#envy? unless you have never met any other living beings I don’t think it’s possible to escape this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

milfgritty · 3 years

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constellation of asters | m. frost & j. farabee

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ genre: poly!au | soulmate!au | gender neutral reader ❀ ⇢ word count: 12.9k ❀ ⇢ a/n: yea i have no excuses for this. enjoy.

everyone has a soulmate, it’s just a simple known fact. a red string, a soulmark, first words tattooed on the inside of your wrist, there’s something to help every person find theirs. except, well, you never had any of those. growing up, you (kinda) came to terms with the fact that you might just not have a soulmate at all. it’s not until you meet morgan and joel that you begin to reconsider the possibility that you actually have not one, but two.

⇢ posted: 02.07.21 . | . masterlist

There are the lucky ones in the world who are born with an identifying soulmark. Something that leads them straight to their soulmate, whether it be a red string of fate, or the date of their other half’s birth, or even a tattoo shared only by the two of them.

You, though?

You wish you were one of them. But alas, no string, no tattoo, no drawings, not even a damn clock. Nothing to ever even allude to the existence of your supposed other half. When you were younger it terrified you, made you think that something went wrong wherever soulmates were paired. Left you alone, destined to never be the perfect match for anyone. You used to watch in envy of all the kids in the schoolyard proudly displaying their tattoos, showing off whatever new their soulmate drew on their skin that morning. Knowing that they would remember that you were one of the unlucky ones soon enough, the ones people whispered about under their breath, never loudly as though terrified if someone heard them their own soulmate would vanish.

Not having a soulmate was kind of a big deal, if you couldn’t tell.

And still years went by and you grew up with half-assed reassurances of ‘don’t worry, I’m sure your soulmate is out there somewhere, you’ll see’ and ‘maybe you just have an invisible soulmark, didn’t you know those are a thing?’. Years went by, and you grew up, and you rationalized.

You didn’t need a soulmate. People without them got along just fine, and sometimes people lost theirs without ever meeting them in the first place. Hell, you were actually luckier than everyone else because you had the free will, the agency, to pick who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. So what if they weren’t handpicked and perfect for you, you would be happy, dammit.

That’s what you told yourself, at least.

Done with a particularly rough day of classes, you figured it was only fair to reward yourself with your favorite drink from your favorite cafe near campus. It was a special treat that you rarely afforded yourself, what with you fitting the stereotypical broke college image to an almost painful extent. Dodging other people on the sidewalk, you clutched your jacket closer around your body to protect from the harsh wind. The bag on your back straining under the combined weight of your single (five subject) notebook, textbooks, and laptop, you cursed yourself under your breath for not at the very least putting it in your car before making the five minute trek.

Slipping into the tiny cafe nestled on the corner, you allowed yourself a sigh of relief. You took the moment to drop your stuff at a vacant table before making your way to the counter. Waiting in line, your eyes scanned the menu despite knowing exactly what you would get, as you did every time you let yourself come here. Back aching and your hand attempting to massage it from the worst possible angle, the line continued to shorten until you could order and retreat back to your table.

You were tempted to stay, even after getting your coffee. Free wifi, decent music, and minimal noise? Easily get through at least homework for one class. But a larger part of you yearned for your warm bed and cozy blankets, preferably with pajamas. And so, it was with maximum effort that you picked back up your bag and coffee and slipped out the door and into the windy outdoors once more.

The walk back to your car was more bearable with the addition of a hand warmer, so much so that you took the longer way through the small park you had walked past on your way there. With the trees above and around you and the dancing leaves raining down, their colors slowly changing from their normal shade to the yellows and oranges of autumn, a smile slipped onto your lips. Your eyes lingered on the flowers lining the pathway, your mind trying futilely to identify which ones they wer—

A body slammed into yours, shoulders knocking violently as you were shoved off balance. Your still mostly full coffee fell from your hand, lid flying off and spilling onto the ground. You landed miraculously not in the growing puddle of hot coffee, but still flat on your ass as you stared up in shock at the man who had somehow remained standing.

Seconds ticked by as you stared at each other, uncomprehending. The tall and outrageously sturdy stranger broke through his shock first.

“I’m so sorry, holy shit,” he rushed out, hand reaching down to help you up. Gazing unblinking at the outstretched limb, you allowed him to pull you up. Bare skin touching yours, you only allowed a split second of disappointment when there was no discernable reaction before smothering it back down.

Really, you thought, what did I expect? A mark to show up on our hands linking us together? How naive. You really thought you had gotten passed doing that.

“It—it’s fine,” you mumbled, sparing a despaired glance down at your spilled coffee, “don’t worry about it.” How neither you nor your bag didn’t end up in the puddle was beyond you, but you’ll take it.

His gaze followed yours, landing on the pitiful cup. “Fuck, your drink, I’m so sorry.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. Stop apologizing,” you told him, adjusting your bag and turning to leave. There was no way you were going back to the cafe and getting another drink, this one was already indulging yourself.

“No, hey,” he lightly grabbed your jacket, stopping you. “Let me buy you a new one, make it up to you for spilling that one.”

Suddenly much closer to his tall frame, your eyes caught on his brown ones. There was just something about him that you could already feel your resolve chipping away.

“I was on my way to Starbucks anyway, it’s no problem,” he continued, as though sensing he was breaking you down. At the mention of Starbucks, though, your nose involuntarily scrunched. Something he definitely caught. “Or wherever it was you got that,” he laughed, his smile making your heart catch a beat.

You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Not when he’s oddly pretty and he could have a soulmate who’s not you and—

“Yea, sure.” You smiled, “Luckily for you, it’s pretty close to here.”

His smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corner, and his hand dropped from your sleeve. It was strange how much you felt its absence, but you pushed the thought away. “After you then,” he stepped aside, gesturing you forward.

Moving around him, you fell in step together, going back the way you came.

“I’m Morgan, by the way,” he—Morgan—introduced himself after a beat. Studying him for a split second, you thought the name suited him.

“Y/N,” you said in response, ignoring the way his smile made you want to smile, too.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” And the two of you kept walking.

Two months. It had been two months of hearing Morgan talk about Y/N this, Y/N that, and Joel still wasn’t quite sure if he liked or hated you.

Depends on the day, really.

It wasn’t anything against you as a person; it was just, well. He wasn’t sure what it was if he was being completely honest. Maybe it was the way Morgan brightened at the mention of your name, maybe it was how he always brought you up in conversation, maybe it was how obvious it was that he liked you.

But he definitely wasn’t jealous. Of course not. How ridiculous.

He watched Morgan move around in their shared kitchen, rambling on and on. Something about how you joked earlier when you were hanging out that you would wear his jersey if he bought it for you. At that moment, he couldn’t hold the thing he couldn’t quite identify in anymore. “So have you brought up how you feel, yet?”

Morgan stopped and closed the fridge door that he had half his body shoved inside and digging around in as he turned to face him. Brows furrowed, he shook his head with a look of poorly feigned confusion. “I—what? No, it’s not like that. Why would you even ask that?” he questioned, staring him down.

Joel shrugged, fidgeting on the stool he had perched himself on when Morgan went into the kitchen. He really wasn’t sure why he had asked. He just had. A part of him didn’t want to know why.

“Just feels like the two of you have been hanging out as much as you can. The way you talk, it’s pretty obvious how you, at least, feel,” he replied. He picked at his sweats, avoiding his roommate's gaze.

Morgan cleared his throat, turning back to the fridge. “I don’t—not like that, man,” he told him over his shoulder. He gave the fridge a second glance before closing the door, walking past Joel and out of the kitchen.

“It’s not a big deal if you do,” Joel said as he followed him back into the living room. “You haven’t found your soulmate yet, plenty of people date before they do.”

“Why are you so concerned about it, Beezer?” Morgan pivoted on his heel to face him, forcing Joel to stop in his tracks unless he wanted to run him down.

“I—I don’t, I’m not,” he answered, mind racing, “I just think you’ve been practically obsessed with them for months and I haven’t even met them—”

Morgan laughed sharply, cutting him off, “Is that what this is about? Seriously?”

“I mean, kinda? It’d be nice, at least.”

“Fine, then I’ll ask if we can all do something together this weekend. Is that good for you, Joel?”

Ignoring the sarcasm in his last sentence, he maneuvered around his body and flopped down onto the couch. “It is actually, thanks.” In his head, however, he was less certain. How was he gonna be able to interact with you? Would his jealousy—no, not jealousy—be obvious to Morgan, to you?

Aside from the noise coming from the TV, the next few minutes passed in relative silence after Morgan crashed down next to him. Their previous conversation already partially forgotten, Joel became focused on the shitty reality show that had started to play without them noticing earlier.

“Look, it’s not like I’m an idiot,” Morgan started suddenly, scaring him slightly. Joel’s head turned toward him, brow lifting in question. Morgan glanced at him before returning his gaze to the TV and continuing. “It’s just, yea. Maybe you’re right.”

He trailed off, leaving him to wait. “And?”

Morgan rolled his eyes and shuffled further into the couch. “And, I don’t know if I even have a soulmate,” he steamrolled on, “Just because I might not doesn’t mean—doesn’t mean no one does, you know? I don’t want to be the selfish asshole who gets into a relationship with someone who might have a perfect match waiting for them, someone that isn’t me.”

“You don’t know if you have a soulmate?” The piece of information stuck out to him. Hit him in the gut and made his heart jump into his throat.

His roommate shrugged, continued to steadfastly ignore him. “Never had a mark or any of the other shit people had. It’s not—not that big of a deal. But I don’t want to be with someone and always be afraid that they’re going to find what I can’t and leave me behind.”

Joel swallowed roughly, his heart racing. “Oh,” he mumbled, voice as quiet as Morgan’s had become by the time he had gotten done speaking.

“Yea,” Morgan huffed a bitter sounding laugh, “Oh.”

“You know,” Joel spoke lightly, softly, as though worried that talking too loud would ruin everything, “People always say that things work out in the end, even if it’s shit getting there.”

This time the laugh that escaped Morgan was more real, less cold. “Is that your way of making me feel better, Beezer?”

“Depends,” he smiled, bright at the sound of his laugh, “is it working?”

Morgan threw a pillow at him, it bouncing lightly off his head. “Dude, shut up,” he told him, the smile on his face softening his words. Following his advice, Joel adjusted himself on the couch, heart feeling just a bit lighter than it had previously.

“So I was thinking,” Morgan started as you walked down the street together.

“Absolutely shocking, continue,” you cut in, rewarded with a shove as you laughed.

“As I was saying,” he stressed, “You should come over for a game night or something this weekend.”

“Uh,” you stuttered out. “Yea, sure. Sounds fun. Will Joel be there?” You hadn’t meant to sound so shocked, but as it was, you most definitely were. In the what, two, three? Months since you had known Morgan, you never went to his place. Never met his elusive roommate. Sure, you had heard about Joel. It was hard not to when Morgan could—and had—talk for hours about his teammate.

But you had never met him. And to be honest, at this point you were kinda scared to.

Sure, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Except he clearly meant the world to Morgan, and well, Morgan meant the world to you. And yea, you weren’t sure when he began to mean so much, but he does. And you want Joel to like you. What if he doesn’t?

“Yea, Beezer’ll be there. Finally get to meet him.” He nudged you lightly, shooting you a smile. Smiling nervously back, you ducked under his arm and into the cafe as he held the door open for you.

Coming to the little cafe on the corner had become tradition, Morgan falling in love with the shop just as much as you had. It didn’t bother you in the slightest since he pays for you whenever you two come. Which is, to say, far too often.

Placing both of your orders and finding a table, you turned to your friend. “Do you think,” you began nervously, picking at the edge of the table, “do you think he’ll like me? Joel?”

Morgan looked up from his phone and tilted his head. “Of course he will. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, lying through your teeth. “It’s just, he’s your roommate—and your teammate—and wouldn’t it be, like, a little awkward if he actually hates me?”

Your question seemed to stump Morgan for a minute, his mouth opening and closing, eyebrows scrunched up as he looked at you from across the tiny table. You sat quietly, watching him think over his answer. Eyes wandering his face, your lips quirked as you just managed to pick out the way his lashes curled at the ends. So unfair, you thought, why does he get the long eyelashes? Finally, he seemed to get his words in order.

“Even if he doesn’t like you, which he definitely won’t,” he rushed out the last half, “But if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like we would stop hanging out or anything. We would just, just keep hanging out the way we have been.”

Watching him, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Promise?” you asked, voice coming out quieter than you had wanted. You hated the way you feared losing Morgan, scared that he had wormed his way into your life so quickly.

His foot nudged yours under the table, breaking you out of your thoughts. Eyes meeting yours, your heart gave a tug at the sweet smile dancing across his lips. “Yea,” he told you, “I promise.”

Breath catching, you smiled back. “Then this weekend it is.”

The weekend came far sooner than you expected.

“But you’re on your way, right?” Morgan questioned you over the phone. Figured you were running late today of all days. It was Saturday, dammit, you slept in late. That wasn’t a crime.

“Yes, Morg, I’m on my way. Leaving right now,” you reassured him, grabbing your keys off the counter and making your way to your door.

You heard his—frankly, exaggerated—breath of relief even on your end, gaining a fond eye roll out of you. “Okay, good,” he replied, “See you in like, twenty?”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered halfheartedly in response, more focused on locking up behind you. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

The only downside, of course, is that twenty minutes was definitely not enough time to settle your anxiety. And so soon enough, you were at Morgan’s shared apartment, and walking up to Morgan’s shared apartment, and oh god you were in front of his door, oh no—

This is fine. This is fine. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that no matter what, even if Joel didn’t like you, Morgan wouldn’t drop you. He promised.

Christ, that sounded lame even in your head.

Psyching yourself up, you raised your hand to their door and knocked. Ignoring the way your hand trembled lightly, you almost jumped when the door swung open faster than you expected.

“Hey,” Morgan appeared in the doorway, beaming down at you, “You made it.”

A snort left you without your permission. “Yea, you dork, I made it.”

Catching his eye roll, you grinned as he stepped aside and swept his hand out. “Welcome to our apartment.” Your grin widened at how dumb he was and moved past him, brushing lightly against him as you entered.

Walking in, your eyes caught on the form draped against the couch. Heart stuttering, all the anxiety that had briefly left you came flooding back. Morgan stepped around you, guiding you over to the living room.

“Hey, asshole, you gonna say hi or what?” he asked, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Joel. It thumped softly onto his chest and rolled off the couch, causing him to glare up at Morgan.

You stared wide eyed as Joel huffed and slung his legs over the side of the couch, standing up and unfolding to a height similar to Morgan. Giants, you scoffed lightly under your breath, they’re literally giants. Casually, you maneuvered until your body was just barely behind Morgan.

“Sup,” he did a weird head nod thing, his eyes roaming up and down your body. “I’m Joel, it’s uh—it’s nice to finally meet you.”

You smiled weakly up at him. “Y/—” you tried, cutting yourself off and clearing your throat, “Y/N. Nice to finally meet you, too.”

The two of you stared the other down, silence filling the room as Morgan watched the two of you watching each other. Rocking on your heels, you alternated between looking at him and around the room.

“You know, uh,” Joel started abruptly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweats, “Frosty talks a lot about you. Can’t shut up, I don’t think.”

“Dude,” Morgan hissed at him as a laugh slipped past your lips. You felt your cheeks warm, your smile finally feeling less forced and more genuine.

“It’s funny,” you told him, ignoring Morgan, “he talks a lot about you, too. Once he gets started, it seems like he can’t stop.”

“I hate both of you. Why did I think this was a good idea,” Morgan said, throwing his hands up and slipping in between the two of you into what you assumed was the kitchen. The sound of yours and Joel’s laughter followed him, the pair of you sharing a conspirator’s smile.

Joel was the first to break, his smile lingering as he spared you a glance and followed Morgan. “Don’t be like that, Morg. We’re getting along already. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Giggling, you walked in after them. “I don’t know what I was worried about,” you teased, sidling up to the counter, “Joel is great.”

“Oh, you would think so,” Morgan rolled his eyes, pulling a sweet tea out of the fridge and handing it to you. Smiling in thanks, you opened it and took a sip.

“Wait,” Joel stopped and shook his head, “were you actually worried about meeting me?”

Eyes widening and head shooting up, you were positive panic flitted across your face. “Uhhh,” you started, shifting from foot to foot and shrugging, “A little? I mean, you’re his roommate and teammate and he talks about you all the time—”

“—I do not—”

“Yea, you do, Morg,” you laughed, glancing over at him before returning your attention to Joel. “But, yea. After so long without meeting, I guess I kinda built you up in my head and I got worried you wouldn’t like me and things would, I don’t know, be awkward for Morgan. It’s dumb.”

It was dumb, you realized, standing there. Joel was...you didn’t even know how to describe it. He was soothing. Calming in the same way Morgan was to you, like a balm to your anxiety. Easy to talk to, joke with. It had barely been ten minutes and already you could tell that. It was the same feeling that made you let Morgan buy you another drink when you first met.

“It’s not dumb,” he told you, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug, “I guess I felt the same way.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised. For some reason, you didn’t really expect him to feel much of, well, anything when it came to meeting you.

Grinning, he nudged your foot. “Don’t look so shocked. Even NHLers have feelings, you know.”

“Shut up,” both you and Morgan chorused, glancing at each other before laughing. It was then you realized how close the three of you were, the kitchen not exactly the largest room. If you moved one way, you’d bump into Morgan. If you moved the other, it would be Joel.

“Wanna play fortnite or something?” Morgan asked, clearing your thoughts. He knew you well enough to figure out what the scrunch of your nose after his suggestion meant. “Or not fortnite, you have a better idea?”

“What else do you guys have?” You asked, hoping against odds they would have something that wasn’t completely awful.

Joel and Morgan shared a look, communicating silently.

“Uhh,” Joel started, “I think we have like, Skyrim? Never got around to playing it, though.”

Eyes immediately brightening, you straightened. You almost didn’t notice how the move brought you that much closer to him. “Dude, Skyrim came out like ten years ago. How have you never played?”

“Looks like Skyrim, it is,” Morgan muttered, squeezing past you to the living room.

“I don’t know,” Joel tried to defend himself, “It’s not what I usually play.”

“Well, that changes today, buddy.”

“Did you just call him buddy, oh my god,” you heard Morgan’s voice distantly, covered mostly by Joel’s shocked snort.

Thirty minutes later found the three of you sprawled across the couch, limbs just barely intertwining as Joel tried still to make his way through the character creation screen.

“Is that a cat? Do they have fucking furries in this game?”

“I swear, I’m gonna throw my sweet tea at you,” you threatened while swallowing down laughter at Joel’s commentary.

“Do it, I’m not getting you another one,” Morgan told you, his hand lying lightly on the bottom of your calf.

“Yea, you would,” you smiled over at him.

A snort came from Joel’s direction, followed by, “Dude, you would.”

“Shut the fuck up, Beezer, I didn’t ask you.”

Mock gasping, you reached over and hit Morgan’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp ‘hey’ from him. “No being mean to each other,” you laughed, settling back down, shoulder brushing against Joel’s side.

“You heard the lady, Frosty,” Joel smirked, sticking his tongue out at him.

“I’m never letting the two of you hang out again,” Morgan groaned, throwing his head back. His thumb had paused in the motion of rubbing circles into your leg.

Exchanging a glance with the boys, you smiled. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

“You know,” you had innocently told Morgan and Joel a few days ago, “it’s kinda funny that two of my closest friends are professional ice hockey players and I’ve never even gone skating before.”

He was shocked at the revelation. Horrified, even. And definitely planning on rectifying that minor fact, something Joel fully supported and helped plan. Sadly, it took a few days before he and Joel were both home and didn’t have practice or a game and you didn’t have classes or homework, leaving the three of you able to hang out.

He always counted it as a minor miracle when all of your schedules lined up. In the months he and Joel had known you, it happened far less than he would’ve liked. But as much as it felt better, more…more right, for it to be the three of you—which was normal, you were best friends; he didn’t like one of you more than the other—he took what he could get and didn’t complain.

Much.

That’s how Morgan found himself at an ice rink with his two closest friends on his day off, watching one of them tie the other’s skate.

“You could’ve done this yourself,” Joel told you, fingers making quick work of your laces.

You beamed down at him, a satisfied little smile on your face, “But you do it so much better than me.”

Morgan laughed to himself, bending down to finish lacing up his own skates. Joel had gotten his done first and found himself helping you, not that he exactly put up a fight. Finishing up, he stood and leaned against the boards, peering down as Joel worked.

“You waiting for us? That’s so sweet,” you smiled up at him, resting your weight on your hands behind you.

Joel huffed a laugh and half turned to look over his shoulder at him, flashing him a smirk, the asshole. “Our Morgan? He’s just a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

Morgan reached out and kicked him, mindful of the blade of his skate. Rolling his eyes, he maneuvered around both of you and stepped out onto the ice.

“Just for that, I’m going without the both of you.”

Hearing the teasing calls of his name accompanied by laughter, he smiled and went to do laps around the rink. Slowly he went through the motions, glancing behind him now and then to see if Joel had finished yet.

When he finally did, Morgan made his way back to the two of you. “You ready to see what you’ve been missing out on?” He teased, eyes catching on the way you wobbled unsteadily and clutched tightly to Joel’s arm next to you.

“Quick question,” your laugh came out high pitched and as unsteady as your walk, “just how hard is skating?”

“Please, don’t worry,” Joel scoffed, shortening his steps to help you. Morgan watched his teammate stabilize you, the steady rock to your choppy sea. “Skating is one of the easiest things in the world.”

“Okay, let me rephrase,” a cheeky smile flitted across your lips, “how hard is skating for us normal people?”

He shared a fond look with Joel, laughing quietly. “Trust us, you’ll be fine.”

“I do,” you responded without a moment’s hesitation, pausing in your baby steps before continuing. “Trust you, I mean.”

The breath left his lungs in a quick rush, not expecting that, not expecting how sincere and matter of fact you had said it or how it affected him. It wasn’t fair, how quickly you could throw him off balance with what seemed like barely a thought.

Joel cleared his throat, his hand tightening around yours. “Good,” he told you, voice remarkably soft and low before returning to normal. “I guess it’s time to get you on the ice, then?”

Morgan had to laugh a little at the fear that filled your face at Joel’s words, the way you immediately clung somehow even tighter to him. Smiling, he reached out to you, offering you his hand.

“You said you trusted us,” he told you, “So trust us. We’re not gonna let you get hurt.”

He watched your eyes meet his and fly down to his outstretched hand, back and forth between the two. One of your hands slowly let go of their iron grip on Joel and settled into his.

“Promise?” You looked from him to Joel, eyes painfully doelike.

Once again, he shared a soft glance with his teammate before looking back at you.

“We promise.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and appearing to steel yourself. “Okay, alright, I’m good. Let’s fucking do this.”

Laughter peeled out of him and Joel. “There’s our Y/N,” his teammate grinned, helping you out onto the ice. The two of them kept their grips on you tight as you shakily stepped onto the ice, making sure you didn’t immediately fall.

Your first steps were wobbly, with the only thing keeping you from eating ice being him and Joel. Slowly, the three of you made your way across the ice. “There you go,” he encouraged you, “just like that. Slow and steady for right now—”

“Head up, try not to look down so much, alright? We’ve got you,” Joel reassured, the two of them going back and forth, offering advice and making sure nothing happened.

It took a bit, but soon you were giggling and flashing them pretty smiles, your grip on them loosening slowly but surely. It was enough for Morgan to speed up and swing around to skate backward in front of you.

Catching your worried glance, he smiled. “Still here, just letting you skate more on your own,” he squeezed your hand, now being held more for assurance than to help keep you up.

And so the three of you kept skating around the rink with you getting more and more confident until you were on your own and no longer needed them to hold on to. Morgan watched proudly as you went from wobbly steps to actual skating, though your arms still stayed out by your sides for balance.

“Show off,” you yelled and laughed, attempting to shove Joel when he went to skate in wide circles around both of you.

“What?” Joel threw his hands up, laughing loudly and dodging you. “I’m just skating circles around you.”

“Ha ha,” Morgan grinned when you sarcastically laughed at Joel’s antics. “You’re simply hilarious, you dork.”

“I know,” Joel smiled happily, swooping in to smack a loud kiss to your cheek before speeding away. The kiss nearly knocked you over, leaving you gawking after him.

Morgan observed the two of you as he glided in front of you, a wide smile stretching across his lips. Small huffs of laughter left you as you skated—still not great, but definitely better—over to him, grabbing his hand and trying to tug him.

“Morgan, come on,” you giggled, “help me avenge my honor.”

“Oh, of course,” he replied, nodding his head in mock seriousness. He pulled you along in chase of Joel, the three of you laughing as you went around and around the rink.

It wasn’t until you two caught him—Morgan suspected Joel had let them catch him, like they wouldn’t have been able to eventually—and Joel decided to try to teach you how to skate backward as Morgan followed that he realized something.

He realized as he watched the two of you smiling and laughing, as he skated behind while Joel held your hands, as both of you made corny jokes and looked back at him to make sure he was still with you, he realized that—fuck.

He was fucked.

Because he looked at you and heard your laughter and felt his heart tighten. Because he looked at Joel and the way he looked back at him with a fond look and toothy grin, and his heart stopped.

Because he looked at both of you and felt the same exact thing. And he realized it didn’t feel right when all three of you were together because you were just his closest friends.

It was because when he was with the two of you, his heart skipped beats and all of these feelings weighed him down and lifted him up and—and—

Fuck. He was well and truly fucked, that’s what he realized.

Humming quietly under your breath, you picked up the plates from the table and made your way back to the kitchen. Stepping around Morgan, you reached down to put the dishes into the sink for him to wash. After you let them sit, you hoisted yourself up and onto the counter next to him and watched as he grabbed for one of the dirty plates.

“You think Joel will be back soon?” You asked him, tilting your head and pursing your lips.

Morgan met your gaze and held it as he washed the plate. “Hopefully, we can’t start the movie without him.”

Dinner and a movie at their place. It was almost like a date if you let yourself think about it. But you didn’t, because they’re just your friends.

Your tall, attractive friends that you had completely platonic feelings for. Okay, mostly platonic feelings for. Fine, not at all platonic and actually very romantic feelings, but you refused to think about it. There were two of them and one of you and that, that was weird. Right?

Right?

Kicking yourself mentally, you shot him a tiny smile. “Do we even want to know what he chose this time?” Every movie night, a different one of you had complete control over the movie. Tonight was, regretfully, Joel’s night to choose and he refused to tell either of you what you were watching.

It went without saying that you were a bit scared.

“I don’t think so,” Morgan made a face, putting another plate in the dish rack. You laughed lowly to yourself, watching a smile creep over his face as he glanced back at you.

“Either way,” you told him, “he needs to get back soon, I’m starting to miss the weirdo.” Shimmying down from the countertop, you walked over to the fridge to get a drink.

Morgan made a noise of agreement, finishing up and turning off the sink. He turned to face you, grabbing a hand towel from next to him and leaning against the counter. He stared down at you without responding; the action causing you to grin slightly in confusion.

“What’s up?” You questioned him, stretching your foot out to lightly tap his.

Head shaking slowly, his mouth opened a bit. Closing it, his eyebrows squished together in what seemed like deep thought.

“Do you ever think about your soulmate?”

The question caught you off guard, making your body physically recoil just a touch. You shook your head, mouth hanging open. “Uhhh,” you stuttered, a startled laugh making its way past your lips. “Not if I can help it, why?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, brows still furrowed and an intent look painted across his face.

Shrugging, your eyes flitted around the room. At your side, your fingers twitched against the counter, creating a muted tapping noise. “Nothing, just...I don’t know. It’s not my favorite subject. You?”

“Yea,” he said with a forced smile, “Same thing, I guess. Not if I can help it.”

You hummed softly, trying to figure out his expression and the change in subject. You couldn’t recall ever, ever, talking about soulmates with either Morgan or Joel. Not in the entire time you had known them. It was like some sort of weird unspoken taboo topic, never brought up, never talked about despite how popular it was for everyone else. Never asking what your soulmark was, or what date was splayed across your skin. Like there was a sense of fear lingering around it, which made sense for you but never for your boys.

The boys. Not—not your boys, you scolded yourself.

“It’s just, you and Joel,” Morgan started, scaring you a little. “The two of you get along really well.”

Was he? Was he implying that you and Joel? Soulmates?

For a split second, your mind ran wild with the thought. To be soulmates with Joel, with his smiles for just you and Morgan, and his wild hair and dumb hats, and horrible facial hair and horrible jokes and—

How nice it would be. How irrevocably nice it would be.

But even as you let yourself think about it for that split second, you knew it wasn’t what you wanted. Not entirely. Because it wasn’t just Joel in your daydream, but Morgan, too. With his pretty eyes and the look of exasperation he always had when he was with the two of you. The three of you.

Always the three of you.

Shaking your head before you knew what you were doing, you replied, “Me and Joel? No, no, I mean—”

“You’re always happy and smiling around him,” Morgan cut you off, not making eye contact, “maybe the two of you—”

“I’m always happy and smiling because I’m with the two of you, you idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you cut him off in return, ignoring the way your heart pounded in your chest.

He pursed his lips, about to retort when the sound of the door opening caught your attention.

“Alright, assholes. I’ve got the goods,” Joel’s voice called out, the door closing behind him and keys clattering loudly into the horrible gritty tray you had gotten them. You and Morgan remained quiet as Joel made his way into the kitchen, digging around in the bag he was holding.

He paused upon entering, eyes lifting to look from you to Morgan and back. His arms slowly fell, his face screwing up in cautious confusion. “So, uh, what did I...miss?” he asked, stepping inside apprehensively.

“Soulmates, apparently,” you told him sarcastically when Morgan kept silent. You made grabby hands for the bag, reaching in to grab your bag of peach rings.

Joel winced, a just barely audible ‘oh boy’ falling from his lips. “What got you on that god awful subject?”

You snorted, already shoving a peach ring into your mouth, “So you agree? It’s an awful subject?”

“Oh yea,” he nodded, reaching over and tugging at the peach ring balancing between your teeth before it tore in half, shoving his stolen half into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

Pulling back, you batted at his outstretched hands, “you should’ve gotten your own. Stop stealing, thief.”

“I prefer the term rogue,” he replied, shooting you a cheeky grin. A soft ‘oh my god’ left you with a groan as you rolled your eyes and set the bag down.

Morgan’s continued silence worried you, and you could tell it unnerved Joel just as much. You stole glances at him, his posture tense and face troubled. The whole soulmates thing wasn’t your favorite, but what was going on inside of his head that had him like this? Was he still thinking about you and Joel—which was a ridiculous idea. But maybe that’s just because you knew the truth you resolved yourself to. That you just didn’t, for some unknown reason, have a soulmate to begin with.

“What’s going on in your big boy brain,” Joel nodded at Morgan, eyebrow quirking as he watched him.

Morgan startled almost imperceptibly, his attention shooting to his teammate. He shook his head, “Nothing, just the whole soulmates thing.”

“Still?” You frowned as you crossed your arms, puzzled.

“Dude, just move on already,” Joel told him.

Morgan rolled his eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot. You saw his grip on the countertop behind him tighten for a second before relaxing again.

“What’s going on?” You asked him, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.

He flinched back, a tiny movement that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already watching. Swallowing roughly, you stopped and let your hand fall, hurt coating your insides. Morgan licked his lips and rubbed at his chin, face screwing up.

“Don’t either of you ever think about the people you have feelings for being a perfect match for someone else? That it doesn’t matter what you feel in the end?”

Taken aback, you share a look with Joel as you grasped for words. Because you do think about that, about how Joel and Morgan have someone waiting for them that isn’t you and you don’t know when it’ll happen, only that it will and you’ll end up left behind like you always are. Alone. It wasn’t often, but late at night, the knowledge crept over you like thick sludge, refusing to move or leave.

“All the time,” Joel spoke before you could string together a sentence, his voice weak and a frown marring his features. “But it does matter, doesn’t it? Because you still have time with them now, and you can’t waste it for something that might happen.”

“But it will,” Morgan stressed, the hand that had rubbed his chin flying out to his side with a look of helplessness. “It will happen.”

“But you don’t know that,” you countered, fighting to get the words out. Your throat was tightening up, your heart pounding away. “No one really does. You don’t even have to end up with your soulmate.”

“Why wouldn’t you,” Morgan laughed without humor, “why wouldn’t you leave to be with the person hand picked for you?”

“Because I don’t have one,” slipped past your lips without your permission, the truth behind your words hitting you like a brick. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you swallowed harshly, stepping into yourself.

Morgan moved back and hit the counter behind him with a dull thud, staring at you with an unreadable expression. To your other side, Joel looked down at his feet, hands shoved into his pants.

“I never had one,” you continued, softer, quieter. Weaker. “I’ve always been the person without someone made just for me, but I’ve moved on. Because it doesn’t matter. It’s what I make of it, and it’s the scariest fucking thing, but it is what it is.”

“What if I can’t move on?” Morgan whispered, unable to meet your eyes.

“Then the people you were scared of leaving weren’t worth it to begin with,” Joel told him, gazing at him sadly.

Morgan’s face dropped forward into his hands, rubbing harshly. The three of you were silent, the tension nearly suffocating. Waiting, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I can’t just get over it,” Morgan said, shaking his head.

“Why not,” Joel questioned just as quietly, running a hand through his hair.

“Because I just can’t,” Morgan threw his hands up, voice raised as he stepped forward. “I can’t stop thinking that my feelings are a waste. That all of this is just a waste.”

“All of this?” You asked, uncomprehending.

“Yes, all of this,” he told you, gesturing wildly between the three of you. “Us. This. It’s a waste.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Morgan,” Joel was the one to ask this time, his voice low and daring. Daring Morgan to say it, to tell you exactly what he means.

“That I look at both of you and see two people who are going to leave me. Two people that I care about, that I want to be with, and know that it won’t last.”

The shock that came from him admitting his feelings and finally giving you the knowledge that you weren’t alone in your pining all these months still wasn’t enough to overwhelm the rest of his confession. The part that said that we were a waste, that cut a part of you that you kept hidden.

“Did you ever stop and think about how we felt?” The words left you as you stepped away, needing to get away. “That we might, for just a second, feel the same?”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Morgan nearly cried, voice shaking. “It never did.”

Nodding, you swallowed down tears. “Okay,” you whispered, maneuvering around Joel, who had remained quiet. “Okay.”

“Where are you going?” Morgan asked, reaching toward you.

Nearly laughing, you told him, “Away. I’m sorry, Joel, but I can’t be near someone who thinks everything about us, our friendship, our relationship, our feelings, are a waste. Not right now.”

Joel nodded, glancing back at you and offering a weak smile. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

Returning it, you turned and went to grab your things.

“Wait,” you heard Morgan before you saw him try to follow you, looking between you and Joel. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter, Morg,” you whispered, shrugging lightly. “I’m gonna go for awhile. I need to go.”

“No, please—”

Dodging him, you left the apartment. Vaguely, you heard Joel tell Morgan to stop, to let you go. Silently, you thanked him. You just couldn’t be near them right now, constantly reminded of your feelings and knowing at least one of them thought it was all useless.

All of this is just a waste. Us. This.

You nearly ran out of the building and to your car, just barely making it in before a yell forced its way out.

“Fuck,” you hit the steering wheel, letting your head droop forward to rest on it. You gave yourself a minute to pull yourself together and turn your car on, starting your journey back to the apartment you had slowly considered home less and less.

And so you drove away from the one you had begun to consider home, and from the boys that made it feel like that, and to the place you could finally let yourself break down.

Day after day became a week and then two. There was now this tension between him and Morgan, you weren’t replying to his texts the same way, and he wasn’t even sure if you and Morgan had talked at all since that night. He hated it.

Joel hated this.

It didn’t help that everything was bleeding over onto the ice and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop making rookie mistakes, couldn’t do anything when Morgan got yelled at for fucking up on a play. Couldn’t do anything.

The two of them were this close to getting benched, they both knew it. He knew this couldn’t keep happening, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

He saw his phone light up on his nightstand out of the corner of his eye. Mentally, he debated leaving it and continuing his inner dilemma, but a glance at it convinced him otherwise.

Sitting up in bed, he struggled against the blankets tangled around his legs to reach over and grab it. He crashed back down, lifting his phone above him and pulling up the text.

[10:38pm] armrest ; coffee tomorrow?

Seeing the name he had you under brought out a grin. You hated it the moment you saw it and argued that everyone was short next to a group of hockey players, which is exactly why both he and Morgan had you listed as it. In a sense, it was a reminder of better times.

[10:40pm] bumblebee ; yea ofc

[10:40pm] bumblebee ; the two of us?

He didn’t miss the fact that you texted just him and not the groupchat—the one aptly named the 3 stoiges, because Morgan made it with a typo and you and Joel kept it there to bully him. Time after time, Morgan tried to change it, and yet every time he went back, there it was once again in all of its dumbass glory.

[10:43pm] armrest ; yea i wanted to talk about everything. just the two of us for now

[10:44pm] bumblebee ; im there just lmk when

You texted him back the time, and that was that. The entire exchange left him feeling underwhelmed and anxious. It felt wrong. Stilted. He missed the jokes and subtle digs at each other. The goodnight texts that just kept on going.

He had a hard time going to sleep after that, not that he was doing a good job of it before. Tossing and turning, knowing that his teammate was his roommate and just a door over and that it didn’t matter because they hadn’t actually talked since the fight. And probably wouldn’t, since that was how things seemed to be going.

But tomorrow, maybe tomorrow would change things.

Morning came and went and he woke up to his alarm, feeling the opposite of well rested. He had slept like shit, just like he had been for the past two weeks. Getting out of bed, he got ready to go meet up with you, ignoring the absence of Morgan in the kitchen or on the couch. The lack of a good morning and a smile from his arguably favorite teammate.

He left the apartment in a rush, something he had found himself doing a lot of lately. Not on purpose, he didn’t think. It was just like a lot of other things in his life now; it felt different. Less warm, duller. Void of life, of everything that made it home to him.

An open bag of peach rings still abandoned on the kitchen counter, never moved. A little shittily made origami crane knocked over on the coffee table, never fixed. Hoodies missing, never returned. Reminders.

He made it to the little rinky dink cafe on the corner soon enough, refusing to admit he hesitated a bit before he went in. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you at all since that night, but he would be lying if he said it was the same as before.

You were at their usual table, wearing a recognizable sweatshirt—one of theirs, but at this point he wasn’t really sure if it his or Morgan’s—and clutching a cup in your hands with a cup sitting across from you. Hearing the bell ring, you looked up and spotted him, giving him a tiny smile.

He didn’t want to think about the way the sight made the tension bleed from his body, the familiarity filling him with a rush of warmth. He made the short walk to you, slipping into one of the open seats.

Both of you ignored the still empty third seat.

“You’re late,” you told him, with just enough of a smile to take the edge off.

He grinned back. “You telling me you weren’t, too?”

Your laughter rang softly through the mostly empty cafe. “No.”

“Thought so,” he replied, taking a sip of the coffee in front of him. His go to order, just the way he always got it.

God, he missed you.

A few beats of silence passed with the two of you just soaking up the other’s presence.

Clearing your throat, you looked down at your hands and picked at your nail. “I think it’s probably time we talk about…”

“That night?” he finished for you. “Yea. I think so, too.”

Another pained smile passed between both of you. Another beat of silence.

“You know—I mean—” you tried to say, taking a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I care about you and Morgan. About both of you. Not—not platonically either.”

He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading, the heat creeping into his cheeks. “Yea, I figured.” You deadpanned at him and he had to resist the laugh bubbling up inside of him. He nudged your foot under the table. “Me, too. Non-platonically care about both of you.”

“Yea,” you rolled your eyes, grinning, “I figured.”

Letting the laugh out, he shook his head. “Ass.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, “You started it.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you whispered back, smile gaining a sorrowful edge.

Staring at you, he felt so many emotions. So many things, and yet something was still missing.

Licking his lips, he risked a glance to his right, at the empty seat next to him. “It doesn’t—things don’t really feel the same without him, though.”

“Yea,” you looked at the chair for a second, pain flashing across your face so fast he almost didn’t catch it. “They don’t.”

Hearing you agree, he let the breath he had been holding go. He picked at his cup, resisting the urge to down it. Dimly, he realized you had gotten his coffee before he got there. Which meant you bought it for him. The broke college student who rarely gets anything from here got him coffee without thinking twice. That feeling in his chest grew, fondness for you radiating throughout him. It was a small gesture, one you probably barely thought about, but it made him fall even harder.

“You know, I keep,” you stopped, tilting your head with a jaded smile before steamrolling on, “I keep hearing him say it in my head. ‘Everything’s a waste.’ And I know he didn’t—didn’t mean it like that, but…”

“But it still hurts,” he finished for you quietly, watching you and the way your shoulders hunched forward.

“Yea, it still hurts.”

“We’re all just miserable anymore, aren’t we?” he asked, knowing the answer and asking anyway.

You laughed softly, glancing up at him. “That we are.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“No,” you held eye contact, steady and intent, “It wasn’t.”

The bell above the door jingled, your conversation dying down. The two of you nursed your drinks, avoiding the painful subject. Pushing it off and dragging it out just a little more.

“I don’t want us to end here, Joel,” you told him, voice barely a whisper. “Not like this. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“I don’t think I could either,” he replied. He could handle not being everything he wanted with the two of you. He resigned himself to that a long time ago. Could handle not being in a relationship, unable to hold or kiss either of you, to look at you and know both of you were his.

He could handle that. What he couldn’t handle?

This.

These past two weeks, the three of you barely talking. The tension, the awkwardness, the lack of everything that made you work. Not having either of you really, truly, in his life anymore.

“I’m gonna talk to him,” he told you, not letting himself think too hard about it. He nodded, ignoring your unreadable expression, and kept talking. “I’m gonna talk to him and then we’re gonna—we’re gonna—”

“We’re gonna fix things?” You croaked out, gnawing at the inside of your bottom lip.

“Yea,” his throat tightened, making him force out the words, “Yea, we’re gonna fix things.”

He cornered Morgan later that night in the kitchen when he finally came out of his room to get something to eat.

“We need to talk.”

Morgan jumped, keeping his back turned to Joel as he dug through the fridge. “About what?” He asked, the forced casualness of it shining clear.

“I think you know what.”

He slowly drew himself up and closed the fridge. “I don’t think—”

“Yea, we do,” he cut his roommate off, his arms folded across his chest. “We both know we do.”

Morgan turned around, facing him with his eyes closed and shaking his head. “Please—”

“We can’t keep going on like this, none of us can,” Joel forcibly told him, refusing to back down. He was doing this for them, for you and for Morgan and for him. “I was with Y/N earlier.”

Morgan flinched back, ducking his head. “Yea? How—how is—”

“Good,” he softened his voice, uncrossing his arms and taking a step toward him. “Come on, let's go sit down.”

“Okay,” Morgan whispered, nodding and following him slowly to the couch. They sat further away than they usually would, a space left open for the one not there with them.

Joel opened his mouth to start, but Morgan cut him off before he could.

“I’m so sorry,” he told him, avoiding eye contact. Clenching his hands tightly on his lap, he squeezed them periodically. “I didn’t—didn’t mean anything I said that night. Not really. Not like that.”

“I know.”

“I was just scared,” he kept going, still not looking at him, “I still am. Fuck, I wish I could go back and just—”

“Morgan,” Joel stopped him, getting up and moving to sit down on the table in front of him. “Look at me.”

It took a second, took him reaching out and nudging his face toward him.

“We know. We’re all scared. And we can’t take back what was said, but we can move forward. Together. The three of us.”

Morgan shook his head, tears lining his eyes as he leaned imperceptibly into his hand. “How?”

He almost laughed, but stopped himself in time. “I don’t know,” he shrugged helplessly, smiling at him. “But we will. Because we care about each other. That’s all that matters.”

“Yea?”

“Yea,” he laughed this time, his hand pressing further into Morgan’s face, the other coming up to rest on his knee.

Morgan’s hand found his, and they stayed like that for a while, taking comfort in finally being near each other again. Mentally, physically.

“I missed this,” Morgan told him, blinking softly up at him.

Joel grinned back, “Well, I don’t know if we’ve ever done anything like this before, but—”

Morgan scoffed, rolling his eyes and pushing him away. One of his hands came up to subtly wipe at his eyes and Joel pretended not to notice as he reached out and pulled him back to him.

Hand threaded in his hair, he tugged him in to rest his head against his neck. “Kidding,” he laughed, turning to nuzzle into Morgan’s hair. “But seriously, I did, too.”

Morgan’s hand squeezed his side, the two of them lapsing back into silence. At least, until he broke it.

“So, which one of us is gonna text our better part?”

[8:17pm] frostbite ; come over?

The text from Morgan lit your phone screen and sent your heart into a steady gallop. You knew Joel was going to talk to him, but for some reason, you hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

Was it bad that you didn’t feel ready?

Honestly, if you thought about it, you didn’t think you would ever feel ready. In a way, this was the buildup of months of dancing around each other. It was terrifying, that tonight everything would be out in the open.

You would be lying if you said a part of you couldn’t wait.

[8:19pm] armrest ; omw over

Rushing around, you put on shoes and threw back on the hoodie you were wearing earlier when you saw Joel. You grabbed your keys and locked the door behind you, making your way to your car.

The drive to their apartment was short, though it still took everything in you to obey the traffic laws on the way there. The walk up filled you with even more anxiety, your hands shaking despite your best attempts to settle your nerves.

You knocked lightly on their door, unable to manage more than a mediocre tap. Luckily, it was Joel that opened the door, beckoning you inside with a hand on your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, sending heat into your cheeks.

“He’s in the kitchen making tea,” Joel told you, closing the door behind you.

You nodded, dropping your keys onto the Gritty tray. Together, you made your way to the kitchen.

Seeing Morgan for the first time in two weeks, after not having spoken at all was...was strange. It hit you like a fist to the gut.

You saw how exhausted Joel looked earlier, disheveled and messy. But compared to Morgan, he looked only a bit different from usual. Morgan, though—

He looked rough.

Heavy bags under his eyes, hair wild, clothes wrinkled. Even his shoulders were hunched in more than usual. Your heartstrings tugged just looking at him.

“Hey,” he mumbled when he looked up and saw you, mustering up a weak smile.

Slowly, you made your way to where he stood. He set down the cup of tea he was reaching out to offer you, worry plastered on his face.

He took a deep breath and started to talk, “Look, I’m so sor—”

You caused him to stop mid-sentence, throwing your arms around him and gripping tight. “You’re such an asshole,” you told him, voice muffled in his shirt. Burying your face deeper, his arms came up and wrapped tightly around you.

“I know,” he said, laying his head on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t respond, taking the moment to really let everything sink in. Giving him one last squeeze, you let go and stepped back, picking up the mug that you claimed as yours on one of your first visits.

“Living room?” you asked, smiling at the two of your boys—because you finally let yourself give in and call them that, because they were yours and you didn’t plan on letting go so easily.

“Living room, it is,” Joel answered, reaching around to grab his mug and guide you over. Morgan followed behind, staying close.

Like none of you could bear to be more than a few feet anymore. It was just a tad ironic at this point.

The three of you settled down in your usual seats, with you in the middle, Joel to your right, and Morgan on the left. You put your tea down after taking a sip, smiling when it tasted exactly how Morgan always makes it for you.

“So, I guess this is where we talk about everything,” Morgan said, putting his cup down next to yours and turning to face the two of you.

Joel followed suit, nodding. “That it is.”

For a second, the three of you sat there in silence, looking around at each other.

“Any volunteers to go first?” You ventured finally, raising your eyebrows. Your question earned you a pair of laughs.

“I’m the one that started this mess, so I’ll go, I guess.” Morgan darted his tongue out to lick his lips, glancing between the two of you.

“That night, I let my fear take over. And I know I’ve already told both of you, but I’m sorry.”

“Morgan,” you tried, but he stopped you.

“Let me talk,” he smiled, so you let him. “At that point, I just really let myself consider that I had feelings for the two people I thought of as my closest friends. And it made me scared, because there are soulmates out there and I know—I think—I don’t have one. But as far as I knew, both of you did. The thought of losing you to someone I had no chance against, it made me lash out.

That was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. We’re adults, mostly, and I should’ve handled it better. I’m sorry.”

You were aware you were gaping a little, but you were unsure on how to stop. Joel got his bearings back before you.

“Yea, you definitely handled it like shit,” he said, shrugging and getting a snort out of you and a ‘fucking hell’ from Morgan. “But it is what it is. It got the ball rolling and we can’t go back. We can only go on.”

“When the fuck did you get good at talking about your feelings?” You turned to him, an incredulous look on your face. “Seriously, you were like the last person I expected to be spouting off relationship wisdom.”

“What can I say,” he grinned, “I’m a man of wisdom. Isn’t that why you care about me non-platonically?”

“Why do I like you,” Morgan muttered to himself, covering his eyes, “Literally why.”

“Moving on,” you announced, choking back a laugh, “On the subject of soulmates, as far as I’m aware, I don’t have one either, so there’s that. And right now, I don’t know if me having one would even stop me from wanting to at least see if this is something worth having. Which I think it is.”

“Yea, I remember you mentioning the soulmate lack,” Joel nodded, “And I agree, with the second part.”

Bumping his shoulder, you went to pick up your tea.

“So that’s two out of three?” Morgan asked, looking at both of you.

“Make that three out of three,” Joel butted in, raising his hand. “Like 99% sure I don’t either.”

“So none of us have soulmates?” You looked between Morgan and Joel. “Really?”

“Lucky?” Morgan hazarded a guess.

“I’ll take it.” Joel grinned.

“And to clarify, there are mutual feelings here? Threeway feelings?”

“Don’t—don’t call it that,” you replied to Morgan, wincing. “That’s just bad.”

“I don’t know,” Joel told you, grinning, “I like it. Threeway Feelings. New groupchat name?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You glared at Morgan, repeating, “No, motion overruled.”

“You’re two to one,” Joel teased.

Smiling sweetly back, you told him, “Cute that you think this is a democracy.”

Laughter rang through the apartment. It was almost like the past two weeks had never happened at all.

“But let me clarify,” Joel started, sitting up straighter and holding up a hand, fingers up, “All of us think we’re soulmate-less, and even if we’re not, it’s something we’ll deal with when we get there,” one finger down, “All of us have feelings for the other two people in this room,” another finger, “and we’re not dating yet?”

“Correct,” you confirmed.

“Sounds about right so far,” Morgan nodded.

“But we should, though,” Joel said, glancing at you, “Date, I mean. It’s the next logical step, right?”

“Kinda worrying when he uses logic,” you leaned over to stage whisper to Morgan.

He nodded, leaning close, “I agree.”

“I’m right here, jackasses,” Joel threw a throw pillow at Morgan, apparently taking the name literally.

“Were you? I couldn’t tell,” Morgan replied sarcastically, throwing it back.

Closing your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath and tried not to laugh.

“I agree with Joel, though,” you told them, stopping them in their tracks. “About dating.”

“You wanna date us?” Morgan asked you, Joel pointing at him to back up his question.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled, “Yes, I wanna date you. Do you wanna date me?”

You felt ridiculous for asking, like a flashback to kindergarten with a note saying ‘do you like me? yes or no’.

“I don’t know, what are the options?” Joel asked, pretending to think about it.

“Yes or yes,” you deadpanned.

“I think I’m gonna have to go with yes on that one,” Morgan told you, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m gonna have to go with yes, as well,” Joel nodded, kissing your other cheek.

“Okay,” you tried to ignore the pulsating heat in your cheeks.

“Wait,” Morgan stopped, clearing his throat and looking over at Joel, “Are we? I mean—”

“Dating?” Joel asked, lips quirking into a soft smile.

Morgan nodded, staying quiet.

Joel shook his head and laughed, “Yea, I think I could manage dating both of you.”

“Yea?” Morgan smiled.

“Yea.” Joel returned it.

“Cool,” Morgan said, running a hand through his hand before stopping and frowning. “I know that all of that shitshow was my fault, but we’re never doing that again, right?”

“Oh, seconded,” you immediately replied, “Never again.”

“Thirded,” Joel agreed, nodding wholeheartedly.

You looked at your boys—now officially yours—and smiled.

Their first date, it was decided, would be dinner at Morgan and Joel’s apartment, just the three of them. Private, no pressure.

You showed up, dressed up but not too much, as per Joel’s vague instructions, at 8pm on the dot, making it the only time you were ever on time for something. You liked to think that if it wasn’t at your boys’ apartment, they’d be late, too.

“Well, don’t you look lovely,” Morgan let you in, bending to kiss your hairline.

“I could say the same for you,” you replied, taking him in, pressing a kiss to his chin.

Not the usual pre-game suit, you noticed, unable to decide if it was disappointment or relief in your stomach. He was clad in a nice pair of pants, his dark blue button up undone at the top and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Sans shoes, because of course.

On the whole, a very nice look, in your humble opinion.

He noticed your glance down at his lack of footwear and grinned, “Footwear optional.”

“You should’ve mentioned that sooner,” you groaned, bending down to remove your own shoes that had already begun to pinch at your toes.

He laughed, waiting for you to finish and take his hand, leading you to the kitchen.

Joel waited for you there, bent over a pot on the stove. Shirt completely unbuttoned, tie hanging around his neck. Shaking your head, you stepped up behind him to wrap your arms around his back, kissing his shoulder blade.

“Who let you be in charge of dinner?” You teased, catching his eye as he turned around in your embrace to return it.

“Say the word and we’ll order pizza,” he whispered back into your ear, lips lightly brushing it.

A tingle ran down your spine as you withdrew, sharing a secret smile and ignoring Morgan’s snort.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” you told him, leaning against a counter.

A laugh bubbled up and out of you at Morgan’s subtle wince. “Dinner’s just about done, anyway. Guess we’ll find out,” he said, getting out a few plates.

“So, what exactly is on the menu?” You questioned, unable to quite tell.

Joel looked up at you, opening his mouth and closing it quickly. “You know,” he answered, hand bracing on the countertop, “I’m not sure if I can pronounce it right.”

Giggles flew out of you even as you felt a sense of apprehension take over. “This is gonna be good.”

Sharing a laugh, you got to work setting the table and bringing over the food, which you cautiously noted smelled somewhat decent. Not—not really entirely good, but decent.

“Not gonna lie,” Joel told both of you once everyone was seated with a plate, “Kinda scared to eat this.”

“You’re really not filling me with confidence here, babe,” you replied, getting a tiny forkful of food.

“On three?” Morgan proposed.

“On three,” you and Joel agreed.

“One,” you started.

“Two,” Joel continued.

“Three.”

You shoved the food into your mouth, barely giving yourself a moment to reconsider. Slowly, you chewed, watching your boyfriends’ faces.

It seemed the general consensus was…not good.

“I think we fucked up somewhere,” Joel swallowed loudly, grimacing.

“Oh, we definitely did,” Morgan agreed, pushing back his chair and standing. “I’ll get my phone.”

“Pizza?”

“Pizza.”

“We’re only here to get essentials,” Morgan reminded the two of you, grabbing a cart.

You and Joel followed behind, hands swinging between your bodies. “Yea, totally,” you smiled, “Essentials.”

“Of course,” Joel nodded gravely, before turning to you and whispering, “We’re definitely getting the stuff for ice cream sundaes, right?”

Giggling, you nudged into him. “He said essentials, Joel. Obviously, we’re getting the stuff for ice cream sundaes.”

“I can hear both of you, you know,” Morgan called back, looking over his shoulder at the pair of you.

You shot him a smile and blew him a kiss, knowing Joel was beside you doing something just as cheesy.

The next thing you knew, Joel was speeding up and dragging you along to catch up to your other boyfriend. “I’m getting in,” he dropped your hand, lifting a leg over the side of the cart.

“No—Joel—oh my god,” Morgan tried to jerk the cart away, laughter spilling out of him.

“Joel, you’re not getting in the cart,” you shoved him, blissfully ignoring the stares coming from the old lady down the aisle.

Joel pouted exaggeratedly, turning to face you. “Why not?”

In a quick motion, you propelled yourself into the cart. “Because I am!” Your giggles came out maniacal, joined with Joel’s bark of laughter and Morgan’s groan of disappointment.

“Where’s the food gonna go?” Morgan asked, continuing to push the cart with you in it.

“In the cart with Y/N,” Joel told him, bumping lightly into his shoulder with a grin.

You pointed at Joel, agreeing.

Morgan shook his head, that exasperated fondness prevalent on his face as he sighed and tried not to smile. “Fine,” he relented.

“You know, that monkey kinda looks like you,” Morgan overheard you tell Joel as he paid for the cotton candy.

“You’re such an ass,” Joel pushed you, laughing.

“Speaking of asses,” Morgan said, coming up behind you and handing over the cotton candy, “Do you think they have donkeys here?”

You threw your head back with a loud laugh.

“This is the zoo,” Joel replied, grabbing his hand, “...I actually don’t know. We should check.”

“In the whole zoo, you want to see donkeys?” You asked in bemusement, leaning into him.

He shrugged, wrapping his unoccupied arm around you. “What can I say, I’m a man with taste.”

“Oh, for sure,” Joel retorted, snorting and squeezing his hand in his own.

Limbs tangled, you relaxed on the couch with your boys.

A book in one hand, you carded your fingers through Joel’s hair with the other. Sprawled across your lap as you rested against Morgan, he was the perfect image of relaxation. Rain pattered against the windows as a romcom played in the background, the volume just low enough to zone out. Morgan and Joel—okay, just Morgan, because you were pretty sure Joel was half asleep at this point—were watching, attention set on the tv.

All in all, an excellent night.

Seeing your boys over the summer was difficult, but you made it work. You always did.

It was one of those incredibly rare days where you lounged about in the midsummer heat with them, Morgan and Joel taking a slight break from offseason training to just be together. It was nice, and it was quiet and exactly what you needed.

You had made the mistake of putting on one of their thinner, more threadbare hoodies last night and the decision was catching up to you. You untangled yourself from the pile of limbs on the bed belonging to your two boyfriends, ignoring their cries of protest, and just barely managed to get up.

First, you were gonna turn up the air conditioning, and then you were gonna take off this damn hoodie.

Meandering over to the A/C, you accomplished one mission and moved on to the next one. Pulling the hoodie over your head, you felt your shirt slide up and refuse to separate from it.

“Hey,” you heard Joel call from behind you, “Did you get a tattoo without telling us?”

Confused, you yanked the hoodie the rest of the way off and turned back to them. “No?” You answered, but it came out less sure than you would’ve liked.

“I definitely saw something on your back,” Joel insisted, reaching over and swatting at Morgan to get his attention.

“Hmm?” Morgan grumbled, switching sides to look at you.

“Come here,” Joel beckoned, an action you reluctantly obeyed. His hand on your hip turned you to face away from him, your back in his line of sight.

You shivered, feeling his fingers glide across your skin as he lifted your shirt. In an instant, you felt his grasp waver, a choked gasp slamming out of him.

“Holy shit,” Morgan breathed, the bed creaking as he shot up.

Spinning, you turned to face them, grabbing at your back. “What?” You demanded, terrified of their answer, “What it is?”

Adrenaline poured through your veins as Joel lifted his gaze, now wet with tears, to meet yours with a wide smile.

“It’s a soulmate tattoo,” he told you, standing up and cupping your face. His lips came down fast and hard to yours, the emotion behind the kiss slamming into you.

You felt Morgan come to stand behind you, lifting your shirt to look. His fingers traced down your spine, almost reverently, sending shiver after shiver through your body.

“Liar,” you croaked when you and Joel split, refusing to believe it.

Joel shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, “I’m not. Go look in the mirror.”

You pulled away, making your way slowly to the mirror by the door, your boys close behind. You twisted around, craning your head as you pulled up your shirt. Your breath stilled to a halt when scrawled writing along your spine become visible out of the corner of your eye with every inch of skin shown.

And there, once your shirt was all the way up, was an indisputable soulmate tattoo curving down your spine.

morgan frost ~ joel farabee

The names of your boys—your boys, you nearly cried—written in calligraphy on your body, separated only by three flowers.

“Soulmates,” Morgan whispered, finger stilling on the flowers.

Recognition sparked deep in your mind, a memory surfacing behind your eyes.

Your eyes lingered on the flowers lining the pathway, your mind trying futilely to identify which ones they wer—

“I know those flowers,” you mumbled, lips parting as you stared uncomprehendingly.

Joel laughed a little, fingers running up and down your side. “I didn’t think you were into flowers.”

You shook your head, fixated and unable to look away. “No, I know those flowers. Asters. They were—”

“In the park by the cafe,” Morgan finished for you, catching on, “The day I bumped into you.”

“The day we met,” you said, smiling. “I was trying to figure out what kind they were, it’s why I was distracted. Why we—”

“Met,” Morgan gaped, a smile slowly spreading across his lips.

You nodded, unable to talk just yet. The sight of those flowers, ones that you hadn’t really given any thought to after you had googled them one day after being curious. Flowers that were now imprinted on your body, a permanent reminder of everything you gained in such a relatively short amount of time.

To your side, you watched Joel take off his shirt and turn around, revealing flowing names down his spine separated by three dainty flowers.

y/n ~ morgan frost

Morgan mirrored him on your other side and sure enough, there were your names in identical print and the same tiny three flowers.

joel farabee ~ y/n

A perfect set.

~ fin ~

184 notes · View notes

fuchsiagrasshopper · 3 years

Text

Contending the Flame IX

Author’s note: Happy New Year everyone! Let’s start it off right with positivity and no looking back on a bad 2020. Can’t wait to continue to write for such excellent fans, you guys/gals are the best!

Masterlist

Word count: 2741

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Warnings: The usual, nothing new to add.

Since your unexpected kiss with Ivar in that dark corridor, you had avoided him. It was no simple task, as he seemed hell-bent on getting you alone if he could, and that made you feel like a mouse living with a cat. You double-checked every corner before turning, and you tried to finish your work before sundown. Audhild had been an additional ally to you, whether intentionally or by happy accident, you weren't sure. She kept you by her side even with tasks she could have accomplished without your help. You weren't certain of her relationships with the sons of Ragnar, only that she acted independently of them. That was something that still took getting used to; women operating on their own accord.

While you continued to ponder over Ivar's pursuing you, you also tried to make sense of your feelings. Men in general were something you had always been fearful of. You had seen rape and abuse from an early age on the streets of Rendlesham, and you learned quickly not to trust an innocent face. Ivar's face was fair when not screwed up and twisted in rage, and he had the shyness of a boy when he kissed you. But you could not forget he was a heathen. His affection had been severe, clutching and pulling with desperation you thought you would drown in.

Your feelings were beginning to frighten you. You had returned the kiss without struggle, and you had been tempted to give in to more before a heightened sense of self had kicked in. This Viking had murdered your priests and his own brother, yet you were having lustful thoughts. God would be disappointed in your lack of restraint.

You needed guidance. When you had been in the abbey, you would often go to the senior Sisters for advice. Audhild was patient, but she would not understand the inner turmoil of a Christian. There was only one other in the encampment who you could speak to, and the moment you were no longer needed by the healers, you snuck off towards the courtyard where Bishop Heahmund was being held.

Only one guard was posted now, as the Bishop had given them no more trouble since you had been brought to him. He was still fettered in chains, but he wore a serene look that would have angered the devil. His faith could not be shaken, and you envied his composure.

As you approached from the building across the way, the guard glanced at you. He did not dismiss you from coming closer to Heahmund, instead seeming to lose interest in you entirely.

"Bishop Heahmund," You called softly, creeping nearer.

His eyes shot open, but he did not appear surprised by your intrusion. Giving you a smile, he indicated for you to sit. "Hello, Sister Mary Catharine. I wondered if I would see you again, but I had hoped. You are the bright light of York in this nest of heathens."

He couldn't seem to cease with the flattery, and you remembered the rumors about Heahmund being led into temptation by widows. Ivar wasn't wrong when he had accused you of having desirable thoughts for the man. Hearing stories of the Bishop, he had sounded larger than life, like a hero from a story. You used to envision him coming to take you away from your lonely days in the convent, this handsome and brave warrior. Those had been the daydreams of a young girl. Seeing him captured by the same heathens who had enslaved you, the glass had shattered, and what remained was just a man.

"How have you been?" You asked while tucking your dress behind you as you sat on the ground.

"My head is clear, and my resolve is set. They want me to fight for their cause, and I see no alternative to this request. If I want my freedom, I'll have to go along with whatever the Boneless one commands."

You frowned, not understanding why Ivar wanted Heahmund on his side. He was a devout Christian who wouldn't stray from his path and could turn on the heathens at the opportune moment. A part of you worried for Ivar.

"Are you certain this is what God would want?"

"I do not see this as a defeat, rather that God has a new plan for me and this is the way I must follow," Heahmund said, and the chains rattled as he readjusted his position to look at you. "But you did not come here to discuss my fate, Sister. You are still bothered by what we spoke of the last time we met. The youngest son of Ragnar is still giving you trouble."

You ducked your head in a penitent gesture. "I feel lost, and in need of guidance. You keep calling me Sister, but shamefully I no longer think of myself as a nun."

"You have forsaken our Lord?"

You were surprised by how there was no venom behind his question, just bald-faced curiosity. "No, I still have my faith, but my station is misplaced. I would like it if you called me (Y/N)."

"(Y/N)? That was your name before you took your vows?"

"Yes, and though I haven't gone by it in years, I feel more like that abandoned little girl than I do Sister Mary Catharine."

"Their people are changing you," Heahmund said, appearing thoughtful. "Your heart is growing restless, and you are curious about their ways. The youngest son of Ragnar is trying to steal you away, but look sharp, for God would never allow one of his children to be pried from his embrace."

"Ivar he…he frightens me, but I am also excited when I am with him," You confessed, and your heart thundered at the admission. "I come alive when he's near. He sees me in a way that no one else ever has."

"(Y/N), look at me," Heahmund demanded, and you did, startled by his tone. "You cannot fall in love with this heathen. He will lead you astray, and leave when it is of most convenience for him. You must pray for forgiveness, and honor God by respecting the vows you have entered into."

His severe expression was marred by what he was preaching, and you felt your hand clench tight in anger. You surged up onto your feet, standing over him like a scarecrow in a field.

"And what of you, Bishop? Were you honoring your vows when you were between the legs of those widows?"

Heahmund turned away with a stiffness to his face, as if he couldn't believe you had spoken such a thing. You had surprised yourself as well. "That was different, and you wouldn't understand."

"You're right about that. Unless you were hoping to find God in the arms of those women, I couldn't possibly understand your reason."

"You are young, and you have yet to learn that life is often complicated."

You threw your arms up in the air, a wild gesture that probably resembled an agitated bird more than that of a rational woman. "Then let it be complicated. Hurt, and lust, and pain, and hunger; these aren't terrible things. They let us know that we are alive, and I've felt more of that here with these heathens than I ever did back home."

"You cannot possibly understand what you are saying," He argued back, and you thought he was going to lecture you further, but he took a moment to collect his breath. "My apologies. You sought my counsel, and I have only offered judgement. We should cling to each other in this desolate place if we are to survive the Northmen."

You didn't want to fight with him any longer either, but you could see that as far as Ivar and his people were concerned, you were not of one mind with Heahmund. Coming to him had erased some of your doubts, but you did not realize how much your tolerance towards the Vikings had shifted. There were bad men among them, but nothing anymore abhorrent than what you had seen from Saxons.

"I'm sorry as well," You said, shifting back and forth on your feet. "I was quick to anger. Maybe I wasn't ready to admit in my heart how I have begun to change towards them."

"May I inquire something else about you? Seeing as I've already insulted you, I don't believe it is too bold to ask."

"You may," You said, permitting him.

"If we were to be liberated by the King and his army this very moment, and brought back to Wessex, would you return to the Church?"

You came to your answer quickly and without trepidation. "No."

"I see." Heahmund didn't let on about how he felt about your answer, and you didn't want to know. Disappointing him seemed about the worst thing you could have done, and you didn't want to dwell on that. "(Y/N), you shouldn't have come here."

You frowned. "Why not?"

"We've been careless. Ivar knew you would come here. See there, the guard is gone."

You looked to where Heahmund's watch had been stationed to find the spot no longer occupied. The guard had taken his leave the moment you two had been engaged in your disagreement. Ivar must have known you would seek out Heahmund eventually.

"It's fine," You said with more confidence than you felt. It was to be expected that Ivar would be waiting to speak with you again, and you knew he could have done so whenever he desired. He had held back on forcing you, but you didn't know if it was kindness or another manipulation on his part. "I think I'm ready to face him. There will be no more running for me."

"Go with the grace and strength God has given you. Even if you have turned from your path of the Church, God will never stop fighting for you."

You knelt before Heahmund. "Thank you, Bishop. I hope I am granted with clarity to see my true path."

You placed a parting kiss on his forehead and offered him a smile before standing. Taking a look around the courtyard you did not spot Ivar waiting for you. You knew he would find you though, and you began making your way back to the small room that you had been sharing with the other slaves who aided the healers.

For such a short walk, one you had taken many times, it seemed to have grown in distance. You kept expecting Ivar or one of his guards to pop out and grab you, but nothing so substantial occurred. The faces you passed paid you no mind, and you arrived at your destination relieved and a little bit let down. You had been ready to get the confrontation over with.

You opened the door, ready to be met with the company of some of the other slaves. None of them spoke with you outside of your duties, and it bothered you. It was an act of self-preservation. They knew you held the attention of Ivar, and so that meant he spared them little mind. Better you than them was probably what many of them thought, and you couldn't fault them for that. It seemed you were fated to be alone. The only other slave who had gone out of her way to speak with you had been a spy, and you hadn't seen her since. Something about that felt deliberate.

When you entered inside of the cramped quarters, you did not find any of your bunkmates. You were alone with Ivar, and that meant his guard couldn't have been far behind. He had kept hidden, luring you into a false sense of security.

"Hello," You greeted dumbly, not knowing what else to say. You kept tight by the door, not taking a step further in. Ivar was looking pensive, with an air of despondence clinging to him.

"How is the Bishop fairing?"

"Resilient," You said, relaxing a bit that he didn't immediately discuss something of a more delicate nature. "He says he will fight for you."

"He doesn't have a choice. Either he fights or he dies, and I will need his strength soon enough," Ivar said, his severe tone causing you to flinch. With stiff movements, he maneuvered himself to stand, but he did not try to encroach upon your space. "The time to leave York has come, but some of my people have chosen to stay behind. Our army needs allies, but this business with the spy has made me doubtful of who I can trust."

"What will you do?" You asked, feeling out of depth to be having this conversation. You knew little of wars and alliances, and you didn't understand why Ivar was sharing this with you.

"It's been decided that Ubbe will return home to Kattegat with a handful of warriors, under the pretense that he has abandoned our army. The woman ruling there murdered our mother, and it is likely she sent the spy."

"Where will you go then, if not home?"

Ivar hesitated, and you had never known him to look away when speaking with you. "I need to meet with Harald Finehair. He could be a potential ally to retake Kattegat...but I also suspect he sent the spy. The sons of Ragnar losing control of the Great Heathen army would benefit him in his bid to become King of Norway."

There was another man with lofty ambitions. The world must look different when you wake up as a Viking. You took a step forward, garnering Ivar's attention.

"And where does he live?"

"In Vestfold, but you will not be going there," Ivar said, and he looked overcome with guilt. "I'm sending you with Ubbe to Kattegat. It is safer for you there."

"But I'm only a slave. What difference does it make where I go?"

"Harald and his men do not exercise restraint when it comes to Christians, and I can't have my eyes constantly on you nor can I keep a guard around one slave without arousing suspicion," He explained, but his reasoning was flawed. You had no doubt Heahmund would be going with him, and you knew Ivar didn't hold back when it came to murdering your people. "Ubbe will keep you safe, and Audhild will go with you as well."

You let out a dry chuckle, feeling any control over your life seeping through your fingers like sand. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do in Kattegat."

"I need you to stay alive," Ivar said with a fierceness that made it sound like an order. He crossed the short distance of the room before you could blink, and took your hands together to place something cold in your grasp. "Take this. It can take a life if you wield it right."

You looked down at the sheathed knife he had gifted you with. It was a heavy weight compared to the ones in the kitchen, and the hilt was carved into the shape of a wolf's head. You gave him a startled look before beginning to protest. "No, I cannot take a life Ivar."

You tried to return it to him, but he was forceful in making sure it stayed with you. "You will if someone wants to take yours. I won't let you die because of your stupid Christian beliefs about hell and perdition."

He squeezed his hand over the top of yours to secure your grip on the knife, and with the other he cupped the back of your neck, bringing you together for another kiss that you had been fearfully longing for. You didn't want to fight him, and you returned the kiss with all of the words you couldn't say. It wasn't a goodbye, you refused to believe that your time with this violent and vulnerable man was at an end. It was an 'until next we meet', and you cradled his jaw in your free hand, while you both still held onto the knife in the other. You don't know when you began to cry, only that the tears were silent as they slid down your face and transferred onto Ivar's cheeks. This caused him to hold you tighter. Even as the fire in the kiss dwindled, you clung to one another knowing this was the last moment you would share before you were to be parted.

Taglist

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#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #vikings #history vikings #vikings ivar #vikings imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar imagine

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lady-daydream · 4 years

Text

Random Headcanons about MacCready Fallout 4 - (Part 1)

He has an extremely fast reaction time, with equally fast reflects to match. Naturally, this fast reaction time was due to him always being alert while in the Commonwealth and in Capital Wasteland. However, this reaction time sometimes puts people on edge as he always seems to know when a glass will fall or when an enemy is behind a wall before anyone else can hear or see them. This mixed with his extremely high survival instinct means he almost always seems to have an awareness and the upper hand in many scenarios. He has even somehow dodging incoming (and fatal) bullets without thinking. He clocked it down to luck. However, this little skill of his does not fully show itself until he is seen with Duncan. If Duncan is even close to falling over his hand is already there to balance him. Duncan's about to drop a toy, MacCready has already got it. Maccready has an almost sixth sense, meaning he seems to just know when Duncan is about to cry. He does make an effort to not be overbearing to Duncan however even if it is only from a distance he is always making sure his son is okay. This skill however has also saved sole in multiple occasions; from catching them before their footing went lose while having to climb the remains of a pre-war building, to kicking a grenade from them before pushing them both to cover. Sole always jokes about it being his Spider Sense.

As much as MacCready may seem like a muscle head. He has a strange need and desire to learn. He knows he is not extremely intelligent like Curie or Nick. But he still enjoys learning thing or understanding information he knows will help him survive. Some examples being, when he first left little lamplight when he was 16, he found reading helped him take his mind off things. He did however have difficulty making out most of the story, so he forced himself to learn. When he met Lucy, he had a good hang of reading, but she helped him whenever he got stumped as well as teaching him to write. Duncan’s name was actual plucked from Shakespeare's play Macbeth which she would use to help him learn. After Lucy's death, he became a farmer. He tried to find any books and advice to help him. He is a generally skilled farmer and was somehow able to make things grow just due to learning skills from precious farmers and pre-war books. When Duncan feel ill, Maccready not only asked as many doctors as he could about the disease but also tried to read as much as he could about it. He picked up not only some useful medical skills and understandings but also found he is one of the few that can follow Curies’ topical rants about medical science with being completely confused.

However, much he likes to read, he also prefers comic books due to them being easier to read when its late and he was exhausted. He also found them easier to follow when he was younger. He also enjoys reading them to Duncan, collecting new ones whenever he can just to see Duncan’s face light up whenever he was reading him a story.

MacCready has a form of colour-blindness called Achromatopsia. This means he is unable to see colour, and only sees things in shades of black, white and grey. Due to having this as a child he quickly adapted and tried to the best of his ability to learn the different shades of grey as the colours people would associate them with. Though he has never seen colour he wishes that he could in order to see if Duncan has his mothers or his own eyes. He also prefers the night to the day due the sensitivity brought one by this condition as well as growing up in little lamplight meaning that his eyes have difficulty adjusting to light. On the other hand, he does see better in the dark slightly better than the average person. From the little he has read about it as well as what Curie later discussed with him, this form of colour blindness is genetic however is extremely rare. This however does not stump his fear that Duncan would have his colour-blindness. Curie quickly explained that Duncan is still able to see in colour even if he couldn't and quickly helped soothe that fear. He enjoys sitting with Duncan and asking him to describe the sunset and the colours he can see. While with Lucy, and later with Sole both will happily help mention a colour if he needs them to however, they do not help unless asked knowing assuming he is helpless he finds belittling. When Maccready asks however what eye colour he has Sole happily told him that he had blue eyes and that Duncan had Brown eyes.

MacCready pretended to be NCR. Due to them being more situational in the Mojave, people were more likely to just accept he was a soldier from a war far from the Capital Wasteland than ask questions. He found out about the NCR from a group of ex-soldiers turned caravan guards that mentioned a group of sharp shooters within the NCR and how they never seemed to miss. So, he stuck with that cover when lying to Lucy.

Due to this if MacCready ever met Boone, their interactions would be a mixture of reactions. Boone having a general disliking for anyone who pretends to be NCR without fighting, with this angering him is enough for him to want to start a fight. This paired with Macready’s underlining guilt about lying however not liking to back down from a fight if there isn't another option might lead to both avoiding each other out of awkwardness if Boone was unaware, or a fight if Macready's lie was known to Boone and things become confrontational. Both however could understand loss. And on the event, both shared a drink or went on watch together, both would be able to understand each other better than most. With Boone envying Macready's drive to survive due to his son, while Maccready admiring Boone’s determination even if it were for revenge. Deep down he knowing that if he could destroy ever feral ghoul, he would in a heartbeat without second thought.

MacCready is a pretty good cards player. and has been able to win himself a bed for the night or drinks on the house more than once. He wants to learn card tricks however due to years of shooting and living in the harshness of the Capital Wasteland his fingers are to Callous and numb to do most of the more detailed and intricate tricks.

MacCready has a habit of watching and observing as well as learning about his targets before he would kill them. He made it almost a habit of learning routines, people or things his target would interact with in order to as quickly as possible to make sure he knew where they would be when his sights landed. He got his reputation for a reason and he isn't know for being a cold-hearted son of a bitch when he needs to be. This became hyper focused after Lucy however, with him observing Feral Ghouls to understand them. From learning their movement pattern to how fast they are at attacking to how they interact with other feral ghouls. After failing to get Duncan's cure the first time from the Medtek Laboratory he used to sit, watching the hoards outside the place from a safe distance days on end ,hoping to find a time that would be safest to go.

He has the patience of a saint. He can sit in a place for days on end waiting for a target. He would sometimes sit in Daisy's shop and act as security, not moving unless something kicked of. When he is like this is breathing slows to an almost silent rate, and he almost seems to be away in his own thoughts, with a single movement bringing him back. Daisy used to joke saying he was more a guard dog than a bodyguard.

He met Daisy while he was still with Lucy when they travelled to Good neighbour before Duncan was born. She was helping unload caravan supplies and Lucy volunteered them both to help her. It was only a brief encounter but when Daisy spotted MacCready years later looking like he had aged many more years than had passed without the chirpy Lucy by his side she put two and two together. Though he does not remember meeting Daisy before Goodneighbour they quickly found it easier talking to each other. Though he would never admit it, he saw Daisy as an almost aunt figure. With him even telling her everything from Lying to Lucy, To Duncan, to the Gunners and even Little lamp light. Daisy would never tell anyone anything MacCready said to her in confidence, and even keeps the one-time Maccready came to here almost in tears after being unable to get the Medtek cure, covered in Injures a secret. Knowing that he would not want anyone seeing him in a weakened state. She always says he has a free spare bed above her shop if he needs it. And in return, if Daisy ever needs Macready's skill set for anything, he will do it with very little questions asked. She even helps him with anything he is reading with her love of books and pre-war knowledge meaning she has a little collection of books she will let him borrow as well as the understanding of pre-war words and their meanings.

MacCready likes anything Elvis created, and finds all his songs enjoyable. Though to many of his holotapes exist, he has had the luck to listen to a few. He hums them when he is doing some repetitive tasks such as cleaning his weapon or Collecting his bullets. His favourites are Blue Suede Shoes which he likes to teach and sing with Duncan. (Though he cannot dance to save his life), as well as Return to sender and if I can dream.

Sorry this has to be in a few parts, I’ve just moved to university so haven't had a lot of time. The other parts will be following shortly.

This one is for you @thatwolfnamednyla and @strawberrymilkuwo who both agree that Maccready deserves some attention and love. He is personally my joint favourite companion in all the fallout games, and he after having him as a companion I don't pick anyone else.

I'm sorry in advance if their are many spelling mistakes please comment if you see any so I can correct them. :) If anyone has any suggestions/ imagine/ headcannons please just message me or comment and I will try and write it as quickly and to the best as my ability. I hope everyone has an amazing day, love you all <3

#fallout maccready #Macready #fallout 4 #fallout companions #fo4 #fo4 companions #fo4 maccready #fo4 headcanons #fallout headcanons #fallout

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mc-critical · 3 years

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Hellooo me spamming your page again lol, I saw in the answer to my ask you count Gülbahar as one of the most toxic mothers in the franchise. Why do you think that is?

Hi! Don't worry about it, I enjoy answering your questions a lot! :)

To be honest, Gülbahar is fascinating to me, not only because she is a very nuanced character and an amazing antagonist to Kösem, but also because she revels in hypocrisy and manipulation in an obvious, yet subtle way. When she met Bayezid, there were quite some scenes, where you couldn't even tell whether she was sincere or not. This whole facade seemed to be a stark contrast to who she was to begin with, but then, honestly, you find that her scenes with Bayezid are the sincerest Gülbahar's ever been and this is exactly how her toxicity as a mother begins.

On one hand, her situation is inherently understandable and sympathetic - she hadn't seen her child in 10 years and due to her being exiled, all she could do, was hope and wait to see him again. Her first scene with Bayezid was her at the bottom of her heart and soul, and I loved it: her seeing him after so many years, the way she hugged him, spoke to him, letting so many feelings reawaken inside of her... I've never seen a mother of the franchise smother her child with as much affection and it was so indescribably profound and touching, precisely because of the situation both were in. And I'm glad to say that this effect was kept consistent with all their scenes and I loved watching all of them, despite of all the problems I have with her motherhood.

On the other hand, this exact same situation is very telling of both her motherhood and her motivations. She endured what no other mother of this franchise had gone through - Without her child, I feel that unlike any of them, she lost touch of her motherhood. She detached from the very concept of it. Never having seen her child for so many years, she could only imagine what he looked like. She missed his growth, she missed his upbringing, she missed his touch, she couldn't hug him, she couldn't show him her love and affection no longer. Ten years doesn't sound as such a long period of time, but for a mother that is away from her child and the child himself, it feels like eternity, with Bayezid even telling Gülbahar that he had forgotten what she looked like. She may have been with him as a very small child, but enough time has passed for her not to remember it anymore. She had no way to remember it anymore.

And with her being so many miles away from a big part of her being she couldn't catch up with, what did she do? Scheme. Plan and scheme to go back to the castle. When her child wasn't there, what was left for her was to focus on the other object of her desire - her ambition to get revenge and put Bayezid on the throne. Her character establishing moment in the second season was a mention of her coup, which says a lot. She attempted a coup: this is the first thing we learned about her. She isn't the type of person to stand by and watch. This ambition had always been inside of her (and normally so), before she was even properly introduced as a main character. She was the rejected woman in Sultan Ahmet's court, even more rejected than Mahfiruze, and I don't think she knew love of any kind all too well, she lived with this desire to urgently get her son on the throne all her life and when she was exiled, it got even stronger with her gaining such vendetta on Sultan Murat and Kösem. She had been feeding up this yoke for years, it becoming what it defines her now.

Yes, she was sending letters to Bayezid, but these letters were as much of her desire to see him, as to use him to convince Murat to bring her back or for Bayezid to go visit her. Now, am I saying that she didn't want to see her child once again? Absolutely not! I feel that Gülbahar's motherly love for Bayezid is tremendous, and a part of her could indeed very well die without achieving what it wanted, but to still die happily, since she finally saw her own child. That's why her sadness and disappointment was so enormously strong, when she thought Bay had turned his back on her. But what I wanted to say is, this everlonging ambition of hers, as the central motive of her character, clouds every possible shred of decent parenting she could've given him. After so much time in exile, I feel she didn't know how to properly protect him.

There comes another aspect of her toxic motherhood - manipulation. In order to achieve her life-long goal, she used him in every possible scenario. From her writing him letters back in her exile, lying to everyone, including him, that she has a terminal illness, setting him up against Murat and Kösem in dangerous ways (I understand why she set him against Murat, because he indeed is very dangerous and unpredictable, but I think that setting him against Kösem was a big auto goal, because she would never work against him unless he personally worked against the country. Kösem loved him to bits, and saw in him her own son, with her telling him he's dead to her, only when he directly threatened her.), doing that all consciously and openly, putting him into the fire herself, while thinking she's right to do so, because he's "in the center of the fire" and "they were born in a war". The way she pretended she was innocent in the beginning and drilled into his head that they both were just misunderstood only empowered his wish to see his mother in the best light possible. Sure, Bayezid didn't idealize her, but the gaping hole in his heart from the separation from her was always standing there, crippling him from within and that made him very prone to her manipulation and it was much easier for him to listen to her - she's something he was denied of for a long time and now that they've reunited with each other... Bayezid probably would rather to be together with her on this path than to give up on the figure he missed so dearly and so wished to see.

Gülbahar played a big part of Bayezid's transition from the envied, but just şehzade that doesn't wish for the throne, to the literal biggest threat to both Murat and Kösem that would do whatever it takes to get the throne. She helped him to see the other side (but especially, Kösem) in limiting extremes, trying so desperately to "introduce" him to her ways. He ultimately turned into a tool for her and when she was saved from death itself, still didn't want to give up on her cause, no matter that this is what her son wanted, telling him that there's no other life for her beside him. Even though she played innocent at first, he was, in fact, the only one she could be sincere to and couldn't play in front of. As the series progressed, as all these scenes followed one another, she told him stuff and what she was telling him, rang more and more true in Bayezid's eyes, until he finally gave in, declaring that what she said was absolutely, always right. I think the scene where Bayezid stood against Kösem highlights best his newfound beliefs: he not only disregarded everything she said, but used elitism on her, the person that had taken care of him during all these years, having such a strong urge to cover for his mother, even though he knew she would never change her ways and he was now okay with that. The former Bayezid would never do any of this, he wouldn't be okay with all this. Gülbahar and Sinan wanted so badly to get Bayezid on their side, without even realizing that this would be their ultimate downfall. Unfortunately, they both only sealed his death.

#magnificent century kosem #magnificent century #gulbahar sultan #ask #stuffandthangs

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faewhump · 4 years

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Unseelie Pet: 14. Chapter

Malachi notices that Alex keeps losing weight and calls a healer to examine his pet, unfortunately revealing the issue to be a disciplinary matter instead.

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Content warnings: discussions of weight loss, dehumanisation, non-consensual touching (not sexual), mentions ofdrugging (faerie food), mentions of noncon, captor bonding, caning

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @whumpsideblog @frnkieroismydaddy @slaintetowhump @thewhiteraven73 @galaxywhump @u-n-o-f-f-i-c-i-a-l

“Are you sure you are eating all your meals, darling?” Malachi asked as he critically mustered Alex’s protruding ribs.

“Yes,” Alex lied and quickly pulled the tunic over his head.

“Hmm.” Malachi frowned. “You should be getting more than enough nourishment, so why do you keep losing weight?” He stepped closer and cupped Alex’s cheek, gently stroking with his thumb. “Do you need bigger portions? More fatty foods? Am I not feeding my pet enough?”

Alex slowly shook his head, if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Malachi sounded genuinely concerned.

“No, the food you give me is more than enough,” he replied. It’s just that I never eat any of it, unless you’re watching.

“Then why do you keep getting thinner and thinner? The tailor already had to adjust several of your clothes.”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly, he had an idea. “Maybe the faerie food is the issue? Maybe it’s not nourishing enough, and I need human food to live?” He looked up hopefully, but Malachi didn’t seem convinced.

“No, that can’t be it,” he decided. “None of my previous pets ever had comparable issues.”

“Maybe it’s something wrong with me then?” Alex suggested, unwilling to give up yet. He didn’t enjoy going hungry all the time either, so if he could convince Malachi to give him human food instead…

“That might be it, yes.” Malachi nodded, then gave Alex a smile. “But don’t you worry, my little bird, tomorrow I will organise a healer to examine you, and then we will find out what it is that makes you ill.”

The announcement had clearly been meant to be reassuring, but it had the opposite effect on Alex. If Malachi found out the actual reason for his weight loss, he’d be livid and would surely hurt him for disobeying and lying. In the last days he had tried to feed Alex more whenever he visited, and it had almost made Alex feel bad for worrying him like that.

No, Alex reminded himself firmly. He isn’t worried about my well-being; he just doesn’t want his toy to break so soon. And no matter what he said, he doesn’t actually love me.

After Malachi had kissed him he’d been worried about what that might mean for the things the Fae expected from him, but luckily nothing had happened so far. When he had resolutely told him that he wouldn’t kiss ever him again, Malachi had merely laughed quietly and shook his head in amusement. Alex still didn’t understand what the hell had gotten into him that day. Why hadn’t he pushed Malachi away? Why had he, on some level, enjoyed the kiss?

It didn’t make any sense… and yet he caught himself staring at Malachi’s lips again and again, remembering the way they had felt pressed against his. Was this some kind of faerie magic? Or was he losing his mind? Whatever it was, he wouldn’t allow himself to give into it again. And besides, right now there were more pressing issues.

“This is Lady Áine, the best healer at this Court,” Malachi introduced the High Fae that followed him.

Alex mustered her warily, unable to stop the fear from rising in him. Áine was tall and slim and wore her dark brown hair open. Unlike all other faeries Alex had met so far, she didn’t look at him with contempt or lewdness… but with compassion? Alex was taken aback; this couldn’t be right.

“Lord Malachi, what is it that you would like me to assess?” Áine asked. “This human looks unhurt and alert to me.”

Alex squirmed while Malachi described the issue, well aware that a faerie healer would be able to tell immediately that he wasn’t ill at all. He’d always known that refusing the food was a risk and would probably be uncovered sooner or later. It had become harder and harder to throw the delicious food out to the crows, but so far he had stayed strong. This small act of defiance was the only rebellion he still had; he couldn’t give up on it.

Unfortunately, Malachi misinterpreted his nervousness as him being scared of the healer and pulled him down to sit on his lap.

“Hush, sweetheart, Lady Áine won’t hurt you,” he said reassuringly, wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist and gently pressed a kiss against his neck. “There’s no need to be scared, I’ve got you.”

Alex stiffened uncomfortably, but there was no way he could squirm away without upsetting Malachi. The Fae held him still while Áine examined him carefully, both conventionally and with her magic. Eventually, she stepped back and sighed.

“Your pet isn’t ill, he’s just malnourished,” she said, sounding a little exasperated. “It is important for humans to eat enough to stay healthy and starving them is very harmful.” From the reproachful way she looked at Malachi Alex concluded that she suspected him of not giving him enough food, either out of negligence or as punishment.

“I know,” Malachi gave back, frustration creeping into his voice. “I thought I fed him well, but maybe I did something wrong.” He then continued to describe to Áine in detail what he had given Alex.

Áine was confused. “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t fit with his physical state at all. There’s no way he ate all of that.”

“According to my servants, he always eats almost everything,” Malachi said.

Alex had gone very silent, unable to look either of the Fae in the eyes he kept his head down.

“You have been eating everything you were given, haven’t you?” Malachi asked, leaning in closer.

Alex swallowed and whimpered, as he had discovered that the Fae found that cute.

“Tell me pet, what happened to the food?” The concern in Malachi’s voice was replaced by steel. “You’d do better to tell me the truth now.”

“The… the window,” Alex whispered quietly, paralysed by fear.

“You threw it out of the window?” Malachi pressed.

Reluctantly Alex nodded.

Malachi sighed, then addressed Áine. “Thank you for your help, I deeply apologise for stealing your time for something that turned out to be a disciplinary matter instead. You may leave.”

“Of course, Lord Malachi, there’s nothing to apologise for,” Áine replied politely. Her eyes met Alex’s, and he thought he saw a flash of guilt in them. She smiled at him reassuringly and he gave a shaky one back, watching her leave the room with envy. But then he had to focus on the angry Fae behind him.

“You know, I was very worried for you lately, so I am very glad that you aren’t ill,” Malachi said. “But to discover such a betrayal instead…”

Alex yelped in surprise when Malachi shoved him to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered and pushed himself up to his knees. “I – I just couldn’t eat the faerie food, I just couldn’t, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you – the food just makes my mind so loopy, I can’t think when I eat it, it’s awful.” He carefully pressed himself closer to Malachi’s legs, showing affection usually made the Fae more lenient with him.

Malachi sighed, but made no move to reassure Alex. “You heard Lady Áine, eating enough is very important,” he lectured. “Silly thing, taking such bad care of yourself. And even worse, you wilfully deceived and lied to me. That is not what a good pet does, is it?”

“N-no.” Alex was frozen in fear, there was no way Malachi would let him get away with this.

“No, it isn’t,” Malachi agreed. “You were very, very bad and deserve to be punished. What do you say?”

Alex whimpered, what if Malachi would lock him in a dark cell for real now?

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I’m sorry – I – I just didn't think, I'm so sorry.” He frantically clung to Malachi. “Please – please don’t put me in that cell, please don’t, I’m sorry –“

“Shhh pet, calm down.” Finally Malachi stoked over his head, and Alex leaned in desperately. “I won’t put you in that cell, I promise. But you still need to be disciplined, don’t you agree?”

Taking a deep breath Alex nodded. In a way he knew that he didn’t deserve whatever Malachi chose to do to him now, but he was too scared to object.

“Good.” Malachi stroked over his head one last time, then took his hand away and schooled his face into a stern expression. “Take off your tunic and kneel on the pillow over there.”

Scared of upsetting the Fae even further, Alex obeyed and knelt down on the indicated pillow in the middle of the room, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable dressed in nothing but his tight leggings. His head swarmed with all kinds of possible punishments of that required this setup he could think. Wiping his sweaty palm on his leggings, Alex just hoped that it wouldn’t be too bad.

“I am very disappointed with you, little human,” Malachi said. “Lying is one of the most nasty habits humans possess, but don’t worry, I will make sure that you learn to behave.”

He slowly walked closer, and Alex’s eyes widened when he saw the cane in his hands. It was made of dark wood, sleek, and its handle wrapped in red fabric, probably to assure a better grip.

“Your horrid misbehaviour warrants a severe punishment, but since you apologised and begged so sweetly, I am willing to be more lenient.” Malachi took up position behind him. “Now, what is it that you are being punished for?”

Alex swallowed, trying his best to keep his breathing under control. “Lying and trying to deceive you.”

“Good.”

Alex jumped when he heard the cane swish through the air as Malachi gauged the distance.

“If you move out of position, we will start from the beginning,” Malachi said, tapping the cane against Alex’s left shoulder. “Understood?”

“Y-yes,” Alex stuttered, unable to stop himself from trembling.

“Very well. Don’t fret, this time you won’t have to keep count.”

The tapping disappeared, and the swishing sound of the cane was the only warning Alex got before a line of fire erupted on his skin. He gasped, fighting back the tears that shot into his eyes. Malachi tapped the cane against his other shoulder three times, then the second strike caused Alex to double over, trying to lean away from the pain.

“Get back into position, pet,” Malachi said sternly.

Alex wanted nothing more than to jump up and run away, but the fear of what Malachi would do to him in retaliation kept him in place. At least it was just a caning, being locked in a cell would be way worse. Slowly Alex sat up, tensing when the cane tapped against his back again, this time several inches below the first strike.

Malachi continued like this, slowly and methodically raising welts across Alex’s back in regular intervals, making sure to avoid his spine and kidneys. Alex soon gave up on holding back his tears and dissolved into uninhibited sobbing, crying out at every strike. Still he didn’t dare to move out of position, holding on to the thought that at least he wouldn’t be locked up.

When Malachi finally dropped the cane it took Alex a couple of moments until he registered that it really was over.

“Hush, darling, it’s alright,” Malachi soothed and pulled Alex into his arms. “We’re all done now, I forgive you.”

Shocked Alex tried to push Malachi away, but the Fae’s hold was too strong. He didn’t want Malachi to touch him, he was the one who had hurt him. Alex was in agony, his back felt as if it was on fire, and he couldn’t deal with Malachi’s confusing mood changes right now.

“Shh shh shh, calm down, my sweet.” Instead of allowing Alex to move away, Malachi gathered him even closer. “I am very proud of you for accepting your punishment, you did so well.”

Ignoring his struggles Malachi held him close, gently shushing him and stroking his hair, until Alex finally gave up the fight. He didn’t want to accept comfort from the person that had hurt him, but there was no-one else who could give it to him instead. Still shivering and crying Alex relaxed into Malachi’s arms, pliant and unresisting as the Fae comforted him from the pain he’d caused.

#tw dehumanisation #tw non-consensual touching #mentions of noncon #mentions of drugging #tw captor bonding #caning #punishment #whump #pet whump #fae whump #pet whumpee #fae whumper #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #unseelie pet series #alex #malachi #my writing #áine

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emberbent · 4 years

Text

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

[Originally posted by @cassandrapentayaaaaas, whose name apparently is also Elle, ayyyy. I’ll be filling this out for my Fire Avatar OC Shinza, and maybe also for some other characters later.]

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Previous to her airbending training, Shinza would have had a hard time being still and doing nothing for longer than a few minutes. Not out of a need to burn off energy, but out of a fear of being alone with her thoughts for too long. Now, she can meditate and be still for over an hour, or much longer if she takes short breaks. She sat for eleven hours for her tattoo, which was the longest she’s gone doing nothing.

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

She doesn’t appear to be easily amused - she’s more of a smirker than a laugher if she finds something funny. Unless she’s among people who are close to her, or she’s drinking pear sake.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Shinza’s one of the lucky ones who falls asleep as soon as she climbs into bed. She doesn’t have to do anything special to fall asleep.

How easy is it to earn their trust?

Hard to say. Maybe moderate? She doesn’t like to reveal much about herself unless she really trusts someone not to abuse that information, which isn’t all that often. She’s self-reliant enough that she doesn’t need others to help her most of the time, which can be seen as untrusting. But really, all it takes is showing compassion and self-awareness to get her to let her guard down.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Fairly easy, since her default mode is not overly trusting.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

She's always had trouble determining which rules are or should be flexible vs enforced. Now that she’s in a position where she’s more or less exempt from following rules as necessary to keep balance, she’s realizing it’s even more complex than she ever thought. She contemplates often whether she has a duty not to follow the rules she holds others to, or to lead by example and hold herself to those same standards.

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

The smell of petrichor mingling with the oily smog of Republic City brings her back to when she was small, and she would walk with her mother, a doctor, every day to the clinic. Her mother would hold her hand, and they’d traverse in silence, except to point out the stray capuchin cats sheltering under the Satos on the street, or Shinza would ask for a treat from the bakery.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

Twirling, dancing, spinning around, singing. It wasn’t that her parents discouraged her from these normal activities, but she often didn’t have the presence of mind to refrain in the wrong situations.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

Not often; usually to emphasize her point. She distinctly remembers being nine years old and watching someone walk into traffic. A bystander earthbent them out of the way just before a Sato could run them over. She said her first curse word aloud as she rode in a cab with her father. He wasn’t mad.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

She never got into habitual lying. Too much to remember, too much guilt.

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Lucky for her, she has thousands of past Avatars to talk to.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

She has long arms - this isn’t normally an issue.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Black and shades of red; absolutely.

What animal do they fear most?

Shinza’s not afraid of any animals in a phobia sense, but she does think canyon crawlers are fairly ugly, and she’d hate to meet one.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

She thinks before she speaks, but she doesn’t rehearse what she wants to say before the conversation happens. She speaks deliberately and rarely says something she doesn’t mean.

What makes their stomach turn?

The normal stuff - gore and viscera, bad smells, being anxious or nervous.

Are they easily embarrassed?

Very much so, although she tries not to let it show.

What embarrasses them?

The biggest thing is having her flaws or screw-ups used as an example to a group. She also suffers pretty bad secondhand embarrassment watching others do embarrassing things.

What is their favorite number?

She doesn’t have one.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

She’d explain familial love as distinctly separate from platonic or romantic love in that for her, it comes from a place of duty as well as physical proximity and similarity. Her personality closely matches both of her parents’, so they naturally got along well most of the time, which made them feel close, which she might define as familial love.

She feels there’s very little difference between platonic and romantic love, and that one can easily morph into the other and back. These are based on things outside of physical proximity or biology, like shared interests, a common goal, and sexual attraction. Sometimes it’s as simple as, “I don’t know. I just love them.”

Why do they get up in the morning?

Duty. Responsibility. The sunlight coming in through her window has woken her and she can’t go back to sleep.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

It manifests as deep sadness and a feeling that there’s a flaw she should fix in herself that will make the situation better. Then it festers into shame for having those emotions or caring at all, and she becomes aloof.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

She might pine for whatever this other fortunate person has that she doesn’t for a second, but then she shrugs it off.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

She’s happy to talk about sex in an academic sense with acquaintances, but she’s only comfortable discussing her own experiences with her best friend Nero. Even then, she squirms a little.

What are their thoughts on marriage?

She likes the idea of loving someone so much that you’d enter a legally binding, life-long contract with them, and she certainly sees the financial and social advantages. As to whether she wants to get married herself, she’d be perfectly fine either way.

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

Xia, her dragon companion. Especially now that she’s not afraid of heights or the open air anymore. Plus, they just get each other - no words needed. They had a strong bond from the beginning, but ever since Xia saved Shinza’s ass in Gaoling, Shinza feels closer to her than ever.

What causes them to feel dread?

Knowing that the world is watching every move she makes, and that everything she does (or doesn’t do) will go down in history. Knowing that if she can’t protect herself, she could be the last Avatar.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Definitely not. Being lied to is something she has a hard time forgiving, and she’d much rather deal with the ripples of an unpleasant truth than feeling she can’t trust the person keeping the truth from her, and finding out anyway.

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

No, but Shinza holds herself to impossibly high standards.

Who do they most regret meeting?

Yanyu, the ex-Dai Li agent who her parents hired to block her bending and repress her memories when she was little. Shinza thought Yanyu wanted to meet with her in Gaoling to apologize for her role in letting the world go for so long without its Avatar, but it turned out to be a trap; Yanyu attempted to subdue her and turn her over to The Organization.

Who are they the most glad to have met?

Amrit. She came to him on the Island of the Sun Warriors thinking she was a nonbender, that she couldn’t possibly be the Avatar, and he helped her through that confusion. He unblocked her chi and helped her flame. Maybe he was a little too hard on her during training, but he taught her the value of working til you puke. He’s always had her back, even from the first day.

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

No. Shinza rarely leads conversations.

Could they be considered lazy?

Not by any stretch. She’s deliberate, diligent, and hard set on doing things right and thoroughly.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

Very, which is detrimental to her role as the Avatar. She doesn’t know yet that she will live with the burden of guilt for her decisions and actions her whole life, or how to be okay with that.

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

She’s a supporter and an attentive listener. She does her best to follow up with questions or mention small details later. Unless it’s something like a friend being excited about getting back together with her toxic ex - then she’d be clear about where she stands on the matter.

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?

She’s never sought out romance, but she has experienced and enjoyed it. Romantic love isn’t something she requires to feel happy or validated.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

She doesn’t have a system - she just remembers things like patterns, numbers, and names. It’s a gift that, oddly enough, she was bullied for in school. Sometimes she forgets that others don’t have such an incredible memory and gets frustrated with them, but she’s working on it.

What memory do they revisit the most often?

Leaving Nero alone at the bar, mouth agape, as two Fire Nation officials all but dragged her out the door with them. She never got to explain to Nero what happened after she figured it all out, and she hasn’t seen her since that day almost two years ago. The guilt eats at her.

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

Fairly difficult. She can’t ignore her own flaws, so she’s unable to extend that to others. She’s working on it though, and she’s got Amrit to practice on. No shade tho.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Extremely. She was an only child, so her parents were hawks circling her, watching her every move. They didn’t pick on her on purpose, but it was pretty clear to Shinza that they were disappointed she didn’t go to medical school or join the military. On top of that, she grew up believing she was a nonbender, which culminated in a general, oppressive feeling that she was deeply flawed.

How do they feel about children?

She was an only child and didn’t grow up around her extended family, so she doesn’t have a lot of experience being around kids. Before, she could think of worse things than raising a child of her own. But now, she can’t fathom trying to balance her duties while raising a child.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

The shame of leaving the physical and spirit worlds out of balance and being remembered as an ineffective Avatar is unfathomable to her. She’d say she wants it more than anything.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

She’d say she’s sexual, sometimes, and leave it at that.

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character?

In every OC, I think there’s at least a little bit of their creator; I didn’t intend for Shinza to end up so similar to myself, but she is. And as I develop my own sense of self, I see that reflected in Shinza when I write her, and that’s pretty exciting.

B) What inspired you to create them?

I’d been wanting to write an Avatar OC story for a long time, and nothing felt right or fun or exciting until I considered using Shinza, a character I’d had stewing in my head for a while. Once I pictured her in the Avatar world, things started falling into place pretty quickly.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Absolutely. I planned the story from start to finish so I knew where I was headed, but along the way, Emberbent!Shinza started to take shape in unexpected ways and deviate from the original plan. As her personality in this story evolves, I have to figure out her reactions to things, and the ripples from those reactions, from a new perspective. I don’t have a clear view of her transformation arc, because it’s happening in real time along with mine. The (already flimsy) ending I’d intended has been blown to smithereens, and I have no idea how it’ll go - I’m essentially 50% pantsing at this point - but I feel less frustrated knowing I have more room to see what happens.

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

She’s had a number of different physical appearances. At one point, she was a monk child in a DND campaign I played in. In the preliminary planning stages of Emberbent, she looked like Nero, her best friend, and was an Earth Avatar.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

I like to think we’d get along, but we’d both have to be okay with natural silence. Neither of us are inclined to lead conversations.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

All of the above. Pride because of how hard she’s worked to get where she is; excitement because of all the horrific and wonderful things she’ll go through to turn her into who she’ll ultimately become; and frustrated because she feels flat to me, so I’m assuming she feels flat to others too.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

She can’t see past her own nose yet in terms of her role. It will take some time for her to realize she has to relinquish all of her own desires and happiness to her duty as the Avatar. For now, she’s stuck in selfish-mode, doing her best to help those close to her while trying to maintain her grip on her old ego.

H) What trait do you admire most?

While she’s still working on seeing things from a broad perspective, she has an innate ability to deeply understand people, their feelings, and the situations they find themselves in. She’ll drop everything in order to help.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Yeah. I’m not into crossover fics... yet.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

Mmm, I don’t know about manipulating canon, but I definitely extended it and filled in some parts as needed. Since she’s not the Avatar that came directly after Korra, I had to create the character that came between them. And since Shinza’s timeline is well after Korra��s, I had to envision what Republic City and the world would look like 70 years or so in the future.

Edit: Actually, just kidding. I forgot I totally manipulated canon when I figured out a way for Shinza to reconnect with the Avatars before Aang.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #lok #avatar legend of korra #avatar fic #avatar oc #emberbent

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dropsofletters · 4 years

Text

countdown to the truth

title: countdown to the truth pairing: im changkyun/reader genre: fairytale!au/fake dating!au/1960’s!au summary: being part of an academy full of women shouldn’t be much of an issue—until she is the last woman over twenty to remain there, unmarried and with no plans on ever doing so. the problem comes to life for her when she’s threatened to be kicked out, so she does what anyone would do in that situation: talk to the stranger that hangs out in front of the academy and ask him to be her fake boyfriend. insanity would be the way to call this plan. type: fluff/angst/romance/humor word count: 22,842

Vanilla scented candles engulfed her senses, mixing with the incredibly sweet smell of pastries. In any other day, baking would have been a perfect distraction for what she calls ‘graduation season’, but with the amount of people in the kitchen, her anxiousness only grew exponentially. Fingers clammy, nose oversaturated with dulcet scents, and a mind filled with utter sentimentalism, and not the one that came with pride and relief, but with envy instead.

Perfection, it came after days of hard work and nights of insomnia, it was the jewelry everyone wished to have wrapped around their necks, glistening under the lights of the sky along with the stars. The academy taught her that excellence is the only goal for a woman, along with being desired enough to get married and have one of those love stories that lasted for a lifetime, written in books as a vision of the past, captured in pictures that would tear at the edges by the time their grandchildren saw the type of love they had to envy. Graduation time, of course, came after a woman turned twenty-one…with marriage, a man by her side, dresses that reached a little bit lower of what they would use when single and an immaculately crafted life.

She was only a child when she started going to that academy, the daughter of two prestigious politicians that would not even dare to touch a poor person’s hands without a set of gloves covering their fingertips, but now…the sixties arrived with new fashion trends and even more expectations for women. Dared to be called less of a woman for not finding a man that fit her, she spent most of her days at the academy—perfecting her baking technique, reading more books, preparing herself to become a teacher in the place that turned her into a talented individual, only to be denied every time she tried. Graduation time came earlier for other people, but for someone as difficult to love as her, it could possibly never happen.

If she had worked so hard to be the best version of herself, there shouldn’t be any less of an expectation for the person that she wants to love her back. The man by her side should be worth of her intelligence, of her low nights and her glowing mornings, of her shy smiles but the anxious moments, too. More than a vest to show to his friends, she wanted to be, but the only men she had gotten to know treated her as if she was another hole in their belts.

Whisking the mixture that Jiahn had prepared, she scrunches up her nose at the mere smell of the vanilla in the mix. It’s supposed to be a simple, nude cake, but the smell is horrendous. Measurements are important for her, numbers that mathematics would prove correct, dignified by cups and spoons, but it seems like people don’t live with such strict settings anymore. People rush through life, like a shooting star wishing to travel around the world, going from one point to another and forgetting that there was beauty in the slowest moments. Instead, a majority of the people in the academy live for the thrill, find a person that makes them feel loved once and that is enough; they stop trying at life, putting all the weight on fate.

Because destiny solves everything, they say in their love-cladded smiles. Destiny knows what the hell it is doing.

Unless her concept of destiny is broken, it is not like that. She is, at the very least, two steps away from being kicked out of her own home—the lady academy that had watched her grow into her little pair of high heels and her plaid dresses, only because she is considered worthless. What kind of dress should be worn without jewelry?

The necklace she needs is a man, the principal had told her. A man that demonstrated just how put together she is.

The glass bowl is pushed up to meet her nostrils, her nose flaring to smell the overly sweet substance. Not that Jiahn cares, really, clinging to the suit-covered man by her side as the two of them read over the newspaper. Her brown hair cascades down her back, braided in certain spots and clasped prettily by bows to push her bangs away, for Jiahn is the epitome of the type of woman this academy aims to create for those rich parents that don’t really want to raise their children. Elongated face, small nose and equally as small lips, Jiahn is a pretty doll that sits on the stool next to her perfect man. Kihyun, the nephew of two of the most outstanding actors in the entire country, a gold mine with his serious mannerisms that can only be bettered with his sweet smile. “How many spoonfuls of vanilla bean paste did you put into this, Ahn?” She questions, not even getting a glance from the couple. Jiahn’s arms are wrapped around Kihyun’s taut shoulders, her cheeks resting against the surface as she speaks.

“Four.”

“Four?!” She repeats, much louder than she intends and of course, life becomes a comedy in her darkest times. The knot on her throat, obviously created by the burning sensation of stress, only tightens at the way the couple looks at her as she rants. “Jiahn, now I have to make the mixture for your cake once again! This is inedible.”

Jiahn’s engagement party, the reason why everyone is going around the academy in hopes of preparing every single detail to outstanding flawlessness. Jiahn doesn’t look half as bothered, perhaps because she is finally getting out of the academy and with someone who loves her by her side, at that. Some people just think love is enough, and in her own head, it sounds impossible. There has to be more to life than just looking for a half. Books to read, stories to share, people to talk to, instruments to play, songs to sing and experiences to recall. “Hey, do not stress out—”

“I shouldn’t, really. You should be the one stressing out about this.” She says while tossing the bowl inside the kitchen sink, pressing the tips of her fingers to the inner corner of her eyes to relax. Very rarely does she get to hear her own voice in such a state, torn to the point sounding exhausted, but the constant pressure that comes with this time at the academy has her on edge, tipping in between the sand and the sea. “How could you have thought that four spoons of vanilla paste were going to taste nice on a cake?”

Jiahn shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just…I was distracted, I guess.” Thick silence fills the air when she reaches down to throw out the entirety of the concoction to wash the bowl, but instead of using the water as a way of relaxing herself, it was a reminder of the work that she had put into the cake, only to have it ruined by someone else. “Damn, why are you so grumpy?”

“I am not.”

“You love baking. You normally would be singing to The Beatles by now, but you’re not doing that—”

“Because you ruined my cake, maybe?” She asks, the roughness of her voice only matching her stare when she looks at the couple over her shoulder. Kihyun glances at his fiancé, puckering up his lips before biting down on the skin, roaming his eyes everywhere but at the woman in front of them.

Kihyun clears his throat. “I don’t really like cake…”

“And if we’re talking about facts, it’s our cake.” Jiahn corrects her and she sighs deeply. The weight of her breath is supposed to make her feel better, as if the anger that coils deep within her lungs will fade into darkness, wishing upon having a smile on her face by the time the sun sets and she has to get ready for the engagement dinner. Instead, she feels even worse—not because she doesn’t have a man by her side, because that is the least of her worries, but because she would not be able to stay at the academy for long, much less as a teacher. The only plan her mind had conjoined for the entirety of her life is getting burned in the middle of the forest, taking everything away with it. Her happiness. Her goals. A little bit of her sanity, too. “Hey, what’s up with you?” Her friend’s voice is much softer, contrasting the sound of the stool that drags against the flooring when she moves over to pat her back.

Instead of putting up a front, like she had done for the past three days ever since she talked to the principal about her position as a teacher, she decides to let go. Perhaps, that is her future—finding a man that does the absolute minimum for her, sees her as a pair of legs to grab for when he is needy, a trophy wife that cooks for him throughout the day and clouds his mind in orgasms at the end of the night. A learner, instead of a teacher. “New students are going to come to the academy in about a month, and this is the season when older students get married and leave. So, I didn’t get the position as a teacher because I’m not qualified…” A brief pause settles her down on the floor, puts her to rest and then wakes her up in reality. Not with a gentle kiss to her inexperienced lips, but with a glass of cold water. “She said I need to be a married woman first, that I would be perfect if only…you know, if only I found a man. Same old problem. I’m going to be kicked out of here if I don’t get that spot.”

Tugging at the edge of her dress, she waits for Jiahn to say something but instead, she is met with brief silence. “Finding a man is the easiest part.”

She widens her eyes comically, picking up the white and red bag of flour only to place it neatly inside the necessary amount of cups. “I do not want to find a man.”

“That would be because…”

“Men only want one thing!” A repetition of exactly what she has seen, she claims. She remembers the early days in the academy, when she would walk down the hall with her teddy bear in between her fingertips, looking for the bathroom only to hear the older students talking. Heartbreaks, sex, love, it all came together into a big mess, just like a war of the heart and the mind, and with the fear of ever getting her heart broken, she promised herself to sought for a man that would never break her heart. “And I am not willing to have my heart broken by anyone.”

Kihyun clears his throat from his spot. “Not all men want what you’re thinking.”

“But a lot of them,” Jiahn clarifies before twirling her fingers on the few strands of hair that fell on her friend’s face as she bakes. “That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride. Love is a joyful thing, and pleasure is also a good thing. As long as you don’t mix your future love status with some…experience, I don’t think it would be bad to meet people without the mindset that they are going to hurt you.”

The idea of being in the messy bedsheets of a motel, wearing her pretty floral dresses only to have them disregarded by any men, whispered sweet nothings roaming in her ears in the form of lies and someone kisses her in the form of a one-night stand makes her feel anxious. Not because it was wrong, because it worked for a lot of people, but the more she thought about it…the less she felt like love and affairs were for her. She needed to bask in conversation, to get to know someone to deeply that she felt them carved in her skin, to be loved with the intensity of the wind, not seen at all times, not spoken loudly in most occasions, but ever present. Steps, steps, steps, she believes in the dance of love, in the blossoming friendships and the sweet endings. In the fight, the thrill, the quietness after the storm and the beauty in it, and no one has been willing to give her that.

This world is all about rapidness, about marriage or relief, orgasms or titles. It is never about the ride.

Shaking her head, she gives Jiahn a small smile. “I know it worked for Kihyun and you, but I don’t think it will work for me.” Kihyun’s cheeks tint slightly at her words, although Jiahn seems unfazed. Two different personalities altogether, Kihyun coming from a strict household meanwhile Jiahn was the heartbreaker of the academy. “I don’t need a man. I just need to convince the principal.”

“The principal never considers women complete unless they get married.”

“Maybe,” She starts whisking harder, as if all her anger would be piled into a prettily decorated, tall, tasty and not overly sweet cake. “M-Maybe I could get her to change her mind. I’ve been an excellent member of our community for my entire life—”

“I doubt it.” Jiahn presses, clicking her tongue soon after. “But if nothing else works for getting that position as a teacher, just find yourself a man that is a little bit less intelligent than you, offer him something in return and have him as your fiancé for a night. No one has to know.”

“That’s the plot of a movie, Ahn.” Kihyun tries to complain, only to have his cheeks squished by his fiancé to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

“Shut up.” Jiahn whispers, their love exuding from their expressions before they smiled at one another. Instead, the moment is broken when she looks down at her mixture, realizing that it looks as perfect as she wanted it to be at the beginning. Some people were good at love, others were good at everything else. “So, consider it an option.”

She shakes her head, taking some of the batter in her index finger to taste it, licking the substance to be met by fluffy, soft and perfectly sweetened cake mix. “I doubt I will have to go that far. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to the principal.”

Destiny has never loved her, they are two people fighting for the same form of control, and destiny always wins. What a coincidence that destiny thinks the absolute opposite of what is going on inside her head.

⏰

A tap on her shoulder makes her look back, the brightness of the Sun closing her eyes partially as she tries to make out the figure of one of the students in the academy. The nine-year-old lady brings her fingers up in front of her body to talk to her, sign language their form of communication. Maybe, she just wants to teach something different from what she had learned in the plenty of years she had in the academy—concentrate more on numbers, philosophy, history, autonomy in the form of education, to create women that could fend for themselves; instead of just teaching how to sit straight and cross one leg over the other. Some students are not too fond of her, scrunching up their noses or giving her faux smiles whenever she talks a little bit too much about literature, a lover of books from the moment she understood one of them, but some of them are enchanted by the bites of knowledge she serves whenever she passes by a group of students, no matter their age.

“What about Zeus?” The little girl asks, unaware of the heat that surrounds them, or perhaps ignoring it, for she is far too concentrated in mythology. Her name is Lia, her short hair braided on each side of her face, shorter than most in her class.

Her legs open slightly to cage the rolled up pamphlets that she is trying to stick to the walls around the neighborhood, and she has barely started, the hotness of the morning mixing with the smell of cigarettes and at the early rendezvous of the Saturday morning, alcohol. “Zeus is the bad guy,” She points out with her fingers, then taking a moment to think what she is going to say next. “I told you, you should read the books, Lia.”

Mouthing a ‘no’ after her pout, Lia shakes her head. “I don’t understand the book you gave me, Miss.”

She chuckles, giving the duct-tape to Lia so she slices a part of him. Pamphlets mean that the new year in the academy is starting, welcoming elementary school girls of high standards in society just so they could become a perfect part of it, they say. This academy sold ‘immaculately prepared women’ to the public, only to come up with wives and the right-hands of plenty of men. They aren’t taught about their visions in life, to see themselves as the president of their own worlds, instead, they live the life of the person they love, trying to fix them, while forgetting to live for themselves. “We can read it later.” She indicates, unwrapping one of the pamphlets to press it against the wall of a very famous bakery in the same street as the academy. “But I have to put these up.” Soon after, she presses the paper to the wall, taking the bits of duct-tape Lia gives her to make it part of this boring and bland city.

Once they start walking, the two students exchange a glance. “I thought last year students aren’t meant to do this, Miss.”

Replying with hand motions, she chuckles at her words. “They shouldn’t.”

“So, why do you do it?”

“Because I want the principal to realize I am a good person, so I don’t get kicked out of the academy.” She tries to keep the explanation short, not wanting to bother anyone with her own issues, much less a child that probably wanted to hear about Achilles and Zeus, Poseidon once she discovers his existence. Her steps are quick against the concrete, damning the moment she decided to wear a dress so tight in the waist. The flowery pattern of the dress stiffens like a corset on the waist, gifted to her by the principal herself a year prior to that day, but all she wants is to slip the fabric away from her body in one swift motion, skin becoming one with the sheets of her bed before tucking a forkful of the cake she had baked three days ago inside her mouth. The leftovers were still delicious, and perfectly put in the amount of vanilla it had.

Lia claps to get her attention, making her frown as she halters her steps. One hell of a sweet girl, Lia is, but she is never one to be so fidgety—she is smiling on her spot, jumping the slightest on her step when she takes the oldest by the shoulders to make her see what she has to say. “A man is looking at you, behind you.” Excitedly, Lia narrates the story as if it was a fairytale, but the moment she looks over her shoulders, she is met with the complete opposite of a prince. Albeit gorgeous, his bangs are pushed away from his face by his own hands, although the strands fall on the same spot repeatedly, his hands are delicate, veiny, a little bit calloused thanks to his work as a house painter, the brush coating the white wall in yellow paint. She fears for his white tank top, clinging to his body in sweat, highlighting the swift marks of his abdomen and his tanned arms, but the paint could easily get on the fabric. His mouth remains half-open, breathing softly as he spares her a simple glance, eyes a form of seduction on itself. She can tell her tries too hard, by the way he makes a show out of painting now that he has her attention.

“He looks like a douchebag.” She replies, only to have the younger smiling.

“He looks like a prince.”

“What kind of books have you been reading, Lia?”

“The ones that you like, Miss.”

Carved in her soul has always been the immunity she possesses for men in suits, with charismatic smiles and perfectly spoken words. She has always wanted something raw, as natural as it can get, with laughter that merges into conversation, into late-night kisses and hushed goodbyes, with breakfasts shared in complete silence and love whispered in the form of open-mouthed touches of someone’s lips to her neck. Crave is what she does, for the intelligence of a man that knows how to get her interested, that sees her as more as a pair of lacy underwear under a conservative dress, more than a lady to show in the streets only to degrade her in the sheets. Friendship that blossoms into love, a worm that turns into a butterfly…

Is that so difficult to get nowadays? Less of a rush to get married, she needs and instead, she wishes for a partner that pushes her to be her own individual before becoming the same heart.

It shows in her taste in books, perhaps, she likes the figurative, metaphorical, abstract romances, not so much of the ones that people talk about in the academy. However, this is not something she accepts, shaking her head and taking another pamphlet when she decides that the heat is far too unbearable, a trail of sweat running down her spine at the uncomfortable weather.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the baker, who screams at the top of his lungs a big: “Hey!” Once she turns around, she is met by the chubby, mustache-sporting baker that everyone knows about. His boisterous laugh almost wakes everyone up early in the morning, but his pastries and bread make up for any disturbance.

Nonetheless, she thinks the man is talking to her, turning around and opening her mouth to as what happened. “I—”

“Changkyun!” He screams a name louder, interrupting her softer tone. Much to her surprise, douchebag with the mouth breathing technique turns around, running his fingers through his hair to push the strands away. His legs are long, she notices then, cladded in a pair of jeans that fit him somewhat presentably, reaching high on his waist. His eyes look for the woman once again, making her flush in the way the sun casts down on his tanned complexion, his chocolate-fountain eyes that drown her in just one glance, attraction in the form that Jiahn has always talked about. In her words, Jiahn would describe this man as ‘the one who ruins you, and you thank him for it, because no man will ever compare to the way he made you feel with just one night’. Not that she would ever be able to do such thing with someone, much less with someone like this Changkyun guy. “Your dog is trying to eat my croissants, come pick him up!”

Changkyun’s alluring act falls immediately, his eyes widening as he looks at both sides of the street to rush towards the bakery, trotting to the entrance of the place. “I-I am so sorry!”

But the baker laughs, loud and clear, enough to bring a smile to her face because of the mortified expression on Changkyun’s face. The idiot now has another description inside her head: clumsy.

⏰

Words turned bitter for her; gone were the days of praise, the achievements that would be highlighted by excellence, the friends that lingered around her whilst promising a lifetime of memories. Some of them are married, graduated years ago and are now living their happily-ever-after’s with some businessman near the most expensive part of the city. Some are holding their babies, those she doesn’t envy so much, they wake up to the sound of screaming—and she thinks it could come from either their husband or their child, because women like the ones in the academy are taught that men are gods of renewal, seeking purity and slavery both at the same time. Others, like her friend Daum, had the opportunity to find love in the same place she grew up in, and she was one of the culprits that helped her run away with another woman. Something that the principal deemed as impossible.

“You really are a rotten one, huh?” The principal is talking to her, but she concentrates anywhere else. The pictures the woman shows of her dead husband by the walls, all in black and white, carrying the five women that she raised with him in some of them. Her place is immaculate, too sweet for her taste, smelling like coconut and vanilla at the same time, drowned in the perfection that she is asked for every of her actions. Spotless, conceptualized, written; everyone’s future in that academy could be described by those three words, but she is the exception. “Look at me.” The strong tone that accompanies the principal’s voice startles her the slightest, dragging her gaze to the piercing eyes in front of her. “Every bird leaves the nest. Every single one. Not only did you help two birds leave the nest together, as a couple, but you also ask me to stay after that—”

Daum had left earlier that morning, with her love shown in the slits of her fingers that connected to another graduate. Love, for them, was always there and she is not anyone to stop a person from feeling something so strong. “If they wanted to leave, they had to leave.”

“You’re not helping your case here,” The principal explains. “Daum’s parents called me. They are petrified by the situation, because I, apparently, was unable to take care of two women over their twenties, and Daum hasn’t talked a word to their parents—”

“I didn’t know that, Principal.”

“You claim to know everything, to be knowledgeable enough to be a teacher and you make humongous mistakes like this.” Her tongue wets the roof of her mouth, breathing out through her nose. Her words prick, like a thorn that holds on to the sight of a rose, and she is there to see it all. This side of the principal is not the same one everyone else gets to see; the calm smile, the witty remarks, the wisdom-filled eyes that everyone wants to imitate. This is the type of people feared in the world, dictators that turned their followers into a carbon copy of what they think, that dress them in ignorance to lounge in knowledge. A power battle; the weak versus the strong, and she has always been weak in the principal’s eyes. “But you don’t know more than a few words in a textbook. I can’t have someone as open minded and weak as you as a teacher, I just can’t.” Instead of battling for her rights, she bites on the inside of her cheeks, watches as the woman takes a long gulp of her coffee. “You are not going to stay in this academy as your home, I am so sorry. Your parents should have enough money to find you an apartment somewhere. A house, even.”

But the academy is her home, with its students that always greet her, with the library that she loves visiting and the kitchen that she feels like belongs to her. How could she simply leave home like that? She doesn’t think she remembers much of her past house, how it looked like and why it was supposed to feel candid and warm. If anything, it has been years since the last time she went back home. “B—But…Miss, I could stay here and really, I’ve prepared myself to teach literature perfectly. I swear—”

“No.” The Principal clicks her pen, opening a folder that read Daum’s name and information, along with some pictures as she grew up through the educational standards of the academy, just like a school. “I give you one month to leave. Find a man and I’ll consider having you teach the students,” She easily states. “Do not find a man, and you’ll leave without any job of any kind. Call your parents for money, if you don’t want to live off a man.”

Living off a man, what a distasteful title. “Please, don’t say that.”

The Principal rolls her eyes, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose before sighing. “Leave my office, please.” She says, looking up at the woman briefly before scribbling a big ‘X’ on the folder beneath her. “Do not come in here until you have either your engagement ring or your bags to leave. One month, after that I’ll call the police, and you don’t want to ruin your parents’ little legacy.”

Swallowing all the tears she wishes to drop, she bows before giving the same affirmative answer that she has been taught to give. Once outside of the office, the heat of the wind makes her feel uneasy, as if she is trapped in a box and is unable to leave, her lungs contract, her tongue itches, her fingers can’t stop moving, won’t stop moving even if she asks them to, her knees are wobbling with such intensity that they could look like she is losing all sense of sanity, dancing along to the problematic tune of reality. She thinks she sees Kihyun when she walks towards the kitchen, standing by the door as he waves at her, a smile on his face after giving a kiss to the woman he loves, but she feels envious. Not because she can’t have someone to love, for that is the least of her worries, but because she is being obligated to love someone just to be worthy.

Validation, that is what she needs and exactly what she thought she would get by showing her talents, her knowledge, the hours of hard work she put into books and reviews, only to be met by silence. Deafening, really, to the point one glass of water down her throat makes her feel like she is about to throw up. The idea of going back to her parents’ sounds terrible, another anarchy to have her dressed up in even tighter dresses to introduce herself to a world of money, such as politics, to be a robber amongst well-spoken manipulators. If she ends up in the streets, she doesn’t know what would happen—in that case, she would ask Kihyun and Jiahn for help, for in only two weeks they are going to get married, but in their new home, it would be difficult to have Jiahn’s friend over. Marriage is a matter of two people, not three.

She could find a job, that’s not the worst thing. Maybe, she could start working at the bakery at the end of the street, hope to save some money and perhaps, come up with a plan that was not given by the principal.

Two plans, that’s exactly what she needs.

Plan One: To find a job at the bakery, keep it as secret as possible and save up some money. That way, if she ends up being kicked out of the academy, she would have a kick-starter for an apartment of sorts, all on her own.

Plan Two: Or as she likes to call it, Jiahn’s plan. To look for a man that would be willing to act up as her husband, fiancé or at the very least, her boyfriend and see if she can get a position as a teacher. The academy needs more women of assertiveness, power held in strong voices.

Wielding herself with tears, she pushes the strands of her hair away from her face when she fights back the salty liquid to run down her cheeks, creating a path of hurt, pain, memories and conviction. The principle of being a woman goes past skirts, being born as one or simply loving a man, but the sixties were far too enclosed in their own opinions, afraid of the strength a new wave of people could bring to the world—people who were already there, but are now tired of such treatment.

Her hands rub at her face, not caring that her makeup smudges at the action—she can’t bring herself to be a lady, when people have torn her apart for it. The tears become one with her skin, dissipating in the thick air with such easiness, so much she wonders if this is what she is bound to feel, like her life is falling apart, not even rotating, not even moving, and if it moves, it is way too fast.

Fast, it moves, when she looks up thanks to the sound of barking. There, she sees the dupe of a Dalmatian, instead of black dots, the dog wears beautifully beige spots on his skin, jumping on his spot as he takes the brush from Changkyun’s hands.

Right, the house painter.

She saw him two days ago, and she had to see Lia talking about him nonstop, moving her hands so widely she thought they were going to fall. Lia says he is a prince, with that paint-cladded tank top he wears and that overly confident personality that is as wronged as faux fur, for it doesn’t fit him, neither is it cute. Also, he is an incredible slow worker—or maybe, the new house that is being built is just too big for just one person and his dog, who keeps wiggling his tail in excitement even though Changkyun is hissing at him.

But no, that can’t be the only men in the world. She has to think about the good men that she has met in her life, even if they seem to be nonexistent.

The feeling of a pencil in between her fingers, as well as glue, brings her back to the crafting days on her first day of elementary school—before she was ever introduced to the academy. Once she is brought back to that memory, she swears she feels the fingers of someone tugging at her hair, presumably at her braids, but she isn’t wearing braids at that moment. Then, she remembers the smile she used to see whenever she turned around in those days, being met by a guy who didn’t even know how to pronounce his name, but the kid was cute. Min-Guk, is how he introduced himself as, but his name is actually Minhyuk. He was nice, probably a bit out of his head, but dreamy to her young eyes. Too much of a prince and probably married. Pass.

The guy who sells milk every Monday at the street, always wearing that tacky white uniform and trying to get women to talk to him, only to be shushed away because he is not a potential man to date. There is no charisma, no romance, no elegance, no intelligence…just milk, really. She embarks in conversation with him every once in a while, interested in getting to know the farm that he frequents for his milk and how the industry works, but he is over forty…and really not her type. Maybe, if he was younger, she likes that awkward vibe on men that try a little bit too hard, but he is much too old for her.

Kihyun is getting married to her friend, so he is obviously out of the picture.

“Bruno!” Changkyun screams at the top of his lungs, running behind the dog as if to get the brush. That is probably what he is trying to do, really, but she can’t tell anymore.

It’s like life is telling her to go there.

After using a napkin to rub her tears away, checking on the mirror that her makeup is not that smudged—not that it’s there anymore—, she decides to go out of the academy. Some of the younger students are having a class outside, something that she can’t care about as she trails her eyes towards the good looking Changkyun, a house painter…sure, not the most outstanding of careers, but it is somewhat interesting the way he manages himself, running behind a dog and all. The house is incredibly pretty, as well, and she knows the owners; a family of six that are expecting to grow even more, so it is no wonder the space is so big.

Once she gets to the front yard of the house, she hears Changkyun complaining about something to his dog, who simply sticks his tongue out in excitement, thinking it is time to play with his owner. “What are you doing?”

The muscles on his shoulders tighten at a frenzy, looking back to spare her a glance before his features soften. One of his eyebrows quirk up when he takes the drool-covered brush on his hands, a small smile playing on his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually.”

Changkyun seems surprised by her answer, opening his mouth to say something before cutting himself off. He repeats this action repeatedly, sporting a shy smile soon after. “Painting. Duh.” He claims, going closer to the wall he was painting before his dog’s interruption. Bruno, she thinks its name is. “Don’t they teach you how to paint in your pretty doll house?”

She chuckles at his words, pointing with her thumb towards her home. “The academy, you mean?” The house painter gets to work once again, dipping the brush on the paint before sliding it across the wall. “They do. Really, we are not a dollhouse of any sorts.” She thinks of her words, biting down any type of opinion she should have, but…this is Changkyun, a man that she wouldn’t even imagine with a dressy, black suit on. “Some…Some of our students think it is, but I am not like that.”

The painter hums at her words, his tanned cheeks receiving a rose-gold color. She likes to think it’s because of her, but maybe it’s the Sun doing its wonders. “I would like to see that.” Changkyun comments, more likely talking about seeing her paint, but when he moves his hand to indicate his point further, his brush paints over her pretty baby blue dress, leaving a terrible white imprint. “Oh shit, I am so, so sorry!” His apologies fall quickly, just like how he unwraps a towel from around his neck to dab it on the material. Mind him, this is the same towel that he uses to wash his sweat and technically, it shouldn’t even reach her dress, but there he is, kneeling down in front of her as he rubs the material against the dress.

“Don’t be, really.” But she is speaking through gritted teeth. It is definitely going to be a headache to get that stain out.

This is not what her prince charming should be like, rubbing on her dress as if it is a table that has a coffee stain. “God, this dress is probably worth more than my salary. Geez…” Changkyun is talking to himself, looking up at her eyes while haltering his motions, only to give her a crooked smile. This is the enchanting part of him, the aftermath of his try-hard attempts, valuable and charismatic for his sweeter side, the one that he probably doesn’t show to a lot of people.

She laughs at his words. “It is.”

“I’ll pay for it! Just…give me time, okay?”

“No, no.” She tells him, taking the cloth from his hands and sniffing at the smell. God, what exactly is her concept of a prince charming?! The smell is horrid, quite clearly. She gives it back to him, right after taking him by the wrists to bring him up to his feet, which he does slowly, while still looking into her eyes. “I—This is not what I expected when I came here, but I’ll take it. It’s just a dress, just don’t rub it with your sweaty towel, please.”

Changkyun puts his towel around his neck once again before dumbly grinning. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’ll just have to pay it in another way.”

“What do you me—?”

“Miss!” Someone squeals from the academy and the two people conversing turn to look at the fourteen-year-old girl that waves to call for the attention of one of the older members of the academy. “Could you help me out with my homework, please?!” If the principal heard her speak like that, that student would be expelled immediately, if not scolded, but instead of waiting until that happened, she starts moving towards the academy quickly.

“Sure, sweet pea!” She tells the young girl, who smiles at either the nickname or the help, but once she is on the other side of the street, her eyes look for Changkyun, only to be met by the man who stares at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She squints her eyes, her hands reaching to fix the bow on her head before mouthing a small:

“We’ll talk later.”

And she really means it, because Changkyun is her last option.

⏰

“Tick, tock, darlin’.” The principal told her in her friend’s wedding, basically mocking her bridesmaid dress from the moment she put it on. Her expression was readable, all series of distaste and a sense of fortune in winning that never escapes her. The principal pointed at the clock that rested in the form of a necklace in her cleavage, showing her nothing but the exact time. “Two weeks until I kick you out of my academy. If Jiahn did it, so can you.”

That’s when it hit her. She had lost two entire weeks of her second plan, all for concentrating on the first one.

The good part of it all is that she gets to bake at a good spot, surrounded by flowers…from daisies to roses, all settled in her line of sight as she works with pastries. The mornings are the busiest, when her boss immediately makes her work the fastest she can. He needs the breads to be baked to its fullest potential, not too crunchy and not too soft, a good bite able to be a good companion for any moment of the day, whether it was the early hours of it or the late ones. The baker also told her to call him by his name, so more often than not, she shyly asks for his help when it gets to be too much. She shortens it, though, going for a brief ‘Woo’ whenever she needs him the most, and the man with the funny mustache answers immediately, sometimes calling her the sweetest names because she supposedly reminds him of his daughter, pure yet strong.

Whilst reading on the morning paper, her apron neatly tied around her neck, she likes to concentrate on the literature section, seeing what books are going to come next in the market, making sure to highlight the ones that interest her the most. Two in the afternoon, a time where the bakery is rarely visited and it is at this moment that Woo puts his music on loudly, making sure to dust off anything that surrounds the tables that his costumers used previously. He dances happily, humming to the tune in a way that calms her down. The Principal is whom she has always lived with, so seeing a man that is the complete opposite of what that woman is…feels like heaven.

“So I heard,” Woo initiates after turning off his music, his elbows resting atop the counter with his hard breathing interrupting his words. “Changkyun and his dog are leaving today. The house is almost finished, he is simply painting the insides and making sure everything is tidy and ready to go.”

She widens her eyes at that, be forgotten the new book that she is reading about, her lips parting at the reminder that her second plan includes him, and finding another man in less than two weeks is going to be a headache, much more with an eventful dinner being planned by the Principal as a way of celebrating the recent marriages and engagements. “W-Why? How? That house is huge!”

“Changkyun is a nice kid. I know his father, so if he is as equally as hardworking as him, then he is good.” The man seems unfazed by what he is saying, but she is interested beyond what she can explain. Something keeps pushing her towards Changkyun, call it idiocy for being so stubborn on being a teacher, or she is actually as attracted to him as she pretends not to be. “It’s weird, though.”

“What is?”

“Changkyun’s family is very educated, very studious. I am not sure why he is a house painter…”

She pushes the newspaper towards the edge of the counter, shrugging her shoulders at his statement. “The majority of us young people don’t become what our parents were or are.” She indicates, knowing well that Woo wouldn’t understand. The bakery is a family business, one well-earned at that, cozy and the most beautiful spot to spend some time in daily. A fresh reminder that things are going to be okay. “I have my lunch break right now, right?”

“You spent ten minutes of it reading that newspaper, but yes.” The baker points out, taking the newspaper in between his fingers and jokingly swatting it against her arm. “Stop reading studious stuff and go eat something. You worked hard.”

She licks her lips, looking through the pastries displayed through the glass before picking out two brownies, coated in the juicy texture of white chocolate syrup. Woo taught her his precise recipe, saying there is nothing better than what he adds, and indeed, the secret to the recipe gives it a bit of spice, perfect to wake sleepy students up. “I’ll pay for the extra one,” She indicates, pushing another one into a paper bag before sending a wave to Woo in the form of fluttery fingers. “I’ll see you in a bit, Woo.”

“Have fun with your boy!”

She shouldn’t be running on the streets and if any of the teachers in the academy see her, they will swat her hand with a ruler, telling her that a lady never rushes. Nonetheless, she wants to make sure Changkyun is still there, not that she gets a nice response at first, given that the entrance of the house is completely empty. The door is open though, widely so, and it smells like paint, a kick-starter of the fact that Changkyun might still be there. Her fingers clutch the paper bag, creating ugly folds on it, perhaps crushing the brownies, but she can’t bring herself to care, too reckless and desperate to even care about what she is going to ask to this stranger. Supposedly a nice guy, in Woo’s words.

Peaking her head inside, she doesn’t see anyone at first glance, until one wobbly step on the wood flooring makes a creaking sound and Bruno starts barking, quite loudly. Panic settles deep within her, much more when she hears human steps following after the dog, clear and fast, an indication of running. Changkyun goes down the stairs rapidly, only stopping when he catches a glance at the woman by the door, and even so, he doesn’t have the time to put on his ‘cool’ front.

“Uh, hi?” Changkyun asks casually, going the last row of stairs before patting Bruno’s fur with his hand. “I…Hi.”

“Hello,” She adds in between a sweet smile, holding the paper bag up for him to see. “I brought you some brownies so we could eat together.”

The man is even more confused by that statement, his eyebrows furrowing as he pushes his hair back. He is less sweaty, thankfully, but his skin is still painted in those red blotches caused by the heat. “Cool, but…why?” He tilts his head to the side, coming closer to get the bag from her hands and look inside it. Once he sees the brownies, she thinks she can see him licking his bottom lip, but maybe that’s just her mind speaking. After all, it is creepy to just come up to someone and offer him brownies, when all she has done is serve him meals at the bakery for the past two weeks, saying greetings and then, some brief goodbyes.

“Woo told me that you’re going to stop working here today.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Okay, you’re not making it easy on me.” She replies quickly, looking back to see if anyone is checking up on her from the academy, but everyone is on class right at that moment. The soft touch of the wind makes her sigh deeply, getting closer to Changkyun so their conversation falls in between their ears. “I need a favor from you.” After crossing her arms over her chest, she drops the bomb on him. Changkyun raises his eyebrows, his lips parting momentarily before one of his eyes closes at the touch of his bangs against it.

“Mhm, the one thing you told me I had to pay you with when I ruined your dress.” Changkyun questions, more so indicates, and she nods her head at his understanding. The man doesn’t seem to be faced by the statement, instead pointing to the edge of the stairs. “We can sit there and talk,” He starts and she lets her eyes trail towards the wooden material. “Sorry if it’s not a throne, Queen, but this is all I have here.” She chuckles at his sarcasm, taking a seat beside him. The sound of the paper bag being torn apart slightly to create two surfaces for the brownies is all she hears, watching as Changkyun carefully puts her brownie with a napkin and the paper bag underneath it on her lap.

“I am not some rich girl that is scared of sitting on a staircase.”

“Not that, though I do know you’re the child of politicians and very rich, too.” The intelligence that Changkyun possesses would not be expected from a house painter, but it is clear in the way he speaks. “But you’re in that academy. All girls that come out from that academy think they can only talk to rich people, and that’s true.”

“Questionable, but I see where you’re coming from.” She replies, slicing a bit of the brownie with her fingers to plop it inside her mouth, even though Changkyun is already delving on his treat. “I see you dislike the academy.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Education is important, but not when you teach…how to be a lady.” He spits the statement out as if it is a joke, and sometimes she thinks it sounds like it. “That’s bullshit.” Soon after, he laughs at what he says. “But you probably can’t say that word because ladies don’t curse or some shit like that. Nonsense, really.”

“I can say it.”

“Then, say it. Say something like shit, ass, asshole…”

“Shit?” She adds the word in the form of a question and Changkyun’s head immediately throws back at the sound of her voice, merely having a fun time by making fun of her.

“Thank you for the food, goody-two-shoes.” The man comments and soon after, she bites down on her bottom lip. The closeness between the two makes her feel warmer than ever, their knees touching ever so slightly, the type of intimacy that people often ignore, but it is felt nonetheless. Changkyun is much more good looking than people give him the benefit of, most of the time judged as some simple house painter. “What’s that favor that you want to ask me for?”

The moment of truth falls on top of her and with a shaky breath, she decides to be brave. The worst can already happen, and that is being kicked out of the academy—or her opportunity to be a teacher to be dismissed, exactly. “I want you to act.”

“Act?” He asks, pointing to his chest before scoffing. “Oh, baby, I’d do anything to get your attention, but I am no Tatsuya Nakadai.”

At the name of the actor, she scrunches up her nose. “Not even a tiny bit of a good actor?”

“I could try…” Changkyun trails his voice before nudging her side slightly. “For what kind of movie, though?”

At the sight on his face, she immediately catches why the smirk on his face is so prominent and she shakes her head quickly. “Not that!” The squeal that leaves her brings laughter to rumble on Changkyun’s chest once again, joyful of being there with her. “It’s actually…” Now that she is thinking about her idea, it sounds ridiculous. It damn right feels like she is out of her head, jumping on the oh-so-called field of happiness that her druggie friends have talked about once or twice, perhaps it is not that, but craziness itself. “Listen, I need a man to fake date me. And before you say anything, I really want to work as a teacher in my academy, but I won’t be accepted unless I show that I am capable of getting a man.”

Changkyun frowns at that and the open mindedness of him surprises her, because most men would have run away at the mere sound of the opportunity, unless given something else, but he is there, munching on his brownies before sighing. “You’re not capable of getting a man?”

“I-It’s not that—”

“Then, why can’t you get a man?”

“All the men I know are trashy…” She admits, pushing her head back to keep her hair away from her face. Now, she pushes more food to her mouth so she shuts up, but she doesn’t. With Changkyun, with Woo, with other people that are not part of the academy, she feels like she can speak without judgement. “With their suits and their wife concepts. I hate to have to deal with men that expect me to be something. I don’t want to have the expectations of wearing corsets and cooking for him, and stroking his ego just because I have to. That’s not me.”

The man pushes out a breath, in a sigh or in a huff, something along those lines. She doesn’t look at him, too afraid of the bowl of reality he is going to serve her immediately. “Because that is the type of men people like you are bound to meet. Rich, stupid guys who think they are better than everyone else.” His back rolls slightly, cracking a few articulations before he speaks up once again. “For how long do you need the fake boyfriend?”

At his remark, she lifts up her gaze. Something within her bursts, excitement or relief, maybe even fear. This is a complete stranger she is going to introduce as her boyfriend, after all. Insanity could never compare. “For…okay, for forever?”

“Oh…God…” Changkyun indicates before rubbing the back of his neck. “Do I have to go there or is it just using my name?”

“Go there.”

“No. Hell no.” The house painter stands up to his feet, pushing his piece of the paper bag to a trashcan nearby. “What do you want me to be? One of those preppy, stuck-up boys that go to your academy to meet girls? That’s not me. Why are you talking to me, anyway? You have a whole town of those at the center of the city. From anywhere around the world, you just have to look for them.”

For a moment, she ponders on leaving him alone, until the stubbornness clings to her once again. “Because…you’re the only man I know I…see as the type of man I would marry.”

“Marry?”

“You’d act as my fiancé, of course.”

“Okay, you’re drunk. You had your first try of alcohol and that is why you’re acting like this—”

Pushing herself off the stairs, she walks over to him before shaking her head. “No! Do I smell like alcohol to you?” That’s another thing she has tried. In the academy, women did things behind the principal’s back, drinking, smoking, hooking up, trying new things out, but she had never been like that. For the first time, she is doing something against the rules. “And it’s just for one night. I can just say we got married but that we live separately. Or that you broke the engagement or something. It’s just for one night.”

“One night of fake dating me?”

She presses her hands to Changkyun’s mouth after finishing her brownie, his soft lips dragging across her skin absentmindedly when she shushes him. “Don’t speak so loudly. People may hear you!”

Taking his hands in hers, he pulls her closer by the wrists before sighing. “Okay, goody-two-shoes. I’ll help you just because I know that dress was expensive shit and because I hope to get more good brownies like those for free.”

Batting her eyelashes out of complete surprise, she steps away slightly as a smile creeps up her face slowly. Changkyun rolls his eyes, for he is a man of honesty and down-to-earth matters, he doesn’t believe in a lot of the things she has grown to trust in, but blind is anyone that couldn’t tell these two are attracted to one another. “Thank you so much!” The happiness in her voice is clear, clasping her hands together before she feels Bruno walking in between her legs to stand in between the commotion. “I love your dog, but your dog can’t go to the dinner we’re supposed to be going to, okay?”

“I plead for some leftovers for Bruno.”

“I’ll cook him an entire meal if that’s what you want.”

Reaching down to grasp Bruno’s paw in between his fingers, he smiles. “We’re getting meals, Bruno. We’ve made it.”

A sense of calmness leaves her, one that she thought she had until she realizes Changkyun is not the type of man people in the academy would accept. A house painter, not cladded in suits the majority of the time—if every, really—and just a little bit inappropriate with his wording.

Good things never come without some hard work, she supposes.

“I’ll leave now, okay? Pass by the bakery tomorrow and we can talk about what we’re going to do. Eight on the dot.”

Changkyun looks up at her, standing up so quickly he loses his balance before humming. “Yes. Honey, bunny, apple of my eye, left butt-cheek to my right butt-cheek, precious being—”

While she walks towards the door, she shakes her head. “Baby was alright, the rest…is not what I want.”

“Okay, kitty cat.”

“No!”

This isn’t really going to be easy.

⏰

“I am engaged.”

“What?!”

The stages of disbelief show through people’s faces, as readable as a popular fiction book, and she learned about them after confirming—in different times to different people—that she is going to “get married”. First is the audible response, normally followed by a tilted head, something as simple as a noise that slips past that person’s lips, wanting to hear what has already been told into the universe, looking for some form of doubt. Following is the silent response, a blink, a quirk of their eyebrows, a smile, a frown, all placements of this stage, equally as nerve-wrecking as the other. Finally, there is denial and she has to fight this one, completing her set of lies with another group of them just to make it believable.

The only one who knows the truth, and only because she was unable to make him believe her, was Woo. According to his precise knowledge of being an old man, father of someone who acts exactly like her, one can just tell that she is lying—the situation has moved on far too quickly for her liking, too forced, and that is not like her. Changkyun, although very handsome and charming if you squint, is not the type of person to change that, if anything, he’d just shrug his shoulders at her manners, thinking that people are the way they are because that’s how life asks them to be. She doesn’t find it in her to burn his allegations with facts, indicating that for the past three days, Changkyun has been going to the bakery before going over to his next job, not even near her workplace to start with, always slipping food in his mouth as she speaks, partly about the plan and also about his health. Sweets are just not the go-to breakfast.

Changkyun doesn’t listen, saying he is stronger than diabetes, and he goes off once again, away from her whilst promising her that Thursday is the day they meet at his apartment to practice their act of a couple at the dinner they shall attend.

Getting out of the academy late at night with a suitcase hanging from her arm is already difficult on its own, with the teachers sparing her glances while she laughs nervously. Before anyone could ask her anything, she springs out of the door and into the crisp air of the night, thanking her tights for keeping her legs warm, but wishing she could wear a pair of pants that could keep her warm at such a time. The night is eventful, dark and with a gorgeous sight of the moon, yellow and near enough it feels like she could grasp it within her fingertips, holding it as a beautiful memory of difficult times.

Someone calls for her name, the tone deep and somewhat hushed, for she told him to wait for her by the bakery and not to make a lot of noise, considering the people at the academy could be listening. She rushes towards him, almost falling on her steps if it wasn’t for Changkyun’s arms extending on each side of her body, eyes wide as he speaks:

“Be careful,” He tells her, looking at their surroundings to make sure no one is seeing them. For a moment, she thinks that Lia is right: Changkyun is the new version of a prince. Oversized striped shirt tucked underneath a pair of pants, belt making sure that it keeps in place, his hair is parted slightly and he does not dare to sleek it back like most men of his generation do, but his face under the gleaming lights of the stars is a sight to never forget. “If falling on these streets is easy, imagine how easy it is falling for me.” Changkyun adds, silent meeting his statement as she lifts her gaze to look into his eyes. “No?”

“Not even one bit. I didn’t like it.” She continues, a smile blossoming on her face when she wraps her arm around his, turning him around so they are facing away from the academy. “Take me to your palace, poor excuse of a prince.”

“…Excuse of a prince,” Changkyun scoffs, as if it is ridiculous of her to speak in such a way. His eyes cast down on her as they walk the streets towards his home, peace of mind and soul in the form of awkward, softly spoken conversations. “Princes wish they were as cool as me.”

His apartment is unexpectedly cozy for such a secluded, small place. The white walls remain intact, clear as the day they were painted, highlighting some pictures he taped to the surface—some of them places he says he wants to go to, others pictures of his friends, some with his family. A shoebox would be more of a comparison, where his apartment starts, it also ends, a small kitchen at the corner of the room, separated by doors that led to their respective spots. He apologizes for the mess over his table, the lack of living room not a problem for her as she watches Changkyun diligently cleaning up such a big part of his life. What a person reads is what makes them, and she sees that Changkyun is always looking for a second, third or even fourth job, using a red pen to encircle whatever catches his attention, what he thinks he is capable of doing. In the table, she sees cut-outs of coupons, all in things he wouldn’t even need—but hey, if he found them, it’s for a reason.

Dragging the seat across from him, Changkyun starts talking about the absurdities of life while brewing some hot chocolate. His back is turned to her, delicate and broad, the two slices of reality she liked in a man’s physique, to bring her both edges of a well-rounded person. His fingers are what catch her attention, skinny and average sized, though they move with chillness, all worries thrown into the Sun the moment the night arrives. His voice lowers when he wants to impress her, she notices, handling himself well when he rants about how his family consists of university professors, medals and diplomas surrounding his house and while he doesn’t live up to that, he’s proud of where he comes from.

“And why didn’t you study in university?” She asks, watching as Changkyun turns around to lean his hands on his small counter, crossing one leg over the other and she gulps on the small bit of saliva she has inside her mouth, gone dry long ago at the mere sight of him. Her words could shush him as a man of the rest, but she hasn’t actually looked at someone that had made her feel like she craves for his touch, or his validation in one way or another. The desire to have him projecting the same interest in her aches within her, hanging on to the small threads of curiosity he had shown before.

“There’s plenty of that already…at least, in my family. Not that it makes education any less important but,” Changkyun stops a moment on his words, hissing at what he is trying to say before moving his hands slightly. Legs as long as a highway, enticing her at just a glance, wondering how someone like him as such poise in his way of standing. Hands that she wishes to have on her, caressing a few strands away from her hair, holding her hand, even hugging her as tightly as he wants, for the days in which she feels lonely, which are not many, in her opinion. And now, a serious expression that can’t take away from her mind, for Changkyun is ever serious. “I want easy money, that’s one thing.” The confession makes her chuckle, watching as a smile takes over his face again just in time for him to hide it by turning around, picking up two mugs and filling them with hot chocolate and marshmallows. “But painting is fun. Really, people think most of us house painters only do the job to check girls out on the streets and just scratch our asses, but I see past that.” Thick is the smell of chocolate and damn her for even believing Changkyun was not capable of making a tasty hot chocolate, for a piece of calmness is brought to her in the shape of another sweet treat, all courtesy of the not-so-sweet guy she is fake dating, by now. “I’m not a good painter, like I can’t draw for the life of me…”

“Uh huh.” She urges for him to continue, taking the small spoon Changkyun gives her before swirling the contents of the hot chocolate around.

“So when I told my mom she was like: “Changkyun, are you fucking out of your mind?! That was Picasso that was actually good, not you!”.” Imitation is the worst kind of compliment, she believes, and the faux high voice Changkyun uses to portray his mother has her laughing at how bad it is. “I decided house painter would pay the bills, and I would get to be somewhat of an artist without having to live with the criticism of being bad.” Before sitting down, the man stands up quickly, his eyes widening comically. “Let me get Bruno out of my room because he’ll start crying if he hears us talk and he’s not here.”

“They let you have Bruno here?”

“Yes,” Changkyun sarcastically adds as he opens the door, the white dog sprinting towards her to rest his paws on her legs. Her fingers hold on his ears, playing with them slightly but her entire concentration is on Changkyun. Some smiles are able to heal any type of pain, and the anxiousness she felt when deciding to go out at night with her fake boyfriend was unbearable, the ache on her eyes a clear indicator of her lack of sleep, along with the redness that reaches the inner corner of it. He makes her feel better, however, much more when he takes his seat in front of her, legs intertwining with hers thanks to the small table. “As long as they don’t know Bruno is not actually a dude. That’s why I named him after a person, I wanted my landlord to think Bruno is human.”

Whilst blowing on the cup of coffee, she decides to speak up. “Your secret is safe with me.” Though Changkyun doesn’t answer with anything more than a wince after burning his own tongue, sticking it out to let the air soothe the throbbing discomfort. “Be careful with that. You have to know some table manners, Changkyun.”

“I know ‘em.”

“Then, why don’t you use them? You just burnt your tongue—”

“Because I wanted hot chocolate.” The man whines, making her roll her eyes as she takes a small sip of the drink, only to click her tongue against the roof of her mouth thanks to the burning sensation. “See? Manners or not, heat exists!”

“Stop.”

Her movements seek to fix her legs, not wanting to be impossibly close to Changkyun in an uncomfortable way, but her knee grazes his thigh softly, making the man raise his eyebrows questioningly after taking another sip of his drink, this time smaller. Changkyun has one of those moments where he loses his character of a guy with so much confidence that it radiates off him, and one glance at her ashamed face is enough to have him sighing. His fingers glide down until they rest on top of her knee, moving it at the same time that he drags his seat back, their knees interlocked at the end of the effort. “Here we go,” The faint whisper is dry, making his voice sound impossibly appealing. “Comfier?”

“Yes, sorry.” She mumbles quickly before clearing her voice. Although the situation is embarrassing, she doesn’t want anyone at the dinner to realize there is a visible line of awkwardness in between the two. For a couple that supposedly fell in love in just three weeks, they have to act rushed and dizzily in love. “So, I brought that suitcase with a suit that you can try on later, but for now, I am going to ask you some questions and we’ll talk about our preferences. You have to know my entire life story; I have to know yours. Your tastes, what you like, what you don’t…and vice versa, alright?”

“Alright, Mrs. Im.” The name makes her frown deeply, a shaky breath leaving her lips whilst Changkyun smiles dumbly. “Sorry, I thought since—you know, we’re pretending to be fiancés, you’d end up having to use my last name…but…”

“Okay, I’ll have to get used to Mrs. Im.”

“Don’t say it.” The man adds after a chuckle. “It sounds weird. Let’s avoid saying that.”

“Agreed.”

Friends have never been a problem for her, she has had them, mostly women or their boyfriends, but having someone like Changkyun is different. They are not exactly friends, but whenever they talk to each other, any trace of awkwardness bursts into laughter, creating an atmosphere better than any candle lit romance. In the realm of her insecurities, Changkyun lives up to the expectation of remembering her tastes just after she tells him everything he needs to know. Her favorite color comes easily to him, as if he has seen her wear the shade time and time again. His lips wrap around the name of her first pet prettily, and remembers the story about how the principal had it kicked out because pets aren’t allowed in the academy. Enjoyment is what he shows through his expression, listening to her every word with his lips parted—like they always are—and his eyes concentrate on her, leaving no room for hesitance.

His mouth is runny as he speaks about his life, boosts about the important bits that he thinks are the most outstanding, some jokes thrown here and there that would have had her choking on her hot chocolate if she hadn’t finished it so soon. Changkyun has that magic within him, ones that people never talk about his fairytales, to be charismatic but in the most realistic of ways, bringing taboo topics to light and making it seem normal. Talking, to him, is a form of sanity more than an element of bonding, thinking that laughter is exactly what people need. Going as far as saying that it is what she needs.

The easiest part to remember about him is his distaste for anything that has to do with the academy. “You can do so much better. Be a teacher in a real school, that would be better.” He says, but the words die down on her throat with stubbornness. She needs to feel like her time in the academy was worthy, that she showed the Principal that she is better than whatever had been envisioned about her.

Just as they are about to leave, Changkyun insisting on getting a taxi back to the academy, they are reminded of the suitcase that had been coated in small speckles of dust through their conversation. She pushes the suit Kihyun had gifted her for him towards his body, watching his pout grow at the sight of a suit. Tank tops are his uniform, he says whilst he locks himself in the bedroom, and her mind goes to the branches of possibilities from this outcome. Surely, Changkyun has been having free pastries at the bakery ever since he agreed to be her fake fiancé, but something as difficult as that couldn’t simply be paid with brownies. Maybe, deep within him he just wants to spend some time with her…but…

No!

She erases the thought before she can further delve in the depths of romance. Ever said before, she knows romance is not for her—not the touches, not the commitment, not the non-committal part of it. Not because she is not capable of getting it, but because she doesn’t think she would be able to make it last, too ambitious to ever want to be glued to a man’s side.

The door opens widely, in such a rushed manner that she thinks Changkyun might have gone insane in there. His fingers hold the doorknob as he lifts one of his legs to hold in front of her gaze, the shortness of the fabric surprising her.

“You got this from the kid’s section?” Changkyun asks and she chuckles loudly, imagining the embarrassed expression Kihyun would have on his face if he was there.

“No. It’s my friend’s.” She comments, tugging him closer by the vest of the suit before clearing her throat. “The vest is not so bad.”

“The blazer fits me like a crop top!” Always the complainer, he adds, pushing the confines of his shoulder pads with his fingertips. “And this brassier in my shoulders, I don’t even know what it is, but it is not pretty on me or anyone under the age of a hundred.”

“Changkyun—”

“Baby, listen, just listen.” Pushing her away slightly, he turns around to lift the blazer slightly to show the high waisted dressy pants. “I don’t have enough ass for this pair of pants, sorry.”

Her eyes linger on the way the suit fits him, just not for him in the slightest, but she would never dare to say that, although he doesn’t see it, she thinks the size of his body and its proportions are just the type she likes. “Okay, we’ll have to go suit shopping this weekend.” She comments, swatting her had as if it is nothing before ordering him to turn around. “The bottom wasn’t so bad, though. You’re just exaggerating.”

“Say ass.”

“Why?”

“Bottom is so…so old lady, come on.” The man pushes, nudging her side with his finger only to have her scrunching up her nose.

“The ass wasn’t so bad. Happy? Now take me home, please.” Speaking in a rush, Changkyun’s smile widens at the sound of her voice before cooing at it.

“My pretty ass is taking you home, even if these pants don’t do me justice.”

She wants to retract on the fact that she ever thought Changkyun was not confident, for the man has his moments where his ego is taller than any skyscraper she could have ever visited as the daughter of politicians, and that is a lot to say.

⏰

Lesson two starts badly when Changkyun says:

“John Lennon is going to leave The Beatles someday. Mark my works.”

“That’s it. Get out of my home.”

She doesn’t kick him out, really.

In the dead of night, she pushes Changkyun inside of the academy, aware that most people are already asleep and that it is a high possibility that Changkyun won’t find a way to go back home if it’s not by walking, considering that taxies don’t roam around the city at midnight. Like a dream he looks, until he starts to talk as she preps the settlement of the dinner she prepared for the two, arranging the plates and the utensils for them to practice his table manners. It seems like he is far more interested about teasing her about her love of a band, constantly bringing up the fact of their separation. In some moment, when she finally closes the door of the kitchen so they couldn’t be heard, she slaps one of the forks against his head.

His mouth never shuts up, he never thinks about what he is going to say, but he simply says it. He wants to get to know the world far more than it is intended, for he thinks there are higher beings and conceptualizations that no one gets to notice, but he deems himself as powerful enough to get to know them. She listens intently, although Changkyun is talking a lot while she pours two glasses of orange juice, making sure to softly lift the chair from the flooring so it wouldn’t drag once she sits down.

“We are just one dimension; you know?” Changkyun says as he picks up his fork, but instead of twisting the utensil around to grab a bite of food, he simply places as much spaghetti as he desires inside his mouth. “Even in these meatballs, there may be smaller beings than us living their own lives. This word is filled with life and we think we are the only ones that matter.” He scoffs, the sauce of the pasta clinging to the side of his face and she chuckles at his antics. Her stomach folds when she reaches for him over the table, sweeping the sauce off his skin with her fingers before cleaning them on her napkin. “What?” Changkyun’s eyes widen when he looks at her, slowly descending back into her spot before placing her napkin over her lap.

“You’re eating like a dog.”

“Bruno and I share more things than an apartment, I guess.” The man jokes around, watching as a huge smile glues itself to her face. Some would dare to say it’s his effect and only Changkyun’s, to flutter her heart with a simple smile, to caress it with his words and keep it safe with his antics. He is opening up, and she doesn’t have the time to stop herself from following after his steps. “So, lesson two is about eating?”

Taking her fork in between her fingers, she shakes her head. “Table manners, Changkyun.” She tells him, fluttering her eyelashes before reaching for his hand with her free one, making sure that he is holding the fork correctly. “You want to slice a bit of the meatball first, because you don’t want to leave something out of the plate before you start eating.”

“That’s what people say before eating ass,” Changkyun indicates and she scrunches up her nose out of disgust, watching as he tries to control his laughter in silent shaking. “My bad. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Also, don’t say stuff like that.” However, her fake fiancé follows after her step, slicing a bit of the meatball before lifting his gaze to look at her as she speaks. “And you poke it.”

“Poked it.”

“Stop narrating what you do.”

“Stopping.”

Whilst rolling her eyes, her smelling senses remind her that she hasn’t eaten, In the depth of the night, they are two faint shadows bathed in the glow of a yellow light, the little stars dancing at the tune of their fake love, roaming around to hear their muffled steps, the candid laughter, the birth of a friendship. The beauty of something new that she hasn’t experienced, although very different from what she has already lived, brings some sense of purpose to her. “Now, after poking the meatball, you want to roll the spaghetti on the base of the fork. This way, you’re getting both parts of it, you don’t make the cook feel bad and you’re eating just enough. And you don’t have to slurp.” She comments, watching Changkyun’s fingers as they move quickly, wanting to get everything done with—or perhaps, he is just as hungry as she is.

After doing as she says, she notices that he eats with his mouth slightly open, but that is not much of a bother anymore. “Slurping is a big part of eating. It shows people you enjoy what they’re eating,” Changkyun tries to reason, already reaching for the glass of juice before he downs the bite he took of food, but she stops him by placing her hand on top of his.

“One thing at a time.” The scolding tone on her hushed voice has Changkyun swallowing quickly before taking a sip of the orange juice. “And don’t choke on your food. It’s not going anywhere, geez.”

“Okay, now that I learned how to use a fork. Can I eat normally?”

She shakes her head, following after her instructions to eat before speaking up. “There is more to table manners than you think, and since you were working this week, we couldn’t practice sooner. Now, you only have one more week to become the perfectly put boyfriend.” She tells him, watching as Changkyun’s expression turns into one of boredom. Her feet kick his calf under the table, hearing him release a shaky breath before she interlocks their legs, just like they did in his house. “First, you have to greet the people at the table. Not all of them individually, say a greeting, way until the oldest people sit down and you sit before the youngest, of course.” She indicates, hand movements a reminder of how many times she has gone through this lesson in her life. What a lady does to seem posh and put-together. “Be nice, help people with serving drinks and try not to make a mess. Always place your napkin on your lap,” Changkyun follows after her instructions, letting the piece of fabric fall on his lap. “And eat at your pace. Talk to people as you eat, don’t take too little, but don’t take too long.”

“Everything has to be perfect in this place,” Changkyun releases a big breath before doing exactly what she told him. “You prepared this, I imagine?”

“I did.” The embarrassment on her face is clear. “You don’t like it.”

“I love your cooking. What the hell are you talking about?” Raising one of his dark eyebrows, Changkyun lifts his body slightly before dragging his seat across the floor in the most silent way he could do it, sitting by her side on the table before resting his head against his free palm, the other one slicing a bit of a meatball. “As delicious as my beloved fiancé.”

“Ew, Changkyun—”

“Yeah, that was disgusting.” Changkyun chuckles at his own words before filling his mouth with more food, his knee resting beside hers and moving in a bit of a frenzy. Her mind makes out the idea of Changkyun feeling a bit nervous now that the date of the dinner is approaching, but that is almost impossible. “Can I ask for something?”

“Go ahead.”

“I really don’t want to say the cheesy lines.”

“I never asked for cheesy lines, Kyun.”

As if releasing all the weight of his body in a sigh, Changkyun slumps back on his seat with happiness. The sight alone is enough to make her coo inside her mind, thinking that he looks like a daydream whenever he wants to, even if he acts like a nightmare. At her stare, the man straightens his back before putting a single bit of spaghetti inside his mouth, trying to speak with the piece stuck in between his lips. “Let’s do a competition.” She hums at what he says, swallowing her food down. “Whoever slurps on a noodle faster has to gets to have another glass of orange juice.”

She chuckles at his words, but instead of denying the offer, she puts a noodle in between her lips, laughing at her reflection on Changkyun’s shiny, happy eyes. “I could serve you another glass if you want. We don’t have to compete.”

“One, two, three, go!” Of course he is faster, smiling widely when the noodle disappears in between his lips and he claps his hands together as softly as he can, soon after grabbing her face with his hands to show more of his pride off. “What does it feel like to lose?”

“It—”

“Lady!”

That is not the Principal’s voice, for the owner of the academy is far too old to even be awake at eleven at night, but one of the oldest teachers calls out for her, making her stand up from her spot immediately, as if she had just been kicked in the guts by reality. This situation has happened to a lot of people in the academy, most worse than she has had it—tangled in sheets, kissing in the laundry room, sometimes even doing so much as talking, but it has never happened to her, loveless as it gets. The old woman with rollers on her hair is so filled with rage her steps make the strands of her hair move, her fists tightening at the mere sight of the ‘couple’ being so close.

“Lady, I think it’s explicitly clear that we do not accept visits of boyfriends or fiancés to the academy late at night. It’s inappropriate.” This is the life that was picked for her, to be a ‘lady’, so polished and perfect that she is not human. She makes a sound of acknowledgment, lowering her gaze as she mumbles that Changkyun was about to leave, only to gasp when the man shakes his head from his spot, taking a big mouthful of spaghetti and meatballs.

“Nah,” He speaks in between a bite, making the two women in front of him scowl. “What is so inappropriate about me eating spaghetti with my fiancé? It’s not like we’re having sex on the ta—”

“Kyun!” She complains, pressing her lips together to send daggers his way, but Changkyun is a warrior, simply shielding himself and ignoring the stare she gives him. “Teacher, I will make sure to have him out the door in a second. We were just eating, like he said.”

The teacher scoffs, her wrinkled expression making Changkyun even more annoyed. She swears she hears him curse as she puts his plate away, along with hers, to serve the leftovers on a plastic container for him to take back home. “Yes, just eating. I didn’t know eating was the way of getting pregnant.” For a brief moment, the calmness of silence fills her, but Changkyun is not the type to stay silent when he is feeling threatened, so it doesn’t surprise her when he speaks only a few seconds after.

“It depends,” He intelligently says as his ‘girlfriend’ pushes him out of the kitchen, but he takes the moment to turn his back to look at the old teacher in the kitchen. “If you’re eating someone’s d—”

“Changkyun!” She says a little bit louder, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the entrance. Once the door of the kitchen is closed, Changkyun’s angry expression changes into one of fulfillment, waltzing in his step because he lives for making authorities burn in their own anger. However, once he looks at her, he realizes that there may be more to that statement. Standing in front of the door, she doesn’t know if she has to laugh at the situation or be terrified that the Teacher will end up telling the Principal and she is going to lose her job. “I am sorry. This academy…we have set rules and all.”

“Yes, it’s not your fault.” He tries to reason, hearing the rustling of a bag as she hooks it around his finger. The contents are, of course, the container with spaghetti and the full bottle of orange juice. It’s what he deserves, she tries to reason with herself. “I better get going before they tell us that looking at each other will get us pregnant.”

A brief chuckle leaves her lips at his words, leaning forward to rest her lips on top of his cheek, kissing it softly as a goodbye. “I enjoyed our short dinner.”

“We could have a real one soon. I’ll have to see if I have a free night and all…” The man whispers, watching as the Teacher comes up from the kitchen to glare at him. Only to make her even angrier, he leans down to press a kiss to his ‘fiancé’s’ cheek, leaving a burning sensation along with stickiness, all the pleasantries put into his tiny bit of mischief. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye.” As always, Changkyun’s back welcomes her with a good sight, letting her gaze trail down as she dreamily stands by the door. Someone clearing her throat behind her makes her stay away from her daydreaming, closing the door to talk to the Teacher. “I am so sorry I brought someone over at this time. Please, don’t tell the Principal—”

With a sigh, the Teacher fixes the rollers on her head. “I won’t.” The old woman points out. “Tell your terrible fiancé that the dinner has been rescheduled to three weeks from now, because some of the parents won’t be able to make it. Yours included.”

The thought of not having her parents over makes her smile, for she knows she will get even more judgement and arguments if they see her with someone they don’t approve of. Instead, she nods her head, rushing towards the stairs to go to her room. “I can’t thank you enough, Teacher.” She says whilst haltering her steps, letting her head rest against the railing of the staircase. “Have a nice night.”

Changkyun would tell her otherwise, though, but that is the magic of their fake relationship. They are so different and unfitting that they would have to really try to make anyone believe they are together.

⏰

There are memories that will forever be by her heart, engraved in such clarity that she feels like she can relive them, and her wish can only be to live up to that expectation. With the sun setting, yellow turning a rosé colored hue, mixed with orange and small droplets of blue, she thinks of the nicest memories of the past year. Her degree, for starters, received by the best of the best in the academy, all h0nors in her education, is one of the memories she loves the most. The moment one of the members of the academy fell in love, so truly and beautifully that it shakes her, just like Jiahn’s wedding. Countryside visits, all with the people that she grew up with, and the teachers that either left the academy or the spot by her side.

She would have never thought that having friends outside of the academy would come so fast and yet, so comfortably. Perhaps, she shouldn’t give either Woo or Changkyun the title of friends too soon, but it feels like those people have liked her for far more than just her manners; past the stuffy dresses and the fake smiles, a situation in her life brought a new set of memories with it, stronger and more vivid each and every single time.

In her little box of memories, implanted deeply in her heart, she wants to draw the shape of Changkyun—with his back turned to her, like always, not because he means it…but because their meetings are always cut short. With her magic pencil, she would draw the curve of his lips, always parted thanks to his mouth-breathing habit, paired with the wide nose that sometimes gets dusted by the graze of a shade or a color. His eyes, albeit prettily looking at her even if he doesn’t mean it, are always interested in the world that surrounds him. Not only the physique of him, she wants to portray, she also wants to bring the huge amount of things she has learned about him in just two weeks.

Two weeks of knowing Changkyun hates suits, but he also adores reading a good science fiction book. He prefers movies, quite clearly, and can’t sit through a children’s film without crying his eyes out. He doesn’t admit it, the clumsiness that he says is nonexistent within him, but she sees it shine in its brightest lights at every given moment that they have spent together on the daily for two weeks. Right now, as he is in his zone, in his own way of being an artist, painting another house just a few minutes before their date is due, he looks at her with a smile on his face, giving her his painting brush.

“Please, don’t ruin another one of my dresses.”

Changkyun scoffs at her words, looking up and down her body before shaking his head. “Don’t say that out of context ever again. I’ll end up laughing.” His voice is soft, for some reason after she has apologized profusely about having him kicked out of the academy a few nights ago, he feels a little bit more lightweight, much more knowing that they are going to a ‘date’ in a place that he enjoys. Although, he completely ignores her tries of pushing him to buy his suit sometime this week. “This is my favorite part,” Changkyun initiates. “The last bit that needs to be painted. It’s relaxing, in some way, and it teaches me I can actually finish something and change a place with my own version of art.” The deep meaning of such a mundane action sounds foreign in Changkyun’s lips, who simply drags her closer to him before standing behind her. “Come on, paint the last bit.”

“What if I ruin it?” She asks insecurely, looking back at Changkyun who is glancing at her, chuckling at her antics.

“How are you going to ruin an entire wall by just painting one line?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!”

“Well, you fucking can’t.” Changkyun tells her, taking her by the elbow to lift her arm up towards the small bit that is unpainted. “Do it.”

A shaky sigh is what she gives him, running the brush over the small bit of the wall before giving the brush back to him. “There, I did it.” She tells him, perhaps a little bit scared of seeming dumb or simply having him laugh at her way of acting, but Changkyun simply smiles, putting the brush down on a container with some liquid inside it, perhaps to clean it up. His fingers reach for his backpack, unzipping it to get his shirt out of it, putting it up his body to cover his black tank top.

“Let’s get going, then.” Changkyun tells her, making sure to grab the keys of the house and locking it behind them. She feels weird whenever she is around Changkyun, because he has brought a version of herself that she never shows to anyone to light, and he acts nonchalant about it—if anything, he likes to see her as more than just a ‘lady’ or ‘the girl that gives him pastries’ or ‘Woo’s employee’. In his eyes, she thinks she is an interesting person, and that is something no one has ever thought about her. “You’re so going to love this place.”

Walking by his side, she hums at his words. “What makes you think that I’m even going to love something that is not rich, perfect, stuck up like myself?”

“Because you’re rich, but not stupid.” Changkyun tells her, looking up at the sky to have the colors of the sunset falling upon his skin. Now, the color is a softer shade of pink, melting into purple. “You know, you’re one of the few rich people in the world I have actually talked to and haven’t looked at me like I am some scum.”

“You’re not scum.” She points out, resting her hands inside the pockets of her skirt before sighing. “And I’m not the typical rich girl.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m a lady.”

“No, you’re not.” Changkyun adds in between laughter, finally sharing a glance towards her. His eyes are the most beautiful part of him, because he is always joking around, speaking his mind out in such a messy mannerism that she finds herself groaning at his words most of the time, but in his eyes, she can see intelligence. “Ladies in your academy are taught to be the equivalent of a piece of cardboard. You’re cool.” She smiles at his words, turning on a street as she follows his steps. “I wouldn’t have accepted the whole fake dating thing if I was embarrassed of the woman I would be paired up with, but…you’re nice.”

“Just nice?” She raises an eyebrow at his words, pulling one of her hands away from her pocket to drag him closer, wrapping her arm around his as they did on their first night out to his apartment. “You can do better.”

Changkyun seems surprised by the bustling confidence that she feigns to have, a habit that she is trying to take from him, but instead of clinging to the surprise, he laughs at her words. “Nice. That’s all you are. Nice.”

“Changkyun!”

Lowering his head slightly, as if to keep the secret in between the two, he sends a kiss in the form of words. “And gorgeous, inside and out. I look at your intestines and I’m like: mhm, what a fucking woman!”

“…You prick.”

“Asshole, you mean.”

“Ass…hole.”

“That’s it. Swear all you want, baby.”

A part of him radiates from the restaurant that he brings her to, even when it is totally inspired by some type of city in Spain, red and gold and loud with tango playing in the background. People are dancing, some are drinking and a few are eating, leaving a lot of work for the bartenders and very little to do for the waiters or waitresses. It’s just like Changkyun, difficult to miss out on, and he seems to be at ease even with the loud music, taking a seat in a place near people, wanting to feel like he is accompanied in the eventful night.

One would think Changkyun doesn’t know much about food, but he claims to be an expert about what is good. Fried food, that is his concept of a good meal, sitting by her side to point out the dishes that he enjoys the most, and all have the description previously told before its title. Excited he is, promising one hell of a night by teasing her with the idea of dancing as closely as those couples do in the dance floor, but she swats the idea away by laughter.

The staff seem to know Changkyun by the time he orders, calling him by his name and even going down and hugging him out of affection. The orders he gives must be his usual—seriously, she worries about his health—, for the waiter is gone by the time she opens her mouth to thank him. “You really seem to be popular around here.”

“I sang one or two songs here once,” Changkyun tells her, leaning back on his seat and extending his arms to rest his palm against her shoulder. The touch makes her feel comfortable, a burning sensation going up her stomach and burning at her heart. “I was low on money, still figuring out the whole painter thing and they needed a guy to sing. I know the chefs and the workers here.”

She bites on her bottom lip after what he said. “I didn’t know you sing.”

“Huh, I do many things.” The boisterous way he speaks about himself has her smile dropping as she shakes her head, sometimes tired of the way he changes every situation to a joke. “I’m kidding!” He tells her, grasping her shoulder tightly and moving her from side to side. “Tonight, I’m going to teach you how to eat like a real person.”

A throwback of Changkyun’s eating makes her turn to him with a petrified expression. “No forks?” The cuteness of her tone is supposed to have Changkyun melting at her remark, but he nods his head rapidly.

“Just our fingers, dude.”

“That sounds nasty.”

“It’s not, liven up!”

Changkyun is the type of man that wants to give her whiplash with this new sight of a new world she has gotten to see, stuffing more food into her plate just so she picks more up and puts it up to her lips. Laughing at her antics, complimenting her and embarking on conversation, there is never a dull moment for this pair of strangers. From far away, anyone could see the happiness in her expression, a new shade of makeup that she has never used, pushing at his chest when he gets her to the dancefloor simply to dance horribly, claiming that he has taken tango classes when it is clear he hasn’t (“Kyun, you know tango dance is actually from Buenos Aires and not anywhere from Spain, right?” “…Of course, I know all the stuff about tango dancing. I just look like a tango dancer, don’t I?” “Why did I even pick you as my fake boyfriend?”, they argue on the dancefloor).

The bill is on him, the sunset turning into the deep night, the smell of rain lingering on the air even when, through the fun times, she couldn’t even tell that it had rained. Changkyun is by her side, talking her ears off about something when in reality, she is just watching how his lips move with every word, perhaps a little bit buzzed on excitement and happiness. He steps on puddles absentmindedly, like he does not give a damn about his shoes or getting them dirty, so she does just exactly that, finding that she doesn’t care about the heels getting a bit stained. Not all days had to be perfect, she shouldn’t have to be caged at all times.

“I hope you had a great time.” Changkyun says when they near the academy, dragging his steps to make the moment longer and a huge breath leaves her lungs, because the concept of a great time has changed entirely for her.

“This is the first time I’ve felt like this,” The confession she gives him has him beaming with the same happiness, falling into a sweet grin that she would like to photograph to keep in her room, taped to the walls just like Changkyun has in his apartment. “You know, as a student in my academy, I don’t really get to go out at night. Or step on puddles. Or just eat without forks and knives and spoons. And it’s stupid, I realize now that it’s really stupid.”

“Stepping on puddles is all you care about?” The young man questions in between laughter and he watches as she does so, giggling at her own antics.

“It’s damn fun.”

“It damn right isn’t, but okay.”

“Let me live,” She pushes at his shoulders, watching as the academy comes into view. A few moments of silence follow soon after, making her realize that she has to come back to reality. This is the life that she has gotten to live, being a lady just for the sake of pleasing other people but not herself. “We’ll have to enter through the backdoor, but I think I can walk back there. Bye, then—”

“I’ll walk you there. What are you even talking about?” Everyone else thinks the option is pushy, that Changkyun is trying to fit himself into her life, but she is enamored by the idea of getting to see him for a bit more. The moment seems paralyzed, stuck in this tension that she can only describe as constricting, although yearned. The walls of the academy look less like a palace and more like jail as she nears it, standing by the back-door when she hears Changkyun speak. “I want to ask for something, but you can say no if you want to.”

“A cup of coffee?”

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disbelief at what she has just asked him and maybe, his judgement is clouded—the Changkyun she knows would never give up on some free food. Nonetheless, he grabs her by the crook of her elbows, bringing her closer to him before speaking softly, unlike him at all. “I want a hug.” She nods her head, speechless beyond understanding, hearing the sound of his breathing when their bodies connect. The crickets are singing their tune in the near distance, but she can only think of the way Changkyun’s arms rest on the curve of her waist, his fingers tracing soft patterns on there. Her palms want to reach all of him, to claim him as her own just for one night, but she simply places them on his back, her head resting on his shoulder. The moment is sweetened even more when his fingers reach for her nape, trailing up to her cheeks to connect their gazes. “This…” His voice cracks a little bit, making him chuckle at the sound. “Can you imagine what would happen if I kissed you?”

Her heart picks up, thinking of the possibility of having his lips touch hers even if it’s just for a second. A kiss was never necessary for her, or even remotely wanted, all she knew is that people loved the feel of it, as if grounded by the simple touch of lips. It’s complicated, how her hands are practically tugging at his shirt when he says it, knuckles lightening at the pressure. “I don’t think you’re going to kiss me.” She wants to believe this, that Changkyun is just like any other man she has met. Trapped in between his own glory, egocentric past normality, blind and drunken by his ego. This only leads to heartbreak, to stairs and stairs to climb just to get to someone’s heart. Love is supposed to be easy, and this feels far too much like it.

“You think I’m not going to kiss you?” Changkyun asks, tilting his head to the side. Slowly, very much so, his gaze drags down to her lips. “Or you don’t want me to kiss you?” His tongue peaks out to wet his lips, out of a movie that she would avoid watching just because of fear. Romance is even worse than horror.

“I don’t think you will.” She breathes out, voice becoming a mere memory or a plea. She wants to convince herself Changkyun is just getting free pastries and a good time, not exactly following after his attraction.

“I think I will,” is the last thing she hears before she feels Changkyun’s lips softly pressing down on hers. Firstly, she is far too surprised to even react at the kiss, the simple caress of his skin upon hers making her sigh. Her hands drag up his chest, resting upon where his heart is, seeking sanity in the feeling that engulfs her and somewhere within her mind, she thinks she feels Changkyun grabbing her by her waist, pulling her impossibly close before he lets his hands rest upon her hips. Sweet laughter follows the short meeting, one that she can’t even look at because she doesn’t want to open her eyes. Maybe, he is disappointed. “Kiss me like you mean it, dumbass.” He jokes around, biting down on her bottom lip slowly, so softly she almost doesn’t feel him when he delves down to press another kiss to her lips. This time around, Changkyun is the one that takes the lead, and the dream that she has made upon a star for the moment to last becomes true. The warmth of his body seeps through their fabrics of clothing, his heart starts beating as fast as hers does before becoming relaxed.

Though Changkyun is not a man of patience, his kisses feel like he is taking all the time in the world to undress all she needs, all she wants, all she never knew she looked for. His fingers look for hers, interlocking together on each side of their bodies when he pulls away, resting a few more kisses upon her lips before finishing it off with a chuckle. She doesn’t know if he’s laughing at the situation or if she should open her eyes, but something inside her tells her to do it, and she is met with the most adoring look she has ever been given.

Changkyun’s lips are red thanks to the kiss, somewhat smudged with her lipstick and she realizes then that his breathing is raged. In hopes of taking his breath away, she wraps her arms around his waist and presses another sweet touch to his lips. “Thank you.” She whispers soon after, only to have Changkyun cackling, trying to muffle the sound immediately.

“You’re saying ‘thank you’ for the kiss?”

Shaking her head, she stutters out whatever she can say: “A-Ah, not that…I was actually thanking you for…yeah, the kiss and the night and everything.” The air feels so much more lightweight and maybe, this is what people call romantic tension. Changkyun lets his thumb rub against her bottom lip, biting down on his own at the sight.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything.” The seriousness in his voice surprises her, even more when he continues. “I kissed you because I think you’re amazing. I…I guess I took your first kiss?”

“You did.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“I know,” He points out before giving her another long kiss, the sound alone making her smile against his touch, leaning closer to the point their chests are pressed together. The man stands on his tip-toes, tilting his head far enough so the kiss is stopped. The position is silly, of course. “No more kisses. Some teacher will come out and they will tell you I’m getting you pregnant out here.”

She chuckles at his words, swatting her hand over his arm before reaching for her keys, looking for the one that opens the back door and pushing it open, welcoming the smell of the academy. “Kyun…”

“Huh?” The man turns around, lifting his eyebrows when she goes towards him to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing a brief kiss to his lips.

“Get home safe, okay?”

Though, when he returns the kiss, she wonders if this romance is fake anymore. He isn’t her fiancé, of course, far too much of a stranger to ever be so, but she finds him incredibly attractive.

⏰

“I am not letting you look at me like this. I feel like I’m dressed as a clown, and I don’t really like clowns, you know? I’m one but—”

“Kyun, stop babbling on about clowns. Let me look at the suit!” She tries to speak to him through the changing rooms, smiling at some worker that looks at her with a stinky expression. In any other occasion, perhaps a month back, she would have cared about it, but now she simply tries to look away to stop stressing out about it. Just four days away from the dinner celebration, she is surprised that Changkyun has still not gotten his suit, for it took a lot more ranting and babbling to get him to finally give in and go shopping with her. However, after getting his measurements taken and trying on the suit, she can’t even see him. “I want to look. I am sure you really look handsome.”

Whiplash is what follows soon after, for she is literally swooped off her feet and kicked by oxygen when Changkyun opens the door of the changing rooms as quickly as possible, dragging her inside and locking the door behind him. The space is short; to the point she can feel Changkyun’s back pressed to her chest once he stands in front of the mirror. The first thought she has deals with what others would think; a lady like her getting into a man’s changing room and…simply staying there, it doesn’t sound possible, but the more she thinks about it, the more absurd it sounds. Instead, she tries to get a glimpse of Changkyun’s clothing, but he is covering up most of the mirror just so she doesn’t look at him.

Her arms wrap around his waist, bringing him closer to her and away from the mirror, looking up from his shoulder to see his reflection. Changkyun would never give himself enough credit for how elegant he looks with a suit on, like a man that is ready to kill with his stare. His black hair is pushed away from his forehead, his face leading to the most gorgeous black suit with a white tie to match, digging nicely on his waist, even more highlighted by the nice fitted pants and the broadness of his shoulders comes naturally without the need of extra fabric—or bras for the shoulders, how he likes to call them—. Surely, it doesn’t look like the Changkyun she is used to, but he looks breathtaking nonetheless.

Maybe her look of appreciation isn’t enough, for the man continues to babble about how he feels uncomfortable. She grabs him by the shoulders, giving a few steps back to feign checking him out. “The ass looks good in this one, and everything else does, too. I don’t know why you’re being so insecure.”

Going past the fact that she has just cussed, Changkyun plays with his fingers before clearing his throat. “It makes me look dumb and like one of those guys that are always at your academy trying to court you.”

She rolls her eyes at his words, per usual. “No. You look even better.” She pushes, wrapping her arms around him once again before resting a soft kiss on the fabric covering his shoulder blades, making sure that her lipstick doesn’t stain it. “I like you with your normal clothes, but you really do look great.”

“Do I?”

“Like a prince.”

“Ugh, I hate that.”

“Okay, then like a villain from a movie that rules a starship and is ready to take over the world.”

“Ooh, that sounds better.” Changkyun coos at the name, turning around and pressing his back to the mirror behind him simply to bring some space in between them. She is more-so stuck to the wall, becoming one with the uncomfortable woodened material, but Changkyun doesn’t seem to mind as he rests his hands on each side of her body, caging her in with a smile on his face. Faint at first, then bigger. “I would have never done this for anyone else, you know? I just have this soft spot for you.”

Most of his words take the air away from her lungs in laughter, but these ones make her heart constrict so badly she thinks she is going to have a heart attack. “I, uh…I…”

“My whole family has these big events at all times and I go there in a button down, but I wear a suit for you. That’s big.” His voice lowers lightly, letting his gaze trail down to her lips before pecking them softly. These past few weeks, they have only shared a few kisses—given when he is in a rush and he doesn’t have the time to think about the situation, or when she is really craving his touch, but most of the time she is lost in the limbo of not knowing where they stand. If this is Changkyun acting…then she doesn’t know what she would do. “I’m doing this for you.”

“I know,” She whispers against his lips, opening her eyes to see his are closed, lost in the trance of whatever is in between them. “So, this suit is the one for you?”

“If you like it…” He shrugs his shoulders, licking his lips before kissing her once again. “I’ll wear it.”

But her mind wants to stop him from kissing her, afraid of having her heart broken by the situation that surrounds them. She doesn’t know what is fake, what is real, if Changkyun is simply trying to prove to himself he is a good actor or he has actually caught these feelings. Maybe, he doesn’t even call them feelings at all, he is simply doing as he pleases, going with the rhythm of the beautiful nights that they board in. With thoughts that eat at her brain, she leaves the changing rooms, sparing a glance at the worker that keeps looking at them.

What would happen after the dinner? Would Changkyun finally come to the conclusion that this is not a ‘forever’? Would he lose all the interest he apparently has?

She doesn’t want to question it, but it lingers on her brain. It makes her feel useless, for she has never worried about romance and there she is, giving an ode to the confusion in her brain.

⏰

The first one to notice is Kihyun, squinting his eyes at the mere sight of the ‘eventful couple’, and that is enough to set her off. The evening for the dinner is set with candle lights, gorgeous piano music in the background, people dressed in their best attires, children laughing, couples sharing drinks and of course, her appearances in the kitchen whilst everyone is having fun. Long ago, she had finished the last plate for the dinner, but she is far too concerned about not putting up a good act to even go out. It is hard to breathe, half of her head is thumping with pain, settling mostly in her eye and Changkyun is simply standing there, one leg over the other whilst he leans back on the counter, plopping some food inside his mouth before he has to put the utensils to use out there.

“Everything will be fine.”

“I don’t think it will.”

One thing is pretending to be together in front of one or two people, mainly because they have never really tried, but another thing is putting on an act of being engaged. The Principal is somewhere around there, waiting for her to fail and she wonders what she really wants. On one hand, she has Woo’s bakery and the opportunity to work there full-time, knowing well that she is going to have a paycheck to pay for her own place. On another hand, there is the fact that she could pull up with this and simply trust Changkyun, that has done no less than excellently while greeting people with all the elegance of the world, even getting brief compliments from older couples and parents. Then, there are the millions of opportunities that she could pick from, like working as a teacher outside of the academy, or simply staying with Changkyun without really having to fake. It all goes through her brain and she is far too scared about everything to even go out.

Even the prettiest of dresses can’t mas her nervousness, and Changkyun stops eating for a moment simply to hold her, take her by the arms and rub at the skin there, pressing down lightly on the tension that she has in said muscles. “You’re even making me anxious. Relax. Everything will turn out alright. People are loving us thus far.”

She tucks a few strands of her hair behind her ears, aware that the cooking must have ruined her hairstyle, but Changkyun looks as relaxed as ever, as if he doesn’t really care about the setting. She wants the moment to end, unlike all the times that she has spent with Changkyun, because this is not him. This is not her. She is not this preppy, perfect lady that has simply decided to get married because that is what she has to do. She doesn’t think she even knows the concept of love anymore; she simply feels what she has to feel. “Are you sure?”

“I mean…I guess.” Changkyun’s lips pucker up as he speaks, muffled by his own thoughts. “What’s bothering you so much?”

“You.”

“Excuse me?”

She sighs, shaking her head before resting it against his shoulder. “Not you. Well, yes you but not in that way.” She tries to excuse herself, resting her chin against his pectorals before biting down on her bottom lip. “I feel so bad for making you go through this and now I wonder why I thought changing you was a good idea.”

Changkyun shakes his head at what she says. “I don’t understand it myself. I mean, I’m awesome as I am,” As always, he jokes around and for the first time in that night, she feels at ease. “But…if your dream is getting that job here, I’m helping you. As your fake boyfriend, as a friend.” The word ‘fake’ makes her heart do something that she doesn’t understand, her stomach becoming a mess of words, food and emptiness. She feels sick, pushing her weight off him and releasing a sigh before she hears the sound of the door opening lightly, closing soon after and then, her name is being called.

What she doesn’t expect to hear is the sound of a plate being thrown to the dishwasher, along with food that immediately gets drowned in the few droplets of water that were there. A gasp leaves her lips, although not audible, looking up to see the source of such an atrocity, for one of her meals is thrown down the drain immediately. The Principal looks at her, stoic and old as always, sharing a glance with the couple before lifting her chin in mightiness.

“What a disgrace,” Her mind can’t make up what the Principal is thinking, or why she has thrown the plate on the dishwasher. If she ever felt better, she doesn’t remember it, there is not a trace of that feeling within her chest anymore. Changkyun becomes her anchor, once again bringing her down to a more peaceful reality. “This food is not gourmet. It’s fried and distasteful. It’s…ordinary. My guests would have been repelled by such a sight, something as terrible as that.”

She tries to find the words in her mouth, instead coming up with a soft excuse. “It’s a new recipe. I found it in a book and I thought it would be tasty—”

“This is unlike you.” The Principal spits out and it has been like this for the past few years. After all, the Principal sees her as that useless individual she has to cook for the more important people; the women who are getting married, the men that are in businesses. Even when ‘engaged’, that is never going to change. “I don’t even know how you’re going to please this young man right here. Not that he probably asks for much, I heard the younger students talking about how he was painting the house in the front not too long ago.” The statement makes the Principal scoff to herself, but she simply gets closer to Changkyun, feeling how his hands wrap around her waist and tighten over the stuff material of her dress. “Is this the type of men you find? Of course, you have never—”

“She has never been like you, that’s why you talk to her like that.” Changkyun finally pulls away from her, his eyebrows frowned entirely as he stands in front of the Principal, shaking his head at the words the woman said.

“Kyun—”

“You’re so envious. She has always been exactly what you asked everyone to be but no one met that expectation for you. You wanted people to be like you, and when someone surpassed you, you went bat-shit crazy.” The way he speaks has the Principal blinking quickly, the color drains from her face quickly, and even she is at a loss of words. She knows Changkyun is like this, but just a few minutes ago he was so set in making this work. Her dollhouse fell a long time ago, but now Changkyun is playing with the crumbs. “She is the perfect teacher, everything you could ask for and more and I’m proud of her.”

“Of course, all you do is paint houses. You’d be proud of this.” The Principal points at the mess in the dishwasher before laughing bitterly. “It’s as ordinary as you.”

“Enough you two. I don’t want to hear this—”

“Your manners are up your ass, I see.” Changkyun points out, taking the time to look the Principal up and down before releasing a shaky sigh. “Get a life and stop trying to ruin other’s. This dollhouse fantasy you have, it’s sick. You’re creating slaves, not actual people.”

The Principal has a grin on her face, crossing her arms over her chest before pointing at the door. “Good, that’s good.” Her body is shaking, unaware of how her life is falling apart right in front of her, everything that she has believed to be her home is now being taken away from her, something within a lie and the truth falling in a humbled mess. She is a mess, too. “I want the two of you out of my dinner.”

“But, Principal—” She tries to argue, standing beside Changkyun to try to speak up.

“You were never even going to be a teacher to start with. Just get on with your man and get out of my house. Tomorrow, I’ll have one of the younger ladies taking your stuff in a suitcase to the bakery, but I don’t want you here for another second.”

It is not Changkyun’s fault, she tries to convince herself as the bruising heat of the night engulfs her. Changkyun is by her side, of course, having taken off his blazer and resting it on top of her shoulders, shaking at every sob that leaves her lips. At some point, when she realizes she doesn’t know what her life is anymore, she drops to her knees and lets herself get everything out.

Because she doesn’t know if there is a reality outside of the academy, too brainwashed with the idea of being a trophy-wife, of being this perfect girl. She has saved enough money to have a place, she has friends by her side that could help her, and yet…she doesn’t know if this is reality. All this time, she thought her life was set to be lived in the academy, and in just a month, a bunch of people had made a home out of her and seen her as livable.

People had seen her as worthy, and Changkyun is one of them.

Surprisingly enough, Changkyun drops to her side, wrapping his arms around her to speak his reality: “I’m not going to say I’m sorry, because I’m not. I know you think this academy is the shit, but it really is not. There is no pattern for a lady to follow, and you know this, you are not a trophy-wife, you are not the amount of meals you cook for your man…you’re what you like, what you do, what you’re good at. I accepted to help you, but…but now I care about you and it sickens me that you want to be part of this.” The words he tells her make her feel at peace, but at the same time, the argument that surfaced with a person that she had cared about in the past aches within her. She looks up at him, watching the anger in Changkyun’s face dissipate to worry. “…You’re not mad, are you?”

She sniffles, covering her face in fear of seeming too weak, but that is exactly what she is not. “I am so confused, Kyun.” She confesses, pressing her face to her knees and letting a loud sob escape her. “I don’t know what is true anymore. I could find a new apartment, find a new job…and I don’t know if it will work for me. I really don’t…I really don’t know if I’m capable of ever meeting someone’s expectations.”

“You should only care about the expectations you set up for yourself.”

“That is easy to say. You have not been trained to be like me.”

“I haven’t,” Changkyun tells her, pushing his weight off the sidewalk to lift her up her feet, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a chaste, soft kiss to her temple. “That is more of a reason for you to get out of that place. Be the real version of yourself, alright? Kick some ass. After all, all those girls are going to feel bland after a while, because that is not a good way of living. Take this as a nice chance to start over.”

In his eyes, everything is so easy. Changkyun sees the world as a wall, ready to be painted over, all mistakes erased with the magic of colors, but she sees past that. She thinks there are more complexities to it, memories that stick to her, the judgement that always follows her. Even so, she knows there are other questions in life…but Changkyun is there, even when the entire ‘fiancé’ ordeal is over, there is something there. A romance that they silently talk about through their gazes.

At her lacks of words, she simply wraps her arms around him, crying even louder onto his shoulder and tugging at him for dear life. He is one of the few people she has. “T-Thank you…”

“I’m going to,” Changkyun clears his throat, letting his hands rest on her back before sighing. “We’re going to book you a hotel for tonight, okay? I would offer my apartment, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. So, uh, fuck, let’s go?”

This isn’t scripted, and she realizes then that the unscripted Im Changkyun is the one that she truly is falling for. Suit or not, he is incredibly important to her, as a friend, as a romantic interest, as the man that keeps her warm that night with the faint promise of everything turning alright at the end.

⏰

The ringing atmosphere of tango immediately buzzes her senses, pushing her boss through the door with quick steps. Woo is normally a man to spend time with his old wife, loving the way she talks him to sleep, or basking in their silence that indicates comfortableness. Some would say their love is more of a routine right now, but she always tells him there is more to it—there is love in silence, strangely enough, in the untold truths about romance. This is why he is so shy while she brings the couple over to the spot Changkyun introduced to her three months prior to that, when she was stuck in an academy that didn’t appreciate her.

Though, it is difficult to get over the little demons that float around her head that tell her that she was unable to meet the expectations of the Principal, but she pushes them away with another roll of the pastries on the counter, continuing with her work as a baker. On the evenings, she tries to do something with Changkyun…help him with his own work, perhaps, or get him to take a walk with Bruno and herself, and at nights, when she really is lonely in her tiny apartment, she takes up on reading and trying out for new jobs, grabbing on to that habit of Changkyun’s of filling her tables with newspapers and encircled job opportunities.

In between every kiss, she tries to put a name to it. She wants it to be called more than a ‘romance’ and sometimes, when either of them tries to push the words out, they realize what position they are in their lives—Changkyun is carrying around four works in his shoulders, and she really is trying to become a teacher, so they push the thought away before it is too loud. She clings to his side and he does to hers, like two different spectrums that simple ended up together in the same story.

“I’m going to look for Changkyun, but you can sit down here and one of the waiters will come soon after.” She knows where the man is, probably by the entrance to the kitchen trying to talk to the chefs, for he really considers them good friends. With a quick movement on her step, a highlight of the rainbow that follows after the storm, she finds excitement prickling at her bones, being the reason why she is there with her closest friends—her boss, his wife and Changkyun, for her girl-friends couldn’t make it.

Indeed, Changkyun is by the open door of the kitchen, talking excitedly about something that keeps his hands moving. The chef doesn’t seem so thrilled, telling him his own theory that is suddenly cut short when her cold palms press to Changkyun’s skin under his shirt. The man jumps on his spot, cussing loudly at her before a big smile appears on his face. The chef secretly thanks her, she knows so, and she thanks him, too, for having Changkyun’s entire attention is something that comes easily to her right now, but it wasn’t as perfect in the past. After all, their story started with brownies and a crazy proposition.

“Why did you invite me here?”

“Because I wanted to?”

“Huh, that’s not the only reason.” Changkyun squints his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest before lowering his face to look at her as if inspecting her. “You’re hiding something from me.”

She chuckles at his words, pressing her palm to his chest just to feel his heart. A habit of hers now, because Changkyun doesn’t show he is excited or nervous most of the time, wanting to seem cool and poised, but his heart gives it away. “Before I tell you what I’m hiding, if I’m hiding anything, I need us to say all the cuss words we can remember.”

Changkyun chuckles at her cringe-y words, shaking his head at what she said. Really, she thinks it is stupid, but she is too excited to care. “You just want us to curse?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay, you start.”

The giggle that escapes her lips is inevitable, for she is starting to get more used to the language now that she is surrounded by Changkyun. “Fuck.”

“Ooh, we’re starting strong.” The man teases her before biting down his bottom lip. “Shit.”

“Asshole.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“That’s a long one,” She tells him, only to have him chuckling.

“Have heard that before,” He tries to joke around, only to have him taking her by the shoulders to shake her slightly. “But tell me what you wanted to tell me. I’m dying over here—!”

Taking one step forward, she feels all the weight of the world being taken off her shoulders when she speaks her reality to him. “I got a job as a teacher in a small school at the center of the city. I’ve made it.” She confesses, not even realizing what has hit her when Changkyun takes her by the waist, lifting her up in the air to smile at her before pressing a loud kiss to her lips.

“That’s my girl, fuck yes!”

Or maybe, it’s just a countdown to the time they actually discover they have been a couple all along. The truth surfaces in their loving gazes, all memories a picture could never pinpoint.

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imfires333 · 4 years

Text

Medley (pt. 2)

Summary: You’re a star swimmer on your high-school team, but so is Jeon Jungkook. What will this mean for your chemistry in and out of the pool?

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Fluff, swimmer!jungkook Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Tried to show a lot more of Y/N’s thoughts in this one, hope it’s not too uninteresting! I think the ending is so cringe and funny lolol I’m so sorry

The steam from your scorching shower followed you out of the bathroom, and you took the few steps you needed to reach your bedroom. There you picked up your hairbrush and slowly started combing out the knots that towel-drying your hair caused. You looked through your mirror and imagined Jungkook sitting on the couch behind that wall, watching a program on your TV, his doe eyes transfixed by the images moving on the large screen. He was probably watching a documentary on sea animals, knowing his obsession with the filmography typically portrayed in those kinds of programs. Or maybe he was watching a cooking show since he loved food and learning how to cook new dishes. You have learned these things about Jungkook over the past few years, as you’ve known him from freshman year until now, your last year in high school.

You considered blow-drying your hair and adding more damage to it after the chlorine from the pool. Deciding against it on top of being lazy, you threw it into a wet bun on top of your head. It was a little lopsided, but it was just Jungkook you were seeing, not the Queen of England. Reminded of the former, you looked at your post-workout outfit, leggings and a college T-shirt that ended where your leggings began. After pouting at your unimpressive appearance, you left your room to meet Jungkook.

The lanky, black-haired boy was leaning against the couch with one leg stuck out and the other tucked up to his chest. Like you expected, he was staring intently at the screen, watching some sea turtles glide through the water. The narrator’s serene voice seemed to be the only thing he heard because he didn’t turn around at the sound of your bedroom door closing.

You plopped down on the couch he was leaning against and fluffed his hair. It was almost dry since swim practice. The strands felt clumpy from all the chlorine, and the movement of his hair let the pool smell reach your nose. For some reason, you loved the smell of the pool. Good feelings and memories were associated with it, so it was a calming scent for you. It always made you think of competing and was even sometimes able to get your heartbeat racing. You got distracted from your brief reverie when Jungkook looked up at you from his spot on the floor with a mischievous look in his eye.

“Are you finally done?” he asked teasingly. You pushed his shoulder in response and smiled. While being playful, he still looked so innocent with his orbs for eyes. Moving to stand, he questioned, “Can I go now?”

You pointed to the closet doors next to the bathroom. “The towels are in there. You can use whichever one you want. Except the Lilo and Stitch one, that one is special.” Lilo and Stitch being one of your favorite movies, you felt particularly possessive over that towel and didn’t want anyone else using it. If someone did end up using it, however, you’d get over it, unless it was your little brother. A freshman in high school, Chris still did any tiny thing to rub you the wrong way, and it worked every time.

Jungkook chuckled, his bones cracking as he stretched his back. “All right, so I can’t use whichever one I want,” he contradicted. “Got it.” You watched him waddle over to the closet, pick a purple towel, and disappear into the bathroom. The water began running, and you turned your head to the TV to see a school of fish wandering around a reef.

It would be nice to be a fish in some ways. Always in the water, possibly friends with a shark, sleeping with your eyes open. But fish also have to deal with people without likely understanding what’s going on. Regardless of not having a complex mind like humans, it probably still doesn’t feel great having your home taken over by trash and nets.

Picking up the remote, you browse the selections on Netflix. It was always hard choosing a show to watch since you were very indecisive and struggled to commit to a program. A lot of time had passed, and you hadn’t even settled on a show when suddenly, a door behind you opened, causing you to look over your shoulder.

Jungkook was standing there, a towel wrapped haphazardly around his lean waist, his arm half-covering his chest. Droplets of water were falling from his damp hair onto his broad shoulders, running down his torso toward the top of the towel. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Sorry, uh, I forgot my clothes.” He walked toward you and picked up his bag, digging through it to locate fresh clothes. You realized you had been staring, so your head snapped to the TV to see that you had accidentally clicked on a show involving a dessert competition. Straining to look interested in the pies that had just been introduced, you felt your heart beating in your ears and hoped he didn’t hear it too.

He found what he was looking for and trotted back to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Sheesh, what does he think I’m going to do, just barge in there? you thought to yourself. The pastry chefs on the TV began talking about what they would put in their pies, which made you lose your train of thought, focused only on desserts.

The now-clothed boy joined you on the couch this time, dressed in black sweatpants and a loose white T-shirt. No matter how dressed down he was, Jungkook could make anything look good. After getting himself comfortable, he grinned. “Can I stay and watch some TV with you, Y/N?”

Jungkook sometimes hung out with you at your house, whether you were having a meal, playing games, listening to music, or watching TV. He got along well with your parents, so you didn’t think it would be a big deal if he stayed today as well.

“Have I ever said no to you, JK?” you joked, crossing your arms.

Jungkook’s face scrunched up as he thought about it. Honestly, there weren’t many times you said no to that kid. Every time you played Ultimate Ninja Storm, he got to play your favorite character, Sasuke, while you got stuck with someone who wasn’t your main. When you were showing each other music, he often had more turns than you did, getting to jam to his songs more than you could listen to yours. When your dad was cooking steak, Jungkook got the second-biggest cut (after your dad, of course). When you watched TV together, he always picked the program, which was actually okay with you, since you never knew what to watch anyway. Needless to say, Jungkook couldn’t come up with an answer and just shrugged, to which you stuck your tongue out.

“I’m sure there are things you would say no to,” he said. “Like, ‘Wanna race me in fly?’”

Your jaw dropped in mock horror. “First of all, how dare you say that word in my house. Second of all, that’s not even my stroke! Beat me in breaststroke, then we’ll talk.”

A lot of your banter revolved around swimming since both of your lives were so centered around it. You’d met on the day of the tryouts for the swim team, both nervous for what had turned out to be a piece of cake. The two of you had gotten to know each other since you were placed in the same lane with many of the older swimmers. Even at a young age, fresh to the high-school swim team, you were still respected by your senior teammates. Thankfully, there wasn’t an atmosphere of jealousy or envy but of teamwork despite the age differences between you and Jungkook and the veterans in your lane.

Jungkook’s face lost the playfulness it held moments ago. He looked at you with an intensity that you only saw at swim meets. His fingers were playing with the hem of his shirt as he looked between you and the TV, which had turned into mere background noise. His eyebrows came together, and he let out a breath through his nose. After seeming to ponder something for what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. “Would you say no to being my girlfriend?”

Your senses seemed to falter then. You could no longer hear the pastry chefs worrying about the time they had left to complete the challenge. You couldn’t feel the remote still in your hand. You couldn’t see the rest of your living room in your periphery. All you could see was Jungkook, your teammate, your best friend, sitting cross-legged in front of you on the couch, staring at you with a nervous look on his face.

You looked down at your hands in your lap, wondering how to even respond to a question like that that came out of left field. “Well…I think my dad would feel differently about a boyfriend being here unsupervised,” you blurted out. Dumbass, you mentally scolded yourself. “What I mean by that is…I don’t think I’d say no…” you said slowly, looking up from your lap.

In the span of a few seconds, Jungkook’s expression went from nervous to blank to smug. A sly smile crept over his face. He leaned closer toward you. “So that means…?”

You rolled your eyes, a common occurrence when Jeon Jungkook was around. If you dated him, would your eyes eventually roll out of your head? Laughing at both the thought and him, you nodded your head and assured him, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

At this, he shot up from the couch and did a little dance, swinging his hands above his head and spinning in a circle, his eyes closed and his smile showing brightly. After a few spins, he came to a halt in front of you, towering over your small form on the couch. Jungkook leaned down and took your hands from your lap.

“Y/N, we are finally going to be the swim team’s power couple.”

“Oh my god, I say I’ll be your girlfriend, and all you can think about is being a power couple on the swim team?!” You beat your closed fists against his chest lightly, and he grabbed them, holding them tightly in place. He took the opportunity to quickly close the space between you, his lips touching your forehead for a moment. Immediately, your stomach did backflips, and you tried to control the smile on your face before he pulled away.

“Did you mishear me?” he asked, sitting back down next to you on the couch. He took your hand in his. “I said the swim team’s power couple.”

#bts #bangtansonyeondan #bts fluff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #omfg so dumb but idc #jungkook x reader

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laruna · 4 years

Text

— epiphany.

characters. lim yuri, kim namjoon, etc.

word count. 19.4k

genre. angst, fluff, friendship, slow burn

warnings. mentions of colorism and homophobia, family issues, arguments

summary. lim yuri keeps a long record of epiphanies, many of which concern a very special kim namjoon. and maybe accidentally falls in love in the process.

December 14, 2007. Lim Household. Seoul, South Korea.

An epiphany is an experience of a sudden and striking realization.

Lim Yuri learned that in English class today. Admittedly, it was the first time in that class that she’d actually heard a word she didn’t know. English was the only language her parents both spoke, so it was all she ever spoke at home. Naturally, it had always been a subject that she breezed through until today.

Normally, she wouldn’t think much of it, but today was the last day of school before the holiday break, her teacher has very cruelly given her class over-the-break work. It’s not like it was anything hard, just the simple task of reciting an epiphany you’ve had over the holidays in perfect English to the class. Unlike most of her classmates, the English wasn’t the hard part.

Yuri has never been very fond of sharing things about herself. She’s always found blending into the background made every aspect of her life easier, so sharing a sudden realization that she’s had sounds like it’ll imply a lot about her. She figures that she’ll just make a list. At the end, she can choose.

Epiphany #01: I look different from the other kids.

She’s not quite sure if that one counts. It’s not something she’s suddenly realized, after all, especially just over the break. It’s something she’s known for a while now, slowly having come to realize it after all the little moments piled up. It’s in everything—the way the other kids in class look at her unless she keeps her head down, the way people talk to her in English first like she’s a foreigner, the way her aunt tells her she has the skin of Jeju and Busan’s beach girls. At first, she’d taken that last one as a compliment, but her aunt had run to the bathroom to give her a bottle of skin lightening cream before Yuri could say anything. Which was mortifying, to say the least.

Sometimes she does wish she lived in Busan instead. Even though her father grew up there, he never seems to have anything good to say about the city, always opting to badmouth everyone he left there instead. He tells her she should be grateful to live in Seoul where the people only say bad things when you’re not around, because they’re blatant about that kind of thing where he’s from. He tells her that the Looks she gets here in Seoul are soft and easy on her. Busanians are too honest.

She doesn’t say it out loud, but sometimes Yuri thinks Seoulites aren’t honest enough. Her mother always tells her not to care too much about what other people think, but she feels like it’d be a lot easier if people just insulted her to her face so she doesn’t have to worry about what they say about her behind the scenes. Is it worse than the insults she comes up with in her head? Is it kinder? Is it pitying? Do they see her and then think nothing at all?

She wishes she didn’t even have to think about these things at all. Sometimes she envies her brothers, because they get treated better than her. Her parents tell her it’s because they look more Korean, but Yuri has no idea what that could possibly mean. She thinks her classmates are distinguishable when she looks at them. They have different shaped eyes and faces and skin tones. Her differences are a smidge more obvious, to be sure, but she doesn’t see why it should be something that affects her social life as much as it does.

But at the end of the day, it does, so Yuri does her best to cause as little problems as possible. She doesn’t meet with her brothers to walk home together until they’re three blocks away from school so that people don’t know they’re related and start picking on them too.

Her older brother isn’t happy about it, but he understands. He wishes she didn’t have to, but knows that it’s better this way. He apologizes to her for the ‘colorist, xenophobic, homogeneous society’ they live in. Yuri doesn’t understand what any of those words mean, but she nods along anyway.

Daniel, her poor angel of a little brother, doesn’t get it at all. He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with her. Her heart breaks a little when he says that he wishes his noona would wave back at him when they pass each other on campus.

Yuri’s mother comforts her with the thought that if she lived in the Philippines, where she’s from, she’d be considered very beautiful. But she doesn't live in Busan or the Philippines. She lives in Seoul. So, being the weird-looking kid it is.

Thankfully, she’s not entirely isolated. Even if her parents aren’t kind to each other, they’re kind to her and she knows they love her very much. And even if the kids from the music program she’s in with her older brother make a couple of insensitive comments from time to time, but for the most part, they’re nice as long as she does her part and sings her songs—that’s what brings her the most joy.

Despite everything that goes on in her life, it’s music that constantly remains her greatest love and comfort. Her older brother, Kyunghee, must feel the same way, because he’s always cooped up in her room with her and making music when their parents are arguing again and he doesn’t want to deal with it since his bedroom is right next to theirs.

If there’s anything positive to be gleaned from it, it’s that they have something to bond over that isn’t the yelling that comes from upstairs. Over time, he’s even taught her a thing or two about music. She can’t compose anything on the piano like he can, but he’s taught her the basics of beat-making on some cracked version of GarageBand he pirated from the internet.

For whatever reason, he’s been really into hip-hop lately, so that’s what they’ve been making beats for. She can’t blame him, though. As a VIP, she’s kind of in the same boat. The fiery bars and pure charisma of the Kwon Jiyong was too much for a music-obsessed teenage girl to resist. It’s a little more personal for Kyunghee, though.

Shin Donghyuk is her brother’s best friend and a self-proclaimed underground rapper, despite only beginning to rap around a year ago. He’s not terrible or anything—the dude’s actually gained a good following since he began uploading his freestyles to Hiphopplaya and Jungle Radio.

Still, Yuri finds it a little bit suspicious that he started rapping around the same time her brother started producing. She can’t help but wonder if Kyunghee began producing to help Donghyuk’s budding rap career or if Donghyuk started rapping because Kyunghee started making beats he could rap over. It’s like the chicken or the egg question.

It’s none of her business, she supposes, but Yuri’s still curious about their dynamic. All she knows is that, around school, she never sees one without the other, and that they’re always cooped up in the music room. She never approaches them because her older brother always looks like he’s in his own little world when he’s with Donghyuk and interrupting would make her feel like an interloper.

Her brother doesn’t seem to mind introducing them now, though. Today is apparently a big day for Donghyuk, because he’s going to be performing at a rap showcase at some club in Hongdae. Yuri thinks that it’s weird for them to be inviting fourteen year-old boys to clubs, but her brother assures her that the whole event is for rapping, so there’ll be no drinks around. So she guesses it’s okay.

“I’m, uh, not sure, though,” he admits to her on the subway. “But don’t drink anything that anyone gives you. Don’t drink anything at all, actually. But don’t be uncool about it, either. Just—don’t embarrass me in front of Donghyuk, okay?”

“Okay,” Yuri says, rolling her eyes. Donghyuk is a figure she’s only seen in passing, but hasn’t actually met. Despite his friendship with her brother, he’s never been at their house, but when Yuri remembers the way her parents’ arguments resound through the walls, she can’t blame her brother for never inviting him over. She also can’t blame him for escaping to his friend’s house after school, sometimes. His escape is usually her bedroom, but sometimes it’s too loud even in there.

Hongdae Station, Seoul, South Korea.

Yuri clings to her brother’s arm as they get off the subway station, and she can practically feel him vibrating in excitement to see his friend. Donghyuk is at the venue early like all the other performers, so they’re meeting him there. She makes it clear that she doesn’t get what all the fuss is about.

“It’ll be exciting to see him in action,” is all her brother says. “You’ve only heard recordings, no? And you’ll get to hear all the other underground rappers that use our free beats and stuff, too. So look on the bright side! Even if their rapping sucks balls, it’ll be funny. Plus, it’ll be a good networking opportunity if you ever wanna go into entertainment. If they look important, just pretend to like it.” She snorts at his insincerity.

“How business-savvy of you.”

Yuri has to squint when they finally get into the club. It’s dark and it’s loud, as one would expect, so she holds tighter onto her brother’s arm in the hopes that she won’t get lost. It was so bright outside, but the atmosphere inside makes it feel like it’s nighttime. If it weren’t for all the yelling, she would probably think of it as calming.

“Kyunghee! Over here!” she hears a voice call over the crowd, and turns to see a figure that she can vaguely make out as Donghyuk. Before she knows it, she’s being dragged all the way across the room towards the stage, muttering awkward apologies every time she bumps into someone.

Yuri’s dizzy once her brother makes a stop, tuning out the niceties and conversation he has with Donghyuk to gather her bearings. She doesn’t snap back into reality until she feels her older brother clap a hand down onto her shoulder.

“This is my sister,” he says, and she waves awkwardly. “I’ve been teaching her beats and stuff, too. I think we used one of hers on your last mixtape…? Her beats are under GLASS. You better get good, because I think she’s been learning more than you have.”

So her brother is helping Donghyuk learn how to produce, too. Makes her feel a little less special.

“Luna, right?” he asks, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Weird name. Sounds like a video game character.” He puts his fist out. She’s flushing at his bluntness, but awkwardly bumps it, anyway. She’s trying to be polite and not embarrass her brother, after all.

“Oh, that’s what my brother and mom call me,” she explains, “Everyone at school calls me Yuri.”

“Makes sense. I just used Luna since that’s what Kyungie calls you,” he explains, and Yuri feels a little surge of pride at the fact that her brother talks about her to his friends. “Want me to call you Yuri, then? You probably get called that more by your friends and stuff, right?”

“I don’t really have friends,” she admits, wincing as soon as the words leave her mouth, because honestly, that sounded a lot less sad in her head. Donghyuk doesn’t seem to notice though, because he’s practically howling with laughter.

“Fuck, Yuri, you’re funny!” he laughs, clapping a hand down a little too forcefully on one of her delicate shoulders. She winces again at that, but nervously laughs along like it’s a joke and not just… her life. She also accepts Donghyuk’s bestowment of the name Yuri. It’s just a name, but maybe it’s his way of telling her that he’s her friend now. Which is kinda nice.

He seems nice enough, but he’s too brash and loud and blunt for Yuri to comprehend how he could possibly be best friends with someone as soft-spoken as her Kyunghee. Still, she’s glad her brother has a good friend, even if her current interactions with Donghyuk are kinda weird.

“So,” Kyunghee interrupts, having had enough of the awkward atmosphere. “You said in your text they wanted help with sound check?” Seems a little trashy to make teenage boys help out with this kind of thing, Yuri thinks.

“Yeah,” Donghyuk confirms. “They can only have three people in the sound booth, including the guy who’s already there. C’mon!” Kyunghee looks all too giddy as Donghyuk grabs his arm and drags him away, probably to the aforementioned sound booth. In the moment, he looks too carefree to be her worrywart of a brother.

“You can handle yourself, yeah?” he yells out to her as he’s being dragged away. He doesn’t wait for her to answer before he’s out of earshot.

“Totally,” Yuri says sarcastically to herself.

Alone, she finds herself weaving through the crowd again. Without her brother around, she finds herself easily slipping in between everybody thanks to her small stature. She takes in soft lights and harsh voices as she makes her way towards the seats by the entrance, which seems a bit more void of people. Everything around her is too stimulating right now. Soft lights. Harsh voices.

Yuri’s almost there when she bumps into a tall male figure. She looks up to see sharp eyes narrow at her, so threatening and intense that she almost jumps back. His street clothes help up the intimidation factor, along with the dark beanie concealing his jet black hair.

“Sorry,” she mutters. He doesn’t reply, gently shoving her out of the way before continuing to trudge along his weird, bendy path. She watches as the big guy bumps into a few other people before coming to a realization.

“Hey!” she calls out to him, and he whips around to narrow his eyes at her (again), which she now realizes is more of a squint than a glare. “Are you looking for your glasses?”

His eyes soften, gaze immediately turning away from her in embarrassment.

“N-No!” he sputters, but the way he says it makes it very obvious he’s lying. She really doesn’t know why she’s attempting to help this guy out in the first place. Either she feels bad, or she just wants to be right.

Probably the latter, if she’s being honest.

“If you admit it, I’ll help you find them,” she says.

“...I lost my glasses.”

They’re probably a sight to see, the tall boy squinting down at the ground with Yuri practically glued to his hip, finding a much easier time seeing with her contacts and closer proximity to the ground.

“How’d you lose them anyway?” she asks, and he sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck.

“It was in my back pocket,” he explains. “To be honest, I didn’t even realize I’d dropped them until I reached for them and they weren’t there.”

“Why weren’t you, like, actually wearing them?” she asks, matter-of-factly.

“I’m rapping soon,” he says like that’s an explanation. “It won’t help my image.”

“Oh, ugh.”

“What?” he says.

“Are all you rap dudes like this?” she asks, “Just swallow your pride and don’t hurt your eyeballs trying to look cool. If your rapping is good enough, it doesn’t matter if you look like a loser or not.”

“Gee, thanks,” he says sarcastically.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that,” she defends herself. “You don’t look like a loser and there’s nothing wrong with glasses. I think the only person who seems to have a problem with it is you.”

“Name one successful rapper with glasses,” he retorts.

“Swings,” she says immediately.

“Shit,” he mutters, and she laughs at him. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Hey, be nice!” she huffs. “You’re a complete stranger and I’m helping you find your glasses. For all I know, you could be leading me outside to kidnap and murder me. Heck, I don’t even know your name!” He rolls his eyes as she points this out, but answers, anyway.

“Namjoon,” he says.

“What?”

“That’s my name. Namjoon,” he repeats, stretching out a hand. When Yuri takes a look at it, she realizes just how big he is. His hand would absolutely dwarf hers.

“Yuri,” she says formally. When she steps forward to shake his hand, she feels her foot clink against something and hears the light sound of plastic sliding across the floor. “Oh, your glasses!”

The lenses are thick, she notes as she picks them up. Damn, no wonder he was bumping into everyone. His vision must suck. Other than a few scratches on the lenses, they seem fairly undamaged. Even so, she gently blows a warm breath onto the lenses and wipes them off with the sleeves of her hoodie. Less gently, she pulls Namjoon down by the strings of his hoodie so that they’re at eye-level with one another before putting his glasses back on his face. Even in the low light, she can see the embarrassed flush across his cheeks.

“Thanks for the help,” he says sheepishly, quickly straightening up and pulling away. “Gotta go now. It’s showtime.” And then he’s off.

“Who the hell says ‘it’s showtime’ out loud?!” she yells after him, not ready to give this guy a break just yet.

“Who the hell wears their jacket like that?!” he turns around to yell back. Involuntarily, she pulls on the side of the puffy down jacket she leaves hanging off of her body. When she flounders for a response, he just laughs at her, a deep, loud thing that booms over the chatter of the crowd. She bets the sound could fill the whole room if it were empty.

She looks away, embarrassed, when she notices people are seating themselves and quickly plops herself down on the nearest seat. Well, shit. It really is showtime.

A lot of the rappers are vaguely familiar to her, and she’s struck with the realization that names she’d only seen online now have actual physical forms. They’re obviously passionate about what they’re doing, and now she kind of feels bad for how her and her brother used to roast whoever they deemed ‘the worst ones’ from behind their computer screen.

When Donghyuk steps up, the host introduces him as Suprema—yes, like the hype beast brand. She shivers as the Douche Chills overtake her body. Despite his overwhelming teenage boy-ness, he’s pretty okay, or at the very least, better than she expected. But the bar was pretty low, if she’s being honest. Kyunghee probably thinks the world of his skills, though.

The only other familiar face she sees is introduced as Runch Randa, and she has to stop herself from cooing at how cute she finds the stage name. She also has to stop herself from rolling her eyes all the way into the back of her head when she realizes he’s not wearing his fucking glasses.

As much as she wants to clown on him, she finds herself speechless when Namjoon steps up to the mic and spits straight fire, his narrowed eyes making him look all the more intense. While he’s not quite as aggressive as some of the other rappers she’s heard, his lyrics are riddled with wordplay and double-meanings that it takes her a couple of seconds to wrap her head around.

She’s snapped out of her reverie when she hears the crowd cheering, prompting her to clap along. Thoughts of Runch Randa dissipate as the next act steps up. She doesn’t quite recognize the name or face, so she lets herself get lost in the music without predisposition. When she recognizes one of her beats being used as background music, her heart beats a little bit faster.

Yuri knows that posting them online for free means lots of people will use them, but it’s another thing to actually see it in action. The amount of amateur rappers, good and bad, using her music and appreciating what she does for them makes her feel all warm and fuzzy. Huh. Maybe that’s why Kyunghee enjoys helping out Donghyuk with his rapping endeavors so much.

By the time the show is over, she’s warm and happy, but also very drained of energy. She has half a mind to head backstage to search for her brother, but the thought of swimming through the moving crowd makes her nauseous, so she heads outside instead. Kyunghee will find her eventually.

It’s dark when Donghyuk and Kyunghee finally come outside, laughing over ‘some newbie’s shitty freestyle’ with their arms slung over the other’s shoulders. They talk animatedly about what they liked and hated on the walk to the station and in the subway. Yuri nods along to the conversation despite having been tuned out for a while now. The only thing in her head is music. In the moment, something about that feels very important.

Epiphany #02: Music is something Lim Yuri wants to do for a long time. Maybe forever.

January 12, 2008. Starbucks, Seoul, South Korea.

Ever since that show in Hongdae, Yuri’s been more in love with music than ever. Naturally, she’s thrust herself into it with a passion, making new instrumentals when she’s at home and working on improving her vocals with the kids from her music program when she isn’t. Other than that, though, she hasn’t exactly left her house. Not until today, at least.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one meeting new people at that Hongdae show—Donghyuk and Kyunghee had done a good amount of networking backstage, exchanging numbers and starting a group chat with a bunch of other underground rappers. In time, they decided that the others were cool enough to work on music with in-person. So here they are, Yuri and Kyunghee spending their last Saturday of winter break waiting for everyone else to arrive.

Suddenly, Donghyuk enters with a very familiar figure in tow.

Namjoon grimaces as soon as he makes eye contact with her, and Yuri has to bite her lip to hold in her laughter, because damn, this dude really sucks at keeping a straight face. Neither action goes unnoticed, it seems, because Donghyuk sweeps his gaze back and forth between the two.

“You two know each other?” he asks, and Yuri nods, a devilish grin on her face. Namjoon’s expression of anguish only deepens when Donghyuk adds, “Oh, nice. Is he cool?”

Namjoon sends a nervous glance her way, looking like a kid who’s just been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. It endears her, for whatever reason, so Yuri spares his pride.

“Yeah,” she giggles, unable to hold her laughter in anymore, “Yeah, Namjoon’s cool.” His body relaxes at that, but the tips of his ears still glow bright red.

“Hey,” Kyunghee says, nudging her arm. “He’s our age. Don’t go talking to him casually, now. Show some respect.” She rolls her eyes, but obliges.

“Namjoon-oppa,” she corrects herself, and he smiles, looking a bit too satisfied at that. Maybe it’s because now he has something to hold over her head, too. It lowkey makes her want to smack him. Before she can say anything, though, two slightly less familiar figures walk through the door,

They introduce themselves as Hunchul and Ikje, or by stupid-teenage-boy-rap-name, Iron and i11evn, respectively. Yuri finds both monikers considerably cooler than Suprema and Runch Randa, if she was being honest. The guys themselves, though, are a lot less cool.

Ikje is twenty, which is like, okay, weird. It makes sense when Donghyuk cracks a joke about him being a little drunk when they exchanged contact information. What kind of twenty year-old was keen on hanging out with a bunch of fourteen year-old boys and one of the boy’s twelve year-old kid sister? He’s a little immature, to be sure, but passionate about rapping. And that’s what everyone is there for, so she lets it slide purely because he doesn’t seem like a creeper.

Despite being the same age as her brother and everyone else, Hunchul does seem like a creeper.

“You’re Glass, right?” he asks, shaking her hand. “I’m Iron. Our names kind of match, right?”

“Um, yeah, I guess,” she says, forcing a laugh. Awkwardly, she continues, “My big brother chose the name for me… because my name is Yuri… and that sounds like glass.”

“Big brother?” he asks. “Kyunghee is my age, you know. How old does that make you?” Her cringe reflex nearly kicks in, infinitely uncomfortable at this point.

“Thirteen next month,” she answers honestly, and fights the urge to cringe when he pats her head. As touch-starved as she is, she’s not this desperate.

“Ha, cute,” he laughs. She doesn’t think he’s very funny. She’s always prided herself on her instincts, and something about Hunchul just feels off.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to deal with him for long. The group all converses for a while, but soon enough, they’ve all kind of splintered off into pairs for conversation. As expected, Kyunghee’s first pick for this is Donghyuk. Naturally, she gravitates towards Namjoon.

“Hey, glasses guy,” she says, and he flushes.

“Oh God, please don’t let that become a thing,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Sorry,” she says, even though she really isn’t.

“It’s fine,” he says, scratching nervously at his face. “I actually wanted to thank you again for that. I lose things a lot and my mom probably would’ve killed me if I lost my glasses.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” she assures him, but the gratitude still has her glowing.

“I should probably thank you for producing, too,” he continues, “When your brother said you were a 96-liner in our group chat, I was so surprised, because I recognized your account name since I’d used your beats before, since they’re free and all. You’re really talented.”

“Oh,” Yuri says softly, covering her flushed cheeks and wide smile with her hands. Her glee is soon apparent when she fails to hide a giggle, preening under his praises. Her voice goes small when she finally replies, ducking her head. “Well. You’re very welcome.” He laughs at her sudden bashfulness.

Conversation continues smoothly, even if it’s mostly about music. The atmosphere emanating from their little group in the cafe is warm and lively. Even when the barista has to come over to tell the group to simmer down, she can’t find it in herself to be upset.

She hasn’t had many friends in her life, but the way things are going, she feels like she will soon. She makes a mental note to add it to the list when she gets home.

Epiphany #03: Lim Yuri is capable of making friends, after all.

January 16, 2008. Lim Household, Seoul, South Korea.

It’s been two days since school started back up, but it already makes Yuri want to claw her eyes out. She ended up just bullshitting that English assignment and spitting out some shit about how she had an epiphany about platypi being the only mammals to lay eggs or something.

But for whatever reason, she’s still adding onto that epiphany list. Kyunghee catches her adding onto it one night and says that she probably likes it because it gives her life more structure. She tells him it’s not that deep, bro.

But maybe it is. Who knows. She adds it to the Epiphany List, just to be safe.

Epiphany #04: I like things that give my life structure.

Her mind jumps to the very turbulent, very unstructured family life they have at home, and thinks that maybe he might be onto something. Thankfully, it’s not that bad today, but her parents are still not speaking to one another and shooting each other passive-aggressive stares from across the table, thinking their kids won’t notice. If she had the balls, she’d tell them how obvious they are.

Unfortunately, her younger brother Daniel does have the balls. When he opens his mouth to speak, their mother must sense the impending bullshit, and quickly interrupts.

“How was school?” she asks, turning to Kyunghee—easily the most diplomatic of the three of them.

“It was good,” he says, “Classes were good. Friends were good.”

“Any friends in particular? Of the romantic variety?” she teases, poking him a couple of times in the side. Their mama loved gossip too much. Everytime they brought it up, she’d say I’m Filipino, I can’t help it! Gossiping is in my blood! Yuri and Daniel roll their eyes fondly at her antics—usually, Kyunghee would be doing the same.

But he doesn’t.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters. Kyunghee always stutters when he’s lying. There’s a beat of silence before Kyunghee answers. Their mother looks entirely too pleased with the fact that after what has to be the thousandth time of asking about this topic, her hunch is finally right.

“Subtle, hyung,” Daniel snorts. “Way to be fuckin’ obvious.” Their father reaches over and pulls at his ear.

“Don’t curse, Jaeyeol,” he says. Daniel shrinks in his seat.

“Sorry.”

The rest of dinner is tense, their dad having successfully killed the vibe. They wash their dishes and clear the table in awkward silence, every action done hurriedly so they can get the fuck out of there as fast as possible. Afterwards, everyone else files back into their respective rooms, but Yuri follows her older brother instead. Fer and her older brother are both in middle school, so she’s curious if she knows whoever her mom was teasing him about. Always too nosy for her own good, she’s determined to find out. Maybe it’s that Filipino blood her mother was talking about.

Kyunghee doesn’t think much of it when she follows him back into his room. Maybe it was because of the age difference, but he was always closer to her than he was to Daniel, just like Yuri was always closer to Daniel than he was to Kyunghee. Her coming into his room to talk about stuff—especially music, these days—was commonplace. He pays no mind as she flops onto his bed, making his way over to sit at his desk and turn on his computer instead.

“Soooo,” Yuri says obnoxiously, just as a little sister should. “Who is she?”

She was expecting Kyunghee to roll his eyes at her like he always did, not quite spilling the deets but dropping little hints and hoping she’d dig enough to get it. But there’s none of that—instead, he presses his lips into a thin line and shakes his head.

“Drop it, Yuri,” he says through clenched teeth, turning around in his seat to glare at her. His tone is so sharp that she can’t help but to curl in on herself. He must see the fear in her response, because his expression immediately softens.

“Look, I’m sorry, just—just forget about it. It’s nothing, Yuri, okay?” he sighs. Normally, she wouldn’t ask her older brother to do anything he didn’t want to, but Kyunghee isn’t normally this secretive with her. Naturally, she’s more than a little curious. Butting into other people’s business was her favorite pastime, after all.

“I won’t judge, I promise,” she assures him, “Everyone likes someone for a reason, you know? I promise I won’t laugh or anything, even if she’s a total weirdo—”

“It’s not a she, Yuri.” He’s turned back to his screen by now, but even just from his profile Yuri can see the flush of mortification on his face.

“Wait, that means…” she trails off and everything clicks. “Oh, oppa.”

“This isn’t something you can help me with,” he cuts her off tersely. “This isn’t something you can understand. Just—just go to your room, Yuri.” He sounds like their dad. It makes her feel small.

Regardless, she nods, plodding along back to her room with a heavy heart. When she gets there, she sits at her desk and opens up her journal, adding another bullet to her epiphany journal.

Epiphany #05: Sometimes you won’t be able to understand what someone is going through, no matter how hard you try. No matter how hard you want to.

January 18, 2008. DGBD Club, Hongdae, South Korea.

It’s moments like these that make Yuri remember that, oh yeah, these rap clubs are still clubs.

Ikje is the only one of legal drinking age, so he’s the only one downing alcohol on the opposite side of the club. Hunchul is sat right there next to him in the corner of the bar, handing the bartender more and more money so he can witness his friend get absolutely shitfaced. Unlike Ikje, he is not of legal drinking age, but that will not deter him from seeking entertainment in any way he can… even at his friend’s expense. Meanwhile, Kyunghee and Donghyuk mess around in soundcheck and Namjoon looks to sit as far away from Ikje and Hunchul as he can get.

It’s kind of endearing, she thinks, the way Namjoon is so straight-laced about these things, despite his ‘hard’ underground persona. Outside of it, he comes off as kind of a stickler. Maybe a little dweeby, but it’s why she trusts him more than the others, so she pays it little mind when he situates himself next to her at the opposite side of the club so he’s not alone.

Poor Namjoon, her low self-esteem weeps for him. Having to kick it with Kyunghee’s annoying kid sister.

He’s nice enough, so she supposes he’s good at humoring her. Kyunghee would kill him if he was anything but polite to her. That, or the more likely possibility that he’s being nice because this is a business transaction, which makes sense, too. She’s just here to be the producer to his rapper, the Kyunghee to his Donghyuk… minus the lifelong friendship part.

She doesn’t know why talking to him is so daunting when they spoke extensively in the group chat—which she is very proud to say she made her brother add her to last Sunday—so it’s not like they’re strangers. She didn’t love the vibes in there, but they never did anything to make her feel like she was on the outskirts of it all. That’s something she’s imposed on herself. She just didn’t know what to talk about in the chat if it didn’t have to do with music.

She tries not to think much of it, distracting herself with the notebook in her lap. In it, she takes little notes on all the different rappers and indie artists she sees performing throughout the night. On top of her writing it in English, she doubts anyone would understand the references and shorthand she uses, so she makes little move to cover it when Namjoon leans over and squints at it.

“Nosy,” she chides playfully.

“Sorry.” He pulls away with a flush. “What are you writing about?”

“Oh. It’s just like, an analysis, kind of? Of everyone’s different rapping styles,” she explains. “Like flow and lyricism and genre and stuff like that. It’s kind of just for me. I produce better if I know who I’m producing for and how they sound, y’know?” He nods.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he says. Leaning over to peek at it again, he adds, “Your handwriting is nice, by the way. I didn’t know you were so good at English.”

“Yeah, my brother and I are both fluent,” she says, looking down at her hands. “We speak it at home. But like, I’m no good with words, so I’d be no good for songwriting help or whatever. I don’t know. It’s dumb. I’m dumb. I’m fluent in two languages, but can’t speak like… in general. That’s why I’m a beatmaker and not a songwriter.”

Oh God, she rambled.

Namjoon is staring right at her when she looks back up. She forces herself not to look away—that would be suspicious, right?—despite the probing, unreadable expression on his face making her cheeks heat in embarrassment. Conversations between them rarely strayed into personal territory, especially when their whole relationship was about music. In her head, she repeats the phrase business transaction over and over again like a mantra. She can’t help but feel like she’s crossed a boundary.

“If it helps any,” he offers with a grin, “My mom’s trying to get me to learn English by making me watch Friends. I can’t make out what your notes say quite yet, but I like to think I’m getting pretty good.” Yuri laughs at that, surprised but relieved.

“You strike me as a Chandler,” she says. “Maybe a Ross.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m very offended by that second accusation,” he says, but he’s still smiling. She giggles into her hands.

“Sorry,” she says, despite not being very apologetic at all. “If you ever need help with English stuff, you know. I’m here.”

She doesn’t know why she says that, but it feels right. It feels like something a friend would say.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, “I’d like that.” That feels like something a friend would say, too.

They very coincidentally spend the rest of the night talking about Friends. They both agree that Ross is a douchebag and that Rachel deserves better. They talk and talk until it’s closing time and the club owner starts yelling at them to just say goodnight and go! Before kicking them out. Everyone stumbles out of the door bursting with laughter, with even shitfaced Ikje giggling drunkenly as he hangs off of Kyunghee’s shoulder.

They’re still laughing even as they run through the streets in a frantic attempt to catch the last subway. Yuri can’t help but think that it feels just like those teenage coming-of-age movies, the ones where they go to high school parties with red Solo cups in their hands. It almost feels like a dream, a fantasy that she never thought she’d get to have.

Namjoon lets her hold his hand so he can drag her along as they run, seeing as her short legs don’t allow her to keep up with the others. She wonders if it’s the cold night air or the way that he links their fingers together that make her cheeks flush.

Epiphany #06: Lim Yuri has a friend.

March 15, 2008. PC Bang, Hongdae, South Korea.

Okay, so maybe Kim Namjoon is not necessarily a friend, per se.

Not to say that he’s unfriendly, or that he doesn’t want to be her friend, but friendship is the kind of thing that develops slowly, right? They’d only just started hanging out recently, after all, and the age and gender difference was bound to make forming a meaningful friendship just a little bit harder.

At this point, though, he’s definitely more than a business partner. Maybe not a friend just yet, but more than just an acquaintance. He feels like a classmate, a peer. Her answering his texts asking for help with English homework has definitely helped with that, as of late. Conversations have continued to stay outside of personal territory, especially when the others were around.

While Friday nights were reserved for rap performances at DGBD Club, Saturdays were for going out somewhere that they could work on music together or just chilling and hanging out together. They rarely ever met up on Sundays, which were reserved for Yuri helping her mom at her job of doing vocal training with the weird musical theater kids. For Kyunghee and Namjoon, Sundays were cram school days, and for the others… she didn’t really care how the others spent their Sundays, if she was being honest.

As of today, they’ve decided to migrate to a PC bang since there’s a distinct lack of baristas yelling at them to shut up. Plus, if they want to take a break to play MapleStory, they won’t have to worry about the club or the cafe having a shitty bandwidth.

They’ve got a two-person-per-computer policy, and Yuri finds herself immediately paired off with Namjoon. She doesn’t feel like pairing off with her brother—his energy has been kind of awkward around her since his confession—and she doesn’t like the rest of the guys’ vibes, so Namjoon it is.

They’re stuck away from the others, the only available computers in the PC bang spread far away from each other. She notices he’s talking to her a bit more freely. Self-consciously, she wonders if it’s because he’s embarrassed to talk to her around their friends or if he’s intimidated by her older brother breathing down his neck.

“Do you not like them?” Namjoon asks, out of the blue.

“Huh?” she says, blinking a couple of times in surprise. “Who? What? What are you talking about?”

“You know,” he says. “The others. Hunchul and Donghyuk and Ikje-hyung and them.”

“I don’t dislike anyone,” Yuri huffs, maybe too defensively. “I just—I don’t know. I mean, I don’t like them, but it’s not like I dislike them.”

“Why though?” he asks. “Did they do something weird?”

“No, nothing like that,” she assures him. After a long while of thinking, she admits, “I just don’t like their energy, I guess. I get weird vibes from them, you know?” Namjoon scoffs.

“You shouldn’t pass that kind of judgement without reason,” he says. “You’re smart. Use your brain.”

“I’m not really that smart,” she laughs nervously, ducking her head to hide the flush on her cheeks. “I only use my brain, like, thirty percent of the time.” He laughs at that. For whatever reason, it feels like victory.

“C’mon, don’t say that,” he says reassuringly, “You come up with like, five new beats a week.”

“That’s different!” she argues. “Producing is more… subjective? Than words and lyrics and stuff, I mean. So you can just go with your gut to see if it sounds good or not. You don’t have to think too hard like you do when you write lyrics. Putting stuff into words is hard. Feeling my way through stuff has worked for me ‘til now, so I’m gonna keep doing that.” He shakes his head at that, but relents.

“You do you, I guess,” he says. “But I think I’d choose going using my brain over my gut any day.”

“Did you use your brain when you were bumping into everyone at the club ‘cause you lost your glasses? Or were you using your gut?” she asks cheekily. “It kinda seemed like you were using neither, if we’re being honest.” He rolls his eyes before leaning over to flick her on the forehead.

“Shut up,” he laughs, a flush on his cheeks. When he turns back to the computer screen, she can see his profile from where she’s standing next to their desk. She notices something she hadn’t before, and it makes her realize she’s never quite seen him grin so long. She lets out a little gasp of delight.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing.”

He furrows his brows at her response, but doesn’t press it any further, either. When she gets home, she gleefully adds her newfound discovery to her list.

Epiphany #07: Kim Namjoon has dimples.

It’s an unexpectedly cute addition to the hard rap persona she’s always envisioned him with.

May 17, 2008. Lim Household, Seoul, South Korea.

“Holy shit, this place is nice,” Donghyuk whistles as he takes off his shoes.

Yuri is not exactly thrilled about Kyunghee inviting everyone over to their house.

Chilling together at PC bangs and the DGBD Club was one thing, but inviting these people into her home was… not ideal. She didn’t exactly love being vulnerable around other people, so she considered her house a safe space to do just that. Having guests over makes her feel like she’s in school again—and just like when she’s in school, she would prefer to be blissfully ignored.

Thankfully, she is. The boys are all switching between fucking around on her and her brother’s shared MIDI keyboard and kicking each other’s asses on Kyunghee’s copy of Super Smash Bros. Brawl for Wii. She also gets to stuff her face, so she supposes it’s not all that bad. Their mom had made way too much food, impossibly happy that Kyunghee was finally bringing friends home. It was unprecedented for him. Sadly, she could guess why this was the first time for that, seeing as he had very conveniently picked the day that their dad was gone on a business trip.

She quietly sits in the corner and eats her tteokbokki, careful not to spill any of the sauce on her notebook as she writes in it. She nearly chokes when Namjoon makes his way towards her, because she can’t quite wrap her head around it. It makes her a little tingly when he chooses to spend time around her even though he really doesn’t have to.

Now that she thinks about it, they’ve been doing that a lot lately. Hanging out alone, she means. Texting each other one-on-one rather than in the group chat, heading out to Hongdae separate from Kyunghee and Donghyuk, going out to PC bangs and Starbucks without everyone else. In the beginning, it was just so they could tutor each other, as they’d made the deal that while she helped him with his English, he’d help her with the horror that was linear equations.

Yuri can’t fathom how he can find English so hard but algebra so easy. It’s very Namjoon-like, she thinks. He’s incredible at very niche things, but he can’t do things that most people can do. She’d never want to humiliate him by asking, but Kyunghee heard from Donghyuk that Namjoon can’t tie his shoelaces correctly. And honestly? She believes it. He strikes her as a scatterbrained genius.

She thinks about Namjoon a lot lately, for whatever reason. But not in a bad way. If anything, she regards even his worst quirks fondly, like how he duct tapes his bag because he keeps accidentally breaking the strap off or those times (yes, there were multiple) he made them run back to the PC bang while they were walking back to the subway station because he suddenly remembered that he left his phone there. Despite all this, for whatever reason, she’s been feeling exceptionally shy around him lately.

Is this what it’s like having a friend? She doesn’t know if it’s just the fluttery excitement of a new friendship, but it makes her face go hot. It only gets worse when he leans over her where she’s sitting at the table, his chest lightly pressed against the back of her seat.

“What are you writing in there?” he asks.

“Just stuff I’ve noticed,” she says casually. “Nothing interesting.”

“I see my name there, though,” he says, and she immediately clamps her hand over the page. Her response makes him chuckle.

“I thought you couldn’t read English,” she says, cheeks flushed.

“I’ve improved. Thanks for that, by the way,” he teases. That bastard. “What is that? What did you write about me?”

“It’s the same thing I was working on in Hongdae,” she admits. “The music analysis notebook.”

“And you wrote about me?” he asks.

“Yes?” she says, like it’s obvious. “You’re pretty prominent, dude.”

“Interesting,” he says, looking at her expectantly.

“What?”

“Are you gonna tell me what it says?” he asks. “You wrote about me, so it’s only fair, right?”

“I guess,” she says, flushing.

“What’s this say?” he asks, pointing to a sentence that follows his name.

“Oh, that just… that just describes how like, you do this thing, sometimes,” she laughs nervously. “You do this thing when you rap, where you like… puncture the ends of syllables very aggressively. It’s just funny because that’s how English sounds, but like, you’re doing it in Korean, and… I don’t know. It stands out. I just like when you do it.”

“Oh.” He makes a face.

“Hey, I don’t mean—it’s unique. Because it sounds English, but it’s not?” she explains, but it feels like she’s digging herself into a deeper and deeper hole. So she continues, “Uh, I don’t know how to explain it. It probably just stands out to me because I speak English? But it’s still good. It’s really cool, actually. It’ll be good for when you audition for a label or whatever you wanna do.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to audition or do anything like that. To be honest, I was just planning on doing something behind the scenes, you know?”

“What? Why?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I don’t think my parents really like the idea of me becoming a rapper as like, a career. I always figured I’d go to college for sound engineering and become a producer or something like that. Technically, they can still call me an engineer. They can’t get mad then, right?” It’s delivered jokingly, but Yuri can feel the underlying truth in it, sad and wistful.

It’s moments like this that make Yuri realize how easy she has it. No matter how rocky her family life has gotten, her parents had always supported her and Kyunghee’s pursuits.

“That’s shitty,” she huffs, lying her cheek against the smooth wood of the table. “What a waste. You’re one of the better rappers I’ve heard, to be honest. Not becoming a rapper would be, like, a disservice to all of South Korea.”

“Don’t say that,” he says sheepishly, but he can’t stop smiling.

“I’m telling the truth,” she says, and she is. “I mean, most of the dudes who want to drop out and become SoundCloud rappers are doomed, but you have actual talent. You could pull it off, though. You could be the chosen one.” Namjoon laughs, ducking his head to hide his flushed cheeks.

“You’re too much,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

When he leaves to go to the bathroom, she flips her journal to the back where her epiphany list is.

Epiphany #08: Sometimes hardworking, talented people don’t get what they deserve.

What a bummer.

August 15, 2008. Hongdae Station, Seoul, South Korea.

There’s no single observation that makes it all fall into place—it hits her suddenly, like whiplash, as she’s walking home from the subway station with her brother, like all the little moments she thought nothing of before had suddenly come together to form this big amalgamation of questionable.

Hands lingering on top of each other for an extra long second during keyboard lessons. Glances for just a bit too long when he isn't looking. The constant stream of yeses, even when it’s for something she can’t possibly fathom anyone wanting to agree to.

Of course, Donghyuk. Sure, Donghyuk. Okay, Donghyuk. Donghyuk. Always. Anything.

“Oppa, do you like Donghyuk?”

Kyunghee stumbles, tripping over the question like it’s a brick placed before his feet.

“Huh? What? Huh?” he sputters, too hurried to be casual. “Of course I do? Of course I do. Like him I mean. He’s my friend. I like him.”

“Oh… you know what I mean,” she says, refusing to push the obvious out into the open. Usually, she’d just say what’s on her mind like she always did, but being wrong about this kind of thing would be mortifying for them both. When he flushes and quiets, she knows that she’s not wrong.

“Don’t tell him,” he chokes out, voice cracking he’s going to cry. He puts a hand over his face so she can’t see, so maybe he really is. “Please don’t tell him.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” she rushes over to hug him, letting him lean down half a foot so he can drop his head to cry into her shoulder.

“I can’t just—we’re mixed kids living in Korea, Yuri, things suck for us as it is! I’m not interested in making life harder for myself!” he tells her. Everything comes out rushed, like he’s presenting a PowerPoint and he has like ten slides left to get through but only two minutes left.

“Hey, hey, hey—” she tries, but he doesn’t let her speak.

“And nothing’s gonna come out of it, anyway,” he continues. “He’s the most heterosexual man alive, his—his fucking rap name is Supreme Boi, for fuck’s sake. Like the fucking hype beast brand. And—and have you heard him speak? He sounds like the guys that called me a fag in middle school.”

“You don’t think he’s like that, do you?” she says, eyes sad and droopy as she rubs comforting circles into his back. His scoffs.

“We high-fived and he said ‘no homo’ right afterwards,” he says, like it’s an answer.

Well. It basically is.

“Why would you like a person like that?” she asks, appalled. Her brother is a good person who deserves nice things, so she cannot fathom why he would subject himself to this kind of torture.

“I don't know. I don’t even know how or when or why it happened. I just…” he trails off. Then sighs. “I guess you don’t know ‘til you know.”

To be honest, Yuri has no idea what the fuck he’s trying to say.

“Sounds dumb,” is all she can offer.

“It is dumb,” her brother agrees. “And confusing and controlling for no reason. You just fall into it, I guess. And you barely ever get anything in return for it.”

Yuri’s nose wrinkles at the senselessness of it all, but she supposes it’s something she’d have to learn eventually. When they get home that night, she takes note of it in her journal.

Epiphany #09: Love is dumb. Cost outweighs benefit. Do not attempt.

September 15, 2008. Kim Household, Seoul, South Korea.

Yuri and Namjoon tutor each other on Saturdays.

However, today is Chuseok, so the club and the Starbucks and the PC bang and all their usual hangout spots are all closed. Meanwhile, Yuri’s dad is home and he invited all his siblings over for the holiday, including Aunt Skin Lightening Cream from Busan. None of them are even from Seoul, so she’s not even sure why they’re visiting when you’re supposed to visit your hometown on Chuseok.

Fuck Busan, her dad says.

Understandably, she doesn’t want any of her friends coming over to the house, especially when she knows her dad is going to use it as an excuse to get even drunker than usual. Namjoon’s place it is, then.

Yuri’s never been to his house. She’s never really gone over to a friend’s house before period, so when she tells her mom about it, she’s… overenthusiastic, to say the least. Yuri spends a good half-hour reminding her mom that, no, she does not have a boyfriend and she is not going over to his house for Chuseok. They are just friends. Regardless, her mom does her up pretty for the occasion, fitting her into a baby blue hanbok and doing her hair and makeup all pretty.

A suited businessman on the subway even tells her that she looks pretty. She thanks him, and begins to wonder if she should maybe wear makeup more often. For once, she does feel pretty, just a little bit out of her element. But not out of place, with so many of the passengers in similar for attire for Chuseok. The feeling only intensifies when she steps off the subway and catches sight of Namjoon, who they agreed would wait there for her so he could walk her to his house, since she got lost easily. He’s in hanbok, too, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from widening when he sees her.

“What?” she says.

“Nothing,” he replies. “You look pretty.”

“Oh. Um, thank you.” She takes his arm as they walk back to his place. It feels natural at this point.

“Is everyone fine with me coming over on Chuseok?” she asks nervously. “Don’t you have anything planned? Am I intruding? Oh God, Namjoon, what if your mom doesn’t like me?”

“You’re overthinking this. I don’t see why they’d be mad when we’re just studying together,” he laughs. “Seriously, it’s not like we’re dating or anything.” For some reason, the statement makes her heart beat a little faster.

“R-Right.”

When they get to his house, his parents welcome Yuri with open arms. They tease Namjoon profusely about her, to which they both have to repeatedly remind them that they are study buddies and are most definitely not dating. Yuri feels like she wouldn’t mind dating Namjoon, though.

No clue where that thought came from. She files that one away to deal with later, but it doesn’t stop her quickened heartbeat from kicking it into fucking overdrive. It only worsens when he invites her upstairs to his room, and she can practically feel her legs wobbling as she goes up the steps.

It’s so very Namjoon in a way she can’t describe. Little Kaws figures line his desk, textbooks lay scattered on the floor, and a blue-hooded Ryan plushie lies tucked in his bed like it’s a living person. It’s an instant reminder of how soft he is, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. She grabs the stuffed toy coos at it lovingly.

“That’s uh—that’s my sister’s,” he says. She ignores the obvious lie.

“Baby,” she says lovingly to the toy, squeezing its tummy. “Hey Namjoon, can I lay in your bed?”

“Uh.” Namjoon coughs awkwardly, turning away with flushed cheeks. “Do whatever you want.”

She flops down onto it rather unceremoniously, turning over onto her stomach with little care as to whether or not she smudges her makeup or wrinkles her hanbok.

“Smells like you,” she says without thinking.

“What?” he laughs, swiveling around in his desk chair to grin at her, a teasing smile on his face. With her having just said that, his embarrassment over a plushie pales in comparison. Now she’s the one scrambling for an excuse. She sucks at those, so she just powers on and tells the truth.

“The other guys use like, obnoxious amounts of cologne and Axe body spray,” she explains. Embarrassedly burrowing her face into the sheets, she says, “You just smell like boy.” He chuckles.

“I am just a boy.”

She lifts her face from the sheets to look up at him, hands folded nervously in his lap. In the big desk chair, he looks impossibly small compared to the tree of a man she knows him to be. Hip hop albums and posters line the shelves and the wall behind his desk, and it makes him look an awful lot like a dreamer.

Maybe Kim Namjoon and Lim Yuri are the same, she thinks. Two kids with dreams bigger than they will ever be.

October 25, 2008. Hongdae Station, Seoul, South Korea.

She’s quiet today, Namjoon thinks.

It’s not like she’s being icy or anything. If anything, she’s being really objective and professional about everything—no teasing, no joking. It’s so bad she says she doesn’t want to meet at the PC bang because it’s too loud, and she doesn’t want to meet at her house because it’s loud there, too. He doesn’t get what she’s implying with the latter statement, but thinks it better not to pry.

Decidedly, they’re meeting at the same Starbucks they reunited in that week after she helped him find his glasses in that club in Hongdae. Somehow, it makes the distance between them feel impossibly wider. Maybe if things were this way when they first met, he wouldn’t mind, but it’s all so extremely un-Yuri-like that it makes his skin crawl.

Now that he thinks about it, she didn’t respond to his texts last night, either. Usually, she’d leap the opportunity to talk about her school life or the obnoxious musical theater kids, and he’d give her advice on how to deal with it like a good oppa. He doesn’t really mind, though. It makes him feel like he’s taking care of her. Makes him feel needed.

Which is probably why seeing her like this sucks so much. She’s obviously upset, but she won’t even talk to him about it, and she tells him everything that doesn’t involve the forbidden topic of her home life. Even that she’s let up on lately, letting little inklings of it spill out here and there. Her dad drinks a lot. Her mother’s a bit protective. Her little brother is her baby, despite the demonic energy he exudes. Basic things.

He feels like he should ask about it, but also struggles with the possibility that he might be prying into something she’s not comfortable talking about. He spends so much time wrestling with these thoughts that he ends up saying nothing the whole time, all the way up until closing and the barista kicks them out. Yuri’s working especially hard today, he notices, like she’s trying to distract herself from something. Uneasily, he continues to wonder what it is.

His discomfort only grows as he walks her down to the subway station and she still has nothing to say. On the days she veered into the weirdest, most off-topic territory, he reached over the table to flick her forehead and tell her to focus on the music. But even then, she’d find a way to squeeze a couple of personal anecdotes into the conversation, and then elaborate on the walk to the subway since they really didn’t need to talk about music stuff anymore.

Sometimes, it’d be the other way around, and he’d vent about his life problems on the walk back while she listened. But today, whatever problems he can scrounge around for in his mind feel miniscule compared to whatever she’s going through, if her sudden change of character is any indication. She even refused his regular offer of an extra canned coffee for the road.

She doesn’t look particularly upset, though? Just neutral. It’s definitely an unwelcome change of pace from her usual free-spirited smiliness, but she doesn’t seem to be doing too badly, so he just keeps his mouth shut.

At least until halfway through their walk, when she trips over nothing and tumbles to the ground.

It’s not a particularly terrible fall, and she pushes herself back up onto her hands and knees without trouble. But then she just. Stays like that. Doesn’t get up off the ground. Gently, he taps her shoulder.

“Hey, c’mon. It’s dirty down there,” he chides softly, like he’s talking to a little kid. She doesn’t budge, so he places a comforting hand on the small of her back. “Are you—are you okay?”

It’s crazy how quickly those three words alone can break the proverbial dam, because suddenly she’s crying. No wailing or sobbing, just quiet tears with the occasional hiccup, which really is all the more heartbreaking.

“No,” she whimpers through her tears. “I’m not. I’m not okay.”

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, pulling her up off the ground and holding her tight against his chest. She’s pliant like a ragdoll, like she’ll fall over if he lets go, so he squeezes her tighter. Her arms make their way around his waist, resting just above his hips.

The weight of the world comes tumbling out her lips, and he just holds her and listens.

Everything makes her older brother mad these days. Her little brother, Daniel, the scary one, cries a lot. Her mom cries a lot. Her dad drinks a lot. Drinks too much. Her parents are divorcing and her mom is moving back to the Philippines without them.

It’s just so much, she tells him. It’s so much, Namjoon. She apologizes over and over, because I didn’t mean to break down, not like this, not in front of you. Not in front of anyone.

He frowns as he comes to the realization that she never talks about her problems or her feelings or insecurities, but he spills his to her and she coaxes his out of him all the time. He understands not wanting to share this with everyone, since it’s technically Kyunghee’s personal business, too. He’s glad that she’s able to confide in him like this. It just sucks that it took a breakdown for her to do so.

“I’m sorry,” she says, over and over and over. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. You have enough to deal with, you know?”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” he says, burying his nose into her hair. “Just because my life sucks doesn’t mean yours can’t, either. Just don’t think about me and my shit, okay? There’s nothing wrong with talking about yourself for once.”

“That’s not—I can’t just—I can’t just ignore you. It’s impossible to ignore you,” she sniffles into his chest. Squeezes him tighter. “You’re my friend, you know? I care about you.”

Namjoon breathes out a shaky sigh at that, goosebumps rising on his skin. His heart swells at her words, despite the circumstances, and all he can do is wish there was more he could do for her. There’s nothing to do but squeeze her tighter.

It’s a while until she pulls away to wipe her tears. He reaches down and smooths out her hair.

“I’m sorry for crying.”

“Don’t be.”

“Thanks, then.”

“Mm-hm.”

The rest of the walk to the station is peaceful and familiar. She picks the conversation back up, opting to ignore her breakdown and talking about literally anything else, instead. She talks about how her little brother has his first crush and how her older brother wants to be drum major next year and how the weird musical theater kids are, unsurprisingly, still off the shits. All the while, she grasps his hand in hers, fingers interlocked. She gives his hand the occasional squeeze, and he squeezes back without fail.

They part once they’re across the street from the station, subway and he finds himself incredibly endeared by the way she doesn’t want to seem to let go.

“Goodnight, Yuri,” he says, reluctantly pulling his hand from hers.

“Goodnight, Namjoon-oppa,” she sighs, letting her fingertips linger over his for a minute He watches as she turns to leave, but suddenly something hits him.

“Hey, one more thing,” he calls out to her, and tries not to laugh at how fast her head whips around at the sound of his voice.

“Yeah?” she calls back.

“It’s, uh,” he says, “It’s impossible to ignore you, too.”

It’s just a simple repeat of her own words, but he hopes she knows that he means them, because he wants them to make her feel the way he did when she said them—needed. Important. A little bit fluttery.

Her face crumples then, so sudden that he almost regrets saying it. But then she’s practically hurtling towards him, smacking against his chest with a force that quite literally knocks the wind out of him. She’s crying again, and this time it is the loud sobbing kind. He shushes her softly. Presses a kiss onto the top of her head. He rarely initiates affection, but in the moment it just feels right.

They hold each other like that for who knows how long. He takes hold of her hand as she calms down, the two staring down at their interlocked fingers all the while.

She misses the subway in her reverie.

“Just say goodnight and go next time,” she jokes, laughing tearily into his chest. “Stupid Namjoon, making me late. Making me cry.” There’s no threat to it, though, because she squeezes him tighter, nuzzles her face deeper into his scent, practically burrowing into him.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs softly.

They spend another thirty minutes waiting for the next subway to come in, two kids holding each other under the Seoul streetlights.

April 11, 2009. Kim Household, Ilsan, South Korea.

Yuri sprints to Namjoon’s house from the subway station at a speed unimaginable.

When Namjoon opens up the door, she’s panting and sweaty. He opens his mouth to question her about it, but before he can say a word, she’s shoving a piece of paper in his hands.

“The final match,” she recites the flyer word for word. Despite how out of breath she is, she still manages to smile brightly and sound excited. “Big Deal Show. August 23. Be there or be square.”

“The final match,” he repeats. His eyes bore holes into the paper even as he walks inside, Yuri following closely behind him.

“You should do it, Namjoon,” she says. “Everyone’s waiting on you. You’re it, Namjoon.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, shaking his head.

“I’m serious,” she huffs. “They gave it to Kyunghee to give to me to give to you. Donghyuk didn’t get one. They want you.”

Namjoon looks up from the flyer to see her face, bright and wide-eyed and hopeful. He wonders where all those stars in her eyes came from. They can’t possibly be for him.

“Okay,” he says, grinning like a fool.

“Okay,” she says back.

“But there’s one more thing I should deal with before I go into this competition,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking of changing my stage name.” He’s been thinking about it for a while, really, even reserving the username on a throwaway account so nobody takes it, but he still brings it up to gauge her reaction just in case it really isn’t a good idea. Yuri’s always had a good feel for things.

“Aw, I like Runch Randa,” she says with a pout, but continues, “I guess I’m open to change. What are you planning on changing it to?”

“I was just thinking about shortening it to Randa. No big deal,” he says, throwing in that pun for good measure. He’s trying to be nonchalant about it, throwing a shrug in there and all that. But then she does That Thing where she folds her arms over her chest and looks up at him with those big ol’ doe eyes.

“Is this because Fetion called you ‘lunch boy’ in that diss track?”

“What? No. What? No,” he says twice. And forcefully. It’s laughable, really, and he commends Yuri for not letting even a chuckle out because he knows he’d lose it.

“Oh, Namjoon,” she sighs sweetly, and the way she says his name makes it sound like it could belong to anybody but him. It makes his heart fall into his ass. “Don’t look too much into what other people say about you. Rappers like to diss just because, you know? That’s just hip-hop culture.”

“It’s not because of that,” he says, and she frowns like she thinks he’s lying, which is only half-true. “Really. I just wanna go for a more mature sound, you know? Randa just sounds more respectable than Runch Randa, that’s all.”

“Nothing to do with Fetion?”

“Nope.” He even pops the ‘P’ for emphasis. Maybe he’s trying a little hard.

“I don’t know if I believe you, but I won’t press it,” she says. As expected, she sees right through him, but he counts the outcome as a win.

“Good,” he says. “I just wanted your opinion on it.” She gasps dramatically.

“Wanted the opinion of little ol’ me?”

“Of course,” he says, “You’re important to me.” He says it like it’s nothing, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Epiphany #10: Knowing you’re important to someone feels really, really nice.

August 23, 2009. Rolling Hall, Seoul, South Korea.

It’s a really big day for Kim Namjoon.

At the very least, it’s a big enough day that he’s arrived to the venue two hours early, just to be safe. He leans against the wall as he scrolls and scrolls and scrolls again over the lyrics he has written in the notes of his phone.

There’s a sense of finality to it. Logically, he tries to convince himself that isn’t true, but it’s already taken him this long to convince his mom that his interest in rap was more than a waste of time. He just needs this one shot, this one thing, to make her believe in him. That’s all he wants. All he needs. In the meantime, Yuri’s there to support and believe in him. His own cute little personal cheerleader.

Yuri just oozes cuteness, he thinks. If you asked the honest Namjoon, he’d tell you that he just wants to pick her up and put her in his pocket to take home. But the Namjoon in the real world is not only a teenage boy, but an aspiring rapper with a reputation to maintain. Masculinity is a prison. That doesn’t stop him from letting her hold his hand as she helps him practice his lyrics, all the way up until he goes on stage to perform. She even kisses his knuckles for good luck, like they’re in a fairytale. It twists his heart in a way that only pushes him to succeed. He has to do well. He has to win--to prove it to his family, to have something to celebrate with his friends, to make sure that all of Yuri’s producing and support hasn’t gone to waste with him.

But he fucks up his only chance.

He forgets a bunch of the lyrics he’d planned out and ends up having to pull some lyrical miracle spiritual individual shit out of his ass. After it’s all over, his heart sinks at the way that Yuri lights up when she sees him, even after all the performers and judges and audience members have dispersed. She looks at him like he didn’t just completely fuck up, like he didn’t just lose and give one of the most embarrassing performances in his life. Before he knows it, he’s crying.

His hands fly over his eyes in the hopes that she doesn’t see. He feels fucking pathetic.

“Hey, hey, hey!” she says, her soft voice panicked. Cautiously, her hands take hold of his wrists and, for fear of hurting her with his resistance, he goes limp and lets himself be handled. When she places her cool, tiny hands over his eyes, he can’t help but to breathe a sigh of relief. Though he can’t see her, he can feel her dropping her head into the crook of his neck, breath tickling his ear with gentle shushes.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says softly. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I messed up,” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Namjoon,” she sighs. “You did great.”

“I messed up,” he repeats. “I was the worst one there.”

“Don’t say that,” she chides, moving her hands from over his eyes to thread through his hair. “Are you deaf? Just because you didn’t win out of all these people doesn’t mean you did badly at all. There was only one ranking, you know? One of the judges asked for your contact info, right?”

“Just one. Sleepy.”

“I love Sleepy. That has to count for something, right?”

“He probably just felt bad.”

“Oh, Namjoon.”

She squeezes him as tight as she can. What else can she do? Meanwhile, he reaches out, feeling around since he can’t exactly see, until his hand finds purchase on the back of her neck. Oh God, she’s so small.

He can faintly feel the ridges of her spine as hand slides lower to find its place on the small of her back. He could easily squish her if he tried, so he feels a tingly sort of pleasure at the trust she’s given him as she settles deeper into his embrace. God, he feels so bad. He hates that she’s almost always the one comforting him and picking up the pieces when all he wants to do is protect her from everything ever. If he weren’t so worried about hurting her, he’d squeeze her tight and probably never let go.

Yuri squeezes back just as tightly. She doesn’t understand why he thinks he messed up so bad. In her eyes, he did everything perfectly. Sleepy wouldn’t have asked for his contact information if he wasn’t any good, right? How could he have been anything but? Didn’t he hear himself?

She wishes he could just see himself the way she sees him.

To make matters worse, he seems to have lost his student ID somewhere at some point throughout the day. Yuri spends a good half hour helping him look for it in the dim lights of the club, and it fills her with a little sense of nostalgia for the night they first met. Unfortunately, they find nothing this time around. Seeing as he needs it to get on the subway, he calls his mom to pick him up instead. It’s just the cherry on top for how pathetic he’s feeling today.

Namjoon dries his tears and regains his composure so that his mom doesn’t ask about it when she shows up. When she arrives, she thanks Yuri for looking after her son and offers her a ride home, not taking no for an answer even as Yuri assures her that it’s okay and she doesn’t want to intrude. With the emotional draining he’s had today, she’d rather Namjoon get home as fast as possible, but she’s terrible at coming up with lies and excuses.

“Her dad is on his way to pick her up,” he lies for her, knowing damn well she’s taking the subway. His mother accepts this, thanking her again before waving her off. Once she’s out of eyeshot, she mouths a thank you to Namjoon. He forces a half-smile in reply.

Yuri plops down on one of the seats to sulk. Something stops her from leaving for the subway right away, and in retrospect, she likes to believe it was fate. It was probably just laziness.

In the midst of her musing and sulking, she notices a very familiar figure—from the judge’s table no less—emerge from the bathroom. Sleepy from Untouchable, she recognizes him as. She knows because her and her brothers have Quiet Storm on loop in their house, so he’s got to have some sway in the contestants they pass on. She’d worry about making a good first impression, but she was a friend before she was a fan. If it meant risking looking like a crazy person, then so be it.

“You!” she yells from across the room.

“Ah! Me!” he yells back in surprise.

“I need to talk to you!” she yells. He gulps as the tiny girl approaches him like he’s prey, not daring to take her eyes off of him.

Please don’t be a sasaeng, he prays.

He steels himself as she draws closer, relaxing as he takes in her measly, barely-five-foot stature. Yeah, he could handle himself if things went bad. He could punt a child. He sighs gratefully when he realizes he will have to do no such thing.

“H-Hey,” she says nervously, voice immediately going small when she’s in front of him. “You were a judge, right? For the contest?”

“Yes,” he replies, trying his damnedest not to sound intimidated by this little girl.

“I need your contact info.”

“Excuse me?”

“I—look,” she says, sounding more and more desperate by the minute. “I’m not asking for your number or anything, like—just give me your work email or something!”

“Uh—”

“My friend performed today,” she scrambles to explain. “In case some stuff happens to his work, I want you to have it. Or get your hands on it? So you have material to hear if you call back. Um, here, just take this.” She scribbles her email into her journal and rips the paper out before handing it to him. He squints his eyes at it.

“Beats by Glass,” he reads her email address.

“Yes.”

“I know you,” he says, “a lot of the trainees at TS use your beats for their audition tapes.”

“It’s ‘cause they’re free,” she explains. He looks surprised at that.

“Admirable.”

“Thank you,” she says, “I produced his stuff, too, um—yeah. Just let me send you my friend’s work.”

“Don’t you have your own music to focus on? Wouldn’t you rather promote yourself?” he asks. She shakes her head.

“He deserves this more than anyone.” Sleepy’s eyes soften at that.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

October 17, 2009. Lim Household, Seoul, South Korea.

As a surprise to even herself, Sleepy emails Yuri back. She sends him Namjoon’s music that she has saved. He emails back a thumbs up emoji. Ugh.

Unfortunately, just as Yuri had anticipated, Namjoon found himself in a bad headspace and immediately deleted all of his content off the internet in an especially powerful bout of self-loathing.

He could get a callback, she keeps reminding him, but he just won’t believe it—so he gives up before he even tries. He psychs himself out of things before he even gets a chance. His mom says that’s why he hasn’t started driving yet.

Despite this, Namjoon and Yuri still find themselves working together, even as Namjoon assures her that he is not interested in swallowing his pride and crawling back to the entertainment industry. For now, he’s just a songwriter that she’s teaching the basics of her beatmaking programs. She relents to letting him believe that, but she also takes the fact that he’s having anything to do with music at all as a glimmer of hope that he’ll return to his promising rap career.

At this very moment, Namjoon is not writing lyrics, and a good dozen pages of his notebook now half-filled with content he’s apparently dissatisfied with. For now, Yuri’s relented to letting him absentmindedly scribble on her left arm with a pen while she works her producer magic on GarageBand. She’s allowed it on the simple condition that he doesn’t draw any dicks or write any curse words on his arm because her mom might see.

“No promises.”

“Try it, bitch.”

Fortunately, he does not scribble any dicks nor fucks. It’s all just mindless doodles, like stars and swirls and hearts and that one pointy S everyone drew in elementary school. The only one she actually pays any mind to is a little crescent moon on her inner wrist.

“Aw, that suits you,” she says.

“How so?” he asks.

Yuri doesn’t know how to tell Namjoon that he reminds her of the moon, bright and calm and watchful and constant and underappreciated, without embarrassing herself. So she doesn’t.

“You’re… I don’t know,” she says. “It just does.”

“What were you gonna say?” he presses, raising a brow. As expected, he can see right through her.

“Nothing. There was no end to that sentence,” she says.

“Okay.” From his tone, it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t press the issue any further. He was a lot better than the others at making sure not to stray into uncomfortable territory.

They usually sit together in comfortable silence, which she’s noticed has since become a staple of their relationship. She doesn’t mind, though. There are no expectations between them. It’s a nice change of pace from the constant expectations present in both their day-to-day lives. His silence today, though, seems a little tense. She doesn’t know how she can tell, but she can feel it. Maybe their hearts are connected, she thinks.

“Are you okay?” she asks, hoping she’s not wrong.

“I don’t know,” he admits with a sigh. “I don’t really like anything I’ve written at all. I feel like I’ve reached my limit, you know? Maybe I’m just out of good ideas. Maybe I never had any in the first place. Maybe I was never meant for this at all.”

She shoves at his arm, pouting up at him once she’s fully distracted him from his absentminded scribbling. There’s a wobbly line running down the side of her arm now, but she can’t bring herself to care very much.

“What?” he asks, annoyed.

“C’mon, Namjoon,” she huffs, ignoring the way he scoffs and rolls his eyes at her. “You’re really gonna let one bump in the road throw you off momentum for good?”

“That ‘one bump in the road’ was my last shot, Yuri,” he says hopelessly. “It’s over for me.”

“But you’re still trying,” she says. “I like to believe that means something. C’mon, let’s see what you’ve got.” She reaches over him to grab his notebook, flipping it open to a random set of lyrics. They’re close enough now to where Namjoon barely bats an eye at this—he is, both literally and figuratively, an open book to her.

Smoothing it out, she reads, my heart is like a detective who is the criminal’s son. Even as I know who the criminal is, I can’t catch him. She blinks a couple of times in surprise. Reads it again.

“You wrote this?”

“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Look, that one is really old. It’s from before we even met, I think. I know it’s kinda corny—”

“It’s good,” she cuts him off.

“Yeah?” he says, surprised. She just nods in response, even though there’s so much more that she wants to say.

She wants to tell him that everything he says leaves her in awe. That he’s the smartest boy she’s ever met. When she writes her lyrics, it’s always about something she’s seen or done or felt—but the lyrics he comes up with are written like stories, like there’s an entire universe in his mind. His mind is filled to the brim with different worlds and swirling galaxies, and hers does nothing but walk along a path already laid down by the cosmos.

But she doesn’t.

“It’s good,” she repeats instead.

She doesn’t know why it’s so hard to say what she feels. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t even know how to word how she feels.

Especially with Namjoon, as of late.

Epiphany #12: Talking about feelings with Namjoon is hard now. Like getting over a great big hill.

March 07, 2010. Starbucks, Ilsan, South Korea.

Against all odds, Namjoon gets a callback.

It comes directly from a man known as Hitman Bang, the CEO of Big Hit Entertainment—according to Namjoon, he’s a very successful songwriter (that’s where the Hitman part is from… how cheesy) who’s worked with big wigs like JYP before. Yuri hasn’t heard of the guy or his company. Probably some poor, weird indie label, from the looks of it. She’s not exactly sure how credible they are, but when the man sings Namjoon’s praises and offers him a contract, she pushes her doubts aside.

As soon as the phone call ends, Namjoon envelopes Yuri in a hug, warm and all-encompassing and very, very Namjoon-like. He feels like he’s on top of the world, like all the dreams he felt he’d thrown away as only dreams were tumbling back into the realm of possibility. It’s like all his wishes are coming true—in everything, there’s only one problem.

Namjoon has yet to tell his mom that he’s been rapping.

Of course she knows that he does it, but it’s just a little hobby in her eyes. She still believes the lie—well, half-truth, he prefers to say—that he’s going to PC bangs all the time, and not rap clubs in Hongdae. She’s found a couple of his lyrics tucked into the pages of his textbooks, but he bullshits excuses about how they’re extra credit poetry for his literature class. He’s been lying about it for years now, but now that he’s going to get signed for rapping, now’s as good a time as any.

He’s nervous. It’s one thing to confess that you’ve been lying for three years, but it’s another to beg your mom to sign a contract that’ll help you pursue your rap dream immediately afterwards.

Yuri was just there for emotional support. They’re walking to his house back from Starbucks because really, he could only gather the courage to do this when hyped up on overpriced espresso. They walk back with Yuri’s hand linked in his, and despite him never being the best with physical affection, it feels natural, supportive. Loving, even.

“You got this,” she says, squeezing his hand in hers.

“I got this,” he repeats, even if he sounds like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying.

“Just be honest about how you feel and everything’s gonna be fine,” she assures him. He doesn’t quite believe her (feeling things out was never his forte) but he supposes he’ll just have to take her advice on this one. He wishes she could just be there next to him, but having her randomly sat into their family discussion would just be weird. Instead, the plan is for her to sit in that same Starbucks they were just at until she gets the text that he is 100% okay.

“If it goes really bad, I am four blocks away!” she reminds him, putting up four fingers for emphasis. “Hopefully your dad won’t threaten to kill you, but you know. Just in case.” Namjoon grimaces, but nods. He wonders what her home life must be like for her to make comments like that.

“Okay,” he says.

Yuri’s heart falls into her ass as she squeezes Namjoon’s hands one last time before letting him go back into his house. Once the door shuts behind him, she practically sprints back to Starbucks, not wanting to stay close and accidentally hear yelling or some other part of the argument. She heard enough of that kinda stuff at home.

She can barely sit still at Starbucks, fidgeting anxiously as she thinks about what her friend must be going through right now. She brought her laptop and her notebook in her messenger bag so she could at least take advantage of the free Wi-Fi to work on stuff, but her mind always strays back to him. She periodically checks on her phone for any new notifications (her group chat with the boys has been long since muted) and heaves her shoulders in disappointment every time there is none. It’s been nearly four hours and he has yet to text her anything.

Suddenly, the blip of a text notification on her phone catches her attention.

[18:27] Namjoon: look outside

Yuri whips around to see Namjoon grinning behind the glass walls of the building. Carelessly shoving all her stuff back in her bag, she practically flies through the door to greet him.

She practically crashes against his chest, but it’s okay because he picks her up and spins her around like he’s just returned from war. He’s so bright and giggly and infectious that Yuri finds herself laughing, too. She almost feels like it’s a little romantic, but quickly kicks that thought away, as always.

“They said yes,” he says once he sets her down, like he’s still surprised, even now. “My parents said yes. They’re gonna sign the contract with me. I’m gonna be a rapper, Yuri.”

“Oh my God.” She’s in disbelief too, because that’d be tough news for any parent to handle. But Namjoon is the most articulate person she knows. If anyone could break that kind of news, it would be him. “How’d you win ‘em over? What’d you say?” Namjoon laughs nervously.

“It’s kind of—it’s so lame,” he says, embarrassed, but Yuri nods for him to go on. “My grades are 5,000th place in the country, right?”

“Nerd.”

“Shut up. Anyways,” he continues, “The part I think I really got them with was—basically, I asked my mom whether she wanted to have a son who was a first-place rapper or a 5,000th-place student.”

Yuri bursts into laughter.

“Cheesy!” she yells. “Namjoon, that’s so—that’s so cringey.”

“It worked, didn’t it?!” he defends himself.

“It was gonna work no matter what,” she laughs. He shakes his head.

“I think I just got lucky,” he says. She doesn’t believe it.

Kim Namjoon could take over the world, if he wanted to.

March 06, 2010. Ilsan Lake Park, Ilsan, South Korea.

It’s a Saturday night, and Namjoon and Yuri hold hands as they walk through Ilsan Lake Park.

They do this a lot, now, and it makes her feel a little tingly. It’s just walking and talking, she knows, but it’s different. Whenever they’d go over to each other’s houses to study or work on music together, she’d psych herself out of any sense of excitement with the reminder that, as close as they may seem, they were still both getting things out of it. But this isn’t like that.

Neither of them are obligated to spend any time with each other outside of helping one another, but they do anyway. Namjoon ends up talking most of the time, but it’s okay. She’s no good with words anyway, and she likes his voice and the things that he has to say. Sometimes the skip rocks, even though neither of them are any good at it, before giggling at their failures.

Are these dates? she sometimes wonders. They feel an awful lot like dates. She doesn’t know how that makes her feel, but she feels it in the pit of her stomach. Yuri has always been upfront about the things she wants, but with Namjoon, she isn’t quite sure what she wants. She thinks she just wants to be around him.

“I’ve been discussing contract stuff with Hitman Bang,” he says casually, “and he’s thinking about changing it from an underground rap-based group to an idol boy group.”

Yuri freezes in her tracks beneath the streetlights.

“What?” she asks, making a face. “Seriously? You can’t be serious. You’re joking, right?”

“Why the hell did you say it like that?” he bristles. “Jesus. You’d think I told you I was planning on dropping out of school and becoming a stripper.”

“I’m just trying to warn you. Idol life is hard,” she says. “Netizens will have a field day with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I—fuck, I didn’t mean it like that, okay?” she huffs. “It’s just that—you saw how people treated Nacseo when he signed to an entertainment label. I like idol music, too, but not everyone around us is open to that kinda change, you know? They’re gonna eat you alive, Namjoon,”

“I don’t care about their opinions,” he says, and she scoffs.

“You’ve never not cared about what people think of you,” she shoots back, her mind jumping to every time he’s thrown away a good set of song lyrics because he thought it’d make him sound lame or corny. Or God forbid, soft. “Why would you want to leave? Everyone in the underground scene already loves you. They’re gonna call you a traitor, just like they did to Nacseo.”

“Do you think I’m a traitor, Yuri?” he asks. When she responds with a beat of silence, he looks more betrayed than she could ever feel. “Yuri.”

“Why would you want to leave?” she repeats. “Look, I’m just saying—why would the company suddenly switch gears like that? Don’t you think that’s suspicious? What if they’re scamming you into debt? What if they’re trying to force you into a slave contract or something?!”

“God, why are you suddenly so against this? You sound like my parents right now!” he yells. “You know, of all people, I would’ve thought you’d be the one to get it.”

“What—of course I get it!” she huffs. “I handed you the flyer, I watched you perform, I waited for you when you told your family about it! There’s just no good reason to leave the underground scene to become an idol. The risks are just too much, Namjoon!”

“Well, I—no, you know what? I don’t need to justify myself to you!” he yells, despite proceeding to do just that. “I’m not just gonna stay in the underground because—because you want me to!”

“I just—why would you want to be an idol anyway?” she shoots back, scrambling for some bullshit reason that doesn’t sound as desperate as please don’t leave me. “They’re gonna control what you eat and who you see and everything! Everything’s gonna be different, Namjoon! We won’t be able to go to DGBD and we won’t be able to go out together like this anymore because they’ll throw you into a scandal over some stupid rumors and they’ll never let me see you again.”

“Wait, so—so this isn’t about me, right?” he says. He scoffs, shaking his head, “Yeah, this isn’t about me at all! This has nothing to do with what you think is going to affect me and everything to do with what’s going to affect you! This is all about you!”

“Shut up!” she yells back. “It’s not like that!”

“Really? Because I’m not so sure,” he says, and immediately regrets it when his doubt makes her look at him like she’s been struck. But he just keeps going. He can’t stop himself, no matter how much his conscience screams at him to. “If you were actually thinking about me, you’d be listening to what I have to say, you’d be taking everything that’s happened up until now into account—but you’re not! Why is that? Thinking with your gut instead of your brain again?”

“You’re—you’re talking too fast! Slow down!” she’s crying now, but it doesn’t register for either of them. She puts her hands over her ears, like she’s a little kid listening to her parents fight again. “Just shut up for one second, okay?! Shut up! Shut up! You know I’m no good with words!”

“I thought you were more mature than this!” he yells. “Fuck, you’re just—you really are just a little kid, you know? Seriously, you want me to throw away an opportunity for my family to let me do what I actually wanna do? So I can stay with you and the rest of the losers—”

They both freeze, mouths open in shock as the weight of his words set in.

“Wait, I—I didn’t mean that, I—” he’s stuttering, trying to find the words to fix things, even though he knows in his heart that he can’t take it back. “You’re—you’re not a loser—” He takes a step toward her, arms outstretched with the promise of comfort.

But she refuses it, taking a step back into the streetlight. She looks so small, hands curled into her chest, so far away from him.

The world hits him all at once. They’re just two teenagers yelling in the Ilsan streets at night. She bows her head down, but he can still see the tears in her eyes, glistening under the street lamps.

“You should go home,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“I’ll walk with you.”

“Okay.”

It’s an awkward walk back, to say the least. He’s still mad, and he knows she’s still mad, so he makes no move to touch her as she walks next to him. She doesn’t reach out to grasp his hand like she always does, instead awkwardly linking her pinkies together, like she doesn’t know where her hands belong if not in his.

“We’re here,” she says, stopping at the sidewalk across the street from his house—like she’s not welcome, like she wasn’t lying on his bedroom floor just weeks ago. Weird how fast things can change.

“Hey,” he says, feeling a sense of relief when she looks up at him instead of ignoring him. He almost doesn’t want to break eye contact, like if he does he’ll never have another chance. Still, he reaches into his bag, fishing through the energy drinks and coffee cans at the bottom he’d bought earlier that day, originally purchased with the express purpose of keeping himself awake during training. But this is ok, too. He settles on giving her a Baba Vanilla Delight, because he knows she likes sweet things.

“Drink this,” he says as he hands it to her. “So you don’t fall asleep on the subway. There are weirdos on the train, you know. If any weird old guys try talking to you, call your brother, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, popping open the metal tab and drinking. After a couple of gulps, there’s silence, before Yuri leans forward and gently presses her head against his chest. Reflexively, he places a hand atop her head. No patting or stroking. Just a gentle, awkward, weight.

“You should go inside,” she says.

“Yeah,” he agrees, but neither of them make the move to part. He doesn’t know why. He’s still mad at her and she’s still mad at him. But it just feels right. When it happens, she’s the one to initiate it, breaking away from his touch to sip at the coffee in her hands again.

“Bye,” she says.

“Bye,” he says back, even though his gut tells him not to.

There’s a sense of finality to it, somehow.

Namjoon turns around sharply so he doesn’t have to think about it, but makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder one last time. She has yet to budge, sipping at her coffee and watching to make sure he gets into his house safely, even though she’s still upset.

I care, I care, her gaze says. He thinks he’ll know that forever.

But he doesn’t know that she starts crying as soon as he steps inside his house, or that she cries the whole way home, or that when she’s on the subway, she takes her journal out of her messenger bag and plops it in her lap to scribble a pathetic, self-aware message onto her epiphany list.

Epiphany #13: Lim Yuri will never stop caring about Kim Namjoon. Never ever ever. Not in a million years.

What a coincidence that it lands on such an unlucky number.

April 07, 2010. Big Hit Entertainment Building, Seoul, South Korea.

Lim Yuri makes her way to the Big Hit Entertainment building with nothing but a coffee in her hand and conviction in her heart. She’s nervous for a multitude of reasons.

For one, she’s about to interrogate an old music mogul when she’s a fifteen year-old girl that barely scrapes five foot nothing. No matter what bullshit her father has put the family through, she still stands firm with his advice that old men in the music industry are bad news.

Secondly, she’s not supposed to be here. Nobody knows she took the subway here—she told her brother she was taking the subway to a friend’s house and really, it’s his fault for believing her lie. He should know damn well that she doesn’t have friends.

Thirdly, the coffee enhances every nervous feeling beating inside of her body. She feels like her heart is going to beat out of her chest. Regardless, she’s come too far to turn back now. Yuri raps her knuckles on the Big Hit building’s front door three times before ringing the doorbell.

As she waits, she can’t help but notice that the building is pretty small, especially for an entertainment company. Kinda shabby, if she’s being honest. Man, this place is poor poor. She wonders if they can even afford trainees.

When a staff member opens the door, she tells them she wants to talk to the CEO. He narrows his eyes suspiciously at the little girl and tells her to schedule a meeting ahead of time. When she hands him ₩20000, his eyes widen and he directs her to sit in the waiting room. Damn, really? These people were cheap.

Minutes later, another staff member directs her to the Hitman Bang’s office upstairs. She hates to be judgmental, but this place is like. The shitters. The floors are dirty and the paint is peeling off the walls and the halls are a tight squeeze through. When she makes it up to his office, she’s not surprised to see how small it is. She sits herself down onto the seat in front of him and opens her mouth to speak, but he quickly cuts her off.

“Here, sign in first,” he says. She expects him to direct her to a computer or a card reader or something, but he hands her a clipboard with a stack of binder paper on it instead. The sight makes her wrinkle her nose, but she signs it anyway.

Whew, this is trashy.

“Lim Yuri,” he reads her name off the clipboard, “What brings you here today?”

“I, uh,” she pauses to shrug. “Just wanted to talk, I guess.”

“About?” he asks, quirking a brow.

“Kim Namjoon,” she admits. She’s not sure why saying his name aloud makes her face so hot. “He’s, um, a trainee in your company, I think. Or is going to be. I’m not really sure, uh, we haven’t really talked recently. Gonna need a status check on that one.”

“He’s coming in to sign his contract with his parents next week. It took a while, but he wore ‘em down,” he jokes, shaking a fist in victory. “So not yet, but soon.”

“This sounds like the kind of information that a company shouldn’t be sharing so freely. Haven’t you heard of contract confidentiality?” she huffs. “I came here to protect Namjoon, and you already seem like you’re not doing a very good job.” Old man Bang’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline in surprise, obviously not expecting the little girl in front of him to be so serious about all this.

“Well, uh, he hasn’t signed any contract with us yet,” he justifies himself. “So I haven’t technically said anything confidential.”

“Nice save.”

“Thanks,” he says, before awkwardly clearing his throat. Regaining composure, he continues, “I can assure you, we’re doing our best to protect our artists, and will do the same for him once he’s with us. What do you think you need to protect your friend from?”

“I don’t know, weird industry stuff that he doesn’t know about!” she says, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. “Like a slave contract or eternal debt or some weird shitty concept that he doesn’t wanna do, okay? I don’t know!”

“Relax,” he says. She huffs and folds her hands back into her lap. “Your friend is in good hands. It’s easy to take advantage of young trainees, but I can assure you that this is not the case here. We’re forming this next group around him. Because of him. We respect his creative decisions and will be giving him near-full reigns on whatever projects he wants to work on. I’ve heard him rap before, so Lord knows he can.”

“Which one?” she asks after a beat of silence. She can’t fight the hint of a smile off her face, despite the circumstances.

“Huh?”

“What song did you hear him rap?” she asks curiously. “Was it the one about the detective? I like that one. That one’s my favorite.” He blinks a couple of times in surprise.

“Yes, I heard that one,” he says, nodding. “He’s very talented. Incredibly introspective for your age.”

“I know,” she says, almost boastfully. “Everyone knows except him.”

“Do they now?”

“Yeah. I even asked Sleepy,” she continues bragging. “You know, from Untouchable? ‘Tell Me Why’? Yeah, him, and he agreed, too. I just know he’s destined for greatness, and—”

“You’re right,” he says. “When I first heard his audition reel, I thought, ‘this person deserves to be an idol.’ I didn’t even have to see him to know that.” Yuri lets herself smile at that.

“Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

“And I do know Sleepy,” he adds. “In fact, he’s the one who showed me your friend’s mixtape and passed his contact information onto me.” Yuri’s eyes widen, genuinely surprised that he did that even after she harassed him at Rolling Hall. Outside the bathroom, no less.

“You know, I’m surprised that you know Sleepy,” he continues slowly. She can practically hear him thinking as he narrows his eyes at her. “Are you Glass, by any chance? The one from outside the bathroom?”

Is that her thing now? She hates it here. His tone isn’t exactly flattering, but what’s she gonna do, lie?

“...I am she.”

“You’re that Yuri?” he asks, and she grimaces.

“Yes.” She’s expecting him to like, shove a cross in her face or something. Instead, he just laughs.

“I heard you gave him an earful.”

“Well. Harassing old men on my friends’ behalves has recently become a hobby of mine,” she says wryly. He shakes his head, but even the old man can’t resist another laugh at that.

“That also means you made those beats, right? The ones in his audition reel?” he asks.

“Yes, sir. Every last one,” she says truthfully.

“Interesting.” He folds his hands in front of his mouth and leans forward in his desk, and Yuri can practically see the cogs turning in his head. She can’t imagine what he’s thinking so hard about.

“Hypothetically, if we were to debut your friend in a boy group,” he begins.

“Oh God, I don’t like hypotheticals,” she interrupts. He laughs at her antics.

“It’d be a smart idea to have a female producer,” he continues. “Because if you think about it, that’d be our main audience, right? Girls around your age, give or take a few years?” She nods slowly as she thinks about the implications of what he’s saying.

“Yes,” she says after a long pause. “That would be smart.”

“And we’re already understaffed,” he admits. “It’d be a great help. I don’t know how much I’d be able to pay you—”

“I can tell—”

“—but you’ll be working with your friend, right? Isn’t that a good idea?” He raises a brow at her, and he doesn’t need to say anything more for her to know that it’s a question and an offer all in one.

In all honesty, it doesn’t sound that bad. Doing what she likes and working with a friend? Getting ‘near-full’ creative reigns? It sounds too good to be true, even to herself. She can’t exactly say she trusts in this, but it seems like it’s worth a shot. She heaves a sigh.

“You got a business card?” she asks. He seems to panic at that, awkwardly scrambling around his desk. Yuri nervously links her pinkies together as he spends a good five minutes opening and closing and opening his desk drawers again and again.

“Uh, you know what?” He pulls a sticky note off the top of the stack on his desk and writes his email address and phone number. Yuri has to stop herself from grimacing. The disorganization of this little company makes her cringe, but she guesses she’ll just have to take a leap of faith.

April 17, 2010. Han River, Seoul, South Korea.

Yuri links her pinkies nervously as she sits, staring down at the dosirak boxes in her lap.

She’s on a park bench by the Han River, praying to every God she can think of that Namjoon shows up. She’d texted him earlier that week asking him if they could meet there, to which he replied with a simple ‘okay’ text—a very bad sign when coming from the wordiest guy alive. But they did just have a really bad falling out, so she supposes beggars can’t be choosers.

“Hey,” she hears a familiar voice say from behind her, accompanied by a tap on the shoulder. It makes her whip around so fast she nearly smacks him with her ponytail.

“Oh, um, hey! Hey,” she says nervously. Namjoon laughs fondly, shaking his head.

“You look like you got stood up for a date,” he jokes, taking a seat next to her on the bench. She can’t help but blush as his knee bumps against hers. They sit in silence for a moment, as was usual in the Namjoon-Yuri dynamic. Despite the awkward air about them, it dawns upon her just how much she’s missed him, even just by sitting next to him like this.

“Here,” her voice cuts through the quiet as she drops one of the dosirak boxes in his lap. “I, um. I made this for you. And I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Namjoon clicks his tongue.

“Don’t be,” he says, shaking his head. “I should be the one saying sorry. I overreacted and said shitty things to you that I shouldn’t have. I’m embarrassed, really… I’m the older one, you know? I should’ve been the one to apologize first, if anything. I know you say things because you care, or because you don’t want to be lonely… and I get that. Nobody wants to be lonely. Nobody deserves to be lonely, especially a person like you who always does things for other people.”

“Namjoon-oppa.”

“Hm?”

“You have this—” she cuts herself off, voice cracking. “You have this bad habit of making me cry.”

Wordlessly, Namjoon shrugs off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders and placing a comforting hand atop her head. He coos when she leans into his touch. It makes her chuckle softly, even through the tears. She slips her arms into the sleeves, using them to wipe those tears away.

“Sorry for getting snot on your jacket,” she sniffles. He shakes his head, moving his hand down from her head to rub comforting circles into her back.

“Keep it. It looks better on you anyway,” he assures her. He drops a jab in there, too, if only to reach for a bit of normalcy. “And I just took it off, so. It’s got that boy smell you like.” He laughs when she smacks him with one of the long sleeves.

“Suuuure,” she says sarcastically. She rolls her eyes at his words, sincerely doubting that she looks good in anything in her current snotty, teary-eyed state—let alone a jacket that’s like, four sizes too big for her. But Namjoon has, embarrassingly enough, read her for filth. She will very much be keeping the jacket for as long as it has that very distinct Namjoon smell.

She leans her head on his shoulder and realizes she really, really missed him. That’s just the truth of it. She missed him and his smell and his dimples and his weird metaphors and his big wrinkly brain.

“I just want to make things clear,” she begins nervously, “If you think signing with Big Hit is the way to achieve your dreams and stuff, I want you to do that. I want you to know that I’ll be right there with you.”

“Thanks,” he says. “It’d be tough to know someone I cared about wasn’t supportive of this.” The admission makes her blush, but she shakes her head.

“No, I mean like, literally,” she admits, laughing nervously. “Um, I went to their building the other week, you know? To check it out and see if there was anything weird happening there. I, um, talked to the old man upstairs—old man Bang, not God.” He laughs at that. It melts her heart a little. “But, um, yeah. He was talking about how they’re understaffed and had heard about my producing and stuff and thought it’d be a good idea since we worked together already. We’re not discussing contract stuff for like, another two weeks? But before that happens, um, I just wanted to let you know before you sign yours. I won’t do anything that like, forces you to work with me or—”

“You don’t need my permission to do anything,” he says. “You want to still work together, right? Isn’t that why you went there?”

“Yes.” A half-truth, but she’s not gonna admit she harassed that poor old man to ensure his safety. That’d probably be a blow to his ego, and seeing as they just made up, that’s the last thing she wants.

“Then you should. We already know how the other works. It just makes sense,” he says. “And we’ll be together.” And her whole stomach does flips.

Her whole mind is going a mile a minute, then. It barely registers when he holds out his fist, and a couple awkward seconds pass before she has the brainpower to bump it back.

When he smiles at her, dimples on display and teeth poking out from between his lips, it feels like a punch to the gut. The relief she’d felt swell in her chest when she heard his voice is nothing compared to the tingling sensation she feels in her stomach right now. Suddenly, she understands what her older brother meant that night she asked about Donghyuk, and he said some bullshit about not knowing until you know.

She gets it now because she knows. It’s going to race through her mind every time she looks at him. She doesn’t need to write it down, but she knows she will when she gets home, if only to get it out. She needs an outlet for what she feels like is going to be etched into her heart forever.

Epiphany #14: Lim Yuri is stupidly, uncontrollably, undeniably in love with Kim Namjoon.

#era.glass #fic.epiphany #laruna.conn #laruna.dev #ship.yujoon #writings

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