given how badly he messed things up. He tells himself that that’s a good thing, that he doesn’t want anyone to come looking. He doesn’t need them. He should be strong.

Before anyone has time to notice or be concerned, he’s forced himself back to his feet, starting the takeoff sequence all over again.

This time, he gets in the air with little difficulty, though he lists to the side as he favors his right wing, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s fine. He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.

If Scott believed in the elven gods anymore, he would thank them for the fact that he gets back to Rivendell at all. There are tears blurring his vision, and every part of his body aches, his chest most of all. His flight is shaky at best, outright dangerous at worst, crashing into trees and rocks and the ground multiple times. Each time, he barely picks himself back up before mobs arrive. Sometimes, he questions if he should at all. He’s as good as dead anyways. And yet, the tiny stubborn part of him that got him through 3rd life won’t let him just lay down and die. For some reason, even though he’s slept enough recently (he thinks, anyways), there are phantoms on him. They sense when their prey is sleep-deprived, Scott knows, and wonders if he’s just weak enough to seem that way to them.

By the time he crash-lands on the mountainside, it’s pushing two in the morning, and Scott is more dead than alive. Not that he hasn’t been for a while now, he thinks, and laughs aloud to himself, bitter.

The night watch give him strange looks, but both elves on guard duty obligingly dip their heads when he stumbles by. He barely musters the energy to nod back.

Finally he makes it back to his house, slamming his door behind him and burying his face in his hands. This is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much? He already lost Jimmy once, why does it feel like he’s losing him all over again when he never really got him back in the first place?

Someone coughs lightly, breaking through his thoughts. The voice is familiar when they speak- one of his advisors. “Lord Smajor? Any major events we should know of at the ball?”

Cold. Calm. Scott knows this is the way of the elves- their royalty cannot dare be human. “The Codfather’s our enemy and the Ocean Queen probably hates us too.” He doesn’t bother trying to make himself sound calm and collected, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the stairs.

“What?” The advisor’s voice pitches up in shock. “What did you do?”

“None of your business.”

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

“It wasn’t like I was fucking trying to,” He snaps.

A gasp. “Language.”

“Fuck off.”

They hurry after him, making to follow him up the stairs. “Lord Smajor-”

Scott turns to face them, taking in the shock and rage painted across their ancient face. “Leave me be.”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” the advisor scolds. “I remember when you were a child, you always were reckless, but this is a new level of disrespect! Why, Xornoth would never-”

“ Enough ,” he hisses. “Do not talk about my sibling.”

They freeze, a bit of genuine fear creeping onto their face. “My lord-”

“Get out of my house,” Scott snarls.

They wisely obey. Scott slumps against the banister as the surge of adrenaline abates, suddenly exhausted. He’s freezing, he realizes, a bone-deep chill that he doesn’t bother to pretend is from his trip home. Scott’s done lying to himself- he’s in pain, and he’s in love, but then again, those equate to roughly the same thing when all’s said and done. You can’t have heartbreak without love or love without heartbreak. (But oh how he wishes he could.)

Scott doesn’t get out of bed the next day, and no one dares try to force him. Varying members of Rivendell’s Council of Elders make a decent shot at trying to convince him, but all it takes is him fixing them with his dead-eyed stare to make them leave. The people of Rivendell are used to their ruler’s odd sleep schedule by now, brushing it off easily, and the empire itself is mostly functional without him. So instead of getting up and dealing with the corruption or making sure Rivendell’s stores are prepared for winter or any of the things he should be doing, Scott lays there in his own misery and thinks about Jimmy screaming that he’s a coward.

He’s right, that’s the worst part. Scott is a coward. He’s scared of Xornoth and the corruption and never, ever being enough, he’s scared of responsibility and his own mind, he’s scared of fading and dying alone, and- most of all- he’s absolutely terrified of how much he loves Jimmy.

His father warned him about fading, once, back before Scott was expected to carry a crown on his brow and the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He bounced Scott on his knee and told him that elven hearts are fragile, too fragile for how strongly they love. “Don’t fall too deep in love, son,” he said, and the words carried the weight of years of grief. “Don’t care too much about any one person, not if you want to live to be a legend of the ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, love can be lethal.”

Scott didn’t listen, of course- reckless, rebellious Scott, who never once listened to his elders, went and did the most dangerous thing an elf could do. He fell in love with a human.

And now he’s dying. Surely that gives him a pass to wallow in his own misery for a day or two. He’s been brave for so long, can’t he just rest a few moments? Just...just a few. He’ll just lay here a bit longer.

At that moment, the front door creaks open somewhere below him.

“My lord? Can I come up?” Someone calls from below. Their voice is also familiar- Gilnar. Gilnar’s a good captain of the guard. Dutiful, clever, and far more willing to respect him than most of Rivendell’s high ranking elves.

“If you’ve come to convince me to get up, it won’t work,” Scott calls back.

Gilnar’s head peeks over the railing a moment later. “Nope, not here for that. Just thought I’d check in, y’know?” The Sindarin words sound almost musical in their accent, rolling up and down with a unique sort of rhythm.

“Alright.”

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“No.” He’s done lying. “Leave me be.”

Gilnar shakes their head. “Sorry, my lord, can’t do that.”

“If you’re going to tell me my people need me, don’t waste your breath. I know .” Scott’s voice cracks on the last word, just a little.

“Not that either. But with all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.” They lean against the railing.

“What do you mean by that?”

They cough, a little awkwardly. “The soul-sickness. The fading.”

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, and he sputters. “How-”

“Trainin’ with the royal guard a few weeks back, your hands were freezin’ and your balance was off. You haven’t gotten up at a reasonable hour in weeks, and, well, with all due respect- I know what heartbreak looks like.”

He’s silent for a moment, utterly floored. “What do you mean by giving up?”

“Well, Lauriel and I were talkin’, and….your love’s still alive, isn’t he? The Codfather?”

“How did you-”

Gilnar flashes him a tiny grin. “He’s not subtle, and neither are you. Plus, he has Vilya.”

Deciding to shove that to the back of his mind for now, Scott sighs. “He’s a mortal, Gilnar. I’m not giving up anything that I won’t already lose in sixty years or so.”

“Luthien loved Beren, didn’t she?”

“I am not Luthien. I cannot sing so well that the gods grant me pardon.”

“And Idril loved Tuor.”

“I am not Idril. I cannot bring Jimmy to the Undying Lands.”

“Arwen still loved Aragorn.”

“I am not Arwen. I do not have the choice to give up my immortal life.”

Gilnar’s smile turns sad. “Caranthir still loved Haleth. And Celebrimbor loved Narvi just the same, didn’t he? The doomed love all the more fiercely, my lord.”

“The rest of the elves won’t be happy with me,” Scott points out.

“You think Thingol and Turgon and Elrond were happy when their daughters loved mortals? You think Luthien’s people didn’t scorn Beren at first?”

Scott doesn’t have any retort to that, and Gilnar hops up from their seat on the banister. “Well, I need to get back to my duties, my lord. Good luck with your swamp boy!”

They’re gone as soon as they arrive, and Scott stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts dragging him along a spiral of emotion.

“Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott is a coward. He’s a liar and a coward. Nothing he does will ever be right.

“Don’t fall too deep in love, son.”

Scott did, though. Like the idiot he is, he fell in love with someone the universe didn’t want him to have.

“Caranthir still loved Haleth.”

He did. And he paid for it. Does it matter? Scott thinks that losing Jimmy might be a price worth paying for the joy of loving him.

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

Scott didn’t mean to, but he still messed up and shouted at Jimmy. He’s a failure. Jimmy could do better. He deserves better.

“I don’t want a mortal. I want you .”

Jimmy’s so stupid. Stupid Codfather with his stupid bright eyes and stupid, stupid insistence on not giving up on someone he should never have loved to begin with. Scott loves him so much more than he could ever put into words.

“With all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.”

Jimmy deserves an apology. Scott won’t give up.

(Not on Jimmy, anyways.)

It takes him nearly a month of furious work to make the precious mithril bracelet, refining it over and over again. He picks the flowers and their meanings carefully- love, hope, protection- and the crystals too. Amethysts for protection, carefully traded for filled with any bit of magic he can spare for them. The lettering carved into the underside is yet another layer of blessings and meaning; he does it in Quenya, the Tengwar script, which Scott knows Jimmy can’t read. He has to look up how to write in it after so many years of never so much as looking at elven script, pouring over old books by candlelight. By day, he rules an empire, relying on the rush of adrenaline and motivation to carry him through even on the days when he’s swaying on his feet by the end. By night, he works on a courtship project like none he’s made before until at last, at nearly three in the morning one night, it’s finished.

It’s not the most beautiful it could have been. Scott isn’t one of the great Noldor smiths of old, he’s just an elf in love. His hands are perpetually shaky nowadays, and he has limited time to work on it between every other responsibility in his life. But every centimeter of it is handmade with all the care he could muster, and that has to count for something.

Scott hardly wants to wait to give it to Jimmy, but he forces himself to try and wait for morning. His anxiety doesn’t let him sleep much, exhausted as he is, but he curls up under the covers and stares at the bracelet on his nightstand. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off it, half-convinced it will vanish if he does. Eventually, his eyes slide shut of their own will, carrying him into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up long after the sun's risen, staggering out of bed and throwing on a cloak for the journey to Jimmy’s. The cold that he’s been banishing with the warmth of a forge has returned tenfold, and he’s shivering despite elves normally being resistant to chills. When he takes a glance at himself in the mirror, he finds that his hair is out of place, there’s a streak of ink across his cheek, and the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. He looks a mess, and he doesn’t care. Jimmy is all that matters now.

The journey’s both long and rough, and his landing in the swamp is more like a frantic swan dive out of the sky. Luckily, though, the ground is soft here, and Scott’s able to pick himself up and hurry for Jimmy’s house, ignoring the stares of a few Codland citizens. He knocks, heart in his throat as he waits for the door to open.

The hinges squeak, and suddenly Jimmy’s standing there, a mix of emotions that Scott doesn’t even want to try and comprehend scattered across his face. He looks a little sleepy despite the fact that it must be near noon, and so very sweet with his hair falling in his face. The sight of him knocks the air right out of Scott’s lungs, and he has to struggle to remember why he’s here again for a long moment as they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Scott says weakly.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy sounds outraged, and Scott can’t blame him.

Scott swallows hard. “I came to apologize.” His tired brain scrambles for words, something, anything to convey how truly sorry he is. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps.

“I know.” God, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much to hear the rage in Jimmy’s voice. “I- uh- fuck.” Scott fumbles to get the box he put the bracelet in, holding it out. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy’s silent for a long moment, examining the bracelet. Scott barely dares breathe as he turns it over and over in his hands, tracing the flower designs with his fingertips. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.” And, well, isn’t that just the story of his life?

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says. He sounds genuine.

Scott lets out a breath, letting some of the tension go. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts, and then pauses. What does he say? An apology would be a start, maybe. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.” It’s the truth, as wholly as he can bear to give it.

“Is it that- that dire?” Jimmy’s voice shakes a little, and Scott gives a tiny nod.

“This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

Jimmy goes quiet again. His eyes are still on the bracelet, and Scott can hardly breathe again.

Finally, he can’t take the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am still yours-” he’s always been, really- “if you’ll have me.”

The silence that falls after that is even more stifling than the previous two. Scott doesn’t expect Jimmy to want him back- far from it. He’s putting his heart in Jimmy’s hands, but he doesn’t expect anything other than it shattering on the floor. Maybe Jimmy will be kind enough to let him down gently, but Scott’s fragile enough that it would only take a tiny nudge to break him. And yet he can’t stop the tiny bit of hope that blooms, though it dwindles minute by minute as Jimmy stares and stares. Finally, he opens his mouth to make his apologies again and leave to his frozen, icy empire-

And then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, warm and sudden and bold. Scott gives a little startled gasp, which is swallowed up by Jimmy’s kiss. Their noses knock together and Jimmy’s teeth click against his just a little in their haste, but Scott’s far too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of warmth to care.

When Jimmy finally pulls away, Scott’s left breathless, cheeks warm in a way no part of him has been since Jimmy died in 3rd life.

He barely pulls himself together enough to manage a wry little “So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?”

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

Jimmy sounds so startled and offended at the idea that he wouldn’t , Scott’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again in response, and who’s Scott to protest? No, he’s more than happy to let Jimmy pull him close and kiss away the lingering sorrow. When Jimmy pulls away this time, he’s left dizzy, half caught up in the euphoria of being loved, half terrified that this is only a cruel dream.

By the time Scott collects himself again, Jimmy’s holding out the bracelet to him. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott can only nod, fumbling with the clasp a little. It’s not complicated, but his hands aren’t steady, and it takes him a moment to get it. Jimmy grabs his hands when he lets go, and he’s so warm that Scott can’t muster the energy to even question why.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he can’t bear to let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk a lot, Jimmy more than Scott. Scott learns that Jimmy’s been picked on by other rulers (no surprise, but his blood still boils at the thought), and he shares minimal details about what he’s been up to. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear about Scott’s issues, he’s already dealing with enough.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says, though he has to force himself to. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please.” Jimmy sounds almost afraid, which instantly sets off alarm bells.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep,” Scott tells him, very patiently.

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

Now the alarm bells are really going off in Scott’s head. He knows when his husband is hiding something serious, and Jimmy’s frantic tone isn’t helping his worry. “No, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jimmy claims.

Scott frowns at him lightly. “ Jimmy .”

That’s all it takes. “I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts. He’s blushing a little. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

Oh, Jimmy . Scott holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me. It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!” Jimmy’s voice pitches up with distress, and Scott’s heart aches for him.

“Alright,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.” More like, Aeor can protect them. Scott’s useless, even with Vilya.

Jimmy nods and takes Scott’s hand with a tiny little “Thank you.”

“Always,” Scott murmurs. It comes out softer than he means it to, though it’s the truth. He’ll always do whatever he can to protect Jimmy, which is why he asks “Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just… give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Vilya is one of the most important parts of his heritage, actually, and his advisors would pitch a fit if they knew he had given it to a mortal. For once, he can’t bring himself to care what his advisors would think, though. Jimmy is important, more important than any piece of jewelry.

Jimmy follows Scott to Rivendell, and Scott can’t resist a proud smile when Jimmy praises the buildings. He takes Jimmy inside, lets him curl up under the warm covers, his head tucked against Scott’s chest, and it’s only once Jimmy’s asleep that Scott lets himself break. He’s so tired , so utterly exhausted from being brave for so long. Even now that his husband is curled up next to him, warm and solid and real, he can hardly believe that Jimmy actually wanted him back- wanted him at all, really. Scott doesn’t want to move for fear of waking up Jimmy, but luckily for him, he’s good at crying silently. That’s what he does, tears slipping down his face to wet the pillow below. Only the faintest whimper escapes his lips, a tiny broken noise that he’s embarrassed of even in this emotional state. And when another slips out, he buries his face in Jimmy’s hair and forces himself back into silence. He’s not going to cry over the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t , but he’s just so tired of being alone that being with someone else is almost painful in contrast; he’s so cold that the slightest touch of warmth feels burning.

Jimmy shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds vaguely affectionate and pulling Scott closer, and Scott nearly chokes from the effort of restraining a sob. Gods, Jimmy . He could die like this, tucked in his husband’s arms, and he doesn’t think he’d regret it.

“I love you,” he whispers into the night. It comes out choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy mumbles something that sounds a lot like “I love you too”, and that’s what really breaks Scott. It’s a miracle Jimmy doesn’t wake up, really, with Scott’s quiet sobs shaking the mattress. He cries until he’s all out of tears, as silently as he can manage, and only then does he slip into a sound sleep.

[iguessilovebakugou]

In Search of Silver Linings, We Discovered Gold ||  Bakugou x Fem!Reader (x Shinsou) ||  Happier pt 3 ||  Series

I really feel like Sleeping At Last’s “Two” resonates with Shinsou in this one.  But also for the Reader towards Bakugou just like...in general.  Also, I would suggest Gang of Youth’s “Achilles, Come Down” as well. And Lauren Aquilina’s “Fools”. 

One day I’m going to make a playlist for this fucking series - and then you bitches will be sorry.  

I’m sorry it took so long to get this part out.  I feel like nothing I would write would live up to what I did 2 years ago now.  So I really hope that people like this one just as much as the others. 

Part One!  Part Two!

Word Count:  7.7K TW:  Smooching, Death Mention

“Hey, you okay?”

It should be so easy to explain to them what you were feeling.  They where there with you.  They went through the same thing you had, right?  You were right there with Ochaco, sat right by her side and watched her tell Mr. Aizawa...you should be able to just...

“Yeah,”  You offered Asui a bright smile.  “Just...tired.  These make up classes are just...they’re really killer, you know?”

The dorm had been quiet by the time the raid team had made their way home from their extra classes. Everyone had already gone to bed, the common area devoid of life by the time you had settled on the couches. And you were happy for it.  Ever since...well, it had been a bit harder to be around everyone.  It was hard to come to terms with the fact that after everything that had happened, happened.  And you were supposed to just...move on from it.  Keep going forward.  No time to process.

You pulled out your phone to check your messages.  You had hoped Shinsou would have at least texted you - but you had been left on read.  You tried not to be upset about it and instead, pretended to go to another app and check your messages there.  You even got comfortable and put an arm behind your head - yep, perfectly relaxed and not at all wanting to break down on the inside.  

Tsu’s big bright eyes stared down at you.  You wondered if she felt the same - if Kirishima, Izuku or Ochaco felt the same.  You wondered if sometimes, during class, they just lifted their heads, looked around at your classmates and felt...so out of place.  The only way you could describe it was like stumbling in the middle of a skit being performed in the middle of a park, and no one seemed to quite realize you weren’t actually an extra.

But you didn’t want to run the risk of looking at her.  If she looked at you, she might realize that you hadn’t come to terms with what happened - with Nighteye, Lemillion, with that poor girl, Eri.  And that wouldn’t do.  That might lead into her asking what was wrong.  And what were you supposed to do then?  Answer her honestly?  Come to terms with your feelings like a rational, level headed adult?

You?  Nah. Never.

“Yeah, you’re right.”  Once you were certain her back was towards you, you risked a glance in her direction.  

Your body ached, your eyes were sore, and your mind felt blank but busy at the same time.  You weren’t sure where to begin with everything, where to start with trying to catch up.  But this had become your norm, and as sad as it was, it felt like your body was accommodating to the drama that had become commonplace in your life.  You watched as she met Ochaco at the base of the steps leading up to the rooms.  She seemed surprised when you didn’t move to join them, turning to give you a concerned glance and a lip pout - for extra measure.  

You smiled, lifting up your phone and giving it a little wave.  “I think I’m just going to hang out down here before heading to bed.”

“Oh,”  She muttered softly.  “Okay, if you’re sure?”

You knew she wasn’t buying the act - whatever it was - in the slightest.  You knew Nighteye’s death hit her hard.  A lot harder than you.  As it should have - you had tried to use your quirk to defend her and Nighteye, only to be overpowered and rendered unconscious when it mattered most so you weren’t technically cognizant when she had made her getaway.  But it must have been terrible, holding a man in your arms as he died.   And yet here you are moping about it.  What gives you the right?

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  Another smile, this time a little wider.  “Got some videos to watch, don’t want to run the risk of waking anyone up.”

You turned, ending the conversation there.  You stared at your phone, sitting on the home screen and not bothering to look back once you heard them make the ascent up the stairs to their respective rooms.  It had been getting harder and harder to sleep these past few days and you couldn’t spend another restless night staring at the same four walls anymore.  Watching the same videos, rereading the same texts, you would go insane.  With an exasperated sigh, you tossed your phone to the side.  Hands found your face, fingers rubbing your eyes while reclining back, letting out a slow, low groan.

The lights in the common room were dim, just enough to find your way in case you stumbled down here in the middle of the night.  It was a small comfort, you figured to yourself, to have this moment alone.  To sit in the quiet and listen to the sounds of your friends around you, of the dorm settling snuggly down for another night’s rest.  And there you were, sitting by yourself in the common room.  Trying to decide if you were still mourning for a man you spoke to maybe a handful of times before you watched him get impaled on a spike or if you were ready to move on from it all.  Your head fell back limply against the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to push any semblance of thought from your mind.  You just needed this one minute, one second for your entire world to just...stop running away from you.

If I could just get to him in time, maybe I could, I could help.  I could save him and be a hero and...

God, how dramatic could you get.  At least you hadn’t held the man in your arms as he lay dying.

With a sigh, you sat yourself back up and went back to your messages, pulling up the chat with Shinsou.  You hoped he was free.  Maybe even free enough to talk.  The empty feeling finding home in your chest was becoming too much.  You could use him, right now.  Maybe you could convince him to leave and come over.  You could watch a movie and just talk until you passed out.

Like friends did.

And if he was there, maybe it would so much easier to stay asleep. 

Hey.  We just got home.  Hope you’re...

Nope, delete.  Didn’t sound right.  

Hey!  You free right now?  I can’t sleep so

Nope, too eager.  

Shinsou, you loser get your ass over here

Nothing was coming out the way you wanted it to.  Nothing had ever sounded right.  You had so many things you wanted to say and yet never seemed to have the energy for it anymore.  Is this depression?  Do you have depression?  Do people who have depression know they have depression without being diagnosed with depression?  

You bit your lip, chewed on it until it grew sore and red and angry.  You needed your friend.  Your best friend.  Your only friend.  You missed hanging out with him, missed being able to text him weird shit and get a selfie of him looking bored at the camera just cause he knew it would make you laugh.  Cause you knew the weird shit you sent him made him laugh.  You wanted to see his face, to hear his voice.  You wanted it to go back before the dorms, back before whatever extra curricular thing he was doing.  But it wasn’t like he was doing this on purpose!  He was busy and you were just being fucking dramatic and needlessly stupid you didn’t even see Nighteye die but Deku did and he is holding himself together so much better and you would be okay if...if...

Why were you fucking crying now???????

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

“Hey.”

Given the recent events in your life, his gruff voice shattering the quiet of your isolation should have been expected.  Nevertheless, it still sent your heart skyrocketing into your throat.  You thought everyone had gone to bed and you could be a miserable wretch on your own time.  You jumped, sending your phone clattering to the ground and sliding under the coffee table.  The giant...granite...coffee table.  “Ah, shit, shit...”  You fell to your knees, trying to make a grab for it.  “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“I thought I would find you down here.”

Shinsou had hardly heard from you since the night you got back from the raid.  He had seen the news that something had happened.  When you didn’t answer his morning text, he just hoped you were just being your normal self.  When you didn’t show up at lunch, he feared the worst.  He paced his room, hardly ate, did nothing but refresh his news feed to see if your name flashed by as a causality.  He figured no news was good news but waiting to hear from you was the hardest thing he ever had to do.  And the fact you hadn’t told him you were going in the first place and had to find out about it by overhearing one of your classmates mention it?

Ample payback it seemed.  Secrets had become your duo’s new norm - and he hated it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We were told not to say anything to anyone.  I’m sorry, Shinsou.”

Your voice had sounded so off, so different in what little words you spoke.  Silence had never been so poignant until he experienced it from you.  As he laid in bed and stared at the phone on his pillow, his heart broke with each toss and turn he could hear from you.  He sat quietly, for that whole 2 hours as you tried to make sense of what you had just been through that day.  But you never said more than a few words and, even so, those were just a mask to hide the rest of the truth you wanted to keep hidden.  He listened, patiently, as you tried to place it all in order so you could begin to move past it.  

He hoped he had helped - in what little way he could.  In what minute way you had allowed him.  You were closing off and he so desperately wanted to cry out for you.  But he stayed quiet.  

And he felt entirely useless. 

He didn’t know exactly what happened; only what little information he had heard from Mr. Aizawa and even that had been bits and pieces.  Confidential, he said.  Bullshit, Shinsou thought.  If he was going to try to begin to figure out a solution to...whatever it was that plagued you, to lift your spirits, he needed to know exactly what happened.  But, when Shinsou had asked if you had been involved, if you were alright...?

“You’re friends with her, right?  She didn’t really seem to want to talk about it when I asked her after the fact.  But I figure that’s just because I’m her teacher.  Maybe you should be the one to check in on her instead.  She might actually open up to you.”

Open up to him.  

And that was the problem wasn’t it?  Something that always seemed to stand right between the two of you, pushing you in separate directions - opening up to each other.  It was a thought that occurred to him as he watched you spin your spoon around in your soup, but refused to eat.  The two of you had no problems talking, especially you.  You talked a lot, and he...didn’t.  You suited him fine.  More than fine.  

But what is talking if you’re not saying anything?  What was the point of being friends if you couldn’t even rely on each other to keep a secret, to lean on each other when everything seemed so fucking terrible.  Had he done you a disservice, hiding things from you?  Had he given you the impression that you couldn’t come to him for something so small as a crush on...ah, for something really small?  Had you transitioned from “don’t want to bother him with something silly” to “I can’t talk to him anymore period”?

Shinsou had always been the more straightforward one.  Where you seemed to be an endless supply of needless conversation and seemed to always dance around subjects, Shinsou was the one who could give it to you as plainly as possible.  And you knew that.  You knew him better than anyone, could understand him better than anyone.  

So when he didn’t give it to you as honestly, as plainly as he could have, it would stand to reason that you would be sent tumbling.

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

The text had come as a surprise.  Shinsou had been trying to sleep, but it was a rare commodity those days.  His mind swirled with thoughts of you.  Of how much he missed just you.  Your laugh, your stupid jokes.  Everything was starting to feel so hollow when he heard that soft ding from across the room.  To say he scrambled towards his desk where the phone lay charging was an understatement.  

I really miss you.

You were screaming for him and he hadn’t heard it.  You were sinking further and further and yet here he was, wondering and waiting for some sort of sign on what to do.  How he could fix it - but later.  He’s not strong enough now.  He’s not ready.  After he’s done with Aizawa.  After he’s a hero.  After after after.  Always cautious, always testing the waters.  

I just wish you were here.

You never waited, never paused, never hesitated.  When Bakugou was kidnapped, you rushed home and came up with a plan of action.  When you wanted to talk to him, you marched from your dorms, almost got into a fist fight, just to talk.  You were reckless in all the best ways.  In all the ways that made him want to scream, to touch you, to praise you, to love...to love you.

“I would be able to sleep if you answered your phone once in a while.”

He gripped his phone and hated that he had to draw one hand up to wipe his eyes.  Hated that his chest ached and hated that you even had to ask him.

“I wish you would have answered me.”

No more.  You would never have to ask him again.

He couldn’t pull his shoes on fast enough.  Before Shinsou could stop, rethink if this was a good idea, he was outside and making his way towards your dorm.  If he couldn’t help you now, when you needed it the most, when you were asking for him to pull you out from the waters...

His heart didn’t have the right to ache for you as much as it did. 

The two of you had done this so many times, Bakugou was surprised that you weren’t in the kitchen when he finally got down stairs.  The moment he got to the ground floor and saw you hunched over on the couch, his body froze.  

He had been hoping to have a bit more time to think of what he wanted to say.

“Is it just me, or has she not been the same since coming back from the raid?”

“No, I noticed it too.”

“Should we ask her about it?”

The frog grew quiet for a moment.  Bakugou had to strain to hear her response from down the hall.  “I think she’ll open up when she’s ready.”  She said softly.  “If we try to push the issue before then, it might just make matters worse.”

“Yeah,”  Uraraka responded, “I guess you’re right.  Still...I’m just worried.”

Worried.  For you.  

He didn’t want to think about why he was down in the commons, so late at night.  He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that seeing your shaking shoulders, hearing the fast gasps you were making, ripped his very state of being apart.  He watched you, eyes narrowed.

He didn’t like it.  He didn’t like that you were in this state at all.

“Hey.”

He expected you to jump - it was a good thing that you did.  He would drag you out of whatever rut you were in, kicking and screaming if he had to.  

You got to your knees, cursing under your breath and scrambling for whatever you had been holding.  Probably your phone.  Bakugou stepped around the couch, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “Figured I would find you down here.”

You didn’t pay him any attention.  In fact, as you tried to reach under the coffee table, you kept your head turned - enough to where he couldn’t see your face.  You kept cursing, kept trying to reach desperately.  He watched you for a moment, feeling the frustration rise up inside of him.  You were ignoring him.  Like he wasn’t even there.  Like he wasn’t standing in front of you.

“Hey!”

“SHHH!”  You snapped to attention, pressing a finger to your lips.  He tried not to stare for too long.  “Do you want to wake the whole dorm!?”

“You should be in bed.”

Your stare lingered on him, for just a moment.  He refused to break eye contact first, refused to back down from the daggers you were sending his way.  You let out a huff, going back to searching for whatever it was that you had dropped.  “Couldn’t sleep.”

Bullshit.  He could tell.  It was a fact that he didn’t like to pay much attention to: tiny mannerisms that caught onto his attention like a hook.  You generally were so bright, hardly ever short.  Low energy, but not tired?  Sure.

He waited another minute.  “The others just got home.”

The slight pause.  Heh - you were like a book.  So easy to read.  “Oh.”  You said so matter-of-factly.  In another beat, you were back to searching, still focusing your gaze on the far side of the wall.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“So unless you got sent back early, I doubt you’ve even had a chance to try and sleep.”

Your fingers clenched, your fist shaking against the granite top.  Your body pulled up and away, resting in a rigid position.  But you were still refusing to look at him; in fact, to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to see anything,  you put your face in your hand.  Still, you didn’t say a word, didn’t argue with him.  So he continued:  “I’m just saying, if you’re going to lie, at least keep track who you tell what.”

You didn’t respond.  And he wished it didn’t make him as angry as it did.  He wished that he had been able to stop the rage that bubbled in his stomach.  But he couldn’t.  He didn’t want you to hide anything from him.  He wanted you to feel comfortable telling him when something was hurting you.  After he laid it all bare for you a few weeks ago, you couldn’t be bothered to at least confide in him what the hell was going on in your tiny little world?

“...tch.”  Bakugou fingers slid under the edge of the coffee table.  “Grab the other side.”

You paused, turning to stare at him.  His eyes met yours and he saw so clearly how blood shot they were, your cheeks blotchy and burning.  You sniffled once, pushing a strand of hair back into place.  “Uh...wha?”

“Do you want your crap or not!?”

“Oh, yeah, uh...”  You pushed yourself up.  His eyes followed you as you stationed yourself on the other side like instructed.  “On three.  One-”

He didn’t bother waiting.  Up he lifted and you scrambled to meet him half way.

Just a little to the side - and the bright screen of your phone illuminated the living room.  It was closest to him, causing him to flinch just slightly when the glow blinded him.  He moved to grab it for you -

Before Bakugou could realize what was happening, your fingers brushed against his.  You both paused, your digits flinching away from him every so slightly.  He didn’t know if he should continue making the grab for it or if he should pull away.  He didn’t want to.  Your skin was so soft and warm and...

He could feel your eyes on him and almost was able keep his gaze away.  Almost able to hold off temptation.  But you were like that, weren’t you?  The light had dimmed, casting a soft glow over your features.  He wanted to look anywhere else - anywhere but at you.  But your eyes held his, demanded that he hold your attention.  He hated the soft sound that escaped him.  Hated the way his heart hammered in his chest as you stared at each other, fingers still touching ever so slightly.  

He shouldn’t feel this way about you.  But he did.

Bakugou pulled back with a grunt.  He could feel your eyes follow him as he stood back up and stepped away, away from you.  Why did you do this to him?  Why did you manage to make him the worst of himself?  Lord Explosion Murder - reduced to a sniveling little puppy, eager to please because a girl he kind of thinks is pretty sometimes makes him feel like he’s going to throw up.  

His fingers shook.  He shoved them back in his pockets to hide the evidence.

You plucked the phone off the ground and immediately hit the lock screen to turn the light off.  You were once against standing alone in the dark, though he could see you plainly.  Neither of you said a word.  He wished he could say something, not scream it but just say it.  His mind strained to find something meaningful to say to you, something catching or just enough to keep you distracted from your thoughts.  But you had the knack for words - he didn’t.  All he could do was leer at you, waiting for you to start conversation.  You always had something to say.  

You silently slipped your phone in the pocket of your skirt.  

There was something different about you.  A wall that was keeping you from him.  Maybe the girls’ concern for you had weight behind it.  You still didn’t look at him, eyes downcast.

He had hoped, that night in the kitchen, that things might have been different.  That maybe...someday...

“You got your damn phone.  Now go to bed.”  He turned on his heels and made his way back towards the stairs.  He was done.  He helped you out enough.  

Sometimes you were too much.  Messed with his head and pulled his mind in so many different directions, he forgot which way was up because right there with you was where he wanted to be. 

“Why do you want to be a hero?”

Your voice cut through the silence of the dorm like a knife.  He hadn’t expected you to speak up now, though it fit you.  Question, make him stay; just when he decided to leave.  And of course, because you asked him to stay - he would.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Humor me.”

He regretted coming down here to talk to you.  He should have just stayed in the comfort of his room.  “Why?”

“Humor.  Me.”  

His eyes narrowed.  Even if you wrapped yourself around him, brought him to his knees and groveling in your steps, no one spoke to him like that.  He spun around, snarl behind gritted teeth.  Who the fuck did you think you were talking to?

Then he paused.

You were watching him and the hollow expression on your face shoved the rage back down into his stomach.  With just a glance, you quelled that fury.  Another noise, another shock. Then your eyes softened and your shoulders slumped.  You remembered where you were, who you were talking to...no...no, you had never been afraid to talk to him like that.  Never afraid to meet his attitude head to head.  So what was different now?  “Please,” You added on, quietly.

What the hell happened to you?

Why did he want to be a hero?  

“To be number one.”

“Is that it?”

I don’t know anymore.  He didn’t like this line of questioning.  Bakugou was a smart kid - he could tell this conversation wasn’t going to be like the last one the two of you had.  No tea, no gentle touches.  The wounds were infected now and he felt shame burrow deep.  You had something you wanted to say, but something else was keeping it trapped, holding you back from being honest with him.  “What are you getting at?”

You fell quiet, letting his eyes take you in.  With a sigh, you turned and sat back down on the couch.  Your body folded in on itself, your hands grasping your arms, shaking fingertips digging into the fabric of the white dress shirt you were wearing.  “Nothing.”  You said finally.  “Just...thinking.  About things.”

You thought a lot about a lot of things.  Perhaps a little too much for too long.  You were receding back into your thoughts, pulling away from him again.  While he didn’t enjoy the feelings that being around you brought, losing you to your own headspace wasn’t something he would do tonight.  Or...any night.  His feet carried him back to the couch.  With a groan he sat down beside you.  “Well, then say it out loud.”

You let out a laugh that sounded too much like a sneer.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

It took everything in him to not reach out and grab you.  “I’m being serious.”

“I know.”

He just wanted to fucking help you.  “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Like you had helped him.  “Whatever the hell that’s going on.”

A moment passed before you pulled your eyes back to his.  Finally, you were back in the present - back in that room with him.  Suddenly, you were aware that he had stationed himself beside you, so close your arms were a breath away from each other.  And there was a moment of panic in your eyes.  

You smirked, “Oh, are you playing therapist now?”

“Shut up!”  He bellowed.  “And tell me what the hell is going on before I change my mind!”

Your laugh was bitter, but it was something.  You used your hands to push your hair back out of your eyes, “...okay.”  You started...then fell quiet again.  He could hear you swallow the regret, the shame, the fear.  He watched as you struggled to put to words everything spinning around you.  “I don’t think I belong here.  At all.”

There were a million things Bakugou would have thought you could have said.  That...wasn’t one of them.  He had never thought of you not here.  What would that look like?

“I look at everyone here: Kirishima and Uraraka and Tsu and Deku...and I just can’t seem to find a place to put myself.  Among the rest of our class.”  His brows furrowed as you spoke.  He watched as your expression shifted with each word - angry and bitter and lost and upset.  “Like, you all are able to keep your heads held high, keep looking forward and never seem to let things drag you down.  I...I just don’t think I can do that.  So...”  You shrugged, swallowing harshly.  “Maybe I don’t deserve to be here if I can’t handle it...not like everyone else can.”

This wasn’t about the raid - that was just a catalyst.  It obviously struck a chord with you.  

“That’s stupid.”  

Another laugh.  This one tear filled but honest; and so, so bittersweet.  “Yeah.  Yeah, you’re absolutely right.  It’s pretty pathetic, huh?”

“No, you idiot.  It’s stupid because you’re wrong.”

You stared at him, mouth agape.  Then, in a second, your eyes narrowed, your lips thinned and your expression darkened.  He couldn’t help but feel the pride bubble in his chest:  You had realized you weren’t going to avoid this.  Not with him.  Not when he could help you.  He closed his eyes, figured it best to keep you out of his sight until he finished.  

“Look, you moron.  If you want to be angry or sad about whatever the hell happened back there, fine.  Do it.  But what good is wallowing in your own self pity if you’re not going to do anything about it?!”

Your voice shook as you spoke.  “Okay fine - then what should I do, Bakugou?”

His eyes snapped open, lips parted in surprise at the question.  There was an edge to your expression, daring him to answer.  Daring him to suggest something.  Blow it up?  Yell at it?  Fight it until it gives up?  But where would you start?  It wasn’t a real person - you couldn’t threaten it to back down.  Eyes scoured the floor for a response, searched desperately to find something - a strand of advice - to give you.  But he had nothing.  

“Yeah,”  You moved, pushing yourself off the couch.  You snatched your bag with such force it almost swung around and hit him in the face.  “That’s what I thought.  You don’t have an answer either.”

Shit.  Shit. He watched you as you skirted past his legs, intent on burying everything again.  If he let this go - let you go - you might actually do it.  You might actually leave UA - leave everyone in Class 1-A, leave your dream, leave...him. 

“It’s fine.”  You added, making your way towards the stairs.  “I’ll be fine.”

But he knew that was a lie.  Everything about this situation was a lie.  You wouldn’t be fine if he let you go upstairs, left you along with those thoughts of inadequacy, and if you kept falling lower and lower...?

“Hey.”  

You paused in front of the elevator...then pressed the button, it’s soft white glow sending panic down Bakugou’s spine.  The only thing he could see of you in the dark was the back of your head, the way your chin dipped just so lightly to your chest.  You weren’t going to respond if he didn’t do something.  He didn’t want this conversation to end - not like this.  What would All Might say?  What would Kirishima say?  What would Deku say?

What would you say?

“You never told me:  Why did you agree to go on that raid?”

There was a moment of pause before you turned and glanced over your shoulder at him.  There was a confused expression on your face, your eyes scanning him to try and figure out just what he was playing at.  “I told you why I wanted to be a hero.”  It was a challenge.  Stay and face this.  “Now tell me why you went on that stupid raid.”

“Don’t get too worked up about this.”  Mr. Aizawa - no, Eraserhead - had said.  “The Big Three are one thing:  They’re strong enough to hold their own out there with the Pros.”  He called you all out by name.  Asui, Uraraka, Kirishima and you.  “You didn’t volunteer for this and you’re not obligated to participate.  It’s your call.”

It had been your call.  Your decision.  The Pros wouldn’t have shoved you into a situation you weren’t ready for.  The four of you had known that it was not necessary for you to go above and beyond what you had already done.  It was going to be dangerous, and you needed to not only be physically capable, but mentally as well.  

You should have waited, weighed the odds, thought about it for a moment longer.  

Your call.  Your choice:  Save a little girl who was in danger or back down.  Be a Hero or refuse to answer the call.

Well...the choice was simple than wasn’t it?

You hadn’t been capable.  You screwed up.  Once again jumping deeper into a situation than you should have.  You weren’t like your friends.  

You weren’t like them at all.

“Mr. Ai- I mean, Eraserhead!  After everything we just heard, I can’t imagine not helping out, sir!”

Someone who could raise their head and keep it held high.  Who could look danger in the eye and refuse to back down.

“Yeah, if you’re going to let us be apart of this, I’d like to pitch in however I can!”

Who saw someone and danger and threw themselves into the line of fire.  Who reached out a hand and kept holding on, long past the last scrap of energy was gone. 

"If I can use my power to help that girl even a little bit, then count me in Eraserhead!”

They were heroes.  You weren’t like them.

You stood up, nodding earnestly.  Your look was stern, your eyes hard as you looked at Eraserhead.  You were equals - at least in this moment.  “Yeah,  heroes save people - so I’ll do my best to make sure that girl is safe!”

You could feel Bakugou’s eyes pick you apart and put you back together.  Looking at him made you sick, made you want to crawl into yourself and rot.  But...with a soft sigh, your eyes casted up, trying to keep the tears from falling again.  You had thought you had done all your crying.  God, his face in the dark was a slight comfort.  His eyes practically glowed in the low light of the common room.  His dark t-shirt hung around his shoulders, his hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction.  And he just watched you.  No malice, no rage, just...waiting.  

Waiting for your answer.  

Why did you agree to join the raid?

To save that little girl.  Because that’s what heroes do. 

But...

“After my fight with Deku, you sat with me.  You didn’t have to do that either. So why?”

Arms gripping your hoodie, squeezing you for dear life.  His whole body trembled under your touch.  Tears as he begged for forgiveness that you couldn’t give him.  But you wanted to - because it would mean his pain would be put at ease.  If you couldn’t give him what he needed, what he longed for, you would at least be there for a moment longer than the tears would fall.  You just needed him to know he wasn’t alone.  You needed Katsuki Bakugou to know you were there for him, no matter what.

“And with the League attack?  You weren’t with Kirishima and them.  You went off on your own, to try and save me.  Why?”

They wouldn’t see how hard he worked.  How much he wanted to be a hero.  And if they hurt him, if he refused and the villains hurt him?  If they took that away from him…?  All of his hopes and dreams?

No.  No, you weren’t going to let that happen.  

You had to bite you lip to keep it from shaking.  Bakugou was listing off all your fuck ups as if they mattered.  As if they were helping his case.  As if they were something you should be proud of.  You considered telling him, making him aware that even in those moments, you still failed:  you got knocked out during the raid, during the fight with the villains, and that you hadn’t done much besides give him a hug in the kitchen.  You weren’t doing much.

Deep breath, look away.  His face was too much.  It was too honest, trying to grab at you and hold you still.  He could almost convince you that you did something besides hinder those who had a better chance of being a Hero.

“You do half the shit you do because you’re a good person.  You want to help people.”  Movement caused you to glance his way.  He turned to sit back down on the couch.  “As stupid as it is, I guess it’s pretty admirable.”

‘Pretty admirable’?  He - Katsuki Bakugou - thought it was admirable.  You opened your mouth, but after a long moment of silence found you had nothing to say, so you closed it again.  You hated that even without speaking, you were losing this fight.  “So does everyone else.”  You replied weakly.  It didn’t make you special.  It didn’t make you any different.

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“Than wouldn’t that mean you belong here with all the other losers looking to be a Hero to protect people?”

Ding!

Behind you, the elevator opened.  

A soft gasp escaped your chest.  So...that’s what he was doing.  Leave it up to him to talk you around into a circle before shoving your argument back into your face...no, he hadn’t been nearly as harsh as you had expected.  He was speaking so softly to you, being as gentle as he knew how - which granted, wasn’t much, but appreciated none the less.  One shouldn’t look a gift explosion in the mouth.  

You looked at the elevator over your shoulder, stared at it’s open doors.  

You let them shut.

For the first time since that raid, you smiled.  Really, honestly smiled.  You set your bag down against the wall.  The walk back to the couch was the lightest you had felt in a long while.  You sat down next to him, resting your hands on your knees and one by one, you tapped your fingers against your skin.  With a deep breath, you felt your shoulders relaxed.  You weren’t surprised he was able to help.  “I guess...technically...using that logic...you’re not wrong.”

Bakugou scoffed, closing his eyes and tossing his head back.  “Of course I’m not wrong.”

You chuckled, shaking your head.  “How could I have ever thought to argue with you? Truly a futile effort to begin with.”

His smirk was quick, a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth before he grunted and looked away.  The prickly exterior he generally used to conceal himself was growing back into place and you couldn’t help but laugh.  You had been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you almost forgot how much he made your heart skip.  As you looked over his profile, you realized that you were entirely thankful for Bakugou and not just in that moment.  You had been so stuck in your pit, sinking lower and lower that you didn’t think you’d ever get out of it.

But like everything, he broke the glass ceiling and shot through.  Only this time, he snatched you up and pulled your head to the surface.  Even if for a moment, you could breathe because he was holding your head above the water.  

You leaned over and bumped his shoulder with yours, nudging him warmly.  He ruined expectations again by waiting a moment before doing it back to you.  

He was so warm, his skin amazingly soft.  It lit your chest aflame and your cheeks grew pink - but you didn’t move.  The two of you leaned against each other but said nothing about it.  How did you find yourself here?  You had been close to him before but this was different in a way that didn’t seem to make any sort of sense.  And...you kind of like that it didn’t.  Because it didn’t have to.  You realized that sometimes, when it was just the two of you, as few as those “sometimes” may have been, you simply wanted it to just...be.  

You shouldn’t want to be so close to him, not now.  Would it be in poor taste?  Would he think less of you if he knew?  Did he know?  Did he feel the same way?  You were certain that if he looked over at you, looked into your eyes he would...at least see something.  You weren’t sure exactly what it was, but it was enough to cause your knees to knock and your chest to ache.  And you wondered if he would see how much your fingers longed to reach out and touch his body, draw him close and...  

But that didn’t matter.  Not now. 

You looked down at your hands.  If you...wanted to try...wanted to see if...this was something you could have, you would have to take the first leap.  Bakugou wasn’t going to do it.  He wasn’t going to be the one who dove head first.  But was now the perfect time?  Would there ever be a perfect time?  After having him strip your defenses, tear you down, build you back up - should you wait?

You spared another look, hoping that you might find confidence in his being.  

Your eyes met.  He was looking at you too.

No.  No, you weren’t waiting.  Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t someone you waited for.  If you were going to do this, see if he felt the same way you felt - all the crazy heart skips and lingering glances when the other wasn’t looking - you had to do this now.  

Gathering all your courage, you moved your hand and offered it to him.  His eyes tore away from your face then down at your open palm.  The universe held it’s breath, watched eagerly...as he slid his fingers between yours.  His calloused digits scratched at your skin lightly, his palms were a little clammy and...

Bakugou held you firm, grasping you tightly.  Desperate and scared and you remembered everything that lead you to this moment.

“That Bakugou kid likes you.”

Wild hair haloed in the setting sun peeking above the tops of overgrown trees.  Everyone around you disappears when his arms wrap around you.  He holds your hands, guiding the knife as he helps you chop.

“Out of all those losers, I was glad you were there.”

It felt like something was dragging you to him, tugging your body towards his.  He wasn’t stopping you, he wasn’t yelling or screaming or pushing you away.  He just watched, eyes narrowed and darkened under his hair.  Was he waiting to see what you would do?  Was he too scared to move on his own?  You reached out, gliding your fingers over his sandy blonde locks and brushing them out of the way so you could see his face.  Fingertips drifted down and over his cheek, trying to offer the same warmth he filled you with.  

Defiantly, a daring look in his eye, he pressed his cheek into your hand.  If you’re going to do this, then mean it.  Everything about him made you want to scream, drove you mad.  He always fought - and you saw now, that this whole time...he was fighting for you.  Fighting to let you know.  Had you been so entirely blind all this time?  

You wanted to say something, to let him know that you saw.  But words were wrong, thin, pointless and empty.  Nothing you could say would ever be enough to let him know how you felt.  So you would give all of you and hope that it was enough for him.

Without waiting another moment, you pressed your lips to his.  It was a deep and heavy action, one that he met with passion only he could muster.  You closed your eyes and lost yourself into his taste, the heat of his lips, his very presence.  It was a rush, one that sent you spinning - derailed all train of thought.  All that mattered was him.  All that lived in this universe was you and him.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you up and over him and you were happy to follow.  You didn’t dare break away, to lose the contact that you obviously both had been longing for.  Your fingers found their way into his hair, twisting and tangling.  Never once did he pull away - quite the opposite.  He met you, every press of your lips, every motion of want and desire, laid bare in front of both of you.  And as you felt his finger graze over the skin on your back, dipping under your dress shirt to set the nerves there on fire, you realized both of you were utter fools.

It’s an awful thing: knowing you’re not enough.  Wanting something so badly, but no matter how much you long for it, it still slips through your grasp.  Of knowing that nothing you could have done would have changed the outcome.

He should have stayed in his dorm.  He should have never looked at his phone.  He should have never told you about Bakugou.  

He should have never let you get so close.  

It was by chance he glanced at the window looking into the common room, hand poised in front of the door.  At first, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking at - two shadowed masses, one on top of the other.  But then, he saw your face.  His heart wrenched when you pulled away from Bakugou.  A scream locked in his throat the way you smiled at him, soft and loving.  He hated the look in your eyes as you ran your thumb over his lips, as he slid his fingers into your hair to pull you back for more. 

Something Shinsou couldn’t have.  Someone he wasn’t enough for.

He didn’t linger on the steps for too long.  He feared you would see him and then - then you would have to talk.  He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle that, not with Bakugou behind you.  

The walk back to the dorm was a long one and he was surprised he made it into his room without incident.  It was late enough though, most of his classmates were asleep and the rest had retired to their rooms.  No one knew he was gone.  His mind was utterly blank until the locked clicked shut.

He didn’t realize he had punched the wall until his hand pulled back, sliced open.  Blood pooled and ran down his arm.  But it wasn’t enough.  It didn’t stop him from replaying that scene in his head over and over again.  The way you two were looking at each other, the soft touches, gentle smiles...

He slumped to the floor and let out one pitiful sob.  

What was he supposed to do now?

Author’s Note:  I honestly watched Cats the 2019 musical and then wrote Shinsou’s part because I’ve been having a pretty good week honestly so I wasn’t in the headspace for honest disappointment.  

I just needed something to remind me that happiness is fleeting and something terrible and awful will usually come and destroy what you know and love most in this world.  Drag your joy through the mud until the only thing left is a shell of what once was.

...who let’s Hooper direct shit?

Anyway.  I do think I’m going to lead into a part 4 for this one.  I don’t know.  I’ll let you guys decide if you want something more lol since I’m interested in continuing it.  Especially given the newer chapters. 

Also eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, kissing scene.  First real one on this blog anyway and not a kiss mentioned in passing.  And look, it only took me a year or so to do it. :)  I’m a fantastic mod of this blog who gives people what they want and doesn’t focus on stupid shit in the slightest why are you guys here you should have left me on the street corner where I was standing

Tag List!  If you want to be added, let me know!

@snaspants​ | @purplebellybell | @sxlenced-xf-lxvers​ | 

[ohhmyheart5678]

When in the streets of seoul (5)

*warning* this mentions death, murder, suicide, guns, and other gruesome and dark content if you are sensitive to these kinds of things do not read it

Pairing: Chan x female reader

Word count 2.1k

Previous/ next

*****

It's been six days, six day fucking days since I've been trapped here. I absolutely hate it. I spent the first three days not speaking to anyone and the other three finally excepting the fact that this is going to be my life now.

It's such a nice place. I get fed the best foods, I sleep in the most comfortable king sized bed with silk sheets, I have the best clothes, and I'm still miserable.

I went to the speaker and pressed 1. "Kinely ! You need something?" Chan sounded quite concerned. He believed that I had everything I needed but he forgot one thing. "I need to go to the store" I say sharply. Even though the deal was  that I wasn’t able to go in public he haven't let me out of this room yet.

He says I'm not cooperating and so I have to wait. "What do you need from the store that I can't get for you?" I could hear the slight annoyance in his voice but he could never be as annoyed as I am right now. I mean he is keeping me hostage for Christ sake. "Just take me to the store you dickhead" I was honestly so done with him.

I needed to get out this room and I needed to go to the store ASAP. "I'm not going to the store because you won't tell me what it is" Chris was trying to put his foot down but little did he know I was far better at this game than he was. "Look I need pads either you take me to get them, or you can suffer the consequences of trying to find the perfect pads for me which I guarantee that you won't and then you'll have to take me to pick them out anyways, or we can always go with the option of me bleeding everywhere" there was a long pause before he finally responded.

"Fine I'll take you to the store" was all he said before it went completely silent. I waited patiently by the door until a boy comes in. "Hey seugmin did Chris send you for me" he just gives a simple nod. "Felix and I" he simply says while fully opening the door that he was standing in just enough to show his body. Once he swung open the door it revealed Felix. The orange haired boy waved at me.

Since staying here Chris has sent the boys at least once so that they could introduce themselves since I'm gonna be seeing a lot more of them. I've learned about what these boys do. Since I had nothing better to do the least I could do was steal information on the guys I'm going to be living with from now on.

For instance Chris is the oldest and the leader. He calls the shots, he looks over the plans, and makes sure everything runs smoothly he does need to do much work but Felix says Chris is the last resort and that he’s feel bad for anyone if Chris was called in. Then there's Minho. He is one of the main men on the field he's the look out and distraction, and supposedly from what I heard he does a damn good job at it. Plus Minho has a medical background so if anyone gets hurt he’s the man everyone goes to.

There's also changbin he's got quite the temper so they use him when there's need for extreme measures you know if they need .. a mess. I heard he can get pretty creative with that stuff.

Hyunjin, who often checks on me throughout the day is the sniper. He knows weapons like the back of his hands and could handle them blindfolded. Then it's Jisung, they call him Han. He is the best fighter in the house. You can have a gun in the fight and he could still win.

Felix known as the second Aussie of the house does the interrogations. He can get anyone to talk, his deep voice scares mostly anyone , but for the ones that are harder to get through. Let's just say they can either come out alive while missing some part of their body. Or they can come out in a body bag.

Seugmin is the hacker, he can hack into litterally anything. You name it, he can hack it. He's the one who got the information on my dad.

Last but definitely not least there's jeongin they all him I.N . He is silent but deadly. The red hair boy is like a ninja. They use him when they want to get the job done quickly but quietly.

We arrived downstairs where Chris was waiting for us at the door. I figured he was already handling business downstairs so he fetched the two boys to get me. "Thanks gentleman I got it from here" it was his nice easy of telling them to go away.

We got into his car and he drives us to a nearby store. I looks around searching for the right ones as he stands behind me trying to figure how the whole process works. I saw the pack I wanted and grabbed two of them. "Ahh now I know for next time" he says as if he has just been enlightened. "Next time?" I wanted to know what he meant by next time.

"Next time its you know... that time, I'll be able to pick out the right ones for you" that’s so aggravating! My only reason to get out the house was once again taken from me. Chan probably could tell that I was slightly disappointed by his statement so he changed it a little , I mean seeing that he’s talking to a hormonal women who’s not necessarily in the best mood at the moment. "I mean unless you'd like to do it for yourself" A small smile slightly appeared on my face as I handed the cashier the goods to ring up. "Is there anything else you want or need from here before we leave" Chris wanted to hurry out of here because this was time he could be spending working at home. "Nope" I was completely content with having what I needed so far.

Once we arrived back home I was instantly sent back to my room. Sitting there in boredom I looked around for some form of entertainment. There was absolutely nothing to do in this room and I was just now realizing it. For the past few days all I've been doing was sleeping and eating , so I didn't stop to think about it . I was too busy being sad about being locked up in a room by a bunch of psychos.

I looked over at the speaker not wanting to bother Chris because I rarely want to even speak to him. I walked over pushing the number 5 on the speaker and hoped this man was in his room.

"Hey kinely are you doing ok?" He genuinely sounded concerned. "Can you come over here please" I knew I didn't have to really ask him because he doesn't mind coming and checking on me anyways but I thought to ask just in case . "Sure just give me a sec" Hyunjin was always in here and even though Chris comes in often to talk to me he's always busy it's only for a few seconds before he goes back to "work".

Hyunjin came within fifteen minutes. He knocks making sure I'm not naked or anything. I think that it was pretty nice of him to do considering the other boys just come in as they please. I mean I know it's your home and all but a girl needs privacy.

"Come in" I yelled from my closet, I had just put on sweats and a hoodie to get a little comfortable. "You sent for me?" He walked in and closed the door behind him. "I was wondering if you could stay in here for a little longer than you normally do? I think I'm gonna go insane in here by myself" he chuckled at me being immensely dramatic. I put the back of my hand on my forehead pretending to be a damsel in distress.

He walked over to my bed and sat on it and patted on it which was his way of telling me to sit down. "Maybe you don't have to stay in here all the time" he seemed like he was getting somewhere but I was yet to follow. "What do you mean?" Was he gonna take me out this house or was I reading this wrong? "Its not much but maybe you could come to my room. There's tons of things to do in there. We just can't let Chan know I'm taking you out considering he wants you in the room." He fidgets a little wondering how I was going to respond to his offer.

Hell yeah I was gonna take this opportunity to leave the room! I had nothing else to do in the looney house. "Why not?" I shrug not wanting him to know just how excited I was. He grabs my head and leads me to his room all the way in the other side of the house.

My jaw dropped once he opened his room door to let me inside. He had arcade games like ddr, those ones when you race on the motorcycle, street fighter and pac man. He had a giant tv mounted on his wall in front of his bed and a wii console which I havent seen in years. "Told ya" he crossed his arms leaning against doorframe while admiring the dumb look of shock on my face.

"Where do we even start?" I was still looking around trying to pinpoint the first thing I wanted to do. "Doesn't matter where we start all you need to know is I'll kick your ass at any game in this room" his cockiness shines through, a side of him I haven't seen since I first met him.

What he didn't know was how competitive I can get "You're gonna be very disappointed when you realize how much you suck compared to me, especially when I beat you in dance revolution" It was on now. I can see a gleam in his eyes and knew he was almost if not just as competitive as I am.

Twelve rounds, six wins , and six loses later. We decided to watch a movie. "How's it feel to loose to someone as amazing as I?" I stood on his bed placing my hand on my hips. I'm sure he's yet to meet someone as dramatic as me. "We both won and lost the same amount of time so I'd say we're equally as amazing if you ask me" hes right about that but this his room and his games that he plays all the time if he didn’t win then it would be embarrassing. Hyunjin pulls my right leg causing me to fall on his bed. "You asshole!" My body had no control over itself. It was bouncing up and down on its own and I couldn't even stop it.

"You were to one who wanted to watch a movie and you can't even sit still" Hyunjin teases while I finally get myself together and sit up all the way in the bed. "Plus you weren't calling me a asshole when I took you out of your room." I gasped while holding my chest. "Oh how dare you?" I squinted my eyes at him and he laughed at me.

I must admit I haven't felt this good in a few days. I almost forgot that I was being held against my will but the thought is always in the back of my mind. I finally settle down and Hyunjin was nice enough to let me choose the movie I wanted. So here we were, on the bed watching a movie. For comfort I lay my head on his shoulder and her wraps his wraps around me.

I felt relaxed and almost safe. Soon I fell asleep with the movie playing in the background. Hyunjin was staying still trying not to wake me up. In fact so still that he ended up falling asleep himself.

I just needed to wake up on time before Chris realizes that I'm gone.

Previous/next

[nashvilledreams]

My Naya, my Snixxx, my Bee. I legitimately can not imagine this world without you.

7 years ago today, she and I were together in London when we found out about Cory. We were so far away, but I was so thankful that we had each other. A week ago today we were talking about running away to Hawaii. This doesn’t make sense. And I know it probably never will.

She was so independent and strong and the idea of her not being here is something I cannot comprehend. She was the single most quick-witted person I’ve ever met, with a steel-trap memory that could recall the most forgettable conversations from a decade ago verbatim. The amount of times she would memorize all of those crazy monologues on Glee the morning of and would never ever mess up during the scene… I mean, she was clearly more talented than the rest of us. She was the most talented person I’ve ever known. There is nothing she couldn’t do and I’m furious we won’t get to see more.

I’m thankful for all the ways in which she made me a better person. She taught me how to advocate for myself and to speak up for the things and people that were important to me, always. I’m thankful for the times I grew an ab muscle from laughing so hard at something she said. I’m thankful she became like family. I’m thankful that my dad happened to have met her weeks before I did and when I got Glee, he told me to “look out for a girl named Naya because she seemed nice.” Well dad, she was nice and she became one of my favorite people ever.

If you were fortunate enough to have known her, you’ll know that her most natural talent of all was being a mother. The way that she loved her boy, it was truly Naya at her most peaceful. I’m thankful that Naya got that beautiful little boy back on that boat. I’m thankful he will have a strong family around him to protect him and tell him about his incredible mom.

I just hope more than anything that her family is given the space and time to come to terms with this. For having such tiny body, Naya had such a gigantic presence, a void that will now be felt by all of us - those of us who knew her personally and the millions of you who loved her through your TVs. I love you, Bee.

My favorite duet partner. I love you. I miss you. I don’t have words right now, just lots of feelings. Rest In Peace Angel, and know that your family will never have to worry about anything.

We started out as the closest friends and then like all new things, we went through a bit of a rocky phase. However, we stuck by each other’s side and created the most beautiful friendship built out of love and understanding. The last I had the chance to see you in person, I had left oranges outside our home for you to take. I wanted to say hi through the window but my phone didn’t ring when you called (which it never does, f*cking T-Mobile), so instead you and Josey left two succulents on our doorstep as a thank you. I planted those succulents and I look at them everyday and think of you. I still listen to your EP on repeat because from the moment I heard it, it struck me and I always wished the world knew more of your voice. You sent me over 5 dozen SnapChat videos when you and Josey woke up in the morning and I kick myself that I didn’t save one of them. You always shared recipes and I admired your love for food. We vowed to spend every Easter together, even though Covid stole this last one from us. You are and always will be the strongest and most resilient human being I know, and I vowed to carry that with me as I continue to live my life. 

You constantly taught me lessons about grief, about beauty and poise, about being strong, resilient and about not giving a fuck (but still somehow respectful). Yet, the utmost important lesson I learned most of all from you was being a consistent and loving friend. You were the first to check in, the first to ask questions, the first to listen..you cherished our friendship and I never took that for granted. 

We never took photos together because we mutually hated taking pictures...our relationship meant more than proof. I have countless pictures of our babies playing, because we shared that kind of pride and joy. So I’m showing the world a photo of our little goof balls for you, because I know that meant more than anything and they remind me of you and I. I speak to you everyday because I know you’re still with me and even though I’m feeling greedy that we don’t get more time together, I cherish every moment we had and hold it close to my heart.

There are no words and yet so many things I want to say, I don't believe I'll ever be able to articulate exactly what I feel but... Naya, you were a ⚡️ force and everyone who got to be around you knew it and felt the light and joy you exuded when you walked into a room. You shined on stage and screen and radiated with love behind closed doors. 

I was lucky enough to share so many laughs, martinis and secrets with you. I can not believe I took for granted that you'd always be here. Our friendship went in waves as life happens and we grow, so I will not look back and regret but know I love you and promise to help the legacy of your talent, humor, light and loyalty live on. 

You are so loved. You deserved the world and we will make sure Josey and your family feel that everyday. I miss you already.

She was bold. She was outrageous. She was a LOT of fun.⁣

Naya made me laugh like no one else on that set. I always said it while we were working together and I’ve maintained it ever since. Her playful, wicked sense of humor never ceased to bring a smile to my face.⁣

She played by her own rules and was in a class of her own. She had a brashness about her that I couldn’t help but be enchanted by. I also always loved her voice, and savored every chance I got to hear her sing. I think she had more talent than we would have ever been able to see.⁣

I was constantly moved by the degree to which she took care of her family, and how she looked out for her friends. She showed up for me on numerous occasions where she didn’t have to, and I was always so grateful for her friendship then, as I certainly am now.⁣

And even as I sit here, struggling to comprehend, gutted beyond description- the very thought of her cracks me up and still brings a smile to my face. That was Naya’s gift. And it's a gift that will never go away. ⁣

Rest in peace you wild, hilarious, beautiful angel.

How can you convey all your love and respect for someone in one post? How can you summarize a decade of friendship and laughter with words alone? If you were friends with Naya Rivera, you simply can’t. Her brilliance and humor were unmatched. Her beauty and talent were otherworldly. She spoke truth to power with poise and fearlessness. She could turn a bad day into a great day with a single remark. She inspired and uplifted people without even trying. Being close to her was both a badge of honor and a suit of armor. Naya was truly one of a kind, and she always will be. 💔 Sending all my love to her wonderful family and her beautiful son.

Dear Naya, 

I’m failing miserably to process this news. I always imagined old future senior moments where we would hear your infectious laughter down the hall knowing that our funny bone was in for a treat. To many people, myself included, you were the life of the party. Not only able to rock when fun was to be had after a long day but that shining friend that was always willing to listen, offer sympathy, perspective and at times, give much needed levity to any situation. 

You were a beast on the show. I admired you as I watched you nail multi page monologues that you learned moments before and pour your heart into every performance with an energy that had that snicks special written all over it. Our deep conversations about life inbetween scenes are some of my favorite moments with you. Getting to hear about your hopes and dreams for the future and with Josey’s arrival, ‘Your greatest success’ I was so happy to see your dream turn into reality. 

You deserved more. I’m so sorry but you deserved more. You gave life your all and I hope all the good that you have given to the world will be returned in abundance when you reunite with our brother in the heavenly skies. I’m so grateful for our memories. We will make sure to keep your legacy and spirit alive so Josey will grow up to know the incredible woman you were. Love you, Naya. You are already missed. Eternally. 

-HSJ

Naya and I fell into stride with such ease, she was my first friend and ally on our show. In the pilot, our characters came and went with such swiftness. Our enthusiasm brimmed with all of the unknown. We tried to grasp what the other cast members must be feeling as we were working in such separate manners. We dared to dream. What if this show worked? Wouldn’t that be something? Something was brimming, it was palpable. And thank god it worked. Naya’s magnetic talent was going to be unleashed, we just didn’t know it yet. ⁣⁣

I’ve been revisiting Naya’s performances on our show and it has brought me great joy. To work with her was a gift. There was a great deal to absorb - her work ethic, her fearlessness, her talent - supreme. Naya had a laugh that would envelop you and hold you captive. She was mesmerizing. That twinkle in her eye, her luminous smile. Naya lead with truth, humor, wit. I loved her for all of these reasons. ⁣⁣

I loved her sense of curiosity and wanderlust. I was lucky enough to be her travel partner for some of my most favorite adventures. As I write this, I’m grinning with swelling memories of a spontenaous 36 hour excursion - one might even say diversion - to Paris. With Naya, everything was possible and would often simply unfold before us, almost magically.⁣⁣

On this particular jaunt, within ten minutes of checking into our hotel, we found ourselves strolling the halls of L'École des Beaux-Arts, sipping wine from paper cups with students showcasing their latest work. It was fantastic. We were united in our commitment to discovery. And there was always a list of cleverly curated ideas in Naya’s back pocket, should we need it. ⁣⁣

I cannot make sense of this tremendous loss. I will hold onto her and these memories for the rest of time, alongside our Glee family. Please hold space for her, her family, her beautiful boy. ⁣⁣

In absolute, loving memory.

Naya The world is at such a loss and I am truly heartbroken. I still remember the day I met you. You Walked straight up to me, grabbed me by the face and drug me around until I met every single person on set, introducing me as “new booty”. You were one of the first people who made me feel like family when others saw me as an outsider. I didn’t know then that you would become my family and that’s just who you were to everyone.. A Mother, Sister, Daughter and most of all a friend. Your massive heart and bright spark is what carried our entire show, when at times we all felt like giving up. 

You always showed up for me when I needed some wisdom or was down and just needed someone to talk to. You took care of everyone around you in a way that was so warm and comforting and you sure knew how to throw a hell of a party! 

I always admired your bravery and passion to fight for what’s right even when it seemed like you were up against the world. Your spirit is contagious and you continue to make everyone you have touched a better and stronger person by knowing you. 

My favorite part of glee was getting to watch you perform and shine up close every day. You really were the pulse of that show. Anyone who was blessed enough to see and experience your raw talent knows it to be true. You’re one of the smartest and most gifted people I have ever met. There is no one like you and there never will be.

You have changed peoples lives all around the world and you continue to change mine forever. I will never forget your love and kindness. Thank you for sharing your spirit Angel.

I will miss you always. I Love you Naya

For the last 7 years the 13th of July has shattered our hearts beyond repair. There aren’t enough words to describe the pain we are feeling, we are truly heartbroken at the loss of @nayarivera .

Naya, Cory loved you so so much. He cherished your friendship more than you will ever know. From the laughs you shared, to the strength you gave him when he needed it the most. Cory truly adored you. He was in awe of your incredible talent, the way you gave everything you had to each performance; the slap in the auditorium was one of his favourite stories to share. You once said Cory was like a member of your family; you will always be a part of ours. We’ll carry you in our hearts forever. We miss you. Friends reunited for eternity.

We send all our love and strength to your beautiful boy, your family, friends and fans 💔🐻💔

[meichenxi]

*rant commencing*

ok guys let’s sit down and have a think about the way we talk to kids, particularly neurodivergent ones, and the weight it carries

the other day, I opened up to a friend about something really hurtful my best (and only) friend said to me when I was fifteen. It was a moment of emotional intimacy and the first time I had brought it up seven years later and, once again, I got laughed at and told I was too fucking sensitive

and ok maybe yeah I was a ridiculous child. I’m a ridiculous adult, that shouldn’t be surprising. But this hurt and hurt and hurt and I was trying to think about why this in particular and not anything else was so painful

so here’s the situation. at fifteen, like many smart kids, everyone thought the world was open to me. Ok I had no social skills to speak of and was ostracised by teachers and students and family, but I was an optimistic kid, and in a disaster of a home situation (involving kidnappings and court cases and running away and being out of school for a year and a brother starting drugs at 12 and living in a shelter and basically just a LOT) I was always the smiley helpful one. and apart from being defeated by very simple mechanisms like idk drawers or biscuit packets, I picked things up quickly. I took GCSEs early and extra and tutored others; I was a regional competitive swimmer in breaststroke and open water; I taught myself the flute and got into an international touring youth orchestra without lessons; I won a poetry competition for adults in primary school; I played competitive netball and was a long distance runner; I drew and sold my art; I wrote shitty novels and started making conlangs and was interviewed on bbc world about it; I loved performing and was invited to join a theatre company when I left school; and my biggest passion in the entire world apart from Tolkien was martial arts. And the best thing was for my parents - one of whom was disabled and didn’t work and the other who was a cleaner - is that I worked two paper rounds and tutored younger children and earned all of the money for it myself. blah blah blah. I was your mum’s friend’s kid. 

well, I’m a disaster adult, so you can probably guess that none of that lasted for very long. and there are gazillions of people here with exactly the same story. 

the point in question, though, was when I was fifteen and thinking about sixth form (the last two years of school in the UK) it was becoming clear alarmingly fast that you weren’t allowed to just keep doing everything you loved. at some point you had to make a choice. 

but how could I give up swimming for music? Or music for languages? Or languages for athletics? Or athletics for theatre? or, actually, all of them but one???? how did people just know what they had to do with their lives? how did they choose? 

the problem was, I said to my friend, I know I could do well at any of them, so how was I supposed to choose? (tactless and a stupid thing to say and also just not true but I was fifteen and simultaneously disgustingly cocky and cripplingly insecure) And he laughed and said, well, fuck you then. 

oh noooo. poor meeeeeee. I’m so fucking good at things what do I dooooo

I haven’t stopped thinking about that comment for seven years. Every single time I think about wasting my potential, every time I can’t sleep because I’m terrified that I’m not being productive or useful and hating myself because I’m upset that I can’t do something right away and I know it’s a stupid thing to be upset about - I think about that comment. I’m lucky. It’s alright for some. 

because, actually, being expected to know what to do with your life aged 15 is a fucking terrifying thing. we were kids at fifteen being told to make decisions as if we had all the facts, as if we weren’t also being blindfolded and spun around in circles until we couldn’t stand. Do you do what your parents say? what you think you want to do? what your teachers say? do you just stay in education even though it’s not for you because your dream is stupid, or because you don’t have a dream like everyone else seems to? are you supposed to have a dream?

*it’s NOT a stupid thing to worry about*

particularly when? well, when your entire self worth equates to the things that you output, the things that you do. so just for a moment, put yourself in the shoes of all of these wonderful, dazzling, damaged, crazy kids with big dreams and big hearts, kids that are struggling right now and kids that are our future, and imagine that you’ve been told since you were old enough to read or speak or walk that you’re just so very clever

isn’t it just wonderful how clever you are? isn’t it just great how we never need to worry about you? you’re such an easy child, it’s a blessing. always so considerate, so thoughtful, never making a fuss! isn’t it just fantastic how well you do in school? I can’t imagine what it must be like to have a child who went to all of those nasty parties. you’re so dedicated

raise your hand if you were only ever told you were good. raise your hand if you were never told you were kind. 

so, what happens? you take a child, and you tell them for its entire childhood that they’re clever. You don’t tell them that they’re creative, or hard-working, or dedicated, or driven, or helpful. You let them know that it’s ok that they’re weird, because they’re going to be successful. what do you think parents say to their kid who’s crying because she has no friends and she doesn’t understand what the other children are thinking and why they would hurt each other like that? even good parents, the very best of them, say things like: you’re just more mature than they are. it doesn’t matter. keep your head down - you’ll show them. 

your child, in the best case scenario, has access to her hyperfixation that makes the world big and bright and beautiful. she’s a bit weird, but it’s kind of cute. anyway, she’s good at it. and as long as she succeeds, conventionally, and you get to brag, then it’s ok that she’s a little bit unconventional.

and then things to break, just a little. and then, aged eleven, your child is having an asthma attack in the classroom because she got so anxious she couldn’t answer a maths question she couldn’t breathe. it’s ok, her parents tell her the next day. you’re just not good at maths - that’s alright. you don’t have to be good at everything

your child, because she’s perceptive, begins to realise that things don’t get better as you get older. people are just as cruel at 12 as they are at 7, and they’ll be just as cruel at 15. and then one day, as a bad joke because she doesn’t really understand humour, she writes a fake text to her dad from someone’s phone in legalese that actually has a secret code hidden it in that she knows her dad will crack right away because he’s brilliant. she thinks it’s hilarious. her father thinks he is being threatened, and spends the next week in meltdown, bedridden and burnt-out. and when she owns up, he turns and snaps at her, and says as if you could write something like that. an ADULT wrote this, not a fucking child

and suddenly, that cleverness they kept talking about? they don’t even understand that. 

suddenly, no one sees her at all. 

she needs to learn to be like the other kids. to be like a fucking child. and while she’s learning, she doesn’t speak for a year

that happened to me, but take your pick - I’m sure you don’t have to look far to find examples of your own. 

My point is this: if you tell a child for their entire life that the only thing that is worthy of being loved is what they achieve, if every time they do something they love you tell them oh, you could be a famous writer! you’re so talented! rather than saying that you loved listening to their story, if you only praise them when they’re good and quiet and convenient and tell them that as long as they succeed, it doesn’t matter if they don’t have friends or if they’re miserable, and THEN you tell them to choose ONE THING and drop 90% of everything that makes them who they are - 

what the hell did you THINK was going to happen??

because here’s the first thing. for many kids, whether that’s because of neurodivergence or age maturity or whatever, hyper fixations and hobbies aren’t just things they like to do. THEY ARE LIFELINES. they’re the things these kids go to when they’re hurt, angry, upset, because they make sense. for many kids, especially but not always girls, they are able to camouflage themselves and mask tendencies of neurodivergence because they’re ‘good students’. at a family gathering once, my mum, so frustrated at my inability and lack of desire to talk to any members of my extended family, snatched my German grammar book and locked it in the boot of the car. knowing that I escape and read it in the toilet was the only thing keeping me going, exhausted and stressed and overwhelmed. I vomited on the grass.

and here’s the second thing. you tell us from an early age that they only way we’ll ever be acceptable to the rest of society is if we succeed. autistic kids are fine, as long as they’re international maths olympiad champions. adhd kids are fine, as long as they’re famous athletes. if you’re obsessed with musicals that’s ok, as long as that obsession leads to a well-paying job as a successful writer on Broadway. 

and then you tell us that we only have one chance at that success? and this decision determines the rest of our lives? and that we had so much potential when we were kids, and we better not waste it now? that not everyone is so lucky to be able to choose between so many things?? 

because being asked to choose between these things isn’t being asked to choose a hobby. when the only way anyone else defines you positively is by your success in one area, that becomes your entire identity. 

so no, we’re not being too sensitive when you ask us to pick and choose what career, or what hobby to take forward. you’re not asking about hobbies. you’re asking us to choose what kind of person we want to be. you’re asking us to choose the most impactful way we can give back to the world, because we can’t waste those god-given talents. you’re asking us to figure out, still a child and hopelessly lost, what our purpose on this planet is. and you’re looking at us as if the ways that we survived all of these years, the things we clung to for comfort, are things we can just cast aside without further thought

ask me now, and I’ll tell you that’s not the way things work. we have second chances and third ones and tenth ones, we can be different things to different people and we can do different things at different parts in our lives, and be successful in different areas. life isn’t a fucking flowchart. and I’m still trying to come to terms with all the things I could have been, and my freak-outs about ‘wasted potential’ are so clockwork I could plan my calendar around them, but I’m beginning to understand that life doesn’t end when you’re twenty, or when you haven’t written a best-seller by eighteen. you have time.   

but at fifteen? at fifteen, that question broke me. 

do you know what you can do instead? you can show a little thoughtfulness. you can be kinder, and lead by example, and praise your kids when they’re kind too. when your son runs to you and shows you what you think is a better picture than you - a stick figure artisan, if you say so yourself - could ever create, you can actually just say you really like it. you can ask him if that’s him and daddy and the dog on a cloud. describe the picture back to him, and engage with this thing he’s made from his imagination - tell him the clouds he’s drawn are so big and fluffy and white, and ask if there are giant spiders living there. you know how to shut a child up? tell them yes dear, it’s wonderful. don’t be that person. promote your kid’s creativity - ask questions, have fun, play with this thing they’ve made - and not destroy it

when your daughter comes to you and shows you a song she’s written, don’t tell her she’s so talented or that she could be a musician one day. just sing along. ask her why she wrote it, and what she was thinking of when she did. ask her if she could make it different for two people singing it at the same time. 

and if your child just really, really loves maths? let them do maths. it’s ok if their interests are stereotypical - as long as they love it and it’s fun, supporting them is wonderful. the best present my father ever got me was five hours of tutoring - an introduction to linguistics!! - when I turned twelve, starting on my birthday at 8am. I had never felt so understood and so loved. 

as much as these simple things can destroy someone’s life, can stop them talking for a year, you have the chance to be that one voice of kindness that is a friend where a young person needs it most. 

for me, this was the Bus Lady. I never knew her first name because I forgot immediately and was too embarrassed to ask again, but we got the bus together for two years right before I applied to university - she was a trainee teacher at my school. she saw that I missed tutor group and sat in the corridor every morning writing, and that I ran laps for an hour every lunchtime instead of sitting alone. but she came and sat with me one morning and asked what I was doing; I was developing a new shorthand and told her so warily. 

she didn’t raise her eyebrows or say wow, that’s...that’s amazing. instead she frowned and looked at me skeptically and said ‘But why would you do that? There are plenty of functional shorthands out there - what does your shorthand have that they don’t? Tell me about it.’

I had no idea what to say

this was the first time anyone had actually ENGAGED in any capacity with what I was doing. and just like that, just by treating me seriously and asking valid questions and pointing out inconsistencies, I was a person who happened to have an idea that was in some serious need of questioning, and not a freak

there’s no way she remembers that interaction; she’s been a teacher now for year and probably doesn’t even remember who I am. But I had been this close to not going to university, to not bothering, and she made me stop, and wait a moment

she will never know the difference that that conversation and two months of kindness on the bus from a stranger made in my life. 

so let’s be kind to each other, please. let’s be forgiving. let’s challenge each other and let’s engage with kids with special interests and listen to them talk. and so to any educators or teachers or parents or even other kids, I want to say - let’s treat our words seriously and with respect, like we treat our children, because they have immense capacity to hurt, because they can be used for good. 

to any other fifteen year olds in a similar position, I just want to say: none of us here on tumblr have properly sorted our lives out, but I promise you it does get so much better.

you’re not too sensitive. you’re not a freak. you’re not only acceptable because you succeed. I know if you’re masking you feel you have to and it’s for survival, and I’m sorry, because you shouldn’t have to. and you should never, never have to think that you ‘have it good’ or that you’re lucky and are not allowed to hurt. there’s always some one who has it worse, and you can’t stop beat yourself up about that. fuck anyone who tells you otherwise. if you have gone through trauma, if you have unhealthy coping mechanisms, if you are depressed or anxious or otherwise mentally ill and some of it stems from this, I am so very very sorry. but you will be ok, even if you can’t write for a couple of years, or even if things change. you’ll get there. speaking as someone who is now writing for the first time in six years, drawing for the first time in longer, it’s scary and new and weird, but you will come out the other side. 

and you do work hard. and you are creative. and you are loved. and you are so very, very kind.

*rant over*

[whatiwillsay]

kaylor oomfs avert your eyes 😞

i get asked from time to time “why don’t you like kaylor, why don’t you like karlie, why do you think kaylor isn’t together? why aren’t you and ttb married yet?” and i think it’s high time i centralize my thoughts and receipts on all of that in a little timeline of shady things karlie has done to taylor that have made me wary of kaylor/karlie/that whole situation.  don’t read if you stan kaylor this isn’t for you (unless you know you’re interested in the truth.)

first things first, i do think something romantic happened between kaylor go read @swiftiesleuth‘s realistic kay timeline for what i (generally) think happened between them.

but long story short - i think joshlie is real, i think they weren’t all that serious at the beginning, she famously didn’t meet his family for years, he didn’t take her to work events for a long time, so there’s room for her to have a fling with taylor even though we ended up with a real joshlie endgame.

taylor’s music and art supports this theory - in the wd mv she paints herself as the other woman, on rep she sings of secret sexy sex with her best friend that drives her crazy, in cruel summer she sings of a miserable, secret, and toxic situation with a person who rejects her love, in illicit affairs and august again she is the other woman - the art matches up.  she also sings about her sunshine being gone on lover, and eclipsed on folklore. we have good clues in taylor’s artistic expression.

taylor’s given interviews about some of these karlie songs - she said cruel summer was about the start to a “doomed” relationship and look at what she said about august:

“It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?”

if joshlie is real which i think they are that 100% sounds like taylor having to process being gaslit by karlie while she cheats on josh with her.

so why do i think joshlie is real?

-  josh has no credible gay rumors that didn’t originate on gaylor tumblr: he has old ex gfs that came before karlie, harvard message boards gossiped about him and didn’t like him but never said that he was gay, in fact one of the complaints josh’s schoolmates had about him was that he got special treatment for her girlfriend at parties.

-  as stated before taylor’s art suggests she’s been the other woman with someone in her life recently.  if josh and karlie are beards then what is the affair? why is taylor the other woman so often all of a sudden?

-  i’ve spoken to someone with a mutual friend with the kushners - grain of salt of course, i know you can only trust stuff you hear from me with no proof so much, but i do absolutely trust this person and they say - no way in hell is joshlie fake, no way in hell is josh gay, no way in hell is karlie having taylor’s baby.  also karlie absolutely has moved down to miami with josh.  i’m sure we’ll see her in nyc and la from time to time but she is living in miami now.

-  vicky ward, who is a real investigative journalist not some unhinged person on tumblr, wrote a tell all about the kushners.  she uncovered gay rumors about josh’s father and josh’s brother but not josh.  she had actual sources and was legitimately digging up tons of dirt on these people and not a word about josh being gay or joshlie being fake.

-  yes karlie did convert to judaism.  it’s really offensive to suggest she didn’t.  of course she always could have done it for personal reasons but occam’s razor dictates she did it for josh i don’t know what else to tell you 🤷‍♀️

-  also just vibes.  karlie writes him love notes and leaves them with his breakfast.  they make playlists for one another.  if the kushners weren’t so heinous they’d be cute.

so in the joshlie is real world view i inhabit, i don’t stan kaylor the same way i do swiftgron because i don’t think kaylor was ever a committed monogamous relationship.  important and impactful on taylor’s life? absolutely.  inspired some amazing music? 100%. but was is true and tragic love that drives me insane and makes me feral?  no.  i don’t believe so.  is it still an interesting and iconic ship? yes!  but i don’t stan because it wasn’t like...true love or gay shit like that.

so let’s talk about karlie’s screwups that 1. assure me kaylor is not together and 2. make me have no desire to stan karlie/kaylor.

1.  after the kimye drama (something that deeply traumatized taylor we now know thanks to miss americana) karlie said she was sure kim was a lovely person 😭 now i know she walked it back and tweeted she and taylor had one another’s backs. i know karlie was just trying to be diplomatic.  but come on...if someone did what kim did to taylor to my lover or hell even just my friend i would say “fuck that clout chasing fame whore” bottom line.  c’mon guys.  have higher standards for your otp.

karlie also has vibed with kim on IG about her adidasas line.  recently!  yes i know she’s just promoting her brand but c’mon.  taylor still hates kim, their drama got rehashed in march 2020 and just 6 months later kim n karlie are bestie-ing around on ig.

2.  ALL the fucking masters drama and scooter fucking braun

-  not long at all after the masters heist karlie was palling around with scooter on a yacht like come on the only other thing taylor is equally as traumatized over as the kimye drama is the master’s heist.  why is karlie hanging out with him and partying with him at this time?

-  karlie liked a tweet completely incinerating taylor (in a gross and unfair/inaccurate way) regarding the masters heist.  she unliked it but still.  why was she even looking at that shit.

-  and yeah we gotta talk about perez.  so perez hilton (who is a scumbag and gross but sometimes does have legitimate tea) posted a video saying that karlie and taylor were no longer friends because karlie betrayed taylor to scooter.  now if that were all there was to it, it’d be dumb gossip.  but a taylor fan account posted the video to twitter ashley avignone and claire winter both liked the tweet.  ashley liked two tweets about it.  perez proceeded to tweet that since two of taylor’s oldest and truest friends liked the tweets it must mean he was correct and neither of the girls unliked the tweets.  ashley and claire are low key people, not celebs, not pawns in a “fued narrative”, just long time and loyal friends of taylor’s.  they liked the tweet, imo, because there’s some truth to it.

-  that brings me to spencer pratt.  spencer is a reality star and super swiftie/huge fan of taylor’s.  he despises karlie.  he’s tweeted negatively about her and he also had perez onto his podcast to talk about the drama between karlie and taylor.  taylor herself sent him a cardigan.  do you really think taylor is going to allow a cardigan to go out to the guy who’s dragging her girlfriend or bestie? i don’t think so.  receipts on perez and spencer here.

3.  karlie posted for hailey fucking beiber’s bday instead of taylor’s and hailey hates taylor 🤢🤢🤢

4.  karlie married into a fascist family that is associated with the trumps.  like how can you expect me to stan?  trump is a fucking criminal evil piece of shit.  i know karlie isn’t like him (probably) but it’s still awful.  kimby even goes around liking ivanka’s ig posts like give me a fucking break 😭.

in summation, you can disagree w me all you like, you can ship kaylor all you like, but if you’re of sound mind i don’t think you can look at the facts in this post and think i’m misguided for not being a kaylor/karlie stan.  and you can’t blame me for thinking if you spend a lot of time obsessing over that ship you may not really be that big a fan of taylor’s.  and if you’re spending a lot of time leading lgbt kids on to think they’re going to get a kaylor end game when all the objective facts of the case suggest that that’s never going to happen you might need to reevaluate but at the very least you certainly can’t press me for not doing all that.

[bicount-de-lettenhove]

Preferences are a privilege that Geralt doesn't get to have - Part 3: Toussaint just ain't the same without your bard

Not really any trigger warnings in this one, apart from drinking and a bit of self hate from Geralt

----------

After spending a long summer winding their way across the continent, Geralt and Jaskier find themselves in Toussaint as autumn sets in. It’s only a few weeks before the festival of the vat and the harvest is in full swing, the women and men of Toussaint out in the vineyards as long as the sun will allow it, the sweet smell of crushed grapes filling the air. Much to Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt agrees to stay for a few days. It’s only because Roach could do with the rest, especially with the long journey North looming, and so when Jaskier mentions the word ‘holiday’, Geralt shoots him a warning glare. Surprisingly, it isn’t mentioned again.

They quickly fall into the rhythm of life in Toussaint, and the bard is a bad influence and encourages Geralt to overindulge in women and in fine wine. Each night when he returns to his room he finds his coin purse a little lighter. On their sixth night, Jaskier plays his last set for the people of Beauclair and steps off the stage to riotous applause. Geralt is deep in a game of Gwent and before the round is up Jaskier is singing again - this time, without his lute, he’s leading the inn in a rowdy and seemingly neverending version of fishmonger’s daughter. Geralt wins the game and they start another, and Geralt can feel the comfortable warmth of the wine settling in his shoulders and knees, Jaskier’s songs fading to background noise as he concentrates.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder and then a yelp and Geralt finds himself with a lap full of bard, Jaskier sitting sideways on him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other making a mess of the deck of cards on the table.

‘Oh, Geralt!’ he sounds slightly slurred, and Geralt can immediately feel the heat of him through their breeches, even in the warmth of the inn. ‘Thank Melitele that was you! I think…’ Jaskier turns his face towards Geralt. He trails off, his gaze dropping to Geralt’s mouth. Geralt suddenly realises how close the bard’s face is to his, their wine-sweet breath mingling in the space between them. Jaskier’s pink tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip, then he blinks rapidly and shakes his head minutely. ‘I think, my dear Geralt, that I am drunk.’

‘Hmm’ agrees Geralt.

‘And therefore, I think.’ he prods a finger into Geralt’s chest, frowning as if the coordination is taking all his concentration ‘that I am going to bed.’ The bard stands up with surprising speed and Geralt reaches out to steady him. ‘And furthermore,’ he adds, now facing away from Geralt and projecting more than is necessary. ‘I am going to your bed, because these people tip in wine, and hence I am penniless.’ He frowns again, like he’s forgotten something. ‘And drunk,’ he remembers. Then he adjusts his doublet and sways his way towards the stairs, gone as suddenly as he arrived. After Jaskier has left, Geralt continues his game, but his opponent is no longer playing as well as he was and he finds himself losing interest. It’s not long before he’s packing up his deck and climbing the stairs himself.

Inside their room it’s dark, but Jaskier has opened the windows onto the balcony so it’s cooler and a thin strip of moonlight is filtering through the thin curtains. The air is hardly moving but the thick scent of jasmine has filled the room from outside. Jaskier lies strewn across the bed as though he’s been dropped from a height. He’s taken his doublet and boots off and his shirt is open down to his navel, exposing his chest to the moonlight. Geralt carefully doesn’t look as he strips down to his smallclothes and climbs into what’s left of the space in the bed. He lies on his side, facing away from Jaskier, carefully arranging his limbs so he doesn’t risk taking advantage, but once he’s in the bard makes a soft, contented noise and folds himself around Geralt, throwing one arm over him and hooking his knees into the back of Geralt’s. Geralt stiffens slightly. It’s far too warm to lie like this, he thinks. It’ll take hours for him to sleep with the bard pressed up against him like some kind of lover.

It doesn’t.

The next morning, Jaskier complains tirelessly of sore feet and a sore head as they climb up through the vineyards. Geralt is trying to reach a mountain pass he last used several years ago.

‘Really, Geralt.’ the bard complains, each phrase punctuated by a dramatic huff of breath. ‘I don’t see why we can’t take a path that’s less hilly. Do you want me to pass out?’

Geralt grins. ‘There is another way. We could go through the flooded caves under the mountains and avoid the hills completely.’ Jaskier reconsiders - actually stops walking for a moment as though his brain and his feet can’t both be in use at once - and then has to jog to catch up.

‘Actually, you make a very good point.’ he concedes. ‘But at least we would be out of this relentless sunlight. I feel like someone’s used my head as a battering ram.’

‘Your hangover is your own fault, bard. You know the wine here isn’t watered down.’ Jaskier grimaces, as though the mention of wine physically pains him further.

‘Ah, well. One can’t say no to one’s adoring fans.’ He stops talking as he squints around at the view, his boots and Roach’s hooves scuffing on the dusty track. ‘How was your evening anyway, Geralt?’ He asks, lightly. ‘How was your Gwent game? Did you win?’ Geralt didn’t. But as they reach the mountain path and look back down on the lush green of Toussaint, he finds he really doesn’t mind.

----------------

Geralt leaves Kaer Morhen early that year, heading South under the misapprehension that the weather has broken. The path through the mountains is treacherous and Velen, when he reaches it, is as sodden and miserable as he has ever seen it. One night, the wind howls as he huddles under the bare branches of a long-dead tree, knees drawn up into his travelling cloak to preserve any semblance of warmth. His clothes are already soaked through and caked with mud, rain dripping off the hem of his hood where it dips over his face. His breath forms plumes in the freezing air. Roach stands by the tree, huffing her own breaths into the cold, her mane plastered to her neck by the unrelenting rain. He offers her a conciliatory grunt.

‘I know. We’ll head South.’ As he says it Geralt realises exactly where he’s heading. He’s not expecting to rest in Toussaint - the year is still new and he hasn’t earned the luxury - but there’ll be contracts in the area; work he can take up. The days he spent there last year have taken on a hazy, dreamlike quality and the thought of returning fills him with warmth, despite the freezing rain.

It takes him around a month to reach the feet of the Amell mountains. He’s skirted wide around Oxenfurt, knowing that if he stops then Jaskier will find him and the bard will slow him down. As he climbs the mountain pass, he’s glad of the quiet.

Geralt spends a month in Toussaint. It’s nothing like he imagined. The grapes aren’t ripe and the vintage from last year isn’t as sweet as he remembered. The working women fuck convincingly but they’re cold and impersonal afterwards. Geralt understands that it’s a contract like any other, and so one evening he pays one of them double to stay and hold him. He sends her away before an hour has passed, filled with hot shame and frustration. After she’s gone he opens the balcony windows and lies stiffly on the bed, willing himself not to cry. Pathetic, he thinks. What made you think you deserve that? The wind rustles the plants outside, but the jasmine isn’t flowering and all he can smell is the woman’s thick perfume on the pillow. He leaves the next day, and this time, he doesn’t look back at the view.

Much of the year passes as normal, and Geralt accepts contracts that take him further North. He’s drinking alone in a dingy tavern in Novigrad when he meets Jaskier again. The bard, as ever, is full of stories of his winter, and questions for Geralt, and he keeps flitting back and forth between the two as though he can’t decide which is more pressing.

‘So Geralt, tell me, where have you been? I must say I was a little disappointed when you didn’t pass by Oxenfurt on your way South, but I assume you left the mountains late this year? The snows didn’t ease for a long time, even in Velen! You should have seen oxenfurt in the snow, it really was beautiful! Little Eye found this sledge, and- No, I’m getting distracted.’ He really doesn’t even stop to breathe, thinks Geralt, smiling gently. ‘I’m sure you have lots of exciting tales just begging to be woven into ballads. Where have you been?’ The bard finally stops and takes a swig of his ale, watching Geralt over the rim of his mug.

‘Went down to Toussaint.’ Jaskier gulps down his mouthful of ale.

‘Oh! So early in the year; you’re finally learning how to treat yourself. Was it as lovely as ever?’

‘No.’ The disappointment of his wasted trip rises in Geralt again, and he swallows it down.

‘Oh.’ Jaskier sounds unsure now, and there’s a glint of something in his eyes. ‘Well I’m sorry to hear that. I thought you liked Toussaint.’

Geralt grits his teeth. He had thought so too.

‘Or the time we spent there, anyway.’ adds Jaskier, very softly. Geralt knows the bard is watching him for any reaction, but he can’t stand to look at his foolish, earnest face. Instead, he swallows hard and stands up from the table.

‘No.’ he grits out, and then he turns away before he can see Jaskier’s face crumple, and goes out to fetch Roach. He should be on the road. When he leaves the city gates that evening, he lets Roach choose the direction; it makes no difference to him.

She picks North anyway.

----------

I'm sorry for the no comfort ending!! Nothing felt quite right as an ending for this but Jask will find him again I promise!

This is part of a freeform series of short and unconnected drabbles based around Geralt denying that he has preferences, and Jaskier’s reactions. Part 1 is here, part 2 is here.

[pixiegrl]

It’s a New Kind of Empty

"Ashton’s a good five drinks in when he thinks that maybe this wasn’t his best idea. Of course, Ashton is well on his way to being drunk at this point, so the idea is incredibly unhelpful. In the hazy lights of the bar, music pounding around him and people shouting, he thinks that maybe this is the reason Luke broke up with him in the first place."

Or Ashton hasn't been doing well since his breakup with Luke. He gets an unexpected second chance.

This is dedicated to @lifewasradical. She loves The Wonder Years and Aaron West and showed me them. We were listening to "Bloodied Up in a Bar Fight," and I said "ashton song?" and well. I wrote this for this song and for her. Amanda, I love you and I love our music nights and our fic nights and I just. I don't have the words to describe how much I love you so I hope this gift will do. I hope everyone enjoys this. 

TW for: alcohol, alcohol references, fighting, bar fighting, slight homophobic language, blood mention, post break-up (with a little hope at the end. I’m me, this couldn’t be all angst).

On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29033322

Ashton’s a good five drinks in when he thinks that maybe this wasn’t his best idea. Of course, Ashton is well on his way to being drunk at this point, so the idea is incredibly unhelpful. In the hazy lights of the bar, music pounding around him and people shouting, he thinks that maybe this is the reason Luke broke up with him in the first place. He’s a drunk, miserable, sitting in this bar day after day mourning the end of his relationship with Luke. The only reason he’s not here everyday is because he’s not stupid; he alternates his time between here, another bar a little further away, and drinking himself into a stumpor on his own couch, crying until he falls asleep and does it all over again the next day. He feels like a ghost the last month, but at least ghosts have a purpose. Ashton’s horrified to discover that without band responsibilities and without boyfriend responsibilities he doesn’t know who he is anymore. He’s just someone taking up space, existing in the world without actually existing.

It’s been a month. It’s been a whole 31 days since he and Luke broke up, or rather, since Luke decided he wanted to end the relationship. Although, that implies that Ashton didn’t have a hand in this either. One year of dating, of building their life together, gone. All because Luke wanted to come out to the world, tell everyone that they were dating, together, happy, and Ashton just...couldn’t. He doesn’t like sharing his life with the world, likes having some form of privacy, just isn’t ready for that. They’d gone round and round in circles, tense and angry, until they’d finally broken and Luke had snapped that maybe they shouldn’t be together at all if Ashton wasn’t ready for it. Ashton had snapped back that maybe they should if Luke wouldn’t respect Ashton’s wishes and all it had taken was a few harsh, cruel words, designed to hurt, for the two of them to call it quits. Ashton hasn’t seen Luke since then, took all his shit with him that night and went back to his place. Ashton doesn’t want to be the first one to reach out, can’t bring himself to call Luke and Luke hasn’t reached out either. It’s been a tense month of avoidance, dancing around the subject with Michael and Calum when prompted. 

Which leads Ashton to here, sitting at a bar, nursing his misery in yet another glass of tequila. It makes him sadder, drinking the thing he knows Luke enjoys, but Ashton can’t bring himself to stop. He wants to get drunk and he wants to forget and he wants to drink enough that maybe the pain will stop. It’s become horrifying that without Luke, Ashton doesn’t know how to structure his life. Even before they were dating, so much of Ashton’s life revolved around the band and Luke. They haven’t really spend a day apart since fucking 2011. It’s like a severed limb, having to survive without Luke, not being able to text Luke, tell Luke about his day, share music with him. Ashton’s not sure the pain will ever go away, doesn’t know what he’ll do when they actually have to do promo for the album, go to interviews, go on tour. Having to see Luke everyday, but not being able to touch him, hold him, kiss him. 

Ashton knocks back the rest of his drink, tries to wave down the bartender to order another drink. He knows he’ll have to argue with the man for it, knows he’s too far gone to actually have another drink, but Ashton’s tired. He’s miserable and he’s tried and he just wants to forget. 

To add to Ashton’s misery, the music at the bar changes, the opening bass of Youngblood filtering out through the speakers. Ashton tries to hold back the sob that threatens to leave his chest at the sound of Luke’s voice surrounding him. Ashton’s been purposely avoiding listening to any of their music, knows that if he hears Luke’s voice he’ll really lose it. Ashton’s not prepared to hear it now, drunk and miserable. He wants so badly to take out his phone and text Luke, telling him he’s listening to their song in the bar, but he can’t for many reasons. Ashton’s not supposed to be even drinking. He was doing so good before the break up, actually getting sober, learning to cope in other ways that didn’t involve alcohol. Fucking lot of good that’s done him. Luke will hate to hear that Ashton’s even in a bar, if he doesn’t hate the fact that Ashton’s calling him at all. 

“This song is shit. Can’t they play some good music,” a man next to Ashton grumbles to his friends. His friends all laugh. Ashton tries not to take it personally. They’ve been hearing that since they started playing, heard enough jokes about being emos and a boyband and any number of things people have said over the years that Ashton’s used to it. He just wishes he didn’t have to listen to it on top of all the other shit. 

“Lead singer sounds like shit. Bet it’s all autotuned.”

“God he’s so whiny. Didn’t they used to tour with that other group of guys? The ones all the girls used to scream about?”

“Fucking boyband. Can’t play their instruments, can’t sing. They’re only famous cause they’re pretty,” the first guy sneers, taking another drink. Ashton tightens his hand around his empty glass, trying to tamper down the anger in his chest. He’s used to hearing this over and over again and he thinks it must be his drunken state that’s making him angrier than usual. Yet another reason why Luke probably decided to end them; Ashton’s an angry drunk who can’t come out to the world.

“If you’re into that. Bunch of fucking pussies. Gay pussies.”

“Whiny, gay pussies. Didn’t they used to call themselves emo?”

“If you could even call it that. Besides, the only pretty one is that lead singer.”

“That’s cause he’s gay. Wearing makeup? Gay,” the guy says. His friends all laugh. Ashton feels the anger in his chest. He can put up with a lot of things, can put up with the criticism of the band and their music, but he can’t listen to people talk shit about Luke. Luke, who’s grown so much over the years, both sonically and personally. Grown into himself, comfortable in his body, in being able to dress how he wants, be who he wants. Luke, who’s taken vocal lessons and practiced over and over again to get to his skill level. He’s worked so hard and these assholes are going to say it’s autotune and call Luke gay because he likes to wear makeup. 

“Fuck you!” Ashton shouts, turning to the men. They startle, turning to Ashton, surprised at the outburst. 

“What the fuck is your problem dude?”

“You can’t just say that shit! What, cause someone wears makeup they’re gay?”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” the guy says, snorting. Ashton reacts before he can think about it, swinging a fist at the guy. Ashton’s not sure who’s more surprised when his fist catches the guy on the jaw, the guy, Ashton, his friends or the bartender. Ashton doesn’t have time to think about it, the guy immediately swinging back and hitting Ashton the nose. He can hear the crunch, feels the immediate sting of a broken nose and the blood starting to drip down his face. Ashton gives a yell, takes another swing. He can hear the group of guys yelling, hears the bartender shouting, feels someone yanking them apart. It doesn’t stop Ashton from trying to give another good kick, getting another fist to the face, catching his eye this time.

Ashton’s fuzzy about what happens next. He knows the bartender is forcibly trying to drag Ashton and the other guy apart, yelling at them about calling the cops. Ashton’s whole face aches, blood dripping down his face, eye sore, head aching from the impact and the alcohol. God he’s a real fucking mess. If only Luke could see him now, Ashton thinks bitterly, when the cops finally show up, carting him and the other guy off. Ashton’s at least satisfied that he managed to get one good punch in, sees the guy’s jaw is black and blue. He might be a drunk getting arrested, but at least he stood up for Luke. Luke doesn’t deserve to be made fun of when he can’t defend himself. At the very least Ashton can do that. 

Ashton finds himself at the police station, floating in and out of it on the drive over. The cop is shaking his head at him, mumbling something about kids and their attitudes. Ashton’s never been handcuffed before. It’s an entirely new experience. God, he’s going to have to explain this to the band. Why he’s been arrested, why he’s got a record now. He’s going to get three disappointed band member looks at the next meeting. Ashton groans, hand dropping back against the chair the cop’s left him in. They’ve taken his phone and his wallet, taken his fingerprints, made him wait while they run the information. He can vaguely hear them talking, trying to decide what to change him and the other guy with. Ashton takes a shaky breath, wincing when he feels his nose throb on the inhale. Ashton’s never broken his nose before, but he imagines this must be what it feels like.Wonderful. Now he’s going to have to explain why his nose is broken, if the gossip sites online aren’t already running stories about how the drummer of 5 Seconds of Summer is getting into bar fights and getting arrested.

The cop comes back, sighing heavily as he sits down at the desk across from Ashton. Ashton tilts his head up, making eye contact with the man across from him. He just looks tired, like he’s gotta deal with guys like Ashton, drunk and disorderly, all the time.

“Mr. Irwin.”

“Yes?”

“You’re very lucky that the man you punched doesn’t want to press charges. We managed to explain to him that since you were both fighting, you would both be at fault here. Since it looks like it’s just bruises and your nose, there’s nothing serious that you could be charged with. You will be charged for drunk and disorderly. We can either hold you overnight until you sober up or you can call someone,” he says, looking expectantly at Ashton.

Ashton’s brain stalls. He can’t call Michael or Calum. If he calls either of them, he’ll have to explain why he can’t call Luke. He’ll have to explain why he’s drunk and sitting in a police station with a broken nose. They’ll ask why he didn’t call Luke. They’ll want to know why he was at a bar if he’s supposed to be sober. Calum will sigh heavily and Michael will snap at him. Ashton doesn’t want to deal with that, have to talk about the end of his relationship on top of getting into a bar fight because someone called Luke gay. Besides, he doesn’t know either of their numbers without his phone. 

It really hits Ashton then that he only knows Luke’s number. Luke’s phone number is the only number that Ashton knows by heart. Even after all this time, the only person that Ashton depends on is Luke. He can call Luke and deal with having to listen to him bitch at Ashton or having him not pick up the phone or Ashton can spend the night here and go home in the morning. Ashton doesn’t want to call Luke, listen to the hurt and disappointment in his voice, but Ashton really doesn’t want to sit here overnight, not when his head hurts and his nose hurts and his eye hurts and he just wants to go home and cry.

“I can call someone,” Ashton says. The cop nods, hands his desk phone over to Ashton, watches him punch the number in. The phone rings once, twice and Ashton thinks Luke’s not going to pick up, it’s late, he’s asleep, maybe he’s out somewhere having fun without me, he doesn’t need me when he hears the line click.

“Hello?” Luke’s voice filters through the line. It’s rough and Ashton’s heart sinks. He knows that rough sound that’s in Ashton’s voice. It’s not sleep rough. It’s rough and watery, the sound Luke’s voice makes when he’s been crying, hoarse and exhausted. Ashton wants to ask about it, comfort Luke when he remembers he can’t do that anymore. They’re broken up. It’s not his place to ask Luke about how he’s doing. Coupled with the fact that the cop in front of him is looking at him expectantly, waiting for Ashton to let the man on the other line know what’s going on.

“Who is this?” Luke asks again.

“Ashton. It’s Ashton.”

“Ashton? Where are you calling from?”

“A police station.”

“What?” Luke asks, panic clear in his voice. Ashton swallows.

“Yeah I got arrested? At a bar? For starting a fight?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you.”

“Fuck. Do you know where?” Luke says after a moment’s pause. 

“I’m not sure. I don’t remember much.”

“Of course not,” Luke says, hallowly.

“Luke, I know you’re pissed at me. I know we need to talk, but I’m drunk and I’m sitting in a police station and I just need someone to pick me up.”

Luke’s silent on the other line. He’s so quiet that Ashton thinks he might have hung up. It’s only when he hears the slow intake of breath that he realizes Luke’s still there.

“Can you put the officer on?” he asks. Ashton nods and then remembers that Luke can’t see him, mumbles a yes as he passes over the phone. The officer exchanges some words with Luke, gives him an address and the information he needs, and hangs up.

“Your friend said he’s coming. I have to put you in the cell under then.”

“Right,” Ashton says, nodding. He lets the cop take him over, opens the cell door and ushers Ashton in. He sits on the bench in the cell, watching as the cop leaves, locking the cell behind him. He crosses over to his desk, pulling a tissue out of the box and hands it to Ashton through the bars.

“Here. For your nose.”

“Thanks,” Ashton says, taking it and trying to wipe at the dried blood on his nose. It stings trying to clean it off and Ashton eventually gives up, leaning his head back against the wall and sighing. This was the exact kind of shit Ashton was trying to avoid. By going public, they would have opened themselves up to ridicule and jokes about their sexuality, their music, their appearance. They would have had to listen to all these articles about how their music is about each other, had to listen to all the slurs people would call them. No one would take them seriously as musicians. Ashton didn’t want to come out because he didn’t want to have to listen to it, have the nasty words said about them, written about them. Although, they’re not even out and look at what happened. Ashton and Luke didn’t even need to come out to have some guys in a bar make fun of them. There’s still articles about how they’re terrible musicians, still men in bars who call them a boyband. Ashton had to go and ruin his happiness just to keep going through the same thing he always thought he would. 

Ashton closes his eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming. His head is starting to pound. His whole face hurts. He’s tired and he just wants to go home. Ashton’s not even sure Luke will come get him. Maybe he should just sleep here for the night and cut his losses. Accept that he’s alone and unwanted.

Ashton’s busy wallowing in his misery for an undetermined amount of time, listening to the weather report on the TV when he hears the door door to the station open and hears a shuffle of feet. Ashton cracks an eye open, floored when he realizes it’s Luke. Luke standing at the desk in front, shuffling nervously. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, hair pulled up into a bun. Ashton hasn’t seen him in a month and he’s so taken aback looking at Luke. His hair looks greasy. His eyes have dark circles under them, the clear sign that Luke hasn’t been sleeping well. They’re red too and so is the tip of his nose. Ashton frowns. That’s the sign Luke’s been crying. Luke looks broken and worn down, shoulders slumped. Ashton expected many things, but a sad, small, broken looking Luke wasn’t one of them.

“Hi, I’m here for Ashton Irwin,” Luke says to the cop at the desk. Ashton can’t take his eyes off Luke, still trying to catch his breath seeing Luke, seeing that he’s come to get Ashton. That even with all this going on, with their breakup, Luke’s here. Ashton watches the shuffle of paperwork, of Luke filling out the forms. He looks tired and world weary, shoulders heavy as he signs something. 

The cop comes to get Ashton, unlocks the jail cell, tugs him out and over to where Luke is waiting. Ashton can’t read his expression, Luke’s face blank and he puts a hand on Ashton’s elbow, watches as Ashton takes back his phone and his wallet, mumbles a thank you to the officer. 

“He just needs some rest. And less liquor. My daughter’s a big fan. He’s lucky to have a friend like you,” he says, nodding at Luke. Luke smiles ruthlessly, smile wooden.

“Yeah. Something like that,” he says, tugging Ashton out the doors of the station and over to his car. Ashton gets the passenger door open, gets into the car and watches Luke slam the door, round the car to the driver side. He gets in, starting the car, and pulls out of the station parking lot.

“You look like shit,” Luke says at the first red light. Ashton glances over, sees that Luke’s staring straight ahead, voice void of emotion.

“Feel like shit,” Ashton mumbles, reaching up to touch his nose, wincing when he pokes at it.

“Good,” Luke says, bitter venom in his voice. It shocks Ashton, the harsh song in Luke’s voice, the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. 

“You don’t have to be rude.” 

“You called me at close to 3:00am to tell me that you were arrested for fighting. In a bar. I think I’m allowed to be rude.” 

“Well you didn’t have to come.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave you there. You’re still my best friend, even after everything. I can’t just not pick you up.” 

“Thank you,” Ashton whispers, staring down at his pants, picking at a loose thread. He hears Luke sigh heavily next to him.

“What were you even doing getting into fights anyway? At a bar? I thought you were sober.” 

“Well I was until you broke my heart.” 

“Don’t pretend the break is all my fault.”

“You’re the one who ended it!” Ashton yells, hot with fury. He’ll put up with a lot, but he won’t tolerate Luke pretending like Ashton’s the sole reason they’re not together anymore. 

“Because you wouldn’t listen to me! You never want to listen to me! The great Ashton Irwin can’t be bothered to consider anything his boyfriend says or wants because he knows best.” 

“Ex-boyfriend.” 

“Fuck you,” Luke snaps. Ashton lets out a frustrated growl, wincing when pain shoots through his face. He doesn’t miss the way Luke’s face drops, worry and concern etched in his features until he remembers himself, masks his emotions perfectly after years of PR training. 

“I did listen to you. I got sober.” 

“Clearly not.” 

“I was sober for a whole 3 months after we weren’t on tour. I was getting better. You asked me to try because you were worried about me and I did.” 

“Stop bullshitting me Ashton. You were in a bar tonight.” 

“I was fine until a month ago.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Yes! I was clean and sober until a month ago when you fucking broke my heart. I was getting better and then we broke up.” 

“Nice, Ashton. Blame me for your drunk and disorderly behavior.” 

“I’m not blaming you!” 

“It sure sounds like you are.” 

“Well, maybe I didn’t want to think anymore. Maybe I didn’t want to wake up everyday and have my first thought be that I didn’t have you anymore. Maybe I wanted to stop thinking about you every waking fucking moment. Fat lot of fucking good that did me. Considering the fight,” Ashton mumbles the last part, hoping Luke doesn’t hear him. 

“What?” 

“Hm?” 

“What does the fight have to do with me?” 

“Youngblood came on at the bar and the guy insulted it. Called us a boyband. Said we couldn’t sing, it’s all autotune. Called you gay.” 

“That’s why you punched the guy? Ashton that’s hardly the first time anyone has said that.” 

“Yeah but I just...I couldn’t let him say those things. You’ve worked so hard to get to this level of comfort with yourself and your body and your voice. Who is he to say shit like that?” Ashton says, turning to Luke, pleading with him to understand. Luke’s quiet, face a little surprised. 

“You said the whole reason you didn’t want to come out was because of what people might say.” 

“Clearly, it never mattered,” Ashton says. He’s tired, fight leaving his body, drained from the night’s events. Luke’s pensive in the driver’s seat, clenching and unclenching his hands. They spend the rest of the drive in silence, Luke surprised when they pull up to Luke’s house. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone tonight. You need someone to make sure you didn’t hurt your head and to look at your nose. Besides, Petunia misses you,” Luke says, cheeks red at the admission. It makes Ashton a little soft, thinking about the idea that Petunia misses Ashton. He’s missed Petunia, missed her snores and being able to cuddle with her, taking her on walks. Ashton hadn’t realized how much he missed it until he didn’t have it anymore. Just another thing in the long list of things he can’t do without Luke. 

Ashton follows Luke up the stairs to his front door, watching as Luke unlocks it, realizing that Ashton still has the key to Luke’s house on the key ring in his pocket. It hurts Ashton, realizing that he’s going to have to give it back, the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. 

Luke gets the door open, holding it so Ashton can follow him inside. Ashton kicks his shoes off at the door, remembers that Luke doesn’t like shoes on in the house. Petunia’s nowhere to be found, probably already asleep on Luke’s bed, like the princess she is. 

“Come on, let me clean you up,” Luke says, taking Ashton’s hand and guiding him up the stairs of his house to his bathroom. Ashton goes, letting Luke lead him into it, watches Luke flip the toilet lid closed, sits down on it when Luke gestures to it. Luke leaves the bathroom, comes back with a washcloth. He flips the sink on, warms up the water before wetting the towel. He comes over to Ashton, bending down, taking Ashton’s jaw in his hand. Gently, Luke starts to wipe at the blood on his nose, tutting when he gets a look at it and Ashton’s eye. 

“Looks like it’s broken. And you have a black eye too. They really did a number on you.” 

“Good thing we don’t have press coming up. Although, might be fun to have to explain that I got beat up defending your honor. I’d be a hero.” 

“My knight in shining armor,” Luke teases. He looks surprised at the words, glancing down and continuing on his mission. Ashton’s surprised too, at the easy sound of the joke, that even now, after all this, they can still fall into this pattern, this teasing, this love. 

“Worth it,” Ashton mumbles, wincing when Luke rubs at a hard spot. 

“I can’t believe you punched someone because they insulted me. We’ve heard worse.” 

“But it’s you. I couldn’t just let them say that.” 

“Well, thank you. For defending me.” 

Ashton shrugs, “Had to make drinking worthwhile somehow.” 

“What happened? You were doing so well,” Luke whispers. Ashton sighs, heavy, tugging at his lungs. 

“I couldn’t do it. I didn’t realize how much of myself, of my life, was structured around you, around us until you weren’t there. I kept waking up and realizing you weren’t there. I wanted to text you, to talk to you, and I couldn’t. You were so much a part of my life, even before we were together, and then we were dating and I just...I don’t know what to do without you there, without you in reach. I keep seeing things in the world I want to share with you and I can’t anymore. I didn’t know what to say or what to do to bridge the gap. I just wanted to talk to you, to see you and I couldn’t. I don’t know who I am without you there and I kept drinking. I kept drinking to forget, to numb it all, to pretend for a moment I would wake up and you would be there again. It’s not fixing the problem but god, did it help me forget,” Ashton says, confession hanging in the silence of the air. He feels naked and vulnerable, heart on his sleeve in the wake of his admission that Ashton can’t be without Luke.

“I haven’t slept in a month,” Luke says quietly. He’s staring down at Ashton’s lap, where their hands are joined. There’s tears clinging to his eyelashes, eyes red ringed. 

“What?” 

“I haven’t slept in a month. 4 weeks I haven’t been able to sleep through the night. Everytime I try to go to bed, I can’t. It’s too empty, too cold. I can’t get comfortable. And then by the time I fall asleep, I keep waking up with nightmares. Except you’re not there to comfort me, so I just stare at the ceiling until my body just gives up. I keep crying. I keep crying and I think my body can’t make anymore tears and then I see something that reminds me of you and I start crying again. I can’t talk to my mum or Michael or Calum because I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud, like if I speak them into existence then they’re real and I can’t take it back. I structured so much of my days around you, that I find myself wanting to text you things or turning to you on the couch or calling your name and realizing you aren’t here anymore. I tried to walk Petunia yesterday, but she was wearing the collar you got her for Christmas and I spent the day crying on the floor in my bedroom because I kept thinking that we won’t have that again. I can’t figure out who I am anymore when I’m not your best friend, your boyfriend. You keep acting like you’re the only one hurting here, but so am I, Ashton.” 

“You broke up with me,” Ashton says, dumbfounded at Luke’s confession, that he’s been bleeding out day by day just as badly as Ashton’s been. 

“I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t love you anymore. I broke up with you because you refused to try and at least be public with me. You wanted to keep hiding us, hiding who we are, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t be some dirty secret anymore. I want to hold your hand in public and kiss your cheek during shows. I want to get up on stage and tell everyone that you’re my boyfriend and we’re in love. I want to talk about moving in without worrying what people will think of us. I wanted to be able to discuss the future with you, without feeling like you wanted to hide anything we ever did. I just wanted to have you, openly and completely. I wanted to love you, so everyone could see. You didn’t even want to listen to me. And I still miss you so much, I love you so much, I don’t know what to do,” Luke says, sniffling. Ashton lets out a sad sound, squeezing Luke’s hand, forcing him to look up at Ashton. 

“I don’t like being public. I don’t like feeling like we’re being watched, judged. I don’t like adding another reason to the list of why people don’t like us. I hated the idea of subjecting the band, you, us to ridicule and mockery. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. I made myself miserable and there’s still guys in bars insulting us and calling us names. I thought I could save myself the pain if I didn’t go public, but all I did was make myself miserable, make us both miserable. I ruined us and I can’t fix us and I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve you after everything, but I love you. I love you and I want to try. I want to try again and again, I want to make it up to you, show you I love you,” Ashton says. He’s crying now, sobbing wrecking him. His whole face hurts, but he doesn’t care, tears streaming down his face as he cries and cries. Luke’s not better, nose snotty and tear tracks on his cheeks as he cries too, shoulders shaking. Ashton tugs on his hands, pulling him up from his kneeling position and into his arms, Luke bent in half to return the hug, face buried into Ashton’s shoulder as he cries and cries. 

Eventually, they both run out of tears, bodies drained from the evening, from their confessions. They stay like that, locked in their awkward embrace until Luke pulls back, sniffling, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Ashton reaches up, trying to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Luke laughs, wet, and some of the tension eases in Ashton’s chest. If Luke’s laughing, it can’t be all bad. There has to still be some hope. 

“I can’t have this conversation with you right now. It’s so late and you’re still drunk and in pain and neither of us is emotionally ready to have this conversation. But if you stay, I can make breakfast and we can talk about it? I can make French toast,” Luke says. Ashton laughs. 

“You mean, the only thing you can make is French toast.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Luke says, but he’s smiling slightly. Ashton takes Luke’s hand, interlocks their fingers. 

“I would love to spend the night. I would love to have breakfast with you and watch you cook and walk Petunia in the morning and talk. I would love to talk.” 

“Good. That’s...good,” Luke says, nodding slightly. Ashton smiles back, relief flooding his body. He’s tired and drained, but the idea that Luke wants to give them a chance is something.

“Do you want me to stay in the guest room? I’ll need some clothing.” 

“I have some old things of yours. Would you...um...sleep with me? In my bed?” Luke whispers, face red. Ashton beams, very nearly crying again at the admission. 

“I would love to. There’s nothing I want to do more,” he whispers back. Luke smiles and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but his dimples are evident and his eyes are shining and it looks an awful lot like hope. It feels an awful lot like hope, like second chances, like Ashton’s just narrowly avoiding missing out on something important that he’s had the chance to win back. He can win back Luke’s love, he’ll make sure he can deserve it. 

[adoredontour]

all the fics i read and loved this month, in order from longest to shortest!

For As Long As I Can Remember (It’s Been December) by green_feelings @greenfeelings 128k

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove 124k

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore 113k

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

nothing worsens, nothing grows by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 102k

and he sits there quietly with harry’s headphones in his ears while his eyes begin to close, totally unaware that he’s listening to the soundtrack of harry falling in love with him.

or, another roadtrip au featuring harry as the misunderstood hipster, louis as the bitter psych major, liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

& more under the cut!

Follow Your Arrow by bitter_leaf @bitter-leaf 78k

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

somethin’ bout you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 59k

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

The Recklessness in Water by LarryOn @larryonsimon 50k

Louis Tomlinson is miserable. He's stuck on a family vacation at a lake cabin in New Hampshire when all he wants to do is bemoan his sorry existence and wallow in his sweatpants. As if the humidity and mosquitos weren't bad enough, he becomes the singular target of an obnoxious lifeguard named Harry.

Missed Connection by littlelouishiccups @littlelouishiccups 39k

Soulmate AU where your soulmate’s first words to you are tattooed on your skin.

With a boring and generic soul mark like Hi, Harry is pessimistic he’ll ever find his soulmate or that he’ll realize it when he meets them. But he could always have it worse, like his new friend Louis who had a drunken one night stand with his soulmate a few years ago and woke up the next morning alone.

before we knew by falsegoodnight @risthebrave 39k

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

-

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

what’s mine is yours to make your own by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 39k

sometimes, the closest harry ever feels to home is louis. it's their shared hotel rooms on tour, their shoes toed off in the doorway next to each other, jackets hung on the same post.

it's everything he doesn't notice until it's been taken away from him.

And Touch Me Like You Never by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 35k

“Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”

Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”

Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.

“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.

“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Or

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

last blues for bloody knuckles by creamcoffeelou @2ofusmp4

Styles was a name everyone knew. It had evolved into something of a fairy tale, a far away problem that normal people didn’t have to deal with. Louis never thought he’d find himself falling in love with him. When he finds himself pregnant with Harry’s child, he knows he has to leave the life, and Harry, behind. For her sake.

He never expected Harry to show back up on his doorstep five years later.

A mob au.

like it’s a game by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 32k

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

gathered on wings by Brooklyn_Babylon @twopoppies 32k

As Harry lay by Louis’ side, covered in sweat and come, he knew he should feel ugly, messy, ruined, like the life he’d left behind. But something about the way Louis looked at him, the way his eyes stared at him with want and awe, made Harry wonder if he’d ever feel this beautiful again.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself for his momentary romantic dreaminess. As good as this was, he knew it was nothing more than sex. He literally couldn’t afford to fall for just anyone, no matter how fit they were.

-----

What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist. What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way. Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for. Somehow he still manages to turn Harry's world upside down.

let’s make a thing of cream and stars by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

It doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

(Or: Louis is a Radio 1 DJ and Harry is a pop-star he interviews.)

Strong Enough by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom 21k

The biggest obstacle is still in place, firmly ensconced as a roadblock, cemented in their path and preventing them from moving forward. The thing is, it’s not actually Harry that’s the problem. Harry, for all his faults, for whatever decisions he’s made to lead to him to where he is in his life right now, would move heaven and earth and all that’s in between to help Liam, to support him. No. It’s Louis. He’s the one that has to reach out. He’s the one that has to let go and get the fuck over himself. It’s been five years for Christ's sake. It’s time to move on and suck it up.

“So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad that it’s Liam that drags the subject out from the shadows and into the world. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”

Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity @aliensingucci 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

The Orchards of Jessop by jaerie @jaerie 15k

At age 40, there isn’t much excitement in widower Louis Tomlinson’s life, but wasn’t that the reason he’d moved to Jessop Island in the first place? Back then he hadn’t thought retiring before he reached 30 and moving to the countryside would mean that he’d be doing it alone. Now, just to fill the space, he welcomes lodgers into his home that pass through working as temporary labourers at the orchards just up the road. They’ve all been young adults eager to start lives of their own after one last summer of freedom.

All of them have been much the same, coming and going from Louis’ house with just enough social interaction to keep the house from feeling so empty. But when a global pandemic shuts down the world, being quarantined with a quiet twenty year old who keeps to himself might turn out to be an awkward arrangement. By the time the restrictions have been lifted, their relationship has developed into something Louis isn’t quite ready to give up. With their twenty year age difference, Louis has to be prepared for the inevitable outcome when the reality shatters the private world they’ve been living in. He’s not sure he’ll be able to let it go.

if i had the chance, the things i would do to you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 14k

Niall sighs. He leans forward, pushing his mug of tea carefully to the side, before bracing his elbows on the table, chin in his hands. It makes him look like some sort of bottle-blonde cherub. "You have quite the fanbase, Harry. I'm not denying that. And you've done a good job of popping out every once in a while in the past two years, just to make sure you're still talked about. But that's all you've done, and I'm not satisfied. I want more." He blinks at Harry. "Don't you want more?"

(Or: AU where Harry and Louis compete in the Lip Sync Battle)

One Way Road To Something Better by femstyles @femstyles 12k

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

baby look what you’ve done to me by ballsdeepinjesus 9k

The next day kind of turns everything upside down, though. Louis gets another lingerie catalogue addressed to Harry. He’s about to toss it when he sees a personalized note stuck to the front; it thanks Harry for his previous purchases and offers him a complimentary six-month subscription to their magazine free of charge. It’s a unisex lingerie catalogue. Lingerie specifically designed to allow for the existence of penises, apparently, judging from the bulging cocks covered in lace that he sees as he flips through the pages. His breath catches in his throat at the thought of a faceless Harry -- mysterious, odd Harry -- dressed up in his purchases, whatever they may be.

He thinks he needs a lie down, to be honest.

[louis moves into harry's old flat. harry gets a lot of mail.]

golden hearts (light their way back down) by fairytalelights @lookslikefairytale 4k

“..So, top or bottom?” Louis asks when Harry tunes back in. And... what? Harry knew he should have been paying more attention but he has no idea how in the hell Louis explaining camp rules to him could have led to discussing sexual preferences this quickly. He must have smiled and nodded at the wrong place one too many times.

or, the one where Harry’s first day as a summer camp counsellor doesn’t go quite as planned.

Still, Somehow, You’re Perfect Now  by FallingLikeThis @fallinglikethis 3k

Harry Styles is Captain of the footie team and all-around popular dude-bro-pal to the entire senior class. He’s kind to everyone from what Louis Tomlinson can tell, and kinder still when he thinks no one is looking. Of course, Louis has been looking. Ever since he transferred schools at the beginning of the year and noticed Harry for the first time, it’s been hard to look away.

All My Friends Are Here by abrighteryellow 

He is about to decline, though. If he has to sit through forced merriment, the least he can do is avoid participation at all costs. He is about to, but then the guy with the microphone is looking out into the crowd. He’s saying things, too — about rules and prizes and team names. At least, Louis assumes so. He can’t really hear him over the ringing in his ears.

“Alright, mate. I’ll play.”

A pub quiz has invaded Louis’s favorite dive. Fortunately, it comes with a charming host.

Front porch and one more kiss by Femstyles @femstyles <1k

A goodnight kiss on a front porch

BONUS: (rereads)

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry @isthatyoularry 136k

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Close to Nowhere by angelichl @angelichl 34k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any helpful right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

[ad1thi]

i have a real hankering for some winteriron misunderstandings fics, the angstier the better. do you have any under your belt, adi?

absolutely!! some of these fics aren’t tagged misunderstandings but i added them because they’re angsty, i hope thats okay!! i’ve also thrown in a bit of identity porn because technically those are misunderstandings as well right?

Conclusions: @striving-artist (part of a series) (i rec’d part one of this series in another fic rec list that asked for angst, but this part deals more with misunderstandings so i thought i’d rec it here)

Bucky spent months trying not to think about what he really wanted with Tony. Not while he was hurting. Not while he was silent. Now Tony is back, and Bucky can't stop seeing how his presence pushes Tony back into quiet.

Tony spent months trusting no one but Bucky to see how bad it was. Now he's back, and he hates that Bucky will see that he's not as recovered as he pretends.

Pining For Lost Innocence: @iam93percentstardust (just a note that this is an a/b/o fic, in case that makes anyone squicky) 

After a whirlwind romance, Bucky is dumped by his fiancé, Brock. He ends up spending the next year living with Tony, one of his closest friends, moping first over his breakup and then over his unrequited feelings for Tony. When his sister’s wedding is announced for the same day he was left at the altar, he realizes that he’s not ready to go alone. He asks Tony to go with him- just as friends. But Bucky’s not the only one pining in their apartment and his sister’s ready for him to realize that.

The Gift of Care: @ali-aliska

Freshly back to the States, James Barnes has a lot to learn about his new world, so he watches and learns and finds himself slowly falling for one Tony Stark, who always appears miserable when he has to spend time at the Compound with his former teammates, but who still takes the time to treat James with kindness.

James sets out on a mission to take care of Tony, make Tony’s life easier in whatever small ways he can. An unfortunate misunderstanding nearly ruins that, but in the end, James still reaps the rewards of his secret good deeds.

[2019 Winteriron Week, Day 1 - Secret Caretaking and 2019 Tony Stark Bingo, R5 - Misunderstandings]

Worst Case:  @/PrinceOfBadassery

When Bucky applies for a program for a new type of prosthesis he doesn't have much hope of getting into it, but then a doctor who only introduced himself as Tony turns up and flips his world upside down. Not only does he end up with a new arm but also a crush that is hard to ignore as time goes on.

For the ITAB prompt: imagine no powers au where tony is still a rich businessman and meets ptsd vet bucky when fitting his prosthetic. bucky doesn't realise tony is tony stark.

Sweater Weather:  @/ezazahaz  

For WritingThroughTheMess’s prompt: High school AU - Adorable, sweater-wearing nerd Tony has been pining over Bucky Barnes from afar for years. When, on a dare from Rhodey, Tony starts to act on these feelings, Bucky is certain that he's trying to gain the favour of his best friend Steve, because why on Earth would someone as kind and intelligent and rich as Howard Stark's son be interested as someone as rough as Bucky?

text me maybe: @areiton

He's drunk and there's a really hazy decade in the nineties that Rhodey looks pained when he even thinks about that says doing shit when he's drunk is a bad idea. There's also a new building on MIT campus and a yearly donation that supports that theory. But MIT and Rhodey are far away and that clunky black flip phone is not, and he snarls as he snatches it up and punches in the mess. It takes almost five minutes because the tech is obsolete and he is drunk but he does and he smiles at it, viciously pleased.

Stronger:   @wolfloner-official @skyshadow3246

Tony Stark returns home from Afghanistan to find his life turned upside down. Pepper and Rhodey are gone and he is alone. As he tries to piece back together his life he is kidnapped once again and sold away to the highest bidder.Bucky Barnes hates Tony Stark. His whole squad survived their tour overseas only to have a Stark missile misfire on American soil. He alone survived the blast but was left with only one arm as a result. The metal replacement arm Stark dropped at the hospital malfunctions the first time he's back in the field. Discharged from the army with no where to go he begins transporting probably stolen art for an auction house.When he discovers his latest job is not art but instead the human he hates most in the world he must make a choice to help the bound man or to look the other way and deliver him to his buyer

people like you must be the world’s loneliest creatures: @/avienexjel

tony stark is rich and popular and an arrogant asshole. in other words: his iq rivals einstein's, he's slept with most of his "friends" at least once, and he's so fucking lonely that sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and cries into the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed.

it's no different at SHIELD boarding school, at first. half the student body hates him, half want to be him, nothing new. that is, until tony accidentally breaks james barnes's prosthetic arm, and he suddenly finds the most vulnerable pieces of himself surfacing whether he wants them to or not.

Mob Mentality:  @s-horne 

Tony wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here, here being tied to a chair with a cut above his eye releasing a steady stream of blood down his face. His ribs hurt and he was at least 87% sure that his left knee was broken. When he flexed it gently the pain was almost unbearable. Okay, make that 99% sure. It was without a doubt broken - which would have been 100%. Fuck; his brain was broken now too, as well several of as his fingers. To be honest, his ankles didn’t feel great either.

How the fuck had he ended up here?

Sure, he’d always known that Bucky Barnes wasn’t the angel Tony wanted to believe that he was, but he definitely hadn’t known it was going to lead him here.

/

As it turns out, Tony's angelic boyfriend was actually the head of one of the most notorious mobs in New York. A fact discovered when Tony was kidnapped by a rival mob. Well. He hadn't seen that one coming.

limpet: @/spqr (there is an age difference in this where Tony is 16 and Bucky is 20, in case that makes anyone squicky. however the age difference is paramount to the narrative) 

Last summer, Tony stole one of Bucky’s sweaters.

It’s green, dark green, with thin navy stripes. It was too big on Bucky, so on Tony it’s almost comical. Except it’s not funny at all, the way Bucky’s stomach swoops when he sees him in it.

[beerecordings]

hey!!! i'd love to see more with the favored puppet au, that's always been one of my favorite concepts. maybe at a point where chase feels apathy in the face of anti, his caretaker, being a bad person? or something from before, when anti decided chase was worrying him and he didn't want to play the games anymore? :'D ty ty

Favored Puppet AU (Chase): After stalking, haunting, and toying with Chase for years, Anti eventually realized it was no longer fun to play with him while his suffering was so high. Instead, Anti kidnapped Chase and keeps him away from the world as its companion. Chase has learned to be alright with that. The human world, after all, was never very kind to him.

Triggers for heavy discussions of Chase’s past suicide attempts and depression and Chase trying to cut himself again, though he doesn’t succeed. Also might be considered soft!Anti, though Chase is the only one it’s soft for.

Florence I decided to combine that first prompt (Chase feeling apathy when Anti’s being awful) with another prompt so you will see that later! for this one I decided to do that moment where Anti decided he didn’t want to play games anymore. thank you for sending them my dude!! also this is my first time writing for this au so the mythology is really experimental but I just tried to do something new with Anti :) it’s very inhuman and doesn’t really understand Chase, but it decides it wants him, so...

.

It sits on top of his refrigerator and watches him have his first meal of the day, a depression snack at nine at night compromised almost entirely of the last crumbs in an old bag of Cheetos. The skinny little human creature – though Anti’s seen him staring at his shirtless torso in the mirror enough times to know he’s only growing more dissatisfied with his softening stomach and arms – throws his head back and dumps the rest of the crisps into his mouth, getting orange dust all over his unkempt beard. Anti giggles at the sight of him. Clown boy with his Cheeto dust and the bags under his eyes. Little human thing. Too small and silly even to be able to die. Goofy, stupid human. Slouching, miserable child.

But if there is one thing Anti enjoys about the human, it is his fierce, hateful courage. At first, the laughter in the edges of his hearing sent chills up the boy’s spine and made him turn around with wild eyes, spitting and gnashing his blunt mortal teeth, but now, after months of being haunted, he does nothing except turn around and glare.

Anti is invisible on his refrigerator, but the human – what is his name? Charles, Casey, something – he still tries to find it. He has eyes made to burn, blue as flame, though, to be perfectly fair, fire can be as much a source of life as the bitter weapon Casey makes with his gaze now.

He used to be warm. Anti remembers. He would stutter when the girl came to see him and he carried those little chips with him, rubbing them in his pocket when he passed the liquor store, and his children were all he thought about. But he’s changed. Anti watched it happen. For whatever reason, the girl stopped bringing the children by at all, and at some point the pain of it must have overwhelmed the man, and Anti watched him embrace old habits with a ferocity only describable as self-harm. After his second suicide attempt – that was the only time Anti let Casey see it, standing over him and staring at the crimson of his blood in the bathtub while the man screamed for it to kill him already, shrieking in despair as Anti picked up his phone from the bathroom counter and dialed 911, giggling at the thought of just how powerful his despair would be when he woke up in the hospital – he removed his children from the background of that phone and replaced it with a stock image of the ocean provided to him by Apple’s recommendation.

The light slid out of his eyes at some point. Anti was there. It watched the whole thing.

It enjoyed the whole thing. Mostly.

“Fucking kill me, then, bitch,” hisses Casey, slinking through his own kitchen like he’s being hunted. He is. “Playing games with me, always, well, I’m tired of playing, you know that, I’m tired… fucking kill me then, not afraid of you, not afraid…”

This is also true. Anti’s pretty sure the only reason he moved back to America was to make sure none of his friends would be in the way of the creature who haunts him finally finishing the job. And to stop them from telling him “you need to get help, you’re talking to the voices in your head and seeing things, it’s not real, you need to see a specialist” in an endless carousel of concern and – as Casey always perceived it – condescension.

“Fucking kill me!” he screams, slamming his hand down on his counter. He shatters a pile of unwashed dishes on accident and blood comes pooling up hot and coppery in the lines of his palm, but Casey doesn’t even look down, doesn’t even flinch, just keeps staring straight forward with fire eyes as wild as a horse’s.

But Anti’s bored with him. It hops down from the fridge and wanders through the apartment, whistling. In the kitchen, it hears the man howling as the whistling returns to torment him, the monster’s singing following him for hours and hours every day, never letting him sleep.

Anti used to think it was really funny, that something as simple as a whistled lullaby could make the man shatter in half and sob like his heart was broken open in his hands.

But honestly?

It’s less fun these days.

“Music, music, music,” rants the human in the kitchen, slamming his palm down again and again, cutting open his palm again, again. There’s banging on the walls and muffled yelling. The neighbors are sick of his screaming. He’ll be evicted soon, Anti reckons. Humans used to travel in packs, making it harder to pick them off, but these days ones like Casey often find themselves alone, and no one is around to stand up for him. “I’ll make you stop, I’ll make you shut up, shut up, shut up….”

Anti lets the human sprint past it and retreat to his bedroom, crawling under the bed and taking his laptop with him. He puts on big earphones and presses them hard against his ears, and he rocks himself as his music plays, turned up to one hundred on his computer, mumbling to himself, laughing sometimes, if Anti listens closely enough.

Anti crouches down to look at him. It hums to itself and touches Casey’s face, and he shrivels in on himself and whimpers, but he does not fight or push it away. Not anymore.

He used to be so much more fun before he started to crumble instead of break.

And yet, Anti has not killed him.

It does not know why.

---------------------

When bored – these days, it often is – Anti likes to wander through the other apartments that surround its own. Watching the human sleep can only be entertaining for so long, even if it does like to hear his sleepy, thick breathing and see his peaceful, dopey face, and it’s nice to just roam sometimes. Anyway, the people nearby can be interesting, though Anti doesn’t mess with them the way it does Casey. No one else has ever been that entertaining.

A young couple lives to their right, newly-married with a little rat of a dog they call Barkley. Anti’s human likes most dogs, but he grew tired a long time ago of the shrieking yips through the walls. Anti itself doesn’t mind it so much. One more thing to annoy the human on his slow road to madness.

“Who’s the best boy in the world?”

It passes by their door and hears them cooing and praising the yelping thing. “Are you a good boy, Barkley? Who’s my good little boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Barkley has been sick for a few days and their fussing over him has been endless as they clean the nasty little animal up after every time it vomits, carefully feeding it vet-recommended dog food and plenty of healthy human snacks whenever Barkley shows an interest. How anyone could care to look after a creature so pathetic and useless is well beyond Anti, but it thinks it’s funny, really. Humans will bow down to pet the lowest of creatures.

I am not like that, it thinks to itself, drifting through the door, invisible. It is important for me to not be like that.

Anti had never had an interest in pets before this year, but, increasingly, it likes to come over and watch them look after Barkley. Constantly it reminds itself – I am not like that. It is important for me to not be like that.

But it doesn’t understand why this is important or why it should not be like that. Truthfully, it has never been skilled with its own emotions. It does as it pleases and what makes it happy makes it happy. If there is depth to that, it isn’t interested.

“Okay, Barkley baby, mommy and daddy are going to go for a walk and be right back in a few.”

“Aww, poor baby, we know. You wanna come on our walk and see all the other puppies along the way, but you can’t go while your belly’s all grumpy!”

“Yeah, little Barkley can’t come today, but mommy and daddy will be right back.”

“Mommy and daddy will be right back, we promise.”

They shower the dog in pets and belly rubs as they baby-talk their way towards the door, blowing it kisses as they head out and lock the door behind them.

“Do you think we should check on this guy here who’s so loud sometime?”

“What, that Chase guy? Are you kidding me? What a creep. He’s so fucking loud. We’re going to have to complain to the landlord again. Guy’s out of his mind.”

Ah, yes, Chase, that’s his name. Slipping into their apartment like a ghost, Anti laughs at the human fickleness and leans down to tweak the little dog’s tail, making it yelp in alarm and start running in circles around the apartment. It giggles and spends some time chasing it and leading it around with its chew toys and such. It likes the way it can make the dog do anything. It likes the cute little dog even if it is such a disgusting, purposeless, stupid little animal. It coos and picks the puppy up, tickling its skinny little ribs and rubbing between its ears.

“Stupid puppy,” it manages to say, in its painful, broken voice. Human language has always been difficult for it, but it prides itself on understanding it well. One day maybe it will speak it clearly too, though for now it knows it would sound like a struggling, glitching machine to a real human. “Stupid baby doggy.”

Faint laughter reaches its sharp ears and it quiets, setting the dog back down. For a moment, only silence, and it crouches in the living room with its black eyes boring into the universe, motionless.

Then it hears raucous laughter as the window in the back of the apartment is pried open and a pair of much, much more pathetic creatures than itself or even this little dog crash their way into the couple’s home. It straightens up, shaking its head, and heads back towards the back room, where a baby’s nursery is beginning to develop. Above the cradle, a pair of imps stop short, staring at Anti as they hover, startled, in mid-air.

Wearing its human’s form, it puts its hands on its hips and waits for them to speak.

They begin to laugh again, loud and boisterous, spit flying out of the one’s mouth while the second’s eyes bulge with hilarity.

“A fairy in California?” The imp rolls in circles in the air, shrieking with laughter. “Who would have thought?”

“Little far from home, Mr. Potatohead,” quips the second, floating up to the ceiling, sneering and sticking out its little purple tongue. Anti’s mouth curls distastefully. “Why don’t you go back to your hunts and your parades, your highness?”

“How’d it get here without getting stuck behind all that running water?”

“Careful, pure-blood, this spoon looks like it might be made out of iron!”

They dissolve into maniacal impling laughter, rocking through the air, shape-shifting in the limited ways they can to make themselves look uglier. If it were the sort of fairy who gave a fuck, Anti supposes it would feel disrespected, but it doesn’t much care. They’re little annoyances who have clearly mistaken it for a much less powerful creature than it really is. They break the monotony for a moment. It’ll kill them in a second. Anti supposes they just came here to make trouble. Imps love break into human homes and stealing their food or making their milk go rotten. They may well have been the ones who made Barkley sick, just to watch the humans take care of the dumb little thing for their entertainment. They’re common in this part of the city because the mountains are close, and imps are snuffling, stupid little creatures of the earth.

“Ew, what’s that?” squawks the first imp, floating closer to it. “Do you smell it?”

“Yuck. His majesty stinks like a human.”

“Just like a fairy to keep a pet.”

“Aw, do you have a widdle human to look after?”

“Maybe we should pay a visit to your stinky little human.”

“Yeah, maybe it needs some company.”

“Some friends.”

“Someone to play a couple fun games with.”

“And then we can find out what it is that made Tinkerbell here go all soft in the middle, like a rotten – ”

But they never get to find out exactly what rotted thing Anti resembles. It snatches the imp out of the air in one snapping motion like the bite of a snake and crushes its body between its fingers, its eyes turning black as the juices run down its wrist.

In its fear, the other imp does not even scream. Its eyes bulge in alarm and it scrambles for the window, but it never makes it. Barkley yelps in victory, chasing his own tail around as Anti’s teeth come down around the meaty little imp and tear it to pieces, silencing the both of the little monsters, leaving nothing behind.

It’ll be picking that out of its teeth for a week, it muses, wandering back out of the apartment and towards its own. But that’s what they get for talking about Chase like that.

It’s odd, though, how it makes it pause and think. That is something other spirits do sometimes, isn’t it? Take a human and keep it as a pet.

The couple with the dog are returning from their walk, holding slushies and each other’s hands.

“Barkley!” they coo, greeting their excited dog at the door. “Are you a good boy? Oh, why are you shaking, baby boy? What a silly little puppy you are. Who’s a cutie? Are you a good boy? You just want a big hug, huh, you just want to be looked after. Mwah, mwah.”

It’s kind of a cute dog, in the end.

--------------------

It liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it.

It liked the way his eyes changed. He was not afraid – Chase is a creature of courage and despair, and these, in Anti’s experience, are both flowers from the same root – but he was distressed. Anti would say that this was because the form he takes is such a disturbingly odd impression of a human that it scared the human, but, truthfully, he thinks he saw a sort of awe in Chase’s eyes that day as well.

He loves fiction. This is one thing it learned about Chase early on. He does not have a reputation for intelligence but he does love his fantasy escapism, or he did back when he still had the energy for things like interests and hobbies. He liked Gravity Falls and Doctor Who and anything with sci-fi or dragons and he would get stuck at bookstores every now and then just walking through the YA section and wishing he was still young enough to enjoy them as much as he used to. In the old days, human storytellers were vital parts of their social structure. Anti thinks Chase would have been a storyteller, in his own way, if this were a few hundred years ago. Maybe he would be happier then.

It does not know when it began wondering about Chase’s happiness. Do not ask it.

The point is that Anti liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it, that day he tried to kill himself.

“No,”  he shook his head as Anti took his phone and called for an ambulance. “No.”

But his eyes were looking at something beyond life and death, something he had only read about in books, and Anti did not understand it.

It thinks, now, that Chase was looking at something he had longed for when he was younger. But Anti does not know what. There are fairytales about prophetic heroes and novels about chosen ones and tv shows where fantastical creatures whisk people away on great adventures, but Anti is not a fantasy. Anti is a nightmare. This is something Chase has always known, and Anti has always known, and there should be no misunderstanding between them.

But it liked the way Chase looked at him, that one time it allowed him to see it. That’s all. That’s all it’s saying. It doesn’t mean anything. It is not like that. It’s important that it’s not like that.

Anti touches the human’s face. He has fallen asleep beneath his bed, and his breathing is clear and deep, rhythmic as the song of a bird.

----------------------

Chase sleeps for fourteen hours and then gets up to make a Cup-o’-Noodles. Beef flavored. It’s the only thing left in the pantry except half a jar of strawberry jam and some milk he was too drunk to put in the fridge a couple days ago, spoiled completely by now. Even the cheap rum he’s been buying is out on the table beside the stove. He hasn’t bothered to get dressed and he cuts a pathetically small figure standing over the stove in nothing but some gym shorts and rolled-up Christmas socks because everything else needs to be washed.

Anti roams the apartment, humming distantly and checking up on things. It deletes an unread message on Chase’s phone from contact name “Marv” and waters the succulent Chase picked up on an impulse last week. It’s so funny to it how attached the human can get to things, and so quick too. He once found a bee on the windowsill, brought it sugar water, and looked after it for several hours before letting it outside. The human put on his loudest comedy show afterwards to try and keep himself cheerful, but he’d ended up crying about halfway through, and Anti couldn’t tell if it was related to the bee or not. He’s always crying. He didn’t always used to be crying. He used to be less deep in his despair and much more fun to play with.

Anti shakes the thoughts off and decides to prove that Chase is still fun to play games with. There’s nothing deep about their relationship, Chase just happens to be entertaining. That’s the only reason it followed him all the way from Ireland. It floats towards the kitchen, silent and invisible. It’ll give him a quick scare, not enough to put him off his dinner, just enough to remind him he should still be fighting. Anti shape-shifts cleanly into a small boy with black hair and deep onyx eyes and goes to stand behind Chase, silent and still, staring up at the child’s father as he stirs the noodles in silence.

“I know you’re behind me,” he says after a moment. “Looking like Hunter.”

Anti startles and shivers back into invisibility, drawing away. Chase turns blearily to see that it’s gone and he laughs, deep and hollow.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stumbling a little as he tilts back his rum. Anti knows he’s already drunk from the calmness in his tired voice. “Used to your tricks by now. You been getting to know me, I know. I been getting to know you too.”

He snorts to himself and leans back against the stove, seeming to forget his noodles. He squints blearily around the room, rubbing at his eyes. He hasn’t put his contacts in since the last time he tried to kill himself. Wanted to make sure he cut the veins, but after he survived that night, it didn’t much matter if he could see or not.

“I think I can sort of tell when you’re close, most of the time,” he adds. Anti sits at the dining table across the room, frowning. “Like… I can feel you. Or something. See you, maybe. I think you make things… a different color. Does that make sense?”

He points sluggishly towards the dining table and then shrugs, letting his hand drop again.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

His pot is boiling over. The water will burn his hands in a moment, resting as they are against the edge of the stove. Chase laughs to himself again, shaking his head, and throws back the rum for so long that he’s panting when he’s done with the drink.

“Funny,” he says. “Would have almost liked for you to be there. As Hunter, I mean. See my baby one more time. My baby. Hunter, my son…”

His eyes trail far away. Anti doesn’t think he’s looking at anything at all. There’s nothing left for him to look at.

Water cascades across the stove, boiling. Chase whimpers as it hits his hands, but he doesn’t pull away.

Something yanks him back.

He stumbles away from the stovetop. Drunk, he can’t keep his balance, and he goes crashing to the ground, falling on his back and dropping his bottle, which shatters into pieces of glass and a small flood of rum across the kitchen floor. Chase gasps, grabbing at his bruised elbow, staring around for a sight of the monster that has haunted him for so long.

The pot of noodles goes spinning off its stovetop onto the other side of the stove and stops boiling after a moment, quieting the kitchen. The knob on the oven flicks to ‘off’ and the red light disappears from the stovetop, leaving it dark and silent.

Chase closes his eyes.

Anti stares at him and it knows, in the moment, that the human was not lying.

He can sense it.

He can tell it’s there.

“Why,” croaks Chase. “Did you call 911 that night?”

Anti steps back from him. His movement shifts glass on the floor with a faint clinking noise.

“Was this what you wanted?” Chase whispers. “Just to see me live like this a little while longer? Just to make sure I couldn’t get away that easy? Was killing myself too good for you? Are you ever going to actually finish me off?”

He is crying. He is always crying.

This isn’t fun anymore, Anti realizes. It isn’t funny.

And honestly –

Honestly…

Honestly, it doesn’t know why it called 911.

“I think that’s what I’ve actually been waiting for,” laughs Chase, sobbing as tears run down his reddened cheeks. “Fuck. Not even staying alive waiting for it, that’s not what I mean, I mean… like I haven’t killed myself because I’ve been waiting for you to do it.”

He throws his head back and cries and laughs and hugs himself with his burned hands and scarred wrists, his whole body shuddering with the tears.

“But you won’t,” he sobs into the darkness, as Anti’s presence draws away from him and the sun fades. “You won’t. Will you? No one will give me any mercy. No one wants me to have any fucking peace. So tired… You won’t…”

Anti retreats to his room.

It doesn’t want to face him right now.

He doesn’t want to face him right now.

Chase cries in the kitchen for a long time, until his whole body feels tired and numb and drained. He doesn’t clean up the glass. He doesn’t clean up the rum. He doesn’t clean up the water. He would probably have slept right there on the wooden floor of his kitchen, but the doorbell rings.

Too drunk to put himself together, he staggers to the door and throws it open to the cold, red-eyed and stumbling like a zombie.

“Uh,” says the delivery kid, fixing her alarmed expression after a moment. “Here’s your food, sir.”

Chase is too confused even to question. Almost dazed by it, he takes the bag of take-out carefully from her hands, thanks her in a mumble, and shuts the door behind him.

KFC.

Did he order this?

No, he was making ramen before he made a mess of it. But it’s what he always gets. Chicken tenders and mashed potatoes and a couple extra biscuits for the next morning.

In his bedroom, Anti closes out of the delivery app and drops his phone onto the bed, deleting one more message from Marv before it drifts past Chase and goes wandering, thinking, roaming, lost.

It’s not like that… it’s important that it’s not. It’s not like that.

Zayn and Mary are walking Barkley. Anti watches the happy little dog go yipping and dancing in the space between them, happy and safe and recovering, cared for by his masters.

-------------------

The apartment fills with soft light in the evenings. White and gold from the weary sun. When it hits the horizon, the gold pirouettes and falls apart into a dozen different watercolors across the long shoulders of the sky. Pouring patiently through the windows, like syrup from the bark of a great dark tree.

Anti sits beside Chase’s bed and watches him sleep, playing slowly with his hair.

It likes Chase’s hair. It always has. Soft and dark but sometimes golden in the sunlight, and ever-so-slightly curly, so you can wrap it around your finger if you’re gentle, and make it spring back again afterwards.

Anti wants to kill something. It doesn’t know what. A human, probably, but not Chase. Chase, Chase, Chase. It had forgotten how much it likes that name.

You like a lot of things about him, it lets itself realize. When did that happen? When the fuck did that happen? One day you’re making him having a repeated dream where he’s carefully cut into pieces and eaten alive by a sentient crocodile because he always got scared of the one in Peter Pan when he was a child and the next you’re thinking about how soft his hair is. It makes Anti laugh, for a moment, but it thinks it feels… sad. It doesn’t know why.

Chase wakes up and it drifts back into invisibility, leaving him to sit up and look around. Check his phone for the time and stare at the floor for a while. Today he is groggy, but not sad, which strikes Anti as odd. Most days he is groggy and sad. Sad groggy stupid human. Anti’s sad groggy stupid hurting human. It sighs and spins lazily in the air, watching Chase push himself up on his feet, his eyes dead and weary.

Someone slams on their door and Chase groans, rubbing at his forehead. He’s hungover again.

“Brody!” The slamming insists. Chase stutters out a breath, slightly frightened, and totters to the door, pulling it open.

It’s his landlord. Anti’s lips curl up in a snarl. A mean, stupid man, stupider than Chase, even, and he looks angry.

And he starts to shout at Chase, and Anti does not like it. It doesn’t interfere, but it doesn’t like it either, and it knows Chase will do nothing. He stands there shirtless in his Christmas socks and stares at his landlord like he can’t believe any of this is real – not because it’s rare for him to be in trouble, just because his life is an alley puddle full of cigarettes and bathing rats and he’s most likely dissociating – and just nods when he’s told to get his act together and pipe the fuck down before he gets kicked out.

“Yes,” says Chase. “Okay.”

The landlord leaves.

Chase shuts the door behind him and looks directly at Anti, invisible on the ceiling above him.

“Jokes on him,” he says dully. “He’ll have to be the one to clean my blood out of the bathtub.”

Anti blinks. Chase pauses, letting his head rest against the cool wall for a moment before he pushes himself back up and wanders back towards his bedroom.

“What you will do?” asks Anti.

Chase startles so hard he slams into the wall of the hallway, whirling around to look at him. Unnerved by his response, Anti scowls and backs away again.

“Sorry, did you just talk to me?” asks Chase. “It’s a dream, then? Or did you talk to me in real life? Or am I really losing it finally? I mean, worse than I have already.”

Anti grumbles to itself and gets up in the fan, making the blades spin slowly, sulking. Can’t even talk to the human without him freaking out.

“Must still be drunk,” mumbles Chase, retreating back to his room.

Anti gets up and follows him.

“What, are you worried?” snaps Chase, digging under the bed, and Anti grins at the heat he’s showing again. That’s more like it. “Haunt me for, what, eight months and now you’re worried? I know you’re there, asshole.”

Anti lets him hear it giggling. Chase rolls his eyes and then he gives a short laugh, shaking his head.

Anti feels pleased, it thinks. Chase turns to look at him. He can’t see him, but he knows it’s there. Anti likes that.

“You really are a monster,” says Chase softly, smiling at it.

And then Anti sees, in his hand, the little tin where he keeps his razor blades.

Anti’s mouth falls in a frown.

Chase looks up into the sunset. Orange and gold, tonight. Flowing over his hair and into his eyes, making them alight. Fire eyes. Fire Chase.

“I hated you for a long time,” says Chase. “But you’re either a monster or the part of my brain that really wants to hurt me, so I guess either way I shouldn’t blame you for being what you are.”

He stands up, straighter than he has in a long time, still fixated on that sunset.

“I… I’ll miss…”

Anti stares at him, waiting, but Chase never finishes his sentence. After a long moment, he turns and takes his phone off of his bed. A slow, shaky breath escapes him.

He always takes his calls between the hallway and the living room so he can pace. Anti knows. Anti knows everything about him. Anti knows things about him he doesn’t know about himself. Anti likes things about him he doesn’t like about himself.

The human steps into the hallway and opens his contacts, carefully picking a name he hasn’t picked in long months, and he closes his eyes, and he waits.

But no one answers. Chase lets out a soft, miserable laugh, gripping the phone in both hands.

“Ah, damn… ha. Sorry, Schneep, I was really hoping you’d pick up.”

He circles quietly in the hallway, running his hands through his hair, his eyes closed and that phone held up to his ear, trying to breathe even instead of weeping.

“Look, man, um. I know we fell apart. Honestly, I really needed you, and you were just too busy for me, and that stung, it did. Maybe it was selfish, but I just… I needed you, Schneep. And I felt like all you cared about was the research, and…”

He rubs his face, brushing away tears. Anti stands at the end of the hall, staring.

“Well, I didn’t call you to accuse you of anything. I just wanted you to know that, um, even though we both hurt each other… I always loved you, man. And I don’t got the courage to call Jacks or Marv, okay, but I love them too. I love them too. And I’m sorry. Cause I was a coward for running away from them, and… maybe you needed me even more than I needed you, and I couldn’t even see it. So I just want you to know: you were my best friend. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t pull you out of your head and that I couldn’t help, or didn’t try hard enough, or just that I wasn’t what you needed. And I…”

Anti sees Chase close his eyes and breathe.

“And I hope I’m not one more person you spend the rest of your life wishing you could have saved,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault, Henrik. I love you. Good night, buddy. Maybe someday – ”

The voicemail beeps. End of recording.

Chase lets out a hurting breath and sets his phone down. His eyes are fixed on the rising sunlit moon, past his window.

“Maybe someday I’ll see you again,” he says.

He goes into the bathroom and crawls into the tub.

And Anti – Anti is paralyzed in the hallway, staring at him, invisible.

But Chase can sense it. Chase can sense him. He looks back at him, his face – fuck, so familiar now, like Anti knows every line of it, every shadow – and says nothing.

Something in Anti cries out against it.

Don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do this.

But another part – oh, another part recognizes what has happened. It has grown attached to this human despite all odds, despite everything. And attachments are dangerous and stupid and useless, just like this little mortal curled up in his white bathtub, holding a razor, staring at it. This is Anti’s chance to let Chase break the attachment. This is its chance to stop this before it goes too far. Before it actually does decide that it likes Chase, that it wants him, that it should keep him, that he loves him in his own fucked-up way.

So it steps back.

It won’t stop Chase.

Let him go. Let him go. It’s better this way. He was just supposed to be entertainment. There was never supposed to be an attachment. So now Chase can die and Anti can leave and they can go their separate ways, and everything in Anti’s life will return to normal. It will go back to Ireland and find something new to do, someone new to torment. And everything will be okay.

It doesn’t stop Chase.

But Chase –

Chase –

“No,” he whispers to himself, gripping the blade. “Please.”

Chase can’t bring himself to do it.

“No!” he screams, lashing himself once, but it hurts and he hates it and he wants it to stop and it’s not like the other times he’s tried to kill himself, not at all. There’s no numbness. There’s no comfort.

He doesn’t want to die.

“Please!” he howls, gripping his own wrists. “Please!”

He’s begging himself. End it. Finish it. Stop it, let me go.

He’s begging the universe. No more. No more, please.

He’s begging Anti.

He’s begging Anti with everything he has.

He turns his eyes to it and he’s screaming, and there’s blood on his wrists, and the glowing moon is like the eye of a god staring down at them, and Anti is illuminated in its light, visible in the shape of a man, visible in a shape like Chase’s, and Chase is begging him –

“Don’t make me live like this any longer!”

Anti turns and flees.

Chase is howling like a shot dog, holding his own shoulders, unable to kill himself, because he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Henrik to get that voicemail, he doesn’t want to never see the sun again, he doesn’t want to go, he isn’t ready, but he can’t live like this any longer, and he’s never felt more hopeless in his life, and he still doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die.

Don’t make me live like this any longer.

Why can’t he end it?

He’s so drunk and so tired and he thought he wanted to die, he really thought he did. No, no, not… oh, he needs somebody, he needs something, he needs something to change. Henrik. He wants Henrik, wants Jackie, wants Marv. He’s staggering to his feet, trying to get up, trying to get back to his phone –

He slips in his Christmas socks and in his own blood, and he crashes down hard in his bathtub, and lies still.

------------------

“Oh, no, oh, fuck,” Anti hears him whimpering as he comes awake. “How much did I fucking have? Stupid, stupid…”

It stands in the hallway, pacing, its eyes set on the ground. It is determined now. It has decided.

“Oh, shit! Oh.” There’s a nervous laugh from Chase as he notices the shallow cut on his arm. “Oh, wow, I… I must have tried to… but I didn’t! I didn’t, wow…”

There’s an awe in his voice that hasn’t been there for a long time.

Is it… pride?

“I didn’t kill myself,” Anti hears him whispering. “I didn’t… didn’t kill myself. Or I just passed out before I could, but either way, pretty impressive for a fucking idiot like me.”

Anti retreats back to his room and begins to pack the human’s things up, taking only what’s immediately necessary. It doesn’t care about the personal effects, but there are some things they will need – some clothes, his hygiene products, shoes, medicine. He places the succulent gently on top and zips it into place as an added present.

It can hear Chase wandering around the house, apparently dazed by his own survival, or maybe just still drunk from the night before. Anti shuts his phone down remotely and doesn’t let it turn back on when Chase scrabbles at the power button, mumbling about his friends back in England. Anti doesn’t know where the sudden interest in them after months of deleting pictures and ignoring calls has come from, but it doesn’t care.

Here are the facts, in its mind:

Chase survived last night.

It has grown attached to him.

Because he did not kill himself, it can’t escape the fact that it’s grown… fond of the human.

The human survived one night, but Anti has watched him through a great deal of ups and downs, and it knows that Chase will be suicidal again soon enough, and then he might not survive.

Anti does not want to watch him die.

And so the conclusion it came to last night, watching over the boy as he lay in that tub, gently curling his hair between its fingers, was this –

Chase will be its, and Chase will not die.

It has a great satisfaction with this plan now, more than it thought possible. After months of boredom, finally, finally! Something that makes it excited again, something that makes it feel – well – happy!

Chase is still playing with his phone. Anti steps back into the hallway and sees him frowning down at it, pressing on the power button a few times in a row, looking unhappy.

“Did I call him, or…? Need to tell him I’m okay or he’ll – ahh!”

Chase screams aloud at the sight of Anti standing in the hallway with his backpack on. Anti frowns as he goes tumbling to the floor in his alarm, groaning from the whiplash in an already concussed head.

“You’re – you’re showing yourself to me?” gasps Chase, scrambling away. “What’s – are you going to kill me? What’s going on? Hey, stay away!”

But Anti is moving forward, a smile already on its face. This is perfect! This is perfect! It could howl! It could shout! The man is looking at it again, just like he did that night he tried to kill himself, the night that Anti saved his life, and there is the change in his eyes, the recognition, and Anti feels seen and known and in control all over again, and everything is good, everything is perfect.

“What are you doing?” demands Chase, his hands reaching out to protect himself. A fighter, yes, just like Anti always saw. Small and weak and mortal and foolish, yes, but also courageous, courageous, always something special about him. Anti always knew. It grabs Chase’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, humming to itself, singing the old lullaby it always used to haunt him with.

“No, stop, I hate that!” screams Chase, trying to cover his ears, trying to yank away from him. “Stop it, let me go!”

He’s such a pretty little human, even if he is built so scrawny. Anti likes his dark hair and his fire eyes and his soft stomach and even his stupid tattoos, just because they’re his and he’s so goofy, silly human creature. It’s all familiar to him now. The boredom that it thought it was feeling all this time it now sees was a secret fear of the truth that it was becoming attached to him. But last night woke it up to the realization that it did not want to see the boy die and it’s so pleased that he decided to live. In a way, the human was deciding to stay with it! Everything is good. It wrangles Chase’s other wrist and begins to drag him towards the door, unbothered by the sound of his shouting, which is little more than white noise to Anti after so long spent following Chase.

“No, no! Help me, someone help!” he cries.

Someone pounds on the walls of the apartment. A muffled “can you shut the fuck up for once in your life?” makes its way through the plaster. Chase sobs, tearing at Anti’s hands, his eyes wild and desperate. Anti keeps humming.

It will set him up somewhere just as good as this stupid little apartment. Better even. Bigger and less worn. And it will teach Chase to take better care of it too, so he doesn’t make such a mess like he always does. It will give him things he hasn’t even realized he wants yet. It will give him his little succulent back and he will take care of it. Humans need things to take care of or they get very sad and they die sometimes – that’s the thing about humans, they can get so sad they can die, and it’s no longer fun for Anti to watch, so it will get Chase things to take care of instead. What do humans like to take care of? Cows? Hamsters? Potatoes? Whatever he wants.

It takes Chase’s keys and drags him out to his car, opening the door and letting all of Chase’s trash litter onto the street. Its foot crunches on garbage as it pushes its human inside, chirping politely at him when he struggles and gently blocking him from escaping, keeping him pressed inside the car. When Chase tries to lunge forward past it, Anti shoves him against the glass and makes him yelp, clutching at its aching head. Whoops! It pulls back quickly and pats his cheek, checking the bruise and patting Chase’s head. It will take some time to learn the boundaries for touching the human, but it will learn. It keeps him carefully inside until the human has gone breathless and shaky and realizes he can’t get out right now. Satisfied, Anti gets into the car beside him and starts the engine.

Oh, no, wait. One more thing it wants to do.

Anti sets Chase’s apartment on fire, whistling its song to itself as it disables the alarms and leaves a few rags beginning to spread the fire from the oven to the counters. Fuck that landlord who yelled at him. Now the other humans will probably think he died in the fire or something and not come looking for him. Not that they could find him if they tried. Anti leaves the apartment smoking and gets back into the car, chirping and purring to itself, too excited to care that it’s acting like a youngling on its first Samhain.

The human stares at the road as they begin to move, shell-shocked and trembling. Eventually his eyes flicker over to Anti, and it can see that he isn’t sure if he should be angry or terrified or just numb to all of this, numb to everything.

Numb is what he settles on. Numb and a little weepy, anyway. Anti coos and reaches out to touch the human’s neck, rubbing warmly at his soft skin.

Chase curls in on himself, shirtless and shivering in the seat of his own car, kidnapped and alone, and he begins to cry very softly.

There’s blood on his arm. He’s tired. He’s hungover. He’s still struggling with the desire to die despite surviving the night before. He thinks he left Henrik a weird voicemail. The monster that’s been haunting him for years has just appeared in the flesh and thrown him out of his apartment. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants everything to stop.

He just wants this to stop.

The monster repeats its cooing noise at his side, still petting at his neck and throat. Chase shudders and cries, rocking himself gently in the seat, wishing for his headphones. Anti turns on both the heat and the radio. A top-twenties station comes on and plays music familiar to Chase’s ears, and they drive, and they drive, and he begins to go quiet and still, sniffling to himself, hugging his shoulders. Feeling the monster petting him like an animal.

“Okay,” whispers a warbled voice when Chase has finally begun to calm down, and he looks up in shock to see the monster speaking, or trying to. He’d never known it to speak at all – only to watch him, and laugh, and whistle or hum, playing tricks on him or mimicking him in the corner of his vision. They’d never spoken.

“Okay,” it repeats, touching his hair. “Okay.”

Chase swallows and says nothing.

Anti pulls over after a couple hours of driving and hands Chase the backpack, helping him pull out the clothes and put shoes and a shirt on. It leads him inside a gas station and lets him use his bathroom and wash his face, staying beside him the whole time. Chase doesn’t try to protest or call for help. He does not know why.

Anti leads him carefully through the aisles of the gas station, a big truck stop station with rows and rows of snacks and toys and clothes and knick-knacks like phone charges for cars and California-themed snow-globes. It seems interested in everything, but in an amused way, like it’s laughing at everything, and Chase is supposed to be laughing with it.

He doesn’t know what to do. Anti’s arm is around his shoulder.

The monster buys something with Chase’s credit card while Chase shakes beneath his arm and tries to figure out what’s happening, though his brain seems to be shutting down from being so overwhelmed and he really just wants a drink. Anti pulls him back towards the car and this time, he clambers in without protest, sitting down in the passenger seat and buckling in.

Anti sits down beside him and offers him the bag from the gas station. Chase blinks and looks over, taking the bag numbly from its hands.

There are nuts for protein and three bottles of water. Chips and a breakfast sandwich and jerky and chocolate and a small, stuffed lion with the name “Lionel” in its ear.

Anti starts the car again. They drive.

“What are you?” asks Chase in a whisper.

The monster glances over at him and touches his face, stroking a finger down his cheek, down his beard, and, in that struggling, glitching, inhuman voice, it tells him:

“Anti. And you are mine. No more scares. No more slow dying. I look after you. Human. Chase. Mine.”

The monster who’s been haunting him for months wants to keep him as a pet.

The desert is rolling past Chase’s window. Lionel sits patiently on his lap. The radio plays something inane and catchy. Anti is touching his hand.

“Mine,” it says again. “Okay, Chase. It’s okay.”

Chase closes his eyes, and, leaning back against the headrest of the car, he lets himself drift into sleep.