#I don't have any nostalgia for it so I barely put up with it
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Yeah there’s no real point to Stadium unless you could use your own mons. Also the CPU cheats hard.
I actually did enjoy what I played but ehhh I'd rather play violet because at least I can have my own guys. And choice my own moves. And walk around. Honestly a really bad choice for an n64 for switch online because the the gb tower is useless. At least Coloseum is an actual game
#I know I sound like a zoomer but first and second Gen pokemon are really slow to me#I don't have any nostalgia for it so I barely put up with it#mlarayoukasks#anon
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NOBODY PUTS BABY IN A CORNER!
pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader
request: could u pls write something with jack teaching the reader how to skate? maybe she’s just awful but he finds it so cute and he’s so proud when she manages to something he taught her 😭
warning(s): kissing, fluff, established relationship, barely edited (only skimmed i think twice?), ending is kind of random as i wasn’t sure how i wanted to end it !
word count: 1.6k
author’s note: to whomever requested this, i hope it is to your liking!! i think i may have changed your request a bit, but i still hope you enjoy it <33 feel free to send any requests you have, i’m finally going through them :) —mari
"Are we the only ones here?" Your voice echoes faintly in the empty expanse of the skating rink, as you and Jack stroll into the serene emptiness. One of his hands is warmly ensconced in yours, while the other deftly balances both pairs of skates, as well as a helmet wedged underneath his arm. You make an impish attempt to reach over and grab your skates, but he swiftly moves them just out of your reach.
"Wait," he warns, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he teases you, playful anticipation radiating his aura.
Jack leads you to a seat on one of the weathered wooden benches that encircles the perimeter of the ice rink. With a graceful flourish, he drops to one knee before you, his skilled fingers deftly undoing the laces of your shoes. As he slips your skates onto your feet, his strong hands envelop your ankles, firmly but not uncomfortably, ensuring they are snugly secured. He ties your laces with ease, occasionally glancing up at you to gauge your reaction and make sure everything felt just right.
You can't contain your excitement, practically beaming with elation as you lean affectionately into Jack's shoulder, when he settles next to you to begin lacing up his own skates.
Today marked your inaugural foray into the world of ice skating. You had plenty of experience with rollerblading, and although ice skating presented a distinct challenge, being on ice rather than pavement, you held a strong confidence that not only would you adapt quickly, but you would excel at it.
Jack shifts his body to face you, his attention drawn to the hockey helmet resting on his left side. He reaches for it, intending to place it securely on your head, but your hand swiftly intercepts his, smacking it away with an assertive motion. You shake your head in disagreement, a hint of stubbornness in your expression.
"I don't need that!" You whine, and your lower lip pokes out in a pouty display of defiance.
Jack's laughter escapes in a throaty chuckle at your protests, but he ignores your whims by gently positioning the helmet on your head. With practiced ease, he tightens the bottom latch to ensure a snug and secure fit. "Better safe than sorry," he remarks with a playful grin, his actions reflecting a caring concern for your well-being.
Something about witnessing you in his element, swathed in his oversized sweater and donning his helmet adorned with the number 86 on the front, ignited a fresh wave of desire within Jack. It was as if this very moment was tailor-made to rekindle his love for you, to remind him of the innate perfection of your relationship. The idea of teaching you to skate at a local rink in Michigan, so close to your shared hometowns, felt like a picture-perfect scenario, filled with nostalgia and an honest promise of new memories.
Rising to his feet, Jack extends his arm toward you, and you eagerly seize his hand. As you arrive at your feet, the transition happens a bit too quickly, causing your legs to wobble within the confines of the skates. This sudden imbalance leads you to stumble, and you instinctively brace yourself against the reassuring solidity of the wooden bench. Jack can’t help but burst into laughter at your momentary mishap, his head shaking in amusement at your initial stumble, marking it as the first of many moments to come on this eventful day.
Approaching you with an amused smile, Jack uses both of his hands to assist you back onto your feet. Once you are standing again, he casually drapes an arm over your shoulder, drawing you closer. Together, the two of you take tentative steps onto the ice's smooth expanse. "C'mon, sweet girl," he encourages, "we've only got an hour."
As you cautiously glide along the ice in your skates, it becomes abundantly clear within moments that this endeavor was going to be exponentially more challenging than roller skating had ever been. The initial confidence you had regarding ice skating had quickly dissipated, replaced by a sense of unease and uncertainty.
"Don't let go." You caution, still taking a provisionary moment to acclimate to the unfamiliar terrain beneath your skates.
Jack flashes a reassuring smile, his grip on your hands unwavering as he essentially guides you around the rink. "It's just like riding a bike."
You cast him an incredulous glance, and his expression turns momentarily blank. "You do know how to ride a bike, right?" he asks.
Smacking him on the shoulder, you shake your head, a slight grin breaking across your lips. "Of course I know how to ride a bike, Jack. It's just a bad analogy," you quip, punctuating your words with a playful eye roll.
It's a few more minutes of the two of you gliding around the ice, Jack remaining vigilant, ensuring you don't lose your balance, before a progressive, newfound sense of confidence wells up within you, allowing you to feel secure enough to venture out of his protective embrace. "I'm ready to go solo now," you declare.
Jack slows to a halt, his hands gently releasing yours. Hesitantly, your legs propel you forward, gliding across the ice with increasing assurance. Your hands extend out in front of you as you gradually pick up speed, and with infectious enthusiasm, you call out to your boyfriend, "Jack, look! Look at me!"
He breaks into laughter, a heartfelt and infectious sound that reverberates from deep within his belly. "That's my girl!" he cheers, his eyes filled with pride and adoration as he watches you on the ice.
"This is so ea—" You start to twist around to glance back at him, your excitement almost tangible, but as you make an attempt to turn, your skates get tangled, and you comedically tumble onto the ice with a resounding thud.
Jack gasps, his face a mask of shock that valiantly tries to suppress another bout of laughter. Quickly, he glides over to you, bending down to offer his hand to help you up. "Are you okay?"
You don't intend to turn this humorous moment into something more profound, but as you stand in Jack's warm embrace, gazing up at the joyful grin on his face and the rosy flush in his cheeks from the chilly air, you can't help but feel a rush of emotion. "I'm really happy to be here with you," you admit, sincerely.
After your slight mishap, you and Jack continue to glide across the ice, enjoying the remainder of your time together. Laughter fills the air as you goof off, and you manage to keep your balance, thankfully avoiding any more falls. However, as the clock ticks down to the last ten minutes, you skate over to Jack with a hopeful expression. "Can we please try the jump from Dirty Dancing?"
It's Jack's turn to shoot you an incredulous look. "That seems dangerous."
"You don't feel comfortable lifting me on the ice?" An exaggerated frown graces your lips.
"I do, but I'm not entirely sure you'll be able to skate over to me and jump." He's teasing now, subtly mentioning your last fall without mentioning it.
You gracefully fold your arms like a ballerina twirling in her ballet shoes, effortlessly gliding in a small circle. "See? I've improved. Can we please give it a try?"
Jack stares at your pleading expression, shaking his head in surrender.
"Okay fine, but if this goes south, and you injure me, then the entire state of New Jersey will have your head."
You skate to the opposite end of the rink as him. "What about me, huh? What if I get injured?"
"This was your idea!" You can't help but laugh at his statement, unable to control your amusement.
"Okay, on three," you initiate a countdown, your voice laced with anticipation. As each number passes, your excitement builds, and when you reach one, you explode into a spirited sprint toward the opposite end of the ice rink. Jack stands there, prepared and determined, waiting for your arrival.
You launch yourself into a full-fledged jump, the cold air whipping past you as your body takes flight. Jack effortlessly catches you, his strong hands securely gripping your waist as he attempts to lift you over his head. However, a sudden wave of nervousness washes over you, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as best you can with your skates on, drawing yourself closer to him.
Jack's lips curl into a smile as he playfully questions, "What was that?"
You confess with a hint of embarrassment, "I got scared." And despite your initial hesitation, being in Jack's arms makes you feel safe and exhilarated all at once.
Jack's lips find yours almost instantly, and as they meld together, it feels as if your mouths were designed to fit together seamlessly. Your fingers delicately tug at his hair, provoking a soft gasp that grants your tongue access to his mouth. Your tongues engage in a sensuous dance, their movements intricate and synchronized, creating a passionate connection that's almost like a meticulously woven tapestry of desire and longing.
Jack withdraws from your lips, his forehead coming to rest against yours as you both gasp for breath. "I'm so obsessed with you," he confesses, his words laden with desire.
Arching an eyebrow, you tease, "I'm telling the boys you said that so they can make fun of you."
He buries his head in the crook of your neck, a deep groan escaping his lips. "Please don't."
#jack hughes#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes imagines#jack hughes x you#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes fluff#jack hughes fic#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes fanfiction
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Let me fix this
Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist
Metro!Tim Bradford x Metro!reader
Fandom: The Rookie
Summary: Two years after Tim broke up with you, you meet again on his first day at Metro.
Warnings: mentions of heartache, breakup, harsh words, swearing? not proofread yet ?
Angst
Requested: Yes, kind of
Words: still counting
Tags: @moneyy-21
GIF not mine, credits to the owner
The room feels suffocating as you dig through the forgotten corners of your closet, searching for something misplaced. Your fingers brush against the cool surface of a small box tucked away amidst a pile of old clothes. Pulling it out, you lift the lid, revealing a treasure trove of memories.
Photos, ticket stubs, and trinkets from days long gone stare back at you, each one a reminder of a chapter in your life that prematurely ended.
Your heart skips a beat as you stumble upon the photo you used to love so much, buried beneath layers of nostalgia. It's a snapshot frozen in time, capturing a moment of pure happiness between you and Tim. Dressed in your LAPD uniforms, you're locked in a tender embrace, lips pressed together in a kiss that speaks volumes of the love you once shared. The wide smiles on your faces are a stark contrast to the pain that now grips your heart.
The photo feels like a cruel joke, taunting you with memories of a love that was supposed to last a lifetime. Tears well up in your eyes as you trace the outline of Tim's face, the warmth of his smile a bittersweet reminder of what once was.
Your heart was racing as you hold his hands tightly, a smile playing on your lips. You've been together for what feels like forever, talking about your future, about marriage, about kids. But suddenly, something feels off.
"Hey, baby. What happened? Are you okay?" you ask as you reach out to touch his cheek gently.
Tim's eyes betray a storm brewing within him as he looks at you, his grip tightening on your hands. "I lied about everything. I just lied to two men I deeply respect, OK? I just betrayed everything I thought was right about myself. So no, I'm not okay."
Confusion washes over you, mingling with a sense of unease. You squeeze his hands gently, hoping to provide some comfort and reassurance. "I would have done the same thing if I was in your place. You were wrong, but you made it right, so it's fine."
But Tim's expression remains grave. "No, it's not. And you wouldn't have been in my place. You never would have put self-interest over your team."
You swallow hard, trying to understand. "Tim..." Your voice trails off.
He shakes his head, his voice strained. "No, no. You got to let me finish, OK? This is very hard for me to say."
Tears start to well up in your eyes as you nod, urging him to continue, your other hand reaching out to cup his cheek gently, trying to offer him comfort in any way you can.
"Y/N, I've been lying to myself for a long time. That's clear to me now, and I can't-- I can't just go back to the way things were. Not right now. Maybe never," Tim confesses, his voice breaking, his forehead resting against yours as he leans in closer.
Your heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces. "Wait. Are you breaking up with me?" you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips, your breath mingling with his as you hold onto him desperately.
Tim's gaze softens, filled with a sorrow you've never seen before. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his thumb gently wiping away your tears as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.
"No, no. You don't-- you don't get to do that. You don't get to push me away, not let me be by your side and then use that as an excuse to leave me, OK? That's not OK," you protest, desperation creeping into your voice.
Tim's eyes are filled with regret as he reaches out to pull you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. "I know, I know," he whispers, his touch gentle against your skin.
"What you're doing is not okay. Don't do this to me," you plead, your voice trembling as your hands were clinging to him as if he's the only anchor in a stormy sea.
"I'm sorry," Tim repeats, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears, his lips brushing against your temple in a silent apology. "You– you are incredible, okay?"
You shake your head, unable to comprehend what's happening, your body shaking with sobs as you bury your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he's slipping away.
"No, Tim... Don't do this. Why are you doing this?" you cry out, feeling like your world is collapsing around you, your fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of his shirt.
"You deserve so much better. That's why I'm walking away," Tim says, his voice barely audible as he stands up, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with your shattered heart and a million questions left unanswered, the echo of his touch still lingering on your skin.
The past two years had been a whirlwind of heartache and longing since the breakup. Each day felt like a battle against memories that refused to fade and emotions that refused to be tamed. So, when you landed a position at Metro, it felt like a lifeline, a chance to escape the constant reminder of what could have been.
As you prepared for your shift, the Metro division buzzed with activity, a hive of energy and excitement. Your fellow officers bustled around, exchanging greetings and sharing snippets of their lives. You smiled at the familiar faces, grateful for the distraction they provided.
Your superior's voice rang out, breaking through the chatter. "Attention, everyone! We have a new recruit joining us today," she announced, her words drawing curious glances from your colleagues.
You turned your attention back to your preparations, trying to push aside the knot of nerves that had formed in your stomach. But as you glanced up, your heart skipped a beat — you never expected to come face to face with Tim again. But there he was, standing in the same room, his presence hitting you like a ton of bricks.
He catches your eye, and for a moment, the world falls away, leaving just the two of you locked in a silent exchange. His gaze is intense, filled with emotions you can't quite decipher, and for the first time in years, you find yourself unable to look away.
Seeing Tim's face again sent a surge of electricity through you. He looked even better than you remembered – all rugged and hot, with that stubble on his jaw making him look dangerously sexy. And those lips, once the source of endless kisses, now held a serious expression that only fueled the flames of your longing. It was his eyes that captured your attention and held it captive. Deep pools of blue, they seemed to pierce through your soul, stirring emotions you thought long buried.
Tim in that Metro uniform was like a jolt of electricity, sparking a fire of desire within you that you hadn't felt in ages. The fabric clung to his body in all the right places, showing off his muscles and making you feel all warm and tingly inside. His shoulders looked broad and strong, his chest firm and inviting, and every move he made just seemed to make you want him more. He walked with this confidence that was so damn sexy, like he owned the place.
You realized with a pang that you had never truly moved on, that you had been fooling yourself into thinking you could bury your feelings for him. The sight of him brought back a flood of emotions you had tried so hard to suppress, reminding you that some wounds never truly heal.
Tim couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his heart skipping a beat as he took in the sight before him. You looked different, changed somehow, yet still undeniably beautiful.
Your eyes, once filled with laughter, now seemed tired, as if they had seen too much. But they still held that sparkle that had always drawn him in, like they were sharing a secret only he could understand. Your lips, once always curled into a smile, now held a hint of sadness, but they were still as soft and inviting as ever, making him want to reach out and kiss them just like he used to.
And as his gaze trailed down your body, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. The way your uniform hugged your curves, accentuating every contour, sent a pulsing wave of desire through him. He remembered how it felt to hold you close, to run his hands over the curve of your waist, and the memory made his heart ache with longing.
Days passed, and it became painfully clear to Tim that you were avoiding him like the plague ever since he joined Metro. Every encounter felt like stepping on eggshells, your attitude frosty and distant, making his training sessions feel more like a battle of wills than anything else.
"You're late, Bradford," you snapped one morning, your voice cutting through the air like a whip as he entered the training room.
Tim clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. "Sorry ma'am, got held up with paperwork," he muttered, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Your eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing your features. "Excuses won't cut it here, Bradford. If you can't handle the workload, maybe Metro isn't the place for you," you retorted, your words like daggers aimed straight at his heart.
Tim felt his temper flare, but he bit back the retort that threatened to spill from his lips. He knew it wouldn't do any good to escalate the situation further.
From the moment he stepped into the training room, you were on him like a hawk, scrutinizing his every move with a critical eye. Your instructions were sharp and unforgiving, your expectations sky-high.
You pushed him to his limits and beyond, demanding nothing short of perfection in everything he did.
For Tim it was like diving into the deep end of a pool without knowing how to swim. Each day was a whirlwind of sweat, sore muscles, and frustration, all thanks to you, who seemed determined to push him to his breaking point. But he refused to crack. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, determined to prove himself worthy of being at Metro, no matter how hard you tried. And it was frustrating, for both of you.
The tension between you and Tim was palpable, a thick cloud of grudges that hung in the air whenever you were in the same room. Your fellow officers couldn't help but notice the frosty exchanges and sharp words that passed between you, like sparks flying in a tinderbox.
Despite the urging of your colleagues to bury the hatchet, neither of you were willing to back down. Every interaction was fraught with tension, each word laced with bitterness and resentment.
"You really think you belong here, Bradford?" you spat, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you glared at him.
Tim's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with anger. "I belong here just as much as you do, Y/L/N," he shot back, his tone defiant.
The cruel words flew back and forth, each one cutting deeper than the last. But beneath the anger and pain, there was a passion between you that refused to be extinguished. It was a fire that burned bright, fueled by years of history and unspoken feelings.
Despite everything, there was a magnetic pull between you that neither of you could deny. It was a connection that had only grown stronger with time, a testament to the depth of your emotions and the intensity of your bond.
When tensions reached a boiling point, one of your closest colleagues, seeing the toll your treatment was taking on Tim, pulled you aside for a private conversation.
"Y/N, can I have a word?" his voice was gentle, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern.
You nodded tersely, already bracing yourself for whatever lecture he had in store.
"I know things between you and Bradford are... complicated," he began carefully, choosing his words with precision. "But you're making his training unnecessarily difficult. He's a good cop, and he deserves a fair chance."
Your jaw clenched at the mention of Tim's name, but you remained silent, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in his words.
"He's struggling, Y/N," he continued, "Maybe it's time to put aside your personal feelings and give him a break."
You scoffed, unable to hide your bitterness. "He doesn't deserve a break," you snapped, "He's not Metro material, and he never will be."
The officer sighed, his expression one of disappointment. "I thought you were better than this, Y/N," he said quietly before walking away, leaving you alone with your stubborn pride and the weight of your own unresolved emotions.
Tim stood tall in front of his team, his posture commanding as he barked orders at the officers under his command. He radiated authority, his voice firm and unwavering as he prepared you for the mission ahead.
"Alright, listen up, everyone!" Tim's voice rang out, commanding the attention of the officers under his command. "We've got a hostage situation at the bank downtown. We move in fast, we move in hard, and we get those hostages out safely. Understood?"
You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his words, your frustration bubbling beneath the surface. It was bad enough that you had to endure his presence every day at Metro, but now you had to take orders from him too?
As Tim's gaze landed on you, he seemed to hesitate for a moment before finally speaking. "Y/N, you're with me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
But you weren't about to let him call the shots. Not after everything that had happened between you. "I fly solo," you shot back.
Tim's expression hardened, hurt flashing in his eyes for just a moment before he composed himself. "Suit yourself," he muttered, his jaw clenched with frustration.
As Tim barked out commands over the radio, everyone on the team fell into line, following his lead without question. But you, stubborn as ever, chose to go your own way, defying orders and doing what you knew best.
"Y/N, I need you to fall back and cover our six," Tim's voice crackled over the radio, his tone firm but tinged with frustration.
You gritted your teeth, ignoring his orders as you continued with your part of the mission. The sound of Tim's voice grated on your nerves, fueling the fire of resentment burning within you.
"Y/N, do you copy?" Tim's voice came through again, more insistent this time.
You rolled your eyes, shutting off your radio with a flick of your thumb. You didn't need Tim's constant nagging in your ear; you knew what you were doing.
The mission dragged on, tension thick in the air as the stakes grew higher with each passing moment. Despite your defiance, Metro emerged victorious, completing the mission with flying colors. As the team regrouped, Tim congratulated everyone on a job well done, his voice dripping with pride.
"You all did a phenomenal job out there today," Tim began, "and I couldn't be prouder of each and every one of you."
The team exchanged smiles and nods, basking in the glow of Tim's praise. But when his gaze landed on you, the warmth in his eyes was noticeably absent, replaced instead by a simmering tension that seemed to hang in the air like a tornado.
"Except you, Y/N," Tim continued, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "You acted recklessly out there, disobeying orders and putting the entire team at risk. You're lucky we came out of this in one piece."
You bristled at his words, anger bubbling up inside you like a volcano ready to erupt. "I did what needed to be done," you shot back, "I know what I'm doing, Bradford."
Tim's jaw clenched, his frustration evident in the way his hands balled into fists at his sides. "You think you can just do whatever the hell you want out there?" he snapped, his voice dripping with contempt. "Well, let me tell you something, Y/N. This isn't about you. It's about the team, and you need to start acting like it. You put everyone at risk."
"I don't need you or anyone else telling me how to do my job."
The air crackled with tension, the space between you charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore. And as you stood there, locked in a battle of wills with Tim, you couldn't help but feel a surge of something else stirring deep within you.
"Dammit, Y/N, why are you so stubborn?"
"Why am I stubborn?" you shot back, your own anger fueling the fire between you.
Your hand reached up to push him away, palms resting on his chest, but your touch lingered, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of his uniform against your fingertips and you couldn't move them away.
"Maybe because you never listen to me, Tim. Why do you always have to think you know what's best for me?"
Tim's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Because I care about you, damn it!" he retorted, "I never stopped caring for you."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was barely an inch of space between you.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you met his gaze, the intensity of his stare threatening to consume you whole. "And what if I don't want you to protect me?" you challenged.
Pausing for a moment, the air thick with unspoken desire, you closed the distance between you, your lips hovering just inches apart.
"Stop trying to protect me," you murmured, your breath mingling with his. "I don't need you. I stopped doing that the second you walked away."
Tim's grip tightened on your waist, his eyes searching yours with a fierce intensity. "I never stopped loving you," he confessed, "I was a fool, alright? I know and I regret every single moment for leaving you."
"Lies," you whispered, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. But despite your words, you couldn't deny the longing that pulsed through your veins, the ache in your heart that yearned for him.
"Let me fix this," Tim pleaded, his voice desperate as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek.
"Two years, Tim..." you trailed off, "And what's even worse is that I love you even more."
Your words faded into a whisper, lost in the haze of desire that clouded your mind. And before you knew it, Tim was closing the distance between you, his hands reaching out to cup your face as he pressed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.
The world fell away as the kiss deepened, passion igniting between you like a wildfire. Years of pent-up longing and desire poured into the kiss, each touch, each caress, speaking volumes of the love that had never truly faded.
#tim bradford the rookie#tim bradford imagine#tim bradford#tim bradford x reader#the rookie imagine#tim bradford x you#the rookie one shot#the rookie x reader#tim bradford imagines#the rookie#tim x y/n#tim x reader#tim imagine#tim one shot#tim bradford fic#tim bradford one shots#tim the rookie angst#tim the rookie imagine#tim the rookie#the rookie angst#let me fix this
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Hey I have a request if that is okay. Can you please write a Kaz brekker x reader fanfic where the reader has a childhood teddy they are attached to but one day Jesper accidentally throws it out not knowing about the attachment and the reader is like oh it’s okay and acts like it’s okay but they are not . One day the reader walks into their room and there is a teddy just like theirs on their bed with a anonymous note saying it’s not yours but hope it helps and the reader notices the hand writing and says thanks to Kaz and he’s like for what and they say for the teddy. Please
I think I can do that
Small Sentiments - Kaz Brekker
Content Warnings: Canon Complaint Tragic Barrel Backstory Implied. Material/Sentimental Loss. Explicit Language. Not Beta/Proof Read.
It is in moments like this you are reminded that Kaz Brekker, Bastard Of The Barrel, had not had the luxury of comfort. The child he was before he became the man he is, died and what was raised from the deep was someone else entirely, and Kaz instead was left with this strange awkwardness of someone who was never loved and as a result never learned to love and is poorly improvising as he goes.
These small acts of understanding are not something that comes naturally to him. But this was something that seemed easy in principle, seemed straight forward, something he could fix. Or at least he could try to fix.
Jesper hadn't meant anything by it, he hadn't even really thought about what he was doing. He was in a stressed state looking for something and in the process he had been clearing things out, when you'd come back to your room in the Slat you had noticed immediately that it was missing. You'd tried to be calm and casual about it, walking into the Crow Club and asking if anyone had any idea what had happened with a bunch of the stuff. Jesper had shrugged it off and explained that he did some cleaning, Inej's eyes had scanned him, wondering if he would notice his misstep, but he didn't. It is easy for Jesper to forget that what he gambled away he did so of his choice, and many of his companions lacked belongings for reasons beyond their control. Inej had barely anything to remind her of who she was before she was taken, and those things she holds very dear. You weren't an exception to that, you had little from before your life became something else to what it was supposed to be, just small things, innocuous and valueless trinkets of a time that no longer even truly felt like your life.
"Don't worry Inej," Jesper had said, "I didn't touch anything that was yours, I just threw out a bunch of things that I don't even know why they were there, some worthless knickknacks and broken things, we are Crows, not magpies."
You hadn't been sure how to ask, and some of your heart didn't want you to, knowing the answer was going to hurt. "You didn't see a teddy on your cleaning venture, did you?" You had asked, as blasé as you were capable of sounding.
"Not unless you're talking about the rag with eyes," Jesper said, waving a hand as he continued ranting about how he still hadn't found what he had been looking for. You'd felt Inej's eyes on you, you knew that she knew but you couldn't let Jesper know. He hadn't meant anything by it, he didn't realise what it meant to you, what it was to you. He couldn't have known that you put so much love and nostalgia into such a small bundle of worn and battered fabric with tiny glass eyes.
Inej said your name and you barely heard her, but you gave her a brave smile and brushed away all the concern you could feel on her. "It's okay," you had told her. It wasn't okay. "It doesn't matter." It did.
"Did I fuck up?" Jesper had asked, and that worried look, that one that screams 'lie to me, I don't care if it's a lie, please just lie to me' was on his face.
"Don't worry about it Jesper," you had told him, "really, it doesn't matter at all."
You didn't think Kaz would have noticed the difference, the sadness. You often think that despite Kaz's uncanny ability to know almost everything you don't want him to know, unless it has a payment at the end of it, he doesn't bother noticing. But he sometimes surprises you, not enough that you forget who he is, what he is, what he does and why people call him by the names they do. But he still can surprise you. You often find it hard to believe a man by the name of Dirtyhands knows the gentler option exists, the kind option. He didn't built his life around being soft or kind, he built himself brick by brick, by being ruthless and earning the title Demon Of The Barrel.
But when you come home and there on your bed is something you never thought you'd see, a small note in his handwriting, not signed but you'd recognise it anywhere: 'It's not yours, but I hope it helps.'
The teddy sat centre of your bed is so familiar, it looks exactly like yours once did, back when it was new, back before life happened to both it and to you in disproportionate measure for the years you've lived. It looked how you remembered it, in those memories from before all the bad. How it once was, blindingly undiminished.
You reach out and the fabric is so soft under your touch that you flinch from it, it's been years since you've laid hands on anything that didn't have sharper edges or rough patches. You don't let yourself wonder how he got it, you know he got it, he didn't have to put his name for you to know only he could have done this. Kaz writes his r's in a way that you could recognise in the dark. You've never seen anyone write them with such certainty that is hiding hesitation, one day you might ask, but it doesn't matter right now.
Kaz is watching over the games at The Club when you find him, he is leaning against the far wall, back flush against the stone, both hands holding the head of his cane as he scans the tables, observing like a Saint over his kingdom, but with nowhere near as good intentions, his eyes are searching out for the sinners, for the bad and the worst, to see what he can make of it.
"Thank you," you say as you sidle up to him, he noticed you the moment you entered, but he didn't give that away. If he gave away every time he noticed you, he would be showing his hand all the time, and that's something Kaz Brekker cannot afford to do.
"What for?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the tables. You aren't expecting some monumental shift in character as you give Kaz your thanks, you're not looking for acknowledgement or explanation, not reaching out to find a trace of extra sentiment in the The Bastard Of The Barrel. You just want him to know that you know, and that you're grateful. Because Kaz Brekker went out of his way, to do something that didn't overly benefit him, surely if questioned he would play out every rhyme and reason, every equation that added up to this being 'practical' more than thoughtful. But it would ring oddly false to your ears and you know it.
"The teddy," you say plainly, before moving to excuse yourself.
"You're welcome," is all he says in return, still not letting his eyes wander to you as you move towards the bar, to where Jesper is signalling you for a drink. He cannot show his hand after all, he won't, not even to you. But these small acts, gossamer in their attempts to hide the endearment that lies beneath them, are at least something that he can quietly do for you.
#shadow and bone#grishaverse#six of crows#kaz brekker#kaz x reader#kaz brekker x reader#kazzle dazzle#the crows#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#inej ghafa
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find your way back home | lee donghyuck
pairing: lee donghyuck | haechan x female reader
word count: 22.5k
genre: fluff, some mentions of sex, ANGST and nostalgia lots of it, haechan-centric, slow burn
warnings: mentions of sex, excessive drinking, will talk about insomnia and depression
summary: nct’s haechan gets into a scandal after a night of drinking his ass off in hongdae, which prompts the management to put him in an indefinite hiatus. and it’s not like it’s the first time, because over the past months, haechan’s drinking problem had gone worse. hence, his parents send him back to jeju island for some healing time because his parents and managers think that maybe some time home would help. haechan laughs at the thought. if medication can’t, what can jeju island do? besides, he hasn’t been there in literal years.
author's note: this is my favorite work so far, which is why it took this long. i put my heart in here. please let me know which one is your favorite line/scene. this is also very heachan-centric, so please don't expect a lot of the reader's POV. also, may i recommend you to listen to Moon, Be There For You, Never Goodbye by NCT DREAM, Good Person by Haechan himself, and Black Clouds by NCT 127 as you read this! :) TIP ME HERE.
taglist: @mosviqu @matchahyuck @sirens-dreams @sundamariis @lovingvoidgoatee @anjaenha @thiccfullsun @665321-more @hyuckiesoftie @aliceinwhateverland @tddyhyck @anniebyanto @novawona @gimmehyuck @blxshqueen @blitz-fall @byungbyungbaek @calssunflower @funkygoose @carelessshootanonymous-blog @jungwooforever @budibbly @positionslab @beomyomom @jexizia @4everhyucks
disclaimer: names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. i do not claim to own or to have invented any copyrighted characters or concepts that i write about.
Y/N = your name, Y/C/N = your childhood nickname
Haechan’s dream has always been the spotlight.
His Mother would tell her friends stories of how he would always tell her he’d be a star someday, a grin flashing across his small face on pictures and clips of him taking a stage as small as the podium in his first grade classroom, and would proudly brag that his first-born son made it to the world stage. She was so proud that she’d have his portfolio picture as her display image in her social media accounts. As a musician herself, she’d play NCT’s music out loud and would even go an extra mile by using their b-side songs when teaching their students at their small but proud music academy in the big city of Seoul. Haechan’s pictures are all over the small place they’d rented for their small business, two floors—the vocal lessons facilitated on the second floor and piano and guitar on the ground floor—and the humble husband and wife would proudly say the most successful student they’d ever had was Lee Donghyuck, now better known as Haechan.
Haechan allows her to take credit of it all, his success, because after all, she’d been the one to encourage her to take a chance at SM Entertainment’s infamous Saturday auditions. People tell Haechan he works hard, but nobody really works harder than his Mother. With sheer determination and a passionate heart, his mother would take little Donghyuck to every stage—no matter how small. Young and bright, he remembers being dragged from one contest to another, even when their family still lived in Jeju, and he’d win all of them for her. He’d take the spotlight just to see her happy and proud.
At times, Haechan wonders how much effort his mother had really put into his career. If he thinks about it now, it started with their entire family moving out of Jeju Island, completely uprooting their entire lives from the simple life in the island to give her dream a chance. People say that Haechan was born a star, that SM got lucky to have a child prodigy offer himself—bare and whole and real—who was willing to give up his childhood and education for a shot in the dark. His father had been reluctant about it, saying that they’d have to give up their entire life savings to merely move to Seoul—considering plane tickets and security deposits need to be sent prior to moving—and that taking a loan wouldn’t be ideal when they could barely make ends meet with four children growing up too fast. A shot in the dark, a flip of a coin, the luck of a draw. They say he was meant for this, was meant for the stage and the lights and the applause, but to Haechan, it’s not really fate. It’s just his mother doing all the work, and he’d take the spotlight for her.
Because Haechan likes the attention. He likes the good and the bad. The cheers and the applause. The painful arm slaps from Mark when he’s annoyed him enough. The head pats and hugs Taeil gives him when he’s being cute and when he lives up to his maknae image. The viral videos of him all over the internet for simply walking down the stage.
And his mother couldn’t be prouder to have a reliable son like him. She had always dreamed of the spotlight herself, but the timing was never right for her—hence Haechan living her dream, her spotlight, had been one of, if not the biggest accomplishments of her life.
The night is cold. Haechan feels dizzy when flashes of the lights coming from the small window of the bar’s building hit his face. He hates the lights, he hates being seen, and it makes him throw up when, as soon as he closes his eyes, it’s his mother that he sees.
Would his mother still be so proud when she learns that, after a long weekend of a back to back concert with NCT 127, his son would be getting a blowjob from a stranger at the back of some sleazy bar he had found online?
“Please tell me this isn’t real.”
Mark Lee is only twenty-three, but with how his forehead’s skin is wrinkling, he might as well invest in several sessions of botox shots. He’s holding his phone up to Haechan’s face, as if bringing the device closer to the younger’s eyes would deny the article that Dispatch uploaded at five in the fucking morning.
“I didn’t sleep with her,” Haechan denies, voice bored, tired. “We might have done other things, but I didn’t sleep with her.”
Mark lets out a groan of frustration, throwing his phone behind Haechan, the device landing on the carpeted floor. Haechan doesn’t even flinch even though it almost hit him.
“Haechan, what the fuck is going on, man?” Mark asks, demands to know what really is going on with his best friend, or whoever he’s speaking with now. “You know SM is going to kill you, right?”
Haechan shrugs. “What are they gonna do? Fire me?”
“You know they can!” Mark shouts, walking back and forth while Haechan remains seated on the couch, unbothered. “You’ve seen them do it! To our seniors! To the people you trained with. You think you’re big time, huh? That just because you’re essential in both units, they wouldn’t send you to some dungeon?”
Haechan laughs bitterly. He reckons being placed in a dungeon would be much better than the hell he’s living in now. “Now that,” he mocks. “Would be the ultimate dream.”
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” Mark says, pointing a finger to Haechan, enunciating each syllable so it goes through his skull.
But nothing can really make Lee Haechan budge anymore—not an expensive, hard device laterally thrown to his face, and not even his best friend (if he could still call him that) blatantly showing how disgusted he is with him—and he can’t really blame anyone. It used to he frightening to see Mark angry at something he did. Used to.
Haechan doesn’t really know what to say, so he chuckles bitterly and leans his head back so that it’s against the backrest, pondering whether it’s a good time to drink the bottle of vodka he’s been keeping under his bed.
“It’s funny because I don’t even know what having a nightmare feels like.”
Mark huffs, seemingly had given up on Haechan, then leaves the room alongside the small piece of sanity that the younger had left. Haechan bolts, sitting up real quick, but too slow because Mark is already out of the door. Haechan likes attention, and even though Mark Lee makes his head hurt, he likes the attention. Haechan likes that Mark is angry at him.
His manager calls him next, (as expected) voice angry as if he’s about to explode, and tells him his publicist is doing her very best to answer every god damn call from every magazine and news outlet. But none of those magazine and news outlets who have called had posted something to clear the situation; none of them were buying it. Haechan thinks it’s fucking ridiculous anyway. There were pictures and videos of him sneaking out with Hana or Hari, whatever her name was, and a clip of him zipping his pants up as they try to hide from the flashes of lights. Who the fuck would believe he was just out exploring with his 35-year old, happily-married-with-kids personal assistant?
And it’s too late, anyway, because what was the point of it all when his most loyal and long-time fan sites have all shut down overnight, his Instagram followers reducing down to five million in a matter of hours since Dispatch posted that article, and his best friends blatantly ignoring him with the exception of Mark confronting him, but of course, Haechan had to screw that up, too.
“They’re calling you in for a meeting,” his manager concludes with a sigh after elaborating what had been done to patch up the entire mess. “Be ready for whatever they have to say. Don’t expect me to have your back because I’m over it, Haechan. Whatever they decide to do with you, you fucking deserve it.”
The call ends. Haechan didn’t even get to talk.
He looks at the screen of his phone. There were a million of calls and text messages from his agency, half of it were from his mother, and the last thing he really wants now is to hear her voice. He scrolls through it all, chest tightening when he realizes nobody from Jaemin, Renjun and Jeno had tried to call him. Haechan knows he’s an asshole, deserving to be the receiving end of all the shouting and cussing, and he’s probably made the dumbest mistake of his entire life, but he’d live the stardom’s life long enough, he’d be okay. But a call from his best friends would have been a breather.
Haechan understands, what his manager said, that he shouldn’t really expect anyone to have his back after all that’s transpired in the last few of months.
You see, Haechan developed insomnia. He’d look the symptoms up in the internet, and it’s described as a common sleeping disorder that can make it hard for people to fall asleep, or if one’s attempt to drift off is successful, to stay asleep. Taeyong had said it’s a common disorder for idols, that their seniors from groups like EXO and SHINEE had all gone to psychologists for help, but Haechan didn’t really want to make a big deal out of it. He relied on what Naver offered him one morning when the sun’s already out and his eyes are still wide open.
Stress and anxiety were the major causes. Some resources say it could be from a poor sleeping environment such as an uncomfortable bed or bad lighting or temperature. One claims that it could also be from one’s lifestyle, like jetlag from traveling frequently, or drinking one too many caffeine-infused doses of fluids. It all could be factors why Haechan’s been getting 8-10 hours of sleep a week, and he acknowledges that he doesn’t really have the best lifestyle—and it’s not like he’s ever had the choice since NCT blew up.
So, he’d consulted Taeyong again, through a text, and all he’d gotten was a link to a study that insomnia can be caused by mental health conditions such as depression, followed by his therapist’s phone number.
Among all the causes he’d gathered, Haechan could confidently rule out depression because there’s no fucking way he’s sad. There’s barely any reason to be sad. Sure, he’d miss his siblings most of the time and he hates the feeling of seeing any of them cry whenever he had to leave, but nothing is more gratifying than the relief of seeing them happy whenever he comes home with luxurious gifts or plane tickets to Tokyo for a vacation. Haechan likes making people happy, and Mark tells him he’s always been a people pleaser. At times, he’d think his happiness depends on the happiness of the people he loves and values, and people around him are happy.
Hence, Haechan is happy.
Or at least, was happy.
Because the insomnia got worse—not that Haechan’s dealt with it enough to know whether it’s getting better or worse—but it was bad. He would come home exhausted as fuck after an entire day of dancing and singing, and he knows he’s tired because his body tells him so. Haechan would lie on bed, body drained from all energy, but his eyes would be wide open for an entire night. He’d only fall asleep when the sun’s started to seep through his curtains, a good hour before his manager would wake him for the next schedule. It was manageable, and the tour was a good excuse for the insomnia, but it followed him even on his days off, even in the beginning of the pandemic when there little to zero schedules that would have caused him anxiety or stress.
Therefore, reluctantly, he’d visited a doctor to get a prescription for some meds he could take to help him sleep. He’d lied, though, that it wasn’t that bad and that he would need it only on nights after shows, because he knew they’d only refer him to a therapist. Haechan doesn’t need a therapist. He could just talk to his mother about it, and she’d know what to say to make him feel better. To make him keep going.
It was fine until the melatonin supplements stopped working. Sometime last year, if he remembers right, when he thought he’d gone crazy because everything stopped working for him. There was a bottle of soju, half empty, from the fridge he had in the corner of the room he shared with Johnny, and he reckoned it could help. As soon as the bottle was empty, Haechan felt drowsy; he was out like the light half an hour later.
But just like the prescription from the doctor he can’t even remember the name of, drinking half a bottle worked. Johnny would give him suspicious looks when he would see Haechan stocking up soju inside their room, but he doesn’t ever say anything. Because alcohol made him sleep, until it didn’t. Until half a bottle stopped working. Until an entire bottle is no longer enough. Until Taeyong’s decided that there should be no alcohol inside anyone’s fridge, both fifth and tenth floors.
Hence, the drinking problem.
Haechan wonders what’s next. The sleeping problem, then the drinking problem. It looks like here is it, the next one: the scandal.
When Haechan was a trainee, his greatest fear was getting removed from the agency.
There was an assessment every quarter, and the CEO himself would sit down in a panel alongside other producers and choreographers to identify which of the trainees would move on to another level and which ones would have to go home. Each time they had to go through the assessment, Haechan, alongside other existing members of NCT, would spend long days inside the training room. He would fear that the CEO would ask him to rap all of a sudden because Haechan can’t rap to save his god damn life at that time. He would fear that his mother would receive a call and find out his beloved son, whom she spent so much money on just to get ballet classes, failed and would need to go home.
Today, Haechan fears none of those.
The decision to put him in an indefinite hiatus was quick to make, not that Haechan expected anything less.
The news was out the second they threw him out of the meeting room (but not before the CEO slapping him right across the face, his left cheek throbbing in pain he’s oddly happy he could feel) and his bags were packed before he could even tell his members. The dorms were empty when he arrived, and there was no time to visit Dream’s place; Haechan knew he could just call, or visit. His family lives twenty minutes away, a short ride from downtown. He’d figure it out, like he always would.
What fazes him is what he comes home to.
His father offers him a one-way ticket, says his mother is still too upset to look even at Haechan in the face, that she’s spending the night in her friend’s house. The domestic flight ticket is bound to Jeju Island, and it boards tomorrow morning.
“Your grandmother will be waiting for you,” his father says, eyes everywhere but Haechan’s. “Your mother thinks it would be the best for now. Your agency knows, of course, and they’re helping us ensure you get your privacy in Jeju-do. We just need you to stay there for a bit, Donghyuck. Might help.”
“Dad,” Haechan pleads, Dad sounding foreign to him now. He’s stopped calling him Dad years ago, right before he debuted in NCT, and had been calling him Father. He’s not sure why he’a suddenly calling him that now, perhaps it’s the sinking feeling in his stomach, but Haechan is desperate for another solution. “You can’t send me back in the island. I haven’t lived in grandmother’s house since I was twelve.”
“Don’t act like the place isn’t civilized, Donghyuck,” his father sighs. “You’ll be okay. You can take your expensive gaming laptop with you so you can entertain yourself while you’re on vacation. It’s only going to be a few months.”
“A few months?” Haechan cries. “I can’t live there anymore!”
“The agency decided not to terminate their contract with you,” his father reveals. “Apparently, you’re too talented to let go of. Your mother and I are very grateful they didn’t. All they want in return is for you to go back in six months—sober and full of life again. Your therapist suggests you go to a vacation.”
“I don’t have a therapist?”
“The doctor who prescribed you sleeping pills? You didn’t tell us you had insomnia.”
“Fuck you,” Haechan spits before he could even think about it. “Neither you nor mother thought of asking me what’s been going on. Dad, I wanted you to scold me. To punch me in the fucking gut and tell me I’ve ruined everything. I wanted mother to yell at me until my ear bleeds, so I can find the motivation to work hard and make her happy again.”
“Donghyuck, we–”
“Don’t call me that!” He yells. “The first thing that came to your mind was how grateful you are that I’m not fired from my job? I’m not some retirement plan! I’m your son!”
“Keep it down. Your siblings are–”
”Donghyuck-hyung?” Haechan turns. Gyeom stands at the end of the hallway, seemingly woken up from his slumber, and Dongmin hides behind the younger one to see what’s going on. Haechan doesn’t even see Seungyeon come out of her room. He just hears her door shut loudly, the lock clicking, and realize he fucked up big time.
He takes a look at the ticket from his father’s hand.
It’s ridiculous. If the melatonin pills he’s taking are not helping with his stupid insomnia, and drinking a bottle of soju works as equally as useless, what the fuck could work? They think a recreational vacation to fucking Jeju Island would do shit?
Fuck his parents, honestly.
Fuck his siblings for not even giving him a hug as soon as he entered their home.
Fuck his members for not checking up on him.
Fuck the entire god damn world.
He rips the ticket from his father’s hand and turns to leave, taking the same bags he’d brought in a few minutes ago. The flight is tomorrow morning, but Haechan calls a taxi to take him to the airport.
Sleeping (or at least, trying to) in the uncomfortable airport seats is a fucking pain in the ass, literally. But nothing more hurts than the look on his family’s face: the blankness in his father’s and the fright from his siblings.
Jeju fucking Island. Way to end the day.
When Haechan was younger, his grandmother would take him to the Camellia Hills on the weekends. While kids his age would be taken in Aqua Planet to see thousands of animals and plant species to ease their shoulders from studies, Haechan would be running around fields of camellia and hydrangea flowers. They would spend hours just walking around trees of over five hundred different kinds of wildflowers. His grandmother would take pictures of him and let him eat whatever he wanted at a nearby restaurant, and his siblings would always cry and complain why Nana only wanted to bring Haechan. There wasn’t a particular reason, of course, it was only because the younger ones were too difficult for their grandmother to look after on a trip to Camellia Hill. Little Donghyuckie was well-behaved albeit his bold and obnoxious nature. He would do whatever his Nana would ask him.
Haechan’s always claimed that he’s the favorite despite his grandmother repeatedly saying she doesn’t do favorites, and he knows deep in his heart that he is. He is, after all, the first grandchild, and he spent a lot of time with his Nana alone for many years while they were in Jeju.
His grandmother used to sing him to sleep at night. When his younger sister was born, Nana stayed with them in Seoul for a while to help his parents adjust to having two kids, considering Haechan’s age gap with Seungyeon is only a year. Nana made sure Haechan slept well every night, in a separate room from his parents because newborn Seungyeon who wouldn’t let anyone sleep past one in the morning. She’d sing him songs from The Beatles in broken English, and Haechan likes to think that even though both his parents were musicians, the reason why he could sing well was his Nana.
She eventually had to move back to Jeju Island as soon as the family had settled, but years later, at the age of seven, his grandfather died and Nana was left all alone to tend to their land and business, hence the Lee family packed their bags to stay at Nana’s supposedly for the summer, but ended up with the decision of staying for her.
Nana had problems sleeping when his grandfather died. Haechan used to find her awake when he’d need a glass of water or to go to the toilet at two in the morning. She’d be watching television, a nighttime talk show she used to like, or reading a book from his grandfather’s shelf. The lights in her home were always on.
So, Haechan started singing her to sleep just like how she did when he was a child.
She’d tell him, “Oh, my Donghyuckie, you have such a nice voice. Why don’t you sing more?”
Then she’d fall asleep while Haechan wondered why lovers die at different times, why one has to go first and the other is left on Earth trying to sleep well every night.
Upon his arrival in Jeju-do, his grandmother doesn’t pick him up from the airport like he’d expected, so he takes a taxi from the airport to her house. Haechan knows what their home looks like despite not visiting since his training days. They own a small hectare of land filled with tangerine trees, and his grandmother had been the sole operator of it all for many years until she had to start hiring people here and there to manage things for her when her age caught up with her. His father used to travel back and forth to see how things are here and there, but eventually stopped when Nana had found people she can rely on—which Haechan is very glad about.
He must be an asshole, or a prick, or a hypocrite to even say this but he’s been thinking about her more often than he calls. If he recalls right, the last time he’d called was three months ago, on her birthday, but it was two-minute exchange of generic how are yous and please stay healthys. She would call, of course, but Haechan would always have something as an excuse: a dance practice, a trip to Japan for a show, a photoshoot, something. Something to cover up the fact that he hasn’t been the best grandson to her in a long time.
He arrives and the first thing he notices is a hammock hanging in between the posts of her patio. A kick of nostalgia hits him because grandfather put up a hammock at the back of their home once, when Haechan was around five years old and they were visiting the couple for the summer. Her grandmother used to tell Haechan that the hammock is the best place to take his afternoon naps, hence little Donghyuck would spend most of his afternoons lying on a hammock made of strong nylon.
Shaking off the nostalgia, Haechan clears his throat. “Nana! I’m home!”
“Donghyuckie, is that you?” she calls from somewhere. Haechan walks over to the patio and drops his bags.
Nana comes out from the side of the house, her favorite pink apron on, grey hair hidden by a hair cap. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Haechan sees her age simply by the way she stands. Her back is hunched more than it was the last time he saw her during Chuseok last year. The wrinkles in the edges of her eyes and around her mouth are much more evident. The skin on her neck is loose, and so is the skin on her arms and everywhere.
For a second, Haechan feels like he’s seven again, seeing her for the first time since summer, her eyes not as happy as they were from the last time they’d been in Jeju-do, when grandfather was still alive. Haechan suddenly is taken back to when she’d hug him so, so tightly, crying to his shoulder, telling him harabeoji had left her while she was asleep. He remembers his heart dropping down to the ground when he saw her breaking down, his loving grandmother—who was always bright and happy, whom people would say he got his personality from—at her lowest. It’s the same wave of sadness Haechan feels looking at her now—looking at the years painted in her skin. Her memories blurring out the color of her eyes. Decades of hard work and labor tainted on the callouses on her fingers. Glints of loneliness spread throughout the wrinkles on her face.
Haechan has been all over the world for years now. Years of training and sleepless nights perfecting a performance had led him to where he is now. People who speak different languages love him and cheer for him even with countries and continents in between. He’s made millions happy by simply singing songs or saying hi in a fan call. And while he’s done of all of these, what had he done for his grandmother? People have been watching him grow up, who was watching Nana all this time?
Haechan chokes on his own tears. His grandmother, his Nana, opens her arms like Haechan is not the person the world hates right now. She hugs him like Haechan is not the person who had potentially ruined the group his best friend Mark had worked hard on. She holds him in her arms like Haechan is not the person who scared his siblings and cursed his own father. Nana takes him inside her home like he’s her Donghyuck again.
Haechan feels like he’s her Donghyuckie again.
Contrary to popular belief, Donghyuck doesn’t like affection as much as Haechan does.
He believes that being offered tenderness is the very proof that you’ve been ruined, and Haechan likes to think that with the life he has now, he’s not really in the position to talk about his life’s struggles. Because there are more people in the world who deserves to talk about their pain. Donghyuck doesn’t deserve as much.
Hence, the nostalgia goes away as quickly as it arrives. Haechan spends the rest of the day trying to sleep in his grandmother’s spare room and doesn’t even bother answering when his grandmother knocked on his door to invite him for lunch despite him being wide awake.
Haechan gets up at five in the afternoon, just when the sun is about to set, eyes heavy. The sky looks a lot like the color of his own skin, he notices, and he thinks about how beautiful the sky would be in Han River and recalls how him and Mark (and sometimes Doyoung) would lie on the ground, letting their skin soak in the sun slowly sinking down to its rest.
But none of that is close to happening because he’s here. In Jeju-do. Stuck like some twelve-year old sent to camp for an entire summer because his parents can’t stand him.
Haechan’s train of (bitter) thoughts is interrupted with a loud plonk from the wooden patio, which is right outside his window. He pulls his curtains slightly to peek, and he finds you on the floor on your side, groaning like a kid and massaging your back. It looks like you’d just fallen out of the hammock.
Curious, Haechan gets up and quickly slips out of his room to see you on their front porch.
“And Nana says it’s the most comfortable place to sleep on,” he hears you mumble as you get up, eyes meeting his as soon as you see him. Your eyes widen in shock, probably recognizing him, but you quickly catch yourself and look down.
“You are?” Haechan asks, towering over you.
You clear your throat. “Y/N.”
“I don’t mean your name, pumpkin,” he replies. “What do you do here?”
Haechan smirks at the way one of your eyebrows raised, clearly already infuriated at his attitude. You’re wearing a white shirt that’s too big for you underneath your denim overalls. The pair of boots sitting under the hammock is a clear sign that you’re a farmer tending to the tangerine trees on the land right beside the house, separated by a fence and his grandmother’s home garden.
“I manage your grandmother’s land,” you answer, stance defensive. “And it looks like you’re the delinquent grandson they sent away for the summer?”
Haechan chuckles, liking how you’re bark and bite, wondering how far he can push you, because the last thing he really wants is someone staying at his grandmother’s house. Too close. Too easy to see everything. You’d make millions selling him to the tabloids. He’d honestly rather hear people saying how much of an asshole he is, than have people invading his grandmother’s privacy while he’s here.
“You mean the world star, right?” he brags, licking his upper lip. “And you manage the land we own? Sounds a lot like a farmer to me.”
You stifle a laugh. You’re not at all intimidated. “Oh, pumpkin, I think the last thing you’d want to do in Jeju-do is insult a farmer for their job. The agricultural structure of Jeju Island has done more than you thrusting your hips up on the air for young, easily-manipulated teenage girls, Donghyuck.”
“So, you know my name?”
You click your tongue and turn around, proceeding to slip your boots back on. “How could I not know?”
“Because I’m a world star, right. How could you not know?”
Haechan watches you tie the laces up of your boots. You don’t give him another glance and leave, stomping your feet down the stairs to the ground until you’re out of his sight.
“Hey, you’re awake,” Nana says from inside. The door is wide open. “Where’s Y/N?”
She walks towards where Haechan stands, looking around for you. “That girl. I told her to stay for dinner. What’d you do, Donghyuck-ah?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles, annoyed at how Nana is more concerned about you leaving than ensuring his privacy. He’s a star, for god’s sake. “Why’d you let her sleep here, anyway? And have her stay for dinner? Aren’t you scared she might sell me off to some magazine for, I don’t know, one million won?”
“Why would Y/N sell you—“ his grandmother sighs. “Not everyone is out to get you, Donghyuck-ah.”
“Why does she even know my birth name?” he questions. “That’s like, too much, Nana. Don’t share things like that.”
His grandmother slaps his arm. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”
“You’re a moron!” she screeches. “That was Y/N! She waited for you to wake up all day!”
“That’s creepy!”
“Y/C/N,” Nana enunciates. Haechan remembers. “Her childhood nickname. Does it ring a bell?”
“Y/N—” he breathes out. Frozen. “—is Y/C/N?”
Haechan has always had an affinity with flowers, long before he named his fans sunflowers.
His grandparents had a larger flower garden as compared to how it is now. They’d planted tangerine trees in place of the fields of beautiful red azalea and rhododendron blossoms. On spring days, the cherry blossoms were infinite, and little Donghyuck used to spend a lot of time looking at the flowers and making necklaces out of them.
You used to (still do, perhaps) live down the street, and your parents used to help out in the farm when your grandparents needed another pair of hands to harvest the tangerines. Little Donghyuck met you when he was six.
If he recalls it right, it was the second day of summer, a hundred something days before they had to return back to Seoul. He found you lying under a cherry blossom tree, eyes closed, allowing hundreds of pink petals to drown you in their beauty. Little Donghyuck lied down beside you, upside-down but his head is right beside yours. He’s always been a curious kid, so he wanted to know why you were letting the pink petals rain on you. There was nothing special about it. Just petals falling when the wind blows a certain direction.
When he opened his eyes, you turn to look at him, your eyebrows were furrowed the way they were when Haechan found you on the floor of his patio earlier, right after you’d fallen from the hammock.
“Hey,” you had said. “You’re the kid from Nana’s house, right?”
“She’s my Nana,” he corrected, closing his eyes once again. “And yes, I’m the kid from Nana’s house. You are?”
“My mom calls me Y/C/N,” you answered. “Are you staying for the summer?”
He nodded. “Only for the summer. We’re leaving before school starts.”
“Do you like flowers?” you asked.
“We don’t have a lot of flowers in Seoul,” Little Donghyuck mumbled. “But I love flowers. Last summer, Nana took me to Camellia Hills to see the flowers bloom in May.”
“Then you should stay,” you trailed off. “If you love flowers and Seoul doesn’t offer much, then you should stay.”
“What about school?” Donghyuck had asked, opening his eyes to look at you. You’re looking at him, upside-down and all. Donghyuck’s never seen someone more beautiful. “You’re pretty.”
Your eyes widened. You immediately hide your face from him using your hands. “We’re only five. I can’t have a boyfriend at five years old.”
“Maybe when we’re older.”
Haechan doesn’t remember much from the day you met, but he got close to you during that summer in 2006, even more when his family moved back to Jeju-do in 2007. Your friendship blossomed from walking together in first grade throughout primary school until he’d graduated and eventually moved back to Seoul.
He can’t believe that he’d forgotten your name, and a part of him knows it’s because he’s always called you by your childhood nickname, but a larger part of him likes to think that it’s because he’s almost twenty-three now—it’s been almost ten years. He’s met probably thousands of people at this point, and with the lifestyle he has, he really can’t afford to remember each person he spends time with. Not even the girl he spent his entire childhood in Jeju-do with.
So, Haechan forgives himself before he could ask for yours. He reckons you’d understand. You know him, somehow. You kept in touch until Haechan got into SM in 2013 and high school and training got the best of him. He changed his number and lost contact with almost everyone in Jeju-do, even his closest friends, and you were one them.
Life as a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot of things.
Most people know an idol sacrifices having a normal life—playing in the streets, trying out to be a part of the basketball team, dating at fifteen years old, prom, staying at one classmate’s house for a group project—and it includes forgetting the people you used to be close with.
One of the rules in SM when he was a trainee was to not get in touch with the people from their past. One of their managers used to tell them that their lives are divided into two parts: before training and after training; and to be successful in the industry means to forget who you were before training. They’d deleted all of his social media, which means he disconnected from the people he knew before he was Haechan. They’d deleted who he was before Haechan.
Many sacrifices, indeed. The list goes on, and at the end of it was your name.
“She never left Jeju-do?” Haechan asks, curious, as he ate the dinner Nana made for him. “Like not even for college?”
“She didn’t go to college at all,” Nana answers. “And she likes it here. Why do you make staying in Jeju-do sound like a living hell?”
Haechan shrugs. “It’s not like that, Nana. I mean, God knows what I’d do to get a normal life and go to college in Seoul and do what normal people in their early twenties do.”
Nana smiles at him. “This is probably what normal is for her. Not everyone has big dreams like you.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Haechan asks. “Dreams are free. It doesn’t cost anything to dream. Why wouldn’t people want to have big dreams?”
“Aren’t you the lucky one to have a dream and to be able to live your dream?” Nana says. She finishes up her meal and watches Haechan eat. “How are you, Donghyuck-ah?”
Haechan stops chewing and braces himself. Nobody’s asked him how he is. He continues chewing like it’s not a question that’s been weighing him under.
“I’m okay,” he answers, mouth full of food. “They didn’t fire me. So, I guess I should be grateful. I’m okay.”
“You know that you don’t have to lie to Nana, right?” She asks, smile kind and warm.
And Haechan wants to say it all. Out loud. Maybe even cry.
But he is not about to let his grandmother carry his burdens with her. Burdens that shouldn’t even matter because he’s so lucky to have the life he has now. Burdens that are nothing compared to other people’s.
“Come on, Donghyuck-ah,” she urges. “Talk to Nana. Tell me what’s wrong, my dear.”
“Halmeoni,” he firmly says. “I said I’m okay. I’m tired. Thank you for the meal.” He bows and stands to leave.
Life has a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot, indeed.
Nana leaves a box of things Haechan would need while he’s in Jeju-do before her trusted chauffeur takes her to the town’s market for some business.
Haechan finds himself wearing the same fit as you the day before: a pair of overalls, an old, non-branded shirt that looks like it’s been worn and washed 300 times. Nana left a list of chores to do, and there’s no way Haechan is doing all of those. He’s taking a walk around the fields, supervise like how the owner’s grandson should, bask on the sunlight for a bit, then go back to his room and play some games with strangers online.
You’re waiting by the patio, sitting and looking at the opposite direction so he only sees your back, when Haechan comes out, dressed up for the role but not ready for whatever today brings him.
“Took you long enough,” you grumble as he steps out of the house. You stand and turn to look at him. “Lock the door and let’s get going. You’re late on your first day.”
“Chill out, sweet cheeks,” he scoffs, reaching behind the door and locking it before slamming it shut. “You’re not the boss of me.”
You nod, chuckling. “I’m not. But your grandmother is. And she added your list to the name of workers joining us to harvest today. You will be paid by the hour.”
Haechan gasps lightly in disbelief. “I don’t need to work. We own this place.”
“Hmm,” you hum, feigning curiosity as you tap your index finger to your chin as if you’re thinking hard. “You know I manage this whole place, right? Which means I also manage its taxes and permits annually. I’ve never seen your name in any of the papers I play with every day.”
“Same fucking thing,” he mumbles, walking past you to reach the gate. Haechan finds two horses waiting for him outside. He turns, ready to ask you what kind of joke you’re pulling on him, but he finds you going around the house, perhaps to make sure everything’s locked and all. You catch up on him, eyebrows raised when he points to the horses.
“Don’t tell me you can’t ride a horse,” you ask, seemingly in disbelief that someone like him isn’t capable of riding a horse. “You can’t work in the fields just walking. You’ll tire yourself out and will waste most of your working hours just walking.”
“I—I’m really not—” Haechan falters for a second, but comes back as quickly as he goes. “It’s been years since the last time I rode a horse. I’m not certain if I can do that now.” You give him a questioning look. “Besides. I’m a celebrity if you haven’t noticed it already. What if I break a bone?”
“You’ll live.”
“What if I fall and break my face?”
“Seoul has the best plastic surgeons.”
“My legs! They were injured before. I can’t afford to get another injury!”
“You’ll be fine. You’re such a drama queen.”
“I’m a star!”
At that, you burst out into a fit of laughter, the kind that Haechan would normally join in, because what he just said is truly ridiculous. He can’t believe he said that himself. But, of course, he can’t just laugh with, basically, a stranger.
“Oh my God, Lee Donghyuck,” you say in between laughter.
Something ignites something in him, the way you just said his name.
Haechan is a name he loves, an alter-ego he adores, a character he lives. Full sun, because that’s what he wants to be. He wants to bring light to everyone looking up to him, and he wants to be remembered by the way his voice warms the entire planet. He loves hearing cheers and applause when he introduces himself as Haechan. Because Haechan is talented. Haechan is an ace, an all-rounder who can do anything an idol is expected to do, perhaps even more. Haechan is bright and positive, and he likes making people laugh and at the same time uncomfortable of the influx of skinship he offers. Haechan loves the lights and cameras on stage, and he adores the way his name is in every city he goes to.
Meanwhile, Lee Donghyuck, he’s heard in a million times. Mark still calls him Donghyuck like they never aged since 2013, even Doyoung and Jeno. His parents seldom call him Haechan, never for Nana. His fans also have been calling him Donghyuck since they learned his birth name is Donghyuck, sometimes Hyuck or Hyuckie, which he finds really endearing.
Yet no one’s ever called him his name like he’s nothing but just Lee Donghyuck. Not for a long time. Not from someone before Haechan.
Donghyuck suddenly feels like he’s twelve again, the year he left Jeju-do and had to say goodbye to all of his friends with a promise to keep in touch and to never forget. Donghyuck finds himself looking at the way you’re laughing, how you have your eyes closed, mouth agape and melodies of your amusement coming out like a song he thought he’d forgotten but know all the words to, and he finds himself thinking, maybe being Lee Donghyuck isn’t so bad.
His first day at the farm didn’t go as quick as expected and if Donghyuck could say so himself, it’s the longest fucking day in his entire life.
Evidently, he couldn’t ride a horse to save his life. He doesn’t even know why he’d told you it’s been a long time when the only time he ever rode a horse was when he was eleven for a field trip and only to take a god damn picture to make his mother smile. You and him were only a couple of horse steps or whatever away from Nana’s home and his horse was already squirming and more like threatening to throw him ten meters away, hence, you begrudgingly offered to have him ride with you. Donghyuck didn’t decline, of course, because it was either walk around the place under the hot sun or die at the hands of a stupid horse. You had let him sit behind you, skillfully and impressively holding the other horse by its rope, Donghyuck’s arms reluctantly wrapped around your waist because he didn’t want to fall, and if you were uncomfortable, you didn’t say anything about it.
You had taken him to a tour within his grandparents’ land, and Donghyuck is already twenty-three when he realized his grandparents are big time, like for real. The land isn’t as big as the others, ones that are owned by a big corporation, people who aren’t even from Jeju-do but like to play agricultural monopoly, but it’s bigger than most. Nana was too humbled when she’d told him the night before that he would need to help out in their “small” business.
The business is nowhere near small, with hundreds of tangerine trees scattered around, blooming in the famous Jeju-do delicacy, and she had forty to fifty employees working for her.
“Not really like full-time employees,” you had explained when Donghyuck verbalized his surprise with the number of people working for the farm. “Normally, it’s just me and Nana and a few other people who handle the delivery, quality assurance, and sales in the farmer’s market, which I’d need to take you to tomorrow, and also some folks from Seoul who handle the cargo shipping to the cities. But when it’s harvest season, we really would need more than ten pairs of hands to help out.”
“So, like, all year, there’s only around ten people are here,” Donghyuck confirmed, hands still on your waist as the horse came to a stop. “And on harvest season, Nana hires more people to help out. That’s really nice. Could be a good summer job for students and all.”
You hummed in agreement, patting the horse that Donghyuck learned you named as Daisy. “But normally, you’d find older people working here instead of the younger ones.”
“Oh?” Donghyuck’s curious. “That’s a little odd. I mean, isn’t the job physically tiring?”
You shrugged. “The elderly, well, they don’t really have a lot of opportunities to work here, you know, considering that Jeju-do has become more of like a tourist island than a self-sufficient, thriving agricultural place. You’ve probably heard of the water park they’d built nearby the airport and other big corporations taking over and building their stores here and there. And of course, they’d most likely hire younger people who can relate to the Korean Wave your group caused, right?”
“Keeping tabs?”
You scoffed at that. “As if! Now, get down before I ask Daisy to wiggle her ass and throw you off.”
After the supposed short tour that took an hour because, well, their land is enormous, you take him where some of the elderly people are harvesting.
“This is Donghyuck,” you’d introduced. “Nana’s grandson from Seoul. He’ll be helping us today. So, halmeoni, don’t even think about getting him off the hook because he’s Nana’s grandson. He will be paid for the day like everyone else. You wouldn’t want someone to get paid the same, only to work half of what you do, right?”
The older women laughed at the way you’d introduced him, and he feels his heart swell with the way you’re laughing with them and how they looked at him with so much tenderness. And normally, Donghyuck doesn’t like the look of tenderness, especially when directed to him, but today, it felt warm. Warmth like never before.
“You grew up so handsome, Donghyuck-ah,” one of the women said. “But I thought you’d be taller, you know. You had such long limbs when you were younger.”
Donghyuck feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Ahjumma, you should’ve stopped at the word handsome.”
“Tangerines ripen earlier than other citruses, so they can escape damage from freezes that will harm midseason varieties such as grapefruit and sweet oranges. Most varieties will be ready for picking during the winter and early spring, although the exact tangerine harvest time depends on the cultivar and region,” you explain, following the lead while Donghyuck and two other guys around yours and his age trail behind you. He apparently needs some training before he can start working.
“How do we know if they’re ready to be picked?” Joohyuk, one of the part-timers, ask.
You will know it’s about harvest time for tangerines when the fruit is a good shade of orange and begins to soften a bit. This is your chance to do a taste test,” you answer, stopping to show an abundant tangerine tree. You pick one out and show it to Donghyuck and the rest. “Cut the fruit from the tree at the stem with hand pruners. If after your taste test the fruit has reached its ideal juicy sweetness, proceed to snip other fruit from the tree with the hand pruners.”
You proceed to show them how it’s cut and hand them a piece each. Donghyuck likes that the fruit is sweet, not sour.
The ahjummas find your group and start handing baskets to Donghyuck and the guys, telling them they’d guide them all throughout.
He found himself spending the rest of the morning getting to know the people harvesting tangerines and making them laugh like it’s his job. He learned all their names one by one, their families briefly, and what they used to do before they retired. By the time it’s lunch, Donghyuck was about to say goodbye and perhaps ask you to take him back to his house, the group from the other side of the farm joined their area, all packed with bags of lunch.
They asked him to join, of course, but Donghyuck refused, in respect of their time to relax and take a break, and asked if you could take him home instead. You agreed, of course, mumbling that you would also need to go home to feed your dog.
“I’ll pick you up at 1:15,” you say as soon as Donghyuck lands on his feet. “Don’t sleep, please. The ahjummas will be expecting you. It’ll be a lot hotter, so drench your celebrity skin with twice the amount of sunscreen you’d normally use.”
“Yeah,” Donghyuck responds, itching to say thank you, but not enough to actually say it. He rubs Daisy’s neck instead. “You—I, okay.”
“O-kay,” you nod and whistle to signal Daisy to turn and walk the other way.
Nana waits for him by the patio. “How was your first day?”
“It’s not even over yet,” he sighs, slumping his butt on one of the patio’s stairs. “Nana, I can’t believe you’re making me work while I’m on vacation.”
“Your father never said anything about a vacation,” she responds, smiling as she struggles to sit beside him. Donghyuck helps her. “You’re here for some time away from work, right?”
“Yeah, a vacation,” he emphasizes.
Nana reaches to move the fringe covering a part of his eyes. “Let’s call this your healing time. But I wouldn’t call it a vacation because a vacation for you only means playing computer games until the sun rises then sleeping all day.”
“You should stop talking to Seungyeon about me,” he mumbles, looking sideways to find his grandmother looking at him lovingly. “And I don’t only play computer games. I also listen to a lot of music.”
“Try not to think about the limelight while you’re here,” she says. “The farm needs some help now. And it’s the best time for you to learn about the family business in case you don’t make it back in Seoul.” Donghyuck groans, burying his face in his hands, and Nana laughs at him. “That’s a possibility you should be considering, Donghyuck-ah.”
“Nana, you’re making me feel worse,” he whines. “You just told me not to think about the limelight, how can I not when you just said what you said!”
“I’m only joking,” she admits. “No one is ever going to take the limelight away from you, Donghyuck-ah, even if they try. You were born for the stage, and I know it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Donghyuck looks up at her. “Is it bad that it’s all I want?”
Nana shakes her head and offers a kind smile. “Having a dream like yours is never bad, Donghyuck-ah. I know that eventually you’d have to leave and go back to where you really belong: the limelight. But all I’m saying is, stepping out of the light isn’t as bad as you think it is.”
“Right.”
“Tell me how it was in the farm.”
“The ladies love me,” he chuckles. “I’m quite popular even in the small villages of Jeju-do, aren’t I?”
“You sure are,” she agrees. “They’ve been asking about you for a long time. Looks like your Nana isn’t the only one who missed you.”
“How come they still remember me?” he asks before he can think about it. “I mean, I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten about most people here. They still remember how I used to play around and sing for small events.”
It’s true. It caught him by surprise that the workers still remembered him—and not only because he’s a celebrity now, but they remember him by the small, insignificant happenstances when he was younger. Like for example, one of them mentioned how he was once was injured, his pinky finger to be exact, because he was running like a madman when his mother had given him permission to go play computer games with his cousin. He doesn’t remember that person being there, but he knows his grandmother talked about it like it was a news about a hurricane hitting Seoul at that time it happened.
It makes Donghyuck wonder how many people remember him, and how many people he’d forgotten and left behind for his dreams.
“Our world here in Jeju-do is small,” Nana explains. “People like you, who left, well, while ours remain humble and small, while we fade into the background and slowly become insignificant, yours become bigger. So, while we remember, you forget, slowly, one by one—and nobody blames you for forgetting, Donghyuck-ah.”
Oh, look. Another burden, another truth that Donghyuck has to carry for the rest of his life. Another reason not to fall asleep tonight.
There is a small, local store located down the road from his grandmother’s house. They don’t sell nearly half the number the ones local convenience stores in Seoul would, but Donghyuck likes to think it’ll do. Soju and beer taste the same anyway, regardless of where he buys it.
With the faint, beaten yellow paint from its exterior, the store has been around even before Donghyuck was born. It’s the village’s very own convenience store, after all. There weren’t any rival stores like how it would look like in Seoul where every corner of every street one would find a convenience store. From where Donghyuck stands, the store doesn’t like look like it’s changed much in a decade.
For some reason, Donghyuck remembers how much Renjun likes reading neuroscience studies for fun. He doesn’t know anyone else who would read neuroscience studies. For fun. But anyway, back to his point, there was a neuroscience study that Renjun has been blabbing about during their US tour. It was something about when someone recalls an old memory, a representation of the entire event is instantaneously reactivated in the brain that often includes the people, location, smells, music, and other trivia. Recalling old memories can have a cinematic quality. Memories often seem to play out in the mind's eye like an old Super 8 home movie or vintage Technicolor film. Neuroscientists discovered that when someone tries to remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past—such as a recent birthday party—that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. The new research reveals that humans remember life events using individual threads, that are coupled together into a tapestry of associations.
Donghyuck’s never really understood what Renjun meant at that time, except now.
He stands there, a good ten-meter distance from where you’re sitting. The pavement on the sidewalk isn’t the most comfortable place to sit in, but Donghyuck thinks it might just be, with how comfortable and at peace you look: legs stretched out to the street, headphones covering your ears, a book (or a journal perhaps, Donghyuck can’t see well from here) in one of your hands while the other is twirling a pen.
The scene takes him back to ten years ago, in the exact same place where you’re sitting, and if Donghyuck thinks about it now, it seems like nothing’s really change—except he’s almost twenty-three now, and despite him standing a few meters away from you, it feels like you and him are worlds away. And from what it looks like, you still love writing as much as Donghyuck loves singing.
It was a warm evening in May 2013, a couple of weeks before school ended and summer would officially start, counting down the nights when Donghyuck would have to move back to Seoul, and it was way too hot for Donghyuck’s liking. Nana didn’t have an air-conditioning system yet; his father was working hard to get her one before they leave for Seoul because summers can be crazy hot in Jeju-do. And Donghyuck needed a popsicle so bad, otherwise, he’d probably explode.
He found you the same place where you are now. Donghyuck thought your SHINEE shirt looked cute because while girls your age liked the newly debuted EXO, you still listened to SHINEE like a religion. You were sitting with your legs sprawled on the street, right under the streetlight, a pen in one hand and your old, beaten up journal on the other. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and Donghyuck caught himself before he could start thinking about how pretty you looked like that: focused and doing what you loved.
Donghyuck decided not to disrupt your focus and opted to go straight inside the small store, spending the last of his money on yours and his favorite: lime and cherry twin popsicle—the kind that’s packaged in one, two flavors in one, lime green and cherry red colors separated in the middle between popsicle sticks. Lime for you, cherry for him. You didn’t look up when he sat beside you, but took the lime-flavored popsicle from his hand when he handed it to you after peeling off the plastic cover and breaking it into two.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the ice-cold treat in your mouth. Donghyuck couldn’t help but think his cherry-flavored popsicle resembled the color of your lips.
Donghyuck nodded his thoughts away, leaning in to peak at the page you’re working on. “What are you working on?” he asked it while the popsicle rested on one side of his mouth, his left cheek protruding.
You shrugged, taking the popsicle off your mouth, showing your work to him. Donghyuck found it endearing that you write all over the pages of your journals, it was as though he could see your train of thoughts: some smudged, some erased under ink but not really because he could still read through it, some clear as day, some to never see daylight again.
“I was in Science class today,” you started.
“We’re in the same homeroom, dumbass. I was there.”
“I’m talking,” you whined. “And I doubt you were even listening. You hate Science more than anything.”
“Fair point,” he hummed. “Okay, what about Science class? Please don’t tell me you’ll start writing about Science. Because I’m so sorry. I’ll never read any of your work ever again if you decide to do that.”
You laughed, the melody of your fondness of his jokes creating its own room inside the crevices of Donghyuck’s brain. “Teacher Kim was talking about symbiosis.”
“I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means.”
“Symbiosis is a term describing any relationship or interaction between two dissimilar organisms. The specific kind of symbiosis depends on whether either or both organisms benefit from the relationship,” you continued. “Butterflies and flowers, they are the best examples of symbiosis.”
Donghyuck nodded, savoring the sweetness of his cherry-flavored treat.
“Hence I did some research and read more about butterflies and flowers, and I read something a little sad,” you trailed off. “I learned that certain flowers bloom when butterflies hatch and depends on how they match each other. Butterflies, they prefer light-colored flowers they can perch on. So, when the timing is off, the flower misses the butterfly. The butterfly, therefore, finds another flower.”
“Then what happens to the flower?” Donghyuck asked, watching as you try to catch the melting piece off your popsicle, taking it back to your mouth. Your lips looked really pretty. “If it misses all the timing?”
“Well,” you shrugged, looking up to the night sky. The stars in Jeju-do that night were much prettier than it is in Seoul. “They bloom again next year, and hope that maybe next time, the timing is better. That the butterfly arrives just in time for the flowers to bloom.
“That is a little sad,” Donghyuck acknowledged. He watched you look back down, grimacing a little as you take the popsicle off your mouth. “Wanna try mine?” he asked before he could think about it.
You looked back at him. The stars in Jeju-do turned out to be nothing compared to your eyes. “Yeah?”
Donghyuck pulled the sweet treat from his mouth just as you hand him your lime-flavored one. He took it in his mouth, and Donghyuck had never been the biggest fan of anything sour, but for some reason, the lime flavor tasted sweeter than ever. You took his cherry-flavored ones, groaning in delight as you taste the treat’s sweetness.
“Cherry has always been my favorite,” you’d confessed, and Donghyuck was surprised because you’d always gotten the lime-flavored ones. The twin pops were your thing since you met summer of 2006—it was cheap, practical for two kids, two-in-one; you’d always choose the lime ones. “God, this is good.”
“You literally always take the lime ones,” he argued. “My whole life has been a lie. I’ve always thought lime was your favorite because you always take it whenever we get this!”
You shrugged. “You never liked anything sour,” you said like it’s the easiest thing to say, like it didn’t make Donghyuck’s heart somersault. “And I can take a little bit of sourness if it means you enjoy your cherry-flavored popsicle.”
Donghyuck was only twelve. He didn’t know anything about falling in love, but that night might just be the closest thing.
“So, you drink alcohol to help you fall asleep?” you ask as if it’s the most interesting solution to insomnia. Donghyuck thinks it isn’t; he’s read somewhere online that alcohol really helps. “That’s stupid.”
Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s not really working great right now. But it helps.”
He sits beside you on the sidewalk, legs sprawled out just like yours, a can of cold beer one hand while the other holds him up, flat on the rough pavement. There’s no particular reason why Donghyuck’s talking to you now. You and him got off the wrong foot, and it’s not like you can really blame Donghyuck for seeing a (supposed) stranger sleeping at his grandmother’s patio. And you were friends. Even though it’s been years, Donghyuck reckons talking to you would do no harm. Besides, if he’s staying here for a few months, a companion would probably make it less miserable.
“And your father thinks coming to Jeju-do would help, too?” you ask.
Donghyuck chuckles. “I guess you could say that. What else have you heard about me?”
You look at him, away from the street and right into his eyes. Donghyuck wonders why he didn’t recognize you the first time he saw you. Your face looks the same from the day he bid you goodbye a decade ago—lips colored in cherry, eyes bright as the stars, cheeks soft all over.
“A lot,” you answer. “But I’ve never been one to believe in rumors anyway.”
Donghyuck licks his lips. “The rumors are true.”
“Not about the sleeping around and getting drunk, pabo,” you mutter. “That, I believe.”
“Which ones?” he asks.
“People are saying you no longer like being on stage,” you say. It’s not the first time Donghyuck’s heard it. “That you’ve been burnt out from working all these years. And that you don’t care about music anymore.”
Donghyuck snickers. “That’s true, too.” He throws his head back, chugging on the cold beer. “I’m so over it. I don’t even care what happens after this.”
“Oh, Donghyuckie,” you whisper softly, eyes still glued to his face. “What has the limelight done to you?”
Donghyuck only shrugs, finishing off the rest of the cold beer, helping himself up and taking the plastic bag full of iced cold beer from the store.
“I don’t think that’s something you should be worried about,” Donghyuck says. You keep your eyes on him, so you’re looking up from where you’re seated and Donghyuck looks down on you. “It’s getting late. Wanna go drink at Nana’s?”
“Nana would kill you if she finds alcohol inside her house,” you say.
“I’ve snuck in about twenty bottles since I arrived last week and she hasn’t noticed,” he confesses.
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you laugh.
Donghyuck freezes for a moment, watching you stand in between giggles. Mark said the same think a couple of weeks ago, but it doesn’t sting when you say it. You say it in laughter. Like it’s okay. Like it doesn’t scare you.
“My house is down the street,” you say, helping yourself up and standing in front of him. Donghyuck remembers. “I’ll call Nana and let her know you’re with me.”
A bark startles Donghyuck for a second. You and him turn to find a golden Labrador running towards where you stand.
“Aw, my baby’s here to pick me up,” you announce with the softest voice. The lab runs, almost dashes towards you, and Donghyuck is taken aback when it tackles him—not you—knocking the plastic bag off his hands and resulting to him landing his butt back to the pavement. “Pororo!” you shriek, not in surprise but with a tone of betrayal. “I’m your mother!”
Donghyuck hears you shriek, but laughs through it because the golden lab is hogging him, licking him all over as if he’d miss him all these years. “Oh, baby, you’re so cute,” he coos, cradling the dog by its face, looking up at you as the dog licks his face. “This is yours?”
You fight back a smile, but you lose immediately because your face breaks with a grin. “What has the limelight done to you?” you ask, the same question from earlier, but a different tone—teasing, nostalgic, like years ago.
The dog sniffs him all over and you stand there watching them.
“Can’t even recognize your own dog now?” you tease, walking so you could pet the dog and have him follow you. “It’s the puppy Nana got you a month before you left Seoul. You couldn’t bring him with you, and Nana couldn’t take care of him when you left, so I adopted him, pabo.”
“Pororo?” Donghyuck finally, finally recognizes. Pororo looks like he’s nodding, like saying thank God, you remembered me! The dog goes back to tackle him. “Oh, Pororo! My baby!”
You lead the way to your house, Pororo following after you. He watches you take several steps ahead of him. He feels dizzy watching the scene in front of him. Donghyuck understands what Renjun is talking about now.
Humans remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. You’re the representation of his entire life in Jeju-do, a clear image before Haechan, and he’s fucking sorry he forgot about you all these years.
But that’s an apology you’d never hear from him. Instead, he watches you, taking a small step towards you, and decides he’ll allow his unsaid apology to be added on the long list of reasons why he can’t sleep at night.
Nostalgia comes in waves, they say, but why do you bring it to him like a hurricane?
Donghyuck could say that Nana is impressed with the drastic change of character in the span of six weeks.
She’s been treating him better these days; by “better”, Donghyuck means she’s been cutting off a few hours from work so he could spend more time at her home, guarding the hens and roosters that serve at her alarm clock and watering her plants from her small vegetable garden. She’s also been paying him, giving him a small envelope with cash and a small paper that resembled a payslip showing the number of hours he’d work for the week, and Donghyuck ignores the quick jump from his heart when he sees your signature at the end of it, affirming that the hours listed are accurate. Donghyuck takes the money, of course, after Nana threatened to beat him up because she’d be breaking Korea’s labor laws if he doesn’t accept it, and he keeps it all in a small box in his room, planning to show it to his members when he goes back to Seoul and brag about working like a normal civilian at the age of 23.
There is a pinch in his heart when he remembers his members. While Donghyuck has been working on (and failing to) sober up for an entire month, his members have not called nor texted him. He’d been reaching out, of course. Some of his members have been assigned solo projects and activities in the last month, and he ensures to congratulate them. All he’s gotten so far are the receipts that his messages have been read.
Donghyuck convinces himself that it’s probably SM that advised everyone not to give him a time of their day, that they probably think being away from work means disconnecting from everyone, too, that his members love him and also believe that he needs some time off from everything.
But the convincing can only do much. The convincing distracts him while he’s at work, or while he’s watering Nana’s plants, but it doesn’t do much at night. Still, after six weeks, Donghyuck is nowhere near clean.
He wakes up with a terrible headache every day (from lack of sleep or hangover, he’s not really certain), and his Nana has been oddly making hangover soup for breakfast. Donghyuck wonders whether you’d ratted him out or his mother had called her about it. Either way, she probably knows something’s up.
His mother had called him a few times now, Seungyeon, too, and it’s been casual. His mother’s voice always sounded like she’s walking on eggshells whenever she’d call, blurting a half-assed apology for not seeing him before he left and telling him she’d forgiven him and that she’s looking forward to seeing her in a few months. Seungyeon talks to him the most, almost every day, in short text messages and 10-minute calls on the weekends when she doesn’t have to worry about waking up early the next day. And she talks to him about the most random thing, nothing ever related to his obsession with drinking or the scandal, which makes Donghyuck feel better somehow.
Six weeks didn’t make much of a difference, not that Donghyuck was expecting any. The only thing that’s changed so far is that, he’s not as exhausted as he was in Seoul despite his shitty sleeping schedule continuously fucking up his already deteriorated mental health. He hasn’t been listening to songs for quite a while, and he’s been drinking every night. And if it means anything to him, you’ve been hanging out with him while he drinks.
In six weeks, he learns that you’re not much of a drinker. You don’t have many friends that you could really invite for a drink in a nearby pub or in a samgyeopsal restaurant. You’d mentioned that most people your age have all moved on to different places, spewing names that were once familiar to Donghyuck and telling him where they are now. Donghyuck is yet to learn why you had stayed in Jeju-do, not once stepping in Seoul, when the world off this island’s shores are much, much bigger than you think.
It’s two in the morning. You’d taken him home because he could barely keep his head up with the number of soju bottles he had downed, and he appreciates that you try to stay quiet when you put him to bed and leave, keeping the blinds closed because he’d told you once that the morning sunlight seeping through spaces between the curtains hurt his eyes. You’d left when Donghyuck’s barely awake.
His phone dings a notification. Donghyuck probably won’t remember so he reaches over, checking it and recognizing his mother’s name.
She sends him an article about the upcoming debut of NCT DoJaeJung, and Donghyuck’s seen it in the groupchat for some time now. Donghyuck isn’t even halfway down the article when she sends another one: Mark’s solo song.
She doesn’t add another message, and he sees her status change from online to offline in a split second, but she doesn’t really have to say anything else for him to understand.
Donghyuck’s dream has always been the spotlight.
Or at least, as he recognizes now, his mother’s dream for him has always been the spotlight.
Donghyuck always thought he loved making people happy and singing equally.
While people called him kind and a ray of sunshine, Mark’s always called him out for being a people-pleaser, reminding him that he doesn’t have to make sure everyone is happy with the choices he’d make, telling him he doesn’t have to feel the strong urge to please everyone. And Donghyuck never understood it until now, now that he’s wide awake and looking at his mother’s messages. She’s probably expecting a solo project for him, too, and she sends these things that make her happy, and she’s already expecting him he’d do it no matter what. Donghyuck’s mother is a good person; he’d look up at her and think to himself that when he grows up, he’d want to be as supportive as his mother, and don’t get him wrong when he says she expects him to do anything that’d make her happy. Because this is all Donghyuck’s fault, anyway.
With his desire to make her the happiest, he’s done everything he could to make her happy, even at his own expense.
The infamous Saturday audition at SM was something Donghyuck never thought about—not at the age of 13 when he had just gotten back in Seoul after five years of staying in Jeju-do. His accent has changed and he reckons he could have a good relationship with boys his age who grew up in the city. And as much as he loved performing, Donghyuck doesn’t like being criticized. He doesn’t like rejection, and he can’t bare the thought of adults telling him he couldn’t sing.
Hence, his initial answer to his mother’s proposal to visit SM Entertainment and give it a try was no. The only thing that had made him go, knees shaking and palms sweaty, was his mother’s words: “It’ll truly make me happy if you give it a try.”
She’d said it in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s given everything that’d make her happy a try. She’d never said a bad thing and even told him a few times that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but he does it anyway.
Donghyuck was afraid that she’d love him less if he didn’t make her happy. He was only thirteen, and his twenty-three now, and his biggest fear hasn’t changed: to be loved less because he didn’t make them happy enough.
So, Haechan blurts out the most random jokes when the cameras are on and initiates skinship with the member even if they abhor him for it and style his hair a different way, because it makes the fans happy. Haechan stays up learning the tune of the new song and recording himself in his phone for hours even after an entire day of physical activities, because it makes the producers happy. Haechan takes his friends and the younger members to dinner after a 16-hour flight from the west on the night of his birthday—his eyes barely open the entire time—because it makes them happy. Haechan plays the maknae role perfectly, even when at times he’s tired of it, because it makes the older members happy. Haechan continues to be a sunny and bright character even on days when he’s exhausted, because it makes his managers happy.
But the truth is, Donghyuck doesn’t like dyeing his hair. His hair’s gotten so unhealthy from dyeing it different colors last year.
Donghyuck feels awful sometimes, when his friends do not return his affection, but he plays it off, feigning hurt even when it actually does.
Donghyuck wants to sleep after a 16-hour flight.
Donghyuck wants to drink with his hyungs, too.
Donghyuck just wants to sing and write songs when he’s learned enough.
Donghyuck doesn’t want to be like Mark, or Doyoung, or anyone else.
Donghyuck wants Haechan to be… Donghyuck.
Donghyuck wants to be happy—in his own terms, by his own choices.
But how can he be happy when he’s always depended his happiness on the people he loves?
Donghyuck feels like a dead man walking.
You and Donghyuck are tasked to bring the harvested fruits at the farmer’s market in the early hours of Sunday.
It’s barely five in the morning, and the sun’s not even out yet, but you had forced him to sleep early the night before to make sure he’d accompany you to the market. (He didn’t sleep though; he lied awake until his phone rang and you’re calling from outside.) You’d driven the farm’s truck to get here, and Donghyuck can’t help but admire the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand.
Donghyuck helps you carry the boxes out of the truck, arranging them in front of his grandmother’s store. You had walked in while he carries the rest inside and Donghyuck hears you talk to Eunseuk, his Nana’s sales person who handles and manages their place in the public market.
“That’s awful,” Donghyuck hears you say as soon as he places the last of the boxes in a corner. “Can’t the mayor do anything about it?
Eunseuk sighs, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, it looks like the donation project Nana’s driven wasn’t enough. She barely made enough profit last quarter because she’d donated most of it to the project.”
“What is awful and what project are we talking about?” Donghyuck interrupts.
Eunseuk smiles sadly at him. “The clinic that Nana’s been proposing to the mayor for years now. The town’s mayor thinks it’s not going to be built this year.” Donghyuck’s never heard of it.
“The community has a lot of elderly people who live alone in Jeju-do,” you explain when you notice his curiosity. “Especially in here in the island, even more here in our town. Most people leave Jeju-do at the age of eighteen to find a better life in Seoul, which is ridiculous because there’s no place better than Jeju-do, and Nana thought it’d be great if she built a small clinic for the elderly nearby, that way they wouldn’t have to travel fifty kilometers to visit the nearest hospital. It’d be great if the elderly can have themselves checked for free and to have, if not all, most equipment they’d need.”
“How is that possible?” Donghyuck asks.
“Well,” Eunseuk starts. “First, we need the funds to actually build the clinic itself. Nana is halfway through the amount needed. The mayor’s children are doctors, and if he wants to keep winning the next elections, I’m sure he’d be happy to have them volunteer.”
“What about maintenance?” he asks.
“Good question,” you say. “And good thinking. I like it, you’re already thinking ahead, Donghyuck-ah. Anyway, the elderly is very much willing to do community service in exchange of the maintenance of the small clinic. And don’t worry, it’s not like Nana’s going to make them work like horses.”
“Services like crocheting products for the local market,” Eunseuk adds. “Food manufacturing—the kind that would allow them to make while sitting down, local farming, jewelry-making, and the like. Things we can sell in the market. You know how tourists are so keen on buying anything hand-made.”
“So, a clinic for the elderly built and maintained by the elderly?” Donghyuck sums up.
“Exactly!”
“How much are we looking at in terms of money?” He asks.
You chuckle. “If you’re grandmother wanted to ask money from you, she would have already. She has some kind of pride, you know.”
“Well, I’ll give it you and you tell her it’s an anonymous donation.”
“As if she’d believe that bullshit,” you answer. “Anyway, Eunseuk-eonnie, what do we do now?”
The older woman shrugs. “We’ll keep selling tangerines until we reach the goal, I guess.”
Donghyuck talks before he could think about it. “I can do something.”
You and Eunseuk look at him like you’d just seen a ghost.
“I don’t know what I can offer,” he says right away. “But I’ll… I think I can do something.”
“Donghyuck,” you say. “You can sing.”
“I am aware,” he jokes.
“No, you can sing,” you repeat. Donghyuck looks back at you. “You can sing, so I’m sure you can teach people how to sing.”
“And?” He doesn’t get it.
“It’s summer,” you answer. “Most kids are bored and are probably looking for something meaningful to do while they wait for school to start again. Teach kids how to sing and have their parents pay for it!”
Donghyuck thinks it’s a good idea. “And you can write.”
You freeze. “No.”
“Teach kids how to write and have their parents pay for it.”
“Over my dead body!”
“I will do it only if you do it.”
Eunseuk laughs, “Oh, this is good.”
“No, Donghyuck. I’m not a professional writer. I didn’t even go to college. I don’t have the credentials for it.”
“You don’t have to go college to be a writer,” he snorts. “Scott Fitzgerald didn’t even finish college.”
“Where’d you even learn that?”
“You told me when we were kids!” he answers, laughing. “Come on, Y/N. I’m sure Nana can find someone to do your job in the farm while we teach kids.”
“I don’t know, Donghyuck,” you sigh.
Eunseuk lightly slaps your arm. “Come on, young lady. Do it for the elderly.”
“Yeah, Y/N, do it for the elderly.”
The sparkle in your eyes and the smile on your lips tell Donghyuck you agree.
And so, the plan goes accordingly.
Donghyuck could say that Nana is more than delighted to learn that his delinquent and embarrassing grandson, who’s spent all this time pretending he doesn’t care, had decided to help out. You’d done the most part, of course— obtaining the permit from the mayor’s office and settling all the paperwork needed. All Donghyuck had to do was to help clean up and renovate his grandfather’s old office in the farm. Everyone else who had some free time helped because apparently, that’s what this community does. Donghyuck could probably get used to receiving help without him asking for it.
So, in more or less five days, his grandfather’s old office, which is about forty square meters, had turned into the community’s summer class headquarters. You and Donghyuck decided to call it Nana’s Music and Literature Classes. And with the help of Eunseuk and some of the workers, the word spread like news from the radio. In a week’s time, you and Donghyuck have over twenty student each. Mondays and Wednesdays were his schedule; yours were Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays were called Hyuckie and Y/C/N’s day—which means you and him would dedicate an entire day brainstorming and talking about your class’ progress.
The summer courses would take eight weeks to complete, and at the end of it would be a competition, in which the Mayor promised he’d give a very big reward for. Those who enrolled in Donghyuck’s classes would have a recital at the end of summer where the kids will hold a small concert for the town—tickets to be sold as part of the drive, of course—and the judges will be identified to select three winners. As for your classes, it will be a short story competition, and the winners will be announced on the night of the small concert, which Donghyuck is the best ending any summer could have.
The place is cramped, and Donghyuck’s never been more excited his entire life.
He’s gone to many places and met with many prominent people in this lifetime. But he’s decided that this is the most exhilarating day of his life.
The parents leave as soon as Donghyuck assures them that the kids will be safe and will be all set for pick up by 3 in the afternoon. You’re talking to the kids while he ensures that the room is cool enough for everybody. The room is filled with excitement that Donghyuck could feel inside him. He learned from the parents he’d met just a few minutes ago that the town doesn’t really offer things like this for children and that they’d have to send their kids to summer camp in the mainland if they wanted them to experience this, and the fact that you and him are doing this for a cause makes it even better.
Donghyuck views this like it’s not as big as the drives NCT had been doing, or the charity concerts he takes part in, or the money he donates to various causes, but to the people of the town, it’s bigger than anything they had ever known.
“Aigoo,” one of the parents cooed when she’d seen Donghyuck greet everybody outside. “Your grandparents have always been kind. They’d been the pillar of this small town for quite some time now. I’m glad you’re growing up a good man.”
You’d smiled at him when you heard that, and Donghyuck wonders if you also think he’s growing up a good man, because he thinks you grew up to be such an amazing, compassionate person.
“Hello, kids!” Donghyuck greets. Everybody says it back with the same enthusiasm, and despite having been in hundreds of shows with thousands of people in the audience, he can’t remember the last time a crowd made him feel alive.
Donghyuck hates being recognized.
When his career had just started, he thought that the greatest compliment was to be recognized. He thought that he’d measure his success with the number of people from the general public who could recognize him under a hat and with a face mask covering half his face. But in the latter years of his career, he’d learned the hard way that he hated being seen and being recognized.
There had been many happenstances in his job in which he’d just wish he was invisible for a moment. Anytime he’s in an airport, regardless it was for an event or concert overseas, or worst of it all, a vacation with his family, all Donghyuck wants is for people not to know who he is. In afternoon runs by himself, all he needs is a time alone and not girls following him and taking pictures of him. On days when he’s out with friends and family, all he hopes is peace. This comes with the job, Johnny would tell him whenever he’d get frisky and annoyed, but Donghyuck never really understood why his privacy is anyone’s business. Never really understood why he had to go through this when all he’s ever really wanted was sing.
Donghyuck hates being seen.
More than anything. Especially when he’s trying hard to hide. And he wishes he’s only talking about his physical appearance being seen. He hates that his grandmother sees through him but doesn’t say anything about it unless he opens up first. He hates that Mark, his best friend in the entire world, sees right through his walls and that all Donghyuck’s done is push him away and make him hate him even more. He hates that his father sees his pain, but doesn’t talk about it for some reason. He hates that you see him—all of him—but you don’t look at him with disgust or pity or anything of that sort.
It’s Friday, yours and his day, the second one since summer school’s started, and he’d started calling you by your childhood nickname again. You’d grimaced the first time and told him nobody’s called you that in a long time, but allowed him nonetheless.
The clock strikes six in the afternoon and the dusk had just settled in the horizon. You and him are sitting on the floor of his room, facing each other, separated by a small table, notepads scattered, ideas running a hundred miles per second.
“This is perfect,” you comment when you and him had finished planning out next week’s daily agenda. “The kids are going to love it!”
Donghyuck stays silent, eyes on you as you finally set your pen down.
“What should we have for dinner?” you ask, eyes still on the notepad. “Nana’s probably heating up some leftover galbi, but I think we should make some kimchi stew, too.”
Donghyuck hums. You look up at him. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just had something in mind.”
You tilt your head. “Tell me.”
“It’s a question,” he says. “And if I say it, you’d have to answer.”
You think about it for a moment. Donghyuck almost takes it back. “Sure.”
“Really?”
You nod. “As long as you answer a question from me, too.”
Donghyuck pretends to think about it. “Can we set some rules?”
“It’s literally one question,” you snort. “Come on. Ask me.”
“No, ask me first,” he insists.
“You asked first.”
“No. Ask me first,” he repeats.
You scoff. “Fine. You have to tell me the truth, yeah?” A nod. “Ready?” Another.
Donghyuck holds his breath for a moment and you don’t say anything for about a minute, probably thinking the same as him: this is the only chance both of you are honest and open, might as well ask a question one wouldn’t answer on a normal day.
“How are you?”
He exhales the breath he’s been holding and nearly breaks down in tears when he hears the question you’d decided to ask. He’s sure you’ve heard of it all. Everything’s been all over the internet for the past two months he’d been in hiding in Jeju-do: the drinking, the nights in clubs and bars, the fights with the members, the cherry on top which is the scandal. It’d all spiraled into everything he was initially afraid of. The girl he’d met at the back of the club had sold him to reporters and had made up a story of how they’ve been in a sexual relationship for quite some time. The media had dug up stories of him being out of control in the streets when he’s shitfaced from all the soju he had and had posted tales of him asking multiple women to sleep with him whenever he’s drunk.
The agency sued everyone for making shit up, of course, but Donghyuck knows half of those are the truth. He has not been the best group member in a long time: always late in practices, grumpy and hangover during fan signs, lethargic during concerts, and fucking up performances. He’s lost himself, and he’s losing everyone in the process of it.
People ask him if he’d really had sex with someone at the back of a bar. They’d ask him why he never asked for help with his drinking problem. Comments from his Instagram would tell him to back off and just leave the group. Fans from calls and fan signs would ask him why he’d stop making covers of the songs he loved and why he hasn’t been on Bubble in a long period of time.
But nobody else had really asked him how he’s been aside from Nana, who he doesn’t have the heart to open up to.
“I—” He starts but swallows, breathing in. You wait for him. “I’m—I don’t really—I’m not sure if I can.”
You nod. “Take your time, Donghyuck.”
Donghyuck reminds himself to breathe.
How is he? How has been holding up after everything that’s happened?
He’s lost his spark. He’s lost his love for music, his passion for the stage, the sparkle in his eyes. He’s losing the people he loves. He’s losing his friends. And he’s losing a battle with himself.
He’s—
“I’m, ” he tries again. “Y/N, I’m not okay.”
It pours like rain, his tears. He shakes when he cries and his chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe, but he keeps crying because it’s the only time he ever will. He sobs in pain and holds himself when his entire body shakes from the ache of it all.
He’s grieving, weeping, like how one would in a funeral, because how does he ask for forgiveness? How does he ask forgiveness from his parents and siblings? From his members? From his fans? From the staff and the people who’d brought him to where he is? How does he ask forgiveness from little Donghyuck when all he’d wanted was for him to grow up a good man?
You let him cry, and only reach out to hand him a handkerchief when he’s done. You don’t say anything. Instead you kneel and reach over to hug him from the other side. Donghyuck accepts your tenderness.
“I don’t have anything else to ask,” you murmur against his hair. “But I do want to say that you’re loved in ways you probably have forgotten already. You’ve probably been used to love that’s loud—screaming and flamboyant and beautiful and everything anyone would want—but you’re also loved quietly. In a small, serene room. In a way you’ve forgotten.”
“Thank you,” he says, sniffling, a little embarrassed now. “I’m sorry. I probably ruined the moment.”
You chuckle, pulling away, and Donghyuck’s heart does flips when you kiss the top of his head like you always did when you were younger. He doesn’t know why he remembers all of a sudden.
“Stop apologizing,” you reply. “There’s nothing to apologize about.”
“There’s a lot,” he admits. “I didn’t recognize you the first time I saw you. We did everything when we were kids, and I didn’t recognize you.”
“And it’s okay,” you assure, holding the top of his hand that’s resting on the small table. “I didn’t expect you to recognize me right away. You were worlds away from me. We forget people and that’s okay.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not. I promised to keep in touch, and I never did. I’m sorry.”
You nod. “You’re forgiven.”
Donghyuck sighs in relief. “I doubt, but okay.”
“Trust me.” He does. “Anyway, you were going to ask me something. You’re not allowed to ask the same thing because I’d just answer that I’m tired and I want to sleep. Nothing big happens in my life.”
Donghyuck smiles again. “Ready?” A nod. “Why’d you never leave Jeju-do?”
It seems like you didn’t expect the question because your face tells Donghyuck you’re surprised by what he just asked. You lick your lip and exhale largely, looking everywhere but his eyes. Donghyuck allows you to take your time, and you’re not running away so he’s assuming you’re thinking of an answer for him.
“I don’t have a dream,” is your answer. “My parents think it’s not normal. Because even they had already left the town and moved to a bigger place off the island. People think it’s impossible that I don’t have a dream, that I must want something in life, I just haven’t discovered it yet. And I’m twenty-three, I’m still waiting for my awakening, for dreams to find me, but it hasn’t. I don’t want to do anything in life but just… survive.”
Donghyuck only listens. “In high school, when we were deciding what to take up in college and which college we’d go to, I had nothing in mind. I didn’t want a career—not an engineer, not a teacher, not a doctor, none of those. I couldn’t think of anything. Writing is something that I love doing, but I really can’t see myself pursuing it as a career. I don’t want to end up hating it. I’ve always been convinced that I wasn’t specifically good at anything apart from that. I’m okay with all subjects at school, average grades and all, but nothing ever stood out for me. I never stood out. And I was okay with it for a reason I still don’t know. I was okay with not having dreams. College was the only reason for me to leave Jeju-do. There’s nothing else, therefore I’m still here. At twenty-three, I haven’t accomplished much, and if you want me to be all out and honest,” you sigh. “It’s… it’s starting to scare me.”
“What scares you?”
“That I haven’t accomplished anything yet,” you admit. “I’m not one to, you know, force myself to people and make them remember me. I wasn’t scared of oblivion. Until… these days, I’ve been asking myself, how are people going to remember me?”
Donghyuck nods, urges you to continue.
“Are they going to remember me as someone who helps out in your Nana’s farm because I had nothing to do?” you voice out. “Are they going to remember me as someone who brings all the deliveries to the farmer’s market when the staff is unavailable? Are they going to remember be as Eunseuk’s co-worker? Are they going to remember me at all?”
“Can I tell you something?” he asks but doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I know I’m not in the position to say anything about remembering you when I couldn’t recognize you the first time we met after a decade, but I remember you by the way I see cherry blossoms.”
You tilt your head to the side. “Is that a good thing?”
“We met in a puddle of fallen cherry blossoms in summer of 2006,” he explains. “I remember you by the way you admired flowers that fall off from its stem, by the way you loved fallen and broken things equally when they were perfect and when they stood still. I may have awfully forgotten you all these years, but the way I see cherry blossoms is the exact same way you see them.”
Donghyuck continues, “You know how they say we’re a manifestation of all the people we met, right? That we’re a mosaic of everything we’ve ever learned from them. To me, I remember you as the clear image of who I was before… before everything that’s happened. I remember you as someone helping me find my way back home.”
“Donghyuck,” you trail off. “That’s the… best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Donghyuck smiles. “And so, what if you don’t have big dreams? Dreams are just dreams anyway. You don’t have to have one if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to struggle so much in order to live.”
“Do people know you’re this kind and profound?” you chuckle. “People should see this side of Lee Donghyuck.”
“Call yourself lucky you’re the only one,” he answers.
“What’s wrong with people seeing this side?”
Donghyuck shrugs. “I don’t think they’d want the boring kind. I think they like me better when I’m funny and over the top and a sucker for attention.”
“Well,” you click your tongue. “I like you either way.”
Donghyuck is barely twenty-three. And if he knows anything about falling in love, this might just be the moment he truly learns it.
You and him end up falling asleep on his bed. Donghyuck likes to think he doesn’t really remember how it happened. You’d told him you’d sleep in the hammock at his house’s patio, but he’d insisted to sleep in his room, of course. Reason? Mosquitoes, of course. Donghyuck said he’d sleep on the floor, taking an extra pillow, but you were already half asleep, moving so your body is right by the wall, safe and sound. You’d save the extra space for him to sleep beside you. Donghyuck likes to think he’d fallen asleep because he was exhausted and not because he felt safe around you.
It’s the longest sleep he’s had in a long time.
He wakes up at eight in the morning, the room already warm despite the air-conditioning system still switched on. You are no longer beside him, but he clearly hears your voice from outside.
Donghyuck gets up, going straight outside and finds everyone from the farm gathered around for breakfast outside his grandmother’s house. He’d forgotten that his Nana invited everybody for a scrumptious breakfast today, Saturday, and he wonders why neither you nor Nana herself had woken him up to help out.
Farmers and harvesters pass a plate to one another. A long table is set up in the middle of Nana’s driveway space, various of dishes laid out, and Donghyuck finds you holding two pitchers of tangerine juice, walking around to fill up the workers’ cups.
It’s Eunseuk who sees Donghyuck standing by the patio watching everybody move around.
“There’s our Donghyuckie!” she announces.
Everyone looks at him and greets him a good morning. Nana shouts his name and asks him to come over and eat some breakfast. You squint when you look at him, the sun blinding your eyes, but you smile as soon as he waves hi.
Donghyuck can’t help but think being recognized is not so bad after all.
Donghyuck spends the rest of summer like a kid.
Except he goes to work at Nana’s Music and Literature Classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, goes to the farm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and spends his Fridays with you. He learns many things over the summer, especially about the community and the town itself. He meets more people as Donghyuck, Nana’s grandson who teaches children how to sing and who helps out in the farm two days a week. They accept him as he is, and he feels like seven again, meeting new people every day until they all remember him by his name.
Among the things he’s learned, he likes learning how your lips taste the most.
It was sudden, unplanned, the kind where he didn’t know he was doing it until he’s done it. You and him were ending a Friday session at your place that time, the place where he used to hide his drinks, and he was so elated that he wasn’t going home drunk for the first time since he arrived in Jeju-do. And he was bidding you goodbye. He’d leaned it like it was the most natural thing to do and caught your lips in his. You shrieked in surprise, unable to say anything, but tipped on your toes and gave him a second kiss before turning and running inside your house.
You didn’t talk about it, and Donghyuck felt like it was not something to talk about. You had voiced out you liked him in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s been relentlessly flirting with you since the night you fell asleep in his room. The signs were never mixed and the lines were never blurred. Donghyuck’s grown much closer to you more than anyone else in the world, and he’s been falling asleep in the safety of your arms these days. It was safe to say the kisses weren’t meaningless.
The night of his class’ recital comes quickly.
Donghyuck spend the entire two days practicing with each of his students while you were busy reading all of your students’ works and giving them feedback before they submit it to the Mayor’s office. You find him getting ready in his room, dressed in the only button-down shirt he brought from Seoul and a pair of slacks. Meanwhile, it’s the first time he’s seeing you in a dress that somehow matches the colors of his outfit.
“Looking great, handsome,” you say.
Donghyuck pulls you for a kiss. “Could say the same to you, beautiful.”
“Why are you so touchy these days?” you whine but lean back to kiss him again anyway. “Ready? One of the parents called and said his kid is already in the venue. They’re excited.”
Donghyuck nods, grabbing a jacket just in case it gets cold later tonight, and leads the way out. Nana is dressed in a pretty dress Donghyuck gave her for Christmas last year. Donghyuck drives to the venue and finds himself nervous for the first time in a long time.
You’d managed to convince him to sing tonight despite his persistent refusal.
“Come on, Donghyuck,” you begged, pulling him by the end of his shirt as he harvests tangerines. “The audience will love you!”
“They paid their tickets to watch the kids of the community sing, not me,” he argued. “And besides, I haven’t sung in like, four months. Who knows? I may have forgotten to sing already.”
“Bullshit,” you said. “Your Nana would want to hear you sing live.”
“She’s already heard me sing live many times,” he replied. “She’s been to many concerts.”
You tilt you head, a habit he’s grown to really like. “But I haven’t.”
Donghyuck had wanted to kiss the pout off your lips at that time. “Watch it from Youtube.”
“You don’t get many lines!” you said.
“So, you do watch my performances in Youtube, huh?” he teased. “Only in NCT 127 I don’t get so much lines because there are more members. Try to listen to NCT Dream.”
“Donghyuck!” you bellowed in frustration as you follow him around the farm. “Please!”
He stopped and turned, a little too late for you to step back because you’re already pressed up against his chest. “Okay.”
“Really?” you asked, voice lower because your faces were just inches apart—one wrong move and you’d be kissing in the middle of tangerine trees.
He nodded, purposely moving his face closer. “Only if you start reviewing for the SAT again and start sending your drafted college applications from your laptop.”
“Who told you to sneak in and open my files!” you gasped.
“I was checking if you’ve ever watched porn in your life and I found something better: your college applications.”
“I hate you, you know?”
Donghyuck chuckled, moving even closer to intimidate you but he hoped you couldn’t his heart hammering against his chest. “I know. Now. Do we have a deal? I’ll sing at recital night and you start reviewing for the upcoming SAT and send out your college applications when it’s time.”
“I’m—I’m not sure.”
Donghyuck let you go, you almost falling back but he held your hand before you could. “Then I’m not singing.”
“But Donghyuck!” He turned to leave while you scream behind him, pleading.
Ten steps forward and he finally got what he wanted: “Okay! I’ll do it! I’ll start reviewing and will send all the drafted college applications! I’ll do it!”
Hence, the singing stunt for tonight.
The event goes as planned.
The night starts with Donghyuck’s entire class singing their own rendition of a famous traditional song that the crowd truly loved. One by one, the kids would sing, with intermission numbers in groups in between, and by the end of it, it was Donghyuck’s turn.
The minus one track is ready and Donghyuck takes a deep breath as he walks up the stage. It’s smaller than any of the stages he’s been on—perhaps the smallest—and the lights aren’t as bright than the ones he’s used to. Big stages mean big lights, and if he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t see a single face when he’s on stage. The illuminations to ensure the fans would see them are blinding, beyond what people think. While his mother thinks his eyesight has gotten worse due to the long hours of playing APEX on his days off, Donghyuck believes it’s because of the blinding lights from the stage and everywhere he goes.
However, this stage has the gentlest lights he’s ever seen. The crowd is small, about two hundred people including their students, and from here, he can see their faces clearly. He stands not too far away, not to high, and he smiles when the crowd cheers when he reaches the middle of the stage.
“Hello, I’m Donghyuck,” he says on the mic. “I’m the teacher of the talented kids we watched this evening, and I can’t be prouder with how they sang their hearts out tonight. To show my gratitude, I also prepared a song for you.”
The crowd cheers again, your voice standing out as you stand right beside the stage, your phone already up probably recording him.
“I sang this song some time last year,” he continues. “This is Good Person.”
The instrumental plays and the crowd claps before he even starts. Donghyuck breathes, closing his eyes, and sings: “What’s going on today? Your face looks like it’s been crying. Did he break your heart? You’re the most precious person in the world to me.”
He hasn’t sung in a long time, and he barely practiced this song yesterday. Donghyuck, for some time before everything went to crumbles, felt scared going on stage. He felt as though he wouldn’t do well enough to deserve the applause and cheers, and he spent a lot of time doubting his own capabilities.
Whoever he is now, Donghyuck truly worked hard for it. At first, he only knew how to sing and it was the only thing he ever loved. And then he learned how to dance, how to stand like an idol, how to answer like a celebrity, how to have his “candid” photos taken, how to be a proper artist—even when he only wants to sing.
Standing here, now, in a small crowd, singing a song he wished was his own, he wished he had written, Donghyuck feels safe.
In Jeju-do, he feels safe. Donghyuck feels like he’s found his way home. The people he’s spent all these months with brought him comfort he’s never known—like coming home after a whole day of being pestered in the real world—and he knows that he’ll never find ease and serenity the same way Jeju-do had given him. The town took him in with open arms, like he’s not some idol who ruined their career for fleeting pleasure, like he’s not some person who’d forgotten about all of them. His Nana embraced him like he was seven again, like making mistakes is normal and that forgiving is easy when you love the person. You accepted him and taught him what falling in love means as though he was deserving of love and comfort.
The song ends with his voice dragging out the last words, his eyes closed: “I can only comfort you.”
When Donghyuck opens his eyes, the lights don’t blind him and the people he knows and love clap, cheering for him. It comes to him like pouring rain. And he allows himself to drench in it—the tenderness, the warmth, the love.
Because he deserves it. He deserves the love, therefore he takes, takes, takes, until he’s full of it.
Like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.
You’d spent the night in his home, Donghyuck for the first time learned how to make love in bed. He’s had sex before, of course, but never like how you and him connected in his bed—moans and music of pleasure hushed by each other’s mouth, his honey-colored skin’s warmth pressed against yours, his lips and tongue tasting every inch of you. He’d said he loves you, and you’d said it back as you and him take each other.
This morning he wakes up without a headache, and he’s been waking up without one for a few weeks now. He usually wakes up with the sound of roosters from his grandmother’s backyard, or the sound of you and his Nana talking over your morning coffee. But today, he wakes up with the sound of his grandmother knocking profusely, seemingly frightened by the sound of her voice calling his name.
“Donghyuck-ah,” she shouts. “Please wake up. I don’t know what to do.”
You and Donghyuck get up startled, scrambling to put some clothes on and hurrying to open the door—only to find Nana on the verge of tears. Nana never falters, she’d only shown strength but Donghyuck finds her shaking. Nana doesn’t get the chance to answer because Joohyuk barges in, sweaty and catching his breath.
“The mayor’s security team is here,” he announces. “Let’s get going.”
“Go where?” Donghyuck asks, but Joohyuk is already pulling him.
The door opens, and Donghyuck finally realizes what’s going on.
They’d found him. Men and women with cameras shout his name—he recognizes a few from the conferences he’d attended—and flashes of lights and the stuttering sound of shutters devour him. He looks around and he can’t see you and he hears his Nana cry, and Donghyuck doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on, but he feels his legs give out. Joohyuk practically carries him to the SUV waiting outside their home.
Inside the car, Donghyuck catches a glimpse of the crowd—a crowd that looks like twice the amount of the people from the recital last night. He hears them screaming his name and he sees glints of neon green and posters as they pass by. His Nana, who sits beside him, cries and says she doesn’t understand why they’d found him. The mayor had specifically ensured that the town’s residents do not say a word about his visit way before he’d arrived and she’d done her best to protect him from the lights. He doesn’t say anything and only hugs her tight.
On the other side of Nana is you. You’re staring off the window, the fields far more interesting than what just happened, and you’re biting off the nails of your fingers and your legs wouldn’t stop bouncing. And you’re silent, and Donghyuck wonders why all of a—
Donghyuck doesn’t have to ask you to know.
You’d sold him off.
“I’m sorry,” is all you had to say when you and him are left inside the mayor’s office’s lounge. Donghyuck asked everybody to leave.
You’re sitting on the couch, eyes on the floor, while Donghyuck walks back and forth, angry. “I didn’t mean to.”
He stops walking right in front of you. “What do you mean you didn’t mean to post me on your Instagram? How could you possibly accidentally do that?!”
You keep your head low. “I—I forgot that it wasn’t on private and I didn’t have that many of followers to even be bothered by it. And one of our old friends commented and asked me if it was you—”
“And you said yes?” he enunciated. “You consciously, deliberately said yes?”
You start crying at this point. “Yes, and I’m sorry!”
“That’s a little too late now, isn’t it?”
“I just—”
“You just what? You want to play the girlfriend role so fucking bad?”
“Donghyuck, please, listen—” You get up and hold him by his arms but he backs off and rips his body from yours. “I just—I wanted the world to know that you can be kind and warm and you’re nothing like what the tabloids say—”
“So, you admit you purposely posted it!” he shouts. “What a fucking—”
“Yes!” you admit, still crying. “Because I can’t live knowing the world sees you differently when you’re generous and loving and amazing!”
Donghyuck takes a deep breath, hands on his waist, head tilted up so he can focus on the ceiling instead of the image of you crying. “You have no idea how the world fucking works, do you?”
“You always loved singing,” you reason out. “And the world shouldn’t take that away from you because of one mistake. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I didn’t think it through, but please understand my purpose.”
“You really have no fucking idea,” he concludes, looking down at you, right in your eyes and says: “How would you have any knowledge of what goes on outside of Jeju-do, anyway? You have never left this god damn place in your entire life and you know nothing aside from stringing words beautifully to get what you want. And you think you’re fucking cool for not having a dream and staying in an island, living your small-town girl fantasy, when in fact you’ve done nothing in life and people won’t even remember you. Why would you think you can make this decision for me? You’re just some girl who didn’t even go to college!”
“That’s enough, Donghyuck!” Nana interrupts.
Donghyuck turns and finds his Nana, Joohyuk, some of the Mayor’s security staff, his manager, and his Mother standing right outside the now opened door.
He looks back at you and you’re no longer crying. Your expression is just empty, like a light bulb burnt out.
Indeed, like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.
They take the first flight to Seoul after successfully shooing the media and fans away. Nana travels with them, his mother deciding that it’s the best for now until everything calms down.
Donghyuck finds out during the flight that yours and his old friend from middle school had reposted the video of him singing from last night and it went viral in multiple social media platforms. Overnight, people had found out his location and the media had started interviewing people in the town. Despite the mayor instructing everyone not to say a thing, some had answered questions, even submitted entries on some forums about Haechan online.
His manager talks about how their PR team sort of thinks this might just be what he needed, says something about the locals of the town had said so many good things about him. He confirms that the post originated from your Instagram account and you had deactivated at this point and that they’re in the process of contacting your old schoolmate because the agency wants to press charges for invading his grandmother’s privacy and for bothering him on an unofficial schedule.
His mother holds his hand all through, and she offers a kind smile and kisses the top of his head.
Donghyuck cries like baby, and his mother only holds him, and perhaps that’s all he truly needs.
The crowd is just as bad when his plane lands. Donghyuck can barely see and hear considering the lights and people shouting his name. They take him to a separate SUV, away from his mother and Nana to keep them off the radar, and he sits in the car beside his manager.
“Here,” his manager hands him a phone as soon as the car starts moving. Donghyuck had forgotten his phone. It’s probably still in his room back in Nana’s house. People are still screaming his name. Donghyuck stares at his manager’s phone blankly. The screen shows he’s in a call with Mark.
Donghyuck’s hand shakes when he takes it. He puts the device over his ear and doesn’t wait for Mark to say anything.
“Mark-hyung,” he cries.
And cries. And cries. And cries. Until he arrives in SM’s headquarters and the manager has to take the phone away from him. Mark tells him he’s on the way to the headquarters with Renjun and Doyoung and that the others should be on their way after their individual schedules.
They arrive and immediately their staff take care of him like a baby, and he realizes that he’s back. He’s back. Right where he’s supposed to belong.
They take him to the PR teams office, and none of them ask how he’s doing and he’s spiraling again—already starting to think how he could please the staff and make them happy, not even an entire day of landing in Seoul and he’s already thinking about other people at his own expense.
Hence, Donghyuck makes a decision he’s never considered before.
While one of the PR associates discuss how he’s ranked number one in Naver’s most searched term, Donghyuck raises his hand.
They all look at him.
And finally, Donghyuck says: “Please get me a therapist. Please get someone who can help me.”
The room is clean and if Donghyuck’s being honest, a little too perfect for a therapist’s office. A tiny part of his fucked-up brain tries to convince him that they’d probably set him up for a documentary he’s not aware of to clean his image, so he looks around and tries to check if there are any cameras setup.
“Truly a celebrity,” Dr. Yoon says, which makes Donghyuck jump a little. The doctor stands from the door way, closing it as he steps inside. “Please, feel comfortable.”
Donghyuck thinks that’s a little impossible, but he takes a seat one of the single couches.
“The first thing that celebrities do in my office is look around for cameras,” the doctor comments, sitting on a similar chair across Donghyuck. “And I assure you that no amount of money can buy my integrity as a psychologist.”
“I’m relieved,” Donghyuck mumbles. “Hello, I’m Donghyuck.”
“Hello, Donghyuck,” the doctor greets; Donghyuck bows. “I had a quick glimpse of your situation from the form you filled out online. Are you feeling better today?”
“I guess,” Donghyuck shrugs. Dr. Yoon smiles.
“How about I ask questions and if you don’t want to answer, stay silent instead of lying to me?” He asks. Donghyuck sighs but nods. “And if you want to answer, answer as truthfully as you can, yes?” Donghyuck agrees. “Let’s start with simple questions.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
Dr. Yoon asks him many close-ended questions, to which Donghyuck had given him all the answers to, then proceeds to ask him what’s on his mind. The doctor’s notepad sits on the table between them, left open and blank even after asking so many questions.
Donghyuck is not really sure whether he’d done the right thing by seeking help, but he can’t keep hurting people just because he’s fucked up in the head. And he can’t keep hurting himself just because he can’t make the entire fucking world happy. He can’t keep drinking his insomnia away because he’s scared a doctor may tell him he’s fucked up in the head, which he knows already, he just doesn’t want it written in his medical records. He can’t keep fucking up his group’s image just because the alcohol doesn’t help his insomnia anymore. He can’t keep drowning himself in his sadness and the thought of disappointing so many people in his life—the people he left behind in Jeju-do, the members, his fans, the staff, his parents and siblings, his Nana, you.
If melatonin didn’t work, if the alcohol didn’t work, and if Jeju-do didn’t work, then perhaps a therapist is his best shot at getting better.
Donghyuck takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and begins.
“I keep thinking about how I can make everyone happy without sacrificing anything.”
The doctor finally picks up the pen and starts scribbling down.
Donghyuck keeps talking.
Donghyuck goes to therapy on Tuesdays and Fridays, and SM keeps his hiatus status active until Donghyuck decides to come back himself. It’s an agreement his parents, Donghyuck, and the agency settled while things are still chaotic.
The members are supportive of this, especially Mark and Taeyong. They’d send him cheerful messages every Tuesday and Friday, when they know that his session would begin. Sometimes, Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin would pick him up and take him to a barbecue restaurant after. Donghyuck can’t remember how many times Renjun and Chenle had driven him to therapy and had waited for a couple of hours, only to take him to his favorite Chinese restaurant that serves the best hotpot. The older members have also driven him to therapy once or twice, with Jungwoo even signing up for therapy one time, and they’ve all given him love and tenderness—which Donghyuck accepted.
Donghyuck learns many things from Dr. Yoon. He learns that people pleasing isn't a mental illness, but it can be an issue that adversely affects how many people, with or without mental illness, relate to others. Most of all, people pleasers try to nourish other people without adequately nourishing themselves. Dr. Yoon called it Sociotrophy. He described it as the tendency to place an inordinate value on relationships over personal independence in response to the loss of relationships or conflict.
Those with sociotropic tendencies, wish to make other people happy, often at the sake of their own needs or values. While being warm, kind, and helpful are positive traits, they can result in strong feelings of resentment, anxiety, stress, and emotional depletion when they come at your expense.
People-pleasing, apparently, falls at the opposite end of the scale from autonomy. Autonomy places emphasis on independence whereas people-pleasers prioritize interpersonal relationships above all else. People-pleasers are often extremely empathic and attuned to others’ needs. A people-pleaser therefore tends to pursue intimate, affectionate, and confiding relationships. These people have a strong desire for external validation and avoid, or are sensitive to, situations where conflict may arise. They will go above and beyond to avoid displeasing others out of fear of diminished social acceptance.
This behavior can have detrimental effects on a person’s self-worth and self-esteem. A never-ending pursuit of approval, a desire for acceptance, and a sense of validation that arise from others happiness often result in a negative self-image. The person is likely to feel unworthy, powerless, or resentful, which may result in a lack of self-care.
The way Dr. Yoon had described it basically sums up Donghyuck as a human being.
He also learns that Sociotropic tendencies are often associated with mental health disorders such as anxiety or depression, which finally gave them Donghyuck’s diagnosis: clinical depression, also known as major depressive disorder abbreviated as MDD.
Clinical depression is a chronic condition, but it usually occurs in episodes, which can last several weeks or months. Dr. Yoon says one would likely have more than one episode in a lifetime. Donghyuck had asked him what was the difference between MDD and depression as it is.
Dr. Yoon explained that it’s normal to feel sad when you’re faced with difficult life situations, such as losing your job or a relationship. Some people may say they feel depressed during these situations. MDD is different in that it persists practically every day for at least two weeks and involves other symptoms than just sadness alone. It can be confusing because many people call clinical depression or major depressive disorder just “depression.”
Dr. Yoon also blabbered about chemicals in his brain that, well, Donghyuck really doesn’t understand much. All he knows at this point is that the treatment involves some medication and most specially psychotherapy. Apparently, studies show that the combination of these treatments is more effective than either of them alone.
Donghyuck has been investing a lot of his time in psychotherapy. His normal sessions were every Friday, thirty minutes to a maximum of an hour each. Like how his prescription doses went up, he also requested his psychotherapy sessions to be more frequent, hence Tuesdays and Fridays, minimum of one hour a session, maximum of an hour and a half.
Donghyuck likes to think that over the course of eight weeks, he’d gotten a little better. It turns out that being honest with your doctor means you’d get prescribed the right pills to take to help you fall asleep. No wonder the melatonin pills he’d taken didn’t work in the long run; he was taking the wrong ones and the wrong dosage—just like how he’d been looking for happiness in the wrong places.
From today’s session, Dr. Yoon asked him if he could talk to his mother about how he’d felt for so many years—the pressure, the urge to do whatever pleases her, the comparisons with other members, everything. Hence, Donghyuck finds himself knocking on his parents’ room.
He’s staying at their home during his hiatus. He reckons it’s the best time to speak with her as his father and the kids are out for work and school.
“Come in, Donghyuck-ah,” she says softly from the other side. He opens the door and finds his mother writing something in her journal. “You need anything, baby? Do you want to eat?”
He shakes his head and walks towards their bed, sitting on its edge. His mother puts the pen down and sits beside him. “Something wrong?”
“Eomma,” he says in the softest voice. “Can I sleep here?”
The question brings tears to his mother’s eyes. She nods and leads him to bed, Donghyuck lying on his side and his mother cradling him from behind. He looks like he’s thirteen again, the day before the audition at SM, young and anxious about what the next day would bring, and his mother seems like she’s never aged a day, still determined and only wants the best for her children.
Donghyuck can feel her crying.
“I’m sorry, Donghyuck-ah,” is all she says.
And Donghyuck knows deep in his heart that even before she’d uttered her apology, he’s already forgiven her.
Haechan comes back right before Chuseok.
NCT Dream is invited to perform at a music festival held in the Seoul Olympic Stadium alongside many other artists. When news broke that this would be Haechan’s come back stage, the ticket sites went crazy—crashing every second because everybody wanted to get tickets to see the most-awaited comeback.
Over the course of seven months of Donghyuck’s hiatus, many things have changed. He gained more fans in the latter parts of the hiatus after the world learned his life in Jeju-do. He’d gotten a new piercing in his cartilage, which the fans love, but only Donghyuck probably understands what it means. Old videos of him going on stage went viral years later, the world seeing how talented and passionate he truly is. Clips of him randomly singing without autotune circulated for quite some time, and his fondness of children and respect for the elder have been the talk of the KPop industry for the last months or so, calling him the most well-mannered idol. The scandal had not been erased from history, of course; some people still hate him for it. Some of his old fan sites did not return to support him, and if we’re talking about old Donghyuck, he’d probably be pretty bummed about it. He’d probably start compromising his privacy to give them a glimpse of his life off the stage to get them back.
But the sessions with Dr. Yoon have been working well, because Donghyuck doesn’t really care about pleasing the entire world anymore. Donghyuck thinks that as long as there’s a good number of people supporting him and loving him for who he is—as a person and as a singer—then he’d be okay. He didn’t have to make the entire planet roar his name.
The dress rehearsals are done by the time the clock hit four in the afternoon. The members argue where to go eat. Jisung announces he’s going shopping for a new pair of wired headphones because he lost his on the way to the stadium, to which Renjun says he’d go with him. The others decide to go eat with the staff, some opt to go home and rest so they’d be ready for the next day.
Donghyuck decides to go buy the book that Johnny recommended him: The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. He’s told that the book is about a boy growing up, and that it might strike his thoughts if he’s up to reading a children’s book meant for adults.
Hence, Donghyuck finds himself going through shelves and sections of children’s book after picking up The Little Prince and wondering if Gyeom would want to read any of these.
You see, Lee Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate. As he’d say before, his career didn’t happen by fate because it was all his mother doing all the hard work. But what are the odds of him choosing to visit this exact book store at this exact moment over elsewhere and another time?
And what are the odds of him finding you leaning against the wall in the corner of the store, hair longer than the last time, nose red and body bundled up in layers of clothes, a book in your hand as you read through it?
Donghyuck stops, stares at you, as if he’s waiting for you to look up from the book, and thinks about how much he’d missed you all this time and how much he’d regretted ending things with foul, unacceptable words. He thinks about remembering you anytime he sees tangerines and flowers around the city. He thinks about the odds of finding you again and again in this lifetime. He thinks about the flowers only blooming as soon as the butterflies have left, missing their timing, and how they bloom again next spring, hoping that this time, the timing is right.
He thinks about you in silence. He thinks about love hiding in the corners of his chest, convincing him he’ll get over it—he’ll get over you. He thinks about his dreams.
A few people pass by the space between you and him. The distance is about three meters. It’s silent for the most part.
Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate, and you look up to prove him otherwise.
It’s only then that Donghyuck takes a really good look on you: new hairstyle, backpack slung in one arm, a student ID badge hanging right below your chest.
“Y/N!” A girl whisper-shouts from behind fDonghyuck. “Have you found the book?”
You don’t tear your glance away from him, but you nod and say, “Yeah. I’ll go check it out and I’ll meet you outside.”
The other girl doesn’t notice him and proceeds to leave. You take two, three, five, seven steps, and you’re right in front of him.
“Hi, Donghyuck-ah,” you say in the softest voice as soon as you’re close enough.
Donghyuck wonders whether this is just a dream or if he’d started hallucinating you because of the medicines he’s been taking, but then he catches a whiff of your scent, and Donghyuck believes.
Donghyuck believes in fate. In forgiveness. In healing. In love. In finding one’s way back home.
END
author's note: PLEASE tell me what you think of this in the comments or reblogs. I'd also appreciate if you send me you favorite line here. Thank you so much for reading until the end!
optional as always: TIP ME HERE.
#nct dream fic#haechan fic#haechan canon#haechan fluff#haechan angst#haechn au#haechan x reader#nct fic#lee donghyuck#lee haechan#lee donghyuck fix#lee donghyuck au#donghyuck au#donghyuck fic#donghyuck angst#donghyuck smut#haechan smut#nct smut#haechan#faye's moving castle
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Still Here (Chapter 7)
Summary: Three little words from Timmy send you into a panic.
A/N: A shorter chapter, but a BIG one.
Catch up on previous chapters here.
"I should have followed you when you asked me."
In slow motion, Timothée's lips met yours. They were as plush and soft as you remembered. His hands eagerly made their way to your hips to pull your body to his. One of your hands snaked up his back while the other gripped his neck to pull him deeper into the kiss.
"[Y/N], I love you," he moaned when came up for air.
Instantly, you pulled away. He kept his arms out, stunned by your sudden absence from them.
"Timmy...I can't tell you how much I want this. I have feelings for you, too. But it's too soon. I- I can't say it back yet," your voice trembled. You walked over to his truck and dropped the tailgate to sit. "This isn't just a matter of picking up where we left off 12 years ago. I've lived a whole separate life in between. I have a daughter depending on me to keep my shit together.
I got so wrapped up in being wife and mother, I- I don't even know who I am anymore. I need to figure that out first. I rushed headlong into my last relationship with blinders on. I couldn't see anything else but him. I latched onto him because I was alone and lonely. Sound familiar? I lost myself in trying to be whatever he wanted me to be. I can't- I can't do that again." You put both of your hands to your forehead. "I've barely been back more than a month, and I'm already entertaining a new relationship."
Timothée joined you on the tailgate. "But, it's not new."
"Yes, it is!" you shouted. "I'm not the same person I was 12 years ago. We need to get to know each other again to make sure we actually like each other for who we are now, not just getting wrapped up in the nostalgia of what was. I- I've been hurt, wounded, heart flayed open at the hands of someone else who also once said they loved me. Then they fell out of love with me. What does that say about me? What does that say about love?" your voice faded to a whisper.
"It says more about him," Timothée growled. "That he's a damn fool. And so was I to let you go in the first place. But unlike that idiot, I NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU!" He jumped off the tailgate to pace the sidewalk.
You blinked owlishly at him. "What?"
"Why do you think I couldn't follow through with my engagement in Texas? She was funny, beautiful even...but she wasn't you. And that wasn't fair to her."
"And I don't think this is fair to you!" you exclaimed. "I feel so drained right now. I don't have a lot of emotional energy to offer, and what reserve I do have needs to go to Madison. She's my number one priority. I hope you understand that I'm not saying no. I'm asking for slow."
He stopped pacing and stood directly in front of you, one hand resting on your knee. The other cupped your face. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll go as slow as you need. But, I'm not going to stop telling you that I love you. You deserve to hear it. Know it. Feel it. I will still be here when you decide it's safe to love me back." He broke the seriousness with a flash of his classic lopsided grin. "And if you think being honest with me is going to change how I feel about you, then maaaaybe you're not quite as smart as I thought."
You laughed softly and leaned into his touch. "I'm glad I haven't scared you off. Most men would turn tail and run at the sight of a divorcée with a pre-teen daughter."
"Well, I'm not most men, and I've actually grown quite fond of Madison," Timothée replied.
"I can tell. And she likes you, too, it seems. I think that's what scares me most, though. Any decision I make impacts her as well. She got hurt in all of this, too. I don't want her to get attached to someone who may not stick around. Not that- I don't mean that you would do that. Just in general."
"I knew what you meant. I respect you for putting her first. I would expect nothing less from you. And I'd sooner walk through fire than hurt her." He kissed the top of your head and sat back down beside you. You rested your head on his shoulder for a few silent moments.
"We seem to have our most serious conversations in the back of this truck." You looked up at him and half-smiled.
"I can think of some other things that have happened in this truck, too." He winked.
"Timmy!" you popped him lightly on the arm in feigned embarrassment.
"So what now?" he asked in a more serious tone.
"I don't know. This is new to me, too. I guess we do what we have been doing. We hang out. We talk. We get to know each other's adult selves. But no PDA in front of Maddy. Not yet. I will talk to her when I feel the time is right and slowly introduce the concept of me dating again."
"I can live with that. But when she's not around, can I still do this?" He leaned over and teasingly grazed his lips over yours.
"I can live with that," you breathed out. This time, you closed the gap, all but slamming your mouth against his for a deeper kiss.
<><><><><>
Chapter 8
Masterlist
Tag List: @croatianprincess @bluizh
#timothée chalamet#timothee chalamet#timothee chalamet x reader#timothée chalamet x reader#Timothée x reader#timothee x reader#reader insert#timothée x you#timothee x you#timothée chalamet x you#timothee chalamet x you#divorce#single parent#single parenting#female reader#mom reader#high school sweethearts#angst#whump#eventual happy ending#timothee chalamet fanfiction#timothée chalamet imagine#timothee fanfic
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A request where Felipe accompanies you for swim suit shopping for bikini before summer break. Can turn it to smut if you want
Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini
Summary: shopping for a bikini with your boyfriend.
Rating: +18
Warnings: explicit !!!! oral (f! recieving ), p with very small plot, PURE FILFTH
Word count: 0.7k
Notes: small smutty drabble with a song that really matches it AKSDSKASDKSK. idk if any of you know this song, however i used to listen A LOT when I was a kid and it just popped on my mind after the request and i HAD TO put the song for my brazilian readers (which I'm sure I have some) for everyone just have a nostalgia moment
masterlist
Felipe and you had been dating for a few months, and he had been excited to accompany me on my swimsuit shopping trip. Being from Brazil, he was used to seeing women in all sorts of swimwear, but he had never been with someone who was shopping for a bikini for the first time - when he was younger, he just let his mom do all the summer buying for him.
You browsed through several stores, trying on different styles and colors, but nothing seemed to catch your eye, they were either too loose or too blunt. Then we came across a bright yellow polka dot bikini that looked both pretty and playful. You hesitated for a moment while the Brazilian’s soft brown eyes widened in surprise, it was perfect.
"That's...really small," you said hesitantly.
Drugovich rolled his eyes, giving you a kiss on your cheek. "It's a bikini, amor. They're supposed to be small."
You sighed loudly, okay, this one was going to try it out. As you put it on the revealing bikini, you felt self-conscious and shy. However, it fits like a dream, hugging your curves in all the right places, giving a beautiful vision of your ass and the size of the top was big enough to cover your nipples only. When you stepped out of the changing room, your cheeks turned bright red out of shame, on the other hand, Felipe’s eyes widened in surprise and admiration, but he didn't say anything to make me feel uncomfortable. He discreetly licked his lips, the sight of your almost naked body in front of him stirred his feelings - and another place too, which was already a little awake because of what the Brazilian's eyes were focused on. Drugovich stood, walking over to you and placing both hands on your hips, depositing small kisses on your shoulder.
“Gostosa. I won't be able to hold myself together every time I see you in that little bikini" Covering her with his own body, his hand moved down to her ass, squeezing it lightly.
"Take this one, please. I'll pay for it."
"You don't have to pay, I'll take it. It was the only one that looked good anyway... Even though it was too small for my taste."
"It's not too small, it shows everything I love about you..." He murmured against her skin, discreetly running his hand over the fabric that covered your core.
"We're in public, love."
"Then pay up and let's go."
In less than ten minutes you were dressed again, paid for the bikini, and already you were in the mall car park, him in the driver's seat, in a hurry to get home.
You deliberately left your legs more spread and the summer dress was already halfway down your thighs, which was making the driver crazy. He barely waited after parking the car, picking you up and rushing inside, where he laid your body against the sofa.
“Someone's desperate.”
“Sorry, amor… Just… seeing you in that very small bikini that hangs on your body so well made me all messy.”
“Oh and what do you want to do?”
“Have patience and you’ll see.”
Drugovich kissed you quickly, soon pulling your panties down and laying down on the sofa, pulling you to sit on his chest, hesitantly, you pulled your dress higher and moved your body towards his face, standing a little taller, afraid to suffocate him, yet as you felt his arms hooking around your thighs and making you sit down against his face, gave you more assurance.
A whimper escaped your lips when his tongue lapped against your clit, treating it well, giving all the attention you needed - the bikini situation had also left you horny, with the thought of being fucked by him wearing it. The feeling of his tongue working up against you was something outstanding - even more when he started to suck your core for a few seconds, making your legs shake in pleasure.
As you were getting closer and closer to your orgasm, slower his movements would be, like he was making some torture for you to be able to hold it for longer. However, as much as he wanted you to stay like that forever, your body was screaming for a release, so in a few minutes you were having an orgasm against his mouth.
With your worked out body, you pulled off and sat on his lap, seeing the bottom half of his face glistening because of you. Felipe cracked a smile, holding your waist.
“I can’t wait until you wear that bikini, I won’t be able to hold myself.”
“I can’t wait either.”
#felipe drugovich x you#felipe drugovich x reader#felipe drugovich#felipe drugovich fanfiction#felipe drugovich x y/n#felipe drugovich smut#fd34#fd11#felipe drugovich drabble#f1 imagine#f1 smut#f1 one shot#f1 fanfiction#f1 x you#aston martin f1
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So we are at the end of the road on something that has always been about the journey, not the destination. I’ve taken my time to gather some thoughts. This blog has meant a lot to many people, not the least of which is me.
I’ve had a hard time these last few years – I think it’s been hard times for everyone, in one way or another. Personally, I seem to remember discovering this blog not too long before I had a breakdown and handled it very poorly, making bad decisions that cost me a lot of friends, or at least people whom I thought were my friends up until a breaking point. (Your blog was unrelated to this). When I came out of hospitalization I had a few things to rely upon – a video therapy group was one, certain family members and, well, as silly as it sounds, hitting up tumblr for my daily dose of Sweary She-Ra to make me laugh.
And then in mid-January, 2023, one of the people who was closest to me in my entire life died suddenly of technically unknown cause but considering his health issues, probably a heart-issue. It was sudden and devastating. We shared She-Ra and the Princesses of Power together because he was kind of curious about it and I was a nostalgia-fan of the ‘80s series. We both became massive fans of Entrapta. In fact, my nephew / best friend got me into the fandom in the first place because he had a silly idea for a fanfic about Entrapta wrecking havoc in the Fright Zone just post first-season and had little confidence in his fanfic writing, but decided to pass along said idea to me, an inveterate fic-writer for many fandoms. I was put through the wringer this year – it’s the first time I’ve been in partial charge of a memorial service. I am feeling better now than I did at the beginning of this year because I’ve found the strength to keep doing things that he and I liked to do together and time helps.
And again, in all of this, I had a silly little comic where a sparkly purple princess calls people “twattingler,” others make liberal use of the word that originally meant Fornication Under Consent of the King, one character swears all the time but apologizes for it, one character is contractually obligated to use Ned Flanders style cursing and there’s a fourth wall breaker and an incompetent boss with indecipherable accent and Marxist unicorns and all the rest. No matter what was happening with my emotions I could just… take a little break and look at the funny fancomic.
Sweary She-Ra for me has been like a warm mug of tea on a cold day or a bowl of baked macaroni and cheese with a butter-cracker crust made out of the old 1960-70 something Betty Crocker cookbook. It’s been Internet comfort food that has been sorely needed at times.
So thank you. I just want to thank you for this funny little fan project. I don’t think you have any idea how much it has meant to your audience.
@freedfromthegalactichivemind
And I don't know if the audience has any idea how much it has meant to me!
When I started this, things were pretty shit, weren't they? Here in the UK we'd just come out of the second Covid Lockdown, with the third expected to happen imminently; the weather was miserable, we'd barely seen our friends in months, the world in general just sucked. And I'd love to say that I felt a calling to break through that with some humour, but no... it was nothing like that. This is what happened...
And so it all went from there.
I almost just went for random scenes as I thought of them, rather than starting from the beginning. But I thought "Eh, fuck it, let's see how far I get", and the rest is history.
Even as the storylines got more complex (bear in mind, I started purely with the intention to do the original script with a few swear words peppered in), I always wanted to keep things upbeat. The painful moments are those 'this is the good stuff, hurt me more' moments rather than actually horrifying things - I know there's been a couple of exceptions, but in general it's held true.
But I've always been driven by one thing - the world isn't very funny right now; it's stressful, sometimes downright terrifying. And if I can alleviate that for ten, twenty seconds per day and make that tiny bit of difference to someone, then I consider that a job done. I'm not out here claiming to have the cure for depression, or some kind of plan to save the world, but I (hopefully) can make a few people smile in the midst of all the shit that's happening, even if it's just for a moment.
So much has changed in the last three years, but this blog has been such a central part of my world, it'll be weird when it's over (maybe that's why I don't want to stop there!). But if this coming Friday really is the last chapter in this part of my life, I'll still be happy that it happened. And if you've ever smiled or laughed at the blog, I'm happy that happened as well.
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> Sugar sachets.
asakikuweek day 2: nostalgia.
@asakikuweek2024
"Where can it be?" Arthur asked to himself in a distracted tone, concentrating on the task he had been given. The small closet barely illuminated by a the faint light of a bulb that hung inside and which did little to help in the search. "Bingo" he exclaimed when he found the desired object.
A warm blanket for Kiku who, with the drop in temperature, had begun to shiver while in his arms. They had been reading sitting on the couch in the living room, focused on their own world but enjoying each other's silent company. His host's head rested on his shoulder, breathing calmly, eyes moving in a continuous rhythm while he hungrily devoured the book in his hands.
Suddenly a slight shake coming from the other's body accompanied by the distant sound of the wind chime placed near the sliding door that led to the backyard in Kiku's traditional-style house. A house that Arthur liked to visit so much and that had a warmth very similar to his own in London. The kind of warmth you can only found in places where your presence is well received.
"Are you okay, luv?" he asked, putting aside his book to surround the foreign body with his arms and bring it closer in a hug.
"Yes, I'm just a little cold. That's it" basking in the other embrace, smiling. "I should go look for a blanket, it will rain soon" Kiku declared with that knowledge gained over the passage of time.
A very long time in which, as nations, they were destined to live and thanks to which many of them had become experts in predicting what every slight change in the weather may brought with it. Changes that once meant perhaps death, perhaps destruction. Air with the smell of gunpowder and the blood of his people; vibrations of the Earth that not only housed them geographically but also allowed their kind to share the same space as living beings. Now, in this fragile truce in which some territories found themselves (because they did not dare to call it "peace"), the changes in the airstream and the passing of the days only predicted mundane changes.
Simple changes in simple existences.
Making a move to get up to look for the aforementioned object, Kiku was stopped by the firm arms of his companion who still kept him wrapped in a hug. Smile still present, touched by that facet of the british's personality that only he was aware of.
"Don't worry, I'll go fetch it for you" always a proper gentleman, looking after and pampering him in everything possible. There was no reason to refuse.
That was the reason why he now found himself carefully removing some clothes from the closet to get what seemed like a fluffy blanket perfect for continuing to snuggle for a long, long time. Man with a mission. With a future reward in the form of the warmth so typical of his japanese lover, so soft and pleasant, waiting for him.
So focused on his daydreams about the way his bodies fit together perfectly like pieces of a custom-made watch, he didn't realize when his movements came upon what looked like an old shoe box tucked-in the very back of the closet. Contents spilling over the floor after falling gracelessly to the ground.
"Oh, crap" exclaimed quietly, shifting his attention from the fluffy blankets to the scattered papers to carefully take and return them to their place of origin without damaging any, quickly, as if it were covering up a crime. His movements stopping abruptly as he paid more attention to the papers in his hands; papers that were more than that: photos, short handwritten notes, letters and postcards.
His own handwriting on it.
Those were paragraphs written by him addressed to Kiku over the years. Without believing what he was seeing, his eyes began to sting as a result of a mixture of surprise and emotion, a big blow of love hitting him with the force that only the history between them can contain.
There was no way Kiku would have kept those fragments of time in a little shoebox like that.
But there they were, shining in his hands.
"Paris, France. 1934. Summer."
"Paris, France. 2015. Fall."
"Vienna, Austria. 1972. Summer."
"Connecticut, United States. 2002. Spring."
"London, United Kingdom. 1988. Winter."
Dates were written in neat Japanese, on empty sugar sachets. Sachets Arthur knew corresponded to the times when he had shared a coffee or tea with Kiku in a restaurant while they visited the aforementioned places. If he closed his eyes he could almost return to those dates and live it again.
"To my oldest friend."
"Dearest Kiku."
"Love, hope this letter finds you in good health..."
"...Can not wait for the moment in which we can be reunited, I'm counting the remaining days so I can be in your presence and hug you until my arms lose their strength..."
"As you might already be aware; the future of our alliance hangs by a very thin thread and I don't think you are oblivious to the predicament in which I find myself, as you might also know the dangers that..."
"From Essex with love, I wish you were here."
"Yours truly, Arthur Kirkland."
"Your most loyal ally, The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Arthur Kirkland."
"With love, Arthur.
P. S. Don't forget to bundle up accordingly at night."
Reading all that in one place brought back the good times and the bad times. The pain they had exposed themselves by trying to keep afloat that relationship which at times felt suffocating and at others did nothing but bring tears to their eyes.
The birth of their love, the death of it.
The cold that accompanied their hearts during the Great Wars in which they served opposing sides, the looks of resentment, of forgiveness, of faith and again of love. A few years ago, Arthur had decided to write letters to his love, missives that in the past took months to arrive and for which he waited longer for a response; postcards from his travels, telegrams from ships when possible and texts just because.
Currently and with the technology of the world in which they lived, those fragments had become text messages in the mornings, calls between cabs to work or videocalls on weekends when both had the day off and wanted to feel in each other's company. Japan and the United Kingdom were still thousands of miles apart but their hearts lived inside each other.
He wasn't sure how much time he had spent reading his letters or looking at Kiku's beautiful face in the black and white photos kept in the box, until soft footsteps creating a tapping on the wooden floor announced someone was approaching. Returning him to the present in which he was supposed to be looking for a blanket to protect Kiku from the cold.
"Is everything all right, Arthur?" the black-haired man asked, crossing the threshold of his room. He had decided to go look for him given his uncharacteristic lateness.
"Ah! Yes, sorry honey, I'm..." caught red-handed, the blonde only managed to cover his blushing face with his hands, it was surely very rude of him to be watching private things "I'm...terribly sorry, the box fell off the closet and you see... this is not, you know. I'm really, really sorry."
As a response, Arthur felt soft hands helping to remove his own from his eyes. Kiku was kneeling in front of him with a gentle expression on his pretty face.
A soft kiss placed on the tip of his nose and then another on his forehead.
"It's ok, don't worry about it," replied, taking one of the sheets of paper that Arthur had arranged in a pile. "After all, these letters belong to you too."
The British's green and now watery eyes watching his every movement. Another kiss, this time on his lips. Full of emotion, a thousand feelings and the mutual understanding of the history that made up their lives. The recognition of his lowest moments and those that had led them to what they currently were. Nostalgia, suffering and a desire to eternally watch over the well-being of the contrary.
Standing up and brushing the knees of his pants, Kiku offered a hand to Arthur. He took it, after placing each and every one of the pieces of time inside the little box to take them back with him to the living. Back to today's world, back to the arms and warmth of Kiku Honda. His long-time ally, friend, the addressee of his letters, once his enemy in battle, and undoubtedly his one and only greatest love.
#asakikuweek2024#asakiku#hws england#hws japan#excuse the errors or weird grammatical structures i originally wrote this in spanish (and english is not my first language)#hope you like it <3
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more random obey me hcs
masterlist more drabbles/hcs | pt 1
my mc is black
platonic or romantic, however you view them
mainly the brothers
nb and og based, some theories towards the end
luci loves receiving forehead kisses more than he likes giving them but will never admit it (esp if mc is shorter than him and has to pull him down to kiss his forehead)
if mc has a pet, mams will go out of his way to buy toys and treats and matching outfits for the baby
beel is the first you should go to if you're feeling homesick, he'll pull up a list of your favorite foods and go on a grocery run to cook them for you, especially if it means going to the human world for a few hours
despite having the bigger and more comfortable bed, asmo loves sleeping in mc's room whenever they're at the HOL bc it's an excuse to be close to them
dia never had anyone except barbatos wash his hair until mc came around, now wash day is one of his favorite times of the month
belphie buys the most comfortable and high quality bonnets he can find, and he keeps some of them in his room in case mc forgets to bring it when they sleep over
levi can do hair with his tail ??? (don't ask how) and can do it while reading or gaming, it freaks mc out
satan reads colleen hoover books just to laugh at how bad they are, and the first time mc saw one they almost beat him over the head with it until he explained
solomon's fabsnap name is an obvious star wars ripoff, but nobody knows that bc star wars doesn't exist in nb yet
i've probably said this before but mephisto has the fattest crush on lucifer and hates himself for it
the main reason the brothers annoy lucifer or cause trouble around the HOL is so that he'll put his work down and spend time with them. mc picked up on it really quickly and joins in sometimes, but tells them to knock it off if they're doing too much
thirteen kept a close eye on mc as soon as solomon took them on as his apprentice thinking she'd hate them, but she was interested in how different they were from him
mams is secretly a musical fanatic and is beyind excited when he finds out mc is a theater kid
the brothers were raphael's favorites, and that's why he reprimanded them so hard and got on luci's ass about everything [mc still hates him (mc is me)]
thirteen loves doing nails just as much as asmo and they argue all the time over who gets to do mc's nails
(they each get a hand and a foot and mc does their nails in return)
asmo taught all the brothers how to paint nails, and beel is the best at it, but they let asmo do it for nostalgia
satan will never admit it, but when asmo asked to paint his nails the first time, he felt like he truly belonged in the family
when she first came to RAD, thirteen subconsciously clung to solomon despite hating his guts bc he was the only sense of familiarity she had
he teased her endlessly, but being close to him meant she got close to mc and she gravitated towards them more as time went on
don't know how much this aligns with canon, but luke was born right after the celestial war and simeon took him under his wing moreso than michael bc he knew how badly michael was fucked up after losing luci and his brothers after the fall
THEORY TIME
barb didn't send mc back in time, michael did bc he's a bitch and is too scared to disobey god to check on the brothers on his own
(barb was the first one to notice their absence despite not living with them bc he felt a shift in the timeline, but he can't pinpoint their location or bring them back)
also probably said this before but simeon is from the future, idk how far in the future bc he's still an angel, but his pfp is literally one of the "miss 'em" things and that's from season 2 of the anime which was in between seasons 2 and 3 of the og game
I'M NOT CRAZY I SWEAR
*ahem* my bad y'all
we've barely heard any characters talk about god at all except for mainly the brothers' discussion of their lives in the celestial realm, is he asleep like dia's dad??? like where is he
#obey me nightbringer#obey me#obey me hcs#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beel#obey me belphegor#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me simeon#obey me luke#obey me thirteen#obey me mephistopheles#obey me raphael#obey me theory
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A Trip Down Nostalgia Lane
This AU's been in existence for so long, and the most current iteration is so wildly different from the rest. As such, I felt it'd be kinda cool to show you guys how the AU's progressed over the years. I don't think it's too big of a problem to reveal what the initial plans were for each iteration, what I liked and didn't like, and my thought process behind forgoing the old ones
If you don't particularly care for all that, here's the iterations' major characters lined up. (Iteration 4 I only have revealed Asriel and Undyne, so the rest I've designed so far are silhouetted)
Iteration 0.5
Oh boy, where to begin with this one...?
I number it "0.5" and not "1" because there were only two parts that never even officially released on this Tumblr blog. I did upload Part 1 for an April Fool's joke a while ago. But really, it was only ever present on the TS!Underswap Discord server over half a decade ago.
To put it bluntly, Versotale at this point was just a reskinned Undertale roleswap AU. The personalities, while I tried to keep them intact, were not the main driving force. As such:
Asriel is a silent protagonist (And not in a cool clever way like Kris; I mean just straight-up silent)
The only difference with Undyne as a narrator was noting that Frisk was a human at the first save point
Flowey had a more formal speech pattern but was otherwise barely affected despite carrying Chara's consciousness. They weren't even named Asthana yet.
Frisk... well, I can give my past self this, he certainly made an effort to differentiate Frisk from Toriel. I can't say he did a GOOD job at that, but they certainly were different. Awkward dialogue, though, and not much sense behind why they were the mayor of the Ruins at 13 years old
Overall, you can 100% tell I made this as a young teen. Awkward dialogue, barely any effort put into the concept, unoriginal...
It's pretty easy to see why I forewent this version of the AU. Only two parts were ever made. I must thank @beethovenus who gave me a lot of very helpful critiques, such as giving Asriel a voice and making original sprites rather than using sprite edits, as well as encouraging me to make this Tumblr blog for it. Thus, brings us to what I'd like to consider the first PROPER attempt at this AU...
Iteration 1
Ah, this one... this ALSO lasted only two parts. Can't remember why. But I made a lot more headway on this one. Quality aside, I am happy that I had the guts to try and make original sprites of my own back then, even if they aren't particularly good compared to now.
This was where I really attempted to make the characters act noticeably different. Though there were still quite a lot of problems, some that would even persist all the way up until Iteration 4.
I wanted to give Asriel a combination of his regular and Flowey personalities. A cool idea on paper, but the lore doesn't support him acting like that well enough. Thus, I refer to this version of him as Sassriel. This was one of those problems that persisted up until Iteration 3.
Undyne having this snarky back-and-forth with Sassriel. Again, cool idea on paper, but it is not supported by her personality in Undertale, nor the altered circumstances in VT Iteration 1. Also, with Undyne being a disembodied consciousness, it means she's merely an observer of the story and not an active participant, meaning her dialogue got very boring very fast. Undyne in canon was always an active character, so putting her in a role that basically FORCED her to be a passive character was maybe one of the worst decisions I could've made that lasted way too long, all the way until Iteration 4.
You'll notice a whole bunch of characters that never actually saw the light of day in the comic. In the bottom row, starting from left to right, there would have been Pepper (Who DID have a design but I've lost it), Donavan, Dr. Aakil, Lily, and Queen Alice. There's not much to say about them story-wise since I mainly just got the designs down, and you can probably guess what the plot was gonna be like given this was the early days of the AU where it was still very much following the Undertale formula. I think the only UNIQUE things I should mention are that Aakil's version of the amalgamates would've been cyborgs.
Iteration 2
This is the one that's lasted the longest (so far), managing to push its way into the Cold West. I tried to break out of the Undertale formula a tiny bit with this one, to varying degrees of success. There's not much history I can recall or find with this iteration, but I suppose I can give a character rundown of the ones you never saw, ironically enough all positioned on the bottom row again.
Donavan... not very unique compared to Undyne. The main gimmick that separated him from her, I think, was that he had gloves designed by Aakil that were soul-powered.
Valencia... a new character who was meant to be an expanded version of Napstablook's role. Fun fact: Valencia's hooded trenchcoat design there was originally Pepper's Iteration 1 design.
Everyone else was... about what you'd expect.
Looking back on this version, I am... honestly very embarrassed by how badly I butchered the Cold West. I wanted to do so many cool things, like a bounty on Asriel's head and all. But my God... Spade and Pepper sucked so much. Especially Pepper. For characters who at this point were meant to be this AU's replacement of Sans and Papyrus... what poor substitutes.
And honestly, I think that's why I scrapped this one; because I hated the Cold West and how I did it. It felt rushed, awkwardly-written, bad characterization, horrifically-bad puzzles, etc. Thus, Iteration 3 was made.
Iteration 3: Hybrid
I nicknamed this short-lived one "Hybrid" for multiple reasons.
It's where Deltarune became an extremely prevalent influence in Versotale's universe. So no longer is Versotale just an Undertale AU, it can also be considered a Deltarune AU as well.
Many characters could be considered hybrids at this point. Asriel and Undyne shared determination and a body. And, more interestingly, the Mettaton role also shared a body with Mettaton. More about that in a bit
When I was making Part 10-B of Iteration 2, Iteration 3 was meant to flow naturally into it, effectively replacing all of what had came beforehand. That never worked out.
Ultimately, I abandoned this version because it just simply wasn't doing it for me. By this point, the project was beginning to feel stale and boring. Despite my attempts to make a new unique storyline, it just kinda... felt like it was still following in Undertale's footsteps far too much. I mean, you've got the protagonist kid, an old fallen member of their species, the double-crossing flower, a mentor who's lived in a secluded area all their life, a chef who wants to join the guard, a tough grizzled guard captain, a morally-dubious scientist, a celebrity, a monarch... you see how I became dislliusioned with the quality of what was supposed to be my "Unique Undertale storyline." The most unique thing at this point WAS probably Spade. But still, many elements of this version of the story were very fleshed-out. I tried to turn Pepper into a character who wasn't just a bargain-bin Papyrus clone, I had come up with a more unique Hotland area, and it probably could've turned out really nice.
I think the thing I genuinely really liked from this old version was that Shella (This iteration's celebrity character) actually was also possessed by Mettaton. There was this huge backstory thing where the scientist character had monster dust and was injecting humans with it, and since Mettaton was a ghost, his consciousness became attached to Shella's and served as her sort of "assistant." He gave her all the tips and confidence to become famous and gave Mettaton the opportunity to indirectly entertain humans like he always wanted. While a cool idea on paper, having... well, essentially Mettaton technically in the same place as canon Undertale again just felt cheap and lazy. Not to mention it only continued my disillusionment with my "unique story" being far too similar to Undertale for comfort.
But the Surface shenanigans this iteration... man, for as weird as Gaster being king was, I had such a cool thing planned for all the Ebottobia characters. It's something I wanna carry over into Iteration 4 to a certain extent.
Iteration 4: "King Asriel"
This one's really freaking cool. Going back to the drawing board completely, the story resembles almost nothing like Undertale's, with the sole exception of the main premise: People underground, free them from imprisonment through peace or violence.
I'm so proud of these ideas so far, you have no idea. The new Ruins area I'm excited for, the new Cold West feels like an actual proper flowing storyline now, the other areas have way more uniqueness, the characters feel like their own characters with their own stories now (Even the ones that appear in canon), the plot feels completely different... I think you all are really going to like it
That's all. Just felt like taking a trip down memory lane and share some ideas and designs the public never got to see.
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restaurant au (wheeler sibs)
rewatching the bear thinking about my au idea where joey inherits his father's restaurant i don't really have things hammered out just yet but i did find some test pieces i wrote exploring joey and serenity's relationship to each other (and their trauma)
read it tell me if you like it might make me feel motivated to write more
Joey pressed his head against the window of Serenity’s car as they crawled through the streets of Domino. The old neighborhood left an unpleasant broiling in his stomach, a nostalgia that soured like milk. It’d been years since he’d been here, even longer for Serenity. The last time she’d seen this place, she’d been driven away in the backseat of a car as the two cried out fitful goodbyes.
Joey had already re-acquainted himself with his childhood stomping grounds. He’d come back the week before to clean out his dad’s rathole apartment and go through the mess of papers and receipts crammed into odd corners and underneath stale pizza boxes. He’d died right outside, too drunk to walk, and he’d tripped on the stairs before bashing his head into the sidewalk. The police had told Joey he’d died on the way to the hospital, saving everyone a lot of time. Joey was still listed as his emergency contact. The thought had burrowed between his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Five years without so much as a phone call, and Joey was still the only person he’d had.
A week of digging through the old man’s life. A week of trash bags and old photos and empty beer cans. A week wondering what he was even doing here. And then he’d found it, stuck into a stack of personal paperwork that had been crammed into a desk drawer so tight it’d barely opened. The address had been a familiar one, and the streets leading up to it even more so. Serenity pulled up to the curb outside and put the car in park. She didn’t turn it off. Her hands stayed on the steering wheel like the Uber driver onto her next gig.
Joey leveled his head to peer out the window. The place had changed enough. The corners had different stores on them, and the billboards were changed. They’d redone the sidewalk outside, and now it was coffee shops and microbrews. The small shop front stuck out like a sore thumb. It had been boarded up for years, so long the cardboard was peeling back, showing corners of the faded wall and dirty countertops inside. It was a restaurant. It had been a restaurant. Years and years and years ago. It’d been theirs.
Serenity didn’t take her hands off the steering wheel. She breathed in and out intentionally.
“It looks pretty bad,” Joey said.
She shook her head with a strained laugh. “I didn’t think it’d look good, Joey.”
He unbuckled his seat belt. “Are you coming inside?”
She looked for the first time. Serenity had been quiet through this whole process. He didn’t ask her to clean the apartment with her, or attend any funeral. She’d been empathetic and sorry since he first called her from New York, but she hadn’t been sad. As far as Serenity was concerned, she didn’t have a father, didn’t have to worry over one, didn’t have to shoulder any trauma from one. But they’d both been here. They’d both reached their little hands over the counter or played in the back office behind the kitchen. There’d been happy memories too. It was the first crack she’d shown on her face, the first tremor in her lips. She stared at the store front like it was a haunted house.
“You don’t have to,” Joey said.
“No,” she said and cut the car off. “No, I said I would.”
“You don’t have to,” he repeated.
“We’re already here, Joey,” she said and opened the car door.
The lights didn’t work inside. Flipping the switches didn’t do a goddamn thing. Joey doubted anyone had paid the electricity bill for years. Even in the dim space, with decades between the last time they’d been inside, Joey knew the way through the kitchen. He followed the line past the prep stations, around where the grill had been, where a sink full of dirty dishwater still sat stagnant. An alcove of lockers sat on one side, and a small door led to the back office. Ancient grease caked the walls and the stainless steel. The front wasn’t much better off. Dust covered everything. The vinyl seats were torn with stuffing eaten out of it. Bugs moved in his wake. Plenty of creatures had probably made their home here. Serenity’s phone cast blue light across the graying walls, leaving stark shadows around her.
“This place is a dump,” she said, scrolling through something on her phone. “I can’t believe it’s still here. You’d think the city would shut it down.”
“I bet he got letters about it.” Joey kicked one of the stools at the service counter. The scraping sound echoed over the tile. Sunlight peeked in through the cardboard on the windows.
“The rent in this neighborhood is crazy now.” She flashed the Zillow listings she was looking through. “Maybe someone would actually buy it.”
“Yeah.” He breathed out, eyes scanning the decay and rot. The dust made the place feel oppressive, and his chest tightened. “I bet someone’s been waiting to snatch it up.”
“I can’t believe it’s still here,” Serenity said again. She glanced up from her phone, and then her eyes went down again.
“It’s a mess,” Joey said and turned back around.
“It always was. You remember when we played here as kids?”
“I remember throwing raw hamburger meat at cars,” Joey said.
She laughed, slapping a hand over her mouth. “We did do that! I totally forgot. No wonder I’m a vegetarian now.”
“And they’d stuff us with fries to keep us quiet.”
“We were little brats.”
They moved back into the kitchen, using the phone light to navigate to the office. Their laughter echoed off the aged equipment. More paperwork was stuffed into more drawers. Joey’d never accuse his old man of being organized. Ledgers were kept with a language all their own.
“Did he ever let you work the line?” Serenity asked.
Joey shook his head as he opened a folder of what looked like overdue bills. Large red letters stared angrily up at him.
“I never worked the restaurant here,” he said.
“But it’s kind of where you got your start.” Serenity glanced at the empty kitchen. “You didn’t go to culinary school for no reason.”
“I didn’t go to sling burgers.” He tossed aside the folder and picked up another one. Names were side by side with numbers. Wages owed, he figured out. He doubted anyone had been receiving regular checks.
“It was really cool to see you in New York,” she said. “The whole meal I kept thinking, my big brother made this. I thought for sure they were gonna turn us away at the door too.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t that fancy.”
“It was pretty fancy! Tristan wore a jacket.”
“He did that to impress you,” Joey said with a grin.
“Nah, he was worried the whole time we weren’t ritzy enough for your new friends.” She smiled fondly at him. “You finally made it to the big leagues.”
Joey was grateful for the shine of her flashlight, that he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. He opened the bottom drawer, and a heavy bottle clunked against the filing cabinet. He pulled it out, and the clear vodka reflected blue light. Half the bottle had been drank. The levity left the room at once, like all the air had been sucked out. Serenity turned her head away. Joey held it fisted in his hand, and for a brief moment he imagined cracking it against the desk so it shattered apart, spilling vodka and glass all over the floor. Instead he set it on the table and stood up from the chair.
“I don’t think there’s anything left here,” he said.
Serenity didn’t say anything, and he felt that weight pushing his lungs apart. He shouldn’t have asked her to come with him, but he didn’t think he could face it alone. The good times hurt worse than the bad sometimes. Happy memories wrapped his head in barbed wire. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted his baby sister to feel, and yet he’d dragged her through the trenches with him.
And then she said, “Do you think there are any glasses?”
Joey rubbed his eyes. The glare of the phone was getting to him. “I dunno.”
“I know they usually sell this stuff off, but I bet there’s something. Bring the bottle.”
He followed her around as she opened every door and cabinet she could find. Eventually she managed two tupperware containers, rinsed with the water that shuddered out of the faucets. Clean enough for the both of them, they settled at the counter. Serenity sat so her feet rested on the stool, and she poured them each a shot.
“It’s been a fucked up week,” she said.
Joey didn’t respond. She hadn’t been the one digging through literal garbage. Avoiding drinking when working in restaurants was nearly impossible, though he did his best. But it had been a fucked up week, and standing in the wreckage of his childhood, Joey downed the shot in one go. Serenity shot hers back and poured them both another one.
“Did mom say anything?” Joey asked. He’d been dreading the question, but now seemed as good a time as any.
Serenity downed a second shot and squeezed her eyes shut. “Not really. And what’s she supposed to say anyway? ‘Sorry that abusive piece of shit died’?”
“She doesn’t like to talk about it,” Joey said.
“No.” She swished the bottle. “I told her you were in town.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“She was gonna know anyway. I thought maybe she’d call you, or I dunno.”
Joey tossed back the second shot. The burn didn’t do anything to lighten the weight in his chest. “I don’t expect her to do any of that.”
“I just want…” She trailed off, tipping the bottle into her cup again. Joey took the bottle from her and poured some in his. “Do you ever think things could be different? We could be different?”
“Yes,” he said. “Constantly. All the time.”
Her lips quirked up in a smile. “I was so proud of you when you went off to school. Not even ‘cause you thought you wouldn’t go. You found something you loved to do. That’s more than most people.”
“What about you?”
She laughed. “No one loves being an accountant, Joey. I picked a safe job and a safe career.”
“That’s more than most people have,” he said. “It’s not like I love waking up every day not sure where I’m gonna be.”
“But you’re where you’re supposed to be. You’re at this restaurant–”
“I’m not going back to New York,” he said.
Serenity’s mouth snapped shut. She wobbled a little bit as the alcohol hit. He didn’t bother pouring another shot as he tipped the bottle back into his throat.
“But you–” She peered at him like a puzzle she was figuring out. “You’re at a Michelin star restaurant. You’re doing what you love.”
“I don’t love it there,” Joey said. It was the first time he’d explained his reasoning out loud. The words had rattled around in his brain for months, and now he had to put them in order. “You gotta understand what it’s like in the restaurant business, Serenity. Every day you wake up at the crack of dawn and put your heart and soul into something that hates you. Every day is eighteen hour shifts where your chef screams at you and holds you to the fire because you’re not doing something absolutely perfect. Every day is blood and sweat and tears and for what? A restaurant I don’t give a fuck about? It’s not about the food for them. It’s not about feeding people. It’s keeping that fucking star and making sure people know it. You can only tweezer so many sprigs of mint onto an aperitif before you start to feel like an asshole.”
“So what?” she said. “You’re just going to abandon your whole life up there?”
He sunk his head down onto the counter. It smelled like mold and rat shit. “What life? I got nobody there. You’re here. Tristan is here. Everyone there is so fucking full of themselves there’s no room for anybody else. I wake up, I work, and I get just enough sleep to keep myself from going crazy.”
“But you worked for this. You put yourself through school. You made it.”
“Yeah, well.” He closed his eyes. Underneath the grime and grease, he could imagine for a second what this place used to be. “Not everything is what we dreamed.”
She went silent. He didn’t know how long it stretched between them. The vodka burned in his stomach, rising up like acid reflux. He wished for the hundredth time since getting the news about his dad that he could cry about this whole thing. It’d be easier just to be sad and not relieved, and then sad again over the worst chapters of his life closing. Sometimes it was easier just to take the pain of it.
“I thought,” Serenity said slowly, “you were happy, at least.”
“Are you?” he asked.
She grabbed the bottle from him and swigged it. He nodded. It was answer enough.
“I try thinking of the last time I was happy,” Joey said. “Is it fucked up if the answer is here?”
Serenity laughed. “Yes!”
“You remember this place too.”
“We were babies, Joey.” She shook her head. “And it was before shit got really bad. This place is just…”
They looked around at it. Empty, dirty, it felt like a void. But the sunlight peeked through, and it streaked bright light across the dingy ceiling, making it look alive.
“It’s got good bones,” Joey said. “Nice front of house, in a busy area. Someone’ll snatch it up.”
“It’d take an industrial crew to get this place clean,” Serenity said with a sigh.
“Most of the equipment’s sold off too.” He swirled the vodka in its bottle. “But that’s an easy fix. I still know some people around here.”
“They’d probably bulldoze it anyway,” she said. “They’d be paying for the lot.”
“Yeah.” Joey thought as he took another shot. The melancholy was stirred in the gears of his mind as they started to churn. “Yeah. It’d be a shame to see the space go to waste. A little clean up, some new equipment, it’d be a good bistro spot.”
“It doesn’t–” She looked at him. “Joey, it’s not gonna matter. We’re selling it.”
“Why?” he asked. He stood from his chair, spreading his arms out. “People would kill for a spot like this.”
“So let ‘em pay,” she said. “Joey, I think you’re drunk.”
“Probably.” The buzz went straight to his head, but he could see it. Not how it used to be, but how it could be. “Don’t think of it as some shitty burger joint. We could pull out the booths and the seating nice. Those windows are huge, you’d be able to see onto the street. Nice ambiance. Keep the counter seating here, it’d be great for lunch or a bar.”
Serenity laughed. “It’s not happening! This place is a dump, Joey, it always has been.”
“Then back of house,” he barrelled on. “Remodel would be easy, it’s already all emptied out. Efficient work spaces, minimum time between spaces. Windows, people love to see the chefs. And the food–”
“What would be the food?” she asked. “Burgers?”
He shook his head. “Karaage, probably. I used to eat that all the time when I was working. Maybe izakaya style. Friendly, welcoming. Not too full of itself.”
“Japanese, then.” Serenity nodded. “You really want to do a sake bar?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “I’m just tossing out ideas.”
“Joey, I know you’re spiraling or whatever, but coming back here isn’t really moving forward.” She ran a hand through her hair with a huff. “Maybe you should take some time. You can crash on my couch. Once we sell the place, you’ll have some money to start something else.”
“I just think there’s something here,” he said.
“Fine, okay,” she said. “Let’s say we don’t sell it. How are you gonna get the money to fix it up? Restaurants cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. They take real work. You’re going to have to get new equipment, staff it, pay people, pay vendors.”
“I’ve got connects. I can beg, lie, cheat, and steal. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.” He took his sister’s hands, squeezing tight. “Give me at least a little bit of time. I wanna see what this place can be.”
“You said you were tired of not knowing where you’re gonna be,” she said. “Joey, this is all risk. There’s nothing here that’s worth it.”
“What about you?” he said. “What about me?”
They looked at each other, two kids again, holding on tight. Serenity shook her head and picked up the bottle again.
“The place is yours,” she said. “I don’t want it, and I can live without selling it. I just don’t want you getting caught up in something to torture yourself. It’s okay, you know? You don’t have to be stuck here.”
“What if I wanna be?” Joey asked.
She downed the drink and coughed out a laugh. “Then you got bigger problems than the both of us. But I’m your sister. I love you. I don’t want you doing anything alone.”
He threw his arms around her and squeezed her tight. She laughed again, hugging him back. They rocked back and forth for a minute. The vodka was definitely affecting them. And Joey loved nothing more than to do something stupid.
“Okay,” Serenity said. “I’m done breathing in mold. Can we go to a real restaurant now? I would die for some hot wings.”
“Alright, alright.” He released her. “Let’s go.”
They locked the door behind them and stepped into the sunlight, a little rocky on their feet. Joey knew Serenity would give him a bigger fight when they sobered up, but the idea had wormed its way into his skull. His brain was on fire. He felt the same way he always did when making a life changing decision that should leave him buried in the dirt.
He felt alive.
#many things subject to change#i just want to get into some wheeler sibs!!#and of course the other bit i wrote is kaijou#not really an au of the bear but definitely inspired by it#joey wheeler#jounouchi katsuya#serenity wheeler#shizuka kawaii#au#i have so many au ideas that probably won't ever actually be written out#but i did start doing research for this lol#restaurant au
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I am not going to speak about this on Twitter because I don't want to cause any more cracks in the veneer of the Cassiopeia fandom - but I have something to say.
I have been in this fandom for 20 years. Since the very beginning. I've seen the ups and downs. I know there are OT2 fans, OT5 fans, OT4, OT3, etc etc. Okay, fine, if we got along then no worries but damn we do not.
My god - the pure acid that the various sides spit at each other is so heartbreaking, and I can barely take it any longer.
Listen to me here -
- TVXQ was successful between 2003-2010 as a group of 5 members. Each one of those members played an important part in the equation that made them a force to be reckoned with. Of course there were members who were more famous than others, but if you took one away, that absence would be noticed and impactful.
- TVXQ split in 2009 due to reasons we are all aware of. Yunho and Changmin continued as TVXQ and then were also successful on their own...with their own talents and merits. JYJ went on to be successful with their talent, merits. Neither side were boosted because of the other - and to say that means you discount each one of their personal competences.
- JYJ were blacklisted yet still found their way into success. TVXQ (HoMin) worked to improve themselves so they could continue with the TVXQ name and fill Nissan Stadium. Of course, they both built off the established foundation of 2003-2009 TVXQ, because that's just NORMAL and how it all works in this system. THEY BOTH BUILT OFF THE TVXQ LEGEND. BOTH.
- Both sides have expressed their nostalgia for the OT5 era. It may not be obvious from the surface, but if you dig and listen to the members words...its all there. But both sides are also immensely proud of their current success and they shouldn't be made to feel ashamed for that.
- Fans will come into Cassiopeia at various times. If they started with the duo TVXQ, then that's where they started. Don't fault them for not knowing history....we can always educate them in a kind and open way.
Final words - TVXQ as five will always be a standard we will never again see in kpop. I understand that OT5 fans want to protect that and showcase their pride at this incredible group that unfortunately ended far too early. OT2 fans have pride in the two members who took the TVXQ name after it was broken into 1,000 pieces and put it back together again. They will be passionate too. BUT CHRIST - can't we all just get along?! Aren't we all technically on the same side here?
All we all really want is appreciation and acknowledgment for the past and acceptance and success for the future. Right? We keep pushing new fans out because of how divided we all are - how intense we all come off - and all behind our own party lines.
All I can say now is that I have loved every TVXQ era, every TVXQ member, and will continue to do so. I don't care the iteration of thr group. They are my TVXQ. My group. I support them all in whatever they choose and enjoy the success they've all built together and apart.
I bleed pearl red.
Do you?
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About nothing in particular, a bit of Zolu in general, and some fics here and there
Holy smokes, I've had a week. In between exams, my cat getting lost, more exams and work I haven't got the time to actually ramble about anything, which is pretty sad (to me).
HOWEVER.
This doesn't mean to suggest I didn't read anything at all. Oh no, you'd be greatly mistaken to assume that's the case. I devoured a lot of fics this week, in an attempt to release stress because my house was also inhospitable for some days. So, I decided to read and re-read some fics, because that's how I deal with my problems (that is to say, I don't).
It's very interesting to see how their relationship's been depicted through the years! Like, one of my favorite tags for them is "Devotion" (because that's SO them), and the tag's got 60 works, barely. And it was first used in 2019, for a romance fic. That's barely any time at all in OP time! I don't know why though, maybe everyone knew it but struggled to put it into words (like them). As in, everyone would assume right out of the bat that that's their dynamic. Or maybe not! You can never know with fandoms, the fact that Agenda Piece exists still surprises me.
Also, I've grown the habit of reading through an author's works rather than just searching with tags. Like, if there's a fic I really liked I'll go into their profile and read more. And almost every time they have more! It's always a thrill when they have like old works, it comes to show how much they've improved, and how their characterization also evolves with them!
One of my favorite examples of this, that I discovered this week, is the series Fantastic Idiots And Where To Find Them.
Title: Fantastic Idiots and Where To Find Them (series)
Author: Mir4le
Relevant Tags: magic school AU, ASL brothers (my beloved), Law, Zoro, first person POV, on going, maybe there are ships maybe not
Now, disclaimer from me. No one here's endorsing the terf's work as in "go read her stories, they are good", because they aren't. And giving her money in anyway is terrible (in my humble opinion), she poses a lot of terrible ideas for both Trans and Feminism Activism. I hate the woman, and her story is not even that good. She holds A LOT of unethical and incorrect social theories (like eugenics, ew) in her books, AND REFUSES to reconsider or anything. She thrives in the attention she gets from that, I'm sure. Sadly, nostalgia is a bitch, and her books where probably the first I read entirely in english, and through piracy, so I still have some sort of appreciation for them, as terrible works of fiction as they are.
The good news is that the setting is so unbelievably generic that you could say "generic witch society" and that would do just fine, so that's what I'm doing. It's a generic witch society boarding school AU. Ah, the thing. The fic's written in first person POV (sighs), so if that's no your cup of tea you should stay away. The narration improves, the POV never stops being first person. I'm not exactly a fan of first person POV, but I was looking for fic with Law in them, so I picked it up.
Now, the first few chapters where... an experience. They were the author's first work, and you could tell. I don't mean anything mean with that, it's just Difficult to pin the POV for me, so I struggled a bit. Nevertheless, the prompt was interesting enough to keep me going, even if I kinda rushed through some stuff (sorry). It was also noticeable how much the author liked the characters, and the story, even early on, so that also kept me going. Rarely a story loved that much doesn't improve on quality, both because the strive to be better for the story and all the practice they get by putting it out in the first place. So congrats and thank you to the author for your work, it paid off.
Now, another thing about the fic, I'm not exactly what you'd describe a Law fan. I like his story, it was OP most angsty backstory for a while in my opinion (before Kuma, oh Kuma), so that just drew me in. Sadly, it didn't get me like I wanted to. Maybe it's because I binged the anime in an unholy amount of time (another day I'll talk about that) but by the time we got the why of Law, I just wanted Dressrosa to be done. So while I appreciate his character, the anime just made me want to get over with it. All of that to say that I usually avoid fics with Law, because I just don't like him that much. But I stayed. For the potential this had.
And my staying paid off!!!! It was awesome to see another take on ASL, and adding Law to the mix, not through Luffy, but Ace and Sabo was Not something I was expecting! It is also one of the key factors as to why the fic is so entertaining, you keep trying to imagine how the relationships in canon will translate to the setting. I got a lot of them wrong, it keeps you guessing, I love it. The way it shows Law involuntarily warming up to Ace and Sabo is so good. It feels a lot like something 11 y/o Law would write in his diary, it's cute.
Plot-wise it isn't that strong in the first installment (even the author said so), so you are really looking out for character interactions rather than worldbuilding. So it delivers on that, a bit chopped here and there, but by the time you get to the final chapters (there are like, 5) it's way more dynamic.
Ah, I've run out of juice, all right speedrun.
The whole thing, plot and narration improves a lot. Getting to a point in the most recent chapters where I can say that the author nailed down at least Zoro's and Ace's POV to the t, I can't say for Law though, not my area of expertise.
Surprising to no one, I like the Zoro POV chapters best, because we get Strawhat crew, and Luffy and Zoro, and I really like them.
I like the professors and classes they teach they teach. Who is which head of house and all that, nice, very in character.
Whitebeard's kids are a thing here, and I love it, they are fantastic.
Oh, Robin in particular has a lot going for her in the fic, you should also stay for her, if you are a fellow Robin fan.
The shenanigans are AU typical, that's not bad at all, I like how much emphasis they give to pranks and all.
CORAZON IS ALIVE AND WELL, more beautiful things.
Idk, I wish I could tell you more but I kinda read the whole thing for the experience and enjoyed it a lot. Even if it's unfinished.
Oh well, I guess that's it.
Also, "When All the Embers Die" also updated, as well as the other Zoro fic from the same author. And "Treasures for your Treasure (The Pearls Pale in Your Eyes)" ALSO updated, a Zoro update (thanks author) to say the least. I might say some things, I might not, probably I will, once I'm out of this hell hole called midterms.
Anyways, if you read this far thank you very much. Please read the fics mentioned above, even if it's for the experience, they are wonderful stories.
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Now that I've played at least one game in every Pokemon region, it is of course time for a ranking. Though note that the criteria is less based on how "good" I think the games are objectively and more on, like, vibes and such and if I have good memories of playing.
10. Sinnoh - This was the only gen I skipped when it came out because I didn't have a ds and didn't know how to emulate one, and when I finally did get one, Black & White were already out and Gen 4 was old news. But a while ago I did play Brilliant Diamond and really didn't have a good time at all. At that point everything felt extremely by-the-numbers and dated and I can't think of anything that this game offered that I didn't already get from the other titles. Some of the Gen 4 Pokemon are nice but it also has so many legendaries, which I really don't like as a concept (I mean I don't like it when the game tells me which Pokemon I'm supposed to find special and interesting). Also not a fan of the art style in the remake and I find Barry incredibly annoying.
Almost all of the BDSP customisation options were S-tier and Cynthia made for a great boss, but that's about it.
9. Kanto - I was there for the first anime episode so I have a lot of nostalgia for the early days for the franchise, even though I didn't get to play the original GB games. And when I did get Yellow on an emulator I already had Gold, which already covered Kanto so why bother? By now I've played Let's Go Eevee though and didn't really enjoy myself. The Kanto story is so nothing, and the motion controls just kill the whole thing for me. Also Trace is the worst rival character.
Most of my apathy towards Kanto is its overuse though, like the franchise has done interesting things beyond the original 151 but always when there's new forms or a major character hails from a different continent or whatever, its always Kanto and I've grown sick of it.
8. Galar - There are some characters I really like, but otherwise the Galar games felt pretty hollow. There's a lot of cool looking locations but there isn't any substance to them and you can't do anything in them, and the open area was a great concept but you can't do anything in it either. The giant forms don't do a lot for me either since I tend to prefer small and cute Pokemon so making them bigger and more ""badass"" usually doesn't work for me.
Out of all the Switch titles I like the Galar art direction best (as in how the characters look) at least.
7. Alola - I remember there being a lot of talk how the Alola games supposedly shook up the formula because they didn't have gyms, but, like, they totally had gyms, they were just outdoors and had a different name. My main memories of playing Moon are about being constantly interrupted by handholding and the unbearable Rotom Dex, and even with the setting being something completely different from usual, I barely remember anything about it. The customisation was surprisingly boring too and I couldn't care less for Z-moves or Ultra Beasts. Lillie is super cute though and Team Skull was a lot of fun and regional forms are an excellent idea, even if it was wasted on Kanto only in this generation.
6. Hoenn - I had Sapphire on an emulator and later a Alpha Sapphire, and I must say I didn't manage to finish either (I think I didn't even make it out of Mauville in that run), which is why I debated if I should put the Alola games higher just because I made it almost to the end there. But in the end I think Gen 3 did a lot more for the franchise, the berries, contests, secret bases, abilities and double battles are great. I don't have a lot of motivation to go back and finish Alpha Sapphire, all the surfing really doesn't sound inspiring, "too much water" isn't just a meme! Though maybe I should try at least.
5. Kalos - Now we get to the games where my feelings are a lot more positive. I remember being super stoked for the 3d graphics, and somehow for the fact that your character could sit down on a bench (???). The customisation is also great and roller skating was a fun way to get around. The story was pretty weak though and I really don't like the bland rival friend group. I dunno man, the more I think about it, the harder it is to think about things that actually matter to the gameplay experience that I really like, but regardless I have pretty good memories of Y.
4. Unova - White was my first game on an actual console (and not an emulator) so that alone makes it special to me. It's hard to come up with anything specific about the gameplay this time around either, but I remember having a good time, the world was fun to explore, N was a great rival and the story was good too. And the Big City of the region was amazing (and so was Kalos' for that matter) and the changing seasons made for beautiful graphics.
3. Paldea - The graphics were ugly and the performance was a mess, but I like nonlinear open world games okay? And honestly even that didn't work properly since the gym levels didn't scale and I unintentionally did the easiest gym fourth so I was stupidly overleveled, and the world wasn't that interesting to explore either. But I still had a decently good time and also the game had been patched by the time I got around to playing it so I didn't encounter that many bugs.
Also points for making the friendly rival and box art legendary into something I actually liked for once, the school stuff was fun (would've liked even more), the Arven story line is one of my favourite Pokemon stories, and the Area Zero part was great. And overall the game managed to make the overused "beat 8 gyms and deal with the evil team and local legendary" plot feel somewhat fresh.
2. Johto - The Kanto nostalgia pandering doesn't work on me, but Johto sure does. Gold was my first Pokemon game and I have so many good memories playing it, especially the nighttime Goldenrod city with the 8-bit music is my jam. I would also say that for its time it has been the best improvement on what came before, and of course it's the only time we get two games (or maybe 1,5) for the price of one instead of the other way around with the inclusion of Kanto. Then there is HGSS which contains still the best implementation of follower Pokemon. The story and characters will improve from here and the old gameplay jank doesn't really motivate me to revisit the games but they will always have a special place in my heart.
1. Hisui - There really isn't any contest here, the gameplay is simply so much better in LGA than in any of the others. Catching and battling Pokemon is so streamlined, the HM equivalents are useful and make exploring more enjoyable rather than being glorified keys, and the story is different for once. And I said I like nonlinear open world games but this is fine as well, when you get a huge area to explore at once, even when they're unlocked in an order. Like what I have an issue with is if you can't take three steps without running into an unskippable NPC scene or some arbitrary roadblock.
I do have issues though, the Pokemon box and Pokedex menu fiddling is atrocious and a way bigger issue here than in any of the other games since there's a lot more incentive to catch and use different Pokemon, I don't really like the art direction, and the customisation options suck and I had to use 90% of the default look for the whole game. But regardless I would really like it if the franchise went into this direction in the future.
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Entry Log #8
Sort of blanking out on this entry. I'll probably forget what I put in here.
TW; Talks of OD, Suicide
My friends have been steadily leaving me. This is for the better, though. This is actually a positive thing compared to something negative. It's part of a suicide plan that I made a while ago.
The more friends I lose, the more closer it gets me to commiting. The second I get rid of all my silly companions, I think I'll follow through with the plan I've conjured up in my head and come out to my parents about being gay and how I cut myself. I know they don't accept homosexuality. They'll probably hate that for me, 'nd probably kick me out of the house.
Of course, I'll comply. I'd pack, nothing much really, my phone, a bottle of water, and the bottles of extra-strength tylenol that I have been conjuring up over time. I'll move to a secluded space, I can already guess where-ever it might be. Honestly, I even thought about doing it in my childhood park, get a taste of nostalgia before I go out. For the sake of it, I'll probably text my final goodbyes and shoot my last voicemails to my loved ones, even leave them a paper letter to read. A goodbye note to send myself off. Hell, I'd probably even live stream it. Make myself known or famous too. It's silly childhood dream of mine. I know that part is twisted, but if I'm going out, why not let everybody know about it? I bet people would love to see that anyways.
Then, at the end of my plan, I die. As plain as that. And I know it will work too, because I'll make sure it works, considering the amount I would take if I eventually reach that time.
I'd rather not have a funeral. Or have my loved ones cry over somebody like me. That's why I want them all gone and hating me before I die. So they don't have to suffer, seeing their friend/family pass. Not to mention how expensive the funeral would be, god, I'd never wish that burden on my mother or father. I'm already a big enough one anyways. I feel like I was destined to be alone, too. From when I began living to where I die, I'll be alone. And I accepted it, at this point.
Of course, I know this can change for the better, so it's a plan for a reason. But that's so completely unlikely now. I've lost hope of my life changing. It's sad to know that my life dreams will never get completed, my hopes and wishes will never come true because I am an incompetent person who can't face reality and the struggles of being alive. I'm drowning and there's no way out of it anymore. I'm suffocated. I mean, I really wish I could've accomplished something, but now? I can barely see me getting out of bed without having to cry or feel like a piece of shit. I'll never have the life I wanted. I'll never be the person I could have been. I'll never be anything. All my dreams are just a waste. Nothing I even wish for comes true, all my prayers have never been answered.
I want them to, though. I want to keep fighting, but I don't have the strength anymore. I wish I could continue staying strong, but I don't know now if I ever was in the first place. I wish I could give little me the life they always wanted. It breaks my heart knowing that little kid will turn out to me. They would be so disappointed in what they see now.
To the little me, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the life that you wanted. I tried my best, I swear. I promise in this next one I'll make you proud. I'll do my best. I'll give you everything I couldn't have in this life. Maybe in another place and time, but it's just not here. It can't be.
I just want to die soon. I hope this process speeds up faster. Some people are really stubborn when it comes to leaving, but thankfully, most don't care when I'm gone or not. I need to disappear soon. I hope my plan will follow through soon enough.
Goodnight reader, thank you for reading to the end. (If there is any reading it.) I'd appriciate a like and follow, really gets me going 🙏
#mydigitaldiaryz#i wanna kms#i want to disappear#sewer slide#988twt#988blr#988lifeline#tw sui ideation#suic1de#tw sui implied#su1c1d10#su1cide#su1c1d4l#su1c1dal#su1c1d3#i wanna disappear#hate myself#i hate my existence#i hate my liiiiife#i hate everything#i hate it here#im so tired
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