#writing and managing are different things

[layaispunk]

i don’t know if you can write something without smut but i want reader’s parents(or dad idc) organizing this barbecue party in their house and joel trying to hard to play it cool and to stay away from reader who wears skimpy jean shorts and top only to tease him, and they end up sneaking in the kitchen to make out and almost get caught by reader’s dad or smth, you can change it however you see right, i just want to feel a lot tension and risk, thnks<33

you better behave, darling

part two here

pairing: joel miller x female!reader

warnings: sexual tension, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, age gap unspecified, dilf!joel

part two (tomorrow) | masterlist

you didn’t know exactly when your crush on joel miller had gone from “dad’s hot friend” to “i think about you when i’m bored, lonely, or drunk”

maybe it was last winter, when he came over to help your dad fix the leaking pipes and left the garage smelling like his cologne. or maybe it was that time he picked you up from a party because your parents were out of town. 

it didn’t matter anymore.

because now it was summer, you just graduated, joel was very much still single, and the tension in your chest every time he was near had officially passed the point of manageable.

it didn’t help that he was practically family. joel had been friends with your parents for over a decade. came to holidays, fixed things when they broke, gave your dad advice about tires and taxes, even helped put up the christmas lights last year. he was dependable, and masculine, and protective, and you …. you had a massive crush on him. and he’d never looked at you like that. which was…. fine. safe. understandable. and completely infuriating. 

you were stirring a spoon around in your coffee, half-listening to your parents chat at the table behind you.

“the weather’s holding up,” your dad said between bites of toast. “could be a good weekend for that barbecue.”

your mom nodded. “we haven’t done one in a while. invite the usual crew? tommy, joel…”

at that, your stomach flipped. you didn’t flinch, or turn around, you just kept stirring your coffee a little longer than necessary, like the silence might cool it down faster.

joel.

you hadn’t seen him in a couple weeks — not since he stopped by to drop off a toolbox your dad had left in his truck. he stayed for a beer, made polite conversation, asked how you’d been. you said fine. normal. 

you tried not to think about him too much. emphasis on tried.

“i’ll call joel later, tell him to bring that smoked sausage he always does,” your dad said. “man knows his way around a grill.”

you turned your back so they couldn’t see the smile on your face. 

ten minutes later, you were upstairs in your room. you shut the bedroom door with your hip and let out a slow breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

you opened your closet and started throwing every single summer dress you owned onto your bed. 

you stared at a faded red sundress with thin straps and a hem that rested above your thighs.

maybe you were overthinking it. maybe it was all in your head. joel probably still saw you as just a family friend, someone he watched grow up. there were a thousand reasons not to try anything . the age gap, the connection to your parents, the risk of looking foolish.

but even with all of that, you couldn’t shake the feeling.

it was stupid. delusional, even. but there was something about this summer. post-grad, the loneliness, the ache to feel something different … that made you want to stop tiptoeing around what you wanted.

what was the worst that could happen?

he says no? he laughs it off? you survive. you move on. life keeps going.

but what if he didn’t?

you flopped back on the bed dramatically, letting the red dress fan out beside you. your heart fluttering. you were tired of wondering. of watching him from across the street like he was just some living daydream. you were going to do something about it.

that night, you couldn’t sleep.

you tried, tossing your arm over your eyes, shifting under the thin sheet, but your body was still humming with something you couldn’t quiet understand.

maybe you could watch a rom-com, fall asleep to it. you got out of bed and padded downstairs barefoot, planning to dig through the kitchen for a snack while watching the movie. 

halfway down the stairs, you heard it. his voice.

oh god.

you froze on the last step, blinking like you’d imagined it.

“-nah, she’s got good taste, i’ll give her that,” joel was saying, voice smooth and warm from laughter.

you stepped into the living room, eyes flicking toward the kitchen where he stood with your dad, each with a bottle of beer in hand. joel turned when he saw you, his smile lazy, casual.

“evenin’,” he said.

“hey,” you replied, swallowing the sudden flutter in your throat. 

“joel brought over that old drill i needed,” your dad said, wiping his hands on a rag. “we got to talkin’, hope we didn’t wake you.”

“no, i was just… getting a snack,” you said, causally.

your dad looked at his watch and sighed. “gotta take a shower before bed. long day tomorrow. mind lettin’ him out when you’re done? make sure the old man makes it to his porch without fallin’ on his ass.”

you snorted. “sure.”

your dad clapped joel on the shoulder and disappeared upstairs.

and just like that, it was just you and joel.

the kitchen felt smaller. he leaned against the counter, nursing the rest of his beer, his eyes meeting yours with a little lift of his chin.

“remind me, when’s your graduation ceremony?” he asked after a beat.

you opened the fridge and pretended to look for something, keeping your voice even. “10th october. why?”

he took another sip before answering. “so i can get sarah to book a flight. she’s been wantin’ an excuse to come home for a bit.”

your head turned slightly, surprise flashing across your face. “that’s sweet.”

he shrugged, eyes warm. “plus i need time to rent a real nice suit. y’know, show up proper. make you proud.”

you turned your head to look at him fully now, your hand still on the fridge door.

“seriously?” you laughed.

he nodded, “wouldn’t miss it.”

your lips twitched into a soft smile. you were really looking at him now, the way the light hit the grays in his hair. at the soft creases around his mouth. at the strong, careful way he watched you.

joel tilted his head, voice quiet. “why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

you shrugged, mouth twitching. “no reason.” a pause. then, just barely above a whisper: “you smell good.”

something shifted in his face. his fingers tensed slightly around the neck of the bottle.

a beat passed. then he spoke again, casual but with something simmering underneath.

“you still seein’ that brandon boy?”

you blinked. “brandon?” you laughed softly. “god, no. he was… stupid. and immature.”

joel made a small noise of approval, almost a chuckle.

“i prefer older guys anyway,” you added, letting the words linger in the air.

his eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t say anything right away. just met your eyes with something unreadable and intense.

you cleared your throat, breaking the silence before it could swallow you whole. “you coming to the barbecue tomorrow night?”

“yeah, course,” he said slowly, like he’d just pieced something together. “you?”

“mhm.” you nodded.  “i’ll just have to look extra pretty, for you, then.”

joel’s brow twitched, and you swore you saw the corner of his mouth lift. “that right?”

you shrugged, playing it cool. “well, if you’re gonna go through all the trouble of renting a suit, i figure i should match the effort.”

“that dress you wore to mrs. adler’s party would probably do it,” he said, voice quiet.

you blinked. “you remember what i wore?”

a blush crept up on his neck. “i mean … i dont know. i guess.”

you smiled, “hm.”

he ran a hand over the back of his neck, “kinda hard to forget. you looked real pretty.”

you grabbed some snacks from the cabinet, trying to fight your grin. “you think you can keep your cool tomorrow?” 

joel exhaled through his nose, “you really tryin’ to start somethin’ right now?”

“maybe” you just tilted your head, all innoncent. 

joel leaned just a little closer, voice low and thick. “you better behave tomorrow, darlin’.”

the evening heat was relentless, sun hanging low over the backyard, making the sky look pink and orange, shimmering with heat. you could feel it sticking to your skin beneath the thin fabric of your dress. restless, you kept stealing glances toward joel. he was the center of attention as usual, leaning against the grill, a beer in one hand, chatting with his blonde neighbors who definitely knew how to flirt. it was clear why: joel was the hottest guy in austin. no competition. 

you twisted the hem of your dress nervously and slipped inside the kitchen, your steps light on the floor. your eyes landed on the bottle of tequila you’d been using to mix drinks for the guests. without thinking, you grabbed it and took a quick, rebellious gulp.

“hey, what the hell are you doing, kiddo?” your dad’s voice cut through the quiet.

caught off guard, you froze, then blurted out, “it’s summer, dad. leave me alone.”

he just shook his head with a smirk, joking about losing a brain cell, and walked away, leaving you to slip back out into the backyard.

as you rounded the corner, you bumped into joel. his beer nearly slipped from his hand, but he caught it without missing a beat.

“hey,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked you up and down.

you looked around, making sure nobody could hear you, “you didn’t say a word about the dress, joel. i thought it was for you.”

he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “you’re bein’ stupid. you know your old man would kill me. chop my head off and put it on a plate, probably.”

joel’s eyes softened, and his voice lowered just for you. “you’re real pretty tonight, darlin’, but we can’t.”

you bit your lip, stepping a little closer. “so what if we can’t? makes it more fun.”

he gave you a half-smile, and headed toward the fence, pulling out a cigarette. lighting it, he took a slow drag and exhaled the smoke into the summer air.

you followed him, leaning against the fence beside him. “mind if i have a puff?” you asked casually.

joel didn’t even hesitate, handing you the cigarette with a small grin. after you took a slow drag, you looked down at your dress and then back at him. “hey, can you help me with this?” you said, pointing to the strap sliding off your shoulder.

he glanced at you, smirking. “i know what you’re doing, dirty girl.”

you looked up at him, innocently. “just want you to help me with my dress, joel.” you stepped closer, right in front of him, your breath catching when his hands reached for the straps of your dress. his fingers brushed your shoulders, sending a jolt straight through you.

for a moment, the world shrank down to the two of you. the distant laughter, the grill, the heat of the summer evening, all fading into nothing. you could feel the heat pooling low, your panties already soaked from the tequila and nerves, and the touch of joel’s hands. 

he tightened the strap with slow care, his fingers lingering just a second too long. you swallowed hard, the backyard spinning just a little.

then, you did something stupid. you glanced over your shoulder, making sure no one was close enough to see what you were about to do. with a quick, reckless motion, you slid your light pink thongs down your thighs and, without a word,  handed them to joel.

his eyes widened just the slightest when he caught the delicate fabric.

you turned on your heel and walked away, heart hammering, cheeks burning. 

you didn’t see him again for about an hour. he was avoiding you.

the backyard was buzzing with bodies, laughter, and music. you found yourself stuck in the kitchen, nodding politely while your mom’s friend kelly launched into a drawn-out conversation about your post-grad plans. you tried to focus, offering half-hearted mhms and smiles, but your brain was still caught on what you’d done. the tequila was wearing off just enough for embarrassment to creep in.

god. you’d really handed joel miller your panties like it was nothing.  you shifted your weight, pretending to sip your beer, trying to inch toward the doorway when you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

joel. standing by the hallway.

he wasn’t looking at you directly, but his body was turned just enough that you knew he was waiting. his eyes flicked to the bathroom door beside him, then back to you. a silent message.

you didn’t hesitate.

“sorry-beer’s hitting me,” you said quickly to kelly, leaving the beer on the counter and flashing a small apologetic smile as you backed away. “need to pee before i explode.”

she laughed and waved you off.

you slipped down the hall, heart pounding so loud it felt like your whole body moved with each beat. joel stood there, still as anything, but the look in his eyes was different now. 

when you reached the door, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you inside the bathroom, and shut the door behind you with a click, and locked it. 

you were pressed against the door, chests touching, the very little space between you hot and electric. neither of you moved for a second. just breathing. you could hear the party still humming faintly outside the door, but it felt miles away.

joel leaned in, his mouth close to your ear, voice low and ragged. “you’re outta your goddamn mind.”

you shivered.

“the hell has gotten into you tonight, huh?”

your courage from earlier fizzled out, the reality of it all creeping in now that he was here, so close, and looking at you like that.

“i’m sorry,” you said, breath hitching. “i didn’t mean to pressure you. i just…”

his mouth was on yours before you could finish.

it was rough and desperate, his hand cradling the back of your head as his lips crushed into yours. you gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongues sliding, hands wandering. you felt him everywhere. his body, solid and warm, pressing you harder against the door. his grip firm and grounding.

you whimpered against his mouth, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer like you couldn’t get enough. he tasted like beer and smoke, and it made your knees weak.

joel finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. “jesus,” he muttered. “you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.” his lips found yours again, hungry and desperate. he kissed you like he needed to memorize the way you tasted. 

you moaned into his mouth, your body practically vibrating with need. his hands moved slowly, trailing down your sides, fingers grazing your hips. you could feel the hesitation there, the weight of everything unsaid between you, but it didn’t stop him.

his touch slipped beneath the hem of your dress, calloused palms dragging up the bare skin of your thighs. your breath hitched, and you couldn’t help it, you let out a soft moan.

“joel …”

he groaned low in his throat. “fuck.”

then.. two knocks.

you both froze.

your heart jumped into your throat. joel’s hand clapped gently but firmly over your mouth before you could react. his palm covered half your face—god, his hands were huge. 

yep. dad was right. you officially lost a brain cell.

“hey, someone in there?” your dad’s voice rang out from behind the door.

joel’s eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. he took a deep breath and answered with forced nonchalance.

“yeah, buddy. gimme a second. beer’s hittin’ me hard. think i just lost my goddamn bowels.”

PART 2 !

thankyou for reading ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

p.s the whole underwear situation was inspired by the fic we all read and love, fourth of july by jrrmint

[shen-jius-zoloft-prescription]

Modern AU equivalent of "bodysharing" scumcum where Shen Jiu is the Cang Qiong VP, director of the Qing Jing division, who fought tooth and nail to work his way up in the world despite a destitute childhood and criminal youth, and Shen Yuan is his useless rich boyfriend who spends all day reading light novels and getting into fights on the internet. (Hey, that's how they met! How romantic!)

One day, Shen Jiu has another qi deviation severe PTSD episode; what's different this time around is that, for once, Shen Yuan manages to convince him to take mental health time off work. He says he'll handle it, whatever that means! And Shen Jiu, for once, isn't suspicious, hypervigilant, distrustful enough to question it. He's having a really bad time, okay?!

But Shen Yuan didn't really think it through. What's he supposed to do, tell Yue Qi that Shen Jiu is out for a few days? Shen Jiu will kill him, and then Yue Qi will storm the preposterously expensive and exclusive mental health retreat Shen Yuan put Shen Jiu up in perfectly normal and reasonable outpatient facility, and then Shen Jiu will kill him again.

So, okay, he logs into Shen Jiu's work laptop (his passwords are all the same and so obvious, puh-lease) and he maybe starts just... pretending to be Shen Jiu. Just while he's away! Just to keep people from getting suspicious that Shen Jiu is gone!

And if he notices that Shen Jiu has been maybe... not handling some of his subordinates very well, then... Listen! There is someone who's on a really aggressive and punitive PIP that doesn't look like deserves it. (Let's remove that performance plan, and give him a merit bonus to make up for it... and let's put him on a better assignment, too, we're just making things right! Poor kid!) It also looks like a bunch of stuff in this division is being handled really poorly in general, actually. Figures, Jiu-ge is a brat at the best of times and really fucking mean and jealous at the worst. Maybe he'll have fewer qi deviations mental health crises if comes back this time to an environment that's not cultivating as much bitterness and negativity as possible, ah??

Meanwhile, at the most infuriatingly new-age uwu bullshit daycare for the richest of sad people, Shen Jiu sneaks away to where the cameras and automated surveillance systems (Hello, esteemed guest! This System must insist that you do not try sneaking out the marked emergency exit doors...!) to pull out the work phone he managed to smuggle in, and...

What the absolute fuck?! There is only on person who both knows his password (ugh) and knows his general writing style (ugh!!) who would be stealing his identity to meddle in his work!

The next several days are spent with Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu logging each other out in turns, and desperately trying to undo the damage the other has caused in their brief moments of control.

Yes, this does continue even after Shen Jiu returns from his mental health retreat. If nothing else, it keeps the Qing Jing division on its toes, and massively confuses one intern Luo Binghe. (The signals. are mixed.)

(Only Shang Qinghua knows what's up, but he's not saying jack shit because he is 100% committing identity fraud himself. “Shang Qinghua” is the name of a dead man with a good credit score, no debts, and no ties to the criminal underworld or warrants for his arrest, so, you know, “it's free real estate” or whatever. "He's dead! He's not using it anymore! It's fine!")

[munsonify]

Hello! Since u write for Joaquin could we get a fic based on the song Moonlight bc Kali Uchis please 🥹 thank you in advance 💘

a/n. hi! absolutely, thanks for sending this in! ❤️ i love joaquin and i love kali uchis this is my shit. i decided to do this based off of lyrics and the vibes i get from the song. also i perhaps went a little to heavy on the setup of the fic but shhh. i hope you can see the vision i had for this! (click link on title to see song on spotify)

moonlight - joaquin torres x fem!reader

summary. you’re always joaquin’s plus one at events, and tonight was no different. this time around, however, after joaquin attended to what he needed to, you two were desperate to get away from the crowd and enjoy each others company

content warnings. so much fluff, sexual tension, established relationships, r in a dress+heels, secluded make out sess, joaquin being insatiable and absolutely adorable, very little alcohol consumption, pet names (pretty girl, baby, baby girl), thunderbolts spoilers

word count. 3362

———

it was important that joaquin and sam made public appearances together to keep up a good image. with everything that’d happened within the past few years - the snap reversal, sam taking over the responsibility of being captain america, several mishaps that had to do with superhero’s, ones that usually didnt give them the best rep - they needed to make sure the public knew they were on their side. that they are here to help.

and, while joaquin didnt mind attending these events, it was always nice having you around. with you around, the tension in his jaw and his shoulders eased up. he’s personable, charming, kind, and you know that of him very well. that didn’t stop him from becoming a little stressed during these sort of relations and the formality of it all. when you’re by his side, delicate hand placed on his bicep, a sweet, reassuring smile shining over at him, he remembers that it’s all okay. he remembers to loosen up a little, to breathe, that you always have his back.

more importantly, you help joaquin remember why he began doing this in the first place. people need someone to step in and protect, someone who’s dedicated and passionate. he knows he can be that person, it’s who he strives to be every day. and, despite making one too many lighthearted jokes to the wrong person, or nearly knocking things over from walking aimlessly, he still manages to charm people over. you admire every last bit of that about the man.

tonight there was a fundraising event sam thought was best for them to attend. fundraisers were always a little easier for joaquin, a little less tense. while government hearings had a lot more on the line, a little more difficult to navigate, fundraisers first and foremost required his compassion and empathy. easy. regardless, he was able to bring a plus one, a spot he filled without hesitation.

that’s how you, joaquin, and sam ended up in the back of a limo, riding steady through new york city to the venue.

“you think bucks gonna be here?” joaquin asked, leaned back and casual in his seat. you couldn’t help but admire how good he looked in his suit with his hair combed back out of his eyes, strands that curled slightly at the ends through the gel.

“now that he’s working with valentina, there’s no way in hell he’s not,” sam scoffed, head shaking slightly. he was right. while bucky might not be the best at public relations, valentina was, both out of necessity and desperation. she knew how to work and redirect a crowd. besides, he was there during the incident - crumbling buildings, cars gone airborne, people turned to darkened shadows-, it was only right he made an appearance. it wouldn’t be a surprised if valentina dragged the rest of the newfound “team” along with them.

joaquin couldn’t help but chuckle, his mind clearly fumbling through a long line of remarks to spew out. “poor guy can’t even articulate senate cases properly, there’s no chance he’s making it through trying to justify what happened,” he joked, earning another scoff from the man. the small smirk the played on yours and sam’s face was enough to egg him on. joaquin straightened up his shoulders as he began to impersonate bucky the vest he could, voice deepening slightly, trying his best to be brooding.

“the incident was… very bad, very unfortunate, ya know. it was a very bad thing that happened. i just so happened to be there when the very unfortunate thing occurred.”

a small giggle slipped from your lips, smiling wide at joaquin as he spoke. sam was pushing back a small smile that tried to force its way onto his face. even if he didn’t want to admit it, joaquin was amusing. only sometimes. the three of you didn’t get much else in before you’d finally arrived at the venue, pulling up as close to the entrance as the driver could.

sam was the first out of the vehicle, stepping out and immediately being hit with camera flashes, a few of the photographers shouting to get his attention. joaquin was next, though he stalled only slightly so you could give him a gentle, reassuring kiss on the lips. he ignored the camera flashes and the voices as he stepped out, immediately turning to offer you a hand, one you accepted gratefully. he helped you out of the limo, letting go only when you found your footing, the heels you wore a little higher than you were used to.

joaquin was quick to offer his arm up to you in replacement of his hand. your hand slipped right below his bicep near the crook of his elbow, throwing a smile his way as he begins guiding you up towards the entrance. he gave the photographers a few polite waves as you two followed sam inside. you realized during the flashes of the cameras that you’d accidentally left traces of lipgloss on his lips.

“baby,” you cooed quietly as you stepped into the building, giving his arm a small squeeze to get his attention. joaquin hummed a pleasant ‘yeah’, head turning towards you. “you’ve got a little lipgloss on you.”

all he did was give you a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders before he leaned in to whisper. “i think i’ll live.”

joaquin continued to walk you proudly through the venue, eyes wandering around to figure out where he should be. sam stopped him to give him some direction, a few pointers to keep him afloat for the night. be respectful, show that you care, be optimistic about rebuilding what was lost. he could do that.

many business were destroyed during the attack, apartments in shambles and cars wedged into poles. with you by his side, hovering in the vicinity as he spoke, or simply seeing you in the corner of his eye entertaining a government official in his boring, long drawn out story, he was able to keep pushing. a journalist had a few pressing questions for joaquin to answer, ones he was more than happy to answer. in regards to what the world could expect from him and sam in efforts to make sure that was a contained incident, he gave the best answer he could muster on the spot.

while they may not have a proper plan, they had spoken on a few occasions about it. this was his time to keep it short and simple, dodge the question a little, maybe even throw in a small joke.

“as we move forward with the relief team, our biggest priority is making sure everyone gets back on their feet. we’re closely monitoring any activity that occurs in the area, and so far we’ve been in the clear. have you seen yet? the dust finally settled.”

that finalized the impromptu interview, joaquin bidding her a goodbye with a firm handshake, before the journalist walked off. he’d been speaking with people for what felt like nonstop, the two and a half hours starting to bear down on him. right when the exhaustion threatened to sink in, he caught eye of you. the prettiest, most respectful smile graced your face, lips still shiny with lipgloss. you held a champagne glass loosely in both hands as you nodded along with the woman in front of you.

joaquin slowly found his way towards you, tuning in immediately to the conversation you were having. he was sure the conversation was nice, he realized quickly she was speaking of a book she published. she only stopped for a few seconds to shake his hand and introduce herself, eyes lighting up when she recognized who he was. she was quick to stumble back into the conversation, detailing a little more on her research.

for once, joaquin didn’t feel like he needed to take the lead in the conversation, or have much of importance to say. he let you finish out what you had started, watching as you nod along and add quips and responses at the perfect moments. he nodded along, too, despite being thoroughly distracted.

he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. you had your hair made up nice to accompany long, delicate black dress you wore. the fabric hugged your curves perfectly, sitting just right on your body. there was a slit in the dress that dragged up one of your thighs just high enough for joaquin’s mind to slip away slightly. it wasn’t until he noticed the glass in your hands shift to only one, reaching your free hand to give the woman a firm shake. he mindlessly followed your direction, shaking her hand right afterwards.

“it was very nice talking to you, ma’am,” you spoke, your polite smile still gracing your lips. she offered the same sentiment before she excused herself, walking off to greet someone she seemed to know. your shoulders visibly relaxed when she was far enough away, body turning towards your boyfriend for the first time in around an hour. joaquin seemed just as relieved to be by your side again without all of the formality.

a hand of his slipped to your waist, tugging you slightly towards him in a gentle, unprovoked sort of possessiveness. he simply missed having your attention and having you near him, something he made that very clear to you. you knew his tell signs, you were always quick to pick up on them. the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you made your heart flutter, even more so now that he’s speaking to you in a whisper.

“missed you, pretty girl. think i can steal you away for a second?” your nose scrunched up slightly at his compliment, humming out slightly as you began to think, a fake sort of contemplation that joaquin could see right through. you let your free hand move to smooth up his chest, fingers sprawled out slightly, feeling his heartbeat quicken just barely under your touch.

“i think so, handsome,” you finally said, hand moving to smooth the white button up you’d wrinkled slightly. joaquin’s large hand found its way to your lower back, before gently guiding you through the busy room. he helped you weave through people until he found a staircase to ascend. that’s when his hand moved to yours, walking you up the stairs all the way to the second floor.

joaquin didn’t stop walking you guys through the building until he found a narrow, empty hallway that didn’t seem to be of use. there was a lengthy window at the end of the hallway, one that let a sliver of moonlight shine through. gently illuminating the ground. the warm light from inside of the venue helped you properly take in your boyfriend in his entirety. he truly did look handsome tonight, he always looked especially good in a tux.

you always tried to take a moment to take him in when he was done up like this, something about him in formal making your knees a little weak. joaquin noticed every time you started to zone in on it, too, you gave it away easily. he was careful with the way he corned you against the wall, his hand grasping your glass and setting it on the ground, far enough away that it wouldn’t get kicked. he noticed the way your eyes were dragging along his face, your bottom lip being tugged between your teeth. your hands smoothed against his shoulders, feeling his muscles even through his tux.

“busy night tonight,” you spoke, filling the silence as joaquin’s hands found their way to your waist, his hold firm as he keeps you against the wall. you decided to wrap your arms around his shoulders, trying to discreetly tug him near you a little more.

“i know, barely got to see you,” he spoke lowly, eyes trailing down to your lips. his tiredness was evident, though he seemed a little more lively now that he had you alone for the time being.

joaquin gave into you happily, moving to slot himself right against you, broad chest against yours. he tried not to think too hard about how your chest felt against his, soft and in view, something he thanked himself for. he’d bought this dress for you, and even though his intentions were for you to have another formal dress to add to your collection, the plunging neckline was a very nice bonus. joaquin’s lips found yours in a soft, needy kiss, slotting between yours with a little pout.

your lipgloss clung to his lips again, this time making an audible clicking sound when you pulled away. when his eyes opened up again, eyelashes fluttering, you were already looking at him. your eyelids were hooded slightly as you admired his gentle features, noticing the stubble that was beginning to grow in. you brought a hand over to to reach for his jawline, fingertips dragging across the subtle hair with care.

“let’s get outta here, baby,” joaquin whispered just before leaning in for another kiss, this time a little slower, more intentional. you kept your hand at his jaw to cradle it, kissing him back with a desire that’d been pilling up since the moment you’d gotten here. between how good he looked, the way he took the lead and guided you around, and the multiple lingering stares you gave each other all night, there was no reason you wouldn’t be feeling this way.

“and leave sam alone?” you questioned breathlessly, lips parted slightly after the kiss he’d given you. joaquin smiled a little, shaking his head at your words. his arms moved to wrap around your waist, moving you away from the wall just a little. he gave you another quick peck on the lips before he responded.

“bucky’s here,” he pointed out, maintaining an eye contact that kept you just as breathless as before. “besides, he’s a big boy. he can manage the last 40 minutes alone. we’ve done our part.”

“i’m sold,” you told him, giving him a smile to match his. this time, you pulled him in for a kiss, a lot more forward than his had been, a deeper kiss, yet still slow. your tongue swiped against his bottom lip teasingly, as if trying to get a rise out of him. it worked the moment you pulled away, joaquin’s eyebrows knitting together at the loss of contact.

a hand of his found the back of your neck, holding you firm, guiding you back to his lips. that’s what kickstarted a slow make out session, joaquin’s lips warm against yours, coaxing your mouth open just enough for his tongue to find its way in. the kiss was a little wet and laced with need, so much so that you’d hardly remembered where you were.

only a few minutes had gone by with his lips on yours in a perfect unison before the two of you heard footsteps nearby, pulling you away from the moment. a small string of spit attached to your lips and broke quicker than you could process it. you glance over to see three men walking past you, not even noticing your presence as they continue on and talk. joaquin’s eyes, however, never leave you. he leaned in to place a kiss to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear.

your eyes finally made their way back to him, a loving, dopey expression on his face. you brought your other hand over to cradle his face in your hands, feeling his arms going back to wrapping around your waist again. you were both lovesick, giddy, tired. it was evident in his eyes, though filled with so much love, that he was worn.

“if we’re quick enough sam wont even notice we left,” you whispered to joaquin, watching his face light up. “you’re tired, i can see it in your face. it’s time to get us home.”

he nodded at your words in a silent agreement, letting you reach down to grab his hands, finally guiding him like he’d been doing for you. still, he helped you gently down the stairs, letting you steady yourself in your heels as you descended. you thought you were being stealthy, quiet, quick. clearly, it hadn’t been good enough, sam appearing behind you two just before you’d exited the building. you whipped around at the sound of his voice, stopping in your tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

“you couldn’t even bother to say bye to me?” sam asked, a little offended. his eyebrows were raised slightly as he stood there staring. joaquin stared at him for a split second before he raised a hand up, waving at him.

“bye, sam,” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. all sam could do was fumble with his phone, moving to send a text.

“take the limo, i’ll find a way back,” he said as he alerted the driver, stuffing his phone away again.

“you sure?” joaquin asked, despite tugging you towards the exit. sam nodded, before shooing the two of you away. you both turned on your heels and scurried away before he could say anything else. your hand gripped his as you waddled your way to the sidewalk, stepping off to the side to wait on the driver to pull up.

joaquin took this opportunity to pull you into him again, arms wrapped protectively around you. this time, instead of kissing you, he simply kept you secured in his embrace. your arms wrapped back around his shoulders, tugging him closer to you. he hummed contently the moment you hugged him close to you. his cologne invaded your senses as you rest your head on his shoulder, his warmth engulfing as you wait.

“did i tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” joaquin asked against your hair, a soft kiss pressing against your head. you smiled against him, nodding gently as you thought back. even before you’d left the hotel room earlier in the day, he was showering you in compliments. even if he hadn’t, his actions spoke loud enough - his lingering eyes, heated kisses, slightly roaming hands -, he was a doting boyfriend.

“yeah honey, you did,” you told him, your voice slightly muffled against him.

“good,” joaquin replied contently, smiling as he continued to hold you close. and, as much as you loved being in his embrace, you were beyond happy when your ride pulled up. you realized quickly how feet were aching as you waddled some more towards the vehicle. joaquin held the door open for you, guiding your head down to help you into the limo, following close behind you, shutting the door. you watched with a small pout when he didn’t sit next to you, rather in front of you. it wasn’t until he motioned towards him, eyes trailing down to your feet that you caught on to his intentions.

you lifted a leg up to rest your foot on joaquin’s thigh, pointing slightly as he immediately starts to undo your heel. he was always so gentle with the way he grabbed ahold of you and treated you, you sometimes wondered what you’d done to deserve it all. the moment he slide your heel off, he ushered you to switch feet, undoing and sliding your other heel off just as gently.

“that’s gotta hurt your feet, baby girl,” joaquin said, concern itched in his expression, setting your heels in his lap as you rest your feet down against the floor. you grumbled out in agreement, playing up your pain just a little. you got what you were searching for, your boyfriend quick to coo out apologies and praises to you.

it was only right for him to play into it, even if he hadn’t quite realized you were over exaggerating a little. after everything you’ve done for him tonight, standing by his side and accompanying him, being his biggest supporter, tugging him out the moment he showed signs of exhaustion, it was the least he could do. joaquin appreciated you beyond words. it was only right to show his gratitude to you, his rock. he couldn’t have gotten luckier with you.

[maskedbyghost]

Hiii

Can you write simon teaching 141 medic!reader shooting, shes doing another sidequest of hers and doing a sniper seminar so she’d be more qualified?

thank you for the request, hope you enjoy it <33 +18, mdni

You were only doing this because Price signed off on your little “extra training.” That’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway. He’d signed the paperwork with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, like he knew exactly what you were up to but wasn’t going to say a word about it. Maybe he did know. Perhaps they all did. But no one said anything, and you didn’t offer an explanation.

Because the truth was, you’d already been trained to shoot. You weren’t helpless. But this? This was sniper training. This was one-on-one sessions with Simon Riley, Captain Price’s most trusted weapon, and the walking, breathing, six-foot-something problem who lived rent-free in your brain.

And maybe you had a bit of a thing for the way he handled a rifle. Or the way he stood behind you like his entire body was built to take up space, or the way he always spoke low and slow like his words were meant for you and only you. Or the fact that every time he adjusted your stance or your grip, your skin burned for hours after, like your body couldn’t forget where he’d touched it.

“‘S not that different,” he said, standing beside you now, boots crunching lightly in the gravel, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows, and forearms flexing as he guided your hands into position. “Just longer range. More control.”

Of course he would say that. As if anything was that simple. As if your brain wasn’t short-circuiting every time his fingers skimmed over yours or his arm brushed your side. As if you weren’t biting down on your own tongue to keep from making a sound when he leaned in a little closer to fix your elbow, his body hovering just behind yours.

“Mmhmm,” you managed to let out a noise that was safer than actual words, because if you opened your mouth right now, you weren’t sure what might come out. You gonna keep touching me like that, or are you gonna take me to dinner first? was one of the many thoughts bouncing around your head, but you kept that one tucked away.

You’d handled weapons before. That wasn’t the problem. You knew how to shoot, and you could defend yourself. You’d seen blood and bullets and screaming, and you could handle all of that without flinching. But this? This was different. This was him. His hands, rough and warm, settling over yours like he’d done it a thousand times. His voice sends a ripple down your spine every time it hits your ear. His breath brushing your neck in the worst and best way possible—distracting, hot, intimate. Like he was doing it on purpose. Like he wanted you to squirm.

And God help you, you were starting to want him to do a lot more than that.

“Loosen your shoulders,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, as he leaned down closer behind you. “You’re too tense.”

You could feel his breath against the shell of your ear, the heat of it sending a shiver straight down your spine. You didn't move right away, and not because you didn't hear him, but because your entire body had locked up the second his voice dropped like that. He always spoke low during training, but this time it felt intentional. Like he knew exactly what it did to you.

“I wonder why,” you mumbled, not even trying to hide the edge in your voice as your cheek twitched with the effort of staying still.

He chuckled, barely a breath of sound, but it rattled you anyway. It wasn’t just the noise. It was the way he didn’t back off. He always stayed just close enough to toe that invisible line between professional and something else entirely.

He had to know; there was no way he didn’t. Not with the way he hovered behind you now, his shadow practically cast over your whole damn body, his chest close enough that if you moved back just slightly, your shoulders would be flush with him. You could feel his warmth, feel how solid he was, and your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it if he leaned in just a little more.

Then his hand slid around you to correct your grip. You didn’t breathe.

He could’ve done it quickly, efficiently, like it was just part of the routine. But no. He took his time. His fingers slid over yours, warm and rough in a way that made your stomach twist and your throat tighten. You could feel every ridge of his skin, the way his thumb pressed lightly into your knuckles, adjusting your hold like he’d done this a hundred times before. But you knew he was lingering. He didn’t need to keep his hand there that long. He just did.

“Try now,” he said, voice still right at your ear, almost too low to hear.

You swallowed hard and pulled the trigger, heart pounding, mouth dry.

The bullet hit dead center.

“Atta girl,” he said, and the way he said it proudly, like you’d done something so much bigger than just hit a damn target, made your whole body flush with heat. You swore to god, your knees almost gave out right there, which would’ve been impressive considering you were already on the ground.

You didn’t dare look at him. You couldn’t. Not with the way your body was reacting. Not with the heat still buzzing in your chest and your hands still tingling from his touch. If you looked at him now, you knew you'd do something reckless. Say something you couldn't take back. Reach for him.

Instead, you kept your eyes forward, jaw tight, fingers still clenched around the rifle, trying to act like you weren’t about to crawl out of your own skin just from a single fucking training correction. Trying to breathe like you weren’t one second away from turning over, grabbing him by the collar, and pulling his mouth down onto yours just to shut him up.

You didn’t look. But you could feel his eyes on you. And that was almost worse.

Every training session was like that, too much and never enough, and you kept signing up for more like a glutton for punishment.

You told yourself it was about improvement, about getting more qualified. Building your skill set so you’d be just as valuable in a firefight as you were in a med tent. You told yourself you were just trying to pull your weight on the field. Being useful. That’s what you wrote on the form, and that’s what you told Price. That’s what you repeated to yourself every time you ended up flat on your stomach with a sniper rifle under your hands and Simon Riley kneeling behind you.

But it wasn’t that. It was him.

It was the way he leaned over your shoulder, not even touching you but close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours. It was the way he spoke quietly near your ear, letting his breath skim your skin. It was the way his hand always found yours, firm and patient, guiding you, correcting you, and lingering longer than necessary.

And God, it was the way he looked at you.

His eyes were always unreadable to you. But they would drift, just for a second, and always to your mouth. He didn’t do it every time, but often enough that you noticed. Often enough that it left you restless and sweating and fucked up for hours afterward, stuck replaying every glance, every inch of contact, trying to decide if you were imagining it. But you weren’t, you knew you weren’t.

You wanted him to do something. Anything.

Push you up against the nearest wall... grab your throat... pull your hair. Drag you somewhere dark and quiet and take you apart until your body forgets what it was like to be not touched by him. You wanted his hands everywhere. His mouth on your neck, on your chest, between your legs. All. Of. It.

You felt it in every session.

And he felt it too. You knew he did. There was no way he didn’t. You caught it in the way his voice would go lower when you got something right. In the way his hand would hover at your lower back like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you there, or maybe he wanted to and was trying not to. In the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking at him, his gaze was almost possessive, like he was trying to keep something locked up.

But nothing ever happened.

Not once.

Because neither of you said a word. Not about the glances. Not about the touches. Not about the fucking firestorm brewing every time you were within arm’s reach of each other.

You told yourself it would ruin everything.

The work, the team, and this rhythm you’d found with him, this delicate little balance of silence and heat and what-ifs.

You told yourself that so many times it started to sound like the truth.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

It was fear. It was control. It was both of you pretending like it wasn’t killing you just to be around each other and do nothing about it.

And eventually?

Something had to give.

It happened on the range, after hours, late enough that the rest of the base was quiet, the lights dimmed low, and the air had suddenly turned colder than it was all day, and it was just the two of you standing there in the open, no one else around for miles, the whole field stretching out in front of you.

You had just missed a shot, and not because you didn’t know how to hold the rifle steady or how to aim, but because he was behind you again, standing way too close and way too warm against your back, and your body couldn’t just act like it didn’t feel it anymore.

He hadn’t said a word this time, he just moved his hand slowly down the middle of your spine to fix your posture, like he’d done it a dozen times before during training, like it didn’t make your heart pound faster and your breath catch sharp in your throat.

That sharp breath slipped out of you, and suddenly his hand froze on your back, right between your shoulder blades, and neither of you moved for what felt like forever, because it was like all the tension that had been building between you for weeks, finally turned into something you could feel pressing on your skin, impossible to ignore.

You didn’t say anything, because you didn’t have to, he felt it too, and you could tell by the little twitch of his fingers on your skin and the way his breathing shifted just enough to make your whole body tighten with anticipation, you were both standing on the edge of something you couldn’t back away from anymore.

And then, faster than you could even blink, he moved, spinning you around so your back slammed against the edge of the table behind you hard enough to make the breath whoosh out of you, and before you could say a single word, his hands were tangled in your hair, pulling you close, and his mouth crashed onto yours without hesitation, full of hunger like he’d been holding back too long and finally decided he didn’t care about anything except tasting you.

His kiss was rough and desperate and messy, full of everything he’d been keeping inside, and it just exploded all at once.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him like you needed to anchor yourself because your head was spinning and your heart was racing too fast to think straight, and you kissed him back with everything you’d been trying to hold in.

He groaned low in his throat, as one hand slid down to your hip, pulling you against him, trying to erase every last inch of space between you, and you felt his thigh press hard between your legs, lifting you up against the table more, and the sharp little gasp you couldn’t stop yourself from making got swallowed up by his mouth again as he chased the sound.

It was just him, finally giving in—his hands everywhere, his mouth on you, nothing else mattered, and you didn’t even try to stop him.

You opened your legs wider, grabbed at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer because this was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d been wanting without ever saying it out loud, and now it was real, and there was no turning back.

His hands slid from your hips to your waist, fingers digging in like he was trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you, and he pulled you flush against him, voice low and rough as he whispered, “God, you don’t know what you do to me.”

You bit your lip, trying to catch your breath, your hands trembling slightly as they gripped his shirt tighter, and you managed to murmur back, “Neither do you.”

He smiled against your lips, just for a second, before crashing back down to kiss you harder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, pulling him closer until you could feel his heartbeat pounding right next to yours, and you whispered, “Then don’t stop.”

He groaned and moved his hands to your thighs, lifting you just enough to push you back onto the table, the cold metal biting into your skin, but you barely noticed because every nerve ending was on fire. His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot and heavy as he said, “Not a chance.”

You gasped when he pressed his body harder against you, and for a moment, the only sound was your breaths mingling, harsh and uneven, and then you said, voice shaky, “Simon, please.”

He paused for just a second, eyes dark as they locked onto yours, like he was reading every hidden thought and wanting to hear the words one more time, his breath catching just slightly before he whispered, “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

His hands moved slowly down your thighs, tracing fire along your skin, and you felt the tension building so thick you could hardly think straight, every nerve alive and screaming as his fingers pressed harder.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling around the edge of the table as he leaned down, his mouth trailing slow kisses along your jawline, every touch setting off sparks that made your whole body shiver.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your skin.

You bit your lip again, heart pounding so fast you were sure he could hear it, and you whispered, “I want you. I want you here, right now.”

A rough smile tugged at his lips as he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes burning with something raw, and said, “You’ve got me. Every inch.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands beneath your shirt, fingers warm and sure as they roamed over your skin, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

You gasped softly when his lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper, savoring every second, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you gave yourself over to the moment you’d both been holding back for so long.

There was no rush, no holding back anymore, just the two of you, caught in a storm of need and everything you’d been too scared to admit out loud, finally crashing down all at once.

“Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he said between kisses, voice low, almost cautious despite everything. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You shook your head, breathless and desperate. “No. Don’t stop. Just... keep going.”

His hands were already fumbling at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly like he was afraid to rush, but you didn’t care about slow or fast anymore, you just wanted him. You helped him, lifting the shirt over your head, and then his hands moved to the buckle of your belt, fingers working it loose while your own hands started unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers trembling a little but steady enough.

The cold air hit your bare skin as your clothes came off piece by piece, until it was just you two, skin to skin, breath mixing in the quiet night.

He pushed your pants down, then you stepped out of them, heart hammering in your chest like a drum, while he peeled off his own shirt and pants, revealing skin that looked even warmer under the dim lights. You shivered, not from cold, but because the moment was real and so close to breaking apart the hold you’d both kept for too long.

His hands found your hips again, and he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every inch before he moved.

Then, without any hesitation, he pressed himself against you, sliding inside slowly, giving you just enough time to catch your breath before he started moving. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails digging into his shoulders as the fire inside you both built higher and higher.

His breath was hot against your skin as he groaned in your ear, voice rough like he was barely keeping it together when he whispered, “Fuck, you feel so damn good.”

You gasped, the sharp rush of pleasure making your chest tighten and your breath catch, and you started to move with him, hips pressing up, grinding against the heat of him as you couldn’t get enough, your fingers digging into the muscle of his back, pulling him impossibly closer until it felt like you were both melting into each other.

“Simon,” you whispered, voice shaking from the need and the sudden rush of everything crashing over you, “Don’t stop. Please.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement, his hands tangled in your hair, holding you steady while his hips started to move faster, harder, every thrust sending waves of fire shooting through you, and the feeling of him inside you like this, deep and relentless, was overwhelming, making you cry out loud, your nails raking down his back as the tension inside you twisted tighter and tighter.

You could hear his breath hitch in a ragged groan, the raw edge in his voice when he murmured, “You’re driving me crazy, yeah? You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

You shivered, your whole body trembling with need as your legs locked around his waist tighter, pulling him deeper, matching his pace because you never wanted this to stop, not even for a second, and then the coil in your stomach snapped, sending a wave of heat crashing over you so powerful you thought you might shatter, screaming his name like it was the only thing you could say.

He grunted deep in your ear, voice thick with his own release, burying himself deeper inside you, hands gripping your hips so hard you felt the bruises forming already, but you didn’t care, because you were both trembling and gasping, bodies shaking with everything you’d been holding in for so long finally pouring out in one furious, desperate moment.

You held onto him like your life depended on it, breath ragged, heart pounding so loud it was a drum in your ears, and he whispered against your skin, “Fuck, you’re mine.”

You smiled, dizzy with everything, and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, voice soft as you said, “Yeah... I know.”

And there was nothing left to say because you were both there, tangled up in each other on that cold table with the whole world shut out, everything finally right.

------------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides

[sircantus]

Im so slow in writing but im brainrotting about that one royal dragon riders au— how avian!phil lost his wings in the au because of hunters, but the thing is emduo still manage to get back the wings before theyre sold off. Phil can never fly again and he has his wings but they’re mangled and dead and he ends up using them to summon the dragons that they currently have. The dragons are technically made from phil, from the feathers that got torn off him. Which is so neat because that means the dragons are him, in a sense, like they’re very much a piece of him? He’s regained his flight just in a different manner and also while the dragons are technically their own creatures, Phil’s emotions influence them so they are very fond of Techno and thus its impossible for anyone to actually steal the dragons because they only like who Phil trusts

[enjakey]

The Diner, The Cat and The Girl That Played Mahjong

aka, the mahjong agenda

Pairing: [Diner owners!Sunghoon and Jake x mahjong player!student!fem!reader]!Hong Kong

TW/N | 26k- love triangle, strangers to lovers, age gap, forbidden love, found family, very wholesome | I loved writing this fic but it’s also that I had no clue how to write the fic. I’ve never done love triangles before and the choices I made in the relationships here kinda made it harder I think. I hope you enjoy reading it, even if the dots don’t seem to connect or the lines don’t seem to tie. It’s just very wholesome | nainai means grandma in Cantonese | inspired by many things- Wong kar wai, Murakami, Student of the year (movie), Challengers (movie) and a lot more but I can’t seem to remember. Enjoy!

Summary: Sunghoon and Jake found each other when they needed support the most. And they made a great pair, though the logistics didn’t make sense to most people. They opened a diner together, they lived together, did everything together. Nothing could tear them apart. Until Y/N came in with her shy smiles, impressive mahjong skills and a mundane presence that seemed to settle into the diner and both of their lives.

or, who gets the girl?

i. the diner

The first time Sunghoon and Jake met, they were both working in the same building- different jobs, though. It was a rooftop job site in Mong Kok, one of the densest, loudest neighborhoods in Hong Kong. 

Sunghoon had picked up short-term kitchen work at a failing fusion joint that fancied itself avant-garde. It was the kind of place that plated rice like art but paid in delays and insults. The head chef yelled in English, called coriander “cilantro,” and acted like he’d invented fire. The sous-chef spent more time arranging microgreens with tweezers than actually cooking anything.

Sunghoon kept his head down, worked the grill, and bit his tongue when the manager called him “too local.”

He wondered, more often than he cared to admit, if this was the cost he paid for not going to college. For choosing wok burns and minimum wage over lecture halls and hollow degrees. For giving up his shot in education so his younger sister could have one.

That decision- noble, maybe, but tiring- haunted him most on nights like these, when his body ached but nothing he made had any soul in it. He was good at what he did. He knew he was good. His hands were precise, his instincts sharp. He could tell when oil was hot enough just by the sound of the sizzle.

But here? His cooking was being used for waste. For showy dishes with smoked foam and edible flowers. For tourists who’d never eaten from a street cart and called every bite authentic. For critics who photographed his food but never looked at him.

Sometimes, during a slow shift, he'd catch a glimpse of himself in the steel counter- face greasy, eyes dull, hands shaking from caffeine and repetition. He’d wonder if he’d traded away joy for survival. If all his skill was being drained, dish by dish, into a sink that led nowhere.

Jake was working construction, helping renovate the building- he needed cash after dropping out, and no one cared about degrees when you could lift drywall.

He hadn’t planned for any of this. Two years ago, he was studying mechanical engineering with decent grades and big-city dreams, the kind of kid who loved fixing things just to see how they worked. He thought he’d end up designing bridges or subway systems, maybe send money back home to help his parents retire early.

But all that cracked the day his father made a single bad business move- trusting an old friend with their family’s savings. One betrayal later, their small chain of hardware stores went under. Debts piled up like receipts from a fire sale, bank accounts froze; overnight, everything changed.

His parents went back to Korea, swallowed in legal paperwork and shame, fighting to keep even one apartment. Jake stayed in Hong Kong, partly because the university wouldn’t refund his tuition, but mostly because someone had to make money. Someone had to survive.

So he started doing construction jobs. 

It consisted of waking up at five, nails chipped, palms blistered, sweat soaking through borrowed uniforms. He learned quickly that no one asked where you came from when you could haul tiles and shut up. There was no space for dreams on scaffolding- just weight, gravity, and the sound of men yelling over jackhammers.

One afternoon, the kitchen’s exhaust system broke down again. Jake was half inside the duct, arms covered in grease, shirtless from the heat and frustration. The fan blade inside rattled like it was dying, and he’d already cut his knuckles trying to fix it.

That’s when Sunghoon stormed out the back door, apron stained, hair sticking to his forehead, and murder in his eyes. He looked like he’d just gone twelve rounds with a broken hand mixer.

He lit a cigarette with shaking hands and muttered, “If one more so-called chef tells me foam is food, I’m throwing myself into the wok.”

Jake didn’t even look up. He passed him a warm can of lemon tea and said casually, “You know, you could just cook noodles. No one judges noodles.”

They sat on overturned milk crates in the alley behind the kitchen, the kind that left marks on your thighs. The air was thick with fryer grease and summer heat. A couple of stray cats wandered nearby, and someone upstairs was blasting old Cantopop through a broken speaker.

They sat in silence for a while, too tired to pretend they weren’t burnt out. Eventually, they talked- not about the jobs they hated or the people who’d looked down on them, but about how expensive it was to have dreams. And how eggs and rice were cheaper- that maybe cooking didn’t need to impress anyone to matter.

By the end of the week, they’d both quit.

Jake texted his foreman that he wasn’t coming back. Sunghoon left a sticky note on the fridge at his job that just said, “I’m done. Good luck.”

They spent the next few days wandering through Sham Shui Po, poking their heads into run-down shopfronts and empty spaces no one wanted. It was the kind of place where the paint peeled, the tiles cracked, and the rent was low for a reason.

Jake found the place first- a dusty corner unit between a pawn shop and a gaming café. The windows were covered in grime, the sign was unreadable, and a rusty ceiling fan hung like a death trap.

Sunghoon stood in the doorway, took one long look around, and said, “I’ll cook. You fix things. If it fails, we blame capitalism.”

And that’s how the diner started. 

They named it Tin Cup Diner because it was the first thing they could think of and the only thing that looked good as a neon green sign Jake found secondhand for forty bucks. The sign flickered slightly at the “n” in “Tin” and buzzed audibly at night, but they decided it gave the place character.

They argued over the menu like it was life or death.

Jake wanted to add pineapple buns and French toast stuffed with peanut butter. Sunghoon refused to deep-fry anything “that sweet and disrespectful.” Sunghoon pushed for simple rice plates, noodle soups, and stir-fried greens. Jake said no one would come unless they threw in some eggs and a novelty sandwich.

They settled on a chaotic fusion- stuff your grandma might make if she owned a TV and once had brunch in London. You could get congee with spam fries. Or pork chop rice with a side of coleslaw. Every now and then, someone ordered the tuna melt out of curiosity and ended up coming back.

The furniture came from junk shops, roadside pickups, and the occasional mercy donation. Nothing matched. One table leg was shorter than the others so they folded an old receipt booklet under it. Most of the chairs wobbled. The counter was built from salvaged wood Jake found during a renovation gig- he sanded it down at 2am while Sunghoon painted a crooked chalkboard menu on the wall behind him.

It took about a month.

A month of greasy hands, cheap instant coffee, half-finished conversations, small cuts, bigger dreams. Of cursing at leaky pipes, peeling faded posters off the walls, and scraping chewing gum from under old booths. Of Sunghoon burning three rice pots trying to calibrate the kitchen stove, and Jake accidentally electrocuting himself when rewiring the lights.

But eventually, it looked… kind of presentable. The kind of place you walked into and thought, “yeah, I could eat here if I’m broke or heartbroken.”

And on opening day, they only had six customers- three were their neighbors, two were lost, and one just wanted to use the bathroom. But one of the grandmas from across the street left them with a generous tip. “Tastes just like the old days,” she said. And that was enough.

Overtime, their customer pool expanded. First, the owner of the pawnshop beside them started coming over for lunch more often. “It’s good food,” he’d told them while drinking their chicken congee, “and it’s cheap.” And Sunghoon and Jake remember beaming at each other with pride, one holding a twisted washcloth and the other slapping a notepad onto his palm. 

The next group of regular customers were the teenagers that often stopped by after blowing their money on the gaming café. They were always loud groups of high schoolers in their inappropriate clothing and unfortunate friendship dynamics. There were many accounts of Jake finding himself chasing away some kids who had pulled out alcohol or cigarettes or started making out right there in the centre of the diner, disrupting the carefully curated ambiance of the place. It was a scene to rubber neck on, truly- Jake with a broomstick, apron around his waist, napkin tied to his head, yelling profanities at a ragtag group of teenagers. 

He absolutely loathed teenagers after enough instances. Sunghoon liked to make fun of him for it, making sure it was always him serving the teenagers instead of Sunghoon going in himself.

Then, there was the group of construction workers that always seated themselves late into the night. Eventually, Jake and Sunghoon started working late shifts just to cater to these groups of men that were in desperate need of nourishment and a roof to be under. They always brought a cloud of cigarette smoke and cement dust whenever they came, exhaustion weighing down their posture, arms and eyes heavy. 

They once stopped Jake to ask what he was before the diner- like they could sense he was once a fellow construction worker; like there was some sort of unrecognisable brotherhood Jake held in him. That night, while sharing stories of how they each got into construction work- something none of them wanted to do but were pushed into through the unfair course of life- Sunghoon offered them free food at the sight of Jake's welled eyes as he narrated his past.

Out of all the customers, though, Sunghoon’s favourite were the group of grandmas that came from time to time. He thought they were mellow, the perfect kind of customers that brought the laughter and peace that he chased when opening the diner. They spoke in deep accents that made it hard for Sunghoon and Jake to understand their Cantonese and they usually always ordered the same thing- spam and egg sandwiches, macaroni in broth with ham and milk tea that came in the fancy “Black & White” mugs- the kind with the cow printed on one side with a red border as the base. 

Life, owning and running a diner, was good.

There were no spreadsheets, no performance reviews, no hollowed-out fine dining talk about “notes” or “palates” or “culinary storytelling.” There was just food- food that people actually enjoyed.

Jake liked that he didn’t have to explain himself anymore. He fixed what was broken, took orders, made dumb jokes, and whacked teenagers with a broom if he had to. His apron was always stained, and his hands always smelled faintly like soy sauce, but he hadn’t felt this steady in years.

Sunghoon liked that he could hear laughter through the kitchen walls. The clang of ceramic, the low radio hum, the grandma chatter about gold rates and old TVB actors. No backstabbing sous-chefs, no white tablecloth pressure, no lectures about plating. It was always just warmth, a stability in life he hadn’t experienced in a while.

Slowly, they had become an integral part of the neighborhood.

They were essential like the ten-year-old stationery shop tucked under a crumbling awning that schoolkids depended on for last-minute notebooks and cheap pens. Like the fruit stall with sun-faded umbrellas and a weathered old man who always had a loyal flock of aunties by 7am, arguing over lychees and paying in loose change.

Tin Cup Diner became that kind of place. The kind that didn’t need a signboard update because everyone already knew where it was.

Their stretch of Sham Shui Po was a road of second chances and low expectations. Laundry dripped from windows overhead, buses screeched past puddles, and neon signs buzzed in the fog like city fireflies. The air smelled of five different kinds of street food depending on where you stood- fresh waffles, frying oil, cheap skewers, and once in a while, the sweet, almost floral scent of steamed buns from the lady two shops down.

People knew them there.

Jake and Sunghoon- the inseparable duo, the walking contradiction. The sunshine-and-stone pairing that somehow worked.

Jake, ever the extrovert, called out greetings to everyone who walked past. His voice cut through the street noise, full of boyish charm. He carried bags for grandmas, flirted harmlessly with girls who giggled at his apron, and once even got roped into babysitting when a customer had an emergency.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, preferred silence. He nodded at familiar faces, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes down but ears alert. He was awkward in a way that people forgave- because his food was good, and his heart showed in the small things. A discount here, an extra egg there.

He also had a soft spot for things that didn’t ask much of him. Like the ginger cat he found one night nestled between the tires of two bicycles, its fur patchy and its body trembling from the cold.

He crouched down, cautious and quiet, and placed a piece of leftover tuna on the sidewalk. He didn’t touch it, didn’t coax it- just left the food and walked away.

The cat showed up the next day.

And the day after.

Soon, she became a fixture outside the diner- curled up near the back door, blinking slowly at the kitchen heat. Sunghoon never named her, never talked to her, but he always set out milk in a mismatched saucer and small scraps of fish or ham. Jake teased him for being a cat dad. Sunghoon just rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on his apron.

Sometimes, if you passed Tin Cup at closing time, you’d see the two of them- Jake wiping tables while talking too much, and Sunghoon crouched near the alley, one hand resting beside a tiny orange cat, the city humming quietly around them.

Days bled into weeks, and weeks folded into months, until routine settled around them like steam off a rice bowl. They liked living this way- cramping themselves into the small kitchen of the diner, speaking to their customers like family, feeling like they were needed and important. And everynight, after locking up, they liked walking the street that led back to their apartment. It was a familiar drill- Sunghoon would feed the cat, Jake would play a game of hopscotch with the group of children near an old playground, they would both stare at the moon and trees and wonder what luck brought them the mundane life they’d both wished for. 

Their apartment was located above an old man’s cobbler shop. It was just far enough from the main road that the city noise turned into a dull, sleepy hum by midnight. The place was barely 400 square feet, and it looked like it hadn’t been touched since the early 90s. The wallpaper peeled at the corners, stained with old humidity and city air. One window didn’t open, and the other never fully closed, so they stuck a towel in the crack to keep the mosquitoes out. The fridge door creaked every time it opened, and they had to kick the bottom of it to make it close again.

Their beds were on opposite sides of the bedroom- Jake’s messy, covered in clean clothes he never folded, and Sunghoon’s rigidly neat, tucked tight like a hospital cot. They had one tiny table between them, always cluttered with receipts, unopened mail, spare change, and the occasional half-finished drink.

But the washroom? Spotless- recently tiled, water pressure strong enough to knock the stress out of your shoulders. Jake had fixed it himself. “If the world ends,” he liked to say, “I want to die with clean hair.”

They kept a small goldfish tank on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. The built-in lights flickered unpredictably, casting a ghostly glow over the water whenever they sparked to life. Inside, four goldfish swam in lazy circles- there were always four. If one died, they’d replace it without much ceremony. They’d done it so many times they’d lost count. Neither of them knew exactly what kept killing the fish- bad water? Old wiring? Goldfish karma? But the cycle continued- four goldfish, always four, like a strange little ritual they never talked about but always maintained.

ii. 

“Same order?” Sunghoon called from the kitchen.

“Same order,” a grandma answered from her table.

The group of grandmas were back again. It was their third, probably fourth visit of the week. They were a group of ladies that had known each other since high school and were fortunate enough to not have their life uprooted with immigration or job opportunities their husbands wanted to explore. And even now, years- perhaps decades- later, they still spent all their time together. Their meetups started at one of their houses, then they moved on to the park. But they stopped going there because the walk was too long. Then, eventually, after jumping between locations, they found Tin Cups Diner- where the owners loved them and doted on their wants and needs. 

Recently, they’d formed a habit of playing Mahjong while sitting on the cramped table. Sunghoon and Jake were surprised this didn’t start sooner- it was quite a stereotype; grandmas and mahjong. It was a tale as old as time. And Sunghoon and Jake didn’t mind it at all. Their laughter and occasional bickering was lively, reminding them of their old houses that they lived in with their respectful families. It was good company. Sometimes, Jake would intrude to break up their arguments like a charming son-in-law. 

They adored Jake- always pinched his cheeks and asked him if he had a girlfriend yet. There was the occasional “my granddaughter is single, if you’re interested” but Jake assured them that their precious granddaughters would probably not want to date a broke diner owner. They adored Sunghoon too, but they learned to show it differently. Sunghoon didn’t like to be touched but he liked to be smiled at and he liked when they complimented his food. The grandmas grew a habit of tipping them extra, especially on days Sunghoon laughed back at their jokes.

“How many rounds do you think they’ve played?” Jake sauntered into the kitchen, crumpled bills and loose change in his hands from serving the other customers. They peered at the grandmas’ table through the window. “And who’s the new girl?”

The past couple of days, Sunghoon and Jake observed that there was a girl much younger than them that had joined the grandmas in playing Mahjong. They weren’t sure how it started- perhaps they were distracted when she got invited to their little clique. But from what they could gather, from the occasional praise or groan, she was good at the game- had tips and tricks up her sleeve she wasn’t willing to share.

Sunghoon ignored Jake, eyes focused on the boiling pot in front of him. The grandmas wanted macaroni in broth again, as usual. And they also ordered stir fried udon with beef- no one had ordered that in a while but it had been a recurring order the past few days. Probably because of the new girl, whose name they learnt was Y/N through passing conversation. 

“Do you think she’s one of their granddaughters or something?” Jake continued. His eyes were fixed on the girl- her confident smile that always showed her teeth, the crinkle in her eyes when she was close to winning a game, her manicured nails that were always in a deep white and green pattern that mimicked the mahjong tiles and her trendy outfits that never ceased to gain compliments from the grandmas. 

Which was saying a lot because these grandmas hated the younger generation and their revealing clothing and bright jewellery.

Y/N was modest- in the way she played, in the way she dressed and in the way she ate.

“God knows,” Sunghoon shook his head and tucked away the strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes. The steam from the macaroni glossed his skin as he plated the food. “Go serve them. Tell them their udon will come in a bit.”

Struggling to balance five plates of their macaroni in broth with both arms, Jake reached the table of grandmas with his usual smile that had them swooning. “There he is!” One of them cheered, the one wearing the plastic green sun hat even though she was sitting indoors. When asked about it, she’d always tell them to stop questioning her fashion choices. 

“Hope you enjoy the food today,” Jake grinned at them, eyes briefly flashing towards Y/N. He caught her smile, the way she warmly looked at all the grandmas while they cooed at Jake. 

“When do we not?” Another grandma said, reaching to pinch Jake’s cheek- only slightly, barely, like he was her grandson. “Thank you sweetheart.”

“Why don’t you play mahjong with us today, dear?” One of the grandmas looked up at Jake with anticipation. 

Their attention, however, was pulled towards the kitchen window where Sunghoon stretched his arm out with the plate of udon. “Again with the mahjong, nainai?” Sunghoon chuckled at her, brows holding his annoyance. He was terrible at hiding his emotions- most of it sat on his face, right there on his brows and lips.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” another grandma insisted. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to play.”

“Y/N can teach you!” A grandma hollered with excitement, eyes glowing as if she’d made a new revelation. The rest of the grandmas nodded with enthusiasm. 

Y/N, on the other hand, laughed awkwardly and shook her head, her gaze stuck somewhere in between Sunghoon and Jake. “I don’t play that well,” her voice came out a whisper.

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, honey,” the grandma sitting beside her nudged her arm with hers. “You’re phenomenal.”

Sunghoon, who was leaning out the window, hand hanging off the railing, watched as Jake placed the plate of udon in front of her Y/N. She smiled at him thankfully, the corner of her eyes crinkling, fingers instinctively reaching for a pair of chopsticks.

“You guys already have enough players,” Jake cracked them his signature grin- the one that had girls swooning and boys feeling insecure of their own smiles. “The six of you make a great group.”

His response was met with a string of groans and “alright, alright, get back to working” and a lot of hands teasingly waving at him to leave. As Jake walked away, Y/N took a bite of her udon and her expression changed into a sense of bliss, from satisfaction that the dish gave. Sunghoon saw it- that look of utter appreciation for his cooking- and let it burn into his memory. Just as he did with most customers he caught enjoying his food. Sunghoon liked knowing his customers were satisfied with what they were paying for- that his skill was recognised. 

“How many games do you think she won this time?” Jake was back in the kitchen again, eyes still on the girl that was playing mahjong with the grandmas. Sunghoon glanced at him from the corner of his eyes- he saw his toothy grin, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. 

“Every game,” Sunghoon mumbled- he was keeping count. It was hard not to when the grandmas whined and crooned after every game and patted Y/N on the back with pride.

iii. 

A few days later, on an early afternoon where the diner was unfamiliarly empty, the grandmas were back again to wile away time with mahjong. Along with them, they brought their mahjong sidekick- the best player on the block, a girl who later revealed that she was formerly a mahjong prodigy and used to play at the national level.

Now, she was just a student at the local college, studying economics with a minor in sociology. She was going to graduate in a year. And in her free time, instead of being holed up in her room studying, she’d much rather sit with the grandmas and play mahjong. 

“Aren’t there only supposed to be four players in mahjong?” Jake approached them with his arms full of their orders, a quirk in his brow as he looked at the group of six.

“We take turns playing,” the grandma wearing the plastic green sun hat answered, her hands clasped in her lap. She clearly wasn’t playing in this round- and neither was Y/N. She was helping the grandma beside her- subtly cheating, but not really.

Jake placed Y/N’s udon in front of her and she gave him that smile again- polite, grateful and happy. “Enjoy,” he said to her, voice tuned and chirpy that seemed to make her fluster. But as quickly as she had reacted, the faster she moved on to eating her order. And she was back in her world again- savouring her food, eyes locking onto the mahjong tiles, laughing with the grandmas.

“She’s cute, no?” Jake sauntered into the kitchen with a lightness in his step, wiping his hands with a washcloth and leaning his back against the counter. Beside him, Sunghoon was pre-frying fish balls for the day, his lips pursed and eyes lowered as usual.

“She’s a college student,” Sunghoon said- like it was the most obvious fact in the world, a fact Jake was already aware of. 

“What's your point?” Jake was teasing him now, his lip pulled between his teeth and eyebrows wiggling. “You find her cute too, don’t you?” He was poking Sunghon’s side now, laughing as he got a reaction out of him.

Sunghoon groaned, only passing Jake a smile that he couldn’t hold back- partly because he could never hold his smile back around Jake and partly because the moment felt juvenile, like they were young and in high school again. “Grow up,” Sunghoon chuckled and pushed him away, his arm stretching into Jake’s shoulder.

“You know I joke,” Jake laughed too, making his way out of the kitchen to watch the grandmas play mahjong- to watch Y/N play mahjong. 

He leaned against the wall separating the diner from the kitchen, his tongue poking his cheek, meddling with his own fingers at the sight of the girl. But, honestly speaking, Jake wasn’t the stud people sought him out to be. He was outgoing, extroverted, big-mouthed (a quality Sunghoon both loved and despised) and liked to flirt with the young, attractive girls he met in the market. But that was where his reputation ended- his kindness always preceded him.

So, Jake didn’t have any intention of doing anything about Y/N. She was cute and she seemed to make his dear old customers happy. 

Behind him, Sunghoon stepped out of the kitchen, his hands running through his hair to get the sweat and steam out. No matter how much time he spent styling his hair in the morning, it would always be a greasy mess by the end of the day.

“Are you guys gossiping about the gold dealer’s wife again?” Sunghoon smirked when the grandmas turned to him with looks of feigned guilt. 

“I’m telling you, she’s cheating on her husband!” One the grandmas hollered in defense. 

“I saw her walk out of his brother’s apartment with my own eyes,” another grandma insisted, literally stomping her foot down and hitting the edge of the table with her fists to make a point.

As the mahjong pieces in front of them rattled in the ruckus, Y/N let out a soft giggle at their conversion. “Careful,” her high pitched laugh went lost amongst the argument- but they heard it.

“They’re family, it could mean anything,” Sunghoon went on, crossing his arms across his chest.

“She walked out with messy hair, Sunghoon!”

“Adultery is a grave accusation, nainai,” Jake chimed in- obviously a joke, obviously to tease. He cracked his knuckles against his palms, shifting his weight onto one foot, crossing his leg.

“Oh, I’ll listen to you when you play Mahjong with us,” one of the grandmas teased, waving Jake off with that twinkle of mischief she always carried.

A chorus of claps and cackles followed- Jake sighed dramatically, Sunghoon groaned under his breath, and Y/N gave an awkward laugh, unsure whether to join in or retreat.

“Not this again,” Sunghoon muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I swear it’s a daily ritual now,” Jake added, gesturing helplessly at the table like it betrayed him. “The Mahjong Agenda.”

“What is it with you two?” One grandma cried out, genuinely baffled. “Why do you hate it so much?”

“We don’t hate it,” Jake replied, hands raised in defense. “It’s just… a lot. Too many rules. Such long games. My brain’s already full running this place.”

Then, quietly- almost like she didn’t mean to speak at all- Y/N cleared her throat. “It doesn’t take that long if you know the game,” she offered, her voice soft, almost like she was testing her place in the whole dynamic.

The grandmas hummed in agreement, nodding like they’d been saying the same thing for years.

Sunghoon looked at her then, eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. Jake’s smirk stretched wider. “Well,” he said, “we don’t actually know the game, do we?”

The pause that followed held something- barely there, but noticed. A shift in attention, a thread pulled tighter.

Then, just as quickly, a grandma slapped the table. “Then learn!”

The clamor picked up again- more groans, more mock complaints, more laughter that filled the small diner like sunlight. Sunghoon shook his head and ducked back into the kitchen. Jake chuckled and grabbed the designated chipped mug of milk, stepping outside to feed the orange cat waiting in front of the diner.

That night, while they were locking up the diner after last call- Jake pulling the shutter down, Sunghoon crouching to pet the cat one last time for the day- Sunghoon started pondering. The street lights around them were starting to flicker shut and street vendors were on their way home- just like the two owners of Tin Cup Diner. 

“Maybe we should get into mahjong.” Sunghoon said as they started walking.

Jake almost stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned his head towards Sunghoon, his eyes wide and confused. “Who are you and what did you do to my friend?”

Sunghoon fell into a soft string of laughter as Jake tackled his arm around his shoulders. The pair swayed as they walked, letting the quiet street be filled by their childish bonding.

“Why so sudden?” Jake rubbed his fist into Sunghoon’s hair as he tried pushing him off his back, eyes squinting as he failed to hide his cackling. “It’s because of the girl, isn’t it? Y/N?”

“Fuck off, no,” Sunghoon successfully shrugged Jake off him, fixing his jacket. They fell into a steady step again. “I just thought… since they’ve been insisting for so long. Could be fun?”

Jake scoffed and kicked a pebble on the street. “Since when did you care about fun?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Sunghoon nudged Jake with his arm. 

“Fine,” Jake rolled his eyes. “I’ll learn when I’m not lazy,” the pair grinned at each other and let silence engulf them through the rest of their walk.

iv. 

When Y/N came to the diner, alone and with a book tucked under her arm, Sunghoon and Jake exchanged confused looks. The grandmas weren’t coming in that day, that was for sure. And Y/N had been slowly eating her udon and reading her book- something on economics, as Jake caught a glimpse of, while serving her food. The customers walking in and out with the occasional whiff of cigarette didn’t bother her- she continued to read, eat and listen to music through wired earphones and a small MP3 player.

The windows of the diner started to fog and a slight rain drizzled outside. Many customers started running in with puddles dragging behind them. All Sunghoon could think about was how they would struggle to clean that up later.

“Weird that she’s come here alone, no?” Jake leaned into Sunghoon’s side as he asked the question, eyes trained on Y/N and her unfazed frame.

The pair were staring at her from the kitchen- she was two tables away from their eyeshot. “Just be glad we have business,” Sunghoon whispered back to Jake, turning to continue making wonton soup. “She’s done eating, Jake.”

“Right,” Jake cleared his throat and moved out of the kitchen.

Jake approached her with his usual confidence, a pep in his step and arm already stretched towards her empty place. Y/N felt his presence before he even reached her but she chose to ignore him, gaze still on her book. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there in that position. Outside, the sky was getting darker and the neon shop signs were getting brighter.

“Odd place to sit and read, don’t you think?” Jake hovered near her before taking her emptied plate.

His words startled her, but she only blinked before craning her body to face him. “I quite like it here actually,” she smiled at him- polite, curt, a little shy. 

“The clatter doesn't bother you?” He raised his brows.

She gave him a soft shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not really. It’s kind of… comforting.”

Jake tried not to smile- his lips pressed together, tongue clicking lightly against the roof of his mouth. Out of instinct, he flicked his eyes toward the kitchen window, hoping to catch Sunghoon’s reaction- but he was too busy tossing rice in the wok, face glazed with steam.

“Well,” Jake turned back to her, “can I get you anything else?”

She glanced at her phone, then back at him. “My dad’s picking me up soon. But… a milk tea sounds nice in the meantime?”

There was something in her tone- soft but sure, her wide eyes catching the warm overhead light, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Jake stared for a beat longer than he meant to.

“Milk tea, coming right up,” he finally said, his gaze lingering a moment too long before he turned away, even though she was already back to her book.

Jake slipped into the kitchen, still grinning to himself as he filled the kettle. The place smelled like soy and garlic and something slightly burnt- probably the fish balls. He reached for the tea leaves when Sunghoon, without looking up from his pan, muttered, “We’re out of eggs.”

Jake groaned loudly, clanging the kettle a little harder than necessary. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Sunghoon said, flipping rice with practiced ease.

“Why didn’t we buy them this morning?”

“Because someone wanted to sleep in,” Sunghoon deadpanned.

Jake groaned again- longer, more dramatic this time- and stomped toward the door, grabbing his wallet off the hook. “Fine. Eggs. Got it.”

He was halfway out when he suddenly remembered. “Also! We need a new goldfish!” He yelled over his shoulder. “One of them kicked it last night!”

Sunghoon sighed but nodded, still not turning around. “Yeah, yeah. Just go.”

Jake waved him off and disappeared through the door with the jingle of the diner bell, taking one last glance of Y/N.

A moment later, Sunghoon wiped his hands on a towel, picked up the chipped red-and-white porcelain cup with the cartoon cow and carefully placed it on a tray. He walked out into the quiet clatter of forks and shuffling bodies, eyes scanning the room until he spotted her again. She was still reading, still tucked into her chair like it was comfortable.

Without a word, he gently set the cup in front of her.

She looked up and smiled, that soft kind of gratefulness that didn’t need extra words. “Thank you,” she said.

Sunghoon stood there for a beat, staring at the back of her head as she returned to her book. He debated with himself for a moment, jaw tight, before finally opening his mouth. 

“So…” he started, already regretting it. “Mahjong?”

He cringed internally. His lack of people skills humiliated him more often than not, and this time was no exception. He crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to slap a hand over his face as she turned to look at him again.

“What about Mahjong?” She asked, smiling- shy, polite, unsure of what he meant.

“Oh, um,” he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “You’re really good at it.”

He wanted to throw himself off the roof for saying something so plain.

“Thank you,” she replied, voice still soft and a little hesitant, barely audible. But Sunghoon heard it clearly.

“The nainais love playing with you,” he added, trying again.

She chuckled, the sound light as she fidgeted with the edges of her book. “I love playing with them too.”

Sunghoon nodded, heart thudding louder than he’d like to admit. “I was thinking maybe I should start playing,” he said. “Since they insist so much.”

That earned him a brighter smile-genuine and almost surprised. “They’ll be so excited to hear that,” she said, eyes warm.

With that, Sunghoon gave her a small nod- tried for a smile, though it came out a little crooked- and turned to head back to the kitchen. The familiar clang of cutlery and low hum of chatter greeted him as a few customers called out their orders. He slipped into the rhythm easily, hands moving on instinct as he took their requests, his mind only half in it as he waited for Jake to return with the eggs.

v. 

The grandmas had just finished their lunch- macaroni in broth, as always- and were setting up the mahjong tiles on their favorite table. The diner's usual clatter had dulled into a comforting quiet. Jake was wiping down tables, Sunghoon was prepping ingredients for the dinner crowd, and Y/N, elbows on the table, was watching the grandmas argue over who mixed the tiles wrong.

“You always flip too fast, Mei Lin,” one said, tapping the table.

“And you always complain, so maybe it balances out,” another shot back.

Y/N smiled into her sleeve.

From the kitchen window, Sunghoon’s eyes flickered to them again and again. The chatter, the rhythmic clack of tiles, the easy comfort between Y/N and the old women- something about it kept pulling his attention.

Finally, after drying his hands on a towel, he walked over. He didn’t sit- just crossed his arms and stood behind them, quiet, trying to peek over the top of their heads. No one minded- he was part of the furniture here, just like the smell of soy sauce and the cat waiting by the door.

He lingered for a moment. Then, almost too softly, he said, “…What do the symbols mean?”

One of the grandmas blinked up at him like she hadn’t realized he was standing there. Another simply grinned- slow and mischievous, the way a cat does when it knows it’s already won.

“Well, well, well,” said one of them, elbowing Y/N playfully. “Someone finally asked.”

Y/N looked up, her expression touched with a kind of surprised warmth. She hadn’t expected him to actually come over. Tilting her head, she studied him- tall and awkward, arms still crossed like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Which ones?” She asked gently.

Sunghoon shrugged, looking at the tiles like they’d just started speaking in code. “All of them?”

From across the diner, Jake’s voice rang out, dry and amused. “He doesn’t even know the difference between bamboo and buns.”

“They’re dots, not buns,” Y/N laughed, the sound small but clear. She scooted to the side and patted the empty seat next to her. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Sunghoon hesitated- just for a second. Then he exhaled through his nose, muttered something under his breath, and sat down. He was a little stiff, a little too careful. It was like he wasn’t sure how to exist in a chair that wasn’t in the kitchen.

Immediately, two grandmas shuffled closer, surrounding him on either side. One pushed a pile of tiles toward him, the other clapped his back in pride- Sunghoon cracked her a helpless grin. He looked cornered, like a kid roped into a family dinner with relatives he hadn’t seen in ten years.

The grandmas- delighted beyond measure- turned their sights on Jake.

“You too!” One shouted, pointing a finger directly at him. “If Sunghoon’s playing, you are too.”

Jake sighed, slinging the towel over his shoulder with dramatic flair. “You people are relentless.”

But he paused. His eyes flicked to Sunghoon, caught mid-instruction, nodding solemnly like he was absorbing ancient wisdom. Then Jake looked at the grandmas- hopeful, eager, waiting.

And finally, he looked at Y/N. She was watching him- not pressuring him, just waiting, a small smile playing on her lips, fingers brushing over the edge of a tile like she was testing the waters.

Jake let out a long breath, one hand on his hip. “Fine,” he muttered, walking over. “You people act like we don’t have a whole diner to run.”

The table erupted in cheers before he even pulled out a chair.

Jake pulled out a chair with exaggerated reluctance, plopping down beside a triumphant-looking grandma who immediately pulled his face closer to her to kiss his cheek. “God bless,” she said and Jake giggled at her.

“Shuffle those tiles, boy,” another ordered, and Jake obediently reached for the pile, side-eyeing Y/N.

“You planned this,” he whispered.

She grinned, not denying it. “Welcome to the table.”

Sunghoon shifted to make room, now sitting between Y/N and another grandma who was already assigning him a wind tile. “You missed the whole tutorial,” he told Jake, but there was no smugness in his voice- just quiet amusement.

Jake leaned closer to Y/N. “So, are you gonna save me from complete humiliation or just let me die out here?”

Y/N, still smiling, tapped two tiles. “These are dots. Think of them as buns, since you insist. And that- ” she pointed to another, “-is bamboo. Try not to mix them up this time.”

Jake pretended to take notes on his hand with an invisible pen. “Dots are buns. Got it. Is there a tile for coffee? Because that’s what I’m playing for.”

“No,” one of the grandmas declared. “You’re playing for dignity.”

Y/N laughed, and even Sunghoon let out a low chuckle.

As the round began, the grandmas shouted instructions over each other. Jake was immediately lost, discarding a tile that made two of them gasp dramatically. Sunghoon picked it up cautiously, frowning at his hand like it was a puzzle missing pieces.

Somehow, Y/N stayed calm- her voice soft but sure as she walked them both through their first real game. Her presence made the table feel less chaotic and more like a circle- one that had room for all of them. There was the occasional cheer or groan of a play gone right- or very, very wrong.

Neither Sunghoon or Jake won a game that day- the pair, in fact, had left the game in between to tend to their customers. As they fell into the bustling rhythm of their diner, serving plates of food and cleaning down dirty counters, the grandmas complained in low groans. Y/N continued playing with her usual silence and a laugh thrown in from time to time.

One of the grandmas insisted on a rematch- she just wanted Jake and Sunghoon to play. And neither of them said no.

vi. 

The next afternoon, the mahjong table was already waiting when Jake and Sunghoon walked out of the kitchen. The grandmas had their lunch pre-cooked this time, and Y/N was already seated, shuffling the tiles absentmindedly with one hand while sipping soup with the other.

“She’s been waiting for you two,” a grandma whispered loudly, elbowing another.

Jake gave a mock bow. “Apologies, honored ones. We had... actual jobs.”

One of the grandmas slapped her tile down with finality. “Alright,” she declared, chin high, eyes glinting. “Just the boys this time. I want to see if either of them actually learned anything.”

Jake’s head snapped up. “What- no, no, I haven’t even processed the rules.”

“You’re just scared,” another grandma teased.

“Terrified,” he confirmed. “Utterly and completely terrified.”

Sunghoon tried to get up, mumbling something about prep work, but was immediately pulled back down by a surprisingly strong wrinkled hand.

“You sit,” she ordered. “You owe us after years of avoiding this table.”

Y/N just smiled into her sleeve, watching as the grandmas quickly reset the tiles, their movements quick and practiced. Sunghoon looked resigned. Jake looked betrayed.

The game started with less chaos than last time. Jake remembered a few rules, mostly. Sunghoon took it more seriously than necessary. And Y/N, still not playing, quietly pointed to the right moves without drawing too much attention to herself.

“Okay,” Jake said, squinting at his tiles. “I have three bamboo sticks. And three more. That’s… something?”

“You’re getting there,” Y/N encouraged.

“Don’t gas him up,” Sunghoon muttered. “He still discards every dragon tile like it’s cursed.”

“It feels cursed,” Jake insisted.

“You two bicker like an old married couple,” a grandma commented.

“No,” Y/N smiled, “they bicker like brothers.”

The next fifteen minutes were loud, messy, and full of good-natured mockery. Jake made illegal moves twice, Sunghoon forgot which wind he was, and both of them accused the grandmas of stacking the deck.

But something shifted too.

Sunghoon started leaning into the chaos, rolling his eyes but not pulling away when a grandma ruffled his hair- something he usually flinched at. Jake laughed like he hadn’t in weeks- head thrown back, palms smacking the table when he finally made a decent play.

Y/N watched from the side, sipping her milk tea, legs curled up beneath her, a smile tugging at her lips that she didn’t bother hiding. She’d help them sometimes, other times would simply stare back at their confused expressions with a teasing grin.

When the game finally ended- Sunghoon won, obviously- the grandmas stood triumphantly, stretching their backs.

“We knew you had it in you, Sunghoon,” one of them encouraged.

Jake’s shoulders visibly sagged, his lip jutting forward in a pout. It was such an involuntary reaction, Y/N couldn’t help but stare at the innocence behind it. “You didn’t think you had it in me?”

“You’re getting there,” another grandma assured. 

“That’s so mean! I’m nicer to you lot than he is!”

“Oh, don’t say things like that!”

The grandmas left with promises of bringing home made dessert the next day- their special treat for their favourite diner owners. For finally succumbing to their requests and also making them feel like they were loved again. These grandmas, from what Sunghoon and Jake had learnt from rubbernecking, always complained about feeling neglected by their children and grandchildren. Perhaps they displaced that emptiness onto Y/N, Sunghoon and Jake.

Y/N didn’t leave right away.

She stayed at the table, legs tucked neatly under the chair, her half-empty cup of milk tea in front of her. She scrolled through her phone absentmindedly, the gentle clatter of the diner folding around her like background noise she’d grown to like. Jake and Sunghoon had returned to their usual rhythm- Jake wiping down counters, Sunghoon chopping vegetables in the back- but for a brief moment, neither of them noticed that she hadn’t left with the grandmas.

Until Sunghoon glanced through the kitchen window.

“Jake,” he called out, eyes narrowing.

Jake had just finished taking an order. He tucked his notepad away and leaned into the pass-through. “What?”

Sunghoon jerked his chin toward the dining area. “Why’s she still here?”

They both stared.

Y/N sat with one elbow on the table, phone in hand, tea in the other. She didn’t look out of place- just… still.

Jake shrugged. “I dunno. Let me go ask.”

Before Sunghoon could say anything- probably to stop him- Jake had already tossed the towel over his shoulder and stepped out of the kitchen. Sunghoon sighed. In moments like these, he loathed Jake’s confidence, the way he never hesitated, never second-guessed himself to the point of paralysis.

Jake approached her with easy steps.

“Everything okay?” He asked, his voice gentler than usual.

Y/N looked up, blinking out of her thoughts. “Oh- yeah.” She smiled, polite but sincere. “I’m just waiting for my dad to pick me up. If that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Jake said, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You looked a little lonely. Just wanted to see if you needed company.”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “No, I’m okay, really. But… could I order a tuna melt?” She looked up at him, her voice more sure now. “I’ve been meaning to try it.”

Jake lit up like she’d complimented his accomplishments. “One tuna melt, coming up.”

He turned back toward the kitchen, only to find Sunghoon already halfway through assembling the sandwich. Jake smirked, but didn’t say anything. He’d learned a long time ago not to poke the bear.

He wanted to stay, maybe keep the conversation going, but another customer had walked in and flagged him down. With a silent sigh, Jake turned on his heel and went to take the order, throwing one last glance back toward Y/N as she settled into her seat again, warm tea in hand, waiting- not just for her father now, maybe, but for the comfort of the sandwich being made in a kitchen she’d grown used to.

Sunghoon wiped his hands on a dish towel before picking up the plate from the counter. The tuna melt, golden and crisp, sat beside a pile of thick-cut fries and a small cup of house-made pickles. He tried not to look too eager as he walked it over.

“Here you go,” he said, placing it down in front of her.

Y/N perked up immediately. “Oh- thank you.” Her voice was warm now, a little less shy than before. She took in the sandwich like it was an offering, her eyes lighting up at the smell.

Sunghoon didn’t leave right away. He hovered awkwardly, hands shoved in his apron pockets, and after a pause, he asked, “Do you have your own mahjong set?”

She blinked up at him. “Hmm?”

“You always play with the nainais’ sets. Was just wondering.”

She tilted her head, thinking. “I do. But it’s kind of old. I’ve been meaning to get a new one, actually. Something I can customize, maybe.”

Sunghoon nodded, lips pressing into something almost like a smile. “I know a guy in the market. He does hand-carved pieces.”

Her eyes widened just slightly. “That sounds… kind of cool.”

“It is,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking over his shoulder toward the kitchen before returning to meet her gaze. “Jake and I could take you sometime, if you want.”

He didn’t say it casually, and he wasn’t suave about it. His voice was even and sincere, but there was the usual hesitation underneath, like he was still learning how to offer connection instead of deflecting it.

Y/N looked down for a second, then up at him again- reading his expression, measuring the offer for what it was: a genuine one.

“I’d like that,” she said finally, and smiled. Not polite. Not shy. Just soft.

And Sunghoon, for once, didn’t overthink it. He just nodded, slow and certain. “Cool. We’ll figure out a day.”

He turned to leave, and behind him, Y/N reached for the sandwich- realizing, as she took her first bite, that it was still warm, still perfect, like maybe, somehow, she was meant to stay a little longer.

That night, Sunghoon and Jake had locked up early. The diner had been quiet, and they figured it was as good a time as any to finally replace the fourth goldfish. One had died a few days ago, and the tank looked oddly lopsided without it. Not that they were heading to a proper pet shop- just to the old man on a bicycle who sold goldfish dangling from sticks, each one bobbing in its own water-filled plastic pouch, swaying like strange fruit.

While Jake fished out cash from his back pocket, Sunghoon cleared his throat. “I told Y/N we’d take her to that custom mahjong place.”

Jake froze mid-motion, the folded bills pausing between his fingers and the vendor’s outstretched hand. The vendor blinked at him, mildly annoyed, and snatched the money anyway. Jake nearly fumbled the bag with the new goldfish.

“You, what?” He said, staring at Sunghoon.

“It came up when I brought her the tuna melt,” Sunghoon said, casually- but not too casually. “Just… in passing.”

Jake started walking again, the bag swinging from his fingers. He smirked, glancing over. “Passing conversation, huh?”

“Yeah. Passing conversation,” Sunghoon repeated, quieter this time. Like he was trying to convince himself more than Jake.

Jake didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just let the silence stretch between them as the glow of the street lights flickered on. He could hear the gentle slosh of water and the occasional squeak of the goldfish bag in his hand.

Jake shot a sidelong glance at Sunghoon, who kept his eyes fixed stubbornly on the road ahead.

“So,” Jake started, voice carefully casual, “you gave her a sandwich and a field trip?”

Sunghoon didn’t look at him. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Jake snorted. “I’m not being dramatic. I just didn’t know tuna melts came with custom mahjong tours now.”

Sunghoon sighed through his nose. “It wasn’t a big deal. We were talking. She said she wanted to buy a new set. I said I knew a guy. It’s not-”

“A date?” Jake cut in, biting down a grin.

Sunghoon glared at him, then immediately looked away again. “It’s not,” he muttered. But his ears were pink.

Jake laughed under his breath, nudging Sunghoon with his elbow. “You’re such a liar.”

“I’m not lying,” Sunghoon insisted, voice rising slightly. “I’m-” He paused. “It wasn’t planned, okay?”

Jake let the silence sit between them for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Alright.” They walked on a few more steps before Jake added, teasing but not unkind, “You just accidentally offered to take a girl you barely know to a shop you’ve never even taken me to.”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes. “We didn’t start playing mahjong until literally yesterday.”

The goldfish made a sudden turn in the bag, catching their attention. Both of them looked down at it, watching the flash of orange dart through the water like it had somewhere important to be.

Jake adjusted his grip on the plastic loop. “So, when are we going?”

“Whenever she’s free, I guess.” Sunghoon shrugged.

Jake hummed. “You gonna ask her?”

“I figured… we’d ask her. Together.”

Jake blinked at him. For once, no joke came out of his mouth. He just nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

vii. 

Y/N replayed the way Sunghoon and Jake had approached her about the mahjong shop over and over again until the day actually arrived.

The memory still made her giggle, her stomach fluttering in that light, ridiculous way that meant she was more nervous than she wanted to admit.

It was the way Sunghoon trailed a few steps behind Jake, hands in his pockets, gaze darting everywhere except her face- like the whole plan hadn’t been his idea in the first place. Jake had done the talking, naturally, with that easy, familiar confidence of his. "When are you free?" he had asked, flashing that bright, lopsided grin like this was just another errand, nothing special at all. Meanwhile, Sunghoon stood behind him and nodded- once, twice- as though trying to keep it cool, but looking exactly like a guilty accomplice.

She remembered how Jake waited for her answer without pressure, and how Sunghoon pretended not to care but had looked up just enough to meet her eyes when they finalised a plan.

They hadn’t even left yet, and somehow she was already looking forward to the afternoon like it was something that would matter.

The pair had asked her to meet them at the mouth of the old street market, just past the temple gate where the pavement turned to uneven stone and the smell of incense mingled with fried dough and fresh produce.

It wasn’t far from the diner, but it felt like stepping into another world- louder, warmer, slower somehow. Jake had said the mahjong stall was tucked somewhere in the back alleys, “next to the guy who sells antique radios and possibly illegal fireworks.” Sunghoon had just rolled his eyes at the description, muttering that he’d find it faster without Jake’s help.

Y/N arrived five minutes early, but they were already there- Jake leaned against a lamppost scrolling through his phone, Sunghoon sipping from a bottle of barley tea. Jake spotted her first, nudging Sunghoon with his elbow.

She smiled. They both straightened.

Jake grinned as she approached. “Right on time. I had money on you being early.”

“I am early,” Y/N replied, glancing at her watch with a teasing look. “But you two clearly beat me.”

Sunghoon gave a small, crooked smile. “Jake insisted we leave early just in case we got distracted by fried snacks.’”

Jake didn’t even pretend to be ashamed. “And we did, thank you very much.” He held out a paper bag that smelled vaguely like sesame and sugar. “Want one?”

Y/N took one without hesitation, and the three started walking- Sunghoon leading the way through the winding lanes while Jake lingered beside her, occasionally pointing out odd little shops with dramatic flair.

The market was a maze of sun-faded awnings, peeling posters, and curious smells. Old radios crackled from corners, kids darted between stalls and somewhere in the distance, a man yelled about a two-for-one mango deal like it was the end of the world.

“So,” Y/N asked, chewing thoughtfully. “How custom is this mahjong place?”

“You’ll see,” Sunghoon said, almost proudly. “Last time we were here, the guy tried to sell Jake a set shaped like sea cucumbers,” he added.

“I almost bought it,” Jake said defensively. “It was kind of cool.”

“It was horrifying,” Sunghoon muttered, but he was smiling too. “And we didn’t even play.”

Eventually, they reached a low tin-roofed shop wedged between two buildings, half-hidden by a hanging rug. A wooden sign above the door read, in hand-painted strokes: Mr. Liu’s Lucky Tiles.

Inside, the air was cooler. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with mahjong sets of every shape and color- some traditional, some made of glass, others painted with dragons, koi, and cherry blossoms. There was even a neon pink set in the corner, shimmering like it had no business being in such a dusty room.

Mr. Liu himself appeared from behind a beaded curtain- an elderly man with a stooped back and sharp eyes, rubbing his hands like he already knew why they were there. 

Jake and Sunghoon had met Mr. Liu in the early, uncertain days of the diner- when the rent felt too high, the customers too few, and the future too blurry to hold onto. He had wandered in one quiet afternoon, ordered nothing but tea, and stayed for hours, offering them sharp, unsolicited advice on budgeting, supplier haggling, and why their menu needed at least one dish with ginger. Over time, his presence became a quiet constant- dropping by with old coins to tip with, passing down contacts for cheaper produce, and sometimes just sitting silently, like the kind of distant relative you don’t call often but always count on. Their bond was dependable, old-school, forged in unspoken trust and shared stubbornness.

“You brought a friend this time,” he said to Sunghoon, nodding at Y/N. “Finally someone with taste.”

Jake gasped, “I’m right here, sir.”

Mr. Liu ignored him. “So, what kind of set are we making?”

Y/N stepped closer to the table lined with carved tiles and paint samples. Her eyes flitted across the display- flashes of color, lacquered wood, tiny painted details that told entire stories.

“I want something brighter... maybe something in red, I don’t know...” she began, voice soft but certain as her fingers hovered over a row of designs. “Those cherry blossoms and koi fish look nice. I want some lanterns on there too.”

Mr. Liu looked impressed. “Bold choice. Most people play safe with ivory and jade.”

Jake leaned in. “She used to play national level mahjong, you know? She's got taste.”

Sunghoon glanced at him sideways, but said nothing, watching as Y/N picked up a tile and turned it over in her hand like she was already imagining it on her table at home. Mr. Liu looked at Y/N with a newfound appreciation.

“I want a set that looks like a showpiece and also like something I never want to stop playing with,” she said. “You know what I mean?”

Mr. Liu nodded, reaching for a notebook. “Alright then. Lanterns, koi, cherry blossoms- red base?”

“Maybe hints of gold too,” Y/N said, smiling now, gaining confidence in the picture she was painting. “Nothing too flashy, just pretty.”

“I like that,” Sunghoon murmured beside her, arms crossed, watching her more than the tiles.

Y/N looked back at him, flustered and a little taken aback- like she wasn’t expecting him to say anything at all, let alone agree so gently. Her fingers paused mid-gesture over a tray of tiles, and for a moment, the noise of the shop faded beneath the warmth that crawled up her neck.

Sunghoon didn’t seem to notice what he’d done, or maybe he did and was pretending not to. His gaze dropped to the tiles again, expression unreadable except for the slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Jake, standing a few feet away and pretending to examine a display of dice he definitely didn’t need, caught the shift in atmosphere. He turned back just in time to see Y/N blinking rapidly and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

Mr. Liu chuckled, already sketching something quick in the corner of his pad. “Come back in a week. And bring better taste with you next time,” he added to Jake, without looking up.

“I literally brought her,” Jake pointed out, affronted.

“And yet,” Mr. Liu deadpanned, turning a page.

Y/N laughed under her breath, the kind of laugh that softened the tension in her shoulders. Jake pouted dramatically, throwing his hands up before shoving them into his pockets, but even that didn’t mask the faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t mind him,” Sunghoon said to Y/N, his voice low but teasing. “Mr. Liu insults people he actually likes.”

“I realised,” Y/N smiled, looking back at the old man who was now carefully selecting tiles from a display tray. “It’s kind of endearing.”

Mr. Liu grunted at that, but a slight smirk betrayed him. “Don’t make me start liking you too, girl. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

She held back a laugh, standing beside the two boys like she’d been doing this for years. Something about the moment felt easy- settled, like the pieces were just starting to fall into place.

As Mr. Liu continued his prep, Jake leaned against the wall near the door and asked, “So, who’s your usual mahjong crowd, anyway? Just the grandmas?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. They’re terrifying.”

Jake looked at Sunghoon. “They made her cry once, didn’t they?”

Sunghoon raised his brows. “And then gave her candy ten minutes later.”

“Stockholm syndrome,” Jake said, solemnly.

“Community,” Y/N corrected, nudging him gently with her elbow.

Sunghoon watched the two of them banter, something calm blooming behind his ribs. He didn’t say much- he rarely did in such moments- but he didn’t want to. They were all in the same place now, tied together not by any great, dramatic event, but by the custom mahjong tiles Y/N was getting excited about.

Mr. Liu cleared his throat. “If you three are done flirting in my shop, I’ve got a set to design.”

Jake and Sunghoon immediately turned stiff and upright, but Y/N just laughed at the joke.

Outside, the sun was already leaning westward. The market buzzed with low chatter and the smells of sweet bean cakes and fresh noodles. Y/N stepped out of the shop with the boys beside her, her shoulders brushing Jake’s for a moment before she stepped forward to walk ahead.

Jake watched her for a second and then looked at Sunghoon. “Passing conversation, huh?”

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch this time. “Yeah,” he said, hands in his pockets. “Still passing.”

They didn’t head back right away. With a few hours to spare before the diner reopened for the evening shift, the three of them drifted through the market like a trio without plans- just steps and distractions.

Y/N stopped to try candied hawthorns from a vendor, offering one stick to each of the boys with a grin that dared them to say no. Jake bit into his without hesitation; Sunghoon looked suspicious of the sticky glaze but didn’t refuse.

They walked past a stall selling old records, and Y/N paused to thumb through them. Jake joined her, flipping covers and teasing her music taste until she found one he actually liked- and then teased him right back for being predictable.

At one point, they sat on a low wall near a koi pond tucked behind one of the older courtyards. Y/N threw breadcrumbs at the fish from a little paper pouch a nearby kid handed her, and Jake leaned back on his elbows, soaking in the sun, while Sunghoon quietly snapped a photo of the moment on his phone- he told himself that he would send it to his family as a life update. 

He never ended up sending it.

By the time they wandered back, the sky was slipping into evening hues. The air smelled different- cooler now, tinged with the promise of dinner. They said goodbye to Y/N at the corner where her ride usually picked her up.

Jake waved a little longer than necessary.

Sunghoon nudged him. “You gonna start writing poetry now?”

Jake just smiled. “Only passing poetry.”

viii. 

A week later, Y/N walked into the diner carrying a tote bag. The grandmas had barely finished their tea before she set the bag down and carefully pulled out her new mahjong set- red lacquered tiles gleaming, each one etched with cherry blossoms, koi fish, and lanterns that shimmered with the faintest touch of gold. It was vibrant, personal, unmistakably hers.

The grandmas crowded around instantly, handling the pieces like precious gems. They didn’t even start a game right away- just examined each tile, murmuring their approval in half-teasing, half-reverent tones.

Jake leaned over the counter, watching the scene with a satisfied grin. “We took her to the shop, didn’t we, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon, who had just finished washing his wok, paused at the sound of Jake’s voice. He glanced at Y/N, then at the tiles, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We did.”

Y/N turned to them, her voice quieter than the chatter around her. “Thank you,” she said, eyes lingering on Sunghoon.

Jake gave a mock bow. “All in the name of community service.”

“Sure,” Sunghoon said dryly, but there was a warmth behind it.

The grandmas eventually began setting up a game, fussing over who would sit where like it was a matter of national importance. Y/N was coaxed into playing the first round, mostly because one grandma claimed her young eyes would balance out their seasoned wisdom.

Whatever that meant.

Jake and Sunghoon watched from behind the counter, sipping their iced coffees in sync. They didn’t need to be told this was special- they could feel it in the way Y/N laughed, her shoulders looser than usual, the way her hands moved confidently across the tiles.

“She fits here,” Jake said softly.

Sunghoon didn’t respond immediately. He just watched her, a ghost of that now-familiar smile on his face. “Yeah. She does.”

When one of the grandmas called out for the boys to stop being useless and come play the next round, Jake threw his hands up in surrender and made his way over. Sunghoon followed with less enthusiasm but equal affection, letting himself be scolded into taking a seat.

The game had spiraled into chaos- the best kind. Laughter bounced off the diner’s tiled walls, filling every corner with something light and breathless. Tiles clacked as they slid across the table, and steam curled lazily from forgotten mugs of tea. Y/N kept blurting out advice to Jake, forgetting herself in the moment. Her voice, half a whisper and half a laugh, gave him away more than once.

Sunghoon, deadpan and increasingly dramatic, accused her of conspiracy. The grandmas, gleeful and unbothered, leaned into the mess. One of them chuckled behind a hand. “Flirting,” one of the grandmas had said, pointing a bony finger in the air like a courtroom judge. “This is flirting.”

Y/N nearly choked on her tea.

She tried to laugh and swallow at the same time, which resulted in a brief coughing fit and Jake immediately reaching for a napkin, his hand awkwardly hovering like he didn’t know where to place it. Sunghoon blinked at the grandma, mildly horrified.

“W-What?” Y/N spluttered. “No- I was just- he was- ”

“I rest my case,” the grandma said, triumphant, shuffling her tiles like she’d just orchestrated a grand romantic revelation.

Jake grinned, smug. “Guess we’re flirting now.”

“We are not- ” Y/N began, face hot.

“She’s blushing,” another grandma sang under her breath.

“I’m not!” She cried, but her voice cracked just enough to betray her.

Sunghoon groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

The table dissolved into laughter. The grandmas high-fived each other. Jake smiled wide and unbothered, soaking in the moment like sunshine. Y/N tried to pull herself together, but the smile tugging at her lips refused to leave.

The game went on, pieces shuffled and discarded, but something else hummed beneath the surface. Something quieter than the jokes, more enduring than the clatter. With each round, each crooked smile, each rolled eye and soft nudge, a kind of ease began to settle in like a puzzle slowly clicking into place.

When the grandmas finally packed up and headed out, full and happy, the diner dimmed into its late-hour hush. The stools were empty, the lights flickered to their lower setting, and the hum of the refrigerator replaced the chatter of customers. But Y/N didn’t move to leave.

She lingered, almost without noticing. Her coat remained draped over the chair, her half-finished tea still warm between her hands. The buzz of the day was gone, but she remained grounded in that moment- like staying made more sense than going.

As Jake started stacking chairs and Sunghoon pulled out a bucket and rag, Y/N stood and quietly joined them. It was wordless- natural. She moved between tables, wiping down surfaces with the same care she’d use on cleaning mahjong tiles. The rag moved in slow circles beneath her palm, her rhythm matching theirs.

“You don’t have to help,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice low, words folding into the quiet hum of the diner.

“I know,” Y/N said after a pause, her tone light but honest. “I’ve just got nothing much to do.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond. He wasn’t good at arguing when the other person was so certain- or perhaps it was just that he didn’t know how to argue with Y/N. Maybe it wasn’t even about the argument. Maybe it was the way her presence always managed to make things feel just a little off balance, like trying to catch your breath mid-laugh. He held her gaze for a second, then gently reached forward and took the washcloth from her hands. His touch was careful, almost hesitant.

Without a word, he nodded toward the nearest booth. She understood and didn’t resist, sliding into the seat as he turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

A moment later, Jake was beside her, slipping easily into the space that Sunghoon had left behind- filling it with that familiar, quiet comfort he carried when he wasn’t trying too hard to be the loudest voice in the room.

“Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?” Jake asked.

Y/N sighed, shoulders slumping as she flexed her hands in her lap. “I wish. The local theatre is screening Happy Together- Wong Kar Wai’s. I really wanted to go, but none of my friends were free.”

Jake wasn’t a film guy. He liked movies, sure- comedies, thrillers, the flashy new stuff everyone talked about. He’d heard of Wong Kar Wai, of course. Living in Hong Kong and not knowing who that was would be borderline sacrilegious- he’d be pebbled on the streets. But he didn’t think he had the patience for films like that- moody, slow, full of longing and long silences. He always zoned out halfway through.

Still, he looked at Y/N now, at the subtle way her expression dimmed as she talked about it, and he felt something small and stubborn twist in his chest. It was just a movie, he told himself. But for her, it wasn’t just anything. And for some reason, that mattered more.

“Let’s go then.”

Y/N let out a short, amused laugh, thinking he was joking. “What?”

“Let’s go to the movie,” Jake said again, more firmly this time. “Right now. We’ll make it.”

She blinked. “Jake, you can’t be serious. You have a diner to run, and Sunghoon-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved off her concern. “Sunghoon’s got this. And I’m too tired to work.”

“Jake,” she said, softer now, guilt brushing her voice, “We can’t just leave. I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

Jake gave her a lopsided grin, one corner of his mouth squirming up. “If Sunghoon’s gonna be mad at anyone, it definitely won’t be you, Y/N.”

And strangely, she believed that.

Y/N watched Jake disappear behind the swinging kitchen door, his posture sure, purposeful. She stayed seated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve as muffled voices floated through. She couldn’t hear the words, but she saw the rhythm of them- Jake’s easy gestures, the way he clapped Sunghoon on the back, and Sunghoon’s quiet nod, his eyes never leaving the bubbling pots in front of him. There was no protest, no dramatic negotiation. 

It struck her how simple it had all been. That was the thing about Jake- he made everything look easy. But still, the guilt clung to her like static. She hadn’t meant to impose, hadn’t meant to be the reason someone was left behind at work. And yet… she also didn’t know how to say no- not to Jake. Not when he was being this version of himself- warm and certain and just a little bit insistent.

When Jake returned, he was smiling, bright and boyish. He stretched out his hand to her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Y/N looked up at him, then down at his hand. Her fingers hesitated for just a second before slipping into his.

“Let’s go,” he said, as if this was exactly what the day had always meant to become.

She nodded, quiet and unsure, and let him pull her gently to her feet.

They stepped out into the soft burn of late afternoon light, the kind that painted the edges of buildings gold and made shadows long and forgiving. The diner door shut behind them with a faint jingle, the hum of oil and clatter of dishes fading with distance. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her hand still warm from Jake’s. Neither of them mentioned it.

They didn’t speak much on the way. Jake walked with a kind of boyish energy, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he’d committed. Y/N, on the other hand, kept glancing up at the sky, letting the wind push loose strands of hair across her cheek. Something about the silence wasn’t awkward- it was gentle, like both of them were trying to slow down time just a little.

The theatre was tucked between an herbal medicine shop and a print store, its small marquee spelling out Happy Together in crooked red letters. A few people lingered near the entrance, smoking or talking softly in Cantonese, and Y/N paused before the door.

Jake watched her take it in- how her shoulders relaxed just a little, how her eyes brightened like she was seeing something familiar, something comforting.

“Excited?” He asked.

She nodded. “Very much.”

Inside, the theatre smelled of old velvet seats and faint incense, the kind that lingered from the temple across the street. They picked seats near the back- close enough to see the screen clearly, far enough to have space between them and the handful of other viewers. When the lights dimmed and the opening credits began, Y/N shifted just a little closer.

Jake didn’t understand all of the movie- its silences, its metaphors, its aching slowness- but he watched it like he was watching her watch it. He noticed the way her eyes softened during certain scenes, the way she tilted her head when the characters said something heavy. And maybe that was enough. Maybe understanding her joy was more important than understanding the film.

When the movie ended, neither of them rushed to get up. The screen faded to black, the credits rolled, and still they sat there. The city buzzed quietly outside, but in here, the movie hung between them.

Jake finally spoke, voice low. “That was… a lot.”

Y/N smiled without looking at him. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”

ix. 

Y/N hadn’t returned to the diner for a while. To be precise, she hadn’t returned since going to that movie with Jake. Sunghoon wasn’t sure if the two events were related in any way- the movie and the not returning to the diner. And in no means was Sunghoon trying to relate the two events. It was simply an observation he made, a fact Jake hadn’t yet acknowledged. 

The night Jake returned from the movie, Sunghoon had asked him how it went- the movie, in particular. But he knew Jake’s big mouth would talk about Y/N in the process. 

“The movie? I struggled to concentrate. You might like it, though, Sunghoon,” Jake had said. “Y/N loved it. She was quite happy.”

And Sunghoon didn’t question any further, too scared to come off as pestering or intrusive. He just nodded and continued moping the diner.

In the time that Y/N didn’t come to the diner, the grandmas still showed up. They followed their usual routine of eating, gossiping, playing mahjong and pestering Sunghoon and Jake. Some days, they would gossip with them, other days they would rope them into playing mahjong. But none of them acknowledged Y/N’s absence- or rather, they didn’t worry about her absence.

“Jake,” Sunghoon called out.

“Yeah?” He entered the kitchen, lip between his teeth and brows raised in question.

“Could you bring the tea to the nainais?” Sunghoon pointed at the five cups of tea on a tray and Jake nodded. “And could you ask them where Y/N is?”

Sunghoon didn’t meet Jake’s gaze- he was too shy to. He was afraid that Jake would take a single look into his eyes and call him out on something Sunghoon was too scared to admit. But Jake only raised a brow at him, lips slightly parted and tray of tee hovering mid pick-up.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Jake chuckled a moment later. “Too scared to ask them yourself?”

Sunghoon didn’t respond- he didn’t need to. Jake wasn’t expecting a response; he was already out the kitchen and approaching the grandmas. 

“Here you go,” he sang to them as he distributed the mugs. “Hey, how come your sixth teammate hasn’t shown up in a while?” He asked, so casually and confidently, as if the question hadn’t been gnawing at his brain.

“Oh, she’s busy with college, honey,” one of them answered. 

“I think this is one of her busy months,” another answered. 

Jake straightened and turned to look at Sunghoon through the kitchen window- he knew he was listening, despite his feigned distraction. With a smirk, Jake returned to cleaning up empty dishes of previous customers.

Sunghoon, still in the kitchen, spacing out at the chopped vegetables in front of him, wasn’t sure if he believed the grandmas. He let his mind spiral- that perhaps, something happened between Jake and Y/N during the movie, that perhaps she felt embarrassed or awkward for reasons he didn’t know. For reasons Jake hadn’t revealed.

Just then, his phone rang. It was odd for someone to be calling him, especially at this hour. His family only usually called him in the mornings or late into the night. 

Y/N’s name was flashing across the screen of his phone.

Sunghoon’s breath caught in his throat. 

Slowly, cautiously, he picked up his phone, his fingers wrapping around the curves of the metal and sliding up on the call. He pressed the warm screen against his ear.

“Hello?”

“Sunghoon,” Y/N’s voice rang loud into his ears. She sounded frantic, almost preoccupied. “I’m home alone.”

For a moment, Sunghoon’s brain froze. He wasn’t sure what to make of that sentence- his heart almost spasmed. 

“I’m home alone and there’s a fucking cockroach in the house and I don’t know what to do,” she sounded like she was on the verge of crying.

Sunghoon let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“I’m so sorry,” she continued. “I’m proper terrified of bugs- I don’t know what to do-”

“Y/N, don’t worry about it,” he breathed, voice now filled with a sudden sense of confidence. “I’ll be right there.”

“No, that’s not-”

He ended the call before she could finish her sentence. Sunghoon stared at his phone, screen now black, reflecting his expression back to him. 

Jake walked in, his notepad nestled in his hand, eyes scanning the words he scribbled on it. “Someone ordered a Hong Kong-style Spaghetti Bolognese. Been a while since someone asked for that,” he said, tilting his head to the side before tipping it back in surprise. Then, he lifted his gaze to find Sunghoon frozen in his spot, eyes static. “What happened, why do you look like that?”

“Y/N just called me,” Sunghoon mumbled like he didn’t believe it himself.

Jake’s eyes darted in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “Is she okay?”

“Said she needed help with something,” Sunghoon blinked at him.

“Well, then, go,” Jake said with no hesitation, like it was his most natural reaction. He looked at Sunghoon like he was stupid for not leaving yet. “Go on, I’ll cook.”

“Are you sure?” 

“It’s not my first time cooking, Sunghoon,” Jake tilted his head. “You’ve taught me well enough.”

A few minutes later, Sunghoon stood in front of her apartment door, a parcelled container of udon in one hand and a tube of cockroach repellent in the other. Her building was in a fancier part of town- sleek, quieter streets, the kind lined with flowering hedges and motion-sensor lights- but it hadn’t taken him long to get there. He’d practically sprinted the whole way, not that he’d ever admit it.

He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles met the wood, he heard a thud from inside- what sounded unmistakably like a shoe being hurled across the room.

“The door’s open!” Y/N called, her voice carrying a distinct mix of panic and irritation.

Sunghoon eased the door open with caution, stepping inside like he was entering enemy territory. And there she was- perched on the edge of her coffee table, legs crossed, scanning the floor with laser focus. Her oversized t-shirt slouched off one shoulder, her hair was tied messily like she'd abandoned the effort halfway through, and she wore only one sock- the other nowhere in sight, presumably a casualty of the ongoing war.

Something about her in that moment- disheveled, determined, completely unguarded- hit him with a strange, quiet softness. He had to blink and remind himself why he was there. Don’t stare, he told himself, as he closed the door behind him and stepped fully into her chaos.

“I brought some food,” Sunghoon said, holding up the plastic bag. “You said you were home alone,” he placed it on a cupboard that stood beside the doorway.

Y/N turned to him with wide, grateful eyes, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. Her gaze flicked to the bag he set down, then back to him- as if the sight of someone else in her apartment, someone calm and steady, made the whole situation feel a little less ridiculous.

“You really didn’t have to,” she shook her head.

“Udon’s quick to make,” he said, walking over to her with brevity she didn’t have. “Where’s the cockroach?”

“I think it went under the bookshelf,” she whispered like it might hear her.

He stepped aside quietly, scanning the floor like he was on a mission- perhaps he was. There was a certain kind of silence between them, familiar and strange all at once. She got off the table and hovered behind him like a shadow, pointing occasionally, giving unhelpful commentary like “I swear it flew” and “I heard it crunch.”

Eventually, he found it- the cockroach, cornered and twitching near the leg of the bookshelf. Sunghoon didn’t hesitate- grabbed a slipper she handed him and swiftly ended its reign of terror. Y/N let out a dramatic breath, slumping against the wall like a war survivor.

“I owe you,” she muttered, hand pressed to her chest.

Sunghoon finally looked at her then, eyes flickering. “Not at all.”

She tilted her head, then went quiet. He stood there, still holding the slipper, unsure of what came next.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, not trusting himself to sit still any longer. “I’ll apply the repellent,” he said, holding up the tube like a peace offering. “Should last you a few weeks.”

He got to work without waiting for her response, crouching by the corners of the hall first. The motion was methodical, something to focus on- dot the edge, press the tube, swipe. She watched him quietly as he moved into the kitchen, applying it behind the fridge, at the back of cupboards, and beneath the shelves with careful, practiced hands. He didn’t ask where anything was- he just kind of knew.

When he finally turned to her again, their eyes met for half a second before he looked away. “Your room,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but it was quiet, like he didn’t want to startle her.

Y/N led him down the short hallway, her hand brushing the wall as she walked ahead. He followed, steps measured. The door creaked open, and she stepped aside to let him in first.

Sunghoon hesitated before crossing the threshold. It felt… intimate, somehow, to be here- not in a loud or obvious way, but in the quiet traces of her life that surrounded the space. He felt like he’d stepped into a part of her she didn’t often share. He almost didn’t feel worthy.

And though he told himself not to look, he did.

There were photos framed on the walls- friends, blurry oceans, distant smiles- and a half-used candle on the study desk. Books stacked in uneven piles, a hair tie hanging off the corner of the lamp. Her bed was slightly unmade, a soft quilt tangled in the center. And resting on the top of her bedside table was her personalized mahjong set- the red one, with gold koi fish and painted blossoms. The one he helped pick out.

Sunghoon’s throat tightened.

He crouched in the corners of the room and applied the repellent in silence. But every now and then, his gaze flickered back to the mahjong set. The fact that she kept it there, next to where she slept, said more than she probably knew.

After he was done, she led him back to the hall again. She played with the hum of her shirt, awkward as she turned back to him. Sunghoon’s stiff demeanor wasn’t much help either. He himself wasn’t sure what else to say. 

“Do you wanna stay for a bit?” She asked softly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask the question. “I have those green tea cookies you like.”

Sunghoon blinked. His first thought was confusion- he didn’t remember ever mentioning those cookies to her. But then he remembered- a few weeks ago when Jake had come in late to the diner, holding up a box of green tea cookies like a peace offering, loudly apologizing to Sunghoon for coming in later than promised. Y/N had been there, seated between the grandmas, shuffling the tiles with a calm that felt so at home.

Jake had shoved the cookies onto the counter with a grin and a “I know you love these. Makes you less mad at me, huh?” And Sunghoon, red-eared and grumbling, had tried to hide a smile while the grandmas teased him for it.

She remembered that- that small moment.

He nodded before his throat could catch up to his thoughts. Something about the offer, her remembering, the soft steadiness of her words- it settled over him like his mom’s bowl of comfort soup.

Y/N padded to the cabinets, one foot still missing a sock. She moved with the ease that came with being in her own house, but there was a lightness to her movements now, as if his presence didn’t interrupt anything- like he belonged there for the moment. She boiled water in a worn kettle, the kind with chipped paint near the spout that had been in the family since before she was born. And she pulled out a box from the back of the shelf. The green tea cookies were a little crumbled but still perfectly good. She smiled to herself as she laid them out on a porcelain plate.

They settled on the floor of her kitchen like kids hiding from responsibility. She handed him a mismatched mug- his had a cat on it, tail curled into a heart. Hers was plain, chipped at the rim. The plate of cookies sat between them like a peace treaty.

Sunghoon took a bite, and the taste was exactly like he remembered- earthy and a little sweet, crumbly in the best way.

“I didn’t think you noticed,” he said after a long while, his voice low, careful.

Y/N looked at him, a slow blink. “I notice more than you think,” she said simply.

Sunghoon glanced down at his shoes, then back at her, unsure of what to make of it. He wondered what else she had noticed- but chose not to ask.

“So,” he began, instead. "You have a proper phobia of cockroaches?”

Y/N nodded, mid-chewing on the cookie. She swallowed abruptly. “Bugs in general,” she admitted. “The last time I saw a spider in the house, I fainted and my parents rushed me to the hospital.”

“You fainted?”

“Yeah,” she laughed like it wasn’t a big deal- like it was an old memory “It’s gotten better now, but I’m definitely still terrified.”

“I can tell,” Sunghoon nodded, a grin playing on his lips.

Y/N rolled her eyes, eyes drifting back to her mug. “I didn’t mean for you to come, by the way,” she admitted. “You really didn’t need to go out of your way to do this.”

“It’s not a problem, Y/N,” Sunghoon assured. “Why’d you call anyway?”

“I thought you’d give me emotional support and teach me how to chase down a cockroach.”

“Through the phone?” He laughed now, finally realising how childish the situation actually was.

“Laugh all you want,” Y/N rolled her eyes. 

They both looked down at the plate between them. The cookies were beginning to crumble at the edges.

“You haven’t come around to the diner in a while,” Sunghoon said after a beat- not accusatory, just staging an observation.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Y/N sighed. “I’ve been swamped with assignments.”

“Don’t need to apologise for that,” he said, shaking his head. 

“I missed it though,” she added, softer this time.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You should probably get back before Jake burns the place down.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon exhaled, glancing toward the door. “He’s probably trying to plate spaghetti like a Michelin chef.”

x. 

A few days later, on an early morning when the streets were still yawning and the sky hadn’t fully made up its mind about the sun, Y/N found herself tagging along with Sunghoon and Jake to the wet market. There was no real reason- just that she was free, and just that she could.

Sunghoon had mentioned wanting to experiment, to see if he could add a few new seafood dishes to the diner’s menu. That was the official reason. The real reason, perhaps, was simpler- it was nice having her there.

The market was already alive, a cacophony of voices and smells and sloshing water. Jake took the lead, animatedly picking fights with fishmongers over prices, freshness, or whether the catch was really caught that morning. Sunghoon followed a few steps behind, arms crossed and expression sharp, his eyes silently backing Jake’s words like punctuation marks.

Jake was mid-haggle with an elderly fishmonger about the size of a grouper when Sunghoon leaned toward Y/N and muttered, “he always starts a fight before 5am. It’s part of his warm-up routine.”

She stifled a laugh, then wrinkled her nose when a splash of fish water nearly hit her sandals. “Is it always this... intense?”

Sunghoon gave a faint, dry nod. “This is one of his better days.”

Eventually, Jake held up a glistening red snapper triumphantly like a knight with a sword. “Victory,” he declared, already halfway to the next stall. The old fishmonger chuckled, muttering something about these boys and their drama.

Sunghoon calmly handed over the money and shot a quick thanks before motioning for Y/N to follow.

Y/N trailed after them, half-awake, half-amused, her eyes darting between the two of them- between Jake’s loud dramatics and Sunghoon’s quiet intimidation. She didn’t fully understand the rhythm of their routine, but she liked being a part of it anyway.

They weaved through crates of shellfish, bundles of herbs, and stalls with dangling octopus tentacles. Jake struck up conversation with nearly every vendor- some clearly annoyed, some amused, all strangely fond of him.

Some vendors, familiar with the duo, greeted them with grins and playful jabs. A few even offered discounts without being asked- especially when they noticed Y/N in tow, standing a little behind, blinking curiously at a very lively basket of prawns.

“You like prawns and shrimp?” Sunghoon asked when he noticed her.

“Love,” she responded. 

“What about lobster?” He continued.

“Think about it everyday,” she smiled at him, innocent and childlike.

Seconds later, Sunghoon was signaling toward Jake with a subtle lift of his chin, eyes flicking toward a crate of lobsters sitting in a cooler nearby. Jake caught on immediately- of course he did- and ambled over to the stall, already rolling up his sleeves like it was about to be a full-blown negotiation.

“These aren’t just lobsters,” Jake said to the vendor, dramatic as ever. “These are practically celebrities. I feel like I should be asking them for autographs.”

The fishmonger laughed. “Only if you’re paying celebrity prices.”

Jake squinted at the man, then turned to glance briefly at Y/N and Sunghoon standing a few steps behind. “She likes lobster,” he said, pointing his thumb at Y/N. “You’re really gonna make me tell her we couldn’t get any?”

The vendor raised a brow, grinning. “She’s that special, huh?”

Jake didn't skip a beat. “Special enough for a discount.”

Y/N stifled a laugh behind her hand. Sunghoon just shook his head, arms crossed again, quietly watching Jake argue his way into a discount like he did it for sport.

In the end, Jake returned victorious, holding up the paper-wrapped package like it was a trophy. “Lobster secured,” he announced.

“For a good price?” Sunghoon asked.

Jake grinned, cocky. “For her, yeah.”

Sunghoon glanced at Y/N- she was still blinking at the lobsters, face lit up with delight- and then back at Jake. “She gets us cheaper prices, doesn’t she.”

“It’s like she’s a walking coupon.”

Eventually, with bags full of seafood, bunches of greens, and Jake still animatedly chatting to a vendor about how fish bones were the real flavor heroes, the trio made their way toward the bus stop.

The morning traffic had just begun to swell, but they caught an early local bus- half empty, smelling faintly of engine oil and coriander from someone’s breakfast bag. Jake hoisted the heavier crates into the luggage rack with ease, exchanging a cheerful “good morning” with the driver like they were old friends.

Y/N sat near the back, wedged between a bag of clams and a plastic tub of greens, her knees pulled slightly in to make space. Sunghoon took the seat beside her, holding a smaller insulated bag on his lap, while Jake stood near the front, holding onto the rail with one hand and using the other to keep talking to someone on the phone- probably his brother.

The bus rattled along, sunlight just beginning to filter through the dusty windows. Y/N swayed gently with the movement, occasionally bumping Sunghoon’s shoulder. He didn’t move away.

Sunghoon stared out the window, his expression as unreadable as ever- quiet, faintly furrowed, like he was measuring something in his mind he didn’t quite have words for. Not brooding, exactly- just present in a way that made him seem miles away.

Back at the diner, the morning unfolded in a quiet rhythm. The sun had finally risen, its light spilling gently through the fogged windows, catching dust motes in golden halos. Jake unloaded the groceries with theatrical groans- dramatic as always- while Sunghoon took the ingredients into the kitchen, his focus already sharpening.

Y/N had offered to help, but was quickly shooed away.

“You’re a guest,” Jake had said, wagging a finger at her.

“You’ll just get in the way,” Sunghoon added with less kindness, though the way his voice dropped suggested he didn’t mean it harshly.

So she sat on a stool by the counter, quietly watching.

Sunghoon began working on the lobster, his movements precise, economical. Just behind him, a bowl of shrimp was being deveined. Jake wandered in, scooped a small portion of shrimp into a tiny dish, and turned on his heel to head back out.

“What’s that for?” Sunghoon asked, not looking up.

“For the cat.”

“Don’t give her too much,” Sunghoon mumbled, slicing through the shell of the lobster. “Too much shrimp’s bad for them.”

Jake paused, raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“I researched,” Sunghoon grumbled. And then, very deliberately, turned away- shoulders hunched slightly, like he could hide his face behind the curve of his neck.

Y/N bit back a smile.

Curious, she followed Jake to the front of the diner.

Out on the stoop, crouched beside the faded step, was a small orange cat- half asleep, tail flicking slowly. Jake knelt in front of her, placing the dish down and murmuring something Y/N couldn’t hear. The cat opened her eyes, then lazily leaned forward to sniff the shrimp.

“She likes Sunghoon more,” Jake explained, glancing over his shoulder. “He’s the one who found her, you know. Took her to the vet, made a whole bed for her in the storage room. Doesn’t talk about it though.”

Y/N crouched beside him, her fingers grazing the rough concrete as she stretched her hand out. The cat blinked up at her. And then, coolly, with that feline grace, nuzzled her head against the back of Y/N’s hand before turning toward the shrimp.

Y/N’s face lit up with something between surprise and wonder. Jake, still crouched, leaned back on his heels and gave her a grin.

“She likes you,” he said.

“Not as much as Sunghoon,” she replied softly.

Jake chuckled. “Don’t worry. That’s not a competition you want to win.”

Inside, behind the glass, Sunghoon paused in the middle of peeling garlic and glanced out- eyes lingering just long enough to catch the scene before ducking his head again.

By the time Jake and Y/N returned to the kitchen, the smells had bloomed- garlic, butter, a hint of chili, the sweetness of seafood carried gently in the steam rising from the stovetop. 

Sunghoon didn’t say much as he plated the dishes he made- three new ones he was considering for the menu.

First, Typhoon Shelter Shrimp- lightly battered prawns fried with garlic, chili, and crispy bits of breadcrumb, piled into a modest heap that still looked restaurant-worthy.

Next, Steamed Clams with Black Bean Sauce, served in a shallow bowl, the clams peeking open through a dark, aromatic glaze flecked with scallions and red pepper.

Then came Pan-fried Grouper Fillet- seared till golden and crisp on the edges, set atop a spoonful of soy-ginger sauce that glistened under the diner lights.

He worked in a quiet rhythm, focused and precise. Then, without warning, he reached for a fourth plate- larger than the others- and gently lowered two halves of a garlic butter poached lobster, its tail meat already split and fanned slightly apart, a bit of lemon zest caught the light.

Sunghoon didn’t glance up. “That’s for us to eat,” he said, placing the plate aside. “Not for the menu.”

Jake barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no way can we afford to put a lobster dish on the menu.”

Sunghoon shrugged modestly, but there was the faintest trace of color in his cheeks. “You said you think about lobster every day,” he muttered to her, not quite meeting her gaze, as he sat down beside her.

Jake pretended not to hear it and sat beside him, already reaching for chopsticks to taste the shrimp. “Okay, but this shrimp? We are putting this on the menu. I’ll fight you if you say no.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “We’ll see.”

Y/N sat down with the lobster dish in front of her, quietly touched- and a little amused. “It’s so over-the-top for a random weekday.”

“It’s not random,” Sunghoon replied.

A week later, the typhoon shelter shrimp was added to the menu- not because Jake insisted. But because after the lobster, Y/N enjoyed the shrimp the most.

xi. 

“Guess who I just got off the phone with,” Jake walked into the shared bedroom, flicking his phone onto the middle table.

“Who?’ Sunghoon asked, eyes still stuck on the book he nestled in his lap.

“My dad,” Jake stated.

That got Sunghoon’s attention. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Jake plopped down on his bed, surprised by the lack of wrinkles on the sheets and messy laundry. Sunghoon had cleaned it up earlier, unable to have the sight of clutter. “He said business has been picking up again. Things seem good, apparently.”

“Oh,” Sunghoon’s gaze dropped, unable to look at Jake’s triumph. A low anxiety settled in his stomach, his muscles tensed. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, and he meant it. But he wasn’t sure what the consequences of that would be.

“You’re worried about the diner now, aren’t you?”

Sunghoon and Jake were twenty-six now. They’d met at twenty-one- two strangers with miserable jobs and a few bills in their pockets- and somehow, five years later, they were still shoulder to shoulder.

They’d started the diner together, moved into a tiny rented flat above it, and never really left each other’s orbit. It was five years of waking up to the same alarms, sharing the same instant coffee, arguing about grocery budgets, crashing after shifts in the same room. They'd grown around each other like ivy- tight, inevitable, inseparable.

It wasn’t just closeness; it was muscle memory. The kind of bond where silence filled in the blanks and secrets barely had time to form. They never needed to say much to be understood. Some things stayed unspoken, sure, but even those things were known in that quiet, mutual way.

Over the years, they’d learned how to read each other better than the back of their own hands.

Sunghoon knew Jake got cranky when he was hungry, that he liked ketchup on his rice sometimes and got defensive about it, that he flicked his wrist when nervous and couldn’t keep still when something bothered him.

Jake knew that Sunghoon didn’t like being touched by new people, that a small smile from him meant more than full paragraphs, that when his brows dipped ever so slightly, it meant he was in his head again- thinking too hard, spiraling quietly.

“Your brows are drooping.”

Sunghoon tutted at him, turning his head to hide his expression. “What are you on about?”

Jake sighed and lifted himself off the bed, circling around the table to reach Sunghoon. He towered over him, which was odd. Sunghoon was the taller one between them. But as he looked at Jake now, curled into a corner of his bed, he felt small and weak- like the future wasn’t in his hands anymore.

“Listen,” Jake started, a firm hand placed on Sunghoon’s knee. “I’m not leaving the diner until you do, understand?”

Sunghoon leaned his head against the wall, eyes stubbornly fixated on his book. 

“I stuck with you while you sent money back home for your sister and you stuck with me when I was sending money back to my family,” Jake continued. “We’re in this together, man,” he patted his knee. “I’m not leaving you hanging.

Finally, Sunghoon turned to him, eyes narrowed, almost like he was holding sorrow. “I’m grateful for you, Jake,” he mumbled. The world felt foreign in his mouth- foreign to Jake’s ears. He didn’t say things like that- not often, not at all. But Jake didn’t poke fun at him for it. “I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Jake gave him a curt smile and settled at the edge of the bed, whatever spec was left beside Sunghoon’s legs.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“What is it?”

Sunghoon almost hesitated, afraid that it would ruin the moment. He licked his lips, tongue suddenly dry. The thought itself made him feel confused, light headed. “Do you like Y/N?”

Jake immediately scoffed. “I just told you my family’s making more money and that’s the question you ask?” He wasn’t offended. In fact, he had a teasing smile on his mouth, a light expression. But Sunghoon knew that it was his way of steering a conversation, of changing the topic.

“I’m being serious,” Sunghoon raised his voice. “What exactly are we doing here?”

Jake thought about it for a moment- Y/N. He couldn’t deny that her name always brought a pang to his chest- the good kind. The kind of feeling you get when your mother cooks your favourite food for dinner or the feeling you get when you realise you’re someone’s favourite person. He smiled every time just thinking about her- her shy gazes, the way she could banter with him, the way she helped him cheat in mahjong.

What exactly were they doing?

How could he even let this happen?

Despite everything he was starting to feel himself, Jake couldn’t ignore the way Sunghoon was around her. It was different- undeniably, unmistakably different. He was softer with her. Not in any dramatic or romantic way, not overtly, but in the small things.

Sunghoon, who usually kept people at arm’s length, who bristled at new conversations and avoided eye contact when he wasn’t in the mood- he welcomed her in. He smiled more, spoke first, ran across the neighbourhood with a tube of cockroach repellent because she called him in a panic. He listened to her, remembered things she said in passing, let his guard down in ways Jake had rarely seen, even after five years of friendship.

Jake watched it all from the sidelines- quietly, almost respectfully- but it gnawed at him. Jake knew his friend. And he knew this girl made him happy- that this wasn’t just kindness. It was carefulness.

“I don’t know,” Jake finally said, not knowing how to articulate his thoughts. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze. “I really don't- she’s-,” he sucked in a breath. “The mahjong, the random trips, just her presence. I don’t know what it’s doing to me.”

“You do,” Sunghoon insisted. “You’re just denying it.”

“I can say the same for you.”

Sunghoon looked away now. “I guess, I don’t know either,” he admitted and let a moment of silence pass by them. “It’s really up to her now, isn’t it?”

Jake hung his head low, picking at his nails. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he sighed- and suddenly, his eyes were on Sunghoon again, hand on his knee. “But I hope you know- whatever happens-”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He just knew. And the silent acknowledgement between them was good enough.

xii. 

Sunghoon was getting good at mahjong- his moves were more confident now, his hands steady as he arranged his tiles. He wasn’t winning every round, but he was no longer the tentative beginner he had been a few weeks ago. The grandmas had started nodding in approval, their teasing turning into genuine respect.

Jake, on the other hand, was still struggling. Every turn he made was accompanied by an exaggerated sigh or a panicked glance toward Y/N. More often than not, he leaned closer to her, whispering questions like, “Wait, is this one good?” or “Do I throw this? Or is that, like, a war crime in mahjong?”

Y/N tried to keep a straight face, whispering back in between her own turns, giving him subtle clues without outright cheating. But even then, Jake's face would scrunch in concentration like he was defusing a bomb, only to make a hilariously bad move and groan dramatically when the grandmas cackled.

“Maybe you’re just not built for this,” Sunghoon said once, eyeing Jake’s chaotic tiles.

Jake shot him a glare. “Sorry I didn’t emerge from the womb with mahjong instincts like you.”

It was an empty afternoon again, one where their usual customers were either busy with work or had already come and gone. It was one of those evenings where Sunghoon and Jake could put their diner duties aside and tend to a game of mahjong. And this time, instead of macaroni in broth, they had the new prawns that had been added to the menu.

Sunghoon won that round- against Jake and two grandmas.

“Again?” Jake groaned, slumping back in his chair. “That’s your third win in a row. This is rigged.”

One of the grandmas clicked her tongue. “It’s not rigged, boy. He’s just better than you.”

Jake threw his hands up. “Traitors, all of you.”

Sunghoon only smirked, stacking his tiles neatly while the grandmas reshuffled theirs with seasoned ease. Y/N returned a phone call just in time to catch Jake pouting. 

“Another loss?” She guessed, setting down a fresh pot of tea.

“He cheats,” Jake muttered, pointing at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Tell them how you discarded a winning tile. Again.”

“I was distracted,” Jake defended. “You were humming. Who hums while playing mahjong?”

“I do,” Sunghoon replied easily, glancing up at Y/N.

She laughed and settled next to Jake, stealing a warm rice cracker from one of the side bowls. “Maybe humming is your power move.”

“No,” Jake said, pushing the cracker bowl toward her. “His power move is being unreasonably good at everything.”

Sunghoon shrugged, like he couldn’t be blamed for his talents. “You’ll get there eventually.”

Jake didn’t reply to that- he just looked at Sunghoon for a moment, then turned away, his smile tight around the edges.

Y/N broke the moment by asking, “One more round?”

“Believe me, I want to,’ Sunghoon grinned, watching Jake roll his eyes. “But we really need to get that cooker fixed.”

“Right, that was today,” Jake grumbled, already leaving his chair to untie his apron. 

The grandmas immediately started groaning in protest.

“You can’t leave on a winning streak,” one of them complained, dramatically slapping a tile down.

“Children these days,” the other muttered. “No sense of honour.”

Jake put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright! We’ll make it up to you next time. Promise.”

“You said that last week,” the first grandma narrowed her eyes.

“That time I meant it less,” Jake said as he backed away toward the kitchen, “this time I mean it more.”

Y/N turned to Sunghoon, eyebrows raised. “What happened to the cooker?”

“It started sparking,” he said plainly, gathering up the tea cups. “I turned it off before it blew up. Jake panicked and tried to throw salt at it,” he added under his breath.

“I panicked like a normal person!” Jake called from the back.

Y/N laughed. “That explains why everything tasted weird yesterday.”

Sunghoon paused, then looked at her deadpan. “That was Jake’s cooking.”

A crash echoed from the kitchen. “I heard that!”

Y/N grinned as she stood up to help stack the mahjong tiles. “Where are you getting it fixed?”

“Place a few streets over. Some guy Jake knows,” Sunghoon said, slipping into his shoes near the door. “Are you free? You should come?.”

Y/N looked down at her phone, then at the door. “I am.”

Jake poked his head out. “We’ll get snacks after.”

“Sold,” she smiled, grabbing her jacket.

They walked to the market, the broken cooker tucked under Jake’s arm like some odd, metallic baby. He led the way with a confidence that only came from knowing every shortcut and side street in this part of town, throwing back quick comments without ever breaking his stride.

“Left here,” he called over his shoulder. “The guy’s stall is just past the tea shop that smells like socks.”

Sunghoon wrinkled his nose. “That’s specific.”

“You’ll smell it when we get there,” Jake said cheerfully.

Y/N walked in the middle, quietly entertained, her gaze darting between the signs and the noisy carts rattling past them. The morning air had settled into a pleasant kind of warmth- sunlight catching on wet pavement, leftover from a brief drizzle. It smelled like vegetables, vinegar, and fish. 

“You sure this guy’s legit?” Sunghoon asked, eyeing the wires poking out of the cooker.

Jake scoffed. “He fixed our microwave last year. It hasn’t exploded once.”

“That’s your bar for success?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jake grinned. “Low expectations, low disappointments.”

Sunghoon shook his head but didn’t argue. He just matched his pace with hers, occasionally nudging her away from puddles she didn’t notice.

They reached the stall after one wrong turn and a minor argument about directions. The cooker was handed off, and the old man behind the counter promised to “have it breathing like a newborn” by sundown.

With time to kill, the trio ducked into a nearby street vendor alley, following the scent of fried dough and something sweet. Jake immediately beelined toward skewers; Y/N lingered at a cart selling mango sago; and Sunghoon stood at a distance, scanning both of them with that same quiet attentiveness he always wore when no one was watching.

Jake returned with a stick in each hand, waving one at her.

“It’s fried fish cake. Try it.”

She took a bite and made a face. “It tastes like regret.”

Jake laughed so hard he nearly dropped his own.

“I can make them better,” Sunghoon chuckled under his breath and handed her a small cup of chilled soy milk he’d picked up. “You’ll need this.”

As the three of them leaned against a low wall near the alley exit, chewing and sipping and laughing at nothing in particular, there was a pause- a moment soft and slow. A lull in the city’s noise, the kind that only comes when the company is easy and the day has no demands.

Y/N spoke first. “Do you guys ever get sick of spending every day together?”

Sunghoon blinked. Jake turned toward her. “Nope,” Jake said. “He annoys me less than most people.”

Sunghoon shrugged. “It’s been five years. Too late to start hating each other now.”

Y/N smiled. “You two are weirdly wholesome.”

Jake looked over at Sunghoon and raised an eyebrow. “Weirdly?”

Sunghoon just sipped his drink, not denying it, remembering the previous night’s conversation.

xiii. 

Y/N was nervous to visit their apartment.

It wasn’t because she didn’t want to go- she did, very much. It was just… strange. Strange to be friends with people like them. Jake and Sunghoon were twenty-six. They’d lived through things she hadn’t yet touched. They had bills and taxes and lived away from home. They ran a business. They had a cat that visited their diner every morning and a complicated relationship with a fish named Clementine.

Y/N, by contrast, was twenty. Barely. One of those overachieving kids who had done everything right- grades, clubs, national-level sport that now made her knees click, university courses that looked impressive on paper but left her exhausted. On most days, she still asked her mom where the scissors were.

She told her parents she was going to meet a college friend that afternoon. Which wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Just not the whole truth. She didn’t know how to explain her friendship with Jake and Sunghoon- their diner, their banter, the quiet comfort of peeling garlic at the counter while they bickered about radio stations.

So she didn’t. She just snuck out quietly, like she was doing something wrong, and met them at the corner where they’d said they’d be.

Now, she was knocking at their door.

Sunghoon opened the door, his usual calm composure softening into something warmer when he saw her- a glint in his eyes, a small toothy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Behind him, Jake was frantically sweeping the floor. It wasn’t an unusual sight. He’d done that plenty of times in the diner- he was the one who took care of it after all- but here, in the cozy mess of their home, it looked a little more chaotic.

Sunghoon leaned against the doorframe, amused. “I know he keeps the diner polished, but at home? He’s the messiest person I know.”

Jake straightened, tossing the broom aside with dramatic flair. “You’re just a clean freak. I’m normal.”

“Normal is debatable,” Sunghoon said, already stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N crossed the threshold slowly, curiosity bubbling beneath her nerves.

Their apartment was nothing like hers.

It was small- the kind of small that made everything feel close, almost intimate. The hall barely fit three people comfortably, and it connected directly to the open kitchen, where mismatched mugs hung on a rail and bags of flour were stacked in the corner like a permanent fixture. She caught a glimpse of the single bedroom beyond, where two beds sat neatly divided down the middle, each with a different colored blanket. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, light spilling out onto the floor tiles.

Jake noticed her glance and beamed. “I redid the whole thing myself. The bathroom, I mean. Best construction work of my life.”

Sunghoon cooked lunch for them that day- something quick but flavorful, the way he always did. Lately, it felt like all their hangouts revolved around food. Which, honestly, made sense. Jake and Sunghoon owned a diner. It was kind of their whole thing.

But Y/N didn’t mind. In fact, she loved it. She liked the rhythm of their lives, the casual way they threw ingredients together, the jokes tossed across the kitchen like confetti. She liked how nothing about them felt routine, even when it technically was. Around them, she didn’t feel like a cog in a machine, or like the overachieving kid who peaked too early. Her life wasn’t mundane anymore. Around them, she felt… interesting.

While Sunghoon moved around the kitchen with quiet focus, sleeves rolled up, Jake pulled a chair for her near the fish tank- a big, square glass box wedged beside a cluttered shelf and a sunlit window. Inside, four goldfish swam in lazy loops, their scales flashing gold and white in the water’s filtered light.

Y/N leaned closer, resting her chin on her palm. “Did you name them?”

“Nope,” Jake said, popping a cracker in his mouth. “They’re all called Clementine.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nodded like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Every time one dies, we replace it and call the new one Clementine. At this point we’ve been through at least... seven? Eight? So now, they’re just all Clementine.”

Y/N burst into giggles, shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s efficient,” Jake said, smug. “We don’t get emotionally attached, and we don’t have to remember names. Win-win.”

“Sunghoon, did you agree to this?” she called out.

From the stove, Sunghoon replied without turning. “I tried to name one Junebug once. He changed it back to Clementine in twenty-four hours.”

Jake grinned, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s tradition.”

“So what’s for lunch?” Y/N asked, leaning forward on the table, the light from the window catching in her hair.

“You’ll see,” Sunghoon said coolly, eyes still trained on the stove as he added something into a sizzling pan.

Jake, without a word, got up and walked over to the low drawer under their small TV. He crouched, rummaged for a second, then returned with a battered deck of cards in hand. With a practiced flick, he started shuffling them, the soft snap of the cards punctuating the calm.

“Do you know how to play poker?” Jake asked, looking at Y/N with that glint of challenge he always wore before a game.

Y/N flushed and shook her head. “Nope.”

Jake gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “You know mahjong... but not poker?”

“It’s embarrassing, I know!” Y/N cried, laughing. “I’ve spent so much time playing with those damn tiles that I never got around to the cards.”

“Wow,” Sunghoon called over his shoulder. “What even got you into mahjong?”

“It’s like a thing in my family,” she said with a shrug. “All my aunts and uncles are obsessed. I basically had no choice. It was either learn or be exiled from game nights.”

Jake began dealing out three neat piles of cards onto the table. “Well,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “you’ve taught us mahjong. Now it’s time we return the favor.”

“Get ready to lose,” Sunghoon added, placing a lid over the simmering pot and finally joining them at the table. He smelled faintly of garlic and soy.

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully. “You’re both very confident for people who nearly cried during a tile draw last week.”

Jake raised his hand. “That was Sunghoon.”

“I did not cry,” Sunghoon said flatly.

“You almost did.”

“Chopped onions were on the table.”

“There were no onions,” Jake said.

“There were onions in my heart,” Sunghoon replied.

Y/N snorted, half-folding in on herself with laughter as Jake passed her her hand of cards.

Sunghoon returned from the kitchen, balancing three mismatched plates in his hands. He set them down one by one, the warm aroma immediately curling into the air like an embrace.

It was a simple lunch- egg fried rice with just the right amount of sesame oil, pan-seared tofu with a crisp glaze, and stir-fried greens. But what made Y/N pause, just for a second, was that it was somehow all her favorites. Things she’d mentioned offhandedly before, little details she hadn’t realized they’d remembered.

She looked up. Sunghoon was already settling into his seat, acting like it wasn’t a big deal.

Jake clapped once, oblivious. “Okay, we eat and play. Ultimate multitasking.”

“I can’t learn a new game and chew at the same time,” Y/N protested, laughing.

Jake winked. “Sure you can. That brain of yours? Gifted.”

Sunghoon reached for the cards. “We’ll go slow. I’ll talk you through it.”

They began.

Jake narrated with too much enthusiasm, while Sunghoon clarified things with quiet patience. Y/N listened, nodded, and still somehow managed to mess up the first round.

“Wait, I thought two queens was good,” she said, frowning at her hand.

“It is,” Jake said, “but not if I have three kings.”

“Oh.”

Sunghoon slid her a napkin. “You’re doing fine.”

Y/N laughed as she took a bite of tofu. It was perfectly crisp, not too salty- exactly how she liked it. She didn’t say anything, but she met Sunghoon’s eyes for a moment across the table, and he gave her a small, barely-there smile before looking back down at his hand of cards.

Something about that smile made her chest feel tight, but not in a bad way.

They kept playing- Jake competitive, Y/N increasingly flustered, Sunghoon quietly amused. The game was half-played, half-taught, interrupted constantly by someone reaching for rice or teasing someone else.

Somewhere between losing her third hand and trying to sneak a peek at Jake’s cards, Y/N gave up and leaned back with a groan. “Okay, wait. Pause. Can we talk for a second? You can’t just keep destroying me in poker without a little storytelling.”

Jake raised a brow but didn’t stop shuffling. “Are you trying to distract us so you can win?”

“Maybe,” she grinned. “But seriously- how did you two end up opening a diner?”

Sunghoon didn’t look up from his cards. “Long story.”

“We were both broke, had struggling families, and hated our jobs,” Jake explained. “We worked in the same restaurant- he was a chef and I was there for some reconstruction work. We met one night by chance and just-”

“Quit,”  Sunghoon finished his sentence. “We quit within a week, rented that space out and opened the diner. spent all our savings on it.”

“And we're doing much better now, obviously,” Jake said. “The diner is doing so well.”

“Yeah,” Y/N smiled. “It's my favourite restaurant.”

“You’re lying,” Sunghoon mumbled again, not looking up from his cards.

It wasn’t accusation- just disbelief, soft around the edges. He couldn’t quite picture it, not when Y/N probably ate at places with white tablecloths and waiters in pressed shirts. The kind of restaurants with velvet cushions instead of plain wooden chairs, ambient jazz instead of a jukebox in the corner. Not… their place- their little diner with its flickering sign and chipped coffee mugs.

But when Y/N leaned forward, her smile calm and certain, something about it quieted that disbelief. “I’m really not,” she said.

The game began to dissolve somewhere around the fifth round. Y/N stared down at her cards, utterly lost, as Jake tried (and failed) to keep a straight face while explaining the rules for the third time.

“I give up,” she groaned, tossing the cards down in mock defeat. “This is too much. I’m never going to get it.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly but didn’t say anything. He’d already won the last two rounds without even trying. Now he was leaning back, sipping the last of his tea, eyes watching the cards like they still had something to say.

Jake tapped the table. “Alright, alright. Poker night is officially over.”

“Thank God,” Y/N muttered.

There was a pause. Then Jake stood up, brushing crumbs from his jeans. “Wanna see Sunghoon’s stash of old books?”

Sunghoon raised a brow but didn’t object. He just let out a soft exhale and nodded once. “Go ahead. It’s under my bed.”

Jake grinned, already halfway to the bedroom. Y/N followed him, not quite sure what to expect.

Their bedroom was simple. Two twin beds, pushed against opposite walls, with a narrow dresser squeezed in between. The room smelled faintly of citrus and something smoky- like old wood or incense. Jake knelt down and tugged at the edge of one of the beds before dragging out two large cardboard boxes, the sides worn soft with use.

“Behold,” he announced dramatically, “the Dragon’s Hoard.”

“Jake, don’t call it that,” Sunghoon called from the table, his voice muffled but amused.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor as Jake opened one of the boxes. Inside were books of all sizes- hardbound, leather-bound, dog-eared paperbacks. Some were stacked with scraps of tissue between the pages, others had post-its jutting out like flags.

She reached in slowly, reverent. The first thing her fingers touched was a thin volume of poems- its cover pale blue, the title fading into silver scrollwork. She opened it. Inside, the pages were covered in Sunghoon’s neat handwriting- translations, notes, small circles around particular lines.

“This is beautiful,” she whispered.

Jake smiled. “He found one at a flea market in Busan. Swears it changed his life.”

Y/N gently lifted another- a weathered book of Korean folktales, the cover cracked and stained from time. Beneath it, a French novel, a Japanese ghost story collection, a hand-sewn booklet of traditional recipes.

“How does he even find these?” She asked.

Jake shrugged. “He has a radar for them. Even on our busiest days, he’ll walk past a pile of trash and somehow come back with a book worth reading.”

Y/N chuckled, then hesitated. “Why does he keep them here? Why not on a shelf?”

“We kinda don’t have space for a shelf,” Jake paused, sitting on the bed. “But he says if he sees them every day, he gets distracted. He wants to forget about them for a while. Let them surprise him again when he opens the box.”

“That’s…” She trailed off, touched in a way she couldn’t name.

Sunghoon had been standing at the frame of the door, silent and making himself invisible. The pair didn’t realise he was there. 

“You can borrow some if you want,” Sunghoon offered. 

Y/N, startled, turned back to look at him. “I couldn’t… are you sure?”

“You’ll take care of them.”

xiv. 

Y/N had a set of ceramic plates that she liked to collect. She hadn’t told anyone about it- the confession always made her feel a little old. But she’d been collecting for a while now, and it was easy, considering all the markets around her had at least one stall that sold ceramic items.

That morning, before going to the diner to play mahjong with the grandmas, she realized that one of the plates had broken. Honestly, it wasn’t that deep- but it seemed to bother her more than she liked. The frustration seeped into her game, clouded her focus, and tugged at her expression. Everyone could tell she was off.

“What’s wrong, honey?” One of the grandmas asked, pausing mid-turn.

“Oh, nothing,” Y/N sighed, her fingers fidgeting with one of the mahjong tiles.

The conversation made both Sunghoon and Jake stop in their tracks- Jake paused mid-wipe, rag in hand, while Sunghoon froze over the chopping board, green onions half-sliced. They wouldn’t say they were eavesdropping- they knew they were listening- but it didn’t feel like they were supposed to be part of the conversation.

“I have this plate that I really liked, and it cracked this morning,” Y/N explained. “Like, straight into three big pieces. Just broke.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s what’s bothering you?” Another grandma chuckled, rubbing her back in gentle comfort.

“It’s stupid,” Y/N laughed softly at herself and tried to get back to the game.

“Jake knows how to fix plates,” Sunghoon blurted out.

The group turned- first to look at Sunghoon in the kitchen, then to Jake leaning casually against a table nearby.

Jake had his arms crossed. He shrugged. “Yeah, it’s just glue and some paint. I’ve fixed a few in the restaurant.”

Y/N looked down at her plate again, realizing exactly what he was talking about- the dish in front of her had faint cracks near the rim, sealed with glue and tinted to blend in.

“I could help?” Jake offered casually.

Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared into the kitchen. The clatter of drawers opening and closing echoed faintly, and moments later he returned, holding up a familiar tube of glue like a tiny trophy.

He gave her a small grin. “Just say the word.”

A long walk later, Jake was in Y/N’s apartment, and it was exactly as Sunghoon had described it.

“Very Y/N,” Sunghoon had said once, and Jake hadn’t known what that meant until now.

It was quiet- not sterile, but composed. Like the kind of place where every object had a story, every corner had been arranged with quiet care. Ceramic bowls sat neatly on a shelf in the dining nook. A bookshelf leaned against the wall, not overflowing but selective. Plants, small ones, lined the windowsill like they belonged there.

Jake stood just inside the living room, the broken plate wrapped in cloth in his hands, careful not to track any dust in from outside.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Y/N said, although there was no mess to be seen. She shut the front door behind him quickly and quietly. “My parents are still at work. You’ve got like, an hour.”

Jake grinned, whispering in mock secrecy. “Wow. So this is a covert mission.”

“You’re literally fixing a plate,” she rolled her eyes, trying to keep her voice low. “Let’s go to the dining table. It’s better lit there.”

Jake followed, placing the wrapped plate gently down. “Still can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone you collect ceramics.”

She pulled out chairs for both of them. “Because it sounds weird and delicate and obsessive. I’m already enough of a nerd.”

“I think it’s kinda cute,” he said, unwrapping the broken pieces. 

They sat beside each other, knees slightly touching. Neither were bothered by it, neither seemed to care. Jake brought out the small tube of glue and a brush from the pocket of jeans. Y/N watched as he carefully arranged the broken pieces on the table. His movements were slow and calculated. For someone so chaotic most of the time, he was strangely calm now.

“Do you do this often?” She asked.

“Sunghoon drops things constantly. We have a bunch of glued-together dishes at the diner. But I’ve gotten better at hiding the cracks.”

Y/N reached out to turn one piece gently, aligning it with another. “Don’t hide them.”

He paused. “No?”

She shook her head. “I kinda like the cracks.”

Jake looked at her- like, really looked at her. Her brow was furrowed just slightly, eyes focused on the jagged edges, like she cared about the object not just as a plate, but as something worth saving. It made something tug in his chest.

“Alright then,” he murmured. “We’ll keep the cracks.”

They worked in silence for a while, fitting the three pieces back together like a little puzzle. Y/N held them steady as Jake applied the glue, his fingers brushing hers a few times- warm, gentle, fleeting. Once it was secure, he pulled out a small tube of gold paint.

“What’s that?”

“Kintsugi style,” he said. “Fixing the cracks with gold. Makes it prettier. I saw it in some article and started doing it at the diner.”

Y/N watched in quiet fascination as he used a thin brush to trace the fault lines in the ceramic with gold. It gleamed, soft and subtle, catching the light from the window.

“There,” Jake leaned back slightly, admiring the plate between them. “Better?”

“It’s beautiful,” Y/N whispered.

Her fingers hovered just above the gold-lined cracks, not quite touching the surface. Something about the way the gold shimmered softly in the afternoon light made the plate feel even more precious now- like its story had only just begun. She looked up, about to say something else, but stopped when she realized Jake hadn’t looked away.

He was watching her.

Not like how someone watches a friend, or even with his usual teasing curiosity- but quietly, almost searching. His eyes softened as they met hers, and suddenly, it was like the space between them had shrunk to nothing. They hadn’t moved- but they were closer.

The moment pressed in, slow and quiet.

Jake’s arm was still on the table, elbow bent, fingers smeared faintly with gold paint. Y/N’s hand rested near his, close enough that the backs of their fingers brushed without meaning to. Neither of them pulled away.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, just barely. Her heart fluttered wildly, and she knew- she just knew- that he could hear it in the silence between them.

She didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe no one had, maybe it was just gravity, pulling them together the way it always did when people sat a little too close and looked a little too long.

Jake’s eyes flickered down to her lips, then back up. Just once.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Their faces were inches apart now. Her gaze had dropped to his mouth without realizing it, and when she met his eyes again, there was something unreadable there- an emotion suspended between impulse and restraint.

Her lips parted slightly.

Jake moved- just a breath forward.

And then he pulled back.

It was slow, intentional. His eyes didn’t leave hers until the distance returned, enough to break the spell. And then, of course, he smiled. That crooked, half-sincere, half-distracting Jake smile.

“I should get back to the diner,” he said, voice soft but steady.

Y/N blinked, a beat too late. The spell cracked. “Right,” she said quickly. “Yeah. Of course.”

Jake stood up, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake something off. He stuffed the glue and brush back into his back pocket with practiced ease, like he hadn’t just pulled away from something almost fragile.

Y/N remained seated, watching him move around the room, suddenly unsure of where to look. Her chest still felt tight- not painfully so, just… alert. Like she’d been holding something too close to the edge.

Jake slung his bag over his shoulder and turned toward her, pausing by the doorway. His eyes found hers again, gentler now, more familiar.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” he said. “And trusting me with your cracked plate.”

She gave a small smile. “No. Thanks for fixing it.”

Jake grinned. “Anytime, darling.”

Then he was gone, slipping out the door like he hadn’t almost kissed her- like he hadn’t just left a quiet storm behind.

xv. 

Y/N came to the diner that evening just like she always did. The neon sign buzzed quietly above the doorway, casting a soft pink glow over the sidewalk. The cat- a sleepy little thing who’d claimed the entrance as her own- was curled up just beside the door. Y/N paused for a second, crouched to scratch gently behind her ear, then stood and slipped inside. The air was warm, carrying the familiar scent of broth and soya sauce, and the gentle hum of clinking cutlery filled the space like usual.

"Morning," Jake grinned, tossing her a wink.

Y/N returned the smile. 

And Jake went back to talking to Sunghoon, laughing about something she didn’t catch. He waved when he saw her, casual and easy. Sunghoon clearly didn’t know about what had happened- about what hadn’t happened.

And perhaps he didn’t need to know. Perhaps there truly was nothing there to know. Over the night, Y/N had convinced herself that nothing had happened- that she was too in her head.

They played Mahjong that night like they always did. The grandmas were already seated at their usual table, shuffling tiles with practiced ease. Y/N joined them with a familiar smile, slipping into her seat as if nothing had changed. If anyone noticed her slightly quieter demeanor, they didn’t say anything.

Jake was the same- animated, teasing, losing every single round with exaggerated groans and theatrical sighs. Sunghoon won a round when Y/N stepped away to refill her tea, and the grandmas joked that it was only because she wasn’t playing.

Everything, on the surface, was normal.

By the time the grandmas started gathering their things, the sky had dipped into a deeper blue, and the diner had emptied of customers. The soft clatter of dishes from the kitchen was the only other sound in the quiet space.

Jake dried his hands on a towel and checked his phone. “Shit, I have to go. That hardware guy just texted- he closes in fifteen and he’s holding that sink part for me.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair, tossing a wave toward Y/N. “I’ll be back in, like, twenty minutes.”

Y/N nodded. “Don’t rush.”

Then it was just her and Sunghoon.

Sunghoon looked at her from across the table.

“Want to keep playing?” He asked, already reaching for the tiles.

Y/N gave a small smile. “Sure.”

They played slowly at first. No banter, no distractions- just the soft click of tiles on the table and the low murmur of their voices calling out suits. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was focused, easy, and in some odd way, comforting. Outside, the sky had turned the color of steel.

A few moves in- it started to rain.

At first, it was gentle- a steady pattering against the diner windows. But soon, it grew louder, heavier. Fat drops streaked across the glass, turning the neon glow from the sign into a pinkish blur.

Sunghoon glanced up from his hand and let out a small laugh. “Of course it’s raining.”

Y/N turned to look outside. “Of course.”

His phone buzzed on the table. He checked it, then held it out for her to see.

Jake: Took shelter in that garage down the street. Raining too hard to walk. I’ll go straight home from here.

Sunghoon pocketed his phone. “Guess it’s just us.”

Y/N gave a noncommittal hum and started shuffling the tiles again.

“Your parents won’t get worried?” He asked.

She shook her head. “They’re not home,” she gave him a soft smile.

They’d been playing for what felt like hours- time stretching long and slow the way it does when there’s nowhere else to be. The diner was still wrapped in rainlight and quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep into your bones. Outside, the world was all wet pavement and streaked windows. Inside, the Mahjong tiles whispered across the table, and somewhere in the corner, the cat stretched, tail twitching in sleep.

“You’re cheating again,” Sunghoon said suddenly, voice low but edged with amusement. He didn’t look up right away, just tilted his head toward her tiles, eyes flicking over the suspiciously good hand she was building.

Y/N glanced at him through her lashes. “I’m just good, Sunghoon. Accept defeat.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He glanced down at his own hand, pretending to study it, but his fingers stayed still on the tiles.

The rain outside pressed harder against the windows, beads of water tracking down the glass like slow-moving tears. The neon diner sign was little more than a hazy smear now- pink and gold rippling across puddles. The lights inside buzzed softly overhead.

“You know,” Sunghoon said, still not looking at her, “I used to think I liked the quiet.”

Y/N stilled, mahjong tiles stuck between her fingers. She didn’t interrupt- just watched and waited.

“Before you showed up, this place was quiet in a way that felt... right. Not good, not bad. Just what it was. Like breathing. Or peeling wallpaper. Something that doesn’t ask for attention.”

She tilted her head, eyes softening. He still wasn’t looking at her.

“And then you came in.” He finally raised his gaze- not sharp, not teasing. He looked steady and sincere, like everything in his life had built up to this moment. “With your laugh that made the Mahjong grandmas forget it was their turn, your ease, your kindness. I don’t even know what you did but you changed everything,” he smiled, barely- the kind that cracked at the corners but didn’t last long. “And it stopped being quiet. And I didn’t want it back.”

Her fingers lingered on a tile she hadn’t yet played. The cat, curled up beneath a booth nearby, stirred slightly, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said. “When I should’ve. I told myself it’d pass. That you’d get bored eventually. With the udon. The broken tables. The smoke. With us,” he swallowed, like the words sat thick in his throat. “But you didn’t leave. And I kept not saying anything. And now…”

A beat. The sound of distant thunder, low and slow.

“I don’t need you to love me back, Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just needed you to know I do.”

He looked down, finally breaking eye contact. He reached forward, picked up a tile like nothing had shifted- like the weight of what he’d said didn’t sit heavy between them now.

Then he placed it down gently.

“Your move.”

xvi. 

The thing about Sunghoon was that he was always normal.

He could lose a limb and still wake up at 6:30, make rice the same way, fold the same tea towels, and sweep the front of the diner like the earth hadn’t shifted beneath his feet. He was built for composure- for endurance- the kind of person who swallowed chaos like pills with water and never spoke of the side effects. Even when his world cracked, he would smooth over the edges and carry on.

So, in the days that followed, Sunghoon treated Y/N exactly the same.

Same half-smile when she walked in. Same deadpan sarcasm when she dropped a Mahjong tile. Same way he slid a steaming bowl of soup across the counter and said “too salty today. Don’t complain.”

No lingering glances. No awkward silences. No change in tone, no shift in air.

It should have been comforting- familiar, even. But to Y/N, it felt like standing in a room where someone had painted over the walls in the exact same shade, except one spot hadn’t dried, and you couldn’t stop noticing it.

She didn’t bring it up. Neither did he.

Jake didn’t seem to notice anything was off. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t say anything either- a theme, it seemed, between the three of them.

The Mahjong games resumed. The grandmas teased, the udon simmered, and the diner breathed in its usual rhythm.

But Y/N couldn’t quite get her own rhythm back.

She wasn’t cold with Sunghoon. She wasn’t avoiding him. She just didn’t know what to do with the space he’d created between them- that strange invisible line he’d drawn and then walked away from like it didn’t exist.

And maybe that was the part that stuck with her the most.

He had told her he loved her- and then went right back to washing dishes like it meant nothing.

Like it was a Tuesday. Like she was just another girl who came in for soup and Mahjong.

It was the weekend of the Mid-Autumn Festival. The neon diner sign stayed off for once, its usual greenish glow swallowed by the soft, flickering lantern light that spilled through the streets.

They had planned it a week ago- Sunghoon, Jake, and Y/N- to spend the evening at the local carnival just a few streets away. The kind of event strung together by plastic booths, cheap music, roasted chestnuts, and paper lanterns that hung overhead like constellations.

Y/N stood near the corner of the intersection, half-watching the festival lights blur through the fogged street lamps, when she saw Jake approaching alone, she got concerned. 

For a moment, a quiet panic settled in- the kind that bloomed without warning. Was this Sunghoon’s way of pulling away? Of singling her out after what he had said? Maybe this was how things would start to shift- subtly, awkwardly- until the warmth between them curdled into something unfamiliar. She hadn’t expected it to sting like this.

She blinked, brows pulling together. “Where’s Sunghoon?”

Jake shrugged, already a few steps away from her. “Fever. Again. Happens every year around this time. He always pretends it won’t, and then he crashes like clockwork.”

Y/N frowned, concern flickering across her features.

Jake waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. I’ve spent every Mid-Autumn either dragging him around or stuck inside making him soup. This time,” he said, flashing her a grin, “I actually get to go with someone who won’t cough on me the whole night.”

Y/N’s eyes softened just as he reached her. And for a second, Jake just looked at her, examined her. His smile shifted from playful to something quieter, more genuine.

“You look incredible, by the way,” he said. “The qipao suits you.”

She smoothed down the side of her dress, suddenly aware of how snug the fabric felt. “Thank you.”

“Red’s your favorite color, isn’t it?”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “…Yeah.”

They walked side by side down the narrow street, the buzz of music growing louder, blending with the rustle of leaves and the shouts of children chasing each other between stalls. The festival had swallowed the neighborhood whole- lanterns strung like stars across the rooftops, booths selling everything from fried dumplings to rabbit-shaped buns, the air thick with sweet and savory smoke.

Jake bought roasted chestnuts and passed her a warm paper packet. She took one, let it rest in her palm before cracking it open.

“You always this generous with your snacks?” She asked.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Only for people who don’t mock me at Mahjong.”

She grinned. “So never?”

They moved from stall to stall with no real direction, the rhythm of the carnival pulling them along like a tide. Jake bought her more snacks, pointed out the worst-dressed lanterns, and cracked jokes at every booth. He didn’t hesitate to reach for skewers, barter with vendors over silly prices, or shove her gently toward the candied hawthorn stand when she hesitated.

When they passed a game booth- the kind with flashing lights, plastic hammers, and impossible odds - Y/N began to move past it without thinking. But Jake stopped.

“Oho,” he said, eyes lighting up. “These are my thing.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “Didn’t you just lose miserably at the ring toss?”

Jake scoffed. “That’s a scam. This,” he gestured at the game setup, “is skill. I am built for this.”

Y/N laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he grinned. “Pick a prize.”

The booth was lined with prizes- neon frogs, cartoon ducks, little plush radishes with blushing faces, and at the center- a fat round cat wearing a red scarf.

Y/N raised a brow at the cat. “I like her.”

Jake nodded enthusiastically. “And you’ll have it.”

He handed over the tokens to the vendor, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles like a man preparing for battle. The music started, lights began to blink- quick and erratic- and Jake moved with speed and precision, hitting the right sequence with an ease that almost made it look choreographed.

The machine let out a cheerful jingle. Jackpot.

He shot her a smug smile. “Told you.”

The vendor, unamused but efficient, handed him the cat. Jake turned to Y/N and placed it gently in her arms with a mock ceremony. “For my lady.”

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, trying not to smile too wide.

When they reached the lantern-painting booth, Jake slowed his pace.

The space was tucked into a quieter bend of the carnival- half-lit by paper lanterns swaying gently from bamboo poles, the sound of laughter and music dulled here, like it had been placed under glass. People sat two-by-two at long, low tables. Children dipped brushes in watercolor, couples leaned close to whisper meanings behind symbols, old men painted silent wishes with practiced hands while their wives held the paper still.

It was intimate. Soft in a way that didn’t fit him.

Jake hesitated at the edge, hands in his pockets, scanning the crowd as if unsure this was a place he was allowed to step into. But Y/N had already slid into a seat, looking up at him with a raised brow and a half-smile.

“Come on,” she said, patting the bench beside her. “You don’t have to be poetic.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, smiled faintly, and took the seat next to her. He picked up a thin brush, stared at it for a second like it might bite him, and then dipped it into the ink.

“What are you painting?” He asked after a while, glancing at her paper.

Y/N tilted her lantern toward him- a red koi, bold and rising, swimming upward against a flow of soft blue current. Something about it reminded him of her- stubborn and graceful all at once.

He turned his own lantern around, showing her what he’d written:

Tin Cups Diner.

She snorted. “That’s it?”

Jake shrugged, half-grinning. “It’s the best place on earth.”

Y/N shook her head but didn’t tease him further. They just sat there for a moment, shoulders nearly brushing, watching each other from the corners of their eyes. The brush water rippled faintly between them.

Later, when the fireworks began- loud bursts splitting the sky into molten gold and violet- they left the crowds behind. The temple garden wasn’t far, a sloped patch of grass just beyond the canal. They found a quiet spot beneath a ginkgo tree, close enough to hear the river, far enough that their silence didn’t feel strange.

The lanterns had begun to float.

Dozens of them- painted, inked, marked with names and hopes and half-meant prayers- drifted down the canal like paper stars. Their glow danced in the water, flickering with each ripple, as if trying to stay alive just a little longer before the dark took them. They wondered how far their own lanterns had gotten.

Y/N sighed softly. “I used to come here with my cousins,” she said. “Every year. It always felt like something big would happen here. Like the year would change or something.”

Jake glanced sideways at her. “Maybe it is.”

She turned to him, unsure what he meant.

Jake reached down and tugged a blade of grass from the ground, rolled it between his fingers like he needed something to do with his hands. His gaze stayed on the canal, on the soft flicker of firelight reflecting off the water. And then he said, almost casually, “I think I’m falling for you.”

Y/N froze.

Jake didn’t look at her- not yet.

“I wasn’t going to say anything tonight. Didn’t want to ruin anything,” he added, with a breath of a laugh. “But then you smiled at that old lady who gave you the dumpling and I just... yeah.”

He finally turned to face her.

“You make everything feel easy. And loud. And too much. And I like it. I like you. I don’t know how it happened- how I got here. I woke up one day and I just knew. Liking you- loving you has been the easiest damn thing I've done in a while.”

His fingers flexed slightly, like he was holding back from reaching for her.

Jake pressed his lips together. “And I know that’s not fair. I know you didn’t ask for it. But that moment… that day in your house- when we almost kissed- that meant something. I know you felt it too.”

He leaned in just a little, like he was trying not to push, but couldn’t help himself.

“I’ve been trying to be the version of me that waits. That doesn’t ruin things. But I swear to God, Y/N, if I have to keep pretending that didn’t happen- that it didn’t change anything- I’ll lose my mind.”

Another pause. His voice dropped, almost like a confession to himself.

“I’m not asking you to pick. That would be unfair on you. I’m not trying to be the loudest voice in your head either. And if you don’t want to pick- that’s perfectly fine, too. I just… couldn’t let tonight end without you knowing that I’m already in it. All the damn way in it.”

READ ENDING HERE

[flambeaufelid]

Okay. Project Gorgon, + Degrees of Lewdity.

This would be the greatest game of all time.

First of all, they already have a ton of overlap. Both are crude, sexual, go for a "classic" aesthetic, grindy, have an obsessive love of overly-dynamic skill systems, and are highly niche, but beloved by their communities.

Dol is a porn game, with surprisingly decent writing, a variety of interesting love interests, and fantastic character customization. It uses clickable links to progress through the game, with these cute little webcore sprite art symbols next to them to help differentiate at a glance. It has a huge emphasis on fetish content, like rape, bestiality, and prostitution- but has a surprising amount of soft and sweet moments as well, if you put in the effort to find them. And it does take effort- the game will kick your teeth in if you don't know what you're doing. It's all about the slow accumulation of mastery, as you figure out the most efficient path to becoming rich and powerful, while assembling kick-ass outfits, upgrading your home and the town infrastructure, and getting into the hearts and pants of the love interests.

(God DAMN the outfits are so cute. If I owned this hoodie in real life, I might wear it even when it's hot out. And I HATE the heat.)

The other day I figured out that jerking folks off at the glory hole with my feet raises my feet skill really quickly- which lets me walk in high-heels more reliably- which do extra damage when I kick people in fights. Incredible.

Gorgon is an MMORPG with some of the worst graphics you'll ever see in a game that manages to still be worth playing. There's no way to properly pitch it in short-form, because it does nothing particularly notable- it has exactly zero stand-out qualities. However, it's more than the sum of it's parts. The skill system is HIGHLY dynamic, encouraging you to do anything and everything, because it all feeds into everything else. Raising one skill often raises another, and the different combat skills often have weak spots that are covered by other skills. It is very had to convey how satisfying it feels by just explaining it like this though. It's like Cookie Clicker- just describing the game doesn't get across the psychological experience of playing it.

It also lets you play as animals. And have sex with some of the NPCs, albeit off-screen. But it DID acknowledge that I fucked Rappanel the elf while in wolf form.

(...Well, I thought it did. Checked the wiki to remember his name, and it turns out that's just the dialogue he has since my character is a Rakshasa (catfolk). But, he does acknowledge it if you fuck him in cow form, which is fully feral, so my point stands.)

Anyway, the devs seem to think very much alike.

Combined, I present to you: Project Lewdity.

A pornographic fantasy MMORPG. The closest thing you'll ever get to a playable version of The Erogame. I'm thinking turn-based erotic JRPG battles like how DoL already operates, but with the higher complexity, 3D graphics, and more monstrous foes, offered by Gorgon. But it's also a straight-up life sim. Both the games already have gardening and cooking, DoL has housekeeping while Gorgon has civic responsibility, both have relationship dynamic systems, etc.

It takes place primarily in one town like DoL, but that town is huge, full of little areas to explore, and characters to romance in a almost Harvest Moon like style.

Meanwhile, we keep the cute pixel graphics for the items and menus... maybe the characters, clothing, and monsters as well, but keep the 3D environments, like Octopath Traveler? (Never played that game, but I do like the look.)

...I'm having trouble describing this vision. Now that I've lain it all out like this, I see that they're so similar already- fusing them, all I can think is "Project Gorgon, but you fuck the monsters, and the skill system and cooking is even more expansive, and with actual characters, cute sprite art, and lots of clothing options." I guess that's what this really boils down to. And yeah, that would be like the greatest game ever basically.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Cant believe it took me this long to write something about the reader and water!

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Baths and water

★ Most things in Home were designed with puppets in mind, not humans. Because they don't like to get wet there's no baths. Except in Wally's Home, for some reason. Nobody uses much water. As it soaks into their felt and stuffing. 

★ You have to get creative with self care. Howdy doesn't stock his shop with shampoo and conditioner. So you need to make those things yourself. Maybe venture outside of Home to look for some herbs you can use. Like chamomile or mint. 

★ You buy the weirdest things from Howdy. Regularly purchasing epsom salt, baking soda, cornstarch and citric acid (ingredients to make bath bombs) and for some reason you won't tell him why. At first he assumes it's a strange recipe. But what dish has citric acid? Why would you need so much baking soda???

★ Poppy was shocked when she first saw you washing your face. "Oh dear! Are y- Goodness! You're soaked!" Scrambling to get you a towel. It took awhile for her to calm down and listen. Apparently, you're the only neighbor who can get wet. Other than Home, that is.

★ She watches from her window as you walk in the rain. You seem mostly unbothered. But she still doesn't like seeing you wet. Take a shower and she waits outside the door. Ready to hand you extra towels. Just in case.

★ Get covered in mud and Barnaby stairs at you. Bewildered you managed to get up. If that ever happened to him, he would feel too heavy to walk! Weighed down by the dirty water. It's moments like this that remind him how different you are.

★ Eddie uses glue to style his hair. You can only imagine what everyone else is doing. So you don't let anyone style your hair outside of brushing it. No matter how much Julie asks, you won't let her put any type of spray in your hair

★ The neighbors, and Julie especially, feel weird seeing you go in water. When you step in puddles she can't help but shudder. Even though she knows you'll be fine. "How do you even do that?" She asks you.

[duvetchico]

requesting flirty xinyu pls pls pls we need more tripleS content on this app 😭🙏🏽

can u act normal for once

summary public flirting... that's all.

genre fluff / crack / secret relationship

pairing zhou xinyu x tripleS!25th!member

masterlist.

you knew dating xinyu meant signing up for a lifetime of minor heart attacks.

you just didn’t expect one of them to come in the middle of a fanmeet with fifty goddamn cameras aimed at your table.

“can you act normal for once?” you hissed at her through your smile, your hand discreetly reaching under the table to physically restrain her leg from bumping yours for the fifth time in two minutes.

“define normal,” xinyu said like a menace, leaning slightly closer, chin propped in her palm. “because if it means not flirting with my very hot girlfriend while we’re stuck here for four hours, then i’m out.”

“shut up,” you hissed again, eyes darting to your left where nien was absolutely side-eyeing the both of you.

“you love it,” she muttered under her breath, tapping her pen against your knee on purpose.

you did. unfortunately. so much that you wanted to throttle her.

the problem was you were dating xinyu. in secret. you two were in the middle of promotions. the company was watching. the fans were watching. the girls were watching.

and xinyu had not gotten that memo because she was busy trying to write i love you on the back of an objekt mid-signing.

“you’re literally—” you snatched the card before she could finish and shoved a different one into her hand, gritting your teeth. “we’re gonna get exposed and it’s gonna be your fault.”

she winked at you.

winked.

“worth it.”

-

the thing about xinyu was: she flirted like breathing. whether it was with her words or her dumb little smirks or the way she’d call you “baby” in the tiniest whisper while holding out your mic for you.

you hated it.

you hated how warm your ears would get when she’d toss you her water bottle and go “i made sure it’s cold for you.”

you hated how she always ended up sitting next to you on every couch, every car ride, every interview.

you hated how the fans started noticing the stolen glances and the shared jackets and that one time xinyu casually fed you a grape during a signal live broadcast like it was the most normal thing ever.

“you guys are so close!” one fan cooed, standing at your table now during the hi-touch.

xinyu beamed. “she’s my favorite.”

you choked on your own saliva.

FAVORITE??

you kicked her ankle under the table.

she barely flinched.

“she’s just shy,” xinyu added smoothly, grinning at the fan before turning back to you with a deadly glint in her eyes.

you were going to die.

you were going to kill her first.

-

during breaks, it got worse.

xinyu kept accidentally leaning into you every time she got up.

kept whispering dumb things like “your hair smells nice” and “i think you should hold my hand under the table just to test if anyone notices.”

kept looking at you like you were the only one in the room.

“stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, hiding behind your water bottle.

“like what?”

“like you’re about to kiss me in front of the manager.”

“wouldn’t be the worst thing i’ve done.”

you slammed your head onto the table.

-

seoyeon was onto you. sohyun was suspicious.

nien said “do y’all have something to tell us?” every three hours.

you pretended to be confused every single time.

xinyu?

“oh? no? we’re just close.”

bitch you were making out in the dorm hallway two days ago.

-

eventually, it happened.

you were mid-hi-touch, your cheeks already pink from xinyu’s latest attempt to write “mine <3” on your sticky note when a fan slid their phone forward with a tweet on the screen.

“I swear xinyu and y/n are dating. look at the way she LOOKS at her. that is not platonic behavior. that’s ‘i’ve seen her in my hoodie at 2am’ behavior.”

“oh that’s funny,” you said nervously, shoving the phone back with a strained smile.

xinyu leaned over to peek and immediately laughed. laughed.

“they’re not wrong though.”

“xinyu!” you elbowed her, face going red. the fan was now cackling with both hands covering their mouth like they just witnessed a crime.

your girlfriend just smiled, shameless and proud.

you were going to strangle her.

-

that night in the dorm, you sat on the floor, arms crossed, refusing to look at her while dahyun cackled behind the camera editing your vlog footage.

“you two are terrible at hiding things,” she said.

“you’re not even slick,” added sohyun.

“i think you should just soft launch already,” said nien with a knowing smirk.

you were fully about to give up.

“babe,” xinyu whispered next to you, nudging your knee with hers. “babe. i’ll buy you a pastry tomorrow. forgive me.”

you ignored her.

“okay two pastries.”

you looked away.

“three pastries. and i’ll shut up for a whole hour.”

your lip twitched.

she leaned in close, soft and smug. “you look really good when you’re annoyed at me. it’s kinda hot.”

you cracked.

“FUCK YOU,” you whisper-yelled, throwing a pillow at her.

she caught it and hugged it like it was you.

“you’re literally the worst,” you grumbled, finally facing her.

“but i’m your worst,” she said with a cheeky grin, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before running off like the menace she was.

you were so doomed.

and so in love.

and honestly?

you didn’t even care anymore.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I adore your writing!! You manage to balance comedy and angst so well, I don’t know how you do it, but it’s lovely <33

Could you tell me something sweet about your venus vampire trap au?

Thank you! Comedy is my passion, but I've had a lot of fun with angst lately, and mixing the two together is always fun.

Hmmmm. Let me think.

So Stan can eat human food, but it doesn't taste as good as it used to, and he can get sick if he eats too much (since his digestive track doesn't really work). He hadn't really noticed much, being homeless and not getting hungry anymore, but now that he's sticking with Ford, trying to get his brother out of the murder cult, he starts eating meals with them and, being Stan, commenting on how they don't really put a lot of effort into their meals huh :/ sure he'll eat it, but its kinda bland? And it always fills him up way too fast or makes him sick if he eats a lot :/ they should work on that.

So they do :) In true horror/denial here Ford starts harvesting vampire blood to make special Stan meals where he gives Stan, like, a burger that has 'ketchup' (vampire blood) is 'juicy' (Ford soaked it in vampire blood), has a special 'seasoning' in the bun (soaked it in vampire blood) and made him a cool drink! (its a cup of vampire blood).

And man! Thats way better! Stan's eating his vampire soaked meals and groaning whenever Ford tells him straight out that all he did was soak everything in vampire blood, and thats why it looks different than everyone elses. At this point Stan's starting to think Fords pranking him, not that Ford genuinely believes Stan's a vampire.

Stan's not an expert, but he'd know if he was eating blood Ford! (he says, slurping up his vampire blood and glaring at everyone). He's gotten enough blood in his mouth to know what it tastes like (he says, chewing up his spaghetti that has vampire blood instead of tomato sauce)! Stop it with the vampire thing and just tell him what secret seasoning he's using (he says, licking the vampire blood of the plate)!

Emma-May and Fiddleford won't let Ford do this in the communal kitchen, as the last thing they need is for Ford to poison everyone from accidental contamination. Fiddleford would love if he stopped doing it at all, but the alternative is Stan making himself sick off of food he can't really eat because he's convinced he still needs it. Plus Ford gets a dejected, kicked puppy look when they tell him to stop.

Instead he has to take everything into his lab and just dunk it before dinner. Stan watches him do this once, breaks in and drinks all the blood because he 'found Fords secret seasoning stash' and Ford finds him, face covered in blood and full like a cat that got into the pantry, too full to move. Food coma on the lab floor.

Stan's eyes also turn yellow and his fangs slip out when he eats Fords vamp blood dunked meals. It's kind of terrifying, but also hilarious watching him chew with the extra teeth.

[chaaistained]

lola darling i miss you xx thank you for the tag bb <3

okayy five things i love abt myself (no particular order) :

1. my hair — i take great pride in the care i give to my hair, it’s long and voluminous and smells like coconut shea butter and i never get tired of seeing the way it waves so nicely when i put it in a half up do

2. my writing — i say this every time i mention this skill but i am meant to be a writer, i can’t see myself as anything else, even when i shift to have different careers, i always am a writer in those realities too, either as another job or a hobby. i have such an appreciation for my own ideas and creativity and i value my own mind so much in that regard, i always aim to put out my best work when it comes to writing, it’s part of my identity

3. my personality — cliche but i wasn’t the conventionally attractive kid growing up (especially as i went to schools that were predominantly white .. as a brown girl) so i realised pretty quickly that to be valued socially, i needed to bring more to the table than other people, and i think learning to find confidence and learning to appreciate my own personality helped me find the most incredible friend groups and i truly truly know, unwaveringly in my core, that i have a pretty cool personality and i make a pretty great friend. that kind of confidence is something that people can struggle a whole life to find, so i’m eternally grateful that i’ve managed to find it in me

4. my eyes — this one’s hard bcs i have like eternal dark circles from childhood allergies, BUT, my eyes are nice i’ll be honest. they’re big, almond shaped, deep brown irises, i like them, they’re kinda pretty in that doe eyed way

5. my idealism — it’s a double edged sword, this one. i was raised by pessimists and realists and that took a toll on my inherent optimism, so i still battle with my logical self every single day and probably will for the rest of my life. but, i think it’s incredible how i have an unmoving hope for success inside me, just a small part of that will never go away, that always believes that things will work out, that things will get better, not just for me but for everyone that i care about. it’s probably ridiculously naive of me, but i don’t think i can help myself, so why hate it when i can love it, right?

is this too deep? am i taking this too seriously? probably .. (shrugs) oh well !!

tagging : @faeriemarie . @hrrtshape . @kissmete . @bruisedswan . @withluvvenus . @laylasverse . @shaysplanet . @macknshift . @kerryshifts . @eddieisashifter . @viperrshifts + any one else who wants to join in !!

^ no pressure loves <3

Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)

Tysm!

Okay, this is gonna be difficult BUT

1) I like my hair

2) I like my eyes

3) I like my writing

4) I like my aesthetic

5) I like the fact I'm a bookworm

Instead of sending asks, I'll just tag my mooties/friends here!! ;

The sweet and coolbeanz you, @izumi-miffy

The one and only @3thereality

The awesomesauce @stareyeofficial @chuchucharlie @itzzkaylaaa @crazed-transbian-lunatic and @saturnidiot

My dear @finnosaurusladiesman217

And the love of my life, @h0neybun-xx

That makes 9 people but I don't have any more moots, so that'll suffice I think!

[skyfallscotland]

I don't like, talk about it often (just kidding, I do), but I'm really struggling with the friendship aspect of life right now. I've been thinking about it a lot today because of the things that are coming up both in my personal life and online, and it just...really sucks.

I saw this morning that Ali Hazelwood deactivated her instagram account after basically being bullied off the internet for something she said kind of 'off the cuff' about the Hunger Games characters. I knew she'd said it because I saw her post on stories last night begging people to at least stop commenting mean things on posts other authors were tagged in, because she was concerned about them.

In her story she said that she'd thought they (her and an interviewer) were joking around and she hadn't meant it in the literal sense, and asked for people to be patient with her because she's really 'not good at this stuff' and for a moment I felt so seen because it feels like I can never get it right either.

Either I think we're joking around and I manage to offend someone by saying something stupid, or I think it's obvious I'm being literal (or not literal) and it apparently isn't, or my opinion offends someone when I'm not asking anyone else to take it on, I'm just saying literally how I feel. I don't know. If there's a happy medium, I just haven't found it.

Like I'm not saying I've never said anything thoughtless, or stupid, or even downright mean—I know I have. I'm just saying there seems to be an expectation now that in every interaction big or small, with one person or an audience of a thousand, that we consider how it might come across negatively when that experience is also dictated by the recipient. It just feels impossible. Communication isn’t a linear process. Other people’s experiences form their reactions too, not just what we say and how we say it.

It's worsened my anxiety to an untenable degree and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do besides not comment on anything, ever, and hold myself at arms length from everyone. Whatever happened to discussion? Because it feels like that's just...not a thing anymore.

I'm at my wits end with this. No one ever agrees with everyone on everything, no one ever goes through any friendship without thinking 'that was a shitty thing to say' at least once, but my philosophy has always just been to move on. I wouldn’t like, give someone the silent treatment over it or cancel plans or anything.

I don’t know, I feel like I can admit when I’ve upset someone and I always apologise because I really do think you don’t get to decide how you make other people feel, but I also think if you can’t have differing opinions on fictional characters, or writing, or celebrities then what’s the point? I know people attach a lot of meaning to the arts and fandom, but if you have to second guess what you say about those things as well as the serious things, all that’s left to talk about is the weather.

The real kicker to this is that I have a degree in this shit and I still apparently cannot figure it out, and all my therapist can say is ‘no, I think you handled that ok’ and I’m like???

Like I’m sorry we don’t see certain things the same way but I’m kinda tired of being treated like I’ve killed someone’s cat. Many people’s cats. One after another. (I’ve never killed any cats). Thank you for coming to my TED talk x

[pianocat0-0]

Wasting Energy, Stupid!

Yandere Idol x Manager Reader

Part 2

Words: 2K

(Basing this off of K-pop cuz I’m unoriginal and I love Tabi. He has nothing to do with this tehe)

(This is super unorganized, mind you. I kinda just thought of things as I wrote so like if there’s hardly any Yandere concepts at any point to it, it’s because I didn’t think to add much. Considering to do a part 2. Maybe a sequel or just like one where you can really see what he did in the background)

Tw: mentions of murder, stabbing, implied past homicide, somewhat controlling behavior, honestly this one isn’t that bad

——————————————————

Chaehyun had quickly become a successful soloist within a year of his debut. Considering how most people of his country didn’t turn an eye at solo acts, he was an amazement indeed. He was pretty good at singing, but his fiery raps got him even accepted by the company in the first place.

Chaehyun even composed his lyrics, with no help. He let the producers make any back track they wanted (for the most part), but he always made the lyrics. Never would he not make the lyrics.

Chaehyun was always kind of pissy around his manager though. He’d always get annoyed if his manager had to do anything but attending his schedule. Yes, his schedule. That included looking over tracks, photo shoots, and random fuck ass Cola ads.

Anything else other than that was not okay.

Sometimes that meant having to stay at his apartment because he would get so annoyed.

Today is no different. He’s shooting another ad.

What kind of ad?

Coca-Cola. Half of the things he owned was Coca-Cola.

You stand there with his lunch in an insulated bag. You looked miserable. Not because you were at his shooting, but rather you didn’t have time to do your brows or dab at least some foundation on. (He’d always get picky if you didn’t try to look professional beside him).

The 5 hours of sleep you had simply wasn’t enough today. Most days you could survive just fine til the end of the day. But you were feeling it terribly today.

When he finished with some of the shooting. You carefully handed him his lunch. “I got you some Kimbap, uh, Sausage, Bread. A salad. What else…” You trailed off midway. Your mind was kind of blurry today.

Chaehyun raised a brow, “What a weird ass arrangement. But is it convenience store food?” He took a bite of the small bun that was once in the bag.

“No. I cooked it, minus the bread.” You respond, combing your hair with your fingers, a bit anxious you look like a raccoon with your hair not obeying.

His frown slightly goes away. “Oh. Well it isn’t that bad.” He sits down at a nearby table and chair, unpacking the lunch. “Did you eat?” He questioned.

“No. I didn’t have time with how late I got out of bed. I just ate rice and some leftover meat this morning.” You responded, knowing he would probably hiss at you that you couldn’t care for him if you didn’t care for yourself.

He blinked before silently holding a kimbap piece with his chopsticks. “Eat. You can run to the convenience store once I’m shooting again.”

You blink in surprise. You never would have thought he would give you such a thing. He was quite a foodie. “Oh, okay.” You eat it. The carrots didn’t go that bad with the rest of the ingredients.

——————————————————

The next day, he was back in the studio, refining some of his lyrics. He was shuffling through his papers repeatedly until he held one out. “Here, read these, I’m thinking of making this one the main track.”

You take the paper within your hand. He was going with a completely new concept, that maybe was risky on his part. The new concept was because a horror drama series set to come out in 5 months requested for him to write a song for their opening. You mindfully read through the lyrics.

‘Who’s the one you’re thinking about that leaves you sleepless?

I can’t deny I kind of want to break into your house and hug you til you almost choke.

This pen I hold? Could have gone through your ex’s heart if you would just let me.

Just let me. Just let me. Just let me stab someone a little.

I find the blood on my hands hot. Do you think it makes me more attractive?

If I find someone stealing your attention away I’ll blacklist them

When they’re alone at night, I’ll cut their head off with the knife you gave me during lunch.

Only I get to be around you.

Who cares if it means it’s only you and I.

There only needs to be you and I.

You can manage me. Manage my love.

Stop wasting my energy and let me kill someone, stupid.’

As you finish reading the lyrics, you notice some odd details. You hesitantly mumble, “Am I allowed to give critiques?” You glance at him for a response.

“Sure.“ He leaned into his chair, staring at you intently as if awaiting for a certain moment.

You turn back to the lyrics. You suggest to him, “Well I think the organization is all over the place. I think if you keep similar topics together, it will become more of a cohesive song rather than random quotes.” You explain to him, although you were no songwriter, working in the entertainment field means checking and proofing a lot of things.

“Fair. What else?” He scribbled a couple words down onto a blank sheet. He adjusts his posture, as if remembering he wasn’t supposed to slouch.

“I think you could add more descriptive words. Maybe just sprinkle it in. Just in between the verses?” You didn’t know if you worded that right. But usually most songs had a series of random words that they sung like “La La La”, or “Yeah, yeah, yeah”.

He hummed and scribbled some more onto the paper. “Okay. I’ll think of something.” He clicked around on his computer for a bit before requesting, “Can you make some fried chicken? We can eat it together while we replay my shows from last week.”

“Okay. Wait does that include the variety show you almost…” You trailed off again, remembering the weird moment. It happened in a split moment. You could barely even comprehend what happened before they had to stop the shooting.

“…Attacked the announcer guy for making comments about me being in love with a random actress? Yes you’re right. We’re watching that too.” He didn’t seem to care that he almost got banned from the show and blacklisted from any acting.

——————————————————

A few months later, his new album came out; along with the horror series. It was surprisingly a huge hit despite the concerning lyrics and slightly descriptive scenarios. He was close to topping many charts, even being number one in a few categories.

Right after a show that got televised, there was a small press conference just to talk about the successes of the album and his continuing future. As the team (including you and him) took seats, Chaehyun held the mic as the first press member asked a question, “Some fans have speculated that you have taken an actual person to inspiration. Is this true?”

He was dead silent for a moment. Which was rare for him: he always managed to make a smug statement or nonchalantly shrug off anything that he didn’t want to answer. Despite this, he just sat there, holding the mic to his lips.

“Yes. I’ve taken inspiration on the fact that sometimes we want to do things that we can’t do. Due to many reasons. It doesn’t have to pertain with just murder, rather anything. Our family, friends, society, and our morals can stop us. So I took the time to express that into this album.” He picked out his words in a calculated manner. If you didn’t know him well, you probably would assume he was a well-mannered man.

The rest of the press conference went smoothly even if some of the questions were intrusive. Perhaps that’s why he was so successful. He was self-sufficient in many ways. Minus not being able to cook and being a very needy man.

Then, one man in the back asked, “The media has speculated that you’re attracted to actress Song Yeyeon because of your connection to the recent release of the drama. Some fans question whether or not you’re dating. What do you have to say to this regard?”

Once again, he froze.

Somehow, unlike before, the temperature in the room decreased a couple degrees. The tension between the press man and Chaehyun was high. You could see Chaehyun gripping the mic slightly harder. His hands shaking a bit. 

Then with no manners, Chaehyun laughed, “Stop wasting my energy, stupid! Why would I ever want to be with her? I already have all I need. Please, you’ll make me want to murder her.” The laugh was cruel, making fun of the press man. With no care in the world.

You panicked. In no way did he just say that. He was going to ruin his career in the next minute. You quickly grabbed a mic before the press could even scribble anything down. You hastily disengage the conversation, “Um, he’s very sensitive to any dating rumors. I-I think we should end the press conference.”

Just like that, Chaehyun immediately left the room.

——————————————————

Later that night, you were both sitting on the couch in his apartment. The plates of the food you made forgotten, the sauce still splattered on it. It was like a toddler’s artwork of red and orange. Chaehyun was watching the new horror series. Acting as if nothing was wrong with the fact he simply badmouthed the main actress of the very series.

Meanwhile, your eyes were glued to your phone. You were scrolling through every social media and press article. It was mixed opinions all over. Some criticized him for being unprofessional and threatening. Meanwhile his fans and others empathized that the question was way too intrusive on his personal love life.

You sign and turn your head to his direction. “Chaehyun.” You firmly state. There was no room for rage or panic.

He turned his head. He paused the show with the remote, and set it on the table. “Yes?” He scratched his head a bit.

“You do realize we might be screwed for the next few months right?” You wondered if he understood the consequences of his words.

“Yeah. But I needed to say it.” He sounded out his words slowly. As if it was a struggle that he had been keeping up with.

“That you hate Yeyeon?” You question, confused by what he meant.

“No. That I already have all I need.” He repeated the words from before. He leaned back further into the couch.

“Okay, that’s fine. Yet you mentioned the murder part. That- that’s gonna scare people.” You didn’t scold him, but you did really want him to think about what he said. There are consequences. How did he not get a police order for threatening someone with homicide?

“But it’s true. I already did anyway. Anybody who distracts me from my music and priorities is a nuisance.” He made a smile. A cruel smile. Just like that one he gave the press man.

“What?” Your heart pumped blood a little faster.

“Hm? Your ex? What was their name…eh, I don’t care enough. Trying to get back with you is not an option. You already have me. I should take up all your energy.” He chuckled, his eyes holding a glimmer when they shouldn’t be.

You could only stare at him in complete horror. Everybody said that your ex ran away and cut off contact. Not this. You hastily get up, backing away. You hold your phone, ready to call the police.

Just like that, he takes the signal and snatches your phone away roughly. He then yanks you back over to the couch, holding your hands to your side. He was much more in shape than you were. He hummed, “Now, now. Don’t worry about the police. I made sure I got a group to erase any evidence. Now just calm down…”

He switched back on the series. He gave your head a little pat. “I told you, they need to stop wasting my energy. I would rather spend it with you. Eat your cooking, complain about life each other, listen to music together…I love it all.” He made a giggle. It wasn’t high-pitched, but it was creepy.

You try to yank away, freaked out by the sudden change in his behavior. He only just yanked you back and cooed, “Stop running away. Now be good and waste all your energy on me. Don’t be stupid.”

——————————————————

Everybody wonders why Chaehyun’s manager suddenly diminished from Earth.

——————————————————

(Mkay. I have no fucking idea what bullshit happened. But I will say, I love Coca-Cola. Pepsi lovers I get you but I love Cola better.)

(Lowkey after briefly proofreading it, I was like is this cringe??? Or am I just goofy?)

- Celina

La versión española:

(Antes el cuento, necesito decir que no soy una hablante nativa, y esta versión es mi intento practicar mi habilidad y alcanzar fluidez. Porque eso, el cuento no estará correcto y por favor entienda mi español es malo. Fufufuf)

——————————————————

Chaehyun ha sido un solista exitoso rápidamente desde un año de su debut. Lo está considerando como la mayoría de la gente de su país no cuida sobre los solistas, él era un asombro. Él estaba a cantar bien pero sus raps ardientes permitió a aceptar en la compañía.

Chaehyun componía sus letras con no ayuda. Él se dejó los productores hicieron las pistas se quisieron (por la mayoría de tiempo). No hay veces cuando él no hacía las letras.

Chaehyun siempre se enojó alrededor su gerente. Él siempre se molestó si su gerente tenía que alguna cosa pero asistió al horario de Chaehyun. Sí, el horario. Eso incluía mirar sus canciones, sesiónes de fotos, y anuncios de Coca-Cola al azar. Carajo.

Cualquier cosa otro que sus actividades no es bien.

A veces lo significa tener que quedar a su apartamento porque él se enojaría mucho.

Hoy no es diferente. Él hizo un otro comercial.

¿Cuál tipo de comercial?

Coca-Cola. La mitad de sus cosas él poseía estaban Coca-Cola.

Te estabas parado allí con su almuerzo en un bolso aislado. Parecías miserable. No porque no estabas en su sesión de fotos, mejor dicho no tuviste tiempo te maquillas tus cejas o poner una base. (Él siempre no le gusta si no intentas parecer profesional al lado de él).

Las 5 horas del sueño has tenido, simplemente no son bastante hoy. La mayoría del días sobrevivirías muy bien. Pero hoy, te lo estás sentido terriblemente.

Cuando él acabó con un parto de su sesión, le diste su almuerzo con cuidado. “Te trajo unos Kimbap, eh, salchicha, pan, y una ensalada. Qué otro…” Dejaste de hablar a mitad. Tu mente estaba cubierto de nubes hoy.

Chaehyun levantó una ceja, “Qué un surtido extraño. ¿Eh? ¿Pero lo es una comida del abarrote?” Él mordió del pan pequeño que ha estado en el bolso.

“No. La cociné, aparte del pan.” Respuestas, te peinabas con tus dedos, un poco ansioso que pareces como un mapache porque tu pelo no obedece.

Su ceno fruncido desapareció un poco. “Ay. Pues no la es tan mal.” Él siente en una mesa y una silla cercanas. Él desempacó el almuerzo y preguntó “¿Ya comiste?”

“No. No tenía el tiempo porque me desperté muy tarde. Solo comí unos arroces y unas carne sobrantes esta mañana.” Respuestas, sabías él probablemente silbaría a ti que no le podrías cuidar si no te cuidas.

Él parpadeó antes está llevando en silencio un pedazo de kimbap con sus palillos. “Come. Puedes correr al abarrote cuando estoy haciendo la sesión.” 

Parpadeas en sorpresa. Nunca pensarías él te daría su comida. Él demasiada le encanta comida. “Oh, de acuerdo.” Lo comes. Las zanahorias no combinan malo con el resto del ingredientes.

——————————————————

El próximo día, él está en el estudio, está refinando unos partes de su letra. Él revolvía sus papeles repetidamente hasta mantuvo uno. “Oye, lee estos, estoy pensando este lo haré la pista principal.”

Llevas el papel en tu mano. Él usaba un concepto completamente nuevo, y quizás estaba arriesgando en su parte. El concepto fue porque un productor de una serie de drama horror estaba esperando a lanzar en 5 meses le quería componer un canto para la aperture. Leíste la letra con atención plena.

‘¿Quién estás pensando sobre que te dejas sin dormir?

No puedo negar quiero entrar tu casa y abrazarte hasta casi ahogas.

¿Este bolígrafo que mantenía? Lo apuñalaría el corazón de tu ex si me dejarías.

Sólo déjame, sólo déjame, sólo déjame le apuñalar alguien un poco.

Creo que la sangre en mis manos está atractiva. ¿Crees que lo parecerás más atractivo?

Si busqué alguien está robando tu atención, le pondré en la lista negra.

Cuando la persona está solo en la noche, cortaré su cabeza con la cuchillo me diste durante el tiempo de almuerzo.

Solo yo estar cercano a ti.

Quien cuida si lo significa solo tú y yo.

Hay solo necesitan ser tú y yo.

Puedes dirigirme. Diriges mi amor.

Pare malgastar mi energía y déjame matar alguien, imbécil.’

Cuando acabaste leer la letra, notabas unos detalles extraños. Mascullas con vacilación, “¿Permito dar unos críticas?” Le miras por una respuesta.

“Seguro.” Él está inclinado hacia la silla y te está mirando fijamente. Como si espera por un momento significado.

Miras la letra un otra vez. Le sugeriste, “Pues, pienso que la organización es completamente desordenada. Creo que si organizarías las temas similares, la será más cohesiva canción en vez de las quotas al azar.” Le explicaste, aunque no eres un compositor, trabajar en la industria de entretenimiento significa que confirmar y corregir muchas cosas.

“Claro. ¿Y además?” Él garabateó unas palabras en un papel en blanco. Le ajusta su postura, como si se acordaba que él no suponía andar encorvado.

“Creo que puedes añadir más palabras descriptivas. Quizás las espolvorearías en la letra. ¿Entre los versos?” No sabes si lo dijiste correctamente. Pero usualmente la mayoría canciones tuvieron palabras como “La La La” o “Yeah, yeah, yeah”.

Él tarareó y garabateó más en el papel. “Ok, pensaré sobre alguna cosa.” Hizo clic en su computadora por un momento antes solicitó, “¿Puedes cocinar unos pollos frito? Los podemos comer juntos mientras volvemos a poner an mis espectáculos de la semana pasada.”

“De acuerdo. Espera, eso incluye la programa de variedades casi haces…” Dejaste de hablar un otra vez, lo estás acordando. Lo pasó en un segundo. Podrías comprender apenas que pasó antes tuvieron que para la sesión.

“¿Cuando ataqué el presentador por decir comentarios sobre me enamorado con una actriz al azar? Sí, tuviste razón. Estamos mirando eso también.” Él no parecía cuidar que casi se prohibió de la programa y ponía la lista negra de cualquier actuación.

——————————————————

Hace unas meses, su álbum nuevo lanzó, con la serie horror. Sorprendentemente fue un éxito grande a pesar de la letra preocupante y los escenarios descriptivos. Él estaba cerca de rematar la lista de éxitos, y la número uno en unas categorías.

Después de un espectáculo televisivo, hubo una conferencia de prensa para hablar los éxitos del álbum y su futuro continuando. Como el equipo (incluido tu y él) se sentaron, Chaehyun mantuvo el micro mientras el primero miembro de prensa preguntó, “Unos fans han especulado que usted usó una persona real por inspiración. ¿Este es la verdad?”

Él estaba silencio por un minuto. Que es raro para él. Él siempre dirigía decir una declaración engreída o despreocupadamente ignorar alguna cosa que no quiere responder. A pesar de esto, él se sentó allí, estaba mantenido el micro a su labios.

“Sí, tenía inspiración del hecho que a veces queremos hacer cosas que no las podemos. Debido a muchas razones. Las no tienen que pertenecer a asesinatos, en vez de cualquiera cosa. Nuestra familia, amigos y morals pueden nos parar. Entonces, he llevado expresar eso en este álbum.” Él eligió sus palabras en una manera deliberada. Sí no le sabías bien, probablemente supondrías él fue un hombre educado.

El resto de la conferencia de prensa pasaba sin problemas, aunque unas preguntas fueron molestos. Tal vez eso es por qué él sería muy exitoso. Él fue autosuficiente en muchos aspectos. Aparte de no puede cocinar y sería un hombre quiero atención todos los minutos.

Entonces, un corresponsal en el atrás preguntó, “Los medios han especulado que usted se enamora con la actriz Song Yeyeon porque su conexión al reciente lanzamiento de la drama. Unos fans preguntan si ustedes están saliendo o no. ¿Qué dirás sobre esto?”

Un otra vez, él congeló.

De algún modo, a diferencia de antes, la temperatura en la habitación disminuyó unos grados. La tensión entre el corresponsal y Chaehyun estaba muy mala. Podrías mirar Chaehyun está llevando el micro más fuerte. Sus manos están agitando un poco.

Después, sin maneras, Chaehyun rio, “Pare malgastar mi energía, imbécil! ¿Por qué querría jamás estar con ella? Ya tengo todo los necesito. Por favor, te haré querer matar a ella.” Su risa fue cruel, se burló del corresponsal. Sin cuidado.

Te aterrorizaste. ¿Por qué diría eso? Él va a destruir su carrera en el próximo minuto. Llevas el micro rápidamente antes la prensa podrían garabatear cualquier cosa en sus cuadernos. Soltaste la conversación a toda prisa, “Eh, él es muy sensible con cualquier rumors de saliendo. Creo que deberíamos terminar la conferencia.”

Y eso, Chaehyun inmediatamente salió la habitación.

——————————————————

Luego la noche, ustedes se está siento en el sillón, en apartamento de Chaehyun. Los platos de la comida te cocinaste olvidado, la salsa los estuvo salpicado. Fue como un dibujar de niño con rojos y naranjas. Chaehyun estaba mirado la serie horror nueva. Él está actuando como si nada está incorrecto con el hecho él simplemente humilló la actriz principal de la serie.

Mientras, tus ojos estaban pegado a tu celular. Estuviste mirado todos los medios y artículos de prensa. Los opiniones fueron variados. Unas personas le criticaron por estaban poco profesional y amenazado. Pero sus fans y los demás le sentaron empatía que la pregunta fue intrusivo demasiado en su vida amorosa personal.

Suspiraste y doblaste tu cabeza a su dirección. “Chaehyun.” Hablaste firmemente. No hay espacio para furia o pánico.

Él dobló su cabeza también. Él paró la programa con el control y lo puso encima de la mesa. Él arañó su cabeza un poco.

“Sabes que quizás estamos jodido por unos próximos meses, ¿verdad?” Te preguntaste si él entendió las consecuencias de sus palabras.

“Sí. Pero necesité decirlo.” Él habló sus palabras despacito. Como si un esfuerzo que ha aguantado con.

“¿Que odias Yeyeon?” Preguntas, confundido de que dijo.

“No, eso ya tengo todas los necesito.” Él repetí las palabras de antes. Él estar inclinado hacia el sillón más.

“De acuerdo. Es ok. Pero mencionaste la parte del asesinato. Eso- eso irían a temer la gente.” No le regañaste, pero se sobre querría pensar que dijo. Hay unas consecuencias. Cómo no recibió una orden por amenazar alguien con homicidio?

“Pero es la verdad. Ya lo hice de todos los modos. Alguien me distraje de mi música y prioridades es un fastidio.” Él sonrió. Una sonrisa cruel. Como se dio al corresponder.

“Qué?” Tu corazón bombeó sangre un poco rápido.

“Hm? Tu ex? Qué se llama…eh, no cuido bastante. Estar intentando a regresar contigo no es una opción. Ya tienes yo. Debería absorber toda tu energía.” Él reí, sus ojos tienen un luz trémula cuando no los debería estar.

Solo le podrías mirar en horror completa. Toda la gente dijeron que tu ex salió corriendo y paró contacto. No esto. Levantas a toda prisa, retrocediste. Mantuviste tu celular, llamar listo la policía.

Y como eso, él entiende la señal y bruscamente coge tu celular. Después, él te lleva al sillón, está mantiene tus manos a tu lado. Él fue más físicos que ti. Tarareó, “Oye, oye. No te preocupas sobre la policía. Aseguré llevar un grupo borrar cualquiera prueba. Ahora cálmate.”

Él puso la serie. Él dio palmaditas tu cabeza. “Te dije, ellos necesitan parar malgastando mi energía. En vez de la pasaré contigo. Comer tu cocina, te quejar sobre vida, escuchar música juntos…todos los amo.” Él río. No lo fue chirrante, pero fue escalofriante.

Intentas jalar de él, sorprendiste por de repente cambio en su comportamiento. Él solo jaló de ti a le y arrulló, “Pare correr de mi. Ahora, pórtate bien y malgasta tu energía a mi. No ser un imbécil.”

——————————————————

Toda la gente preguntan por que la gerente de Chaehyun de repente desapareció del mundo.

——————————————————

(Usé unos vocabularios nunca he usado antes. Entonces no sé si mis palabras son correctas. Y…estar y ser? Imperfect y pretérito? No sé!)

(La traducción me llevé 9 horas…ayúdame ;-;)

[daylighted]

kill ur self

hi! this is my first time logging on in two weeks, just to check up on things as i said i would before i fully disappeared. one week into my absence, you decide to send an exact verbatim cause for the reason i left in the first place.

tw for discussions of suicide

last year and this year, i tried to kill myself twice. four times in total. i've gotten everything i could ever want and had it all taken away from me and had nothing countless times in between and during these dark periods of my life.

never once, ever, until seven months ago when i joined this website, have i been told to do this. and in seven months, i've gotten it four times. if i had a quarter for each time, i'd have a dollar, when i shouldn't have even one. no one should.

i bring all of this up to remind so many of you of something that shouldn't even be needing to be said. no one owes you anything. not the celebrity you wish to behave like the version of them that you have in your mind. not your coworker, or peer, or even your best friend. definitely not the real person behind the computer screen of someone who, at the very least, you choose to keep up with. whether following or being a casual viewer in the orbit of the person you message.

i am twenty three years old. i have a bunch of puppies and i want a bunch more. i write a lot of the time, and read sometimes. these are all of the facts that you know for certain about me, and that is it. you do not know the struggles that i go through and neither do i know yours, though i assume you have plenty with the casualty you and so many others have with telling strangers on the internet behind an anonymous tag to end their lives.

what would you have done if i had killed myself over this message? if everything i've gone through so far, testing my strength, was completely tipped over the edge with this message? what if someone else you told to kill themselves' lives did? would it not weigh on you that your cruelty to someone that you don't even really know besides your own perception, was so affected by your blatant disdain for human empathy and kindness, that they ended their life? would you not feel guilty that you wallow in your misery and get to live on but that person that you hurt didn't?

i literally do not care what any of you think about me or my decisions. i truly do not. the thing that hurts me the most in any sort of death threat or hateful message i receive is the way that it is done so callously.

people are told to get thicker skins instead of instilling a sense of empathy and love in the ones who grow up to make monstrous and hurtful decisions. when did it become so normalized for people to want to hurt others; an action that doesn't even bring the person peace afterwards? even if you have the intention of lashing out to disregard your own hatred, that is never the case.

i truly hope you find peace within yourself. everyone manages their hurt and their pain differently, but it is not an excuse to use it as a weapon. and it is certainly not your right or your authority to dictate the fate of the people you yourself surround yourself with.

[miiilowo]

@dog-bonezzzz hi im deciding to respond to your tags about disliking this idea and being unable to find evidence

I'm not responding in the tags just because they're harder to manage/edit/etc on my phone, but my brief argument in favor of the "William doing (some) of all that out of grief" thing comes from multiple different places. Ultimately it's because I think it otherwise makes him extremely boring and 1-note if his exclusive interests are killing Just Because and for the sake of immortality

1. Edwin/Henry did the same thing, it, To Me, feels like they're trying to set up a theme. Idk why this would be a pattern if they weren't trying to do it on purpose, and William fits into the slot nicely.

2. The funtimes read like the afton family to both myself and a lot of other people. I think funtime foxy could represent will, given the fact that they both have a very over-the-top showman persona, leaving Michael and Evan/CC/Dave/Whatever You Want To Call Him as funtime freddy and bonbon, but having funtime freddy be william and Michael being his wretched little sock puppet also makes sense. ballora and particularly BABY. BABY SPECIFICALLY are extremely obvious as to who's who and idk why he'd do that unless he gave some kind of a shit about his family. Not in a normal way, but this wouldn't be for the sake of keeping a good appearance like how you could write everything else off as

3. Why would he base baby off of Elizabeth and make her For Her if he didn't love her to some degree? He didn't have to do that, other explanations don't make sense to me

4. He has characterization in the books that show him demonstrating some level of caring about kids and other people. Given, he is still entirely morally bankrupt, but in the books he does sedate the kids before he kills them and is very focused on making them happy in the afterlife. This doesn't make much sense for the games since I don't think he sedated Charlie for ganking her outside Freddys, but it does show he is capable of giving some kind of a shit

5. I think it makes more sense if he kills Charlie not only out of jealousy over Henry and what he has animatronic-skill wise, but as a power thing to take away Henry's Perfect Family since he can't have his own anymore (assuming this is after the bite of 83). He seems obsessed with the idea of having a perfect family in the books which isn't the same as Loving your kids, but it's still some level of caring about them, and makes 100% sense as a motive over pure unregulated drunken sadism and being angry that his buddy could build robots better than him

6. The Springbonnie critter from Into The Pit isnt William, but it does specifically mimick his personality and behavior. It's 100% more violent in the game for obvious reasons (it's a game and needs to be engaging), but in the book it spends a large majority of the time just trying to act like a dad. Having breakfast with Oswald, trying to spend time with him, sending him off to school, etc.

I have a lot more than this but ive got somewhere to be today and genuinely should not spend more time than I already have talking about this. These aren't the most airtight points, but from a narrative perspective, it's Way more satisfying if William has more concrete emotionally driven motivations, and cares about his kids in some way/shape/form while still being an awful abusive neglectful asshole. Abusers almost never think they're the bad guy. Having him go on a bit of a downward spiral until he literally and truly cares about nothing else except himself and immortality is a lot more fun than him just Being Like That from the start imo, and there's enough evidence here & there to back that up if you want to find it. so there's a small handful until I can come back to Tumblr later

(books) henry: loses his child and replaces her with a robot out of grief

fandom: yeah alright

edwin: loses his wife and son and replaces them with robots out of grief

fandom: makes sense to me

william: loses his children and makes robots that suspiciously resemble his family

fandom: NOOOOO MAKING HIM CARE ABOUT HIS FAMILY IS STUPID !!! THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO THINK THAT'S A GOOD IDEA ARE SHALLOW FANGIRLS WHO WANT TO MAKE HIM SYMPATHETIC SO THEYLL FEEL BETTER ABOUT WANTING TO FUCK HIM

[mariacallous]

In her new book, Bad Company: Private Equity and the Death of the American Dream, journalist and WIRED alum Megan Greenwell chronicles the devastating impacts of one of the most powerful yet poorly understood forces in modern American capitalism. Flush with cash, largely unregulated, and relentlessly focused on profit, private equity firms have quietly reshaped the US economy, taking over large chunks of industries ranging from health care to retail—often leaving financial ruin in their wake.

Twelve million people in the US now work for companies owned by private equity, Greenwell writes, or about 8 percent of the total employed population. Her book focuses on the stories of four of these individuals, including a Toys “R” Us supervisor who loses the best job she ever had and a Wyoming doctor who watches his rural hospital cut essential services. Their collective experiences are a damning account of how innovation is being replaced by financial engineering and the ways that shift is being paid for by everyone except those at the top.

In a review of Bad Company for Bloomberg, a longtime private equity executive accused Greenwell of seeking out sad stories with inevitably “sad endings.” But the characters Greenwell selected don’t just sit back and watch as private equity devastates their communities. The book is a portrait of not only how the American dream is being eroded but also the creative tactics people are using to fight back.

Greenwell spoke to WIRED late last month about what private equity is and isn’t, how it has transformed different industries, and what workers are doing to reclaim their power.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

WIRED: What is private equity? How is the business model different from, say, venture capital?

Megan Greenwell: People confuse private equity and venture capital all the time, but it's totally reasonable that normal people don't understand the difference. Basically, the easiest way to explain the difference is that venture capital firms invest money, usually in startups. They’re essentially taking a stake in the company and expecting some sort of returns over time. They're also generally playing a significantly longer game than private equity.

But the way private equity works, especially with leveraged buyouts, which is what I focus on in the book, is they're buying companies outright. In venture capital, you put your money in, you're entrusting it to a CEO, and you probably have a board seat. But in the leveraged buyout model, the private equity firm really is the owner and controlling decider of the portfolio company.

How do private equity firms define success? What kinds of companies or businesses are attractive to them?

In venture capital, VCs are evaluating whether to make a deal based solely on whether they think that company is going to become successful. They are looking for unicorns. Is this company going to be the next Uber? Private equity is looking to make money off of companies in ways that don't actually require the company itself to make money. That is like the biggest thing.

So it’s less of a gamble.

It is very hard for private equity firms to lose money on deals. They're getting a 2 percent management fee, even if they're running the company into the ground. They're also able to pull off all these tricks, like selling off the company's real estate and then charging the company rent on the same land it used to own. When private equity firms take out loans to buy companies, the debt from those loans is assigned not to the private equity firm but to the portfolio company.

And so what you end up getting is that private equity is really attracted to companies where you don't have to play the long game. In fact, you don't want to play the long game, which means that you have no interest in doing the hard, slow work of improving a company's fundamentals. It is just not about improving the company at all. It is about, how do we extract money?

How did we get to this point where private equity is now taking over relatively large and diverse swaths of the economy, including veterinary clinics, brick-and-mortar retail stores, and all sorts of other businesses. What was the promise of this model?

Private equity started pretty small in the 1960s with what were then called “bootstrap deals,” essentially acquisitions of small, family-run companies that maybe showed promise for expansion but didn't have the capital necessary to grow. So in some ways it was more like venture capital, although it targeted established companies and not brand-new startups. This idea of growth at all costs then just expanded and expanded and expanded and started swallowing more and more and more things.

When did private equity start to peak?

There was a huge expansion of private equity in the 2010s for the same reason that venture capital exploded: There was a lot of cheap money out there, and cheap money is great for investors. We’ve seen private equity explore more industries over time, and usually that's because some policy change or broader economic trend all of a sudden makes a certain sector look like fertile ground for them.

What are some of the strategies that workers have used to fight back against private equity firms? Have they been successful?

What was interesting to me was not prescribing solutions but talking about what people are doing. The four characters in my book are all trying to do something about this in very different ways, and those range from fighting for regulation, to just going head-to-head directly with the private equity firm that upended their own life, to really trying to reinvent their industries from the ground up, which is something that is especially inspiring to me.

Do you have one that has stuck with you more than the others?

One example that I’ll talk about from the book is from the Toys “R” Us section. Public pension funds are a huge source of capital for private equity firms, and they typically have worker representatives on their boards. So if they're representing teachers and nurses and firefighters, there will be one or more people working in those professions serving on the pension fund board.

Toys “R” Us workers had this very smart idea that those folks would be more likely to be sympathetic to their cause than a bunch of billionaires would. So they started going around the country, standing in front of these pension fund boards and saying “here is how these private equity firms that you invest in have blown up our lives,” talking in really specific detail about things like how they couldn’t find jobs and were worried about feeding their families. The protagonist of that section of my book tells a story about how the members of one board just started peppering her with questions after she spoke in front of them.

Some people claim that private equity firms are the primary culprit behind broad economic problems such as income inequality and the housing crisis. Are they putting the blame in the right place?

I think by putting all of the blame on them, you end up undermining the criticisms about private equity firms that are more truthful. This is something that I thought really hard about how to do in the book, because I do think it's a mistake actually, but also strategically for people who want to see this system change, to attribute too much to them.

Right.

The first section of the book tells the story of how the four industries I write about—housing, hospitals, retail, and local media—got themselves into trouble in the first place. In all of those cases, the problems are so fundamental. And in many of those cases, the earlier business decisions were so bone-headed that they essentially opened the door and invited private equity to walk right in. I do think private equity is a villain in terms of the way they have taken advantage of these industries for their own gain, but it is absolutely true that they did not cause the problems.